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The text
The pearlagraph, the pearlagraph, knew whitchly whether to weep

or laugh. For always down in Carolinas lovely Dinahs vaunt their

view.

Poor Isa sits a glooming so gleaming in the gloaming; the tin-

celles a touch tarnished wind no lovelinoise awound her swan's.

Hey, lass! Woefear gleam she so glooming, this pooripathete I

solde? Her beauman's gone of a cool. Be good enough to simper-

ise. If he's at anywhere she's therefor to join him. If it's to no-

where she's going to too.