e matter a confidential one with the
bar-keeper. I have seen even a thin disguise of simplicity assumed. I
remember an elderly gentleman, of most respectable exterior, who used
to enter the cafe as if he had strayed there accidentally. After
looking around carefully, and yet unostentatiously, he would walk to
the bar, and, with an air of affected carelessness, state that "not
feeling well this morning, he guessed he would take--well, he would
leave it to the bar-keeper." The bar-keeper invariably gave him a
stiff brandy cocktail. When the old gentleman had done this half a
dozen times, I think I lost faith in him. I tried afterwards to glean
from the bar-keeper some facts regarding those experiences, but I am
proud to say that he was honorably reticent. Indeed, I think it may be
said truthfully that there is no record of a bar-keeper who has been
"interviewed." Clergymen and doctors have, but it is well for the
weakness of humanity that the line should be drawn somewhere.

And this reminds me that one distressing phase of early rising is the
incongruous and unpleasant contact of the preceding night. The social
yesterday is not fairly over before nine A. M. to-day, and there is
always a humorous, sometimes a pathetic, lapping over the edges. I
remember one morning at six o'clock to have been overtaken by a
carriage that drew up beside me. I recognized the coachman, who
touched his hat apologetically, as if he wished me to understand that
he was not at all responsible for the condition of his master, and I
went to the door of the carriage. I was astonished to find two young
friends of mine, in correct evening dress, reclining on each other's
shoulders and sleeping the sleep of the justly inebriated. I stated
this fact to the coachman. Not a muscle of his well-trained face
answered to my smile. But he said: "You see, sir, we've been out all
night, and more than four blocks below they saw you, and wanted me to
hail you, but you know you stopped to speak to a gentleman, and so I
sorter lingered, and I drove round the block once or twice, and I guess
I've got 'em quiet again." I looked in the carriage door once more on
these sons of Belial. They were sleeping quite unconsciously. A
bouttonniere in the lappel of the younger one's coat had shed its
leaves, which were scattered over him with a ridiculous suggestion of
the "Babes in the Wood," and I closed the carriage door softly. "I
suppose I'd better take 'em