m on an ottoman, and these infatuated women will actually
light his pipe for him.

Little Spitfire, the groom, hangs about the drawing-room, outside the
harem forsooth! so that he may be ready when Clarence Bulbul claps hands
for him to bring the pipes and coffee.

He has coffee and pipes for everybody. I should like you to have
seen the face of old Bowly, his college-tutor, called upon to sit
cross-legged on a divan, a little cup of bitter black Mocha put into his
hand, and a large amber-muzzled pipe stuck into his mouth by Spitfire,
before he could so much as say it was a fine day. Bowly almost thought
he had compromised his principles by consenting so far to this Turkish
manner.

Bulbul's dinners are, I own, very good; his pilaffs and curries
excellent. He tried to make us eat rice with our fingers, it is true;
but he scalded his own hands in the business, and invariably bedizened
his shirt; so he has left off the Turkish practice, for dinner at least,
and uses a fork like a Christian.

But it is in society that he is most remarkable; and here he would, I
own, be odious, but he becomes delightful, because all the men hate him
so. A perfect chorus of abuse is raised round about him. "Confounded
impostor," says one; "Impudent jackass," says another; "Miserable
puppy," cries a third; "I'd like to wring his neck," says Bruff,
scowling over his shoulder at him. Clarence meanwhile nods, winks,
smiles, and patronizes them all with the easiest good-humor. He is a
fellow who would poke an archbishop in the apron, or clap a duke on the
shoulder, as coolly as he would address you and me.

I saw him the other night at Mrs. Bumpsher's grand let-off. He flung
himself down cross-legged on a pink satin sofa, so that you could see
Mrs. Bumpsher quiver with rage in the distance, Bruff growl with fury
from the further room, and Miss Pim, on whose frock Bulbul's feet
rested, look up like a timid fawn.

"Fan me, Miss Pim," said he of the cushion. "You look like a perfect
Peri to-night. You remind me of a girl I once knew in Circassia--Ameena,
the sister of Schamyl Bey. Do you know, Miss Pim, that you would fetch
twenty thousand piastres in the market at Constantinople?"

"Law, Mr. Bulbul!" is all Miss Pim can ejaculate; and having talked over
Miss Pim, Clarence goes off to another houri, whom he fascinates in a
similar manner. He charmed Mrs. Waddy by telling her that she was the
exact figure of the Pasha of Egypt's second wife.