Chapter I: Handed It Over to Riley

By Felix McGlennon.

There never were two stauncher pals
Than I and my chum, Johnny Riley,
We’d booze together or flirt with gals,
And we valued each other highly;
Whenever there was any booze to be got,
Or somebody paid for the keg or pot,
I would collar the measure and gulp the lot,
Then I handed it over to Riley.

CHORUS.
For Riley and I were chums and we always shared
Black eyes or sugar plums, the divil a hair we cared,
When there was anything nice about, take my word,
That when I had done I handed it on to Riley!

One day while I was on a spree
Along with my chum, Johnny Riley,
One of those men they call a “D”
Came in and surveyed us slyly,
Then he grabbed me gently by the ear,
And whispered “Young man, I’ve a warrant here!”
Well, I took that warrant with the greatest fear,
Then I handed it over to Riley.--CHORUS.

One night I found a watch and chain,
While out with my chum, Johnny Riley,
And he for his share did soon complain
And he did it so awfully wily,
But as by a lamp we chanced to pass,
I saw by the light of the flaring gas
That the watch was gold but the chain was brass,
So the chain went over to Riley.--CHORUS.

One sweet spring morn I took a wife,
My best man of course was Riley,
I thought she’d be the joy of my life,
For she acted so very shyly;
But I soon found that marriage was no great fun,
For she chased me round the house with a gun,
Till I said, “Dear madam, with you I’ve done!”
And I handed her over to Riley.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1892, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music
of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK
TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

A MOTHER IS THE TRUEST FRIEND OF ALL.

Words by Eunice Monroe. Music by Robert Stanton.

We meet with many friendships as we journey o’er life’s way,
And sunny smiles around us oft are cast;
But one is ever faithful, changing ne’er from day to day,
Who always stands beside us till the last,
In poverty or woe, her heart is ever true.
And tho’ the darkest shadows o’er us fall,
She’ll be your truest friend, forever to the end,
A mother is the truest friend of all.

CHORUS.
While journeying on thro’ life,
In sorrow or in strife,
No matter what temptations may befall,
You’ll always find a friend,
Who’s faithful to the end,
A mother is the truest friend of all.

You have a loving sister, who will think of you thro’ life,
A brother who will never turn aside;
You’ll know the fond affection of a dear devoted wife,
Whose smile will cheer you on your journey wide;
Perhaps they will be true, when trouble lingers near,
Yet one is sure to answer to your call,
No matter where you roam, her heart is still your home,
A mother is the truest friend of all.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1894, by FRANK TOUSEY, New York, and entered at
Stationers’ Hall, London, England. The complete words and
music of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address,
FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore St., New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

OH! MR. HITCHIN!

Written by W. H. Archbold and Monroe H. Rosenfeld. Composed by Felix McGlennon.

Now Mr. Hitchin, gentleman, loved buxom widow Brown,
And Mrs. Brown a daughter had, a girl of great renown.
When Mr. Hitchin called one day and found the widow out,
He seemed so disappointed that the girl cried with a pout:

CHORUS.
“Oh! Mr. Hitchin! Oh! Mr. Hitchin!
Won’t you stay awhile within our cosy little kitchen;
Mother dear is out, sir, so is brother Jack,
But I can entertain you till mamma comes back!”

Now Mr. Hitchin thought the girl the fairest he had seen,
And said: “My dear, how old are you?” She answered, “Seventeen.”
And as she with her own fair hands made him a cup of tea,
He tried to steal a kiss, and then the maiden cried with
glee:--CHORUS.

As Mr. Hitchin drank the tea, he bold and bolder grew,
He squeezed the maiden’s hand and said: “Oh, ducky, I love you!”
And then he put his arm around--well, where it shouldn’t be,
While Katie cried: “Oh! Mr. Hitchin, stop! you’re tickling
me!”--CHORUS.

Just then old Missis Brown appeared, and, mad with jealousy,
Cried, “Oh, you wretch! that’s more than ever you would do for me!”
She grabbed his whiskers, punched his ribs, and screamed, “Here’s
where you die!”
And as he jumped the window, he could hear sweet Katie cry:--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1895, by FRANK TOUSEY. Entered at Stationers’ Hall,
London, England. The complete words and music of this song will
be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34
and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon
application.

KISS MY DEAR OLD MOTHER, JACK.

By George Bruce and Felix McGlennon.

Far away from dear Columbia,
In a land across the foam,
Lies a mother’s darling dying,
Far from kindred, friends and home;
And his comrade kneels beside him,
With the tear-drops in his eye,
Listening to the poor lad’s message
As he says the last good-bye.

