uble-quick soon makes its appearance.
Sooner in San Francisco than in any other city in the world; in better
style, too, and better worth the money; for the Golden City excels in
the science of gastronomy. Even then, amidst her canvas sheds, and
weather-boarded houses, could be obtained dishes of every kind known to
Christendom, or Pagandom: the _cuisine_ of France, Spain, and Italy; the
roast beef of Old England, as the pork and beans of the New; the _gumbo_
of Guinea, and _sauerkraut_ of Germany, side by side with the
swallow's-nest soup and sea-slugs of China. Had Lucullus but lived in
these days, he would have forsaken the banks of the Tiber, and made
California his home.

The repast furnished by the _Parker House_, however splendid, has to be
speedily despatched; for unfortunately time forbids the leisurely
enjoyment of the viands, to a certain extent marring the pleasure of the
occasion. All the officers, American as English, have to be on their
respective ships at the stroke of twelve.

Reluctantly breaking up their hilarious company, they prepare to depart.

They have forsaken the supper-room, and passed on to the outer saloon of
the hotel; like all such, furnished with a drinking-bar.

Before separating, and while buttoning up against the chill night-air,
Crozier calls out:

"Come, gentlemen; one more glass! The stirrup-cup!"

In San Francisco this is always the wind up to a night of revelry. No
matter how much wine has been quaffed, the carousal is not deemed
complete without a last "valedictory" drink taken standing at the bar.

Giving way to the Californian custom, the officers range themselves
along the marble slab; bending over which, the polite bar-keeper asks:

"What is it to be, gentlemen?"

There is a moment of hesitation, the gentlemen--already well wined--
scarce knowing what to call for. Crozier cuts the Gordian knot by
proposing:

"A round of punches _a la Romaine_!"

Universal assent to this delectable drink; as all know just the thing
for a night-cap.

Soon the cooling beverage, compounded with snow from the Sierra Nevada,
appears upon the counter, in huge glasses, piled high with the sparkling
crystals; a spoon surmounting each--for punch _a la Romaine_ is not to
be drunk, but eaten.

Shovelling it down in haste, adieus are exchanged, with a hearty shake
of hands. Then the American officers go off, leaving Crozier and
Cadwallader in the saloon; these only staying to settle