of
the city, at no great distance from the Bank. I entered a counting-room,
in which a solitary clerk, with a foreign look, was writing. The
stranger was not at home; returning the next day, however, I met him at
the door as he was about to enter; he shook me warmly by the hand. "I am
glad to see you," said he, "follow me, I was just thinking of you." He
led me through the counting-room, to an apartment up a flight of stairs;
before ascending, however, he looked into the book in which the
foreign-visaged clerk was writing, and, seemingly not satisfied with the
manner in which he was executing his task, he gave him two or three
cuffs, telling him at the same time that he deserved crucifixion.

The apartment above stairs, to which he led me, was large, with three
windows which opened upon the street. The walls were hung with wired
cases, apparently containing books. There was a table and two or three
chairs; but the principal article of furniture was a long sofa, extending
from the door by which we entered to the farther end of the apartment.
Seating himself upon the sofa, my new acquaintance motioned to me to sit
beside him, and then, looking me full in the face, repeated his former
inquiry, "In the name of all that is wonderful, how came you to know
aught of my language?"

"There is nothing wonderful in that," said I; "we are at the commencement
of a philological age, every one studies languages; that is, every one
who is fit for nothing else; philology being the last resource of dulness
and ennui, I have got a little in advance of the throng, by mastering the
Armenian alphabet; but I foresee the time when every unmarriageable miss,
and desperate blockhead, will likewise have acquired the letters of
Mesroub, and will know the term for bread, in Armenian, and perhaps that
for wine."

"Kini," said my companion; and that and the other word put me in mind of
the duties of hospitality. "Will you eat bread and drink wine with me?"

"Willingly," said I. Whereupon my companion, unlocking a closet,
produced, on a silver salver, a loaf of bread, with a silver-handled
knife, and wine in a silver flask, with cups of the same metal. "I hope
you like my fare," said he, after we had both eaten and drunk.

"I like your bread," said I, "for it is stale; I like not your wine, it
is sweet, and I hate sweet wine."

"It is wine of Cyprus," said my entertainer; and when I found that it was
wine of Cyprus, I tasted it again, a