The bedroom bell was ingenious enough, going off like an alarum when a knob of wood fixed in the wall was touched; and the invention would be still more valuable if it would at the same time induce any servants to answer it. As it was, the only chance, after prodding it for a good quarter of an hour without any other result than a sore thumb and a great deal of noise, was to seat oneself in an arm-chair before it with the latest newspaper, or some interesting book, and, the elbow firmly pressed against the knob, so to remain, if needs be, for the whole afternoon until some one below was sick of the rattle, and condescended to come and inquire the cause of the summons.
A table-d'hôte breakfast in places like Bayonne is very trying to a delicate stomach, especially when an opposite lady is in the habit of wearing a false nose, and when the gentlemen wear diamond rings and very dirty wristbands. Individuals of excited imaginations may possibly regale themselves with potage à paté d'Italie, but to minds of ordinary level it appears but as some mystic and not very inviting fluid with things like boiled gentles in it. Rognons sautés en champagne is a dish also considered by the sanguine as something quite unique, whereas a philosopher (at all events at so early a meal as breakfast) is apt to connect that condiment in a general way with old hats and hot water.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] What is more miserable than to see an old man just entering on the practice of virtue?
