"Friends, I feel that I shall never see your country--and why should I
wish it? How could such a huge being as I live among you? For a little
while I should be amused with you, and you astonished at me. I might
find friends here and there, like you; but your people could never
understand my nature, nor I theirs. I should be carried about as a
spectacle; I should not belong to myself, but to those who exhibited
me. There could be little sympathy between your people and mine. I
might, too, be feared, be hated. Your climate, your food, your houses,
your laws, your customs--every thing would be unlike what mine has
been. I am too old, to weary of life, to begin it again in a new
world."

So, my young readers, not to weary you with any more accounts of
Huggermugger's sickness, I must end the matter, and tell you plainly
that he died long before they reached America, much to Mr. Nabbum's
vexation. Little Jacket and his friends grieved very much, but they
could not help it, and thought that, on the whole, it was best it
should be so. Zebedee Nabbum wished they could, at least, preserve the
giant's body, and exhibit it in New York. But it was impossible. All
they could take home with them was his huge skeleton; and even this,
by some mischance, was said to be incomplete.

Some time after the giant's death, Mr. Scrawler, one day when the ship
was becalmed, and the sailors wished to be amused, fell into a poetic
frenzy, and produced the following song, which all hands sung, (rather
slowly) when Mr. Nabbum was not present, to the tune of Yankee
Doodle:--

Yankee Nabbum went to sea