One gentleman, who was most active in teasing him, cried out to me,--"Mr. H---, do try and set last night's adventures to music, and sing them this evening at your concert. They would make a tre-men-dous sensation, I assure you."
The poet looked daggers at us, and seizing his carpet-bag, sprang to the deck, and from the deck to the shore, which he fortunately reached in safety, without casting a parting glance at his tormentors.
The Mountain Air.
"Rave not to me of your sparkling wine;
Bid not for me the goblet shine;
My soul is athirst for a draught more rare,
A gush of the pure, fresh mountain air!
"It wafts on its currents the rich perfume
Of the purple heath, and the honied broom;
The golden furze, and the hawthorn fair,