hundred and fourth interpretation of Beast in Apocalypse,
christens Hon. B. Sawin, then an infant,
an addition to our _sylva_ proposed by,
curious and instructive adventure of,
his account with an unnatural uncle,
his uncomfortable imagination,
speculations concerning Cincinnatus,
confesses digressive tendency of mind,
goes to work on sermon (not without fear that his readers will dub
him with a reproachful epithet like that with which Isaac Allerton,
a Mayflower man, revenges himself on a delinquent debtor of his,
calling him in his will, and thus holding him up to posterity, as
'John Peterson, THE BORE'),
his modesty,
disclaims sole authorship of Mr. Biglow's writings,
his low opinion of prepensive autographs,
a chaplain in 1812,
cites a heathen comedian,
his fondness for the Book of Job,
preaches a Fast-Day discourse,
is prevented from narrating a singular occurrence,
is presented with a pair of new spectacles,
his church services indecorously sketched by Mr. Sawin,
hopes to decipher a Runic inscription,
a fable by,
deciphers Runic inscription,
his method therein,
is ready to reconsider his opinion of tobacco,
his opinion of the Puritans,
his death,
born in Pigsgusset,
letter of Rev. Mr. Hitchcock concerning,
fond of Milton's Christmas hymn,
his monument (proposed),
his epitaph,
his last letter,
his supposed disembodied spirit,
table belonging to,
sometimes wrote Latin verses,
his table-talk,
his prejudices,
against Baptists,
his sweet nature,
his views of style,
a story of his.
Wildbore, a vernacular one, how to escape.
Wilkes, Captain, borrows rashly.
Wind, the, a good Samaritan.
Wingfield, his 'Memorial'.
Wooden leg,
remarkable for sobriety,
never eats pudding.
Woods, the. See _Belmont_.
Works, covenants of, condemned.
World, this, its unhappy temper.
Wright, Colonel, providentially rescued.
Writing, dangerous to reputation.
Wrong, abstract, safe to oppose.

Yankees, their worst wooden nutmegs.

Zack, Old.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

A beggar through the world am I,
A camel-driver, angry with his drudge,
A heap of bare and splintery crags,
A hundred years! they're quickly fled,
A legend that grew in the forest's hush,
A lily thou wast when I saw thee first,
A poet cannot strive for despotism,
A presence both by night and day,
A race of nobles may die out,
A stranger came one n