“Oh! look at his hat, Mary.”
“Susan, Susan, look at the Poll parrot.”
“Look! it is holding a biscuit in its hand.”
“Look at the bear.”
“No, it’s a dog.”
“You’re a hass! it’s a bear.”
“Lift me up to see, Tildie.”
“Lift me up too.”
Here again is my coachman being interviewed by some country bumpkins:—“Who be your master, matie?”
“A private gentleman.”