We had qwite a plezzent chat while I atended upon him at Lunch. He wants to kno more about our LORD MARE. Fust of all, how much munney he gits; and, when I told him jest ten thowsand pounds for his year of offics, he xclaimd, "Why, that's the werry same sum as we gives our President, who, you know, is reelly our King!" So I said, "Does he find it enuff for him, Sir?" "Oh yes," he says, "quite." "Well," says I, "it don't seem a werry big salery for the King of such a big plaice as Amerrikey, when I appens to know that the LORD MARE of our little Lundon, which is ony about one mile big, has to spend more than another ten thousand pounds out of his own pocket afore he's finished his year!" "Well," he says, "you do estonish me; but everythink's estonishing in your grand old Citty! How do they send him his money?" I told him as the Chamberlane, who was allers cram full of munney, took it him every quarter-day. "Ah," says he, "we send our President, on the 26th of evry month, exakly eight hundred and thirty-three pounds, six-and-eight pence." "Ah," I said, "I am rayther serprized as he shoud condersend to take the odd six-and-eight. I'm quite shure our LORD MARE woudn't do so. I bleeve as he never has not nothink less than Bank-notes and suvreigns, but allers plenty of 'em." "How many dinners does he give during the year?" says he. "Ah, Sir," says I, "that's rayther a staggering qweshun to arnser. Me and BROWN has often tried our hands at it, but ginerally breaks down about Witsuntide; but I shoud say sumwares about three thowsand, and about twice as many lunchons." "Good grayshus!" says the Amerricane, "what a number!" "Yes," says I, "and so much is they thort on, that p'raps the werry greatest trubbel that has worrited the manly bussoms of Lord SORLSBUBY and all his brother Ministers is the mellancolly fack, that they has bin compelld to decline the LORD MARE's customery Ministerial Bankwet this year, coz they coudn't tell for serten whether they would be the Ministers to go to it! And the LORD MARE to drown his sorrer has gone and berried hisself in the 'art of Scotland!" "What a sad story to be shure!" said my Amerricane, with a sigh! "Yes, Sir," I replied, "these are sum of the many trubbels as our werry greatest men has to endewr, and happy is he who does not quiver when he has his arrow full of 'em!" And so we parted. ROBERT. * * * * * TO MISS AIDA JENOURE. (_ON THE WITHDRAWAL OF "THE MOUNTEBANKS."_)