Paris herself again in 1878-9 . ntry on the western side of the passage, and up adarker staircase, is the entrance to the Diner Something-or-An-otlier—say Le Diner Quelquechose—a fixed price repast. Twicehave I falteringly ascended to the sombre first landing of thoseCimmerian stairs; and twice have I crept down again into thelight, trembling, ashamed, afraid to encounter the contingenciesof the Diner Quelquechose. Yet nothing could be more invitingthan the carte chalked, like the Diurnal Acts of ancient Rome, ona blackboard at the door: Potage Gribouillc, requins aux con-combres, filet de bak
Paris herself again in 1878-9 . ntry on the western side of the passage, and up adarker staircase, is the entrance to the Diner Something-or-An-otlier—say Le Diner Quelquechose—a fixed price repast. Twicehave I falteringly ascended to the sombre first landing of thoseCimmerian stairs; and twice have I crept down again into thelight, trembling, ashamed, afraid to encounter the contingenciesof the Diner Quelquechose. Yet nothing could be more invitingthan the carte chalked, like the Diurnal Acts of ancient Rome, ona blackboard at the door: Potage Gribouillc, requins aux con-combres, filet de bakine aux vieux parapluies, cotelctte de hup a lapoivrade, tete de gorilla a la Croquemitaine, salade de foln auxEcu/ries dArtois, wine, dessert, coffee—all for four francs. No ; Icannot venture upon it. More restaurant? Plague, plague! At the eastern end of the Pas-sage, over against a saloon where you may have your boots blacked,with a general brush-up and rub-down, for fifteen centimes, are a E 2 5-1 PARIS HERSELF pair of wooden gates, which to me possess a more fearsome interestthan the wonderful portals of the Baptistry at Florence, or the glori-ously rococo grilles in the Place Stanislas at Nancy. They are thegates of the Restaurant Autrechose—an eating-house even cheaperthan the Diner Qnelquechose. Potage Mamamouchi, phoque a Vhuilcde moruc, dragon rati, queues de lizard enpapillottes, civet de chats dePerse,wine,dessert, and coffee—all for three francs. You do not ascend a staircase to this repast; 3^011go down a flight of steps to it;and, peeping through betweenthe wooden bars of the gate-way, I see the guests in scoresbeing fed at little tables inlittle pens in a huge have grinned through thesebars so frequently, half indolorous, half in droll, inde-cision, that I have begun tocontemplate the possibility of the head waiter rushing up the stepssome day; flinging open the gates, and going for me to the extentof seizing me by the coat-collar; dra
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