I was at the time of my visit to New York perfectly unacquainted
with the ways of a metropolis, and it was fortunate for me that I
possessed one friend there who if not exactly a friend _at court_ as
we say, was in truth a much more useful person to me, as, having
once been young and inexperienced himself, he knew the ropes well
and handled them thoroughly to his own satisfaction and with an eye
to my comfort and safety.

In the matter of cheap dives, for instance, he was invaluable.
Left to myself I either drifted to the most expensive place, for
a meal short perhaps of Delmonicos, or else to a shabby and
altogether-to-be-repudiated den, where the meat would be rags as well
as the pudding. But under his guidance we invariably turned up in
some clean, bright, cheap and wholesome "oysterbar" or coffee room
round the corner or up a lane, and were as happy as kings over our
_lager beer_.

One day De Kock came to me (he is a grand-nephew or something, I
believe, of the great Frenchman) and said, with his knowing air,

"You will please put on your best coat, your tall hat and a pair of
gloves, for we are going to _dine_ to-night."

"Have we not dined once to-day!"

"Pish! Pshaw! You have had a soup, a mutton-chop, a triangle of pie,
a lager beer, but you have not dined. You are not starving, and yet
you have, from my present point of view, eaten nothing the whole of
this day. _Mon cher_, it is necessary that you should dine for once
in your life. _Allons_! We go to Giuseppe, Giuseppe Martinetti with