in writing, to barter himself against old clothes, empty bottles, or
even kitchen stuff. Surely a low thing and a depraved taste in any
finch! I bought that goldfinch for money. He was sent home, and hung
upon a nail over against my table. He lived outside a counterfeit
dwelling-house, supposed (as I argued) to be a dyer's; otherwise it
would have been impossible to account for his perch sticking out of the
garret window. From the time of his appearance in my room, either he
left off being thirsty--which was not in the bond--or he could not make
up his mind to hear his little bucket drop back into his well when he
let it go; a shock which in the best of times had made him tremble. He
drew no water but by stealth and under the cloak of night. After an
interval of futile and at length hopeless expectation, the merchant who
had educated him was appealed to. The merchant was a bow-legged
character, with a flat and cushiony nose, like the last new strawberry.
He wore a fur cap and shorts, and was of the velveteen race, velveteeny.
He sent word that he would "look round." He looked round, appeared in
the doorway of the room, and slightly cocked up his evil eye at the
goldfinch. Instantly a raging thirst beset that bird; when it was
appeased, he still drew several unnecessary buckets of water; and
finally, leaped about his perch and sharpened his bill as if he had been
to the nearest wine-vaults and got drunk.

Donkeys, again. I know shy neighbourhoods where the donkey goes in at
the street-door, and appears to live upstairs, for I have examined the
back-yard from over the palings, and have been unable to make him out.
Gentility, nobility, royalty, would appeal to that donkey in vain to do
what he does for a costermonger. Feed him with oats at the highest
price, put an infant prince and princess in a pair of panniers on his
back, adjust his delicate trappings to a nicety, take him to the softest
slopes at Windsor, and try what pace you can get out of him. Then starve