The tea-tray having been removed, the burners of the chandelier heightened, and the Snuffle family had their row of little noses polished by the eldest sister, preparations begin:—Miss Jemima playing the pretty little “Hop o’my Thumb Polka,” and Tom, who has been sitting very quietly beside Mercy Merry (vowing to marry her at fourteen, for “his father is so rich that he would give him five pounds a year to live upon”), leads off, much to the mortification of those boys who will not be “young gentlemen”—the many who won’t, can’t, and shan’t dance! but, being bent upon mischief, dispose explosive spiders and chair-crackers about the carpet;—one little mischievous fellow wishing he had brought some pepper to strew on the floor, and make ’em sneeze; however, they get up a little excitement another way with the sofa-pillows, a sham fight, in which a parian Amazon falls beside Marian Bell, who
“didn’t go to do it;” so dancing is relinquished for games to suit all parties:—Hunt the Slipper, a sport carried on with great spirit, until it is found there are slippers enough for three—a thing everybody holds to be cheatery:—so that game is abandoned for Blind-man’s-buff, the mere mention of which, carries us back to childhood; and, as authors often lug in their thoughts (bits of nature) very unceremoniously, and at odd times, we may, possibly, be pardoned or praised for so doing. Well, we never hear mention of this game but we think of a bump we once received during the sport, our blind ardour causing us to flounder in a fender, and bruise our head, the remains of which will be taken to the “long home.” Well do we remember the spotted turban worn on that occasion—for we recollect, at the time, thinking “Belcher” a new term, just coined;—having our crown rubbed with brandy and taking a little internally, which appeared attracted by that externally, for it got in our head and made us very merry, causing the hiccups to such an extent, that we were called Sir Toby Belch of “Twelfth Night; or, What you Will” notoriety (having drawn that character). Thus, brandy, Belchers, and Blind-man’s-buff, hold an indissoluble partnership in our memory—a remnant of those days when we imagined a Jew incapable of dealing in other merchandise than old clothes; or of shaving like a Christian, or, if he did, would do other than expose a pendant chin, resembling the vertebræ of a horse’s tail. Oh! those days have flown—days when we imagined peas split by hand, and thought humanity fools for not making soup with whole ones—but we are sadly digressing!—“It’s
not fair!” cry twenty voices—“the blind man can see;” and so he could, for he always caught Miss Brown, who, afraid of the piano or pier-glass, would stand in the way:—so that sport is relinquished for cake and Characters; the former seeming to afford great gratification, and the latter little, save to the King and Queen—all other characters being, like the riddles,
“given up,”—no one caring to know when a sailor is not a sailor?—when he’s a-board: or to be bored with a door’s being a-jar, and a man a-shaving.
The rich cake is soon a ruin; so much is every part of it relished, that one young gentleman has consumed the head and shoulders of Madame Alboni, under a delusion of her being sugar, and not “plaster of parish,” as Mrs. Brown afterwards said it was. The little fellows soon get very mirthful on the ginger-wine; keeping up a continual buzz, like a colony of bees, sadly itching to be at something—a wish that is not to be realized at once, for little Miss Newsoince is going to do that eternal tattoo, the “Rataplan:”—yes, there she is, in Tom’s felt-hat and polonaise, as “La Vivandière,” thumping upon an empty band-box with two knitting-pins, singing, as some of the mammas say, very prettily; but as the boys, who have heard it many
times before, designate it “a jolly bother!”—“a great big shame!”—“a precious dummy set out!”—and so on,—there being no fun in it.
This hum-drum over, a great cry is raised for Forfeits!—and a desire that a lady should go out in a very great hurry, as it would appear, almost in a state of destitution; for every young lady and gentleman proffers to stand for some article of dress. Having settled what they will give, all sit round upon chairs, ready to hear the lady’s demands:—spin goes the trencher, and she wants her Stockings!—forward fly the hose, personated by a little fellow, with mottled legs, who had never stood in other than socks, but for all that can catch the revolving waiter, look slyly at Bonnet, make him think it his turn, and impudently call out “Cap!!”—so Bonnet and Cap knock head to head, tumble on the trencher, and get fined. Bonnet shouts “Boots!”—Boots begets “Bustle!”—and Bustle begets a grand stir, by calling “Double Toilet!”—causing the whole wardrobe to leap from every chair, in every direction, a general confusion,—in which the Boa slips off his seat, and forfeits a twenty-bladed knife. The Boa, spinning the tray again, calls “Muff!”—who, not being on the alert, arrives when the waiter has wabbled its last, so the Muff has to pay a forfeit; but having nothing eligible upon his person, is found a substitute, in a very ugly China pug-dog, afterwards called “a very pretty thing” by Miss Angelina to Miss Jemima, who awarded the penalties, like a blind Justice saying her prayers, passing sentence, in the lap of the judge, who demands—“Here’s a pretty thing, a very pretty thing; and what is the owner of this very pretty thing to be done to?”
