[The Frenchman does not understand this, but he is to laugh heartily nevertheless.]
Mrs. ——. Here, Adam; take this key, and you'll find some in the store-room, at the top of the house.
Mr.——. Attic salt, eh! ha, ha, ha! Well, come let's fall to; this meat will keep no longer without salt.
Mrs. ——. My dear Tom, that rich dish will only give you the gout.
Mr. ——. Pooh! "Chacun à son gout." Why should not I eat it, as well as another?
Mrs. ——. Bless me, how you mangle that duck.
Mr. ——. Mangle it, my love. Well, I think that's better than to wash and iron it; but tell me how you'll have it done, and you shall find me ductile.
[Many opportunities will offer of making obscene puns, but I give no rules for these; they come naturally to every punster! All I shall say is, that they must never be neglected.]
Let your cook be famous for pancakes. One of your little boys must inquire for some.
Mr. ——. My dear, this is Sunday; you know we can't have pancakes till Fri-day.
[Many more puns must be introduced. Champaign, real pain; after all cheese is best, &c.]
The company will, probably, add some, and you may, also, by accident; however, you'll have this advantage over your friends, that you'll be certain of all these while you're with your wife, and at home. Your acquaintance, of course, have names, and if they have no other merit, it's very hard if you can't make something of them in the pun way. Any blockhead can do that.
DESSERT.