When we went into the room, there warn't scarce any of the party left. I stood by one of the doors till I saw Miss Miles cum down with her purty face half buried up in a great silk hood--so I jest went with her to the door, and there stood a carriage with a nigger a standing by the door--so I jest took hold of her hand and helped her to git in; and arter that I felt so lonesome, I bid cousin Mary good night and made tracks for my office. I ruther think I won't tell what I dreamed about--you old steady folks do love to larf at a young chap so--and as I ruther think I shall cum hum tu thanksgiving, I don't mean to let you all poke too much fun at me. Your loving son, JONATHAN SLICK. * * * * * LETTER VII. Scenes in Broadway--Jonathan's Interview with the Count and Flirtations with Miss Miles. DEAR PAR: I am eenamost sartin that you was disappinted because I didn't come hum to thanksgiving, but somehow I couldn't raise pluck enough to start, all I could du. I raly don't know what seemed to be the matter with me; but arter Miss Beebe's party, I begun to git as peaked and wamblecropped as could be. I swanny, if it didn't set me all in a fluster the next morning, when I got up and found the sprig of myrtle that Miss Miles give me a lying on the floor jest where it had dropped from the button hole of my new coat. I didn't hardly give myself time to put on my clothes, afore I went out to a crockeryware stand and bought a tumbler to put it in; and then I set it on my desk, and tried to write a little, for I didn't feel jest like eating any breakfast. But it warn't of no use trying--all I could du, every idee in my head got fixed on the myrtle, and Miss Miles, and the party. I didn't write two words together, but scrabbled all over the paper, and figgered out little heads, and meeting-houses, and hay-stacks on it, as nat'ral as could be; but if I'd been hung and choked to death, I couldn't a wrote two rale ginuine lines. I felt sort of odd all over, and I hadn't the least notion what could ail me; it warn't a very tedious feeling, though, but it seemed as if I was a dreaming yit, and all about that tarnation little Miss Miles. I kept a seeing them bright black eyes and them long curls of hern all the time, as plain as day. I'll be choked if I didn't git afeared that I was a beginning to have a kind of a sneakin notion arter her, and sez I to myself, "Mr. Jonathan Slick, this won't do no how. Arter what you've seen of woman natur in that Judy White, you must be a darned crazy shote to poke your fingers in that fire agin." But a feller may as well drink tu much lickor and ask it not to make him stagger, as to git his head chock full of the gals and then try to talk common sense to hisself. It is like giving advice to a rat when his leg is in the trap.