flowers, or grapes, with Lady Betty's love to her dear Clara--a young
rascal with white kids, and his hair curled every morning. What business
has HE to be dangling about George Rumbold's premises, and sticking up
his ugly pug-face as a model for all George's pictures?

Miss Clapperclaw says Bulbul is evidently smitten, and Clara too. What!
would she put up with such a little fribble as that, when there is a
man of intellect and taste who--but I won't believe it. It is all the
jealousy of women.


SOME OF THE SERVANTS IN OUR STREET.


These gentlemen have two clubs in our quarter--for the butlers at the
"Indiaman," and for the gents in livery at the "Pocklington Arms"--of
either of which societies I should like to be a member. I am sure they
could not be so dull as our club at the "Poluphloisboio," where one
meets the same neat, clean, respectable old fogies every day.

But with the best wishes, it is impossible for the present writer to
join either the "Plate Club" or the "Uniform Club" (as these reunions
are designated); for one could not shake hands with a friend who was
standing behind your chair, or nod a How-d'ye-do? to the butler who was
pouring you out a glass of wine;--so that what I know about the gents in
our neighborhood is from mere casual observation. For instance, I have a
slight acquaintance with (1) Thomas Spavin, who commonly wears an air of
injured innocence, and is groom to Mr. Joseph Green, of Our Street.
"I tell why the brougham 'oss is out of condition, and why Desperation
broke out all in a lather! 'Osses will, this 'eavy weather; and