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23, 1863.] way I have been; when it’s been extricated out of me by threats—threats of the most horrid natur—when a hunder waiter has been threatened to be put over my head—a hunder waiter so ignorant of ’rithmetic that he don’t know plated spoons from silver ones—how could I help it?”

“Help what?” I said. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand a word of what you are saying. Am I to have any breakfast, or not?”

At this last question the head-waiter drew himself up to his full height, and in a perfectly serious—indeed, solemn—manner, said:

“Well, sir, if you ask me as a matter of opinion, I should say that you are not to have any breakfast. Mind, it is a matter of opinion on my part. Howiver, no one have ever accused me of possessing the feelings of a wolf, and so I will go and make the inquiry.”

Either the waiter was mad, or he had not entirely recovered from his last night’s libations. I ordered him again to bring the breakfast, and threatened to speak to the proprietor of the hotel if he any longer delayed doing so.

“Well!” he said, looking at me curiously. “Well, I always said philosophy were a wonderful invention, but if ever I see such a go as this—skewer me! You knows what I mean, and what you’ve done—you knows you did!” And then, with a look full of meaning and reproach, he whispered, “F. D.!” and slid gravely out of the room.

I was still lost in astonishment at the waiter’s conduct, when, happening to look round, I perceived that the little gentleman at the other end of the room, having by this time clattered through his breakfast and finished with the newspaper, was now steadily observing me. He had certainly not been able to overhear my whispered conversation with the waiter, but he had evidently noticed that what had taken place had been the cause of exciting my anger, for he now said:

“Stupid fellow, that!”

I experienced quite a feeling of gratitude towards the stranger for his sympathy.

“I cannot think what is the matter with him,” I said, as I passed down the room to a table nearer to the little gentleman. “He don’t seem in condition to take an order for breakfast.”

“Oh!” said the stranger, fidgeting in his chair, and nervously endeavouring to fix the cruets in their stand. “Ah, it’s very extraordinary! I can’t make him out either. He has been bringing me wrong things all the morning. I ordered fish, and he brought me cutlets. I don’t like cutlets. Then he brought me a fish-slice to cut the butter with. Ridiculous! And, look at these cruets, not one of them will go into the stand. As an excuse, he says he has been greatly agitated. So have I been agitated! So has everyone been agitated after the disgraceful proceedings of last night.”

“Indeed?” said I. “I heard something, but I was unable to distinguish what it was.”

The little gentleman stared hard at me.

“You must be a sound sleeper, young man—a very sound sleeper; but perhaps it did not happen to you. Did it?”

Not having the remotest idea as to what the question referred, I answered in the negative.

“Perhaps,” said the little gentleman, “you do not even know what did happen—eh?”

“No.”

“Very extraordinary,” said the little gentleman, and then he went on nervously: “I never went through such a night—never. A man of my weak nerves, too. My doctor sent me down here for quiet and repose, ‘Go down, Bamby,’ he said, ‘no railway-station within three miles, no organs, no yelling black men, no Punches and Judies, in fact, a Paradise of peace and comfort.’ So I came. I arrived yesterday in the midst of the most terrible storm I ever saw. I went to bed about half-past ten, and, contrary to my usual custom, soon dropped off to sleep. I am a bad sleeper, young man. About half-past twelve o’clock I was awoke by some one knocking violently at my door. I had bolted it before getting into bed. Judge of my alarm at such a proceeding at such an hour. The knocking continued in violence, then a heavy body seemed to be thrown against the door, which, after repeated shocks, burst open, and a man fell head foremost into my room;—a tall, powerful man, in a coloured gown and Wellington boots, with a pair of trousers tied round his throat. Before I had time to utter a word, he had started to his feet and assumed a threatening attitude. ‘Help! murder! fire! thieves!’ I shouted out at the top of my voice. ‘I’ll help you,’ he cried, dancing wildly round me, ‘come out of this!’ And in a moment he had seized the bedclothes and had dragged off the counterpane and blankets. ‘Come out of this!’ he again cried, and again pounced upon me, this time clutching me by the ankle of my left leg and commencing to drag me—a man of my weak nerves—bodily off the bed. Maddened with terror, I clung to the head of the bedstead, and shouted still louder for assistance. The more I shouted the more the villain tugged at my leg. The struggle was fearful. Chairs, table, drawers, looking-glasses and fire-irons, all seemed to be tumbling and crashing about the room indiscriminately. The very bedstead, with myself still madly clinging to it, seemed to be whirled round and round in the fury of the conflict. At length my assailant appeared to weaken in his efforts, and summoning all my remaining strength with my disengaged leg, I gave him one terrible kick full in the chest that sent him staggering back on to the wash-hand stand, in his fall knocking it down, smashing the jugs and basins into atoms, and deluging the room with water. Just fancy the situation to a man of my weak nerves!”

“Did you capture him?”

“No; before I could recover myself he was on his legs again,—had rushed out of the room and was gone. Winding the remains of the bedclothes round me, I dashed out after him, shouting ‘stop thief!’ To my astonishment I found the whole house in an uproar. Ladies and gentlemen in the most extraordinary state of deshabille I ever saw, were running about with lights, asking each other what it was, and where it was, and who had done it, and what it meant? Everybody seemed to have