Jams Pallice, and the Corts of Lor. "I can surwhey them all at one
cut of the eye," Jools thought; "the Sovring, the infamus Ministers
plotting the destruction of my immortial country; the business and
pleasure of these pusprond Londoners and aristoxy; I can look round and
see all." So he took a three-pair back in a French hotel, the "Hotel
de l'Ail," kep by Monsieur Gigotot, Cranbourne Street, Lester Squarr,
London.
In this otell there's a billiard-room on the first floor, and a
tabble-doat at eighteenpence peredd at 5 o'clock; and the landlord, who
kem into Jools's room smoaking a segar, told the young gent that the
house was friquented by all the Brittish nobillaty, who reglar took
their dinners there. "They can't ebide their own quiseen," he said.
"You'll see what a dinner we'll serve you to-day." Jools wrote off to
his paper--
"The members of the haughty and luxurious English aristocracy, like all
the rest of the world, are obliged to fly to France for the indulgence
of their luxuries. The nobles of England, quitting their homes, their
wives, miladies and mistriss, so fair but so cold, dine universally
at the tavern. That from which I write is frequented by Peel and
Palmerston. I fremis to think that I may meet them at the board to-day."
Singlar to say, Peel and Palmerston didn't dine at the "Hotel de l'Ail"
on that evening.
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