and wondrous
combinations such a galaxy of splendour and power would inevitably
produce. What wit, what smartness, what epigram would abound! What
a hailstorm of pleasantries, and what stories of wise aphorisms
and profound reflections! How I see with my mind's eye the literary
traveller trying to overhear the Attic drolleries of the waiters as they
wash up their glasses, or endeavouring to decoy Boots into a stroll with
a cigar, well knowing his charming article on Dickens.

"The class-writers would of course have their specialties.
'Soapy-Sponge' would figure in the stable-yard, and 'Proverbial
Philosophy' watch the trains as a touter. Fabulous prices might be
obtained for a room in such an establishment, and every place at the
_table-d'hote_ should be five guineas at least. For, after all,
what would be an invitation to Compiegne to a sojourn here? Material
advantages might possibly incline to the side of the Imperial board; but
would any one presume to say that the company in the one was equal to
the 'service' at the other? Who would barter the glorious reality of
the first for the mean and shallow mockery of the last? Last of all, how
widespread and powerful would be the influence of such an establishment
over the manners of our time! Would Cockneyism, think you, omit its
H's in presence of that bland individual who offers him cheese? Would
presumption dare to criticise in view of that 'Quarterly' man who is
pouring out the bitter beer? What a check on the expansive balderdash of
the 'gent' at his dessert to know and feel that 'Adam Bede' was behind
him!

"Would Brown venture on that anecdote of Jones if the napkin-in-hand
listener should be an ex-envoy renowned for his story-telling? Who
would break down in his history, enunciate a false quantity, misquote a
speech, or mistake the speaker, in such hearing? Some one might object
to the position and to the functions I assign to persons of a certain
distinction, and say that it was unworthy of an ex-ambassador to act
as a hall-porter, or a celebrated prose-writer to clean the knives. I
confess I do not think so. I shrewdly suspect a great deal of what we
are pleased to call philosophy is only a well-regulated self-esteem,
and that the man who feels himself immeasurably above another in mind,
capacity, and attainments, and yet sees that other vastly superior
in station and condition, has within his heart a pride all the more
exalting that it is stimulated by the sen