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Updated: June 22, 2025
But this incident, trifling as it was, wrought differently in Phutatorius's head: He considered this act of Yorick's in getting off his chair and picking up the chesnut, as a plain acknowledgment in him, that the chesnut was originally his and in course, that it must have been the owner of the chesnut, and no one else, who could have played him such a prank with it: What greatly confirmed him in this opinion, was this, that the table being parallelogramical and very narrow, it afforded a fair opportunity for Yorick, who sat directly over against Phutatorius, of slipping the chesnut in and consequently that he did it.
Our Charleston readers will recognize the case here described, without any further key. the second, that he has a valuable breast-pin, said to have been worn by Lord Cornwallis; and the third, that he has one Yorick's skull. All of these, Mr. Crimpton regrets to say, are withheld from the schedule, which virtually constitutes fraud.
The enemy had the advantage of arms, position, and numbers; and there was nothing for him to do but to disgorge his hoarded gains at once, or to have his breath stripped first and his estate summarily administered upon afterwards by these his casual heirs, as the King of France, by virtue of his Droit d'Aubaine, would have confiscated Yorick's six shirts and pair of black silk breeches, in spite of his eloquent protest against such injustice, had he chanced to die in his Most Christian Majesty's dominions.
"It's here if it's anywhere!" says the old man, with a sigh. "It comes into my head that among the rest of my valuables I've Yorick's skull." "The very skull we want!" interrupts Property. And the old man quickens the working of his lower jaw, and continues to rub at the board until he has brought out the written mystery. "My ancestors were great people," he mumbles to himself, "great people!"
Yes, young man, presented to my ancestors by the elder Stuarts, and on that account worth seven skulls, or more." "One Yorick's skull," is written on the paper, upon which the old man presses firmly his finger. He has not opened, he adds, this box for more than twelve long years. Next he drags forth a military cloak of great weight and dimensions.
This evil had been sufficiently fenced against by the prudent care of the Yorick's family, and their religious preservation of these records I quote, which do farther inform us, That the family was originally of Danish extraction, and had been transplanted into England as early as in the reign of Horwendillus, king of Denmark, in whose court, it seems, an ancestor of this Mr.
A cool greeting passed between the two. "You sent the note?" asked the old man. "What note?" gruffly queried Bridges, taking off his coat. "To that girl." "Most certainly." A curious look, unobserved by Bridges, shot from Poor Yorick's eyes. It seemed to say, "Wait, things may happen that you're not looking for."
Nothing in the world, Trim, said my uncle Toby, blowing his nose, but that thou art a good-natured fellow. Mr. Yorick's curate was smoking a pipe by the kitchen fire, but said not a word good or bad to comfort the youth. I thought it wrong; added the corporal I think so too, said my uncle Toby.
Amen: said my mother again but with such a sighing cadence of personal pity at the end of it, as discomfited every fibre about my father he instantly took out his almanack; but before he could untie it, Yorick's congregation coming out of church, became a full answer to one half of his business with it and my mother telling him it was a sacrament day left him as little in doubt, as to the other part He put his almanack into his pocket.
Yorick's sentiment was pinchbeck; Jean Paul's was pure gold. All that Richter ever wrote is animated with the deepest religious feeling, the tenderest sympathy, the gentlest and bravest pity. Yorick, in the black and white of his sacred calling's gown and bands, grins and leers like a disguised satyr.
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