I'm not English--I'm a _waver temmeny mush_ (a foreigner).

But I'm all right, and you can leave your spoons out.
Tacho." "The boshno an' kani The rye an' the rani; Welled acai 'pre the boro lun pani.
Rinkeni juva hav acai! Del a choomer to the rye!" "_Duveleste_!" said the old fortune-teller, "that ever I should live to see a rye like you! A boro rye rakkerin' Rommanis! But you must have some tea now, my son--good tea." "I don't pi muttermengri dye ('drink tea,' but an equivoque).

It's muttermengri with you and with us of the German jib." "Ha! ha! but you must have food.

You won't go away like a Gorgio without tasting anything ?" "I'll eat bread with you, but tea I haven't tasted this five-and-twenty years." "Bread you shall have, rya." And saying this, the daughter spread out a clean white napkin, and placed on it excellent bread and butter, with plate and knife.

I never tasted better, even in Philadelphia.