an ornament more unappropriate. However, there it hung
throughout the day. A dinner of the very best description, exclusively of
the wine, was to be served up for _twelve francs_ a head. I make no doubt
but the Club paid a _little_ more where they assembled in London!

At length came the hour of dinner, and with the hour the guests. I
requested Brother Van Praet to be deputy chairman; and taking my seat
beneath the unfortunate John King of France, gave the signal for a general
attack--upon whatever was placed before the guests. Monsieur Denon,
however, did not arrive till after the first course. He had been detained
by a visit from the Duke of Bedford. M. Millin sat at my right hand, and M.
Gail at my left. The first course consisted chiefly of fruit, and slices of
anchovy, crossed. A large paper copy of a _melon_ cut a magnificent
appearance in the centre; but all this quickly gave way to fish, flesh, and
fowl of a various but substantial description. Poor Millin had no appetite,
and would only carve. He looked particularly ill. The rest ate, drank, and
were merry. The desert was of the very best quality: and this was succeeded
by the introduction of a little of English fashion and manners. We drank
toasts, connected with the object of the day's festival; and never were a
set of guests more disposed to relish both the wine and the sentiment which
accompanied each glass. They even insisted upon a "three times three" for
"Lord Spencer and the Club!" But if we were merry, we were wise. Shortly
after dinner, M. Gail rose, as if in a moment of inspiration, from his
seat--and recited the Latin verses which are here enclosed.[162] They will
at least make you admire the good humour of the poet. He afterwards chanted
a song: his own literal version of the XIXth ode of Anacreon, beginning
[Greek: He ge melaina pinei]. The guests declared that they had never sat
so long at table, or were more happy. I proposed a stroll or a seat upon
the lawn. Chairs and benches were at hand; and we requested that the coffee
might be brought to us out of doors. It was now after sun-set; and a lurid
sky was above our head. Our conversation was desultory as to topics, but
animated as to manner. I had never witnessed M. Van Praet more alive to
social disquisition. We talked of books, of pictures, and of antiquities...
and I happened, with the same witless simplicity which had pinned the
portrait of King John over my seat at dinner, to mention that volu