his posters and advertisements--to keep me from starving, I suppose.
The long-expected _Gooroo_ arrived from Zanzibar, but no gorilla was
there on board for Mr. Coriander; there was a skin of that celebrated
animal, the beast himself having departed this life off the island of
St. Helena, an imitation of the example of another much-feared person
who once resided in that locality.

"Coriander was frantic. The great card of his menagerie was not to be
his. His long-cherished plans were a wreck; his money was spent for
naught; he had no gorilla. After all, I rather like the old wretch
(Coriander, I mean). He has an absolute passion for his 'profession,'
as he calls it, and was more in despair because he had no gorilla, than
because it was a bad financial operation, which left him without that
for which he had spent so much money. He was wretched in his
disappointment, and postponed indefinitely the opening of his
menagerie, though my elegant advertisements were in all the papers, and
our flaming posters covered the walls of the city from one end to the
other. Gloom reigned in the house of Coriander.

"This was my opportunity. I was in love with Clara and without any
permanent occupation. Presenting myself before the old man, I said:
'Mr. Coriander, you want a gorilla?'

"'To be sure,' said he, testily.

"'I will furnish you with one.'

"'The devil you will!'

"'Look here,' said I, stepping back a few paces. Grasping the top of a