ts _au fond_; he makes no extra charge for
toast at breakfast, and you only pay half-a-crown for a pot of George
the Third Marmalade, to lubricate it withal. Five-o'clock tea comes
up at six, just as at home. He makes much of Actors, Peers, and
Clergymen. Sunday is a great day for "Mr." He directs everyone to the
English Church in "The Grounds"--(fifteen benches and one tree, with a
fountain between them); and then goes off to play cards, but always
in his frock-coat. The "Chaplain" gets his breakfast-egg gratis; and
a stray Bishop writes, "Nothing can exceed the comfort of this Hotel,"
in that Doomsday Book of Visitors.

When you depart--and, abroad, this is generally about daybreak--"Mr."
is always on the spot, haughty, as becomes a man about to be paid, but
considerate; there is a bouquet in petticoats for the Entresol--even,
for me, a condescending word. "_When you see_ Mr. SHONES _in London,
you tell him next year I make se Gulf-Links._" I don't know who
the dickens JONES may be, but I snigger. It all springs from that
miserable fiction of being an _Habitue_. "_Sans adieux!_" ejaculates
"Mr.," who is great at languages; so am I, but, somehow, find myself
saying "Good-bye" quite naturally. _A propos_ of languages, "Mr."
is very patient with the Ladies who _will_ speak to him in so-called
French or German, when they say, "_Ou est le Portier?_" or "_Es
ist sehr schoen heute_," he replies, in the genuine tongue. I once
overheard a lady discussing the chances of rest and quiet in the
"Grand Hotel." "_Oui c'est une grande reste_." said she. It only
puzzled "Mr." for a moment. "_Parfaitement, Madame; c'est ravissant,
n'est-ce pas?_" and then "Mr." sold her the little Hand-book, composed
by the Clergyman, on which he receives a commission.

* * * * *

NEED I SAY MORE?

I loved--and need I say she was a woman?
And need I say I thought her just divine?
Her beauty (like this rhyme) was quite uncommon.
Alas, she said she never could be mine!

My Uncle was a Baronet, and wealthy,
But old, ill-tempered, deaf, and plagued with gout;
I was his heir, a pauper young and healthy;
My Uncle--need I say?--had cut me out.

I swore--and need I say the words I muttered?
Sir HECTOR married KATE, and changed his will.
Dry bread for me! For her the tea-cake buttered.
I starved--and, need I say, I'm starving still!

* * * * *

"A CARP