of oil cake, a thousand of hay, and a thousand weight of
mangel wurzel, and took a thousand days to fat, and
weighed ever so many thousands too. I don't believe it,
but I don't say so, out of manners, for I'll take my oath
he was fatted on porter, because he looks exactly like
the footman on all fours. He is a walking "_Brown Stout_,"
that feller.

"There is a hunter, come, I like hosses; but this brute
was painted when at grass, and is too fat to look well,
guess he was a goodish hoss in his day though. He ain't
a bad cut that's a fact.

"Hullo! what's this pictur? Why, this is from our side
of the water, as I am a livin' sinner, this is a
New-Foundlander, this dog; yes, and he is of the true
genu_wine_ breed too, look at his broad forehead--his
dew-claws--his little ears; (Sir Littleeared must have
been named arter him), his long hair--his beautiful eye.
He is a first chop article that; but, oh Lord, he is too
shockin' fat altogether. He is like Mother Gary's
chickens, they are all fat and feathers. A wick run
through 'em makes a candle. This critter is all hair and
blubber, if he goes too near the grate, he'll catch into
a blaze and set fire to the house.

"There's our friend the host with cap and gold tassel
on, ridin' on his back, and there's his younger brother,
(that died to Cambridge from settin' up all night for
his degree, and suppin' on dry mathematics, and swallerin'