in the
midst of the table, the host (like a Giant in a Fairy story) beholds the
kitchen, and the snow-white tables, and the profound order and silence
there prevailing. Forth from the plate-glass doors issues the
Banquet--the most wonderful feast ever tasted by mortal: at the present
price of Truffles, that article alone costing (for eight people) at
least five pounds. On the table are ground glass jugs of peculiar
construction, laden with the finest growth of Champagne and the coolest
ice. With the third course is issued Port Wine (previously unheard of in
a good state on this continent), which would fetch two guineas a bottle
at any sale. The dinner done, Oriental flowers in vases of golden cobweb
are placed upon the board. With the ice is issued Brandy, buried for 100
years. To that succeeds Coffee, brought by the brother of one of the
convives from the remotest East, in exchange for an equal quantity of
California gold dust. The company being returned to the
drawing-room--tables roll in by unseen agency, laden with Cigarettes
from the Hareem of the Sultan, and with cool drinks in which the flavour
of the Lemon arrived yesterday from Algeria, struggles voluptuously with
the delicate Orange arrived this morning from Lisbon. That period past,
and the guests reposing on Divans worked with many-coloured blossoms,
big table rolls in, heavy with massive furniture of silver, and
breathing incense in the form of a little present of Tea direct from
China--table and all, I believe; but cannot swear to it, and am resolved
to be prosaic. All this time the host perpetually repeats 'Ce petit
diner-ci n'est que pour faire la connaissance de Monsieur Dickens; il ne
compte pas; ce n'est rien.' And even now I have forgotten to set down
half of it--in particular the item of a far larger plum pudding than
ever was seen in England at Christmas time, served with a celestial
sauce in colour like the orange blossom, and in substance like the
blossom powdered and bathed in dew, and called in the carte (carte in a
gold frame like a little fish-slice to be handed about) 'Hommage a
l'illustre ecrivain d'Angleterre.' That illustrious man staggered out at
the last drawing-room door, speechless with wonder, finally; and even at
that moment his host, holding to his lips a chalice set with precious
stones and containing nectar distilled from the air that blew over the
fields of beans in bloom for fifteen summers, remarked 'Le diner que
nous avons eu,