I hope Lord Bruffham and Fox comes up with your expectorations--he certainly does with his hone--I went, the other night, into "Tommy's box;" I don't know why they called the place so--it was like a vaper bath, with certains all round it; and there I seed the Chanceseller lying full-length on the Wulsack--(which I thought a hod thing to have in sich a place)--and I am told he may be seen lying there every night--when I say lying, I mean stretching,--and poor nobleman, no wonder, for he must be a most tired out--wot with the intrests of the nayshun, and the cawses in his Court, and the trouble he is at to keep silence there--and carrion the bag--and riting leaden articles in the noos-peppers, and his repeals, and one thing and the other. Have you seen his pitcher in the Suffocating gallery of Artists?--there he is, as like as like can be, but only carycachurd, which is not to be wundered at, for the pitcher is panted by Lord Lonsdale--(so the cattle-hog says)--and as his Lordship always made him look blue on the pole, its no wunder he has made him look yellow on the canvas--for blue and yellow is Bruffham's cullers. The pictcher, however, is in the best place in the room, in complement to the Lord Chanceseller--so that them as was ordered to hang his Lordship, have done him only justass. Then there is Lord Pummicestone--he is another of my feverits-- where did you ivir see such a Foraying Minster as he--so genteel--so haymable--and with sich nice wiskers and white linen--never interfeering the least with any nonsense about polyticks--never sayin a word about his hoffice, either in Parlyment or out of it, as I hears on; he troubles his head no more about the Belchians and the Ditch, or the Roosians, or the Proossians, or hany of the oosians, than I do. I'm told (by Parr and Tess) that there are no hops for the Poles--their caws is desprut--at least so the Old Engine we met last season at the sea side told me the day before yesterday, as I seed him cumming out of the Horizontal Club in Handover-square;--nevertheless, I think Lord Pummicestone is quite wyse for not talkin--when one nose littel, it is the safest way to say nothink. However, I may be preggudiced in his fever, for his Lordship has promised to do the jalap wuth me, at an opp wich a frend of ours in Taffystalk-square is to give next munth--I thoft my duncing days was gun, but woo can resist Lord Pummicestone--that would be a _task_.