“Why, then, do you go? You will neither dine well, nor will you be amused; and, as for the wine, I never knew a democrat to be a good judge of that article.”
This was the death-blow to the young man’s democracy. He was a Virginian, and, as such, knew that it was impossible to be a gentleman without being a good judge of wine and horse-flesh. He at first blushed, but soon recovered from his embarrassment by sending “a regret” to his democratic acquaintance. The day following he dined en petit comité with Mr. G***, where the ridicule thrown on popular institutions undermined his principles still further; and in the evening the ladies converted him fully to the principles of the opposition.
With the knowledge of all these facts, I could not but tremble for the fate of my pantalooned country representative, who, standing by the side of one of the most enchanting Whig ladies of New York, was now tucking up his cuffs in order to prepare himself for a valiant attack on a goose. This substantial bird, so unjustly ridiculed by the most odious comparisons with the more aristocratic but infinitely less useful swan, is in America—where swans are fabulous animals—the king of bipeds; capons being, either from natural charity to animals, or from want of the higher refinements, seldom to be met with at an American table. Admiral C——n, it is true, came to the United States to teach the Americans the science of preparing fowl in that manner; but, as he was himself but indifferently skilled in it, (his victims usually crowed the third day after the operation,) the thing was given up, as a practice too cruel to be indulged in “by an enlightened, intellectual, and moral community,” and the admiral obliged to return to England without the slightest hope of securing to himself that enduring fame which future generations award to the lights and benefactors of their race.
The attack now began simultaneously on all sides, the square-built tribune still keeping his position near the lady of the house, and looking upon her more and more tenderly as he was cutting away at the goose. There was a mixture of gratitude and benevolence in his smile which seemed to tell her that she had not been mistaken; that there was still some hope of winning him,—some slight chance of teaching him refinement and good taste. Accordingly, when he had done eating,—that is, when he could eat no more,—and had rinsed his mouth, in the only way he ever went through that process, by swallowing, in rapid succession, something like half-a-dozen glasses of madeira,—the lady took his arm, whispering, in one of her softest accents, that she disliked a crowd, and that they had better have some chat in the parlour.”
“With all my heart,” said the tribune, wiping his mouth with a checkered pocket-handkerchief; “I really do not see what business people have here after they have supped.”
“At my house, sir,” replied the lady, every one is at liberty to do as he pleases.”
“Quite a clever party, ma’am,” rejoined he, turning down the cuffs of his coat.
“I am glad you amuse yourself.”
“Oh that I do! I always amuse myself at a party.”
Here the lady made a confused sign of acknowledgment.