CHORUS.
Kiss my dear old mother, Jack,
And say it came from me,
The boy who ran away from home,
And went across the sea;
Ask her to forgive me, Jack,
Her wild and erring lad,
And say that I died with a prayer on my lips,
For her and dad.

Ah! the day I well remember,
That I ran away to sea,
Dad and I had hotly quarrelled,
And in passion he struck me,
I struck him back, oh! Heaven, forgive me!
To the docks I made my way,
Stowed myself on board a vessel
That was due to sail that day.--CHORUS.

Bear the message to my mother,
How I died a life to save,
How I snatched a helpless infant
From a cruel fiery grave;
An humble cottage fiercely burning,
A frantic mother shrieking wild,
’Mongst the flames I dashed like lightning,
Gave my life but saved the child.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1892, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music
of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK
TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

A MOTHER’S WELCOME.

Written and composed by Felix McGlennon.

A wayward boy got tired of home,
And said, “I’ll go to sea,
I’ll travel all the wide world o’er,
From home restraints be free.”
His mother said, “Don’t leave me, Jack,
You are my only joy.”
But all in vain, he’d have his way,
So she said to the boy:

CHORUS.
“Good-bye, darling, good-bye, dear,
Don’t forget the loving heart that’s waiting for you here,
When you’re sad and weary and no more you wish to roam,
Your mother still will welcome you, at ‘Home, sweet home!’”

The foolish boy went off to sea,
Despite his mother’s tears,
No letter reached her from the lad
For many weary years.
He led a wild and reckless life,
But sometimes in his sleep
His mother’s sweet face he would see,
And she would sadly weep.--CHORUS.

The poor old mother waited,
And she’d sadly smile and say:
“My boy will tire of rambling
And come back to me some day.
The world to him may cruel be,
The soiled and weary dove
Will fly back to the parent nest
To find a mother’s love.”--CHORUS.

At last he tired of rambling,
And he longed for peace and rest,
And for his mother’s love he yearned,
His dearest friend and best.
But like a flower neglected,
She had pined away and died.
On earth his only comfort is,
The last words that she cried:--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1892, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music
of this song will be sent by mail for 10 cents. Address, FRANK
TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

THE LAND OF DREAMS.

Written and composed by Felix McGlennon.

A soldier brave bade his wife “good-by,”
To battle he had to go,
Bravely he fought, bravely he fell,
Fell with his face to the foe.
Sadly she mourns for her darling one,
As the shadows around her creep,
Thinking of him she will ne’er see again,
She’s sinking in slumber deep.

REFRAIN.

But light shines out of the darkness,
A loving face is there,
She hears a voice that whispers,
Banishing gloomy care;
And loving lips are pressed to hers
’Till earth like Paradise seems,
She sees her husband once again
In the land of dreams.

A wayward boy by the camp-fire sits,
A letter he reads from home,
“Come back asthore, mother’s no more,
Come back and no longer roam;
Ah! how she drooped when you left here, dear,
Ay, she drooped ’till her poor heart broke,
Watching and waiting for you to return,
Your name was the last she spoke.”

REFRAIN.

He sinks in tears by the camp-fire,
And breathes to Heaven a prayer,
He thinks of her heart-broken,
He thinks of her silvery hair;
He hears a voice, “I forgive you, dear,”
Then earth like Paradise seems,
He sees his mother once again
In the land of dreams.

A mother sits by an empty cot,
And weeps in the twilight grey,
Sad is her heart, dim are her eyes,
Baby has passed away;
“God’s will be done,” ah! the solemn words,
To her poor wounded heart brings joy,
Dreaming is she of the world ’yond the stars,
When she’ll meet her baby boy.

REFRAIN.

And two soft arms creep around her,
An angel face is there,
The light of Heaven is shining,
On a halo of golden hair;
And angel lips are pressed to hers,
’Till earth like Paradise seems,
She sees her baby once again
In the land of dreams.

Copyright, 1893, by FRANK TOUSEY. Entered at Stationers’ Hall,
London, England. The complete words and music of this song will
be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher,
34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York, Catalogues sent free upon
application.

THE SAME SWEET BELLS ARE RINGING.

Words and Music by Arthur Sinclair.

There’s a picture in my mem’ry of a happy country home,
Where a mother and her children dwelt for years;
There’s a picture in my mem’ry of a father, stern and old,
And a daughter who once fled that home in tears!
On a Sabbath morning early, as the church bells sweetly rang,
From the nest of joy and comfort where the happy birdlings sang,
I can see the scene before me as a mother begged and prayed,
And the picture of the daughter who had strayed.

