Nuthin' i' the way o' bus'ness comed amiss to'n.

Like Nicholas Kemp, he'd occashun for all." "Who was Nicholas Kemp ?" inquired Mr.Fogo.
"On'y a figger o' speech, sir.

Well, ould Mennear had a-done bus'ness, an' was strollin' up Union Street 'long wi' his missus-- Aunt Deb'rah Mennear, as her name was--a fine, bowerly woman, but a bit ha'f-baked in her wits; put in wi' the bread, as they say, an' tuk out wi' the cakes--when he fetches up 'pon a sudden afore a shop-windey.

There was crutches inside, an' jury-legs fash'ned out o' cork, an' plaster heads drawn out in maps wi' county-towns marked in, an' bumps to show why diff'rent folks broke diff'rent Commandments, an' rows o' teeth a-grizzlin', an' blue spectacles, an' splints enough to camp-shed a thirty-acred field, an' ear-trumpets an' malignant growths--" "Malignant growths ?" "Iss, sir--in speerits o' wine.

But what tuk th' ould man's notice were a trayful o' glass eyes put out for sale i' the windey, an' lookin' so nat'ral as life--blue eyes, brown eyes, eyes as black as a sloan, [4] an' others, they told me, as went diff'rent colours 'cordin' as you looked at mun.