Here is a galley-slave in chains, who wants a letter written to a
friend. He approaches a clerkly-looking man, sitting under the
corner arch, and makes his bargain. He has obtained permission of
the sentinel who guards him: who stands near, leaning against the
wall and cracking nuts. The galley-slave dictates in the ear of
the letter-writer, what he desires to say; and as he can't read
writing, looks intently in his face, to read there whether he sets
down faithfully what he is told. After a time, the galley-slave
becomes discursive--incoherent. The secretary pauses and rubs his
chin. The galley-slave is voluble and energetic. The secretary,
at length, catches the idea, and with the air of a man who knows
how to word it, sets it down; stopping, now and then, to glance
back at his text admiringly. The galley-slave is silent. The
soldier stoically cracks his nuts. Is there anything more to say?
inquires the letter-writer. No more. Then listen, friend of mine.
He reads it through. The galley-slave is quite enchanted. It is
folded, and addressed, and given to him, and he pays the fee.
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