However, I don't mean now to enter into a reglar crickitism of this egxtrornary work, but merely to observe, when I read it fust I felt a thust for literrerry fame spring up in my buzzem; and I thort I should to be an orthor. Unfortinnet delusion!--that thort has proved my rooin. It was the _bean_ of my life, and the destroyer of my _pease_. From that moment I could think of nothink else; I neglekted my wittles and my master, and wanderd about like a knight-errand-boy who had forgotten his message. Sleap deserted my lowly pillar, and, like a wachful shepherd, I lay all night awake amongst my _flocks_. I had got hold of a single idear--it was the axle of my mind, and, like a wheelbarrow, my head was always turning upon it. At last I resolved to rite, and I cast my i's about for a subject--they fell on the Palass! Ear, as my friend Litton Bulwer ses, ear was a field for genus to sore into;--ear was an area for fillophosy to dive into;--ear was a truly magnificient and comprehensive desine for a great _nash_-ional picture! I had got a splendid title, too--not for myself--I've a sole above such trumperry--but for my book. Boox is like humane beings--a good title goes a grate way with the crowd:--the one I ad chose for my _shed-oove_, was "Pencillings in the Palass; or, a Small Voice from the Royal Larder," with commick illustriations by Fiz or Krokvill. Mr. Bentley wantid to be engaged as monthly nuss for my expected projeny; and a nother gen'leman, whose "name" shall be "never heard," offered to go _shears_ with me, if I'd consent to _cut-uup_ the Cort ladies. "No," ses I, indignantly, "I leave Cort scandle to my betters--I go on independent principals into the Palass, and that's more than Lord Melbun, or Sir Robert Peal, or any one of the insiders or outsiders ever could or ever can say of theirselves. That's what I said _then_,--but now I think, what a cussed fool I was. All my eye-flown bubbles were fated to be busted and melted, like the _wigs_, "into thin _hair_." _Nong port!_ We gets wiser as we gets * * * Genteel Reader,--I beg your parding. I'm better now. Bless me, how the ship waggles! It's reelly hawful; the sailors only laff at it, but I suppose as they're all _tars_ they don't mind being _pitched_ a little. The capting tells me we are now reglarly at see, having just passt the North 4 land; so, ackording to custom, I begin my journal, or, as naughtical men call it--to keep my log.