come with Mr. Weather Mutton, you seed the carriage in course.
It's an old one, a family one, and as heavy as an ox cart. The hosses
are old, family hosses, everlastin' fat, almighty lazy, and the way
they travel is a caution to a snail. It's vulgar to go fast, its only
butcher's hosses trot quick, and besides, there is no hurry--there is
nothin' to do to home. Affectionate couple! happy man! he takes his
wife's hand in his--kisses it? No, not he, but he puts his head back in
the corner of the carriage, and goes to sleep, and dreams--of her? Not
he indeed, but of a saddle of mutton and curren' jelly.

"Well, if you are a-stoppin' at Sir Littleeared Bighead's, you escape
the flight by night, and go to bed and think of homeland natur'. Next
mornin', or rather next noon, down to breakfast. Oh, it's awfully
stupid! That second nap in the mornin' always fuddles the head, and
makes it as mothery as ryled cyder grounds. Nobody looks as sweet as
sugar candy quite, except them two beautiful galls and their honey
lips. But them is only to look at. If you want honey, there is some on
a little cut glass, dug out of a dish. But you can't eat it, for lookin'
at the genu_wine_, at least I can't, and never could. I don't know what
you can do.

"P'raps you'd like to look at the picture, it will sarve to pass away
time. They are family ones. And family picture, sarve as a history. Our
Mexican Indgians did all their history in picture. Let's go round the
room and look. Lawful heart! what a big "Brown ox" that is. Old "Star
and Garters;" father fatted him. He was a prize ox; he eat a thousand
bushel of turnips, a thousand pound 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 a