“But there was another pusn womb on this droring-room I fust had the inagspressable dalite to beold.  This was that Star of fashing, that Sinecure of neighboring i’s, as Milting observes, the ecomplisht Lady Hangelina Thistlewood, daughter of my exlent frend, John George Godfrey de Bullion Thistlewood, Earl of Bareacres, Baron Southdown, in the Peeridge of the United Kingdom, Baron Haggismore, in Scotland, K.T., Lord Leftnant of the County of Diddlesex, &c. &c.  This young lady was with her Noble Ma, when I was kinducted tords her.  And surely never lighted on this hearth a more delightfle vishn.  In that gallixy of Bewty the Lady Hangelina was the fairest Star—­in that reath of Loveliness the sweetest Rosebud!  Pore Mary Hann, my Art’s young affeckshns had been senterd on thee; but like water through a sivv, her immidge disappeared in a momink, and left me intransd in the presnts of Hangelina.

“Lady Bareacres made me a myjestick bow—­a grand and hawfle pusnage her Ladyship is, with a Roming Nose, and an enawmus ploom of Hostridge phethers; the fare Hangelina smiled with a sweetness perfickly bewhildring, and said, ’O, Mr. De la Pluche, I’m so delighted to make your acquaintance.  I have often heard of you.’

“‘Who,’ says I, ’has mentioned my insiggnificknt igsistance to the fair Lady Hangelina? kel bonure igstrame poor mwaw!’ (For you see I’ve not studdied ‘Pelham’ for nothink, and have lunt a few French phraces, without which no Gent of fashn speaks now.)

“‘O,’ replies my lady, ’it was Papa first; and then a very, very old friend of yours.’

“‘Whose name is,’ says I, pusht on by my stoopid curawsaty—­

“’Hoggins—­Mary Ann Hoggins’—­ansurred my lady (laffing phit to splitt her little sides).  ’She is my maid, Mr. De la Pluche, and I’m afraid you are a very sad, sad person.’

“‘A mere baggytell,’ says I.  ’In fommer days I was equainted with that young woman; but haltered suckmstancies have sepparated us for hever, and mong cure is irratreevably perdew elsewhere.’

“’Do tell me all about it.  Who is it?  When was it?  We are all dying to know.”

“‘Since about two minnits, and the Ladys name begins with a ha,’ says I, looking her tendarly in the face, and conjring up hall the fassanations of my smile.

“‘Mr. De la Pluche,’ here said a gentleman in whiskers and mistashes standing by, ’hadn’t you better take your spurs out of the Countess of Bareacres’ train?’—­’Never mind Mamma’s train’ (said Lady Hangelina):  ’this is the great Mr. De la Pluche, who is to make all our fortunes—­yours too.  Mr. de la Pluche, let me present you to Captain George Silvertop,’—­The Capting bent just one jint of his back very slitely; I retund his stare with equill hottiness.  ’Go and see for Lady Bareacres’ carridge, George,’ says his Lordship; and vispers to me, ’a cousin of ours—­a poor relation.’  So I took no notis of the feller when he came back, nor in my subsquint visits to Hill Street, where it seems a knife and fork was laid reglar for this shabby Capting.”