“A mechanickal Duck that shits? To whom can it matter,” Mr. Whitpot, having remov’d his Wig, is irritably kneading it like a small Loaf, “— who besides a fanner would even recognize Duck Waste, however compulsively accurate? And when might any country person get to see this Marvel to begin with, if its only engagements were in Parisian Hôtels?”
