A long train of numeral progressions.

I longed to be part of the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder club, if only I had boulders to hold! Or small stones. Even pebbles would have been acceptable.

Venice! dear beautiful Venice! scene of harmony and love! where all was gayety and mirth, revelry and pleasure, with what warm feelings do I recall thee to my memory; day and night were the gondoliers singing barcarolles, or the verses of [Torquato] Tasso and [Ludovico] Ariosto to Venetian airs; […]

Imagine the scene that Broadway would present were New Yorkeresses in the habit of spending their papas’ and husbands’ money when, to be poetical, / ‘The night with misty mantle spread / ’Gins dark the day and dim the azure skies.’