(_CULCHARD obeys, spell-bound._) Vare you see dat
blue gross, Vaterloo Shirshe, vere Loart UXBREEDGE lose 'is laig. Zey
cot 'im off and pury him in ze cott-yardt, and a villow grow oudt of
'im. 'E com 'ere to see the villow growing oudt of his laig.
_Culch._ (_abandoning his map, and edging towards Miss TROTTER_).
Hem--we are gazing upon one of the landmarks of our national
history--Miss TROTTER.
_Miss T._ That's a vurry interesting re-mark. I presume you must
have studied up some for a reflection of that kind. Mr. PODBURY, your
friend has been telling me-- [_She repeats CULCHARD's remark._
_Podb._ (_with interest_). Got any _more_ of those, old fellow?
[_CULCHARD moves away with disgusted hauteur._
_The Guide_ (_re-capturing him_). Along dat gross vay, VELLAINTON meet
BLUSHAIR. Prussian general, BLUSHAIR, VELLAINTON 'e com hier. I see
'im. Ven 'e see ze maundt 'e vos vair angri. 'E say, "Eet is no ze
battle-fiel' no more--I com back nevare!" Zat aidge is vere de
Scots Greys vas. Ven they dell NAPOLEON 'oo zey are, 'e say. "Fine
mens--splendid mens, I feenish dem in von hour!" SOULT 'e say, "Ah,
Sire, you do not know dose dairible grey 'orses!" NAPOLEON 'e _not_
know dem.
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