He was teetotally defleshed, a mere walkin'
skeleton. 'I am dreadful sorry,' says I, 'to see you, Banks, lookin'
so peecked; why you look like a sick turkey hen, all legs; what on
airth ails you?' 'I'm dyin',' says he, 'of a broken heart.' 'What,'
says I, 'have the gals been jiltin' you?' 'No, no,' says he, 'I
bean't such a fool as that neither.' 'Well,' says I, 'have you made a
bad speculation?' 'No,' says he, shakin' his head, 'I hope I have too
much clear grit in me to take on so bad for that.' 'What under the
sun, is it, then?' said I. 'Why,' says he, 'I made a bet the fore
part of summer with Leftenant Oby Knowles, that I could shoulder the
best bower of the Constitution frigate. I won my bet, but the Anchor
was so eternal heavy it broke my heart.' Sure enough he did die that
very fall, and he was the only instance I ever heerd tell of a broken
heart."
No. XI
Cumberland Oysters Produce Melancholy Forebodings.
The "soft sawder" of the Clockmaker had operated effectually on the
beauty of Amherst, our lovely hostess of Pugwash's inn: indeed, I am
inclined to think, with Mr. Slick, that "the road to a woman's heart
lies through her child," from the effect produced upon her by the
praises bestowed on her infant boy.
I was musing on this feminine susceptibility to flattery, when the
door opened, and Mrs.
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