The homoeopathists did
not give him little enough physic, and what little they did give him
he hesitated to take. So in the end he grew worse, and at length died,
a lesson to all riotous livers. I bedewed his grave with my tears,
worked a bar sinister on his family escutcheon, and, for the general
expenses of his funeral, sent in my very moderate bill to the
transcendentalists. The scoundrels refused to pay it, so I had Mr.
Dammit dug up at once, and sold him for dog's meat.
THE END
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