nley ate three suppers, and
won three and twenty hundred pounds in ponies. Never saw a fellow with
such an appetite, except Wales in his GOOD time. But he destroyed the
finest digestion a man ever had with maraschino, by Jove--always at it."

"Try mine," said Mr. Sterne.

"What a doosid queer box," says Mr. Brummell.

"I had it from a Capuchin friar in this town. The box is but a horn one;
but to the nose of sensibility Araby's perfume is not more delicate."

"I call it doosid stale old rappee," says Mr. Brummell--(as for me I
declare I could not smell anything at all in either of the boxes.) "Old
boy in smock-frock, take a pinch?"

The old boy in the smock-frock, as Mr. Brummell called him, was a very
old man, with long white beard, wearing, not a smock-frock, but a shirt;
and he had actually nothing else save a rope round his neck, which hung
behind his chair in the queerest way.

"Fair sir," he said, turning to Mr. Brummell, "when the Prince of Wales
and his father laid siege to our town--"

"What nonsense are you talking, old cock?" says Mr. Brummell; "Wales
was never here. His late Majesty George IV. passed through on his way to
Hanover. My good man, you don't seem to know what's up at all. What is
he talkin' about the siege of Calais? I lived here fifteen years! Ought
to know. What's his old name?"

"I am Master Eustace of Saint Peter's," said the old gentleman in the
shirt. "When my Lord King Edward laid siege to this city--"

"Laid siege to Jericho!" cries Mr. Brummell. "The old man is
cracked--cracked, sir!"

"--Laid siege to this city," continued the old man, "I and five more
promised Messire Gautier de Mauny that we would give ourselves up as
ransom for the place. And we came before our Lord King Edward, attired
as you see, and the fair queen begged our lives out of her gramercy."

"Queen, nonsense! you mean the Princess of Wales--pretty woman, petit
nez retrousse, grew monstrous stout!" suggested Mr. Brummell, whose
reading was evidently not extensive. "Sir Sidney Smith was a fine
fellow, great talker, hook nose, so has Lord Cochrane, so has Lord
Wellington. She was very sweet on Sir Sidney."

"Your acquaintance with the history of Calais does not seem to be
considerable," said Mr. Sterne to Mr. Brummell, with a shrug.

"Don't it, bishop?--for I conclude you are a bishop by your wig. I know
Calais as well as any man. I lived here for years before I took that
confounded consulate at Caen. Lived