Grim sais it's nother wun thing nor anuther, but a hydeear that _is_ sumhow or other a fact, but yit don't exist at all.
Tom Green wants to no if there's any conexshun between it an' the pole that's conected with elections.

In fact, we're all at sea, in a riglar muz abut this, an' as Dr.Singleton's a syentiffick man, praps he'll give us a leadin' article in your nixt--so no more at present from-- Yours to command, JOHN BUZZBY.
This contribution was accompanied with an outline illustration of Mivins eating sugar with a ladle in the pantry, and Davie Summers peeping in at the door--both likenesses being excellent.
Some of the articles in the _Arctic Sun_ were grave and some were gay, but all of them were profitable, for Fred took care that they should be charged either with matter of interest or matter provocative of mirth.
And, assuredly, no newspaper of similar calibre was ever looked forward to with such expectation, or read and re-read with such avidity.

It was one of the expedients that lasted longest in keeping up the spirits of the men.
The rat-hunting referred to in the foregoing "summary" was not a mere fiction of Buzzby's brain.

It was a veritable fact.

Notwithstanding the extreme cold of this inhospitable climate, the rats in the ship increased to such a degree that at last they became a perfect nuisance.
Nothing was safe from their attacks--whether substances were edible or not, they were gnawed through and ruined--and their impudence, which seemed to increase with their numbers, at last exceeded all belief.