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40 The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws
 * works at his case,

He turns his quid of tobacco, while his eyes blurr
 * with the manuscript;

The malformed limbs are tied to the anatomist's
 * table,

What is removed drops horribly in a pail; The quadroon girl is sold at the stand—the drunkard
 * nods by the bar-room stove,

The machinist rolls up his sleeves—the policeman
 * travels his beat—the gate-keeper marks who
 * pass,

The young fellow drives the express-wagon—I love
 * him, though I do not know him,

The half-breed straps on his light boots to compete
 * in the race,

The western turkey-shooting draws old and young—
 * some lean on their rifles, some sit on logs,

Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his
 * position, levels his piece;

The groups of newly-come emigrants cover the wharf
 * or levee,

As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer
 * views them from his saddle,

The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run
 * for their partners, the dancers bow to each other,

The youth lies awake in the cedar-roofed garret, and
 * harks to the musical rain,

The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill
 * the Huron,

The reformer ascends the platform, he spouts with
 * his mouth and nose,