Pudd. Hah, what sayst thou! A newspaper!
Beef. Yes, Puddingfield, and see here [shows it partially], from England.
Pudd. [with extreme earnestness.] Its name!
Beef. The "Daily Advertiser"—
Pudd. Oh, ecstasy!
Beef. [with a dignified severity.] Puddingfield, calm yourself—repress those transports—remember that you are a man.
Pudd. [after a pause with suppressed emotion.] Well, I will be—I am calm—yet tell me, Beefington, does it contain any news?
Beef. Glorious news, my dear Puddingfield—the Barons are victorious—King John has been defeated—Magna Charta, that venerable, immemorial inheritance of Britons, was signed last Friday was three weeks, the third of July Old Style.
Pudd. I can scarce believe my ears—but let me satisfy my eyes—show me the paragraph.