on
their su-gar plan-tay-tions.... Music? did you ask, Madame? We have none
in this establish-ment. Kone.

'Excellencies, the next hole. 'Tis the be-yu-ti-fool city of
Bal-ti-mory. You behold in the be-fore ground a gr-rand feast day of
Amer-i-cain peas-ants; they are be-hold-ing their noble Count
re-pair-ring to the chase with a serf on a white hoarse-bag
(horse-back?). The little joke of the cattle is a play-fool fan-cy of
the jocose artiste as did the panorama. I am un-ac-count-able for
veg-garies such as them. The riv-aire in the bag-ground is the
Signora-pippi'....

'The what?' asked Caper, shaking with laughter.

'A gen-till-man the other day told me that only the peasants in Americay
say Missus or Mis-triss, and that the riv-aire con-se-kwen-tilly was not
Missus-pippi, but, as I have had the honor of saying, the Signora-pippi
rivaire. The next hole, Excel-len-cies!--'Tis the be-yu-ti-fool city of
Vaskmenton (Washington), also on the Signora-pippi riv-aire. The white
balls on the trees is cot-ton. Those are not white balls on the ground,
those are ship;--ships as have woolen growin' onto their sides (sheep?).
'Tis not a white bar-racks: 'tis the Palazzo di Vaskmenton, a nobil
gen-e-ral woo lives there, and was for-mer-ly king of the A-mer-i-cain
nations. What does that Moor, with the white lady in his arms? it is a
negro peas-sant taking his mis-triss out to air,--'tis the customs in
those land.... That negress or fe-mail Moor with some childs is also
airring, and, the white 'ooman tyin' up her stockings is a sportive of
the artiste. He is much for the hum-or-ous.

'Excellencies, the last hole A-mer-i-cain. 'Tis the stoo-pen-doss
Signora-pippi rivaire in all its mag-gnif-fi-cent booty. What is that
cockatoo doing there? He is taking a fly. _You do not see the fly_? I
mean a flight. _What is that bust to flin-ders_? That is a stim-boat was
carryin' on too much stim, and the stim, which is made of coal, goes,
off like gun-pow-dair if you put lights onto it. This is a fir-ful and
awe-fool sight. The other stim-boat is not bustin', it is sailin'. What
is that man behind the whil-house with the cards while another signer
kicks into him on his coat-tails, I do not know. It is steel the
sportifs of the artiste.'

'Excel-len-cies, the last hole. 'Tis the be-yu-ti-fool bustin'--no, not
bustin', but ex-plo-sion of Vee-soov-yus. You can see the sublime sight,
un-terrupt-ted be me ex-play-nations. I thank you for your a