speaking my resentment against the historian, who had done such
injustice to the stature of this great little man, which he
represented to be no bigger than a span, whereas I plainly
perceived at first sight he was full a foot and a half (and the
37th part of an inch more, as he himself informed me), being
indeed little shorter than some considerable beaux of the present
age. I asked this little hero concerning the truth of those
stories related of him, viz., of the pudding, and the cow's
belly. As to the former, he said it was a ridiculous legend,
worthy to be laughed at; but as to the latter, he could not help
owning there was some truth in it: nor had he any reason to be
ashamed of it, as he was swallowed by surprise; adding, with
great fierceness, that if he had had any weapon in his hand the
cow should have as soon swallowed the devil.

He spoke the last word with so much fury, and seemed so
confounded, that, perceiving the effect it had on him, I
immediately waived the story, and, passing to other matters, we
had much conversation touching giants. He said, so far from
killing any, he had never seen one alive; that he believed those
actions were by mistake recorded of him, instead of Jack the
giant-killer, whom he knew very well, and who had, he fancied,
extirpated the race. I assured him to the contrary, and told him
I had myself seen a huge tame giant, who very complacently stayed
in London a whole winter, at the special request of several
gentlemen and ladies; though the affairs of his family called him
home to Sweden.

I now beheld a stern-looking spirit leaning on the shoulder of
another spirit, and presently discerned the former to be Oliver