Excerpt from The Yale Literary Magazine, Vol. 40: February, 1875

Here we are once again on the merry old lake Where a few months ago we were gallantly rowing Yet what's an oar now but a clumsy Old stake Since we've found such an expedite method of going? For now we go sliding and whirling and gliding And darting like phantoms and fairies along, With motions so airy and voices so merry, The hills seem to dance as they echo our song.

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