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Ir greatly grieved us to think that Dr. Kitchiner should have died before our numerous avocations had allowed us an opportunity of dining with him, and subjecting to the test-act of our experienced palate his claims to immortality as a Cook and a Christian. The Doctor had, we know, a dread of Us-not altogether unalloyed by delight; and on the dinner to Us, which he had meditated for nearly a quarter of a century, he knew and felt must have hung his reputation with posterity-his posthumous fame. We understand that there is an unfinished sketch of that Dinner among the Doctor's papers, and that the design is magnificent. Yet, perhaps, it is better for his glory that Kitchiner should have died without attempting to imbody in forms the idea of that Dinner. It might have been a failure. How liable to imperfection the matériel on which he would have had to work! How defective the instruments! Yes-yes!-happier far was it for the good old man that he should have fallen asleep with the undimmed idea of that unattempted Dinner in his imagination, than, vainly contending with the physical evil inherent in matter, have detected the Bishop's foot in the first course, and died of a broken heart!

"Travelling," it is remarked by our poor dear Doctor in his Traveller's Oracle, "is a recreation to be recommended, especially to those whose employments are sedentary-who are engaged in abstract studies-whose minds have been sunk in a state of morbid melancholy by hypochondriasis, or, by what is worst of all, a lack of domestic felicity. Nature, however, will not suffer any sudden transition; and therefore it is improper for people accustomed to a sedentary life to undertake suddenly a journey, during which they will be exposed to long and violent jolting. The case here is the same as if one accustomed to drink water, should, all at once, begin to drink wine."

Had the Doctor been alive, we should have asked him what he meant by "long and violent jolting." Jolting is now absolutely unknown in England, and it is of England the Doctor speaks. No doubt,

some occasional jolting might still be discovered among the lanes and cross-roads; but, though violent, it could not be long: and we defy the most sedentary gentleman living to be more so, when sitting in an easy chair by his parlor fireside, than in a cushioned carriage spinning along the turnpike. But for the trees and hedge-rows all galloping by, he would never know that he was himself in motion. The truth is, that no gentleman can be said, nowaday's, to lead a sedentary life, who is not constantly travelling before the insensible touch of M'Adam. Look at the first twenty people that come towering by on the roof of a Highflier or a Defiance. What can be more sedentary? Only look at that elderly gentleman with the wig, evidently a parson, jammed in between a brace of buxom virgins on their way down to Doncaster races. Could he be more scdentary, during the psalm, in his own pulpit?

The Doctor then wisely remarks, that it is "impossible to lay down any rule by which to regulate the number of miles a man may journey in a day, or to prescribe the precise number of ounces he ought to eat; but that nature has given us a very excellent guide in a sense of lassitude, which is as unerring in exercise as the sense of satiety is in eating."

We say the Doctor wisely remarks, yet not altogether wisely; for the rule does not seem to hold always good either in exercise or in eating. What more common than to feel one's self very much fatigued-quite done up as it were, and unwilling to stir hand or foot. Up goes a lark in heaventira-lira-or suddenly the breezes blow among the clouds, who forthwith all begin campaigning in the sky-or, quick as lightning, the sunshine in a moment resuscitates a drowned day-or tripping along, all by her happy self, to the sweet accompaniment of her joy-varied songs, the woodman's daughter passes by on her way, with a basket in her hand, to her father in the forest, who has already laid down his axe on the meridian shadow darkening one side of the straight stem of an oak, beneath whose grove might be drawn up five score of plumed

deplorable case as this, is just about to end, and death is beginning to take place. Thank heaven, it is a condition to which we do not remember having very nearly approximated! Who ever saw us yawn? or drowsy? or with our appetite impaired, except on the withdrawal of the table-cloth? or low-spirited, but when the Glenlivet was at ebb? Who dare declare that he ever saw our mouth dry? or sensible of a bitter taste, since we gave over munching rowans? Put your finger on our wrist, at any moment you choose, from June to January, from January to June, and by its pulsation you may rectify Harrison's or Kendal's chronometer.

But the Doctor proceeds-" By raising the temperature of my room to about 65°, a broth diet, and taking a tea-spoonful of Epsom salts in half a pint of warm water, and repeating it every half hour till it moves the bowels twice or thrice, and retiring to rest an hour or two sooner than usual, I have often very speedily got rid of colds," etc.

