Les cigarres, l'amour, les orangers,
Le monde tantot gai, tantot melancholique,
Les glaces, la danse, et les cochers;
De la biere, de bons diners,
A cote d'arbre une boutique,
Et la vue de hauts rochers.
Ma foi!'


`We find here gambling, books, and music,
Cigars, love-making, orange-trees;
People or gay or melancholic,
Ices, dancing, and coachmen, if you please;
Beer, and good dinners; besides these,
Shops where they sell not _on tic;_
And towering rocks one ever sees.'


`How shall I describe,' says Mr Whitelocke, `to my readers in
language sufficiently graphic, one of the resorts the most
celebrated in Europe; a place, if not competing with Crockford's
in gorgeous magnificence and display, at least surpassing it in
renown, and known over a wider sphere? The metropolitan pump-
room of Europe, conducted on the principle of gratuitous
admittance to all bearing the semblance of gentility and
conducting themselves with propriety, opens its Janus doors to
all the world with the most laudable hospitality and with a
perfect indifference to exclusiveness, requiring only the hat to
be taken off upon entering, and rejecting only short jackets,
cigar, pipe, and meerschaum. A room of this description, a