This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1898. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... puppys nose, to bung its scenting-channelMoreThis historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1898. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... puppys nose, to bung its scenting-channel up. Place a bar before its mouth, a gag between its teeth, between its tongue-strings lay a check, so that it cannot ope its jaws, nor separate its teeth.
If that is not enough, take the backmost hedge-stake of the field, the lowest railing of the fence to stop the mouth of the hunting-dog, to press with it the puppys head, so that it can no more give tongue at any man that passes by. 127. When Shooting Rapids. a Stone Kimmo v. Kiikka] Kammos v. Lempos] son, come here where we have need of thee, with a borer bore a hole, with a chisel cut a hole through the stone in the cataract, through the evil boulders side, so that a wooden skiff shant stick, a boat of fir shall receive no harm.
Kirjg of water, Litvetti,1 waters master beneath the stream, make the rocks to be like moss, like a pikes bladder make the boat, while passing through the surge, while traversing projecting rocks. O gracious woman, Meletar, give me thy serviceable oar with which I ll steer, I ll shoot the spell-bound streams, past a jealous persons house, under a sorcerers window too, without my pinnace sticking fast, without my boat receiving hurt. b O golden water-king, O gracious Ahti of the sea, steer with thy sword, push with thy sheathless sword, so that my wooden craft may run, the pine-built boat may bowl along without the pinnace sticking fast, without the cutter getting fixed between those boulder-stones, among the stony rocks.
1 In the index the word is printed Livctti by Lonnrot. Shove with thy breast the waves, the billows with thy bosom turn, twist in thy hands the curly ones, in thy fist collect the foam, lest they should dash against my breast, should rattle down upon my head. A stone is in the rivers midst, a flat st...