CHORUS.
The same sweet bells are ringing,
The same sweet birds are singing,
The same sweet vines are clinging,
To the home of her youth in the lane!
The same sweet lips are sighing,
The same sweet eyes are crying,
The same sad heart is dying,
But she’ll never return again!

She was guiltless as an angel, so the story goes, they say,
But the passion of a father little heeds;
So, with bitter hate and anger in a frenzied mood, one day,
He drove her forth to taste life’s bitter weeds!
’Twas in vain the mother pleaded, for the one whom she loved best,
And in vain her voice came ringing, “Oh, come daughter, on me rest!”
Then the door was softly opened and just like a caged bird,
The child she loved had gone without one word.--CHORUS.

But hark! to the bitter wailing of the storm--’tis a dreadful night;
As over the deck of the ferry there darts a flash of light!
And lo! ’midst the raging torrent that falls from the starless dome,
A form leaps out in anguish and sinks in the troubled foam!
All the past is now forgotten, and when dawn shines o’er the deep,
There’s a soul at rest forever, there’s a broken heart asleep.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1893, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music
of this song will be sent by mail for 25 cents. Address, FRANK
TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

HE NEVER CARES TO WANDER FROM HIS OWN FIRESIDE.

By Felix McGlennon. Arranged by Monroe H. Rosenfeld.

Various men have various natures,
Some prefer to cross the wave,
O’er the world they like to travel,
For fresh scenes they seem to crave,
To their birth-place some cling fondly,
And their hearts are in one spot,
See the man whose home is Eden,
Happy in his humble cot!

CHORUS.
He never cares to wander from his own fireside!
He never cares to ramble or to roam;
With his children on his knee he’s as happy as can be,
For there’s no place like home, sweet home!

How his face with joy is beaming,
When the worldly toil is o’er,
As with eager step he hastens
To his humble cottage door.
Little children run to meet him,
Pleading for a fond caress,
There amongst his well-beloved ones
He can find true happiness!--CHORUS.

There’s a wife to fondly greet him,
With the lovelight in her eyes,
There’re the children ’round their daddy,
Home to him is Paradise!
Baby’s arms are round him clinging,
Baby’s lips to his are pressed,
All is peace and love and comfort,
In his home he finds sweet rest!--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1892, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music
of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK
TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

THEY ARE THE BEST FRIENDS OF ALL.

Written by Theo. Norman. Composed by Felix McGlennon.

Oh, the fairest spot on earth is to man of little worth,
Unless he finds some fellow-creature there;
But a true and loving friend to the poorest will lend
An ever cheerful, bright and sunny air.
When the sun sinks in the west, and the toiler seeks his rest,
The thought of home his weariness will cheer,
For he knows ’tis there he’ll find honest friends both true and kind,
His ever faithful wife and children dear.

CHORUS.
They are the best friends of all,
No matter whate’er may befall,
The comfort of his life,
His children and his wife--
They are the best friends of all.

Now it makes his bosom glad, when the children run to dad,
For then he has a romp with girls and boys;
While his tender, watchful mate, smiling, greets him at the gate,
Prepared to share his sorrows and his joys;
And in illness or in health, and in poverty or wealth,
When climbing up the hill or going down,
There’s a kindly, loving smile, to greet him all the while,
And even brighten fortune’s cruel frown.--CHORUS.

Then when he is growing gray, as he journeys on his way,
And Time has slightly bent his stalwart form;
Tho’ his spirit may be bold, still with hearts of purest gold,
They hasten to protect him from life’s storm--
His old wife, with face so bright, is to him a ray of light,
That with the children fills his home with love;
’Tis their pleasure and their pride, to be ever at his side,
Until he’s called to higher realms above.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1893, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music
of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK
TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

ONLY A LITTLE YALLER DOG.

By Felix McGlennon.

I will tell you a tale of a little yaller dog,
And he only was so high;
As ugly a dog as you ever did see,
And he only had one eye.
His legs were bandy and his ears were cropped,
His tail had a curl at the end,
But I’ll tell you straight, that little yaller dog
Was a true and faithful friend.

CHORUS.--He was only a little yaller, yaller dog,
The ugliest in all the land,
But I’d sooner have a wag from that little dog’s tail,
Than the grip of a false friend’s hand.

To the diggings I went with my little yaller dog,
For he would not be denied,
By day he would hang ’round the claim where I worked,
And at night slept by my side.
When luck was out, and when the food was scarce,
My courage would nearly fail,
But he’d comfort me with his joyous little bark
And a wag of his little tail.--CHORUS.

