I am too exhausted to curse, and leave the rival Porters to fight it out themselves, after paying off the ragged regiment of Station-men.  On the drive to the Hotel, the Porter tries to propitiate me.

“Pity shentlemans like you, Sar, fetch de loggosh.  I tell you, better leave it to me, Sar.  You see, I get your loggosh.  Dat bizley Porter of De Hotel Du Lac, he change de empfangschein; but I sweep it from him, and bring to de ’Bus”—­“’Bus” was good—­and then he laughed!

[Illustration:  “Pity shentlemans like you, Sar, retchistar de loggosh.”]

I never saw the brute again until the time of my departure; I had taken a carriage to the Station this time, thinking thereby to avoid the Porter-omnibus.  I had registered my traps myself, and was looking out for some one to carry them to the den in which you are penned till the train arrives, when, lo! the chucker-out! smiling and bowing as if he had never seen me before—­“Is better I retchistar de loggosh, Sar; pity shentlemans like you, Sar, retchistar de loggosh.”

I turn on my heel with an imprecation which “Ingleese-spikers” understand.  But he still waits there, smiling, and expecting to be tipped, Let him wait.  So much for the Omnibus-Porter—­at once the Gamp and Undertaker of my Grand Hotel existence.

The House-Porter is of equal size, and equal uselessness.  He sits in the hall, and always rises and salutes when you pass.  If you want anything, he waits till you have got it, and then offers to procure it for you.  If you ask to be called early, he chalks something on a slate, and you are safe not to be disturbed until you rise in your wrath and ring violently.  Should you be in a town, and wish to secure theatre-tickets, he becomes more active; he implores you not to resort to “De Boxing Office, vare you pay premiums, you see;” but he has one or two left for sale.  Should you be weak enough to yield, you will find that the worst seats at the highest prices are yours; and, if you remonstrate next day, he will sigh wearily, and remark,—­“Is acheslant places, Sar; but was Gala Night, you see,”—­an enigma, which those who run may read.  He is always offering to do something, and doing you instead.  He is absolutely unnecessary, for there is seldom anyone in a Grand Hotel to “chuck out,” and this would be his only justification.

* * * * *

THE “BLOWER” BURST UP!

  The “Blower” came down, like the braggart he was,
  And of winning the fight was peculiarly “poz;”
  And the voice of his backers was loud in their glee;—­
  “We shall lick him in two rounds—­or certainly three!”

  Like the “Champion Slugger,” in trunks of bright green,
  The “Big Fellow” at Eight fifty-two might be seen: 
  Like a truculent Titan, blind, baffled, and blown,
  At Ten thirty-seven the brute was o’erthrown.

  For CORBETT smote fiercely, and CORBETT fought fast,
  And the bullying bounder was beaten at last;
  And the cheeks of the coarse woman-puncher were chill,
  He rolled over, and struggled to rise, and lay still.