“Every morning from 6 till 9, the innabitance of Halbany may have been surprised to hear the sounds of music ishuing from the apartmince of Jeames de la Pluche, Exquire, Letter Hex.  It’s my dancing-master.  From six to nine we have walces and polkies—­at nine, ’mangtiang & depotment,’ as he calls it & the manner of hentering a room, complimenting the ost and ostess & compotting yourself at table.  At nine I henter from my dressing-room (has to a party), I make my bow—­my master (he’s a Marquis in France, and ad misfortins, being connected with young Lewy Nepoleum) reseaves me—­I hadwance—­speak abowt the weather & the toppix of the day in an elegant & cussory manner.  Brekfst is enounced by Fitzwarren, my mann—­we precede to the festive bord—­complimence is igschanged with the manner of drinking wind, addressing your neighbor, employing your napking & finger-glas, &c.  And then we fall to brekfst, when I prommiss you the Marquis don’t eat like a commoner.  He says I’m gettn on very well—­soon I shall be able to inwite people to brekfst, like Mr. Mills, my rivle in Halbany; Mr. Macauly, (who wrote that sweet book of ballets, ’The Lays of Hancient Rum;’) & the great Mr. Rodgers himself.

“The above was wrote some weeks back.  I have given brekfst sins then, reglar Deshunys.  I have ad Earls and Ycounts—­Barnits as many as I chose:  and the pick of the Railway world, of which I form a member.  Last Sunday was a grand Fate.  I had the Eleet of my friends:  the display was sumptious; the company reshershy.  Everything that Dellixy could suggest was provided by Gunter.  I had a Countiss on my right & (the Countess of Wigglesbury, that loveliest and most dashing of Staggs, who may be called the Railway Queend, as my friend George H——­ is the Railway King,) on my left the Lady Blanche Bluenose, Prince Towrowski, the great Sir Huddlestone Fuddlestone from the North, and a skoar of the fust of the fashn.  I was in my GLOARY—­the dear Countess and Lady Blanche was dying with lauffing at my joax and fun—­I was keeping the whole table in a roar—­when there came a ring at my door-bell, and sudnly Fitzwarren, my man, henters with an air of constanation.  ’Theres somebody at the door,’ says he in a visper.

“‘Oh, it’s that dear Lady Hemily,’ says I, ’and that lazy raskle of a husband of hers.  Trot them in, Fitzwarren,’ (for you see by this time I had adopted quite the manners and hease of the arristoxy.)—­And so, going out, with a look of wonder he returned presently, enouncing Mr. & Mrs. Blodder.

“I turned gashly pail.  The table—­the guests—­the Countiss—­Towrouski, and the rest, weald round & round before my hagitated I’s.  It was my grandmother and Huncle Bill.  She is a washerwoman at Healing Common, and he—­he keeps a wegetable donkey-cart.

“Y, Y hadn’t John, the tiger, igscluded them?  He had tried.  But the unconscious, though worthy creeters, adwanced in spite of him, Huncle Bill bringing in the old lady grinning on his harm!