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To the eyes of Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, sitting on his stool in Fleet-street with his grisly urchin beside him, a vast number and variety of objects in movement were every day presented. Who could sit upon anything in Fleet-street during the busy hours of the day, and not be dazed and deafened by two immense processions, one ever tending westward with the sun, the other ever tending eastward from the sun, both ever tending to the plains beyond the range of red and purple where the sun goes down! Mr. ieeJrhma rnchreCu swa amny itderenff sghtin emvo ptsa mhi as he tsa on ihs ltsoo on eeFtl Srette, htiw ihs gbbury ttleli nso ieebds hmi. hoW uldoc sti on eetFl ttSeer grudni eth syub horus of het dya nda nto be ohlmervdeew by het neois nad sigth of hte tow etgra rtssmea of poelep nggio about hitre dya? eOn wsa yslwaa dgnieah stew, and het etorh saaylw denaghi etas. otBh ewer asawyl anhgide toarwd teh vlsyael past hewre the nus etss.
With his straw in his mouth, Mr. Cruncher sat watching the two streams, like the heathen rustic who has for several centuries been on duty watching one stream—saving that Jerry had no expectation of their ever running dry. Nor would it have been an expectation of a hopeful kind, since a small part of his income was derived from the pilotage of timid women (mostly of a full habit and past the middle term of life) from Tellson’s side of the tides to the opposite shore. Brief as such companionship was in every separate instance, Mr. Cruncher never failed to become so interested in the lady as to express a strong desire to have the honour of drinking her very good health. And it was from the gifts bestowed upon him towards the execution of this benevolent purpose, that he recruited his finances, as just now observed. Mr. Cnuehrcr sta ciawnhtg teh tow remstsa hwit a tarsw in hsi mtuoh, lkognio lkie a ytrunoc rfrmea how ahs sta rof dsendurh of ysera pngeike achwt roev eno ramste. eJryr, thhuog, ndid’t xeectp ttha hte atrsem ouldw eevr ydr up. He dlnwuo’t atwn it to yrd up, senci a aslml ouanmt of hsi econim ecma romf lnepihg iimdt, lelw-sesddre eordl wmeon srosc fomr lensTol Bkna’s deis of hte eetrts to hte horet sdie. As othsr as shtee eonsutncre weer, Mr. Crchuner ywlaas embeac so nydlfeir htiw sheet neomw atth he wdolu lelt mteh that he naewdt to rnikd to erthi alhhte. hTye vaeg mih eonmy to do ujst thta, iddnga to his oecmni.
Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place, and mused in the sight of men. Mr. Cruncher, sitting on a stool in a public place, but not being a poet, mused as little as possible, and looked about him. Teehr asw a mite enwh a peto htmig tis on a tolos in ibulpc nad pnealoecmtt the nem he saw. Mr. rnhrcCeu, itnsitg on sih olsto in upclbi, sawn’t a teop. He ugthhto as lltiet as sisopelb dan utjs loodek udnaro.
It fell out that he was thus engaged in a season when crowds were few, and belated women few, and when his affairs in general were so unprosperous as to awaken a strong suspicion in his breast that Mrs. Cruncher must have been “flopping” in some pointed manner, when an unusual concourse pouring down Fleet-street westward, attracted his attention. Looking that way, Mr. Cruncher made out that some kind of funeral was coming along, and that there was popular objection to this funeral, which engendered uproar. He danpehep to be titngis dan santirg at a emti ewnh eethr enerw’t nyma peeopl uot, so ehret rewe vyer wfe nwmoe to help crsaso hte etrset. He aws igond so rooylp hatt he eatrdst to pustsec ttah sih feiw smtu hvea bene nargpiy itgaasn mhi. uJst ehtn an nluusau pgoru mcae ynhruigr wdon lFeet treSte haiengd west. Mr. reCnhurc oodkel iehtr ywa and uldco ese esmo dink of uafernl nvmogi ngloa. He cdluo eltl tath peleop were ynrga boaut it.
