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The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
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Text for Page 010 [10-27-1850]

              which there is no need to elaborate into set phrase, as they are understood in-
stinctively. Finally, rocked by the undulations of her dear bosom, to sink to
repose, with her sweet lips murmuring over me.
  28. Monday. First day of my relapse into Slavery, since Danthornian days.
Off through the fresh, sunny, cold, exhilarating morning to Park Place and An-
derson�s. Arrived there Mr A biddeth me hang up my hat, and ever after to
keep close counsel as to the architectural doings which take place in his Office;
finally to fall to work on a modification and improvement and bedevilification
of the Capitol at Washington, whereat I am engaged all the day.  Verily this
Irishman is a quare divel, and a good humored one. He gave me a direction
with the most outrageous comic phiz, one eye closed knowingly, and a foot in the
air, once.  Day passed rapidly, spite of my thinking of freedom.
  29. Tuesday.   Office, as I used to put down in Bezleylian times. 
A perfect levee of patlanders, in consequence of an advertisement for masons �
Got $2 per day, fine times for manual labour.    Anderson has got the
Baltimore job, as well as the Blackwells Island one, no luck for Mr Hart. 
Very busy all day.   Anderson�s boy smart and sassy.  Mr Mack [word crossed out],
a well meaning craythurx, an sure he�s a brogue, now.		Evening fumigating
imbibing and vocalizing with Brown and Waud. All the day in a hurry.
  30. Wednesday. Office. Unwell, head ache and indigestion. Anderson
in high good humor, narrating stories of the Marquis of Waterford.  An Irish-
man has an intense [unclear word] of drollery in him, we Saxons are slow to them.
Called at Corbyn�s after diner, in consequence of a requisition to that effect.
Talk of a job.		Baudoin hath finished the masheene picture, I pay him,
leaving myself dollar less.  Pray Heaven Picton cashes up for it duly. Eve-
ning Frank Royal calleth, and I go with him to Deans in Chatham
Street. There the evening, sketching burly goldbeater and receiving
instructions about writing a letter for insertion in the Tribune
x Mac don�t like the Saxon ^|though| and like a true Celt, never forgets injury, but broods on it. June, 1851.               
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