learned to give a short bark when they wouldn't bid, and to give another
and a nod of his head when I asked him, "Who said half a crown? Are you
the gentleman, sir, that offered half a crown?" He attained to an
immense height of popularity, and I shall always believe taught himself
entirely out of his own head to growl at any person in the crowd that bid
as low as sixpence. But he got to be well on in years, and one night
when I was conwulsing York with the spectacles, he took a conwulsion on
his own account upon the very footboard by me, and it finished him.

Being naturally of a tender turn, I had dreadful lonely feelings on me
arter this. I conquered 'em at selling times, having a reputation to
keep (not to mention keeping myself), but they got me down in private,
and rolled upon me. That's often the way with us public characters. See
us on the footboard, and you'd give pretty well anything you possess to
be us. See us off the footboard, and you'd add a trifle to be off your
bargain. It was under those circumstances that I come acquainted with a
giant. I might have been too high to fall into conversation with him,
had it not been for my lonely feelings. For the general rule is, going
round the country, to draw the line at dressing up. When a man can't
trust his getting a living to his undisguised abilities, you consider him
below your sort. And this giant when on view figured as a Roman.

He was a languid young man, which I attribute to the distance betwixt his
extremities. He had a little head and less in it, he had weak eyes and
weak knees, and altogether you couldn't look at him without feeling that
there was greatly too much of him both for his joints and his mind. But
he was an amiable though timid young man (his mother let him out, and
spent the money), and we come acquainted when he was walking to ease the
horse betwixt two fairs. He was called Rinaldo di Velasco, his name
being Pickleson.