I sent for the physicians that received the patronage of the noble lords and dooks and they made me _sicker_; and finally for the physicain “to her most gracious majisty the Queen of Great Britain,”--but their aristocratic attention to me was of no use. As I lie tossing on what is known as “the bed of pain,” I seed a big light coming through the dark towards me. Behind that light appeared a grim skeleton, just like the pictur of Death in the Alminack, walkin’ on tiptoe toward me; and quicker than a wink he put out his long bony hand and touched me--firstly, in the pit of the stomach, so I couldn’t holler; nextly, he pressed his finger tips on my eye-balls, and they sunk right back into their sockets. I tried to shake him off, and to yell, but I couldn’t! Then I knew I was “dun fur.” Next came what a printer’s devil would call a ---- blank. I was skeered out of my seven senses, and when I cum to and tried to recolect myself, I was like the old woman in the song who fell asleep, and “By came a pedlar and his name was Stout And he cut her petticoats all round about; He cut her petticoats up to her knees, Which made the old woman begin for to freeze.” I was in the same predicament, for I was now only in my bare bones, and knew I was a rolecking old skeleton. Wall, it gin me an awful shock to find myself like a skull and cross-bones on a tombstone, sittin’ on my own coffin! Presently I was grappled by a big worm with a hundred legs. He then sent for his feller worms, and they licked me from skull to toe-jint. After I had stood the lickin’ as long as I could (they tickled so), I concluded to run away, so I started on a full gallop, and arter I had run awhile, where should I fetch up but in the vicinity of Vic’s Palace. I know’d by pussonal experience suthin’ of the feelin’ manner with which the British public look upon the Royal Family, and a sensation of relief cum over my mind as I thought if I once entered their ground no one dared foiler me. So I gin a spring and leaped right atop of the middle chimny. Owin’ to private considerations, I did’nt mind the soot, but I clambered down, and there I was, to my amazement, rite in the private apartments of the Queen. She was sittin’ at a table lookin’ at a dogerotipe of Prince Albert; and I walked straight up to her, not feel in’ a bit afeared, and making my manners, axed her if I didn’t resemble the Prince?--rememberin’ that the preacher had kindly said over my coffin that “there was no distinction in the grave.” I thought that as I was a pooty gay image of Death, I might remind her of the “Prince Consort.” She looked up kinder sideways as I spoke, but she must have bin a leetle hard o’ hearing, for she shook her head. Then I thought I’d try her on another tack. So I placed my hands on my shakey knees, and bendin’ over in this guise, so she could see me plainly, while my teeth rattled in my skull as I shook my head at her and growled: