e six or eight weeks at Kingston, in the island of
Jamaica, and it was at that time that the first of those extraordinary
adventures befell him, concerning which this narrative has to relate.

It was Barnaby's habit, when staying at Kingston, to take lodging with
a very decent, respectable widow, by name Mrs. Anne Bolles, who, with
three extremely agreeable and pleasant daughters, kept a very clean and
well-served house for the accommodation of strangers visiting that
island.

One morning as he sat sipping his coffee, clad only in loose cotton
drawers and a jacket of the same material, and with slippers upon his
feet (as is the custom in that country, where every one endeavors to
keep as cool as may be), Miss Eliza, the youngest of the three
daughters--a brisk, handsome miss of sixteen or seventeen--came
tripping into the room and handed him a sealed letter, which she
declared a stranger had just left at the door, departing incontinently
so soon as he had eased himself of that commission. You may conceive of
Barnaby's astonishment when he opened the note and read the remarkable
words that here follow:

"_Mr. Barnaby True._

"Sir,--Though you don't know me, I know you,
and I tell you this: if you will be at Pratt's Ordinary
on Friday next at eight o'clock in the evening, and
will accompany the man who shall say to you, '_The
Royal Sovereign is come in_' you shall learn of something
the most to your advantage that ever befell you.
Sir, keep this note and give it to him who shall address
those words to you, so to certify that you are
the man he seeks. Sir, this is the most important thing
that can concern you, so you will please say nothing
to nobody about it."

Such was the wording of the note which was writ in as cramped and
villanous handwriting as our hero ever beheld, and which, excepting his
own name, was without address, and which possessed no superscription
whatever.

The first emotion that stirred Barnaby True was one of extreme and
profound astonishment; the second thought that came into his mind was
that maybe some witty fellow--of whom he knew a good many in that
place, and wild, mad rakes they were as ever the world beheld--was
attempting to play off a smart, witty jest upon him. Indeed, Miss Eliza
Bolles, who was of a lively, mischievous temper, was not herself above
playing such a prank should the occasion offer. With this thought in
his mind Barnaby inquired of her with a good deal of particularit