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From the encouraging nearness of Uncle Hiram, she ventured to askw’at you ’low dey doin’ ef dey ain’t settin’ down?” this time without adding the offensive title. “Dey flyin’ ’roun’, Lord! dey hidin’ dey sef! dey gittin’ out o’ de way, I tell you. Grégor jis ben a raisin’ ole Cain in Centaville.” “I know’d it; could a’ tole you dat mese’f.

Aunt Judy was on the point of crying, when who should walk in but "Marster William" himself. "I am told," said he, "that Judy is here, Judy, that I used to play with." "Lor’ bless you, Marster William," exclaimed Judy, at the same time covering his hand with tears and kisses, "It’s Judy, I is, I know’d you hadn’t done forgot me."

But that ain’t strange, for I don’t think he know’d it himself, when he come to London, did he?’ ‘No, he didn’t,’ replied the father. The two men exchanged glances. ‘There’s a vessel down at the docks, to sail at midnight, when it’s high water,’ resumed the first speaker, ‘and we’ll put him on board. His passage is taken in another name, and what’s better than that, it’s paid for.

I know’d ’twould be so when I let Tempest go to New Orleans. But he’ll run himself into a hornet’s nest, and I ain’t sure but it’s just the punishment for him." "Why, then, do you rave so?" asked Mrs. Middleton. "Because," answered her husband, "when I let Tempest go, I’d no idee Sunshine cared so much for him.

We remember, in our young days, a little sweep about our own age, with curly hair and white teeth, whom we devoutly and sincerely believed to be the lost son and heir of some illustrious personagean impression which was resolved into an unchangeable conviction on our infant mind, by the subject of our speculations informing us, one day, in reply to our question, propounded a few moments before his ascent to the summit of the kitchen chimney, ‘that he believed he’d been born in the vurkis, but he’d never know’d his father.’ We felt certain, from that time forth, that he would one day be owned by a lord: and we never heard the church-bells ring, or saw a flag hoisted in the neighbourhood, without thinking that the happy event had at last occurred, and that his long-lost parent had arrived in a coach and six, to take him home to Grosvenor-square.

Jacob Barton, the individual alluded to, was a large grocer; so vulgar, and so lost to all sense of feeling, that he actually never scrupled to avow that he wasn’t above his business: ‘he’d made his money by it, and he didn’t care who know’d it.’ ‘Ah! Flamwell, my dear fellow, how d’ye do?’ said Mr. Malderton, as a little spoffish man, with green spectacles, entered the room. ‘You got my note?’