pleasure, going to seek it in as many directions--with what success no
one can predict. There's an idea for a sonnet there.

[_He brings out a pocket-book, and begins to write--"As when
a--"_

_An Amurrcan Citizen_ (_to_ Clerk). See here, I've been around with
your tickets in Yurrup, and when I was at Vernis, I bought some goods
at a store there, and paid cash down for 'em, and they promised to
send 'em on for me right here, and that was last fall, and I've never
heard any more of 'em, and what I want _you_ should do now is to
instruct your representative at Vernis to go round and hev a talk with
that man, and ask him what in thunder he means by it, and kinder hint
that he'll hev the Amurrcan Consul in his hair pretty smart, if he
don't look slippier!

[_The Clerk mildly suggests that it would be better to
communicate directly with the American Consulate, or with
the tradesman himself._

_The A.C._ But hold on--how'm I goin' to write to that sharp,
when I've lost his address, and disremember his name? Can't you
mail a few particulars to your agent, so he'll identify him? No.
(_Disappointed._) Well, I thought you'd ha' fixed up a little thing
like that, anyhow; in my country they'd ha' done it right away. Yes,
_Sir_! [_He goes away in grieved surprise._

_Enter Mr. JAMES PODBURY, age twenty-six; in a City Office;
short, fresh-coloured, jaunty; close-cut fair hair, and small auburn
moustache. Not having been to the City to-day, he is wearing light