changing backward and forward two massive decanters and four
cut-glass goblets. We bow approvingly. Then with an air of
exultation she turns on her centre, giving a scrutinizing look at
the rich decorations of her palace, and again at us, as if anxious
to draw from us one word of approval. "Gentlemen are no way
sensitive here," pursues Madame Flamingo, moving again the great
decanters, "it's a commonwealth of gentlemen, you see. In New York-I
dash out there, you know-my house is a perfect palace. I keep a
footman and coachman there, have the most exact liveries, and keep
up an establishment equal to my Fifth Avenue neighbors, whose trade
of rope and fish is now lost in their terrible love of plush. I am a
woman of taste, you see; but, my honor for it, gentlemen, I know of
no people so given to plush and great buttons as our Fifth Avenue
parvenues."

It is a high old house this of Madame Flamingo. We speak approvingly
of all we see, her pride is stimulated, she quickens her
conversation. "I think you said two bottles, gentlemen? Our
sparkling Moselle is pronounced a gem by connoisseurs." And again
flaunting her embroidered apron, she trips hurriedly out of the
room. While she is gone we turn to view its human furniture. Yonder,
in a cozy alcove, stands a marble-topped pier-table, at which are
seated two gentlemen of great respectability in the community,
playing whist with fair but frail partners. Near them, on a soft
lounge, is seated a man of portly person and venerable appearance
(his hair is snowy white, and he has a frank, open countenance),
holding converse with, and evidently enamoured of a modest and
beautiful girl, of some sixteen summers, who has just taken her seat
at the opposite end. Madame Flamingo addresses this man as "Judge."
His daylight duty is known to be that of presiding over a criminal