Then we stewed them, and after a while we boiled them, and then we baked them, but every flank movement we would make on those mussels the more invulnerable they would get.

We tried cutting them up with a hatchet, but they were so slick and tough the hatchet would not cut them.

Well, we cooked them, and buttered them, and salted them, and peppered them, and battered them.
They looked good, and smelt good, and tasted good; at least the fixings we put on them did, and we ate the mussels.

I went to sleep that night.
I dreamed that my stomach was four grindstones, and that they turned in four directions, according to the four corners of the earth.

I awoke to hear four men yell out, "O, save, O, save me from eating any more mussels!" "POOR" BERRY MORGAN One of those sad, unexpected affairs, that remind the living that even in life we are in the midst of death, happened at Shelbyville.