erved you right,
sir. You must go about as an impostor, sir, in society; and you pay
richly for your swindling, sir, by being swindled yourself: but, as
I think your punishment has been already pretty severe, I shall do my
best, out of regard for my friend, Lord Cinqbars, to prevent the matter
going any farther; and I recommend you to leave Paris without delay. Now
let me wish you a good morning."--Wherewith British made a majestic bow,
and began giving the last touch to his varnished boots.

We departed: poor Sam perfectly silent and chapfallen; and I meditating
on the wisdom of the half-pay philosopher, and wondering what means he
would employ to rescue Pogson from his fate.

What these means were I know not; but Mr. Ringwood did NOT make his
appearance at six; and, at eight, a letter arrived for "Mr. Pogson,
commercial traveller," &c. &c. It was blank inside, but contained his
two bills. Mr. Ringwood left town, almost immediately, for Vienna; nor
did the Major explain the circumstances which caused his departure; but
he muttered something about "knew some of his old tricks," "threatened
police, and made him disgorge directly."

Mr. Ringwood is, as yet, young at his trade; and I have often thought it
was very green of him to give up the bills to the Major, who, certainly,
would never have pressed the matter before the police, out of respect
for his friend, Lord Cinqbars.

THE FETES OF JULY.

IN A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE "BUNGAY BEACON."

PARIS, July 30th, 1839.

We have arrived here just in time for the fetes of July.--You have
read, no doubt, of that glorious revolution which took place
here nine years ago, and which is now commemorated annually,
in a pretty facetious manner, by gun-firing, student-processions,
pole-climbing-for-silver-spoons, gold-watches and legs-of-mutton,
monarchical orations, and what not, and sanctioned, moreover, by
Chamber-of-Deputies, with a grant of a couple of hundred thousand
francs to defray the expenses of all the crackers, gun-firings, and
legs-of-mutton aforesaid. There is a new fountain in the Place Louis
Quinze, otherwise called the Place Louis Seize, or else the Place de la
Revolution, or else the Place de la Concorde (who can say why?)--which,
I am told, is to run bad wine during certain hours to-morrow, and there
WOULD have been a review of the National Guards and the Line--only,
since the Fieschi business, reviews are no joke, and so this latter part
of the