A low-roofed inn and stable,

    A creaking sign displayed,

   An antiquated wherry,

   Below it—"DOBBS HIS FERRY"—

    In the clear moonlight swayed.

   I turned, and there the craft was,

   Its shape 'twixt scow and raft was,

    Square ends, low sides, and flat,

   And standing close beside me,

   An ancient chap who eyed me,

    Beneath a steeple-hat;

   Short legs—long pipe—style very

   Pre-Revolutionary,—

    I bow, he grimly bobs,

   Then, with some perturbation,

   By way of salutation,

    Says I, "How are you, Dobbs!"

   He grum and silent beckoned,

   And I, in half a second,

    Scarce knowing what I did,

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