"MA SHARE MARE,—I take up my _plume_ to inform you that this leaves me in a state of perfect convalescence, or as we say in French, _sar var beang havoc more_, as I hope it does _havoc twore_. I pass very well now for _un Nattif de Parry_. I have combed back my front hair, _à la Shinwars_; so that I have _tutor fay le hair Fransay_. And, yet _oh! ma share Mare, say treest!—set hawreeble_, to be compelled to deny the land of one's birth, and all _poor le daygootang argong de set mizzyrarble V_! What, after all, too, is 20_l._ a-year _poor une Damn kom more_? A paltry pittance!—_vollar_ 2. _Apprepo_, I must tell you of an awkward _wrongconter_ which happened last _Macready Mattang_, to Miss Thimblebee and _lay Demmozel_. As we were promenaying on the Heath we came across _dew June Offishya de Woolwich_. They were dreadfully impudent and frightfully handsome— Oh, _ma Mare! Kell bell Ome! Kell jolly Moostarch! Kell bows U!_ I think if you were to send me the Pork Pies you talked of I could keep them in my _Sharmbrer a Kooshay_, and eat them when I went to bed, _dong mong Lee_—as we have no pastry here but rice puddings— _Say malle-roeze!—Ness Pa?_ "And now, _Addèw, ma tray share Mare!_ I have to put the Parlour Boarders _cheraux ong pappya_. So _Pa plooze a presong_ from _Vòtrer Ammeroose Feel_, "CRINOLINE DE CORSET, _nay_ SARAH SKEGGS." [Illustration: THE BEST WAY OF ADVERTISING A LADIES' SCHOOL. ] [Illustration: THE SCHOLASTIC HEN AND HER CHICKENS. Miss Thimblebee loquitur.—"_Turn your heads the other way my dears, for here are two horridly handsome Officers coming._" ] "SAY YOU DID IT!" A ROMANCE OF SMILES AND TITTERS. TITTER THE SECOND. The sound of the stranger's retiring footsteps had scarcely died upon the ear, when, as he had predicted, the soldiers came up, led by the drover, of whom the late proprietor of the Mantello had spoken. "I tell you it's hereabouts I missed him," said the owner of the lost purse. "And ecco!" he exclaimed, as his eyes fell on the prostrate figure of Goffoni, enveloped in the cloak, "by all the Saints! here lies the rascal, shamming asleep, too, as I live!" The sleep, however, was no make-believe on the part of poor Goffoni, who, under the growing influence of the opiate, was rapidly sinking into the joint embraces of Messrs. Morpheus and Mors, and had just commenced nodding off—to Death. "Come, get up here!" shouted one of the soldiers, giving Goffoni a kick that even in his drowsy state had the effect of making him open his eyes. "Get up, I say! We want you about a little bit of highway robbery that you've been having a finger in this evening—do you hear?" And the military querist punctuated the ribs of the wretched Signor with a heavy note of interrogation from his regulation boot.