I like to meet a sweep -- uand me -- not a grown sweeper -- old ey-sweepers are by no means attractive -- but one of those tender novices, blooming through their first nigritude, the maternal washings not quite effaced from the cheek -- such as e forth with the dawn, or somewhat earlier, with their little professional notes sounding like the peep peep of a young sparrow; or liker to the matin lark should I pronouhem, in their aerial asts not seldom anticipating the sun-rise?
I have a kindly yearning towards these dim specks -- poor blots -- i blaesses -
I reverehese young Afris of our own growth -- these almost clergy imps, who sport their cloth without assumption; and from their little pulpits (the tops of eys), in the nipping air of a December m, preach a lesson of patieo mankind.
When a child, what a mysterious pleasure it was to witheir operation! to see a chit no bigger than ones-self enter, one knew not by rocess, into what seemed the fauces Avern……（内容加载失败！）
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