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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 4 by Edgar Allan Poe
page 57 of 284 (20%)
it is a pity he was not. His croak thus -- o-o-o-o-gh -- o-o-o-o-gh!
was the finest note in the world -- B flat; and when he put his
elbows upon the table thus -- after taking a glass or two of wine --
and distended his mouth, thus, and rolled up his eyes, thus, and
winked them with excessive rapidity, thus, why then, sir, I take it
upon myself to say, positively, that you would have been lost in
admiration of the genius of the man."

"I have no doubt of it," I said.

"And then," said somebody else, "then there was Petit Gaillard, who
thought himself a pinch of snuff, and was truly distressed because he
could not take himself between his own finger and thumb."

"And then there was Jules Desoulieres, who was a very singular
genius, indeed, and went mad with the idea that he was a pumpkin. He
persecuted the cook to make him up into pies -- a thing which the
cook indignantly refused to do. For my part, I am by no means sure
that a pumpkin pie a la Desoulieres would not have been very capital
eating indeed!"

"You astonish me!" said I; and I looked inquisitively at Monsieur
Maillard.

"Ha! ha! ha!" said that gentleman -- "he! he! he! -- hi! hi! hi! --
ho! ho! ho! -- hu! hu! hu! hu! -- very good indeed! You must not be
astonished, mon ami; our friend here is a wit -- a drole -- you must
not understand him to the letter."

"And then," said some other one of the party, -- "then there was
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