As for the genius loci--you must imagine a middle-sized, middle-aged man, with an air rather of delicate than florid health. But little of the effects of his good cheer were apparent in the external man. His cheeks were neither swollen nor inflated--his person, though not thin, was of no unwieldy obesity--the tip of his nasal organ was, it is true, of a more ruby tinge than the rest, and one carbuncle, of tender age and gentle dyes, diffused its mellow and moonlight influence over the physiognomical scenery--his forehead was high and bald, and the few locks which still rose above it, were carefully and gracefully curled a l’antique: Beneath a pair of grey shaggy brows, (which their noble owner had a strange habit of raising and depressing, according to the nature of his remarks,) rolled two very small, piercing, arch, restless orbs, of a tender green; and the mouth, which was wide and thick-lipped, was expressive of great sensuality, and curved upwards in a perpetual smile. Such was Lord Guloseton. To my surprise no other guest but myself appeared. “A new friend,” said he, as we descended into the dining-room, “is like a new dish--one must have him all to oneself, thoroughly to enjoy and rightly to understand him.” “A noble precept,” said I, with enthusiasm. “Of all vices, indiscriminate hospitality is the most pernicious. It allows us neither conversation nor dinner, and realizing the mythological fable of Tantalus, gives us starvation in the midst of plenty.” “You are right,” said Guloseton, solemnly; “I never ask above six persons to dinner, and I never dine out; for a bad dinner, Mr. Pelham, a bad dinner is a most serious--I may add, the most serious calamity.” “Yes,” I replied, “for it carries with it no consolation: a buried friend may be replaced--a lost mistress renewed--a slandered character be recovered--even a broken constitution restored; but a dinner, once lost, is irremediable; that day is for ever departed; an appetite once thrown away can never, till the cruel prolixity of the gastric agents is over, be regained. ‘Il y a tant de maitresses, (says the admirable Corneille), ‘il n’y a qu’un diner.’” “You speak like an oracle--like the Cook’s Oracle, Mr. Pelham: may I send you some soup, it is a la Carmelite? But what are you about to do with that case?”