Mr. Slick visited me late last night, dressed as if he
had been at a party, but very cross, and, as usual when
in that frame of mind, he vented his ill-humour on the
English.

"Where have you been to-night, Mr. Slick?"

"Jist where the English hosses will be," he replied,
"when Old Clay comes here to this country;--no where. I
have been on a stair-case, that's where I have been; and
a pretty place to see company in, ain't it? I have been
jammed to death in an entry, and what's wus than all, I
have given one gall a black eye with my elbow, tore
another one's frock off with my buttons, and near about
cut a third one's leg in two with my hat. Pretty well
for one night's work, ain't it? and for me too, that's
so fond of the dear little critturs, I wouldn't hurt a
hair of their head, if I could help it, to save my soul
alive. What a spot o' work!

"What the plague do people mean here by askin' a mob to
their, house, and invitin' twice as many as can get into
it? If they think it's complimental, they are infarnally
mistaken, that's all: it's an insult and nothin' else,
makin' a fool of a body that way. Heavens and airth! I
am wringing wet! I'm ready to faint! Where's the key of
your cellaret? I want some brandy and water. I'm dead;
bury me quick, for I won't be nice directly. Oh dear!
how that lean gall hurt me! How horrid sharp her bones
are!