I give this as a curosity--pipple doan't know how in many cases
fashnabble life is carried on; and to know even what a real gnlmn
OWES is somethink instructif and agreeable.

But to my tail. The very day after my master had made the
inquiries concerning Mr. Dawkins, witch I mentioned already, he met
Mr. Blewitt on the stairs; and byoutiffle it was to see how this
gnlmn, who had before been almost cut by my master, was now
received by him. One of the sweetest smiles I ever saw was now
vizzable on Mr. Deuceace's countenance. He held out his hand,
covered with a white kid glove, and said, in the most frenly tone
of vice posbill, "What! Mr. Blewitt? It is an age since we met.
What a shame that such near naybors should see each other so
seldom!"

Mr. Blewitt, who was standing at his door, in a pe-green dressing-
gown, smoakin a segar, and singing a hunting coarus, looked
surprised, flattered, and then suspicious.

"Why, yes," says he, "it is, Mr. Deuceace, a long time."

"Not, I think, since we dined at Sir George Hookey's. By-the-by,
what an evening that was--hay, Mr. Blewitt? What wine! what
capital songs! I recollect your 'May-day in the morning'--cuss me,
the best comick song I ever heard. I was speaking to the Duke of
Doncaster about it only yesterday. You know the duke, I think?"

Mr. Blewitt said, quite surly, "No, I don't."

"Not know him!" cries master; "why, hang it, Blewitt! he knows YOU;