I ought rather to have said he essayed to come in,—for it was only after repeated experiments upon material substances, that he contrived to enter the vehicle edgeways,—if such blunt bodies may be said to have an edge at all. As I contemplated his bulk, I could not help thinking of the mighty Lambert, and was ready to exclaim with Gratiano, “A Daniel! a second Daniel!”
The Brobdignaggian had barely subsided in his seat, when the opposite door opened, and in stepped a Liliputian! The conjunction was whimsical. Yonder, thought I, is the Irish Giant, and the other is the dwarf, Count Borulawski. This coach is their travelling caravan—and as for myself, I am no doubt the showman.
I was amusing myself with this and kindred fancies, when a hand suddenly held up something, at the coach window. “It’s my luggage,” said the Giant, with a small penny-trumpet of a pipe, and taking possession of a mere golden pippin of a bundle.
“The three large trunks and the biggest carpet-bag are my property,” said the Dwarf, with a voice as unexpectedly stentorian.
THE GREAT MAIL CONTRACTOR.
“Warm day, Sir,” squeaked the Giant, by way of small talk.
“Prodigious preponderance of caloric in the atmosphere,” thundered the Dwarf, by way of big talk.
“Have you paid your fare, gentlemen?” asked the coachman, looking in at the door.
“I have paid half of mine,” said the Stupendous, “and it’s booked. My name is Lightfoot.”