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He went to the Economy post office and on the back of a circular that he found in the waste basket he wrote another note: "Pat. This is blood money an' I can't kep it. I didunt no when I undertuk the job wot kind of a job it was. Thers only one way fur yoo to kep yur hid saf, an that is to tel the trooth abot wot hapuned. If yoo ar wiling to tel the trooth put a leter heer sayin so.
'Yes, said Crass, agreeing with Slyme, 'an' thers plenty of 'em wot's too lazy to work when they can get it. Some of the b s who go about pleading poverty 'ave never done a fair day's work in all their bloody lives. Then thers all this new-fangled machinery, continued Crass. 'That's wot's ruinin' everything.
Capt Lewis went on an Island above our Camp, this Island is abt. one mile long, with a Great purpotion ceder timber near the middle of it I gave out a flannel Shirt to each man, & powder to those who had expended thers
He had been slaughtered by some roving joker, who had wrought upon him with a pick-handle. To one of his ears was pinned a scrap of greasy paper, upon which were scrambled the following sentiments in pencil- tracks: "The inqulosed boddy is that uv old Burker. Step litely, stranger, fer yer lize the mortil part uv wat you mus be sum da. Thers arrest for the weery!
'Yes, said old Joe Philpot, tragically, 'and then thers all them Hitalian horgin grinders, an' the blokes wot sells 'ot chestnuts; an' wen I was goin' 'ome last night I see a lot of them Frenchies sellin' hunions, an' a little wile afterwards I met two more of 'em comin' up the street with a bear.
Thers the mischiefe in poetry: a man might have told 200 lies in prose upon his owne name, and never miscaried. But, leaving these rude rymes, Ladie, how do you like the novice that Sir Richard comended. Sis. Mr. Courtwell? De. Is he not a pretty Chrisome ? I could not choose but laugh to observe in what rurall deportment he came to salute you, that should have made his address in theis postures.
"For God's sake go and get something for me. Make the doctor do something. I'm famishing. I must be poisoned." "Lord forbid!" "Look at me. I cant eat anything. Oh! I cant even drink. I tell you I am dying of thirst." "Well, Miss Susan, thers plenty for you to eat and drink." "What is the good of that, when I can neither eat nor drink? Nothing will stay inside me.
There were no pistols to be found. The old lady did not add, indeed, that thers was nothing of any kind to be found belonging to the same worthy. "There! That's enough!" said old Hinkley. "Did you find anything of Stevens's, Mrs. Hinkley?" inquired Mr. Calvert. "Nothing, whatever." "Well, madam," said Calvert, "your search, if it proves anything, proves the story of Ned Hinkley conclusively.
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