“I’ll fondle him with a club,” I ansered, hitting him another whack.

“I prithy desist,” said the gentleman; “stand aside, and see the effeck of kindness.  I understand the idiosyncracies of these creeturs better than you do.”

With that he went up to the cage, and thrustin his face in between the iron bars, he said, soothingly, “Come hither, pretty creetur.”

The pretty creetur come-hithered rayther speedy, and seized the gentleman by the whiskers, which he tore off about enuff to stuff a small cushion with.

He said “You vagabone, I’ll have you indicted for exhibitin dangerous and immoral animals.”

I replied, “Gentle Sir, there isn’t a animal here that hasn’t a beautiful moral, but you mustn’t fondle ’em.  You mustn’t meddle with their idiotsyncracies.”

The gentleman was a dramatic cricket, and he wrote a article for a paper, in which he said my entertainment wos a decided failure.

As regards Bears, you can teach ’em to do interestin things, but they’re onreliable.  I had a very large grizzly bear once, who would dance, and larf, and lay down, and bow his head in grief, and give a mournful wale, etsetry.  But he often annoyed me.  It will be remembered that on the occasion of the first battle of Bull Run, it suddenly occurd to the Fed’ral soldiers that they had business in Washington which ought not to be neglected, and they all started for that beautiful and romantic city, maintainin a rate of speed durin the entire distance that would have done credit to the celebrated French steed Gladiateur.  Very nat’rally our Gov’ment was deeply grieved at this defeat; and I said to my Bear shortly after, as I was givin a exhibition in Ohio—­I said, “Brewin, are you not sorry the National arms has sustained a defeat?” His business was to wale dismal, and bow his head down, the band (a barrel origin and a wiolin) playing slow and melancholy moosic.  What did the grizzly old cuss do, however, but commence darncin and larfin in the most joyous manner?  I had a narrer escape from being imprisoned for disloyalty.—­Works.

FROM THE “LECTURE.”

Some years ago I engaged a celebrated Living American Skeleton for a tour through Australia.  He was the thinnest man I ever saw.  He was a splendid skeleton.  He didn’t weigh any thing scarcely,—­and I said to myself,—­the people of Australia will flock to see this tremendous curiosity.  It is a long voyage—­as you know—­from New York to Melbourne—­and to my utter surprise the skeleton had no sooner got out to sea than he commenced eating in the most horrible manner.  He had never been on the ocean before—­and he said it agreed with him.—­I thought so!—­I never saw a man eat so much in my life.  Beef—­mutton—­pork—­he swallowed them all like a shark—­and between meals he was often discovered behind barrels eating hard-boiled eggs.  The result was that when we reached Melbourne this infamous skeleton weighed sixty-four pounds more than I did!