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 Over my shoulder as I wrote; "although I can't exactly comprehend its meaning. For my part, I have long been a petitioner To Mr. John McComb, the Street Commissioner—

"That he would think of Weehawk, and would lay it Handsomely out in avenue and square; Then tax the land, and make its owners pay it (As is the usual plan pursued elsewhere); Blow up the rocks, and sell the wood for fuel— 'Twould save us many a dollar, and a duel."

"The devil take you and John McComb," said I; "Lang, in its praise, has penned one paragraph, And promised me another. I defy, With such assistance, yours and the world's laugh; And half believe that Paulding, on this theme, Might be a poet—strange as it may seem."

For even our traveller felt, when home returning From that day's tour, as on the deck he stood, The fire of poetry within him burning; "Albeit unused to the rhyming mood;" And with a pencil on his knee he wrote The following flaming lines