"It is very cold to-day."
"Yes, but not colder than usual."
Heaven be thanked! dinner is announced, and I offer my arm to the lady of the house.
It is a family dinner. My host has before him a fine joint of beef, there are two chicken in front of my hostess, and I am placed opposite a boiled ham. A pair of carvers, laid with my cover, tell me that I shall have to carve the ham which is here eaten with the chicken. The idea is excellent; but all at once, down go the heads almost to the tablecloth. My host looks at the chicken, at the ham, and lastly at the ribs of beef. His face clouds and, bending over the beef, he growls a few inarticulate words at it. It is not, as Mark Twain would say, that there is anything the matter with it, Scotch beef is the best in the world. These words, that I was unable to catch the sense of, were meant to invoke the blessing of Heaven on the repast: it was Grace before meat. Very right. I like the idea of thanking Heaven for its favours, but why the frown?
A servant stands behind his master's chair, another behind my hostess.
My host arms himself with his carving knife and fork and, without relaxing a muscle of his face, says to me:
"Can I assist you to a little beef?"
"No, thank you, I think I will take a little chicken."
"Can I assist you, my dear?" he said looking at his wife.
"No, thank you, I will assist myself," replies that lady.