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	   Cuticle Aristocracy.
the carpet, probably dropped by the chamber-
maid, whom he called rather familiarly, and
attempted something of a joke on the cir-
cumstance, evidently supposing or assuming
that I had had a bedfellow � perhaps brought
one home.  But the damsel, by no means a
well-favored Irish one, was indignant at his
presumption: who was he talking to? she asked,
she�d let him know she was no Wench!      I
heard it all from an opposite room, whither I
had temporarily retired, during the cleansing of
mine; at first I couldn�t make out what the
object of interest might be, imagining it some
drawing instrument, the use of which the �boy�
couldn�t understand.       Only white porters are
allowed to handle baggage; I suppose the slaves
would steal.                To resume my day�s
routine; after breakfast, I generally strolled
to the Express office, smoking a cigar or so
(I became a prodigious consumer of �weeds in
Charleston, where you get �em very good) by the
way, perhaps continuing my stroll to the Courier
Office or elsewhere.     At 2 or 3 we dined.
I generally wrote during the afternoon and part
of the evening.   Then the hall of the hotel presented
a busy scene, which I have duly described in
my letters to the Post.           I always carried a