I knew your grandfather well, sir.  Sum 16 years ago, while I was amoosin and instructin the intellectoal peple of Cape Cod with my justly pop'lar Show, I saw your grandfather.  He was then between 96 years of age, but his mind was very clear.  He told me I looked like George Washington.  He said I had a massiv intellect.  Your grandfather was a highly-intelligent man, and I made up my mind then that if I could ever help his family in any way, I'd do so.  Your grandfather gave me sum clams and a Testament.  He charged me for the clams but threw in the Testament.  He was a very fine man. I therefore rite for you, which insures your respectability at once.  It gives you a moral tone at the word go. I found myself the other night at Niblo's Garding, which is now, by the way, Wheatley's Garding.  (I don't know what's bcum of Nib.)  I couldn't see much of a garding, however, and it struck me if Mr. Wheatley depended on it as regards raisin things, he'd run short of gardin sass.  [N.B.--These remarks is yoomerous.  The older I gro, the more I want to goak.] I walked down the isle in my usual dignified stile, politely tellin the people as I parsed along to keep their seats.  "Don't git up for me," I sed.  One of the prettiest young men I ever saw in my life showed me into a seat, and I proceeded to while away the spare time by reading Thompson's "Bank Note Reporter" and the comic papers. The ordinance was large. I tho't, from a cursiry view, that the Finnigan Brotherhood was well represented. There was no end of bootiful wimin, and a heap of good clothes.  There was a good deal of hair present that belonged on the heds of peple who didn't cum with it--but this is a ticklish subjeck for me.  I larfed at my wife's waterfall, which indoosed that superior woman to take it off and heave it at me rather vilently; and as there was about a half bushil of it, it knockt me over, and give me pains in my body which I hain't got over yit. The orkistry struck up a toon, & I asked the Usher to nudge me when Mr. Pogue cum on the stage to act. I wanted to see Pogue; but, strange to say, he didn't act during the entire evenin.  I reckin he has left Niblo's, and gone over to Barnum's. Very industrious pepl are the actors at Barnum's.  They play all day, and in the evenin likewise.  I meet'm every mornin, at five o'clock, going to their work with their tin dinner-pails.  It's a sublime site.  Many of them sleep on the premises. Arrah-na-Pogue was writ by Dion O'Bourcicolt & Edward McHouse.  They writ it well.  O'Bourcy has writ a cartload of plays himself, the most of which is fust-rate. I understand there is a large number of O'gen'tlmen of this city who can rite better plays than O'Bourcy does, but somehow they don't seem to do it.  When they do, I'll take a Box of them.