“It is the usage here,” wrote Jools to his newspaper, “among the Anglais of the fashonne to absorb immense quantities of ale and porter during their meals.  These stupefying, but cheap, and not unpalatable liquors are served in shining pewter vessels.  A mug of foaming hafanaf (so a certain sort of beer is called) was placed by the side of most of the convives.  I was disappointed of seeing Sir Peel:  he was engaged to a combat of cocks which occurs at Windsor.”

Not one word of English was spoke during this dinner, excep when the gentlemen said “Garsong de l’afanaf,” but Jool was very much pleased to meet the eleet of the foringers in town, and ask their opinion about the reel state of thinx.  Was it likely that the bishops were to be turned out of the Chambre des Communes?  Was it true that Lor Palmerston had boxed with Lor Broghamm in the House of Lords, until they were sepparayted by the Lor Maire?  Who was the Lor Maire?  Wasn’t he Premier Minister? and wasn’t the Archeveque de Cantorbery a Quaker?  He got answers to these questions from the various gents round about during the dinner—­which, he remarked, was very much like a French dinner, only dirtier.  And he wrote off all the infamation he got to his newspaper.

“The Lord Maire, Lord Lansdowne, is Premier Ministre.  His Grace has his dwelling in the City.  The Archbishop of Cantabery is not turned Quaker, as some people stated.  Quakers may not marry, nor sit in the Chamber of Peers.  The minor bishops have seats in the House of Commons, where they are attacked by the bitter pleasantries of Lord Brougham.  A boxer is in the house; he taught Palmerston the science of the pugilate, who conferred upon him the seat,” &c. &c.

His writing hover, Jools came down and ad a gaym at pool with two Poles, a Bulgian, and 2 of his own countrymen.  This being done amidst more hafanaf, without which nothink is done in England, and as there was no French play that night, he & the two French gents walked round and round Lester Squarr smoking segaws in the faces of other French gents who were smoaking 2.  And they talked about the granjer of France and the perfidgusness of England, and looked at the aluminated pictur of Madame Wharton as Haryadney till bedtime.  But befor he slep, he finished his letter you may be sure, and called it his “Fust Imprestiuns of Anglyterre.”

“Mind and wake me early,” he said to Boots, the ony Brittish subject in the “Hotel de l’Ail,” and who therefore didn’t understand him.  “I wish to be at Smithfield at 6 hours to see the men sell their wives.”  And the young roag fell asleep, thinking what sort of a one he’d buy.

This was the way Jools passed his days, and got infamation about Hengland and the Henglish—­walking round and round Lester Squarr all day, and every day with the same company, occasionally dewussified by an Oprer Chorus-singer or a Jew or two, and every afternoon in the Quadrant admiring the genteal sosiaty there.  Munseer Jools was not over well funnisht with pocket-money, and so his pleasure was of the gratis sort cheafly.