Why, there may be no great harm in acting as above. A tea-spoonful of Epsom salts in half a pint of warm water, reminds one, somehow or other, of Tims. A small matter works a cockney. It is not so easy-and that the cockneys well know-to move the bowels of old Christopher North. We do not believe that a tea-spoonful of any thing in this world would have any serious effect on old "Ironsides." We should have no hesitation in backing him against so much corrosive sublimate. would dine out on the day he had bolted that quantity of arsenic ;-and would, we verily believe, rise triumphant from a tea-spoonful of Prussic acid.

He

chivalry! Where is your sense of lassitude now, | place." Why, our dear Doctor, illness in such a nature's unerring guide in exercise?" You spring up from the mossy wayside bank, and renewed both in mind and body, "rejoicing in nature's joy,' you continue to pass over houseless moors, by small, single, solitary, straw-roofed huts, through villages gathered round Stone Cross, Elm Grove, or old Monastic Tower, till, unwearied in lith and limb, you see sunset beautifying all the west, and drop in, perhaps, among the hush of the Cottar's Saturday Night-for it is in sweet Scotland we are walking in our dream-and know not, till we have stretched ourselves on a bed of rushes or of heather, that "kind nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," is yet among the number of our bosom friendsalas! daily diminishing beneath fate, fortune, the sweeping scythe-stroke of death, or the whisper of some one poor, puny, idle, and unmeaning word! Then, as to the "sense of satiety in eating." It is produced in us by three platefuls of hotch-potch -and, to the eyes of an ordinary observer, our dinner would seem to be at an end. But nostrictly speaking, it is just going to begin. About an hour ago did we, standing on the very beautiful bridge of Perth, see that identical salmon, with his back-fin just visible above the translucent tide, arrowing up the Tay, bold as a bridegroom, and nothing doubting that he should spend his honeymoon among the gravel beds of Kinnaird or Moulenearn, or the rocky sofas of the Tummel, or the green marble couches of the Tilt. What has become now of "the sense of satiety in eating!" John -the castors ! - mustard-vinegar cayennecatchup-peas and potatoes, with a very little butter the biscuit called "rusk"-and the memory of the hotch-potch is as that of Babylon the Great. That any gigot of mutton, exquisite though much of the five-year-old blackfaced must assuredly be, can, with any rational hopes of success, contend against a haunch of venison, will be asserted by no devout lover of truth. Try the two by alternate platefuls, and you will uniformly find that you leave off after the venison. That "sense of satiety in eating," of which Dr. Kitchiner speaks, was produced by the Tay salmon devoured above-but of all the transitory feelings of us transitory creatures on our transit through this transitory world, in which the Doctor asserts nature will not suffer any sudden transitions, the most transitory ever experienced by us is "the sense of satiety in eating." Therefore, we have now seen it for a moment existing on the disappearance of the hotch-potch-dying on the appearance of the Tay salmon-once more noticeable as the last plate of the noble fish melted away-extinguished suddenly by the vision of the venison-again felt for an instant, and but for an instant for a brace and a half of as fine grouse as ever expanded their voluptuous bosoms to be devoured by hungry love! Sense of satiety in eating, indeed! If you please, my dear friend, one of the backs-pungent with the most palate-piercing, stomach-stirring, heart-warming, soul-exalting of all tastes-the wild bitter-sweet.

But the Doctor returns to the subject of travelling and fatigue. "When one begins," he says, to be low-spirited and dejected, to yawn often and be drowsy, when the appetite is impaired, when the smallest movement occasions a fluttering of the pulse, when the mouth becomes dry, and is sensible of a bitter taste, seek refreshment and repose, if you wish to PREVENT ILLNESS, already beginning to take

