Whilst on the subject of ball-suppers, there was a curious custom prevailing in Lisbon.  Most Portuguese having very limited means, it was not usual to offer any refreshments whatever to guests at dances; but when it was done, it took the form of a “tooth-pick-supper” (souper aux curedents).  Small pieces of chicken, tongue, or beef were piled on plates, each piece skewered with a wooden toothpick.  The guests picked these off the plate by the toothpick, and nibbled the meat away from it, eating it with slices of bread.  This obviated the use of plates, knives and forks, most Portuguese families having neither sufficient silver table-plate for an entertainment nor the means to hire any.  There was another reason for this quaint custom.  Some Portuguese are—­how shall we put it?—­ inveterate souvenir-hunters.  The Duke of Palmella, one of the few rich men in Portugal, gave a ball whilst I was in Lisbon at which the supper was served in the ordinary fashion, with plates, spoons, knives and forks.  It was a matter of common knowledge in Lisbon that 50 per cent. of the ducal silver spoons and forks had left the house in the pockets of his Grace’s guests, who doubtless wished to preserve a slight memento of so pleasant an evening.

In a certain Balkan State which I will refrain from naming, the inhabitants are also confirmed souvenir-hunters.  At a dinner-party at the British Legation in this nameless State, one of the Diplomatic ladies was wearing a very fine necklace of pearls and enamel.  A native of the State admired this necklace immensely, and begged for permission to examine it closer.  The Diplomat’s wife very unwisely unfastened her pearl necklace, and it was passed around from hand to hand, amidst loud expressions of admiration at its beautiful workmanship.  At the end of dinner the Diplomatic lady requested that her necklace might be returned to her, but it was not forthcoming; no one knew anything about it.  The British Minister, who thought that he understood the people of the country, rose to the occasion.  Getting up from his chair, he said with a smile, “We have just witnessed a very clever and very amusing piece of legerdemain.  Now we are going to see another little piece of conjuring.”  The Minister walked quietly to both doors of the room, locked them, and put the keys in his pocket.  He then placed a small silver bowl from the side-board in the centre of the dinner-table, and continued:  “I am now going to switch off all the lights, and to count ten slowly.  When I have reached ten, I shall turn on the lights again, and hey presto!  Madame de—­’s necklace will be found lying in that silver bowl!” The room became plunged in darkness, and the Minister counted slowly up to ten.  The electric light blazed out again, there was no necklace, but the silver bowl had vanished!