Whalebone.
A thin old man, with a rag-bag in his hand, was picking up a number of small pieces of whalebone, which lay on the street. The deposit was of such a singular nature, that we asked the quaint-looking gatherer how he supposed they came there? "Don't know," he replied, in a squeaking voice; "but I s'pect some unfortunate female was wrecked hereabout somewhere."[282]
A Scotch lady, who was discomposed by the introduction of gas, asked with much earnestness, "What's to become o' the puir whales?' deeming their interests materially affected by this superseding of their oil."[283]