We could mention a thousand cures for "colds, et cetera," more efficacious than a broth diet, a warm room, a tea-spoonful of Epsom salts, or early roosting. What say you, our dear Dean, to half a dozen tumblers of hot toddy? Your share of a brown jug to the same amount? Or an equal quantity, in its gradual decrease revealing deeper and deeper still the romantic Welsh scenery of the Devil's Punch-Bowl? Adde tot small-bearded oysters, all redolent of the salt-sea foam, and worthy, as they stud the Ambrosial brodd, to be licked off all at once by the lambent tongue of Neptune. That antiquated calumny against the character of toasted cheese-that, forsooth, it is indigestible— has been trampled under the march of mind; and therefore you may tuck in a pound of double Gloucester. Other patients, laboring under catarrh, may, very possibly, prefer the roasted how-towdy-or the green goose from his first stubble-field-or why not, by way of a little variety, a roasted mawkin, midway between hare and leveret, tempting as maiden between woman and girl, or, as the Eastern poet says, between a frock and a gown? Go to bed-no need of warming pans-about a quarter before one;-you will not hear that small hour strike-you will sleep sound till sunrise, sound as the Black Stone at Scone, on which the Kings of Scotland were crowned of old. And if you contrive to carry a cold about you next day, you deserve to be sent to Coventry by all sensible people-and may, if you choose, begin taking, with Tims, a teaspoonful of Epsom salts in a half pint of warm water every half hour, till it moves your bowels twice or thrice; but if you do, be your sex, politics, or religion what they may, never shall ye be suffered to contribute even a bit of Balaam to the Magazine.

SECOND COURSE.

squirearchy with a corresponding sprinkling of
superior noblemen from lords to dukes-and then
to compare them, cheek by jowl, with an equal
number of external objects taken from the common
run of cockneys. This, Doctor, is manifestly what
you are ettling at-but you must clap your hand,
Doctor, without discrimination, on the great body
of the rural population of England, male and female,

ABOVE all things, continues Dr. Kitchiner, "avoid travelling through the night, which by interrupting sleep, and exposing the body to the night air, is always prejudicial, even in the mildest weather, and to the strongest constitutions." Pray, Doctor, what ails you at the night air? If the night air be, even in the mildest weather, prejudicial to the and take whatever comes firststrongest constitutions, what do you think becomes be it a poor, wrinkled, toothless, of the cattle on a thousand hills? Why don't all blear-eyed, palsied hag, tottering the bulls in Bashan die of the asthma-or look inhorizontally on a staff, under the teresting by moonlight in a galloping consumption? load of a premature old age, (for Nay, if the night air be so very fatal, how do you she is not yet fifty,) brought on account for the longevity of owls? Have you by annual rheumatism and perennever read of the Chaldean shepherds watching the nial poverty; be it a young, courses of the stars? Or, to come nearer our own ugly unmarried woman, far advantimes, do you not know that every blessed night ced in pregnancy, and sullenly throughout the year, thousands of young lads and trooping to the alehouse, to meet lasses meet, either beneath the milk-white thornthe overseer of the parish poor, or on the lea-rig, although the night be ne'er sae who, enraged with the unborn wet, and they be ne'er sae weary-or under a rock bastard, is about to force the on the hill-or-no uncommon case-beneath a parish bully to marry the parish frozen stack-not of chimneys, but of corn-sheaves prostitute;-be it a landlord of a -or on a couch of snow-and that they are all as rural inn, with pig eyes peering over his ruby warm as so many pies; while, instead of feeling cheeks, the whole machinery of what you call "the lack of vigor attendant on the his mouth so deranged by tipploss of sleep, which is as enfeebling and as distress-ling that he simultaneously snorts, ing as the languor that attends the want of food," they are, to use a homely Scotch expression, "neither too haud nor bind," the eyes of the young lads being all as brisk, bold, and bright as the stars in Charles's Wain, while those of the young lasses shine with a soft, faint, obscure, but beautiful lustre, like the dewy Pleiades, over which nature has insensibly been breathing a mist almost waving and wavering into a veil of clouds ?

Have you, our dear Doctor, no compassion for those unfortunate blades, who, nolentes-volentes, must remain out perennially all night-we mean the blades of grass, and also the flowers? Their constitutions seem often far from strong; and shut your eyes on a frosty night, and you will hear them -we have done so many million times-shivering, ay, absolutely shivering under their coat of hoarfrost! If the night air be indeed what Dr. Kitchiner has declared it to be-Lord have mercy on the vegetable world! What agonies in that field of turnips! Alas, poor Swedes! The imagination recoils from the condition of that club of winter cabbages-and of what materials, pray, must the heart of that man be made, who could think but for a moment on the case of those carrots, without bursting into a flood of tears!

