picture　of　the　refreshment…table　at　that　terminus。　　The
  conventional　shabby　evening…party　supper　…　accepted　as　the　model
  for　all　termini　and　all　refreshment　stations；　because　it　is　the
  last　repast　known　to　this　state　of　existence　of　which　any　human
  creature　would　partake；　but　in　the　direst　extremity　…　sickens　your
  contemplation；　and　your　words　are　these：　　'I　cannot　dine　on　stale
  sponge…cakes　that　turn　to　sand　in　the　mouth。　　I　cannot　dine　on
  shining　brown　patties；　composed　of　unknown　animals　within；　and
  offering　to　my　view　the　device　of　an　indigestible　star…fish　in
  leaden　pie…crust　without。　　I　cannot　dine　on　a　sandwich　that　has
  long　been　pining　under　an　exhausted　receiver。　　I　cannot　dine　on
  barley…sugar。　　I　cannot　dine　on　Toffee。'　　You　repair　to　the　nearest
  hotel；　and　arrive；　agitated；　in　the　coffee…room。
  It　is　a　most　astonishing　fact　that　the　waiter　is　very　cold　to　you。
  Account　for　it　how　you　may；　smooth　it　over　how　you　will；　you　cannot
  deny　that　he　is　cold　to　you。　　He　is　not　glad　to　see　you；　he　does
  not　want　you；　he　would　much　rather　you　hadn't　come。　　He　opposes　to
  your　flushed　condition；　an　immovable　composure。　　As　if　this　were
  not　enough；　another　waiter；　born；　as　it　would　seem；　expressly　to
  look　at　you　in　this　passage　of　your　life；　stands　at　a　little
  distance；　with　his　napkin　under　his　arm　and　his　hands　folded；
  looking　at　you　with　all　his　might。　　You　impress　on　your　waiter　that
  you　have　ten　minutes　for　dinner；　and　he　proposes　that　you　shall
  begin　with　a　bit　of　fish　which　will　be　ready　in　twenty。　　That
  proposal　declined；　he　suggests　…　as　a　neat　originality　…　'a　weal　or
  mutton　cutlet。'　　You　close　with　either　cutlet；　any　cutlet；
  anything。　　He　goes；　leisurely；　behind　a　door　and　calls　down　some
  unseen　shaft。　　A　ventriloquial　dialogue　ensues；　tending　finally　to
  the　effect　that　weal　only；　is　available　on　the　spur　of　the　moment。
  You　anxiously　call　out；　'Veal；　then！'　　Your　waiter　having　settled
  that　point；　returns　to　array　your　tablecloth；　with　a　table　napkin
  folded　cocked…hat…wise　（slowly；　for　something　out　of　window　engages
  his　eye）；　a　white　wine…glass；　a　green　wine…glass；　a　blue　finger…
  glass；　a　tumbler；　and　a　powerful　field　battery　of　fourteen　casters
  with　nothing　in　them；　or　at　all　events　…　which　is　enough　for　your
  purpose　…　with　nothing　in　them　that　will　come　out。　　All　this　time；
  the　other　waiter　looks　at　you　…　with　an　air　of　mental　comparison
  and　curiosity；　now；　as　if　it　had　occurred　to　him　that　you　are
  rather　like　his　brother。　　Half　your　time　gone；　and　nothing　come　but
  the　jug　of　ale　and　the　bread；　you　implore　your　waiter　to　'see　after
  that　cutlet；　waiter；　pray　do！'　　He　cannot　go　at　once；　for　he　is
  carrying　in　seventeen　pounds　of　American　cheese　for　you　to　finish
  with；　and　a　small　Landed　Estate　of　celery　and　water…cresses。　　The
  other　waiter　changes　his　leg；　and　takes　a　new　view　of　you；
  doubtfully；　now；　as　if　he　had　rejected　the　resemblance　to　his
  brother；　and　had　begun　to　think　you　more　like　his　aunt　or　his
  grandmother。　　Again　you　beseech　your　waiter　with　pathetic
  indignation；　to　'see　after　that　cutlet！'　　He　steps　out　to　see　after
  it；　and　by…and…by；　when　you　are　going　away　without　it；　comes　back
  with　it。　　Even　then；　he　will　not　take　the　sham　silver　cover　off；
  without　a　pause　for　a　flourish；　and　a　look　at　the　musty　cutlet　as
  if　he　were　surprised　to　see　it　…　which　cannot　possibly　be　the　case；
  he　must　have　seen　it　so　often　before。　　A　sort　of　fur　has　been
  produced　upon　its　surface　by　the　cook's　art；　and　in　a　sham　silver
  vessel　staggering　on　two　feet　instead　of　three；　is　a　cutaneous　kind
  of　sauce　of　brown　pimples　and　pickled　cucumber。　　You　order　the
  bill；　but　your　waiter　cannot　bring　your　bill　yet；　because　he　is
  bringing；　instead；　three　flinty…hearted　potatoes　and　two　grim　head
  of　broccoli；　like　the　occasional　ornaments　on　area　railings；　badly
  boiled。　　You　know　that　you　will　never　come　to　this　pass；　any　more
  than　to　the　cheese　and　celery；　and　you　imperatively　demand　your
  bill；　but；　it　takes　time　to　get；　even　when　gone　for；　because　your
  waiter　has　to　communicate　with　a　lady　who　lives　behind　a　sash…
  window　in　a　corner；　and　who　appears　to　have　to　refer　to　several
  Ledgers　before　she　can　make　it　out　…　as　if　you　had　been　staying
  there　a　year。　　You　become　distracted　to　get　away；　and　the　other
  waiter；　once　more　changing　his　leg；　still　looks　at　you　…　but
  suspiciously；　now；　as　if　you　had　begun　to　remind　him　of　the　party
  who　took　the　great…coats　last　winter。　　Your　bill　at　last　brought
