button)—"unique, matchless, exquisite a gallant
apartment, in fact, that will just suit monsieur."
What the mysterious winks and shrugs that
accompanied this alluring prospect were meant to
point at I cannot now determine, but I know
they conveyed a sense flattering and self-
appreciative. See how fine and exquisitely turned
was the lurking compliment: a hint—the mere
breath of a hint—that sweets were to the sweet,
and that monsieur would be appropriate tenant
to a "gallant apartment," dainty, airy, and
tasteful. When, therefore, I find it out to be a
poor thing, no more than bare walls, with the
plain Robinson Crusoe furniture, the complacent
unction has been laid so adroitly to the soul,
that I rather chime in with the notion of its
being a gallant chamber indeed.

I find that he looks at things in an eminently
hostelric view, and measures most things by
that standard. He takes no cognisance of the old
stones, Circuses, Forums, Capitols, Pillars, and
such-like, in their capacity of old stones;
unless, as I suspect, he has a hazy dream of the
Coliseum being one day turned to practical uses,
in the shape of a Grand Hotel of All Nations.
I believe he has but a poor esteem of cardinals,
and even of the Vicar of Christ, such not living
ordinarily at hotels, or otherwise benefiting the
trade. I am sure he cannot see any bearing of
religion upon tables d'hôte, and therefore thinks
there can be nothing in it. Towards the latter
days of Holy Week I hear a lady of the Roman
Communion, meeting Host Fritz at the bottom
of the stair, take him solemnly into council, and
ask him touching the fasting ordinances. Of
this special day was there to be abstinence from
flesh meat? Covers have been laid for an
overflux of guests, there is a grateful press of
business, and dinner is fixed an hour later in
consequence of the ceremonials. Host Fritz is
therefore exalted (in the French sense), and is
brimming over with enthusiasm and benevolence.
"To be sure!" he exclaims; "at seven precisely
it will be served—everything in profusion—fish
and meat, meat and fish! Madame can satisfy
herself with both." Alas! this was not
madame's idea: "Was there permission for flesh
meats?" "To be sure! there will be abundance
of everything: there will be meat and fish." "But
is it not a fast day?" "Well, madame will find
plenty of fish and meat, thank God!" Host
Fritz cannot by any means be brought to grasp
the religious and canonical bearings of the question.

Towards six o'clock, when the tocsin clangs
out furiously for the feast—a familiar pulling
for the bare life at a rope, as in a church steeple
—bedrooms yawn and give up their dead, and
little folding-doors opening suddenly, the white
men come bursting forth with their war-paint on.
The air hurtles with rustling brushing silks as
with the sound of wings. The current has
set in fiercely towards the baked meats that
furnish forth the tables. We flock tumultuously
into the scarlet chamber below, and range
ourselves in an orderly manner—after the manner of
our tribe—on both sides of the table where the
war-feast is to be, eyeing our ivory-handled
tomahawks with a cannibal love. Bovineham,
Bullington, and Company, represent British beef
and dignity, and will presently be awfully
lowing out orders to scared waiterdom. They
herd together by the true laws of their caste,
and are terrible by combination. They talk
together noisily, and their voices do not keep
tune, though their knives keep time; their
ladies sit near them, and perform prodigies with
those instruments of table-cutlery. There is
one tremendous Polypheme, who has to play
Sisyphus each time he mounts the stairs, pushing
a huge abdominal burden before him, and in
whose cheeks mantle all the richer gravy juices;
him certain free and familiar friends have held
again at the font, and rechristened by the name
of Ursa Major. There is no reason why his
full style and titles should not be Daniel
Lambert Shorthorn; but for all the practical
purposes of life, that other familiarity answers
with a delicious expressiveness. Such
nomenclature is presently enlarged to other objects,
as having a photographic power and brilliancy.
There is the swarthy, black-haired, sparkling-
eyed Spanish gentleman, who sits opposite me,
and rolls those engines of his in a very awful
manner. For aught we know, he may be Don
Gusman Alvarez di Toledo, Grandee and Knight,
with a hat and feather and flowing cloak ready
up-stairs in his mails; or, he may be a mere
wine-traveller for an eminent house at Xeres;
but it is more convenient surely to know him
simply as the Hidalgo.

At our mess, promotion very properly goes by
seniority, not by favour or purchase. The next
in dinner rank gets the step always. Oldest
inhabitant sits at the top, and it is a pleasing
encouragement to think that, by a steady patience,
and strict and unflagging attendance, you too
may at length reach to that honourable elevation.
There is a certain excitement in this
closing up daily, to fill the gaps in the ranks,
and this sure progress towards winning your
Grade. Oldest inhabitants—a bride and her
husband—linger on with a strange adhesiveness
until the regiment has dwindled to a skeleton.
These, one morning, are discovered to have
passed away gently, and are seen no more. Nor
must I pass by the sallow spade-faced gentleman,
with the goatish tuft, who is Mr. Stang,
of Noo Yerk, and the "States" generally; nor
the bloodless, cream-laid lady whose voice jars on
you acutely, and cuts you like a knife, and who is
nasally Mirsess Stang, also of the Transatlantic
city; nor the urchin, cur, whelp—rebelliously
unlicked—who kicks at the wretched Italian
serving-men, and boldly "annexes" chickens
entire; who bears away the fruits of the earth
to upper chambers privily, and who is known as
Marster Stang, of that ilk. Neque te silebo—
nor must we pass thee by unsung, sweet rose of
Sandy Hook, lovely Fanny Stang, between
whose sad sapless cheeks, and startling waist,
which would slip easily through a good-sized
curtain-ring, there is but too intimate a connexion.
There are many more elements of our company.