“Certainly,” said Lord Chesterfield; “suppose you write the note yourself; it will be a very delicate attention.”
Down sat Beppo, joyously, and soon he had penned this fine invitation:
“Master Beppo wishes you to dine with me to-morrow at five o’ clock.
“Miss Lucy Hill.”
This was not exactly the right way to word it, but you see his education was not yet completed.
Then the little bustling old gentleman wrote the rest of the notes; for Beppo was rather slow, and ran his tongue out in the most fearful manner, in his anxiety to spell the words right, and then they were nicely sealed up in envelopes, and he put them all together in a pretty little basket.
And now the coachman was ordered to bring out the state carriage and four horses, and Beppo, sitting up inside on his hind-legs, very grand, and no doubt exceedingly uncomfortable, carried the notes of invitation to the most fashionable dogs of his acquaintance.
Three of the dogs to be invited lived in the house, as you know; but they had notes as well as the rest, for that is the way to be perfectly polite. I dare say you have many a time heard people say something like this—
“Oh, it don’t make any difference what there is for dinner when you come, because we are so intimate; but I should be mortified to death, not to have every thing nice when General Fusbos is invited, as he is such a stranger.”