R.N., (who had been
refused a ship by the Whigs, by the way)--indulging in the following
conversation with Mr. Minns after dinner.

Why wasn't the Princess Scragamoffsky at Lady Palmerston's party, Minns?
Because SHE CAN'T SHOW--why can't she show? Shall I tell you, Minns,
why she can't show? The Princess Scragainoffsky's back is flayed alive,
Minns--I tell you it's raw, sir! On Tuesday last, at twelve o'clock,
three drummers of the Preobajinski Regiment arrived at Ashburnham House,
and at half-past twelve, in the yellow drawing-room at the Russian
Embassy, before the ambassadress and four ladies'-maids, the Greek Papa,
and the Secretary of Embassy, Madame de Scragamoffsky received thirteen
dozen. She was knouted, sir, knouted in the midst of England--in
Berkeley Square, for having said that the Grand Duchess Olga's hair was
red. And now, sir, will you tell me Lord Palmerston ought to continue
Minister?'

Minns: 'Good Ged!'

Minns follows Spitfire about, and thinks him the greatest and wisest of
human beings.

CHAPTER XXXIX--CLUB SNOBS

Why does not some great author write 'The Mysteries of the Club-houses;
or St. James's Street unveiled?' It would be a fine subject for an
imaginative writer. We must all, as boys, remember when we went to the
fair, and had spent all our money--the sort of awe and anxiety with
which we loitered round the outside of the show, speculating upon the
nature of the entertainment going on within.

Man is a Drama--of Wonder and Passion, and Mystery and Meanness, and
Beauty and Truthfulness, and Etcetera. Each Bosom is a Booth in Vanity
Fair. But let us stop this capital style, I should die if I kept it
up for a column (a pretty thing a column all capitals would be, by the
way). In a Club, though there mayn't be a soul of your acquaintance
in the room, you have always the chance of watching strangers, and
speculating on what is going on within those tents and curtains of their
souls, their coats and waistcoats. This is a never-failing sport. Indeed
I am told there are some Clubs in the town where nobody ever speaks to
anybody. They sit in the coffee-room, quite silent, and watching each
other.

Yet how little you can tell from a man's outward demeanour! There's a
man at our Club--large, heavy, middle-aged--gorgeously dressed--rather
bald--with lacquered boots--and a boa when he goes out; quiet in
demeanour, always ordering and consuming a RECHERCHE little dinner: whom
I have mistake