made our “Lion” roar contemptuously,
and call the company “bears and monkeys”—he growling, with blood-thirsty pugnacity, about “satisfaction” and “Chalk Farm,”—the declamatory mania causing the irascible monster to mount a projection in the recess, covered with a curtain, bringing down an avalanche of fenders, fire-irons, and other stowage, with a fearful crash—crowning the “king of beasts” with a helmet-scuttle,—thus permitting the meaner animals to escape; leaving, as Mr. Lark (who came out last) said, between frightful gusts of laughter oozing from his handkerchief, Jackall Brown, the lion’s provider, pacifying the enraged brute with claret or soda water; and John in such an extreme fit of awe, that he has taken the state jug, with the hole in the bottom stopped with sealing-wax—only intended to hold cold water, into use, for hot; and, being unable to stop the orifice with his finger, drops the article—to the scalding of the already enfuriated “Lion.”
******
Feet were pattering above as we left this scene of strife—no time seeming to have been lost during the consumption of the supper; for the hands of the clock, in the hall, pointed to an earlier hour than they did when we descended:—the truth being, Lark, though rather fast himself, thought Time too much so, and put him back a little. The Wall-flower is comparing the clock with his repeater. Lark is reprimanding him, saying—it is not etiquette to do so; and that really some one ought to tell the vulgar thing, in green satin, who wore her button of a watch-face outward (fearing lest it should be taken for a locket), to turn the bauble round, for it is time she was in bed.
Having been absent for a short period, we were informed by the Lark that we had not lost a treat—for Jemima had been singing, “Memory, be thou ever true!”—whilst Lark (perpetrating a dreary pun) said, he every moment wished the music-stool would prove a fall setto, and precipitate the lady to the ground; for it was a sad pity to hear poor Spohf’s songs so murdered.
They are now at a waltz—“the Olga,”—which is carried on with spirit, lasting a very long while—young Lark saying he does not waltz, for it makes his head swim; and that he has an objection to stand holding by the shelf, experiencing a sensation delightful as standing
upon one’s head in a swing, before a lady that ought to have your best attention;—however, for all Lark’s protestations, we saw some one-sided smiles, as much as to say, his vulnerable part, like that of Achilles, lay in the heels—an insinuation Lark could well afford to allow, for he does not live to dance, alone, like some sage, perfect, performers.
After the “Caledonians” and another polk (which, for diversion, young Brown has danced to the tune of the “College-hornpipe”—a pleasing eccentricity), followed a quadrille, à la Française, danced without sides, in two very long lines—a style reported to have been imported from a Casino, and not held to be proper by sober people. So, Potts got a disgust for the polka, and thought it improper—a dance he never patronised or wished to—it being too fast for the dull apothecary!—he hated it, because once an inveterate polkist nearly knocked his patella, or knee-pan, off, with some hard substance in the flying tails of the dancer’s dress-coat—a huge street-door key, that ought to have been left in the paletôt.