RAMBLES IN THE BACKWOODS, OR LIFE IN THE CANADIAN FOREST.
Canadian summer evening tales by Andrew Learmont Spedon. 1866. P. 175
“Bully on your head!” exclaimed Nuttlebags.
“A damnable good play!” cried Snookerjack.
“Yes, sir-ee, by jinkum!” said Bottleshins, the first speaker, and winner, then turning round he directed his eyes to the man in the corner, and exclaimed —
“I say, Jack Bowley, you bloody rogue, get up and get your bitters.”
“Turn out you bloated blubberhoad and get yourself sobered on a glass of the etherial essence of rattlesnake bladders!” said Snooker Jack.
“Copperhead alligators, you mean!” added Nuttlebags.
“Liver-cod-oil,” said Gollywabbles.
“I say, Jack,” resumed Bottleshins, “get up, Polly Jenkins is here, and she wants to see you.” Startled at the name, and the music of the glasses, Bowley attempted to get up, and blubbering out broken sentences of unmeaning jargon, stumbled back to the floor again at full length, and began to curse the others for disturbing him.
“Turn in, friend,” said Bottleshins to me, “and have a bumper of the oxygenated essence of cod-nigger-oil, it is sweeter than the milk of a jack-ass, purer than the distillations of a jack-ape’s gizzaid, and universally celebrated for its homoeopathic virtues, and may be applied internally, externally, and eternally.”
“And infernally too,” added Snookerjack.