I try
wine, and spirits, and smoking, and snuff in unsparing quantities; but
they all only seem to make me worse, instead of better. I sleep in a
damp room, but it does no good; I come home late o' nights, but do not find
any visible amendment! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?
*Hanged that day for the murder of Weare.
{#} *An ant
It is just fifteen minutes after twelve. Thurtell is by this
time a good way on his journey, baiting at Scorpion, perhaps.
Ketch is bargaining for his cast coat and waistcoat; and the Jew demurs
at first at three half-crowns, but on consideration that he may get
somewhat by showing 'em in the town, finally closes. C. L.
Notes.
The danger of not adapting your method to your auditor is well
illustrated by the beginning of Lamb's next letter to the same person:
"My dear sir,---That peevish letter of mine, which was meant to convey
an apology for my incapacity to write, seems to have been taken by you in
too
serious a light,---it was only my way of telling you I had a severe cold."
Lamb's letter is filled with about every figure of speech known to
rhetoricians: It will be a useful exercise to pick them out.
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