We passed sefral sitties, willitches, and metrappolishes; sleeping the fust night at Amiens, witch, as everyboddy knows, is famous ever since the year 1802 for what's called the Pease of Amiens.

We had some, very good, done with sugar and brown sos, in the Amiens way.

But after all the boasting about them, I think I like our marrowphats better.
Speaking of wedgytables, another singler axdent happened here concarning them.

Master, who was brexfasting before going away, told me to go and get him his fur travling-shoes.

I went and toald the waiter of the inn, who stared, grinned (as these chaps always do), said "Bong" (which means, very well), and presently came back.
I'M BLEST IF HE DIDN'T BRING MASTER A PLATE OF CABBITCH! Would you bleave it, that now, in the nineteenth sentry, when they say there's schoolmasters abroad, these stewpid French jackasses are so extonishingly ignorant as to call a CABBIDGE a SHOO! Never, never let it be said, after this, that these benighted, souperstitious, misrabble SAVIDGES, are equill, in any respex, to the great Brittish people.