JOE'S WIFE (_with a vague sense of being defrauded_). I thart thee'rd
ha' bin moor smell, wi' so many on 'em!
JOE. They doan't git naw toime for it, I reckon, allus on the rord as
they be.
THE LECTURER. Illow me to request yar kind hattention for a moment.
(Stand back there, you boys, and don't beyave in such a silly manner!)
We har now arrived at the Haswail, or Sloth Bear, described by Buffon as
'aving 'abits which make it a burden to itself. (_Severely._) The
Haswail. In the hajoinin' cage observe the Loocorricks, the hony hanimal
to oom fear is habsolootly hunknown. When hattacked by the Lion, he
places his 'ed between his fore-legs, and in that position awaits the
honset of his would-be destroyer.
JOE'S WIFE. I thart it wur th' _hostridge_ as hacted that away.
JOE. Ostridges ain't gotten they long twisted harns as iver _I_ heard
on.
HIS WIFE (_stopping before another den_). Oh, my blessed! 'Ere be a
queer-lookin' critter, do 'ee look at 'en, Joe. What'll _he_ be now?
JOE. How do 'ee suppose as I be gooin' to tell 'ee the name of 'en?
He'll likely be a sart of a 'arse. [_Dubiously._
HIS WIFE. They've a let' en git wunnerful ontidy fur sure. 'Ere, Mister
(_to_ STRANGER) can you tell us the name of that theer hanimal?
STRANGER. That--oh, that's a Gnu.
JOE'S WIFE. He says it be a noo.
JOE. A noo _what_?
HIS WIFE. Why, a noo _hanimal_, I s'pose.
JOE. Well, he bain't naw himprovement on th' hold 'uns, as I can see.
They'd better ha' left it aloan if they couldn't do naw better nor
_'im_. Dunno what things be coming to, hinventin' o' noo hanimals at
this time o' day.