And he got well, my boy—he got well.
I was talking to the chaplain about Samyule's illness, and says the chaplain:
"I am happy to say, my fellow-sinner, that when our beloved Samyule was at the most dangerous crisis, he gave the most convincing proof of realizing his critical condition."
"How?" says I, skeptically.
"Why," says the chaplain, with a Christian look, "when I told our beloved Samyule that there could be little hope of his recovery, and asked him if his spiritual adviser could do anything to make his passage easier, he pressed my hand fervently, and besought me to see that he was buried with a fan in his hand."
Can it be, my boy, that the soul of a Mackerel will need a fan in another world? Let us meditate upon this, my boy—let us meditate upon this!
Yours, seriously,
Orpheus C. Kerr.