At
nine I henter from my dressing-room (has to a party), I make my bow--my
master (he's a Marquis in France, and ad misfortins, being connected
with young Lewy Nepoleum) reseaves me--I hadwance--speak abowt the
weather & the toppix of the day in an elegant & cussory manner.
Brekfst is enounced by Fitzwarren, my mann--we precede to the festive
bord--complimence is igschanged with the manner of drinking wind,
addressing your neighbor, employing your napking & finger-glas, &c. And
then we fall to brekfst, when I prommiss you the Marquis don't eat like
a commoner. He says I'm gettn on very well--soon I shall be able to
inwite people to brekfst, like Mr. Mills, my rivle in Halbany; Mr.
Macauly, (who wrote that sweet book of ballets, 'The Lays of Hancient
Rum;') & the great Mr. Rodgers himself.
"The above was wrote some weeks back. I HAVE given brekfst sins then,
reglar Deshunys. I have ad Earls and Ycounts--Barnits as many as I
chose: and the pick of the Railway world, of which I form a member. Last
Sunday was a grand Fate. I had the Eleet of my friends: the display was
sumptious; the company reshershy. Everything that Dellixy could suggest
was provided by Gunter. 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.
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