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.