rackers lying idle before
the gastronomic general, and said, "Will you lend me the nutcrackers,
sir?" The great general raised his head, and gave the youth one of those
piercing looks with which Napoleon used to galvanize all askers of
impertinent questions. The youth, understanding the refusal conveyed in
that terrible glance, had however enough courage to add, "You don't want
them, sir!" This was too much to bear in silence; so he replied with
awful distinctness, "But I reckon I shall, sir!" Then dropping his head
to the original position, he balanced a large piece of pumpkin-pie on
the point of his knife, and gallantly charged with it down his throat.
Poor youth! a neighbour relieved his distress, and saved his ivories.

Nearly a quarter of an hour has elapsed; dinner is all over, the nuts
are all cracked and put in the pockets, and away the company go either
to the other end of the saloon, where the stove is placed, round which
they eat their nuts and smoke their cigars, or to drink at the bar. When
the smoking is over, clasp-knives are opened. Don't be alarmed; there is
no bloodshed intended, although half a dozen people strolling about with
these weapons may appear ominous. Watch their faces; the lower part of
their cheeks goes in with high-sucking pressure, then swells again, and
the active tongue sweeps with restless energy along and around the
ivory barriers within its range. In vain--in vain it strives to
dispossess the intruders; rebellious particles of nut burrow deep
between the ivories, like rabbits in an old stone dike. The knife comes
to the rescue, and, plunging fearlessly into the dark abyss, the victory
is won. Then the victors commence chewing _a l'outrance,_ and
expectorate on the red-hot stove, till it hisses like a steam-engine, or
else they deluge the floor until there is no alternative but thick shoes
or damp feet. The fumes of every known alcohol exhale from the bar, and
mix with the head-bursting fragrance of the strongest "Warginny." Some
seek safety in flight; others luxuriate in the poisonous atmosphere, and
scream out, like deeply-injured men, if any door by chance be left open.

Behold! the table is laid again for dinner; piles of food keep coming
in; the company arrive--some in coats, some in waistcoats only; some in
coloured shirts, some in red flannel shirts; one, with sleeves turned up
to the elbow. "Who on earth are these?" I ask, in my ignorance. "Oh!
those, I guess, are the officer