After years of toil, I a mighty nugget found,
And I buried it where I slept,
But one stormy night, as I slumbered so deep,
’Neath my tent a dim form crept--
’Twas my false friend Jim, and he on murder was bent,
His hand held a gleaming knife,
I awoke with a start, to see that yellow dog
Grip his throat, and save my life.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1893, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music
of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK
TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

THE SHIP I LOVE.

By Felix McGlennon.

A gallant ship was lab’ring,
Lab’ring in the sea;
The captain stood amongst his crew,
“Gather ’round!” said he.
“The ship is doomed and sinking,
There on the lee is land,
Then launch the boats and pull away,
But here at my post I’ll stand.
Good-bye, my lads, good-bye!
Good-bye, my lads, good-bye!”

CHORUS.
I’ll stick to the ship, lads, you save your lives,
I’ve no one to love me, you’ve children and wives;
You take to the boats, lads, praying to heaven above,
While I’ll go down in the angry deep with the ship I love.

The crew stood hesitating,
Their hearts were staunch and true;
With tear-dimmed eyes spoke up the mate,
“Sir, we will die with you!”
The captain cried, “What! Mutiny!
I am the captain here!
So launch the boats and pull away,
And think of your children dear.
Good-bye, my lads, good-bye!
Good-bye, my lads, good-bye!”--CHORUS.

The fierce winds howl ’round the sinking wreck,
And the captain stands on the wave-washed deck;
The good ship struggles like a thing of life,
And the timbers groan in the awful strife;
Slowly, slowly, sinking is she,
But the captain, brave--ah, where is he?
Down he goes to a sailor’s grave,
As his last words are wafted across the wave:
“Good-bye, my lads, good-bye!
Good-bye, my lads, good-bye!”--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1893, by FRANK TOUSEY. Entered at Stationers’ Hall,
London, England. The complete words and music of this song will
be sent by mail for 25 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher,
34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon
application.

THE OLD, OLD FRIENDS, IN THE OLD, OLD HOME.

Composed by Felix McGlennon.

In my wand’ring dreams, oft to me it seems,
I can see the dear old home of youth;
Fields and pleasant glade, where so oft I’ve played,
Home of beauty, virtue, love and truth.
Many years have passed since I saw it last,
Since I went in foreign lands to roam;
And where’er I be, still I love to see
Faces of my dear old friends at home.

CHORUS.
Oh! the old, old friends, in the old, old home,
Are they thinking of the wand’rer o’er the foam?
There’s a vacant chair, and I’ll soon be there,
In the old, old home!

O’er the distant years, thro’ a mist of tears,
I recall my mother fond and true;
“Good-bye, darling Jack, you will soon come back,”
Thus with broken voice she bade adieu.
Ah! the sad good-byes, tears were in all eyes,
As once more I gripped each friendly hand;
Do they think of me, far across the sea,
Striving, toiling in a foreign land?--CHORUS.

Once again I see faces dear to me,
Longing for the wanderer’s return;
O’er the boundless tide, by the old fireside
Once again to be my heart doth yearn,
Back to home and friends, there my journey ends,
Soon again I’ll see my native shore;
Loving hearts will greet when at length we meet,
Meet to part on earth, ah! never more.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1892, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music
of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK
TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

DOWN AT THE FARM-YARD GATE.

By Felix McGlennon.

Johnny Green once used to wait for his girl,
Down at the farm-yard gate!
With his whiskers trimm’d and a nice little curl,
Down at the farm-yard gate!
He would sit on the gate and he’d cry “Chuckoo!
’Aint you coming out, darling? do love, do,
For my toes is cold and my nose is blue,”
Down at the farm-yard gate!

CHORUS.
Oh, that farm-yard gate!
Johnny was there, early and late,
Whistling and singing, Are you coming out, Kate?
Down at the farm-yard gate!

She would come out and they both would sing,
Down at the farm-yard gate!
And he then would talk like a silly thing,
Down at the farm-yard gate!
They would sit there for hours and they’d whisper low,
Then her dad would come out and he’d laugh, Ho! ho!
Then Johnny had to sit on the old man’s toe,
Down at the farm-yard gate!--CHORUS.

Now Kate’s little brother once took some tar
Down to the farm-yard gate!
And he spread it all over the topmost bar,
Down at the farm-yard gate!
Now Johnny sat there, and he said “My duck,”
And Kate sat there and she said “Chuck-chuck,”
And they had to sit there for they both had stuck
Down at the farm-yard gate!--CHORUS.

