in a certain distwict of Awabia, and of which
the tail is so enormous, that it either dwaggles on the gwound, or is
bound up by the shepherds of the country into a small wheelbawwow, or
cart, which makes the chwonicler sneewingly wemark that thus 'the sheep
of Awabia have their own chawiots.' I have often thought, sir (this
clawet is weally nectaweous)--I have often, I say, thought that the
wace of man may be compawed to these Awabian sheep--genius is our tail,
education our wheelbawwow. Without art and education to pwop it, this
genius dwops on the gwound, and is polluted by the mud, or injured
by the wocks upon the way: with the wheelbawwow it is stwengthened,
incweased, and supported--a pwide to the owner, a blessing to mankind."

"A very appropriate simile," says Sir John; "and I am afraid that the
genius of our friend Yellowplush has need of some such support."

"Apropos," said Bullwig, "who IS Yellowplush? I was given to understand
that the name was only a fictitious one, and that the papers were
written by the author of the 'Diary of a Physician;' if so, the man has
wonderfully improved in style, and there is some hope of him."

"Bah!" says the Duke of Doublejowl; "everybody knows it's Barnard, the
celebrated author of 'Sam Slick.'"

"Pardon, my dear duke," says Lord Bagwig; "it's the authoress of 'High
Life,' 'Almack's,' and other fashionable novels."

"Fiddlestick's end!" says Doctor Larner; "don't be blushing and
pretinding to ask questions; don't we know you, Bullwig? It's
you yourself, you thief of the world: we smoked you from the very
beginning."

Bullwig was about indignantly to reply, when Sir John interrupted them,
and said,--"I must correct you all, gentlemen; Mr. Yellowplush is no
other than Mr. Yellowplush: he gave you, my dear Bullwig, your last
glass of champagne at dinner, and is now an inmate of my house, and an
ornament of my kitchen!"

"Gad!" says Doublejowl, "let's have him up."

"Hear, hear!" says Bagwig.

"Ah, now," says Larner, "your grace is not going to call up and talk to
a footman, sure? Is it gintale?"

"To say the least of it," says Bullwig, "the pwactice is iwwegular, and
indecowous; and I weally don't see how the interview can be in any way
pwofitable."

But the vices of the company went against the two littery men, and
everybody excep them was for having up poor me. The bell was wrung;
butler came. "Send up Charles," says master; and Charles, who was
standing behind