throwed off the sinfool loosts of the flesh, which plays the devil and always works. So says I, yes sur, Muster Doolittle has sold all his stud and I've nothing to do now but feed well and take fizzic and attend methodist meetings. And when, says Muster Bloogo, had you a call-why, says I, quite natural like "not since the morning," and then he fell into a violent passion and dom'd me for all sorts of bad things. Well I could not account for this cantankerosity and didn't relish it at all, so as I didn't like to knock his eyes about, I takes hold of a loomp of mud (plain cow-mud Roger) and as he walked off I floong it at him and plastered his thing-um-doddies all over, and then I slipt off and left the bloo lites, and so I be'ant no longer a child of Generation but just like Muster Doolittle who won't go to church 'cause he don't speak to the parson, who I be told be all very nice good kind of folks, and keeps white clarks and black beadles.

I told you in one of my letters that as I feel very lonesome and solatary, most especially at nights, that I had some thoughts of boocking oop to one of our black groom's half sisters, who looks rathor loostyish and corpilent and so they calls her "Fat mar," and now it be all settled and I and she have been man and wife loike, ever since last week, only some'ow or other we don't join jiblets like Tadcaster married folks, for she don't like to feed with me and wants a corner to herself, and lord lord what foony ways these black female women have when you cooms to know 'em in privet! I could make you fit to bust with laughing if I durst, only I knows as 'ow you shews my letters to

* Khana.

Phebe Harpur and may be she'd bloosh and look voolish and get vex'd at the comical odd things I would tell you; for "fat mar be a poor untrained filly; she preys to a loomp of stone, painted red, and eats with her fingers and picks up things with her toes, which be covered with silver rings.-I expects a young un shortly.

I have some idea that Muster Doolittle is a going to be married too, for his filly de joy has bolted, and there be a very rum looking widder here who has lost her third husbund and wants to take anoother, and t'other day I heard a parcel of Measter's Measter's friends talking very loud together about him and the Widder whilst he was in the Dorlut, and says one on 'em, I knows as 'ow that Doolittle be vastly fond of her and I'll take the long odds she cotches him oop afore its long. Dom it, sed young Mr. Skilite, that would be a prime fit indeed, a regler bite, blow me; why she's as old as my Grandmoother, as fractious as a monkey and as fat as my poodle-Phoo! said t'other, she bean't much above 40, nor more fractious than most women, and as for her fat, she's only in bum-pong.

Ah, says Mr. Skilite, laughing like the devil, she be in bum-pong indeed, for she's got a primrosehill sort of a froont and a back like a precipiss.

Only think, just as I was riting this, in comes Muster Doolittle, and oh! broother, it be all settled

-Measter's determin'd red hot on't; he says he'll marry the Widder, and Roger! Roger! such a queer kind o' creetur as she is! Marcy on us, if ever I seed the like; young Muster Skilite's account of her be as like as her pictur?

You see Roger I rites always by fits and starts just as our Tadcaster chaise-hacks gets their corn,

and now it's all over.-Measter's married and I ha' got my warning and my wages.-I ha' had an offer of service from a young gentleman just cooming on the Turf and I dare say I might make a thing or two out of him, only he be too much of a flat I fancy, for they tells me he be the gentleman as wanted to geld his Mare because she didn't carry a racing tail! I say Roger what soft 'uns there be in these parts. If it wasn't for "fat Mar" I think I should return to Yorkshire again and have another good dig at our doomplings; howsever that can't be jest yet, and I think I was a d-d vool for marrying. Phebe might have had me once if she'd had a mind to, but she was always looking out and hankering arter Bill Bullock, 'cause he was a bigger man; but your biggest men are not always the best, neither at bed board nor banging-nevertheless give my kind loove to her and her babby, who I suppose is a big un by this time, and duty to feyther and accept the same from dear Roger, Your looving brother till death, JOHN DOCKERY. Saturday.

P. S.-I have had letters from you and Phoebe-poor girl, I pities her sadly. And so feyther thinks I be going to marry a black princess like the queen of the Sandwidge Hilands, and- -but I must run and see what all this noise is about.

