Well, the wings don't come, such big butterflies have to grub it in spite of Old Nick, and after wishin' and wishin' ever so long in vain, one of the young galls sits down and sings in rael right down airnest, 'I _won't_ be a nun.' Poor critter! there is some sense in that, but I guess she will be bleeged to be, for all that.
"Now eatin' is done, talkin' is done, and singin' is done; so here is chamber candles, and off to bed, that is if you are a-stayin' there.
If you ain't, 'Mr.Weather Mutton's carriage is ready, Sir,' and Mr.
Weather Mutton and Mrs.Weather Mutton and the entire stranger get in, and when you do, you are in for it, I can tell you.

You are in for a seven mile heat at least of cross country roads, axletree deep, rain pour-in' straight up and down like Niagara, high hedges, deep ditches full of water, dark as Egypt; ain't room to pass nothin' if you meet it, and don't feel jist altogether easy about them cussed alligators and navigators, critters that work on rail-roads all day, and on houses and travellers by night.
"If you come with Mr.Weather Mutton, you seed the carriage in course.
It's an old one, a family one, and as heavy as an ox cart.

The hosses are old, family hosses, everlastin' fat, almighty lazy, and the way they travel is a caution to a snail.

It's vulgar to go fast, its only butcher's hosses trot quick, and besides, there is no hurry--there is nothin' to do to home.

Affectionate couple! happy man! he takes his wife's hand in his--kisses it?
No, not he, but he puts his head back in the corner of the carriage, and goes to sleep, and dreams--of her?
Not he indeed, but of a saddle of mutton and curren' jelly.
"Well, if you are a-stoppin' at Sir Littleeared Bighead's, you escape the flight by night, and go to bed and think of homeland natur'.