Those lovers ne’er speak now as they pass by,
Down to the farm-yard gate!
If you go there you’ll find out the reason why,
Down at the farm-yard gate!
You’ll see a bustle if you’re not blind,
A portion of pants you will also find,
It’s the part that he used to wear behind,
Down at the farm-yard gate!--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1893, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music
of this song will be sent by mail for 25 cents. Address, FRANK
TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

SHE LEFT THE MAN WHO LOVED HER FOR ANOTHER.

Words and music by George Bruce and Felix McGlennon.

In a little country village
Lived a farmer and his wife,
She was young and rich with beauty,
Sunshine of her husband’s life;
But the snake crept in his Eden,
In the guise of trusted friend,

And the dreams fond love had cherished,
Came they to a fatal end;
One night when he reached his homestead,
His fond heart was turned to stone,
She, the wife he loved so dearly,
With his dearest friend had flown!

CHORUS.
She left the man who loved her for another,
She was the sunshine of his life;
Her vows of faith and duty she’d forgotten,
Broke the link that made them man and wife!

In a handsome furnished chamber
Stand betrayer and betrayed;
He is scornful; she is pleading;
Ah! what havoc Time has made!
She is white-faced, trembling, hopeless,
And she feels dishonor’s shame,
For the man who stands before her,
She has ruined a husband’s name;
He, grown weary of his victim,
Says, “’Tis better we should part!”
In his soul there is no pity
For her crushed and breaking heart.--CHORUS.

In the streets of a great city,
One cold, bitter winter’s night,
On a door-step lies a woman,
’Round her fall the snowflakes white;
By her side a man is kneeling,
“Mary!” is his bitter cry--
“You for months I have been seeking,
Now I’ve found you, do not die!”
Hear her pleading for forgiveness,
As he clasps her to his breast,
Just one kiss, one murmured “good-bye!”
And her soul in death finds rest.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1892, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music
of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK
TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York.
Catalogues sent free upon application.

SCENES FROM THE DRAMA OF LIFE.

Written by Norton Atkins. Composed by Felix McGlennon.

Life is but a mighty drama,
Wherein each must play a part;
Some with happy, smiling features,
Others with an aching heart.
When night falls upon the city,
See a man with darken’d face,
He’s a burglar and his object
Breaking in this rich man’s place.

CHORUS.
See with what vigor his “jimmy” he plies,
Leaps thro’ the window, “Now for it!” he cries,
“Hark! what is that? an alarm, a surprise,”
He mutters with terror now rife.
Then comes a flash, a report of a gun,
A man on his knees crying, “What have I done!
Oh God! I have kill’d him, the scapegrace, my son!”
That’s a scene from the Drama of Life!

’Tis the gory field of battle,
Where the conflict rages high,
And the two opposing armies
Now have sworn to do or die.
See this brave young private soldier,
’Mid the crash of shot and shell,
He has proved himself a hero,
Bravely he has fought and well.

CHORUS.
Wounded he lies when the battle is o’er,
Thinking of those on a far-distant shore,
Thinking of those he will see never more,
Thinking of his children and wife.
“Merciful God! who is Great and All-wise,
Save them from danger!” he tearfully cries,
One murmur’d prayer and he falls back and dies,
That’s a scene from the Drama of Life!

Copyright, 1894, by FRANK TOUSEY. Entered at Stationers’ Hall,
London, England. The complete words and music of this song will
be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher,
34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free
upon application.

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS.

Words by George Horncastle. Music by Felix McGlennon.

Just upon the stroke of midnight,
See a man walk down the street,
He for work all day has hunted,
Is heart-broken, sore of feet;
He looks for a lowly lodging,
When there comes a piteous cry
From a woman, “I am starving,
Help me, sir, or I shall die!”

CHORUS.
He thinks of that coin, his night’s lodging ’twill pay,
Then looks on that face and its tresses so gray,
Then in charity gives his last penny away,
Actions speak louder than words.

From the club at early morning,
Someone’s husband’s just come home,
He’s been gone six hours and over,
Went out for ten minutes’ roam;
Thus he’s greeted by his spousey:
“Where have you been all the night?
Can’t you speak, you helpless idiot?
Tell me, are you speechless tight?”

CHORUS.
He gives a sly wink, then he throws down his hat,
Tries to pull off his boots, then he tumbles down flat,
Hangs his watch on the floor, goes to sleep on the cat,
Actions speak louder than words.

Copyright, 1891, by FRANK TOUSEY. Entered at Librarian of
Congress, Washington, D. C., U. S. A., and Stationer’s Hall,
London, England. The complete words and music of this song will
be sent by mail for 10 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher,
34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free
upon application.

Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

Italics are represented thus _italic_.