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Chequered life. Oh! The sky was such a sweet, clear blue, you don't know, with only two or three little darlings of white clouds floating about, like so many ducks of marabout feathers; and my pretty little dickey was frisking about in his bright brass-wire cage, and Whistling away more sweetly, if possible, than that charming Herr Von Joel at an evening party — (by-the-bye, what a sad, sad pity it is he has lost that front tooth of his). I declare, too, if the beautiful boxes of mignionette we had growing outside our parlor-windows didn't smell more divinely than the inside of that darling Delcroix's shop. As for my heavenly gold fish, positively it was quite beautiful to see the dear little pets Shining in the sun as if they were treble-gilt, and sporting in upwards of a gallon of their native element, While they kept swimming round and round their crystal prison, as though they were waltzing away, and tripping it on the light fantastic fin, for very joy. Oh! It was a perfect love of an afternoon, on that horrid, horrid Tuesday, the 3rd of July, 1832.
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