And innumerable asses can collect themselves nice little heaps of golden carrot-slices, and then lift up their heads and brag over them with fairly pan-demoniac yells of gratification. Of course I don’t see any green in your eye, dear Libertas, unless it is the smallest glint from the carrot-tips. The gleam in your eye is golden, oh Columbia!

Nevertheless, and in spite of all this, up trots this here little ass and makes you a nice present of this pretty book. You needn’t sniff, and glance at your carrot-sceptre, lady Liberty. You needn’t throw down the thinnest carrot-paring you can pare off, and then say: “Why should I pay for this tripe, this wordy mass of rather revolting nonsense!” You can’t pay for it, darling. If I didn’t make you a present of it you could never buy it.