Oh! Roger, Roger, what a mortal vool I ha' been, and "fat Mar's" a vool for throwing twins, both black as pitch, and you be a vool for gratulating me, and feyther be a vool for telling every body at Tadcaster as 'ow I had married a Parshian princess, and Phebe's a vool for believing itLord what a thing 'tis to be married!-drat me arter what I

have seen if I wouldn't sooner marry the north pole, and let Captain Barry break it as often as he pleased. I'm ready to hang myself, and Muster Skilite laughs at me whenever I sees him and axes me how I likes the black filly connection; I wish he had her with all my heart.

Thursday. How be you Rojer? hows feyther and Phebe? It's all right-I can start again all fresh and fresh not a bit the worse for my work; I bea'nt no longer a married man, tho' I warn't at any time a regler husband; but last night arter a few angry words of which neither of us knew nothing, "fat mar" bolted with both her babbies, without whip or spur or pushing of any kind, and the people tells me the reason was because her own proper true husband has come from some outlandish place to claim her, which he means to do by cutting off her nose for a keepsake, and shaving her head for fear she should go mad with joy. What foony folks black creeters be, be'ant em?

And now Roger I thinks this will be the very last letter I ever writes to you, whether I goes home or stays in this country; for will you believe it, Mr. Skilite who axd me to give him copies of all my letters has pooblished 'em almost all in the Bumbay Sporting Magazeen, and he signs himself S. Y. S., which stands I suppose for Silly Skilite, so now you know if he sees this we shall have a blow up, and I'll be off from this place at once. It's all very true I sed he might do what he liked with 'em, but if I wanted to print 'em I might have made my own bargain with the Heditur and I dare say he would have given me some'ut handsome. I've a great mind to ax him. I almost forgot to tell you as 'ow Doolittle (I doesn't care a dam for un now) has lost

when we received information from some of the inhabitants of Sanson (a village close to this) that a tiger had taken up his quarters amongst them, and had wounded four or five men. We had left our guns to be brought by our servants, but as it was very uncertain when they would arrive, and we were both extremely anxious to have a crack at the fellow, you may imagine how much we blamed ourselves, each immediately declaring that we would never be guilty of the like again, however unlikely we might be to require a gun. I however succeeded in procuring a capital double-barrelled Joe Manton from the Salt Agent, who had fortunately come that morning to see his house, which was undergoing repairs. R. took a spear, and out we sallied on foot. On arriving at the place, about half a mile from my house, a small sugar cane plantation about fifty or sixty yards square was pointed out as the spot where the tiger then was. The plant was upwards of five feet high, and very thick, so that it was impossible for me, on entering it, to see more than a foot before me. I therefore directed two or three Shikarees who were present to fire into it, and made others pelt it with clods of earth, &c., whilst I took up my station at one corner, that I might have the command of two sides of the plantation, R. standing at a short distance with his spear, prudently declining any attack on his part. We continued the pelting and firing (sometimes with ball) for I think full half an hour, but nothing moved; and as we had not been able to get a sight of any of the men said to be wounded, began to think it a hoax, and were about to trace our way homewards, bestowing hearty blessings on the fellows who had

taken us out, when four of the Salt Agency Sepoys came up. I told them that I thought the whole account was false, and that I did not believe any tiger had been near the place. The old

Jemadar, a very thin, spare man, dressed in an old red jacket, large enough for two of his size, and a pair of very tight and very short pantaloons, which displayed most beautifully his drumstick legs, that appeared to vie with each other in point of crookedness, believing what I said, immediately drew his sword and making himself up for mischief, gave the words "Fix Bayonets! Port Arms! March!" and falling in on the right of his men, dashed into the plantation in a style that would have excited the risible faculties of the most grave. On they went, and had passed through three parts of the sugar cane, when to my great astonishment they called out "Hie, Sahib, Hie." I immediately followed them, accompanied by two of my servants with spears, one on each side of me, and, the Sepoys having fallen back a little, we advanced in a tolerable line. In a few seconds, the Sepoy on my left fired; up sprang the animal, and charged him most furiously; he brought down his bayonet, but it was useless, for in a moment it was unfixed, and he received a few scratches on his right thigh. In another second or two the brute had passed me, brushing my left leg, and sprung upon the back of a man who was running away. I now saw that it was a leopard; some time, however, elapsed before I could get a shot at him. A number of natives then followed me into the plantation, who, the moment the animal was roused, knew not in their fright which way to run, so that they were constantly one or other of them met or overtaken by him,