I must get the poem for you, Harry--it's as famous now as 'The Raven.' Richard, I hear, reads it so that you can distinguish the sound of each bell." "Well, he taught me a lesson," said Harry, tucking the blanket close around his uncle's knees--"one I have never forgotten, and never will.
He sent me to bed a wreck, I remember, but I got up the next morning with a new mast in me and all my pumps working." "You mean--" and St.George smiled meaningly and tossed his hand up as if emptying a glass.
"Yes--just that--" rejoined Harry with a nod.

"It's so hot out where I have been that a glass of native rum is as bad as a snake bite and everybody except a native leaves it alone.

But if I had gone to the North Pole instead of the equator I would have done the same.

Men like you and father, and Mr.Richard Horn and Mr.Kennedy, who have been brought up on moderation, may feel as they choose about it, but I'm going to let it alone.

It's the devil when it gets into your blood and mine's not made for it.