native dirt.

"By Jove, it's Kennedy!" cried Tankerville, whose artistical eye detected
me through my hirsute and fluttering disguise. "What a picturesque
object!--I congratulate you, old fellow!--easiest and pleasantest way in
the world of making a living!--lose no time about it, but send in your
papers at once!--continue assiduously to neglect your person, and you're
worth a guinea an hour for the rest of your prime, as a living model on
the full pay of the Academies!"

I was soon bewildered by a torrent of inquiries from all sides: as to how
I came behind the target,--what success I had had in the woods,--how many
miles I had come to-day,--whether I had got the martin-skin I had promised
to this one, and the silver fox I undertook to trap for that,--when,
suddenly, a diversion was created by a roar from Phillips, who had
proceeded to inspect my spoils behind the target, and now stood looking at
my portrait-gallery of living celebrities, his great chest heaving with
laughter; and before I could satisfy my inquiring friends, the whole crowd
had rushed pell-mell to the exhibition.

"Caught, by all that's lovely!" shouted Phillips, repeating my verses at
the top of his voice,--

"The bird-song and flower
And star from above
Combine in thy bower;
Their union is love!"

"Ritoorala loorala loorala loo, ritoorala loorala loorala loo!" chorused
everybody, as he sang the last verse to the vulgar melody of 'Tatter Jack