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Well then, Ezekiel was very rich; he came down in August last, in the Pickle schooner, and, as bad luck would have it, he fell sick of the fever. "Isaac," quoth Ezekiel, "I am wery sheek; I tink I shall tie." "Hope note, dear proder; you hab no vife, nor shildir; pity you should tie, Ezekiel. Ave you make your vill, Ezekiel?" "Yesh; de vill is make.
I leavish every ting to you, Isaac, on von condition, dat you send my pody to be bury in Curacao. I love dat place; twenty years since I lef de Minories, all dat time I cheat dere, and tell lie dere, and lif dere happily. Oh, you most sent my pody for its puryment to Curacao!" "I will do dat, mine proder." "Den I depart in peace, dear Isaac;" and the Israelite was as good as his word for once.
"Oh, mine Got mine poor proder, dat you ever was live, to tie in Jamaic Oh tear, oh tear!" "Did they eat the head and hands and " "Hold your tongue, Tom Cringle, don't interrupt me; you did not eat them; I tell it as it was told to me.
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