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"Hwhat!" says Larner; "and where's the Litherary Chran?" I said myself nothink, but made a bough, and blusht like pickle-cabbitch. "Mr. Yellowplush," says his grace, "will you, in the first place, drink a glass of wine?" I boughed agin. "And what wine do you prefer, sir? humble port or imperial burgundy?" "Why, your grace," says I, "I know my place, and ain't above kitchin wines.
"Name! a! now, you thief o' the wurrld," says he, "do you pretind nat to know ME? Say it's the Cabinet Cyclopa no, I mane the Litherary Chran psha! bluthanowns! say it's DOCTHOR DIOCLESIAN LARNER I think he'll know me now ay, Nid?" But the genlmn called Nid was at the botm of the stare, and pretended to be very busy with his shoo-string. So the little genlmn went upstares alone.
"It is 'Bentley's Mislany' you mane?" says Ignatius, as sharp as a niddle. "Why, no; but " "O thin, it's Co'burn, sure! and that divvle Thayodor a pretty paper, sir, but light thrashy, milk-and-wathery not sthrong, like the Litherary Chran good luck to it." "Why, Doctor Lander, I was going to tell at once the name of the periodical, it's FRASER'S MAGAZINE." "FRESER!" says the Doctor.
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