“Oh! I tant say any more,” said Lucy. “What a pity!” and she bent down her lovely golden head, and blushed.
“Oh yes, what a pity!” echoed all the company. “It was so sweet; but we thank you very much for this; it was beautiful!”
“Will oo sing for me?” asked Lucy.
“Certainly,” they all cried with the utmost readiness; “our voices are not very good, and will sound horridly after your sweet tones, but you may be sure we shall do our best.”
They selected a hunting song with a chorus, and sure enough, with the exception of the stag-hound, whose voice was melody itself, you might have supposed it a compound of distressed rats, an old pump-handle, ungreased cart-wheels, a poker on a tin pan, and the spiritual rappers quarrelling together; for it was all squeal, howl, whine, grunt, and groan, of the most dismal description; but as they really tried with all their might and main to sing a good song, everybody looked pleased, because they took the will for the deed, and made the best of it. Do you observe that, my young friends? Well, never curl your lips with contempt, or make fun of any honest, kind-hearted effort to entertain you. Try to be pleased and thankful: take the will for the deed, and, my word for it, you will find a delicious glow come into your heart, and a lovely expression in your eyes; all your ugly thoughts will fly away to the bottomless pit, and you will find yourself really loving the one you meant to ridicule.
Presently there came one of those long, solemn pauses which will take place, do your best, when you have company, and Lord Chesterfield hastened to propose a game. As they were nearly all young and frisky, with the truest politeness, he proposed a frolicsome play, though he would much rather have had a sober talk on politics himself. Mind this, if you have a little party, don’t insist on doing what you like best, and taking all the prettiest and best things, but study the wishes of your guests, and do what pleases them most.
So Lord Chesterfield proposed the game of the “Family Coach,” to assist their digestion, which was hailed with bounds of delight by all except the old lady-mastiff, and the middle-aged Newfoundland dog, who preferred to take a quiet chat together, which ended in a nap on the sofa; but as they smiled and nodded to each other all the same, the rest concluded they were only shutting their eyes, as very sentimental people do when they talk, and so no offence was taken at their sleeping before company, and the poor old things had a very refreshing time of it.
The little bustling old gentleman appointed himself master of ceremonies, and there not being dogs enough for a grand frolic, introduced a few of the cats and monkeys; who were so enchanted at the chance to come in, that they frisked, and danced, and made a very narrow escape of screaming for joy and becoming perfectly riotous with the fun of the thing; and that, you know, would not have been polite.
I have a great mind to write down the way Lord Chesterfield made them play this game. I think you will like to know. So here it is.