taste, and no longer remembered his lost parents. Never can I forget the stare of Baron Pougens, (a Swiss by birth, but a Russian noble) as this specimen of elegance, with mincing step and gait, moved onward, something like a new member tripping it to the table to take his oaths. How he had got so far from Grange's, I really cannot say; but he had the policy of assurance in his favour; and in his own idea, at the least, was what I heard a poor devil of a candle-snuffer once denominate George Frederic Cooke, the tragedian,--"a rare specimen of exalted humanity;" and the actor was certainly in a rare spirit of exaltation at the moment. His delicate frame was enveloped by a dandy harness, so admirably ordered and adjusted, that he moved in fear of involving his Stultz in the danger of a plait; his kid-clad fingers scarcely supported the weight of his yellow-lined Leghorn; all that was man about him, was in his spurs and mustachios; and, even with them, he seemed there a moth exposed to an Alpine blast,--some mamma's darling, injudiciously and cruelly abandoned to the risk of cold, in a land where Savory and Moore were yet unheard of, "Beppo in London" wholly unknown, Hoby unesteemed, Gunter misprized, and where George Brummell had never, never trod. After having bestowed a wild inexpressive stare at the cannibals assembled, male and female,--depositing his Vyse, running his digits through his perfumed hair, raising his shirt-collar so as to form an angle of forty-five with his purple _Gros de Naples_ cravat, and applying his gold-turned snuff-box to his nose, Money (who has lived long in England, and speaks its language well) ventured to address him, by demanding if he should place a cover for him. "Sar!--your--appellation--if--you please?" the drawling and affected response of the fop. "Money, Sir." "the sign of the place--the thing--the _auberge_?" "The Three Crowns, Sir." "Money of the country, I presume!--Good--stop--put that down--Mem:" and he took his tablets from his pocket. "Money--Three Crowns--Capital that--will do for Dibdin,--if not, give it Theodore Hook. And the name of your--your town, my man?" "Vevay, Sir!" "And that liquid concern I see from the wind_ar_?" "The Lake, Sir--the Lake of Geneva." "Good gracious! _all_ Geneva?" "Otherwise termed the Leman, Sir." "Lemon! ha! a sort of gin-punch, I presume--acidulated blue-ruin--Vastly vulgar, by Petersham--only fit for the Cider-cellar, Three Crowns--And that--that--white thing there on the other side of the punch-bowl, Money?" "That is Gin-goulph, Sir." "Gin-gulp! appropriate certainly, but de-ci-ded-ly--low." "Will you please, Sir, to dine? dinner is on the table." "Din_nar_! Crockford, be good to us!--Why--why--it is scarcely more than noon, Crowns.--What would Lady Diana say?--But true! I rose at eight--so, I think, I will patronize you, my good fell_ar_--Long journey that from _Low_san--queer name for a place so high;--Vastly bad country this of yours, Crowns.--What are all