delicately as possible, and to say that painful circumstances--in nowise
affecting Mr. Marrowfat's honour, or my esteem for him--had occurred,
which obliged me to forego my intimacy with him; and accordingly we met
and gave each other the cut direct that night at the Duchess of Monte
Fiasco's ball.

Everybody at Naples remarked the separation of the Damon and
Pythias--indeed, Marrowfat had saved my life more than once--but, as an
English gentleman, what was I to do?

My dear friend was, in this instance, the Snob RELATIVE. It is not
snobbish of persons of rank of any other nation to employ their knife in
the manner alluded to. I have seen Monte Fiasco clean his trencher with
his knife, and every Principe in company doing likewise. I have seen,
at the hospitable board of H.I.H. the Grand Duchess Stephanie of
Baden--(who, if these humble lines should come under her Imperial eyes,
is besought to remember graciously the most devoted of her servants)--I
have seen, I say, the Hereditary Princess of Potztausend-Donnerwetter
(that serenely-beautiful woman) use her knife in lieu of a fork or
spoon; I have seen her almost swallow it, by Jove! like Ramo Samee, the
Indian juggler. And did I blench? Did my estimation for the Princess
diminish? No, lovely Amalia! One of the truest passions that ever was
inspired by woman was raised in this bosom by that lady. Beautiful
one! long, long may the knife carry food to those lips! the reddest and
loveliest in the world!

The cause of my quarrel with Marrowfat I never breathed to mortal soul
for four years. We met in the halls of the aristocracy--our friends and
relatives. We jostled each other in the dance or at the board; but the
estrangement continued, and seemed irrevocable, until the fourth of