young gallant of the seat he most coveted, and for which he had long and earnestly prayed. Of course, I was called to explain, and quiet the disturbed waters. The gentleman was furious, and threatened dire destruction to the culprit. I took in the situation, and protected the fair lady by sacrificing the waiter. After the ladies left the table, at these dinners, the gentlemen were given time to smoke a cigar and take their coffee. On this occasion, the Earl of Roseberry was a guest. Whilst smoking and commenting on the dinner, he said to me, “You Americans have made a mistake; your emblematic bird should have been a canvasback, not an eagle.” It was either to this distinguished man or the Earl of Cork, at one of these after-dinner conversations, that I held forth on the treatment of venison, asserting that here, we always serve the _saddle_ of venison, whilst in England they give the _haunch_. And when they send it off to a friend, they box it up in a long narrow box, much resembling a coffin. The reason for this was given me,--that their dinners were larger than ours, and there was not enough on a saddle for an English dinner. Again, I called attention to the fact that here we eat the tenderloin steak, there they eat the rump steak, which we give to our servants. The reason for this, I was told, was that they killed their cattle younger than we killed ours, and did not work those intended for beef. On Madeira, I stated, “we had them,” for, I said, “You have none to liken unto ours”; though later on, at another dinner, when I made this assertion, the Duke of Beaufort took me up on this point, and insisted upon it that in many of the old country houses in England they had excellent Madeira. The following anonymous lines on this dinner were sent to me the day afterwards: There ne’er was seen so fair a sight As at Delmonico’s last night; When feathers, flowers, gems, and lace Adorned each lovely form and face; A garden of all thorns bereft, The outside world behind them left. They sat in order, as if “Burke” Had sent a message by his clerk. And by whose magic wand is this All conjured up? the height of bliss. ’Tis he who now before you looms,-- The Autocrat of Drawing Rooms.