The things we do!

There's a fellow in our mess at the Lepre, a clever enough fellow
too--and not a bad fellow to the poor. He was a Gandishite. He is a genre
and portrait painter, by the name of Haggard. He hates J. J. because Lord
Fareham, who is here, has given J. J. an order; and he hates me, because
I wear a clean shirt, and ride a cock-horse.
"I wish you could come to our mess at the Lepre. It's such a dinner: such
a tablecloth: such a waiter: such a company! Every man has a beard and a
sombrero: and you would fancy we were a band of brigands. We are regaled
with woodcocks, snipes, wild swans, ducks, robins, and owls and oionoisi
te pasi for dinner; and with three pauls' worth of wines and victuals the
hungriest has enough, even Claypole the sculptor. Did you ever know him?
He used to come to the Haunt. He looks like the Saracen's head with his
beard now. There is a French table still more hairy than ours, a German
table, an American table. After dinner we go and have coffee and
mezzo-caldo at the Cafe Greco over the way.


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