It was after one of these niggardly repasts that he is said to have written to the late Lord Sefton that he was lying on straw, and grinning through the bars of a gaol; eating bran bread, my good fellow, eating bran bread." I will not, however, vouch for the truth of the story. The double X did not take great effect upon his brain; for though not given to excess, he had been well accustomed to a tolerable quantity of wine, to say nothing of Roman punch, into the mysteries of which it has been asserted that he initiated the Prince Regent. One who knew him intimately at Calais, assured me that he had never seen him inebriated but once, and then he was so disgusted with himself that he performed a voluntary penance of solitary confinement for eight days; query, with or without his Dorchester ale? At seven o'clock, or half-past, he went to the theatre, where he had a small box; or in the long warm evenings he retired to his garden, in the summer-house of which (now thrown down) he either read or noted down his recollections of his past career.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Brummell's Visitor from Dover-His Ungallant Conduct to his Daughter -His Reception of Wellesley Poole on his Arrival at Calais-Mr. Berkeley's Toady—The Morning Walk with Lord Sefton—A Rencontre on the Ramparts—The Beau reported Dead—Calais Gossip— Brummell adds his Quota-The Result-His Appointment at Chalk Farm-His Reception of Colonel R▬▬d.

SUCH was the general tenor of his life, varied occasionally by a dinner at the consul's, or a visit from some friend of former years- a few of these stray birds of fashion would sometimes delay their departure for two or three days, merely to enjoy a laugh at the fund of anecdotes with which he was charged; and one of them, who had a house at Dover, frequently crossed the water to see him, and always gave him notice of his intention, desiring that he would have all in readiness for his party at the Hotel, himself included. At these little fêtes, he was always in good spirits, and as amusing as ever. One day after dinner, the elegant Beau, though always on the qui vive that his proceedings should be faultless, upset a cup of coffee on the cloth. The bell was rung for the waiter to remove it, and on his appearing for that purpose he gave him to understand, with the

most imperturbable gravity, that a young and graceful lady, the daughter of his friend, had committed this piece of gaucherie. Directly, however, he had left the room, the real delinquent hastened to apologise and soften the indignation of the innocent victim, or at least attempted to do so; adding drolly to a string of excuses, "You know it would never have done to let the world know that I was guilty of such awkwardness." This was not very chivalrous; even if his fair neighbour had really spilt it, it would have been more goodnatured, if not so entertaining, to have taken the odium on himself-mais son égoïsme régnait partout.

But, however glad he might be to accept any invitation that promised to afford him amusement within the walls of the town, his friends could never succeed in persuading him to spend one night away from his own rooms. Lord Alvanley did, I believe, once prevail upon him to go to Dunkirk, and his landlord thought that he would at any rate not return that night; but he was mistaken, for at four o'clock in the morning, Brummell knocked at the door. The Beau appeared much flattered and pleased by any attentions paid him by his itinerant visitors, and always endeavoured to be more than usually agreeable to them—if that were possible, though he could not deny himself a joke, if it came into his head. I remember, said one of his Calais friends, that when sitting with him one morning, in walked Wellesley Poole, who had just landed from the Dover packet;

it happened to be a very cold day, and the new arrival drew his chair close to the fire; this Brummell observed, and said, "Why, Wellesley, you appear cold but I am not surprised at it, for you must have been devilish hot in England, or we should never have seen you here."

It was not till his old friends, Mr. G. C—m, Sir Arthur F- -s, and afterwards Col. D-, Berkeley Craven, and Henry Berkeley, came and fixed themselves at Calais, that Brummell entered at all into the English society of the place, and then with great discrimination in the choice of his acquaintances.

But, even in spite of this caution, he sometimes came in contact with his friends' friends, whose manners were most disagreeable to him. At one house at which he visited, the master kept a kind of fag, a tame animal, who was ready to follow him. anywhere, and eat his dinners. This person was also kind enough to market for him, go to the post, or to the stables on a cold night-moreover, he was obliged to submit to be roasted: not like a former Lord Chief Justice, at Eton, once only and in earnest, and as a juvenile martyr to the ardour of his political opinions, but à discrétion, and get no credit for it. Nature had done little for this convenient creature of a convenient race, and his parents less; but, malgré his outlandish bearing, his patron had the bad taste to permit him to appear in the presence of his company. It happened that on one occasion the Beau

was of the party, and shortly after they had sat down to dinner, the toady, thrusting out his plate, said, “Mr. Brummell, I'll trouble you for a potato." There was never a very large supply of silver at the tables of the English residents at Calais, and Brummell looked right and left for a spoon: but there was none, and he paused at the difficulty; the toady, however, tired of holding out his arm, quickly relieved him from the dilemma by saying in a persuasive tone of voice, "Oh, take your fork-I'm not particular." "My dear Berkeley," said the Beau afterwards to his friend, "how can you ask gentlemen to meet such people at dinner? if your horses are ill, pay the fellow five francs and have done with him.".

However, towards the close of his residence at Calais, he was not so particular whom he dined with. One day, when walking on the ramparts arm-in-arm with the late Lord Sefton, they were met by an extremely vulgar-looking Englishman, who bowed to Brummell in a very familiar manner. "Sefton," said the Beau, "what can that fellow mean by bowing to you?" "To me! he is bowing to you, I suppose, for I know no one in Calais." Soon after, however, the stranger passed again, and, seizing Brummell by the arm, said to him in a most frightfully cordial tone, "Don't forget, Brum, don't forget, goose at four-goose at four!" thus betraying the Beau's engagement to dine with his hospitable but vulgar friend, an invitation that he thought he had so cleverly concealed from his refined one. It was