temps—the latter getting worsted; and the Brown girls, who danced every dance, with certain gentlemen, only, more and more unpopular.
As the evening progresses, the Wall-flowers become bolder;—some finding partners for quadrilles; others edging up to the vacant recesses, rendering it now possible to get out at the door, and obtain air on the landing—where several young fellows are congregated:—there young Lark was laughing, we knew, at the Rev. Jewel St. Jones, the clerk in orders at St. Stiffs, doing the cavalier seul—for we heard him say something about early missal, or primitive Christian style,—joking the reverend gentleman’s partner, Miss what’s-her-name, the “lamp-post,” from No. 4, Bury Court, St. Mary Axe—that washed-out, faint, fair creature,—she, that looks as if you could see the back buttons of her dress through from the front—that lady—well, do you see her?—It is said her mother keeps her in a dark closet, that she may look like a consumptive geranium:—however, Mr. Lark said he did not believe it; and, as no one said they did, the matter ended. The stairs soon become a popular observatory—several Wall-flowers joining the knot; one of whom mildly remarks something about three silver-grey silks, in the fore-ground, and their being “much worn;” which Mr. Lark fully agreed in, as, he said, they appeared to have been turned several times—a joke, at which the Wall-flower faintly smiles, for the three silver-greys are his sisters:—however, nothing daunted, he is at it again, remarking upon marriage, and people that look married; illustrating his theory by pointing out the juvenility of an aunt, who he says is a
virgin:—Lark retorting—“virging on fifty!”—a notification that begets much laughter, making the Wall-flower feel at a discount, and more than ever desire to say something smart; so, he pitches upon a gentleman with parenthetical (bowed) legs, observing that Brown has invited his tailor; moreover, wagering two to one, that if the gentleman, so libelled, were asked to look at the splashes on the calf of his leg, he would take it up in front, and examine it in his hand, like a nabob or tailor, used to sit upon the floor; were he a Christian, he would look at it over his shoulder:—here the Wall-flower turned for applause, looking over his own shoulder to illustrate the anecdote—there to discover, Captain de Camp, the gentleman who introduced “Parenthesis,” a staff doctor, from Woolwich (at least so the Captain said). But here we will leave them to proceed below, and see how matters progress in the supper-room:—
The chandelier, the treacherous culprit, that would not swing or hang in chains, is being borne away, clanking along the lower hall; the broken glass has been picked out of the pastry, and the oily odour overcome with esprit de bouquet—presenting, withal, a very effective coup-d’œil:—though, we could fancy the tipsy-cake, in the form of a leaning-tower, if anything, a little more groggy; and that the composite Corinthian temple looked as if it had suffered from an earthquake—but there it was, for all the intense remorse of the cook, who thought the exhibition of so mutilated a work of art would injure his reputation for ever—but it did not!—Neither did any one notice the loss of the frail
effeminate brigand, that formerly tenanted the rotunda of barley-sugar; nor was it known that a treadmill had given place to a locomotive and tender—in sweets.
The first portion of this banquet disappears merrily; there being no lack of the usual conserves, pasties, and geometrical bread-envelopes—supposed to contain something, but consumed without the slightest knowledge of their contents.
After the ladies have supped and withdrawn, the gentlemen lay to, with immense energy, as if to make up for the time they have been kept in suspense, creating great havoc amongst ruined fowls, or anything they can lay hands upon—in the excitement, particularity having given place to mirth. One gentleman has planted a spoon in his button-hole, after the fashion of a flower; and, of course, for his pains, got called a “Spooney,” by an unknown voice behind Mr. Potts, the tame apothecary, who is pouring, or rather measuring out, some champagne, himself, catching the final drop on the edge of the glass, as if it were castor-oil:—the “Spooney,” thinking it Potts’ voice, must make a joke in return; so begins with the rather hackney’d, but, as he thought, appropriate one, of champagne being better than real pain or quinine wine; and, upon Mr. P.’s essaying to answer, our “Spoon” diverted to some tongue he was consuming, saying he liked it better than Potted tongue—an observation that made the apothecary’s face flush, and the “Spoon” liken it to an article before them, a claret-mug. At this last allusion the “Pott” got red-hot, and there is no knowing
what would have been the consequences, had not the “Spoon” terrified the “Pott” by proclaiming “silence!”—in a stentorian voice;—and a gentleman risen, Dr. Portbin, the author of that elaborate essay on “Dribbling Babies,” in one thick volume, royal octavo—a work that nobody read, but everybody thought a great deal of, for it gained its author a vast infantine practice:—so, when the M.D. rose, the “Pott” trembled—feeling greatly relieved to find the doctor only did so to propose the “ladies”—“health and long life to Mrs. Brown and the ladies!”—a toast that was drunk with great enthusiasm, Mr. Lark vociferously applauding; at the same time stating, in an under tone—“the doctor meant a long life of ills and bills.” Dr. Portbin’s sentiment is echoed by Mr. Brown, who returns thanks in a stereotype-speech, almost as original as a royal one; to which, in some points, it bore slight resemblance, the ideas being very much generalized—there was an “alliance with foreign powers,” “acquisition of territory,” and “friendly relations:”—altogether a prosperous allegory, which causes Captain de Camp to be “called upon;” and, in that style of speech usually denominated “neat,” give very visible vent to his inexpressible feelings—sketching several scenes, commencing at Victoria Villa and ending at St. Stephen’s,—with a verse, intended to look as if composed for the nonce; but, in reality, a work of much study:—it was delivered with great emphasis—a composition for which we had to blush, though, as faithful chroniclers, feel bound to insert—it ran as follows:—