your room. "Great opportunity--veritable Pestarenas of Nockudaun--one
whole box for a sovereign English," the Head-Waiter assures you. The
memory of that man is astounding; he remembers all the numbers, all
the wines, all the names, and all the Lady's-maids. For he is a bit
of a _Leporello_, is the Head-Waiter.

[Illustration: "One whole box for a sovereign English."]

After dinner, where he takes a dozen orders, makes a dozen
recommendations, and tells a dozen lies at once, you may see him
philandering by the Lake with MARY ANN, JEANETTE, and KLARA, all
jealous, and all adoring, teaching each the language of the other, and
all the art of love. I have often envied him. The Head-Waiter's life
is a "happy one." He is ubiquitous; Egypt, The Riviera, Switzerland,
and Italy, see him by turns; in each he has a white waistcoat,
of which Mr. CHAMBERLAIN might be proud, infinite occupation, and
infinite diversion; his nimbleness, his light-heartedness, his
languages, and his cigars, are inexhaustible.

How we besiege him in the morning! "Luncheon, ADOLF, for a party
of seven, in a basket--a _nice_ basket, you know--and don't forget
the corkscrew." "Yes, yes, I know--and you take the bottle-bier--it
is much better nor the warne. Ha! Ha!" What a laugh!--a roguish,
child-like merriment of a Greek-godlike character--or want of it.
Old Ladies talk to him quite trustingly at first sight; it's "ADOLF,
_have_ you such a thing as a bottle of gum--_gummi_, gum, you
understand"; or, "_Could_ you get me another cushion"? He can, and
does. As for the children, they love him; he romps with them, and does
conjuring tricks, and warbles innumerable songs. That man gets through
more in one day than the Prime Minister of England--and, between you