Imatges de pàgina
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I thought of the unlucky'snooze' of the last night, but said nothing.

Well, we turned in as well as we could atween the two featherbeds; and next mornin' wen we got up, we found 'at a gen'l'm'n had been a-askin' for us, wot proved to be one of the King's Jarman grooms, sent up to Harburg to help us along the road, pay the bills, and sich like. As this ere gen'l'm'n spoke our langidge, we hadn't any more trouble except wot we wos obliged to in lookin' arter our hosses; so we had our "freestick," got the hosses out, and was off for Han-o-ver, wich we got to in three days, over a piece of road as flat as a skittle-ground, and that for a hundred mile. But I see, sir, you're like me, you've paid your devours to the brekfist, as the French say; so, with your leave, I'll tell you my adventures in Han-o-ver by and by, if so be as you're inclined to hear more on 'em.'

Assuring him how much it would gratify me to hear more of his observations on men and manners, I rose from the table, and we went on deck to see what progress the vessel had made.

SONG.

BY PAUL FLEMMING.

DEAR cheeks, ye inspire
My bosom with fire;
Your red and your white
Is a feast of delight.
And this is not all

That charming I call;

To view you, to press you,

To touch and caress you,

My bosom with fire,

Dear cheeks ye inspire.

Oh! suns of delight,
Oh! stars ever bright,
Oh! love-breathing eyes,
No gem with you vies.
Your glance ever beaming,
Like Paradise gleaming,
Oh! creature divine,
Say, wilt thou be mine?
Oh! stars ever bright,

Oh! suns of delight!

Thou fairest of fair,
Oh! hither repair;
Come, hasten to me,
I languish for thee:
I perish, I die,
In anguish I sigh;
My sickness, I feel,
Thou only canst heal.
Oh! hither repair,
Thou fairest of fair!

• Born at Hartenstein, 1609; died at Hamburg, 1640.

THE NEW YOR PUBLIC LIZAD

ASTOR, LEADX

TILCON FC

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