The leopard is as lively a animal as I ever came into contack
with. It is troo he cannot change his spots, but you can change
'em for him with a paint-brush, as I once did in the case of a
leopard who wasn't nat'rally spotted in a attractive manner. In
exhibitin him I used to stir him up in his cage with a protracted
pole, and for the purpuss of making him yell and kick up in a
leopardy manner, I used to casionally whack him over the head.
This would make the children inside the booth scream with fright,
which would make fathers of families outside the booth very
anxious to come in--because there is a large class of parents who
have a uncontrollable passion for takin their children to places
where they will stand a chance of being frightened to death.

One day I whacked this leopard more than ushil, which elissited a
remonstrance from a tall gentleman in spectacles, who said, "My
good man, do not beat the poor caged animal. Rather fondle him."

"I'll fondle him with a club," I anserd, hitting him another
whack.

"I prythy desist," said the gentleman; "stand aside, and see the
effeck of kindness. I understand the idiosyncracies of these
creeturs better than you do."

With that he went up to the cage, and thrustin his face in
between the iron bars, he said, soothinly, "Come hither, pretty
creetur."

The pretty creetur come-hithered rayther speedy, and seized the