The Doctor avers that the firm health and fine spirits of persons who live in the country, are not more from breathing a purer air, than from enjoying plenty of sound sleep; and the most distressing misery of "this elysium of bricks and mortar," is the rareness with which we enjoy "the sweets of a slumber unbroke."

Doctor-in the first place, it is somewhat doubtful whether or not persons who live in the country have firmer health and finer spirits than persons who live in towns-even in London. What kind of persons do you mean? You must not be allowed to select some dozen or two of the hairiest among the curates a few chosen rectors whose faces have been but lately elevated to the purple-a team of prebends issuing sleek from their golden stalls-a picked bishop-a sacred band, the élite of the

stutters, slavers and snores-pot-
bellied-shanked like a spindle-
strae-and bidding fair to be
buried on or before Saturday
week;-be it a half-drunk horse-
cowper, swinging to and fro in a
wraprascal, on a bit of broken-
down blood that once won a
fifty, every sentence, however
short, having but two intelligible
words, an oath and a lie-his
heart rotten with falsehood, and
his bowels burned up with
brandy, so that sudden death may pull him from
his saddle before he put spurs
to his sporting filly that she
may bilk the turnpike man, and
carry him more speedily home
to beat or murder his poor,
pale, industrious char-woman
of a wife;-be it-not a beg-
gar, for beggars are prohibited
from this parish-but a pauper
in the sulks, dying on her pit-
tance from the poor-rates, which
altogether amount in merry
England but to about the paltry
sum of, more or less, six mil-
lions a year-her son, all the
while, being in a thriving way
as a general merchant in the capital of the parish,
and with clear profits from his business of three
hundred pounds per annum, yet suffering the
mother that bore him, and suckled him, and wash-
ed his childish hands, and combed the bumpkin's
hair, and gave him Epsoms in a cup when her dear
Jonny-raw had the belly-ache, to go down, step by
step, as surely and as obviously as one is seen going
down a stair with a feeble hold of the banisters,
and stumbling every footfall, down that other flight
of steps that consist of flags that are mortal damp
and mortal cold, and lead to nothing but a parcel
of rotten planks, and overhead a vault dripping

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with perpetual moisture, green and slobbery, such as toads delight in crawling heavily through with now and then a bloated leap, and hideous things more worm-like, that go wriggling briskly in and out among the refuse of the coffins, and are heard, by imagination at least, to emit faint angry sounds, because the light of day has hurt their eyes, and the air from the upper world weakened the rank savory smell of corruption, clothing, as with a pall, all the inside walls of the tombs;-be it a man yet in the prime of life as to years, six feet and an inch high, and measuring round the chest fortyeight inches, (which is more, reader, than thou dost by six, we bet a sovereign, member although thou even be'st of the Edinburgh Six Feet Club,) to whom Washington Irving's Jack Tibbets was but a Tims-but then ever so many game-keepers met him all alone in my lord's pheasant preserve, and though two of them died within the month, two within the year, and two are now in the workhouse

one a mere idiot, and the other a madman-both shadows-so terribly were their bodies mauled, and so sorely were their skulls fractured ;-yet the poacher was taken, tried, hulked; and there he sits now, sunning himself on a bank by the edge of a wood whose haunts he must thread no more-for the keepers were grim bone-breakers enough in their way-and when they had gotten him on his back, one gouged him like a Yankee, and the other bit off his nose like a Bolton trotter-and one smashed his os frontis with the nailed heel of a two pound wooden clog, a Preston Purrer; so that Master Allonby is now far from being a beauty, with a face of that description attached to a head wagging from side to side under a powerful palsy, while the Mandarin drinks damnation to the Lord of the Manor in a horn of eleemosynary ale, handed to him by the village blacksmith, in days of old not the worst of the gang, and who, but for a stupid jury, a merciful judge, and something like prevarication in the circumstantial evidence, would have been hanged for a murderer-as he was-dissected, and hung in chains;-be it a red-haired woman, with a pug-nose, small fiery eyes, high cheekbones, bulging lips, and teeth like swine-tusks, bearded-flat-breasted as a man -tall, scambling in her gait, but swift, and full of wild motions in her weather-withered arms, all starting with sinews like whipcord-the Pedestrian Post to and fro the market town twelve miles off-and so powerful a pugilist that she hit Grace Maddox senseless in seven minutes-tried before she was eighteen for child-murder, but not hanged, although the man-child,

