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his  head  and  face, and gasping for  breath.   “  I  fell  upon  my bade,   J
                          couldn’t  get  on  my  feet at first.’'
                             The day  upon  so  much  of  Mr.  Pickwick's coat  as  was  yet  visible
                          bore testimony  to  the  accuracy  of  this  statement;  and,  as  the fears  of
                          the  spectators  were  still  further  relieved  by  the  fat  boy's  suddenly
                          recollecting  that  the  water  was  nowhere  more  than  five  feet  deep,
                          prodigies of  valor were  performed to  get him  out.   After  a vast quan­
                          tity  of  splashing  and cracking  and  struggling,  Mr.  Pickwick  was  at
                          length fairly  extricated from  his  unpleasant  situation,  and  once  more
                          stood  on  dry land.
                             Mr.  Pickwick  was  wrapped  up,  and  started  off  for  home,  present­
                          ing a  singular phenomenon  of  an  elderly gentleman  dripping wet,  and
                          without a  hiit,  with  his  arms bound  down  to  his  sides,  skimming  over
                          the  ground  without  any  clearly-defined  purpose,  at  the  rate of  six
                          good  English  miles an  hour.— C h a k les  D ic k e n s,


                                                  A  TUXEDO  ROMANCE,

                                     7     W A S  at Tuxedo— let me see—
                                              In  late  September,  long ago ;
                                           Yes, eighteen  hundred  eighty-three.
                                       But liowtime  ilies;  and  yet  I  know
                                    It’s  nine years  since  T  passed  my nights
                                       Here at Tuxedo— filled  my  glass
                                    Of  life with pleasures  and  delights*
                                       And  let some golden  chances pass.

                                    For they were golden,  if  we count
                                       A  in opportunity  to  wed
                                    A  stunning girl,  and  wedding mount
                                       The  social  scale,   Who was  it  said—
                                    And said  it  wisely,  if  he knew  it? --
                                       " Ambition is  a  dangerous tool,
                                    When  used  too  freely  we may  rue it,
                                       By sovereign,  or sage or fool.”
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