“When I first came I was nation proud of that title, ‘the Attache;’ now I am happified it’s nothin’ but ‘only an Attache,’ and I’ll tell you why. The great guns, and big bugs, have to take in each other’s ladies, so these old ones have to herd together. Well, the nobodies go together too, and sit together, and I’ve observed these nobodies are the pleasantest people at table, and they have the pleasantest places, because they sit down with each other, and are jist like yourself, plaguy glad to get some one to talk to. Somebody can only visit somebody, but nobody can go anywhere, and therefore nobody sees and knows twice as much as somebody does. Somebodies must be axed, if they are as stupid as a pump; but nobodies needn’t, and never are, unless they are spicy sort o’ folks, so you are sure of them, and they have all the fun and wit of the table at their eend, and no mistake.
“I wouldn’t take a title if they would give it to me, for if I had one, I should have a fat old parblind dowager detailed on to me to take in to dinner; and what the plague is her jewels and laces, and silks and sattins, and wigs to me? As it is, I have a chance to have a gall to take in that’s a jewel herself—one that don’t want no settin’ off, and carries her diamonds in her eyes, and so on. I’ve told our minister not to introduce me as an Attache no more, but as Mr. Nobody, from the State of Nothin’, in America, that’s natur agin.
“But to get back to the dinner. Arter you are in marchin’ order, you move in through two rows of sarvants in uniform. I used to think they was placed there for show, but it’s to keep the air off of folks a goin’ through the entry, and it ain’t a bad thought, nother.
“Lord, the first time I went to one o’ these grand let offs I felt kinder skeery, and as nobody was allocated to me to take in, I goes in alone, not knowin’ where I was to settle down as a squatter, and kinder lagged behind; when the butler comes and rams a napkin in my hand, and gives me a shove, and sais he, ‘Go and stand behind your master, sir,’ sais he. Oh Solomon! how that waked me up. How I curled inwardly when he did that. ‘You’ve mistaken the child,’ sais I mildly, and I held out the napkin, and jist as he went to take it, I gave him a sly poke in the bread basket, that made him bend forward and say ‘eugh.’ ‘Wake Snakes, and walk your chalks,’ sais I, ‘will you?’ and down I pops on the fust empty chair. Lord, how white he looked about the gills arterwards; I thought I should a split when I looked at him. Guess he’ll know an Attache when he sees him next time.
“Well, there is dinner. One sarvice of plate is like another sarvice of plate, any one dozen of sarvants are like another dozen of sarvants, hock is hock, and champaigne is champaigne—and one dinner is like another dinner. The only difference is in the thing itself that’s cooked. Veal, to be good, must look like any thing else but veal; you mustn’t know it when you see it, or it’s vulgar; mutton must be incog. too; beef must have a mask on; any thin’ that looks solid, take a spoon to; any thin’ that looks light, cut with a knife; if a thing looks like fish, you may take your oath it is flesh; and if it seems rael flesh, it’s only disguised, for it’s sure to be fish; nothin’ must be nateral, natur is out of fashion here. This is a manufacturin’ country, everything is done by machinery, and that that ain’t must be made to look like it; and I must say, the dinner machinery is parfect.
“Sarvants keep goin’ round and round in a ring, slow, but sartain, and for ever, like the arms of a great big windmill, shovin’ dish after dish, in dum show, afore your nose, for you to see how you like the flavour; when your glass is empty it’s filled; when your eyes is off your plate, it’s off too, afore you can say Nick Biddle.
“Folks speak low here; steam is valuable, and noise onpolite. They call it a “subdued tone.” Poor tame things, they are subdued, that’s a fact; slaves to an arbitrary tyrannical fashion that don’t leave ‘em no free will at all. You don’t often speak across a table any more nor you do across a street, but p’raps Mr. Somebody of West Eend of town, will say to a Mr. Nobody from West Eend of America: ‘Niagara is noble.’ Mr. Nobody will say, ‘Guess it is, it got its patent afore the “Norman Conquest,” I reckon, and afore the “subdued tone” come in fashion.’ Then Mr. Somebody will look like an oracle, and say, ‘Great rivers and great trees in America. You speak good English.’ And then he will seem surprised, but not say it, only you can read the words on his face, ‘Upon my soul, you are a’most as white as us.’
“Dinner is over. It’s time for ladies to cut stick. Aunt Goosey looks at the next oldest goosey, and ducks her head, as if she was a goin’ through a gate, and then they all come to their feet, and the goslins come to their feet, and they all toddle off to the drawin’ room together.
“The decanters now take the “grand tour” of the table, and, like most travellers, go out with full pockets, and return with empty ones. Talk has a pair of stays here, and is laced up tight and stiff. Larnin’ is pedantic; politics is onsafe; religion ain’t fashionable. You must tread on neutral ground. Well, neutral ground gets so trampled down by both sides, and so plundered by all, there ain’t any thing fresh or good grows on it, and it has no cover for game nother.
“Housundever, the ground is tried, it’s well beat, but nothin’ is put up, and you get back to where you started. Uncle Gander looks at next oldest gander hard, bobs his head, and lifts one leg, all ready for a go, and says, ‘Will you take any more wine?’ ‘No, sais he, ‘but I take the hint, let’s jine the ladies.’