What do they think, I wonder, of life at the Grand ? What calling do they follow, and where, when the three months which consti tute the sea-London season are over, and all of them, save some half dozen, are disarmed of tray and napkin, and disbanded ? What secrets do they hide beneath those snow white waistcoats ? What Gil Bias life histories must they not have to tell, besides which that of Bullion Ef quite, and family, on the first floor, Avliom they serve, is a pale and ineffec tual story ! The gentleman who first observed that one half the world did not know how the other half lived, may have been a clever fellow, but it is certain that he was a cautious one, and spoke within limits. However, let us have done with waiters. If ever I seem to concern myself with low company, it is that devil Asmodeus who leads me into it. Pace Burke, j pace Mr Mudie. For myself, I am never so happy as when (which is more, seldom than I could wish) I stretch my legs under the mahogany of a person of title. This narrative, I repeat, is one of good society ; a fiction, if not of the first class, at least of the first floor. On the first floor of the Grand, then, and in an apartment furnished after the foreign fashion (which our hotel affects), with much gilding and many mirrors,- with bright cornices on the ceiling, and a gay flowery scroll upon the lofty walls ; with sofas of yellow damask (or what looks like damask), and with window doors that are opened wide upon a balcony overlooking the sea —sit three of our dramatis personce. It is as pretty a picture as you can imagine, for the folks in the foreground (which does riot always happen in portrait drawings) are as fine and elegant as are the accessories. These are two ladies and a gentleman, whose united ages (as the newspaper correspondent delights to write, when dismissing ancient people to their graves) do not exceed that of one sexagenarian. 