e excursion boat on its homeward journey hardly
contains more uncorked bottles of cognac, than were thrust in all kinds
of secret places in the bedrooms under Mrs. Rowe's roof.

The hypocrisy and scandal which brandy produced in the general room were
occasionally very fierce, especially when whispers had travelled quietly
as the flies all over the house that one of the ladies had certainly, on
one occasion, revoked at cards--for one reason, and one only. Free
speculations would be cheerfully indulged in at other times on the exact
quantity the visitor who left yesterday had taken during his stay, and
the number of months which the charitable might give him to live.

[Illustration: ON THE BOULEVARDS.]

After the general brandy, in degree of interest, stood dress. The
shopping was prodigious. The carts of the Louvre, the Ville de Paris,
the Coin de Rue, and other famous houses of nouveautes were for ever
rattling to Mrs. Rowe's door. With a toss of the head a parcel from the
_Bon Marche_ was handed to its owner. Mrs. Jones must have come to
Paris with just one change--and such a change! Mrs. Tottenham had
nothing fit to wear. Mrs. Court must still be wearing out her
trousseau--and her youngest was three! Mrs. Rhode had no more taste, my
dear, than our cook. The men were not far behind--had looked out for
Captain Tottenham in the Army List; went to Galignani's expressly: not in
it, by Jove, sir! Court paid four shillings in the pound hardly two years
ago, and met him swelling it with his wife (deuced pretty creature!)
yesterday at Bignon's. Is quite up to Marennes oysters: wonder where he
could have heard of 'em. Rhode is a bore; plenty of money, very
good-natured; read a good deal--but can't the fellow come to table in
something better than those eternal plaid trousers? Bad enough in Lord
Brougham. Eccentricity _with_ the genius, galling enough; but without,
not to be borne, sir. Last night Jones was simply drunk, and got a wigging,
no doubt, when he found his room. He looks it all.

We are an amiable people!

Happily, I have forgotten the Joneses and the Tottenhams, and the Courts
and the Rhodes! The two "sets" who dwell in my memory--who are, I may
say, somewhat linked with my own life, and of whom I have something to
tell--were, as a visitor said of the fowls of Boulogne hotels--birds
apart. They crossed and re-crossed under Mrs. Rowe's roof until they
hooked together; and I was mixed up with them, until a tragedy