Having made his donation to the Dutchman, Bragg was spreading his paste on the side of the donkey's dwelling when a loud shout was heard in the street. A crowd of men and boys were seen advancing, and in their midst, covered with mud and filth from head to foot, and led along by two sturdy Irishmen, was a most pitiable and disgusting object. His face had received a coating of wet clay, which was gradually getting dry, and made his visage as ugly as an idol in a Hindoo temple. His clothing was befouled with slime; and the two men held him at arm's length, so as to avoid the defilement of actual contact.
"By the powers of mud! what is that?" exclaimed Bragg.
"One of the powers aforesaid coming in answer to your invocation, I suppose," said Seddon.
"It is mud, sure enough," said Toney.
"Walking abroad and endeavoring to dry itself in the sun," said Seddon.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" shouted the boys.
"Here he is—by jabers! we found him!" said an Irishman.
"Who is he?" said Toney.
"Do you not know me?" said a dolorous voice issuing from the mass of mud.
"No, I do not. Who are you?"