.

.
In this abrupt way, my evening ended; it's with a melancholy regret that I think what came of it.

I don't wear plush any more.

I am an altered, a wiser, and, I trust, a better man.
I'm about a novvle (having made great progriss in spelling), in the style of my friend Bullwig; and preparing for publigation, in the Doctor's Cyclopedear, "The Lives of Eminent British and Foring Wosherwomen." SKIMMINGS FROM "THE DAIRY OF GEORGE IV." CHARLES YELLOWPLUSH, ESQ, TO OLIVER YORKE, ESQ.* DEAR WHY,--Takin advantage of the Crismiss holydays, Sir John and me (who is a member of parlyment) had gone down to our place in Yorkshire for six wicks, to shoot grows and woodcox, and enjoy old English hospitalaty.

This ugly Canady bisniss unluckaly put an end to our sports in the country, and brot us up to Buckly Square as fast as four posterses could gallip.