was a
replica of an officer's tent. These were designed and furnished for the
sons of the Parisian merchant, who for some domestic reason never went
near his _petite_ palace. He lent it to Boulanger, and there he lived
the life of an exiled monarch. The place has never been touched since he
walked out of it. In the stateroom, in which he received political
deputations of his supporters from France, the chairs were arranged in a
semi-circle round the table at which he sat when he received the last
one. On the blotter was his speech, and a sheet of paper on which was
written the address of the retreat. This was given to me, and here I
reproduce it:--

[Illustration]

We had coffee on the balcony, served out of china which had on it his
monogram, and silver spoons with his crest. I did not pocket the
spoons, nor the powder-puff of Madame, and other relics lying about; the
rooms remained as they were left, even to gowns in the wardrobe. The
delightful garden, cut out of the rocks, had run wild. The grapes hung
in clusters, the flowers were one mass of colour, the paths were covered
with grass. Below stood the summer-house where Madame drank her tea. In
one corner on a wall was a small target with revolver bullet marks all
over it, the result of the General's practice, when possibly he used the
same revolver which he turned upon himself at the tomb of Madame de
Bonnemain, in the cemetery at Ixelles, Brussels.

[Illustration: A NOTE ON MY MENU.]

It would be impossible for me in a short chapter to deal with all the
interesting dinners and other entertainments I have attended; but I must
confess that I was immensely flattered by a lunch given to me in
Washington by the Rev. Dr. Wesley R. Davis, the well-known Albany
preacher, who had retired from the pulpit and become an official of the
Postal Department in Washington.

The novelty of this lunch was the idea of the chairman to sandwich each
course with a story. We began with some very fine and large Lynhaven
oysters. We English, with one exception, have no appreciation of the
size of these huge American oysters. That one exception was Thackeray.
And I may safely say that I never sat down to a meal in America and
expressed my surprise at the size of the oysters (which I purposely did)
but that someone told me what Thackeray said of them. On this occasion I
was told the story by none other than General Horace Porter, one of the
best if not the greatest of all _raconteurs_