object of this work is to continue the record of his observations and
proceedings in England.

The third person of the party, gentle reader, is your humble servant,
Thomas Poker, Esquire, a native of Nova Scotia, and a retired member of
the Provincial bar. My name will seldom appear in these pages, as I am
uniformly addressed by both my companions as "Squire," nor shall I have
to perform the disagreeable task of "reporting my own speeches," for
naturally taciturn, I delight in listening rather than talking, and
modestly prefer the duties of an amanuensis, to the responsibilities of
original composition.

The last personage is Jube Japan, a black servant of the Attache.

Such are the persons who composed the little party that embarked at New
York, on board the Packet ship "Tyler," and sailed on the -- of May,
184-, for England.

The motto prefixed to this work

(Greek Text)

sufficiently explains its character. Classes and not individuals have
been selected for observation. National traits are fair subjects for
satire or for praise, but personal peculiarities claim the privilege of
exemption in right of that hospitality, through whose medium they have
been alone exhibited. Public topics are public property; every body has
a right to use them without leave and without apology. It is only when
we quit the limits of this "common" and enter upon "private grounds,"
that we are guilty of "a trespass." This distinction is alike obvious to
good sense and right feeling. I have endeavoured to keep it constantly
in view; and if at any time I shall be supposed to have erred (I say
"supposed," for I am unconscious of having done so) I must claim the
indulgence always granted to involuntary offences.

Now the patience of my reader may fairly be considered a "private
right." I shall, therefore, respect its boundaries and proceed at
once with my narrative, having been already quite long enough about
"uncorking a bottle."

CHAPTER II. A JUICY DAY IN THE COUNTRY.

All our preparations for the voyage having been completed, we spent
the last day at our disposal, in visiting Brooklyn. The weather was
uncommonly fine, the sky being perfectly clear and unclouded; and though
the sun shone out brilliantly, the heat was tempered by a cool, bracing,
westwardly wind. Its influence was perceptible on the spirits of every
body on board the ferry-boat that transported us across the harbour.

"Squire," said Mr. Slick, aint this a