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MRS. F. Great bags of stones ! they're pretty things to help

a boat to swim !

BOATMAN. The wind is fresh — if she don't scud, it's not the

breeze's fault !

Mrs. F. Wind fresh, indeed, I never felt the air so full of salt!

BOATMAN. That schooner, Bill, harn't left the roads, with

oranges and nuts !

Mrs. F. If seas have roads, they ’re very rough — I never

felt such ruts!

BOATMAN. It's neap, ye see, she's heavy lade, and could n't

pass the bar.

Mrs. F. The bar! what, roads with turnpikes too? I won

der where they are !

BOATMAN. Ho! Brig ahoy! hard up! hard up! that lubber

cannot steer!

MRS. F. Yes, yes,— hard up upon a rock! I know some danger 's near!

[ing like a bull ! Lord, there's a wave! it's coming in ! and roar

BOATMAN. Nothing, Ma'am, but a little slop! go large, Bill !

keep her full!

Mrs. F. What, keep her full ! what daring work ! when

full, she must go down !

BOATMAN. Why, Bill, it lulls ! ease off a bit — it's coming

off the town! Steady your helm ! we'll clear the Pint! lay

right for yonder pink !

Mrs. F. Be steady - well, I hope they can! but they 've • got a pint of drink !

BOATMAN. Bill, give that sheet another haul - she'll fetch

it up this reach.

MRS. F. I'm getting rather pale, I know, and they see it

by that speech !

I wonder what it is, now, but —

queer!

I never felt so

TMAN.

Bill, mind your luff — why Bill, I say, she's

yawing - keep her near!

Mrs. F. Keep near! we're going further off; the land's

behind our backs.

BOATMAN. Be easy, Ma’am, it's all correct, that's only 'cause

we tacks : We shall have to beat about a bit,— Bill, keep her

out to sea.

MRS. F. Beat who about? keep who at sea ? - how black

they look at me!

Boatman. It's veering round – I knew it would ! off with

her head ! stand by !

MRS. F. Off with her head! whose? where? what with ?

- an axe I seem to spy !

BOATMAN. She can't not keep her own, you see; we shall

have to pull her in!

Mrs. F. They'll drown me, and take all I have ! my life's

not worth a pin!

BOATMAN. Look out you know, be ready, Bill — just when

she takes the sand !

MRS. F. The sand — O Lord ! to stop my mouth! how

every thing is planned !

BOATMAN. The handspike, Bill — quick, bear a hand! now

Ma'am, just step ashore !

MRS. F. What! ain't I going to be killed — and weltered

in my gore ? Well, Heaven be praised ! but I'll not go a sailing

any more!

LITERARY AND LITERAL.

The March of Mind upon its mighty stilts, (A spirit by no means to fasten mocks on,) In travelling through Berks, Beds, Notts, and

Wilts, Hants — Bucks, Herts, Oxon, Got up a thing our ancestors ne'er thought on, A thing that, only in our proper youth, We should have chuckled at — in sober truth, A Conversazione at Hog's Norton !

A place whose native dialect, somehow,
Has always by an adage been affronted,
And that it is all gutterals, is now

Taken for grunted.

Conceive the snoring of a greedy swine,
The slobbering of a hungry Ursine Sloth —
If you have ever heard such creature dine –
And — for Hog's Norton, make a mix of both! -

O shades of Shakspeare! Chaucer ! Spenser !

Milton! Pope! Gray! Warton ! O Colman! Kenny! Planche! Poole! Peake!

Pocock ! Reynolds ! Morton ! VOL. III.

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