is in itself a liberal education. I'll take you to Michaud--my own
especial purveyor. He is a great artist. With so many yards of superfine
black cloth, he will give you the tone of good society and the exterior
of a gentleman. In short, he will do for you in eight or ten hours more
than I could do in as many years."

"Pray introduce me at once to this illustrious man," I exclaimed
laughingly, "and let me do him homage!"

"You will have to pay heavily for the honor," said Dalrymple. "Of that I
give you notice."

"No matter. I am willing to pay heavily for the tone of good society and
the exterior of a gentleman."

"Very good. Take a book, then, or a cigar, and amuse yourself for five
minutes while I write a note. That done, you may command me for as long
as you please."

I took the first book that came, and finding it to be a history of the
horse, amused myself, instead, by observing the aspect of Dalrymple's
apartment.

Rooms are eloquent biographies. They betray at once if the owner be
careless or orderly, studious or idle, vulgar or refined. Flowers on the
table, engravings on the walls, indicate refinement and taste; while a
well-filled book-case says more in favor of its possessor than the most
elaborate letter of recommendation. Dalrymple's room was a monograph of
himself. Careless, luxurious, disorderly, crammed with all sorts of
costly things, and characterized by a sort of reckless elegance, it
expressed, as I interpreted it, the very history of the man. Rich
hangings; luxurious carpets; walls covered with paintings; cabinets of
bronze and rare porcelain; a statuette of Rachel beside a bust of Homer;
a book-case full of French novels with a sprinkling of Shakespeare and
Horace; a stand of foreign arms; a lamp from Pompeii; a silver casket
full of cigars; tables piled up with newspapers, letters, pipes,
riding-whips, faded bouquets, and all kinds of miscellaneous
rubbish--such were my friend's surroundings; and such, had I speculated
upon them beforehand, I should have expected to find them. Dalrymple, in
the meanwhile, despatched his letter with characteristic rapidity. His
pen rushed over the paper like a dragoon charge, nor was once laid aside
till both letter and address were finished. Just as he was sealing it, a
note was brought to him by his servant--a slender, narrow, perfumed
note, written on creamy paper, and adorned on the envelope with an
elaborate cypher in gold and colors. Had I lived in the