with their smiles and their blushes, and their pretty ways, would you
like to be the Grand Bashaw?

"Mind and send me a large piece of cake," I go up and whisper archly to
old Mr. Ward: and we look on rather sentimentally at the couple, almost
the last in the rooms (there, I declare, go the musicians, and the clock
is at five)--when Grundsell, with an air effare, rushes up to me and
says, "For e'v'n sake, sir, go into the supper-room: there's that Hirish
gent a-pitchin' into Mr. P."


THE MULLIGAN AND MR. PERKINS.


It was too true. I had taken him away after supper (he ran after Miss
Little's carriage, who was dying in love with him as he fancied), but
the brute had come back again. The doctors of divinity were putting up
their condiments: everybody was gone; but the abominable Mulligan sat
swinging his legs at the lonely supper-table!

Perkins was opposite, gasping at him.

The Mulligan.--I tell ye, ye are the butler, ye big fat man. Go get me
some more champagne: it's good at this house.

Mr. Perkins (with dignity).--It IS good at this house; but--

The Mulligan.--Bht hwhat, ye goggling, bow-windowed jackass? Go get the
wine, and we'll dthrink it together, my old buck.