176 THE FLOUAL TELEGRAPH. 
was meant, by its getters-up, to be a 
death-bed one. Nor was I deceived 
in my conjecture, for, while my arm 
was still bleeding, who should enter 
but my old companion and antago¬ 
nist at backgammon, Dr. Snuffle* 
text, a very learned divine, doubtless, 
notwithstanding his extreme corpu¬ 
lency. 
He was in full canonicals, and, 
excepting that his wig was a little 
awry, properly decked out to preach 
before the king and queen. With his 
prayer-book open in his hand, be* 
tween a whine and a snuffle, as he 
advanced up the room, he exclaimed, 
according to the rubrick, “ Peace be 