  and　paid；　at　the　rate　of　sixpence　a　mouthful；　your　waiter
  reproachfully　reminds　you　that　'attendance　is　not　charged　for　a
  single　meal；'　and　you　have　to　search　in　all　your　pockets　for
  sixpence　more。　　He　has　a　worse　opinion　of　you　than　ever；　when　you
  have　given　it　to　him；　and　lets　you　out　into　the　street　with　the　air
  of　one　saying　to　himself；　as　you　cannot　again　doubt　he　is；　'I　hope
  we　shall　never　see　YOU　here　again！'
  Or；　take　any　other　of　the　numerous　travelling　instances　in　which；
  with　more　time　at　your　disposal；　you　are；　have　been；　or　may　be；
  equally　ill　served。　　Take　the　old…established　Bull's　Head　with　its
  old…established　knife…boxes　on　its　old…established　sideboards；　its
  old…established　flue　under　its　old…established　four…post　bedsteads
  in　its　old…established　airless　rooms；　its　old…established
  frouziness　up…stairs　and　down…stairs；　its　old…established　cookery；
  and　its　old…established　principles　of　plunder。　　Count　up　your
  injuries；　in　its　side…dishes　of　ailing　sweetbreads　in　white
  poultices；　of　apothecaries'　powders　in　rice　for　curry；　of　pale
  stewed　bits　of　calf　ineffectually　relying　for　an　adventitious
  interest　on　forcemeat　balls。　　You　have　had　experience　of　the　old…
  established　Bull's　Head　stringy　fowls；　with　lower　extremities　like
  wooden　legs；　sticking　up　out　of　the　dish；　of　its　cannibalic　boiled
  mutton；　gushing　horribly　among　its　capers；　when　carved；　of　its
  little　dishes　of　pastry　…　roofs　of　spermaceti　ointment；　erected
  over　half　an　apple　or　four　gooseberries。　　Well　for　you　if　you　have
  yet　forgotten　the　old…established　Bull's　Head　fruity　port：　　whose
  reputation　was　gained　solely　by　the　old…established　price　the
  Bull's　Head　put　upon　it；　and　by　the　old…established　air　with　which
  the　Bull's　Head　set　the　glasses　and　D'Oyleys　on；　and　held　that
  Liquid　Gout　to　the　three…and…sixpenny　wax…candle；　as　if　its　old…
  established　colour　hadn't　come　from　the　dyer's。
  Or　lastly；　take　to　finish　with；　two　cases　that　we　all　know；　every
  day。
  We　all　know　the　new　hotel　near　the　station；　where　it　is　always
  gusty；　going　up　the　lane　which　is　always　muddy；　where　we　are　sure
  to　arrive　at　night；　and　where　we　make　the　gas　start　awfully　when　we
  open　the　front　door。　　We　all　know　the　flooring　of　the　passages　and
  staircases　that　is　too　new；　and　the　walls　that　are　too　new；　and　the
  house　that　is　haunted　by　the　ghost　of　mortar。　　We　all　know　the
  doors　that　have　cracked；　and　the　cracked　shutters　through　which　we
  get　a　glimpse　of　the　disconsolate　moon。　　We　all　know　the　new
  people；　who　have　come　to　keep　the　new　hotel；　and　who　wish　they　had
  never　come；　and　who　（inevitable　result）　wish　WE　had　never　come。　　We
  all　know　how　much　too　scant　and　smooth　and　bright　the　new　furniture
  is；　and　how　it　has　never　settled　down；　and　cannot　fit　itself　into
  right　places；　and　will　get　into　wrong　places。　　We　all　know　how　the
  gas；　being　lighted；　shows　maps　of　Damp　upon　the　walls。　　We　all　know
  how　the　ghost　of　mortar　passes　into　our　sandwich；　stirs　our　negus；
  goes　up　to　bed　with　us；　ascends　the　pale　bedroom　chimney；　and
  prevents　the　smoke　from　following。　　We　all　know　how　a　leg　of　our
  chair　comes　off　at　breakfast　in　the　morning；　and　how　the　dejected
  waiter　attributes　the　accident　to　a　general　greenness　pervading　the
  establishment；　and　informs　us；　in　reply　to　a　local　inquiry；　that　he
  is　thankful　to　say　he　is　an　entire　stranger　in　that　part　of　the
  country　and　is　going　back　to　his　own　connexion　on　Saturday。
  We　all　know；　on　the　other　hand；　the　great　station　hotel　belonging
  to　the　company　of　proprietors；　which　has　suddenly　sprung　up　in　the
  back　outskirts　of　any　place　we　like　to　name；　and　where　we　look　out
  of　our　palatial　windows　at　little　back　yards　and　gardens；　old
  summer…houses；　fowl…houses；　pigeon…traps；　and　pigsties。　　We　all
  know　this　hotel　in　which　we　can　get　anything　we　want；　after　its
  kind；　for　money；　but　where　nobody　is　glad　to　see　us；　or　sorry　to
  see　us；　or　minds　（our　bill　paid）　whether　we　come　or　go；　or　how；　or
  when；　or　why；　or　cares　about　us。　　We　all　know　this　hotel；　where　we
  have　no　individuality；　but　put　ourselves　into　the　general　post；　as
  it　were；　and　are　sorted　and　disposed　of　according　to　our　division。
  We　all　know　that　we　can　get　on　very　well　indeed　at　such　a　place；
  but　still　not　perfectly　well；　and　this　may　be；　because　the　place　is
  largely　wholesale；　and　there　is　a　lingering　personal　retail
  interest　within　us　that　asks　to　be　satisfied。
  To　sum　up。　　My　uncommercial　travelling　has　not　yet　broug