There was practiced, at the Lloyd's, a hospitality which would have{86} astonished and charmed any health-seeking northern divine or merchant, who might have chanced to share it.

Viewed from his own table, and _not_ from the field, the colonel was a model of generous hospitality.

His house was, literally, a hotel, for weeks during the summer months.

At these times, especially, the air was freighted with the rich fumes of baking, boiling, roasting and broiling.

The odors I shared with the winds; but the meats were under a more stringent monopoly except that, occasionally, I got a cake from Mas' Daniel.