ce of time, and we began to get a very pretty
society about us. Some of old Tug's friends swore they would do anything
for the family, and brought their wives and daughters to see dear Mrs.
Coxe and her charming girl; and when, about the first week in
February, we announced a grand dinner and ball for the evening of the
twenty-eighth, I assure you there was no want of company: no, nor
of titles neither; and it always does my heart good even to hear one
mentioned.

Let me see. There was, first, my Lord Dunboozle, an Irish peer, and his
seven sons, the Honorable Messieurs Trumper (two only to dinner): there
was Count Mace, the celebrated French nobleman, and his Excellency Baron
von Punter from Baden; there was Lady Blanche Bluenose, the eminent
literati, author of "The Distrusted" "The Distorted," "The Disgusted,"
"The Disreputable One," and other poems; there was the Dowager Lady
Max and her daughter, the Honorable Miss Adelaide Blueruin; Sir Charles
Codshead, from the City; and Field-Marshal Sir Gorman O'Gallagher, K.A.,
K.B., K.C., K.W., K.X., in the service of the Republic of Guatemala:
my friend Tagrag and his fashionable acquaintance, little Tom Tufthunt,
made up the party. And when the doors were flung open, and Mr. Hock, in
black, with a white napkin, three footmen, coachman, and a lad whom Mrs.
C. had dressed in sugar-loaf buttons and called a page, were seen round
the dinner-table, all in white gloves, I promise you I felt a thrill of
elation, and thought to myself--Sam Cox, Sam Cox, who ever would have
expected to see you here?

After dinner, there was to be, as I said, an evening-party; and to this
Messieurs Tagrag and Tufthunt had invited many of the principal nobility
that our metropolis had produced. When I mention, among the company to
tea, her Grace the Duchess of Zero, her son the Marquis of Fitzurse,
and the Ladies North Pole her daughters; when I say that there were yet
OTHERS, whose names may be found in the Blue Book, but shan't, out of
modesty, be mentioned here, I think I've said enough to show that, in
our time, No. 96, Portland Place, was the resort of the best of company.

It was our first dinner, and dressed by our new cook, Munseer
Cordongblew. I bore it very well; eating, for my share, a filly dysol
allamater dotell, a cutlet soubeast, a pully bashymall, and other French
dishes: and, for the frisky sweet wine, with tin tops to the bottles,
called Champang, I must say that me and Mrs. Coxe-