warmed it without the play of firelight. But when the company had
assembled it was evident that the velvet jackets, gold lace, silver
buttons, and red sashes of the entertainers not only lost their tawdry
and theatrical appearance in the half decorous and thoughtful gloom, but
actually seemed more in harmony with it than the modern dresses of the
guests. It was the Excelsior party who looked strange and bizarre in
these surroundings; to the sensitive fancy of Miss Keene, Mrs. Brimmer's
Parisian toilet had an air of provincial assumption; her own pretty
Zouave jacket and black silk skirt horrified her with its apparent
ostentatious eccentricity; and Mrs. Markham and Miss Chubb seemed
dowdy and overdressed beside the satin mantillas and black lace of the
Senoritas. Nor were the gentlemen less outres: the stiff correctness
of Mr. Banks, and the lighter foppishness of Winslow and Crosby, not to
mention Senor Perkins' more pronounced unconventionality, appeared as
burlesques of their own characters in a play. The crowning contrast was
reached by Captain Bunker, who, in accordance with the habits of the
mercantile marine of that period when in port, wore a shore-going suit
of black broadcloth, with a tall hat, high shirt collar, and diamond
pin. Seated next to the Commander, it was no longer Don Miguel who
looked old-fashioned, it was Captain Bunker who appeared impossible.

Nevertheless, as the meal progressed, lightened by a sweet native wine
made from the Mission grape, and stimulated by champagne--a present of
Captain Bunker from the cabin lockers of the Excelsior--this contrast,
and much of the restraint that it occasioned, seemed to melt away. The
passengers became talkative; the Commander and his friends unbent, and
grew sympathetic and inquiring. The temptation to recite the news of the
last half century, and to recount the wonderful strides of civilization
in that time, was too great to be resisted by the Excelsior party. That
some of them--notwithstanding the caution of Senor Perkins--approached
dangerously near the subject of the late war between the United States
and Mexico, of which Todos Santos was supposed to be still ignorant,
or that Crosby in particular seized upon this opportunity for humorous
exaggeration, may be readily imagined. But as the translation of the
humorist's speech, as well as the indiscretions of his companions, were
left to the Senor, in Spanish, and to Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Keene, in
French,