The people who dine at the Maison Jules are all pleasant and well-to-do, and all the men wear dress clothes. Some of the men are grey-haired people like myself who have followed Jules in all his migrations; but the restaurant is by no means a home of rest for the elderly, for on the last occasion that I dined there one of the prettiest of the younger generation of actresses was being entertained at the next table to mine; and young as well as elderly diners appreciate the bonhomie that seems to be in the atmosphere at the Maison Jules. The dinner of the house is an eight-shilling one. The dinner I ate when I last dined _chez_ Jules is quite a fair specimen of the evening meal: Hors d'œuvre. Consommé aux Quenelles. Crème Américaine. Suprême de Sole Volga. Riz de Veau Souvaroff. Médaillon de Bœuf Algérienne. Poularde à la Broche. Salade. Haricots Verts au Beurre. Mousse aux Violettes. Friandises. The _crème Américaine_, a pink thick soup, was excellent, and so was the cold dish of sole, with jelly and a little vegetable salad. The _mousse aux violettes_ was an ice with crystallised violets on the top; and the _riz de veau_ and the _poularde_--for which Jules wished to substitute a partridge--were both excellent of their kind. When Jules, before I left, came to me and told me that some gentlemen a little farther down the room had told him that there was absolutely nothing to criticise in the dinner, I was not hard-hearted enough to tell him that the beans were stringy, which, to tell the truth, they were. Otherwise I agreed with the gentlemen farther down the room. The wine list is a well-chosen one, and there is in the cellar some 1820 Martell brandy, landed in England in 1870, which used to be the pride of the old St James's Restaurant, and the whole of which Jules bought at the sale. * * * * *