ry of frostwork, too delicate for the bowers of
fairies, such at least as visit the gross brains of earthly poets.

The Reform Club was the only one of those splendid establishments that
I visited. Certainly the force of comfort can no farther go, nor can
anything be better contrived to make dressing, eating, news-getting,
and even sleeping (for there are bedrooms as well as dressing-rooms
for those who will), as comfortable as can be imagined. Yet to me this
palace of so many "single gentlemen rolled into one" seemed _stupidly_
comfortable, in the absence of that elegant arrangement and vivacious
atmosphere which only women can inspire. In the kitchen, indeed, I
met them, and on that account it seemed the pleasantest part of the
building,--though even there they are but the servants of servants.
There reigned supreme a genius in his way, who has published a work
on Cookery, and around him his pupils,--young men who pay a handsome
yearly fee for novitiate under his instruction. I was not sorry,
however, to see men predominant in the cooking department, as I hope
to see that and washing transferred to their care in the progress of
things, since they are "the stronger sex."

The arrangements of this kitchen were very fine, combining great
convenience with neatness, and even elegance. Fourier himself might
have taken pleasure in them. Thence we passed into the private
apartments of the artist, and found them full of pictures by his wife,
an artist in another walk. One or two of them had been engraved. _She_
was an Englishwoman.

A whimsical little excursion we made on occasion of the anniversary of
the wedding-day of two of my friends. They had often enjoyed reading
the account of John Gilpin's in America, and now thought that, as they
were in England and near enough, they would celebrate theirs also at
"the Bell at Edmonton." I accompanied them with "a little foot-page,"
to eke out the train, pretty and graceful and playful enough for
the train of a princess. But our excursion turned out somewhat of a
failure, in an opposite way to Gilpin's. Whereas he went too fast, we
went too slow. First we took coach and went through Cheapside to take
omnibus at (strange misnomer!) the Flower-Pot. But Gilpin could never
have had his race through Cheapside as it is in its present crowded
state; we were obliged to proceed at a funeral pace. We missed the
omnibus, and when we took the next one it went with the slowness of a
"family ho