Seventeen reounds in the wrist,tew an' one's the best seam" "Now, Miss Jemimy, just as if I didn't know how to knit mittens!" "Wal, it seems you don't," said she, "though I don' deny but you may know heow ter give 'em; an' ez I alluz like

My Heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie (A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes); But the defendant doth that plea deny, And says in him thy fair appearance lies.

Whirled by the cannons' rage, in shivers torn, His thighs far scattered o'er the waves are borne; Bound to the mast the godlike hero stands, Waves his proud sword and cheers his woeful hands: Tho' winds and seas their wonted aid deny, To yield he knows not; but he knows to die.