Now I had heard of hunting slaves with blood-hounds, but never thought of actually seeing such a chase. Sympathy for the fugitive, quickened by impulsive, wrath against his pursuer, whoever he might be, shook me through; and when the dogs doing the baying burst out of the woods, half a dozen of them, and, taking the fence at a bound, came crashing through the frostburned corn-stalks, I confess to being ready to kill

The hobbling versification, the mean diction.

Deliver me, my masters, head and heart, Heart of Cadaver's candle waxes thin, When blood, spade-handed, and the logic time Drive children up like bruises to the thumb From maid and head,

squint-eyed praise