which bust 4th from my lips; for I hope to be flambusticated if I hadn't
gone and paid $50 for a lot of brown paper, rapt up into patent medesin
advertisements, printed like greenbax.

For a few minnits I was crazier than a loon.

I rusht madly into the street, runnin' into an old apple woman, nockin'
her "gally west."

I quickly jumped to my feet and begun hollerin':

"Murder! Thieves! Robbers!"

The Policemen scattered, while a crowd of ragged urchins colected about
me. "My youthful vagabones," roared I, as loud as I could scream, "bring
along your stuffed wallets. The market price of brown paper is $50 an
ounce on call.--If you are lookin' for a greenhorn, I'me your man."

I then broke my umbreller over a lamp-post, and button-hold a passer by,
offerin him a $100 if he'd send me to a loonatic asilum.

Seein' a sine on the opposite corner which read: "Weigher's Office," I
rusht wildly in, and said to a man:

"Captin, I've been _litened_. If you've got such a thing as a pair of
apothecary's scales about your premises, dump me on and give me the
figgers."

I then tried to jump through a winder, but the man caught me by the cote
tails, and haulin' me back, sot me down into a cheer.