s
say, I thought lickwise: 'Ho, Jeames,' says she, 'hall those fine ladies
in sattns and velvets is very well, but there's not one of em can hold a
candle to Mary Hann.'"

"Railway Spec is going on phamusly. You should see how polite they har
at my bankers now! Sir Paul Pump Aldgate, & Company. They bow me out of
the back parlor as if I was a Nybobb. Every body says I'm worth half a
millium. The number of lines they're putting me upon is inkumseavable.
I've put Fitzwarren, my man, upon several. Reginald Fitzwarren, Esquire,
looks splendid in a perspectus; and the raskle owns that he has made two
thowsnd.

"How the ladies, & men too, foller and flatter me! If I go into Lady
Binsis hopra box, she makes room for me, who ever is there, and cries
out, 'O do make room for that dear creature!' And she complyments me on
my taste in musick, or my new Broom-oss, or the phansy of my weskit, and
always ends by asking me for some shares. Old Lord Bareacres, as stiff
as a poaker, as prowd as loosyfer, as poor as Joab--even he condysends
to be sivvle to the great De la Pluche, and begged me at Harthur's,
lately, in his sollom, pompus way, 'to faver him with five minutes'
conversation.' I knew what was coming--application for shares--put him
down on my private list. Would'nt mind the Scrag End Junction passing
through Bareacres--hoped I'd come down and shoot there.

"I gave the old humbugg a few shares out of my own pocket. 'There, old
Pride,' says I, 'I like to see you down on your knees to a footman.
There, old Pompossaty! Take fifty pound; I like to see you come cringing
and begging for it.' Whenever I see him in a VERY public place, I take
my change for my money. I digg him in the ribbs, or slap his padded old
shoulders. I call him, 'Bareacres, my old buck!' and I see him wince. It
does my art good.

"I'm in low sperits. A disagreeable insadent has just occurred. Lady
Pump, the banker's wife, asked me to dinner. I sat on her right, of
course, with an uncommon gal ner me, with whom I was getting on in
my fassanating way--full of lacy ally (as the Marquis says) and easy
plesntry. Old Pump, from the end of the table, asked me to drink
shampane; and on turning to tak the glass I saw Charles Wackles (with
womb I'd been imployed at Colonel Spurriers' house) grinning over his
shoulder at the butler.

"The beest reckonised me. Has I was putting on my palto in the hall, he
came up again: 'HOW DY DOO, Jeames?' says he, in a findish v