English of which this calico-livered scoundrel is a consummate master,
and informing me that, if I care to join the staff of the journal
which Mr. J. directs, a princely salary shall be at my disposal.
Mr. J. inquires what special branch of fiction it would suit me to
undertake, as he proposes to publish a serial novel by an author of
undoubted imaginative power. Here is my answer to Mr. J. I will do
nothing for him. His compliments I despise. Flattery has never yet
caused me to falter. And if he desires to prop the tottering fortunes
of his chowder-headed rag, let him obtain support from the pasty-faced
pack of cacklers who surround him. I would stretch no finger to help
him, no, not if I saw him up to his chin in the oleo-margarine of
which his brains and those of his bottle-nosed, flounder-eared friends
seem to be composed. So much then for Mr. J. _Du reste_, as TALLEYRAND
once said, my important duties to the readers of this journal fully
absorb my time.

Last week I offered to the public some interesting details of the
family history of an exalted German prince, whose friendship and
good-will it has been my fortune to acquire by means of the dazzling
accuracy of my forecasts of racing events in this country. I may state
at once that the Grand Cross of the Honigthau Order, "_mit Diamanten
und Perlen_," which his Serene Highness was good enough to confer upon
me, has come to hand, and even now sparkles on a breast as incapable
of deceit as it is ardent in the pursuit of truth. Let this be an
incitement to the deserving, and a warning to scoffers who presume
to doubt me. Many other gratifying testimonies of foreign approval
have reached me. From the immense heap of them stored in my front
drawing-room, I select the following specimens:--

(I.) _BUENOS AYRES, MONDAY._