avoid the Ocean House. The adjective _free_, so intimately connected
with the _substantive_ ocean, would constantly occur to his mind and
wound his sensibilities. The Atlantic House was still more out of the
question. The name must perpetually remind the tenants of that hotel of
a certain quite objectionable periodical devoted to propagandism. In
short, not to pursue this process of elimination farther, and perhaps
offend some friend of the class Hotel-Keeper, the Millard was not only
about the cheese, _per se_,--I punningly allude here to the creaminess
of its society,--but inevitably the place to seek my charmer.

The clock of the Millard was striking eleven as I entered the _salle à
manger_ for a late breakfast after my night-journey from New York by
steamboat.

I flatter myself that I produced, as I intended, a distinct impression.
My deep mourning gave me a most interesting look, which I heightened
by an air of languor and abstraction as of one lost in grief. My
shirt-studs were jet. The plaits of my shirt were edged with black. My
Clarendon was, of course, black, and from its breast-pocket appeared a
handkerchief dotted with spots, not dissimilar to black peppermint-drops
on a white paper. In consequence of the extreme heat of the season, I
wore waistcoat and trousers of white duck; but they, too, were qualified
with sombre contrasts of binding and stripes.

The waiters evidently remarked me. It may have been the hope of
pecuniary reward, it may have been merely admiration for my dress and
person; but several rushed forward, diffusing that slightly oleaginous
perfume peculiar to the waiter, and drew chairs for me.

I had, however, selected my position at the table at the moment of