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Updated: July 22, 2025
He wrote to Buzzby "by manes of the ritin' he had larn'd aboord the Dolfin," informing him that he had forsaken the "say" and become a small farmer near Cork. He had plenty of murphies and also a pig the latter "bein'" he said, "so like the wan that belonged to his owld grandmother, that he thought it must be the same wan corned alive agin, or its darter."
Nobody ever caught John Buzzby asleep by any chance whatever. No weasel was ever half so sensitive on that point as he was. John Buzzby was an old salt a regular true-blue jack tar of the old school, who had been born and bred at sea; had visited foreign parts innumerable; had weathered more storms than he could count, and had witnessed more strange sights than he could remember.
But Amos could not manage it, for the creature lashed about so furiously that, although he made repeated attempts, he failed to do more than prick its tough sides, and render it still more savage. Buzzby, too, made several daring efforts to lance it, but failed, and nearly slipped into the hole in his recklessness.
A few seconds sufficed to enable Grim to overtake the woman, who fell on her knees the instant she felt the sailor's heavy hand on her shoulder. "Don't be afeard, we won't hurt ye," said Buzzby in a soothing tone, patting the woman on the head and raising her up. "No, avic, we's yer frinds; we'll not harm a hair o' yer beautiful head, we won't.
"Nothing elaborate, Buzzby," he said a week before the event, "a fine saddle of mutton Southdown some salmon trout, a stiff bouillon for Quimber, you know his masticatory apparatus is no longer equal to this whole occasion, and a chive salad. The cake Mrs.
Buzzby knows that, up to this date, my daughter and I have never availed ourselves of any rights in this estate; and he has managed it so wisely alone, during these last seven years, that now he no longer wishes to be responsible for the investment of its constantly increasing revenues. I shall never consider this estate mine will or no will." He spoke emphatically.
Buzzby acted with great spirit and was evidently a prime favourite. He could scarcely recollect a word of his part, but he remembered the general drift of it, and had ready wit enough to extemporise.
"The last day we were there, however, they were in disgrace, for Johnny had pushed Freddy into the washing-tub, and Freddy, in revenge, had poured a jug of treacle over Johnny's head! I am quite sure that Mrs. Buzzby is tired of being a widow as she calls herself and will be very glad when her husband comes back.
Buzzby," cried the Captain, "but, I say, Alf, don't it seem to smack rather too much of selfishness?" "Of course it does, uncle. I do not think Buzzby always sound in principle, and, like many poets, he is sometimes confused in his logic."
Ben Bolt, a brave British seaman, who had been wrecked in Blunderbore's desolate dominions, all the crew having perished except himself, by John Buzzby, Esquire. These constituted the various characters of the piece, the name of which had been kept a profound secret from the crew, until the morning of the day, on which it was acted.
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