I had determined to seek elsewhere for a more social party, when the
thumping of tables and gingle of glasses induced me to abide the issue.
After a momentary pause, a firm and not unmusical voice was heard, pealing
forth the words of a song which I had written when a boy, and had procured
insertion for in a country newspaper. At the conclusion the thumping was
repeated, and the waiter having given another of his _stenographical_
orders, I could not resist desiring him to inform the vocal gentleman that
I craved a few words with him.

"Yes-Sir--don't-think-'ll come--'cos he-'s-in-a-corner."

"Perhaps you will try the experiment," said I.

"Certainly-Sir-two-gins-please-ma'am." And having been supplied with the
required beverage, he also made his _exit in fumo_.

In a few minutes a man of about fifty made his appearance; his face
indicated the absence of vulgarity, though a few purply tints delicately
hinted that he had assisted at many an orgie of the rosy offspring of
Jupiter and Semele. His dark vestments and white cravat induced me to set
him down as a "professional gentleman"--nor was I far wrong in my
conjecture. As I shall have, I trust, frequent occasion to speak of him, I
will for the sake of convenience, designate him Mr. Bonus.

I briefly stated my reason for disturbing him--that as he had honoured my
muse by forming so intimate an acquaintance with her, I was anxious to
trespass on his politeness to introduce me into that room which had now
become a sort of "Blue-beard blue-chamber" to my thirsty curiosity. Having
handed him my card, he readily complied, and in another minute I was an
inhabitant of an elysium of sociality and tobacco-smoke.

"Faugh!" cries Aunt Charlotte Amelia, whilst pretty little Cousin Emmeline
turns up her round hazel eyes and ejaculates, "Tobacco-smoke! horrid!"

Ladies! you treat with scorn that which God hath given as a blessing! It
has never been your lot to thread the streets of mighty London, when the
first springs of her untiring commerce are set in motion. Long, dear aunt,
before thy venerable nose peeps from beneath the quilted coverlid to scent
an atmosphere made odorous by cosmetics--long, dear Emmeline, ere those
bright orbs that one day will fire the hearts of thousands are unclosed,
the artizan has blessed his sleeping children, and closed the door upon
his household gods. The murky fog, the drizzling shower, welcome him back
to toil. Labour runs before him, and with