iece when I won't have in more Champagne-wine, and they locks me
in the sideboard when I won't give up my property."

"Get rid of 'em, Mr. Chops."

"I can't. We're in Society together, and what would Society say?"

"Come out of Society!" says I.

"I can't. You don't know what you're talking about. When you have once
gone into Society, you mustn't come out of it."

"Then if you'll excuse the freedom, Mr. Chops," were my remark, shaking
my head grave, "I think it's a pity you ever went in."

Mr. Chops shook that deep Ed of his, to a surprisin extent, and slapped
it half a dozen times with his hand, and with more Wice than I thought
were in him. Then, he says, "You're a good fellow, but you don't
understand. Good-night, go along. Magsman, the little man will now walk
three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain." The last
I see of him on that occasion was his tryin, on the extremest werge of
insensibility, to climb up the stairs, one by one, with his hands and
knees. They'd have been much too steep for him, if he had been sober;
but he wouldn't be helped.

It warn't long after that, that I read in the newspaper of Mr. Chops's
being presented at court. It was printed, "It will be recollected"--and
I've noticed in my life, that it is sure to be printed that it _will_ be
recollected, whenever it won't--"that Mr. Chops is the individual of
small stature, whose brilliant success in the last State Lottery
attracted so much attention." Well, I says to myself, Such is Life! He
has been and done it in earnest at last. He has astonished George the
Fourth!

(On account of which, I had that canvass new-painted, him with a bag of
money in his hand, a presentin it to George the Fourth, and a lady in
Ostrich Feathers fallin in love with him in a bag-wig, sword, and buckles
correct.)

I took the House as is the subject of present inquiries--though not the
honour of bein acquainted--and I run Magsman's Amusements in it thirteen
months--sometimes one thing, sometimes another, sometimes nothin
particular, but always all the canvasses outside. One night, when we had
played the last company out, which was a shy company, through its raining
Heavens hard, I was takin a pipe in the one pair back along with the
young man with the toes, which I had taken on for a month (though he
never drawed--except on paper), and I heard a kickin at the street door.
"Halloa!" I says to the young man, "what's up!" He rubs h