Polly Put The Kettle On, We'll All

So, Mr. Chadband-of Whom The Persecutors Say That It Is No Wonder He Should Go On For Any Length Of Time Uttering Such Abominable Nonsense, But That The Wonder Rather Is That He Should Ever Leave Off, Having Once The Audacity To Begin-retires Into Private Life Until He Invests A Little Capital Of Supper In The Oil-trade.

Keep Out Of Chancery. It's Being Ground To Bits In A Slow Mill; It's Being Roasted At A Slow Fire; It's Being Stung To Death By Single Bees; It's Being Drowned By Drops; It's Going Mad By Grains.

His Gaze Wandered From The Windows To The Stars, As If He Would Have Read In Them Something That Was Hidden From Him. Many Of Us Would, If We Could; But None Of Us So Much As Know Our Letters In The Stars Yet - Or Seem Likely To Do It, In This State Of Existence - And Few Languages Can Be Read Until Their Alphabets Are Mastered.

I Looked At The Stars, And Considered How Awful It Would Be For A Man To Turn His Face Up To Them As He Froze To Death, And See No Help Or Pity In All The Glittering Multitude.

"vell," Said Mr. Weller, "now I S'pose He'll Want To Call Some Witnesses To Speak To His Character, Or P'raps To Prove A Alleybi. I've Been A Turnin' The Bis'ness Over In My Mind, And He May Make His-self Easy, Sammy. I've Got Some Friends As'll Do Either For Him, But My Adwice 'ud Be This Here-never Mind The Character, And Stick To The Alleybi. Nothing Like A Alleybi, Sammy, Nothing."