Here the driver swore fearfully, and still more apaulin’ sight to me, Betsey opened her paper and commenced readin’:

STANZES, WRITTEN ON THE DEEP.

BY BETSEY BOBBET.

The ground seems hollow unto me;

Men’s vests but mask deep perfidee;

My life has towered so hard and steep,

I seek the wild and raging deep.

Such knawing pains my soul doth rack,

That even the wild horse on the track