Do you recklect that fine chapter in "Squintin Durward," about the too fellos and cups, at the siege of the bishop's castle?
One of them was a brave warner, and kep HIS cup; they strangled the other chap--strangled him, and laffed at him too.
With respeck, then, to the barnetcy pint, this is my advice: brazen it out.

Us littery men I take to be like a pack of schoolboys--childish, greedy, envius, holding by our friends, and always ready to fight.

What must be a man's conduck among such?
He must either take no notis, and pass on myjastick, or else turn round and pummle soundly--one, two, right and left, ding dong over the face and eyes; above all, never acknowledge that he is hurt.

Years ago, for instans (we've no ill-blood, but only mention this by way of igsample), you began a sparring with this Magaseen.

Law bless you, such a ridicklus gaym I never see: a man so belaybord, beflustered, bewolloped, was never known; it was the laff of the whole town.