Piles Of Luggage, In Which One Sees With Dismay
One's Light Travelling Valise Crushed Under A Gigantic Trunk, Occupy The
Centre; porters seated on a form wait for orders; peripatetic individuals
walk to and fro; a confused Babel of voices
Is ever ascending to the
galleries above; and at the door, hacks, like the "eilwagon" of Germany,
are ever depositing fresh arrivals. There is besides this a private
entrance for ladies. Opposite the entrance is a counter, where four or
five clerks constantly attend, under the superintendence of a cashier, to
whom all applications for rooms are personally made. I went up to this
functionary, wrote my name in a book, he placed a number against it, and,
giving me a key with a corresponding number attached, I followed a porter
down a long corridor, and up to a small clean room on the third story,
where to all intents and purposes my identity was lost - merged in a mere
numeral. At another side of the hall is the bar, a handsomely decorated
apartment, where lovers of such beverages can procure "toddy," "night-
caps," "mint julep," "gin sling," &c. On the door of my very neat and
comfortable bed-room was a printed statement of the rules, times of meals,
and charge per diem. I believe there are nearly 300 rooms in this house,
some of them being bed-rooms as large and commodious as in a private
mansion in England.
On the level of the entrance is a magnificent eating saloon, principally
devoted to male guests, and which is 80 feet long.
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