consciously destroyed her offspring in the throes of travail, if indeed it had ever breathed, for the lungs. would not swim, he swore in a basin of water-so the incestuous murderess was let loose; her brother got hanged in due time after the mutiny at the Nore-and her father, the fishmonger-why he went red raving mad as if a dog had bitten himand died, as the same surgeon and sow-gelder averred, of the hydrophobia, foaming at the mouth, gnashing his teeth, and some said cursing, but that was a calumny, for something seemed to be the matter with his tongue, and he could not speak, only splutter-nobody venturing, except his amiable daughter-and in that particular act of filial affection she was amiable-to hold in the article of death the old man's head ;-be

it that moping idiot that would sit, where she suffered, on, on, on-night and day for ever, on the selfsame spot, whatever that spot might be on which she happened to squat at morning, mound, wall, or stone-motionless, dumb, and, as a stranger would think, also blind, for the eyelids are still shut-never opened in sun or storm;-yet that figure-that which is now, and has for years been, an utter and hopeless idiot, was once a gay, laughing, dancing, singing girl, whose blue eyes seemed full of light, whether they looked on earth or heaven, the flowers or the stars her sweet-heart-a rational young man, it would appear-having leapt out upon her suddenly, as she was passing through the churchyard at night, from behind a tomb-stone in a sack which she, having little time for consideration, and being naturally superstitious, supposed to be a shroud, and the wearer thereof, who was an active stripling of sound flesh and blood, to be a ghost or skeleton, all one horrid rattle of bones; so that the trick succeeded far beyond the most sanguine expectation of the Tailor who played the principal part-and sense, feeling, memory, imagination, and reason, were all felled by one blow of fear--as butcher felleth oxwhile by one of those mysteries, which neither we, nor you, nor anybody else, can understand, life remained not only unimpaired, but even invigorated; and there she sits, like a clock wound up to go a certain time, the machinery of which being good, has not been altogether deranged by the shock that sorely cracked the case, and will work till the chain is run down, and then it will tick no more;-be it that tall, fair, lovely girl, so thin and attenuated that all wonder she can walk by herself-that she is not blown away even by the gentle summer breeze that woos the hectic of her cheek-dying all see-and none better than her poor old mother-and yet herself thoughtless of the coming doom, and cheerful as a nestbuilding bird-while her lover, too deep in despair to be betrayed into tears, as he carries her to her couch, each successive

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of which the drab was self-delivered in a ditch, was found with blue finger-marks on its wind-pipe, bloody mouth, and eyes forced out of their sockets, buried in the dunghill behind her father's hut-not hanged, because a surgeon, originally bred a sow-day, feels the dear and dreadful burden lighter and gelder, swore that he believed the mother had un

lighter in his arms. Small strength will it need to

support her bier! The coffin, as if empty, will be | have walked many hundred times the diameter and lowered unfelt by the hands that hold those rueful cords!

THIRD COURSE.

HAVING thus briefly instructed travellers how to get a look at Lions, the Doctor suddenly exclaims -“IMPRIMIS, BEWARE OF DOGS!" "There have," he says, "been many arguments, pro and con, on the dreadful disease their bite produces-it is enough to prove that multitudes of men, women and children have died in consequence of having been bitten by dogs. What does it matter whether they were the victims of bodily disease or mental irritation? The life of the most humble human being is of more value than all the dogs in the world-dare the most brutal cynic say otherwise ?"