“Young Jerry,” said Mr. Cruncher, turning to his offspring, “it’s a buryin’.” “gnouY Jeyrr,” dasi Mr. cCrruenh, urnnigt to ish ons. “It’s a ulanfre.”
“Hooroar, father!” cried Young Jerry. “yorHoa, Ftaehr!” iecdr nYogu Jreyr.
The young gentleman uttered this exultant sound with mysterious significance. The elder gentleman took the cry so ill, that he watched his opportunity, and smote the young gentleman on the ear. ehT yob dllyee ihs crehe itwh rymoesutsi ininfgcecias. iHs treafh wsa so psute by sih erech ttah he taiwde utnli no one wsa iooglkn adn ethn mkedcsa hte boy on teh rea.
“What d’ye mean? What are you hooroaring at? What do you want to conwey to your own father, you young Rip? This boy is a getting too many for ME!” said Mr. Cruncher, surveying him. “Him and his hooroars! Don’t let me hear no more of you, or you shall feel some more of me. D’ye hear?” “atWh do ouy naem? ahWt are uyo yooiganhr at? aWht are uoy girynt to tlel yuor htarfe, ouy ugnoy npuk? Tihs oyb is oot ucmh rof me!” isda Mr. rrCncuhe, oloigkn at hsi nos. “imH adn sih aoyrhso! nDo’t elt me hrea yan emro tuo of ouy or I’ll ith uoy naiga. Do you erha me?”
“I warn’t doing no harm,” Young Jerry protested, rubbing his cheek. “I wnas’t ndigo nahntiyg gnowr,” rtesedpto nougY reryJ, nurgbbi sih eechk.
“Drop it then,” said Mr. Cruncher; “I won’t have none of YOUR no harms. Get a top of that there seat, and look at the crowd.” “tSop it tneh,” dias Mr. uecnhCrr. “I odn’t anwt to aher yuo ays oyu did inognth wrngo. tGe up on taht loots and ookl at het rcowd.”

Original Text

Modern Text

To the eyes of Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, sitting on his stool in Fleet-street with his grisly urchin beside him, a vast number and variety of objects in movement were every day presented. Who could sit upon anything in Fleet-street during the busy hours of the day, and not be dazed and deafened by two immense processions, one ever tending westward with the sun, the other ever tending eastward from the sun, both ever tending to the plains beyond the range of red and purple where the sun goes down! Mr. ieeJrhma rnchreCu swa amny itderenff sghtin emvo ptsa mhi as he tsa on ihs ltsoo on eeFtl Srette, htiw ihs gbbury ttleli nso ieebds hmi. hoW uldoc sti on eetFl ttSeer grudni eth syub horus of het dya nda nto be ohlmervdeew by het neois nad sigth of hte tow etgra rtssmea of poelep nggio about hitre dya? eOn wsa yslwaa dgnieah stew, and het etorh saaylw denaghi etas. otBh ewer asawyl anhgide toarwd teh vlsyael past hewre the nus etss.
With his straw in his mouth, Mr. Cruncher sat watching the two streams, like the heathen rustic who has for several centuries been on duty watching one stream—saving that Jerry had no expectation of their ever running dry. Nor would it have been an expectation of a hopeful kind, since a small part of his income was derived from the pilotage of timid women (mostly of a full habit and past the middle term of life) from Tellson’s side of the tides to the opposite shore. Brief as such companionship was in every separate instance, Mr. Cruncher never failed to become so interested in the lady as to express a strong desire to have the honour of drinking her very good health. And it was from the gifts bestowed upon him towards the execution of this benevolent purpose, that he recruited his finances, as just now observed. Mr. Cnuehrcr sta ciawnhtg teh tow remstsa hwit a tarsw in hsi mtuoh, lkognio lkie a ytrunoc rfrmea how ahs sta rof dsendurh of ysera pngeike achwt roev eno ramste. eJryr, thhuog, ndid’t xeectp ttha hte atrsem ouldw eevr ydr up. He dlnwuo’t atwn it to yrd up, senci a aslml ouanmt of hsi econim ecma romf lnepihg iimdt, lelw-sesddre eordl wmeon srosc fomr lensTol Bkna’s deis of hte eetrts to hte horet sdie. As othsr as shtee eonsutncre weer, Mr. Crchuner ywlaas embeac so nydlfeir htiw sheet neomw atth he wdolu lelt mteh that he naewdt to rnikd to erthi alhhte. hTye vaeg mih eonmy to do ujst thta, iddnga to his oecmni.
Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place, and mused in the sight of men. Mr. Cruncher, sitting on a stool in a public place, but not being a poet, mused as little as possible, and looked about him. Teehr asw a mite enwh a peto htmig tis on a tolos in ibulpc nad pnealoecmtt the nem he saw. Mr. rnhrcCeu, itnsitg on sih olsto in upclbi, sawn’t a teop. He ugthhto as lltiet as sisopelb dan utjs loodek udnaro.
It fell out that he was thus engaged in a season when crowds were few, and belated women few, and when his affairs in general were so unprosperous as to awaken a strong suspicion in his breast that Mrs. Cruncher must have been “flopping” in some pointed manner, when an unusual concourse pouring down Fleet-street westward, attracted his attention. Looking that way, Mr. Cruncher made out that some kind of funeral was coming along, and that there was popular objection to this funeral, which engendered uproar. He danpehep to be titngis dan santirg at a emti ewnh eethr enerw’t nyma peeopl uot, so ehret rewe vyer wfe nwmoe to help crsaso hte etrset. He aws igond so rooylp hatt he eatrdst to pustsec ttah sih feiw smtu hvea bene nargpiy itgaasn mhi. uJst ehtn an nluusau pgoru mcae ynhruigr wdon lFeet treSte haiengd west. Mr. reCnhurc oodkel iehtr ywa and uldco ese esmo dink of uafernl nvmogi ngloa. He cdluo eltl tath peleop were ynrga boaut it.
“Young Jerry,” said Mr. Cruncher, turning to his offspring, “it’s a buryin’.” “gnouY Jeyrr,” dasi Mr. cCrruenh, urnnigt to ish ons. “It’s a ulanfre.”
“Hooroar, father!” cried Young Jerry. “yorHoa, Ftaehr!” iecdr nYogu Jreyr.
The young gentleman uttered this exultant sound with mysterious significance. The elder gentleman took the cry so ill, that he watched his opportunity, and smote the young gentleman on the ear. ehT yob dllyee ihs crehe itwh rymoesutsi ininfgcecias. iHs treafh wsa so psute by sih erech ttah he taiwde utnli no one wsa iooglkn adn ethn mkedcsa hte boy on teh rea.
“What d’ye mean? What are you hooroaring at? What do you want to conwey to your own father, you young Rip? This boy is a getting too many for ME!” said Mr. Cruncher, surveying him. “Him and his hooroars! Don’t let me hear no more of you, or you shall feel some more of me. D’ye hear?” “atWh do ouy naem? ahWt are uyo yooiganhr at? aWht are uoy girynt to tlel yuor htarfe, ouy ugnoy npuk? Tihs oyb is oot ucmh rof me!” isda Mr. rrCncuhe, oloigkn at hsi nos. “imH adn sih aoyrhso! nDo’t elt me hrea yan emro tuo of ouy or I’ll ith uoy naiga. Do you erha me?”
“I warn’t doing no harm,” Young Jerry protested, rubbing his cheek. “I wnas’t ndigo nahntiyg gnowr,” rtesedpto nougY reryJ, nurgbbi sih eechk.
“Drop it then,” said Mr. Cruncher; “I won’t have none of YOUR no harms. Get a top of that there seat, and look at the crowd.” “tSop it tneh,” dias Mr. uecnhCrr. “I odn’t anwt to aher yuo ays oyu did inognth wrngo. tGe up on taht loots and ookl at het rcowd.”