and a few lingering breezes seemed to play beneath the branches of an acacia.  The dark green bottles, of various tapering shapes, were embedded in pails of ice, upon the table:  and napkins and other goodly garniture graced the curiously woven cloth.  I hung up, in the simplicity of my heart—­over the seat which I was to occupy,—­ the portrait of John King of France, which M. Coeure had just finished;—­ not considering that this said John had been beaten and taken prisoner, at the battle of Poictiers by our Black Prince!  Never was a step more injudicious, or an ornament more unappropriate.  However, there it hung throughout the day.  A dinner of the very best description, exclusively of the wine, was to be served up for twelve francs a head.  I make no doubt but the Club paid a little more where they assembled in London!

At length came the hour of dinner, and with the hour the guests.  I requested Brother Van Praet to be deputy chairman; and taking my seat beneath the unfortunate John King of France, gave the signal for a general attack—­upon whatever was placed before the guests.  Monsieur Denon, however, did not arrive till after the first course.  He had been detained by a visit from the Duke of Bedford.  M. Millin sat at my right hand, and M. Gail at my left.  The first course consisted chiefly of fruit, and slices of anchovy, crossed.  A large paper copy of a melon cut a magnificent appearance in the centre; but all this quickly gave way to fish, flesh, and fowl of a various but substantial description.  Poor Millin had no appetite, and would only carve.  He looked particularly ill.  The rest ate, drank, and were merry.  The desert was of the very best quality:  and this was succeeded by the introduction of a little of English fashion and manners.  We drank toasts, connected with the object of the day’s festival; and never were a set of guests more disposed to relish both the wine and the sentiment which accompanied each glass.  They even insisted upon a “three times three” for “Lord Spencer and the Club!” But if we were merry, we were wise.  Shortly after dinner, M. Gail rose, as if in a moment of inspiration, from his seat—­and recited the Latin verses which are here enclosed.[162] They will at least make you admire the good humour of the poet.  He afterwards chanted a song:  his own literal version of the XIXth ode of Anacreon, beginning [Greek:  He ge melaina pinei].  The guests declared that they had never sat so long at table, or were more happy.  I proposed a stroll or a seat upon the lawn.  Chairs and benches were at hand; and we requested that the coffee might be brought to us out of doors.  It was now after sun-set; and a lurid sky was above our head.  Our conversation was desultory as to topics, but animated as to manner.  I had never witnessed M. Van Praet more alive to social disquisition.  We talked of books, of pictures, and of antiquities... and I happened, with the same witless simplicity which had pinned the portrait of