Darkness closed in on them as the officers stepped inside the musty interior. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG. The cloth nearly touches the floor. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. I know there’s a sort of right in your impatience at the slowness of Progress.
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