That spectacle was singular to a soldier, bred in camps, and habituated, now, for some years, to the breezy airs of “the field.” I looked on with astonishment. The whole drama seemed unreal--the characters mere players. Who was A, and B, and what did C do for a living? You knew not, but they bowed, and smiled, and were charming. They grasped your hand, offered you cigars, invited you to supper--they wanted nothing. And they found no difficulty in procuring guests. I was no better than the rest, reader--there is an honest confession--and, looking back now, I can see that I knew, and dined or supped with some queer characters in those days. Shall I give you a brief sketch of one of these worthies and his surroundings? It will afford some idea of the strange contrasts then presented in the “doomed” and starving city. III. I DINE WITH MR. BLOCQUE. He was a prominent personage at that time--my friend (in a parliamentary sense at least) Mr. Blocque. He was a charming little fellow, acquainted with everybody--an “employee of government,” but employed to do heaven knows what; and while others were starving, Mr. Blocque was as plump as a partridge. He wore the snowiest shirt bosoms, glittering with diamond studs; the finest broadcloth coats; the most brilliant patent leather shoes; and his fat little hands sparkled with costly rings. He was constantly smiling in a manner that was delightful to behold; hopped about and chirped like a sparrow or tomtit; and was the soul of good humor and enjoyment. There was no resisting his charms; he conquered you in five minutes. When he linked his arm in yours, and chirped, “My dear friend, come and dine with me--at five o’clock precisely--I shall certainly expect you!” it was impossible to refuse the small gentleman’s invitation. Perhaps you asked yourself, “Who is my dear friend, Mr. Blocque--how does he live so well, and wear broadcloth and fine linen?” But the next moment you smiled, shrugged your shoulders, elevated your eye-brows, and--went to dine with him. I was like all the world, and at five o’clock one evening was shown into Mr. Blocque’s elegant residence on Shockoe Hill, by a servant in white gloves, who bowed low, as he ushered me in. Mr. Blocque hastened to receive me, with his most charming smile; I was introduced to the guests, who had all arrived; and ten minutes afterward the folding doors opened, revealing a superb banquet--for the word “dinner” would be too common-place. The table was one mass of silver. Waxlights, in candelabra, were already lit; and a host of servants waited, silent and respectful, behind every chair.