Dr. Kitchiner always travelled, it appears, in chaises; and a chaise of one kind or other, he recommends to all his brethren of mankind. Why, then, this intense fear of the canine species? Who ever saw a mad dog leap into the mail-coach, or even a gig? The creature when so afflicted, hangs his head, and goes snapping right and left at pedestrians. Poor people like us, who must walk, may well fear hydrophobia-though, thank heaven, we have never, during the course of a tolerably long and well-spent life, been so much as once bitten by "the rabid animal!" But what have rich authors, who loll in carriages, to dread from dogs, who always go on foot? We cannot credit the very sweeping assertion, that multitudes of men, women, and children have died in consequence of being bitten by dogs. Even the newspapers do not run up the amount above a dozen per annum, from which you may safely deduct two-thirds. Now, four men, women and children, are not "a multitude." Of those four, we may set down two as problematical -having died, it is true, in, but not of hydrophobia -states of mind and body wide as the poles asunder. He who drinks two bottles of pure spirits every day he buttons and unbuttons his breeches, generally dies in a state of hydrophobia-for he abhorred water, and knew instinctively the jug containing that insipid element. But he never dies at all of hydrophobia, there being evidence to prove that for twenty years he had drunk nothing but brandy. Suppose we are driven to confess the other two-why, one of them was an old woman of eighty, who was dying as fast as she could hobble, at the very time she thought herself bitten and the other a ninety-year old brat, in hooping cough and measles, who, had there not been such a quadruped as a dog created, would have worried itself to death before evening, so lamentably had its education been neglected, and so dangerous an accomplishment is an impish temper. The twelve cases for the year of that most horrible disease, hydrophobia, have, we flatter ourselves, been satisfactorily disposed of eight of the alleged deceased being at this moment engaged at various handicrafts on low wages indeed, but still such as enable the industrious to live—two having died of drinking— one of extreme old age, and one of a complication of complaints incident to childhood, their violence having, in this particular instance, been aggravated by neglect and a devilish temper. Where, now, the "multitude" of men, women, and children, who have died in consequence of being bitten by mad dogs!

Gentle reader-a mad dog is a bugbear; we

the circumference of this our habitable globe-along all roads, public and private-with stiles or turnpike-metropolitan streets and suburban pathsand at all seasons of the revolving year and day; but never, as we padded the hoof along, met we nor were overtaken by greyhound, mastiff, or cur, in a state of hydrophobia. We have many million times seen them with their tongues lolling out about a yard-their sides panting-flag struck--and the whole dog showing symptoms of severe distress. That such travellers were not mad, we do not assert-they may have been mad-but they certainly were fatigued; and the difference, we hope, is often considerable between weariness and insanity. Dr. Kitchiner, had he seen such dogs as we have seen, would have fainted on the spot. He would have raised the country against the barmless jog-trotter. Pitchforks would have gleamed in the setting sun, and the flower of the agricultural youth of a midland country, forming a levy en masse, would have offered battle to a turnspit. The Doctor, sitting in his coach-like Napoleon at Waterloo-would have cried "Tout est perdu-sauve qui peut ?"—and regalloping to a provincial town, would have found refuge under the gateway of the Hen and Chickens.

"The life of the most humble human being," quoth the Doctor, "is of more value than all the dogs in the world-dare the most brutal cynic say otherwise?"

This question is not put to us; for so far from being the most brutal cynic, we do not belong to the cynic school at all-being an Eclectic, and our philosophy composed chiefly of Stoicism, Epicureanism, and Peripateticism-with a fine, pure, clear, bold dash of Platonicism. The most brutal cynic, if now alive and snarling, must therefore answer for himself-while we tell the Doctor, that so far from holding, with him, that the life of the most humble human being is of more value than all the dogs in the world, we, on the contrary, verily believe that there is many an humble dog whose life far transcends in value the lives of many men, women, and children. Whether or not dogs have souls, is a question in philosophy never yet solved; although we have ourselves no doubt on the subject, and firmly believe that they have souls.

But the question, as put by the Doctor, is not about souls, but about lives; and as the human soul does not die when the human body does, the death of an old woman, middle-aged man, or young child, is no such very great calamity, either to themselves or to the world. Better, perhaps, that all the dogs now alive should be massacred, to prevent hydrophobia, than that a human soul should be lost; but not a single human soul is going to be lost, although the whole canine species should become insane to-morrow. Now, would the Doctor have laid one hand on his heart and the other on his Bible, and take a solemn oath that rather than one old woman of a century and a quarter should suddenly be cut off by the bite of a mad dog, he would have signed the warrant of execution of all the packs of harriers and fox-hounds, all the pointers, spaniels, setters, and cockers, all the stag-hounds, greyhounds, and lurchers, all the Newfoundlanders, shepherd-dogs, mastiffs, bull-dogs, and terriers, the infinite generation of mongrels and crosses included, in Great Britain and Ireland-to say nothing of the sledge-drawers in Kamschatka, and in the realms slow-moving near the Pole? To clench the

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