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The room which Mrs. Butler assigned me was
in the third story; it was better furnished, and
more commodious, than any I had ever occupied;
and the first night I lay in it, I could hardly sleep
for thinking of the great change which had taken
place in my condition. What a variety of lodging
place I had slept in during the past few
months. The fore castle of a ship; the unsheltered
pampas of South America; the berth deck
of a man of war; the topmost pigeon hole of a
genteel boarding house; a bench on the Battery;
the marble stairs of the University; and now I
was sleeping, or rather should be sleeping, beneath
the same roof with Georgiana De Lancey!
I dared not trust myself to anticipate what the next
few months might bring forth.

As Mr. Mar sett's house was a long way up
town, I was obliged to take my dinner at an eating
house, and there being a young gentleman in
the counting room, to whom all the clerks appealed
for information, in all matters relating to high life
and the fashions, I got him to recommend me to a

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fashionable restaurateur, for I was anxious to
avoid all the places where I should be likely to
meet any of my former associates and acquaintances,
for I had taken a great dislike to drummers,
and speculators, and even to poets. I meant, if
possible, henceforth to associate with none but
respectable people.

Mr. Wycks, that was the name of the fashionable
clerk, said he would introduce me, with a
great deal of pleasure, to a first-rate establishment,
kept on the Parisian plan, which he patronised
himself. This was an eating-house in the neighborhood
of Wall street, kept by two yellow gentlemen,
who chose to call themselves “Smith, Brothers.”
Their gentility was beyond dispute, for
one had been a servant in the family of a French
importer, and the other had been second steward
on board of a Havre packet. The red and yellow
window curtains, the dirty gilding about the
eating-room, the greasy wall, the marble top tables,
and the bill of fare, constituted its claim to
the title of Parisian; but if these were insufficient,
the fare and the prices fully established its claim
to this distinction. After I had eaten my dinner,
I put the bill of fare in my pocket. I will give a
copy of it for the benefit of those who may be

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ambitious to live genteely, and who may have the
means, but lack the art. Here it is:

It may not be improper for me to mention that
I dined on bif au naturel and pomme de terre a
la maitre d' hotel, a dish which bore a striking
resemblance to beef and potatoes.

I was convinced from the observations which
I made in this genteel eating-house, and in some
other places of equal pretensions, that to be

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genteel was to be thoroughly vulgar. So I very
shortly withdrew my patronage from the “Brothers
Smith,” and having found out a quiet little nook,
kept by a window, whose only daughter waited
upon the customers, I got my dinner there, and
had the satisfaction of eating my food well-cooked,
and of hearing it called by its right name.

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