As long as they treat us according to gunter, when we go to see them on t'other side of the water, it is no more than the fair thing if we take turn about, and do the genteel by them a trifle. We ought to feel streaked with all our lands and barns full of grain, if we can't give a foreign chap something to eat and drink without grudging on it, and then agin, without being tickled to death because they don't feel too much pomposity to eat it. Jason had sent a leetle finefied letter inside of mine, doubled over and twisted up at the corners like an old fashioned cocked hat, and smelling as sweet as a garden pink root in full blow. It was directed in leetle finefied writing to His Highness the Right Honorable Lord Morpeth--Howard Member of Parliament, &c., &c. Think sez I, this English chap needn't be consarned that his kite wont sail high among the Yankees for want of a long tail to it, if they all tuck the etceteras onto his name so strong as cousin Jase does. But I hadn't no idee of being waiter to my pussy cousin, anyhow. If Jase has a mind to send his invite to a lord, done up like a cocked hat, let him be his own nigger, or else send it by the post-office--I wasn't a going to do it for him nor touch it. No lord that is any great shakes will think the better of an honest Republican for acting as if he was scared to ask him to eat dinner, or tickled to death if he didn't feel tu much stuck up to come with plain Yankee asking. I made up my mind, that if Lord Morpeth took a notion to eat Thanksgiving with Jase, he'd be jest as likely to get his paper cocked hat from the Post Office, as anywhere. So, as I was a going through the Park, I took the consarn between my thumb and finger, for fear of siling it, and tucked it through a slit in the post office, made a purpose for city letters; and off I went, a tickling myself eenamost to death, with thinking how the post office clarks would giggle and stare, and snuff up their noses to see such a pinted critter directed to a Lord, and a smelling so sweet, with a long tail of names curled up in all the corners,--and Lord Morpeth, tu, wouldn't he set our Jase down for a shaller pated coot? I've a kind of a sneaking notion that it's as like as not he would, but that's none of my bisness. In this country, a feller aint to blame for his relations, that's one comfort. Your loving son, JONATHAN SLICK. * * * * * LETTER XXIV. Description of Cousin Jason's Equipage--Figure cut by Mrs. Jason Slick and her Daughter--Manners of a Noble Lord--The Dinner--Jason boasts of his Birth, Heraldry, and Coat of Arms--Jonathan creates great Consternation by proclaiming the Head of the Family as a Shoemaker--Makes a Speech. DEAR PAR: