Then the family Doctor insists on Mrs. Kitson letting him help the Turbot, whereupon Kitson informs the whole table that he shall be jealous if the Doctor "goes on in that way," which being, of course, a good joke, causes the guests to giggle unanimously. Every now and then the Doctor does a witticism, whereat the Coal and Potato Warehouseman, who is of a facetious turn of mind, chuckles inwardly, and manages to lodge a slice of Venison or a cutlet in some lady's back hair. Now Kitson gives a mysterious nod, and immediately Champagne is handed round, and Master K. ventures on a glassful; on which his Father looks as black as gentility will allow him, and determines within himself not to allow Augustus to dine at table again until he knows how to behave himself.
On the removal of the cloth Mrs. Kitson's proud moment arrives. She has thrown the whole strength of the footman into the French polish, and her domestic reputation stands upon her tables. At the sight of them all her female friends fall into violent admiration, and, "How do you do it; I can never get ours half as bright," &c., &c., bursts from every housewife. With the Dessert come the dear little Master and Miss K.'s, beautifully got up with bear's grease and pink sarsenet for the occasion, but looking rather pale from the effects of having dipped their tiny fingers into each dish as it left the Parlour (the Doctor is in doubt whether it arises from Bile, or a nasty Influenza that is flying about); and each of the ladies begs to have "the little pets" next to her.
Now the gentlemen begin tempting the ladies, by cutting oranges into the shapes of lilies and baskets, or cracking nuts for them. And so matters proceed, until Mrs. Kitson looks inquiringly at each lady, and each lady having smiled in answer, they all rise and make for the door, which two or three of the younger gentlemen rush to open. As soon as they have departed, the gentlemen draw near to the fire, and Kitson says, "Let us be comfortable," and puts on the table such wines as weak woman is unable to appreciate.
Then come Claret, Old Port, and Politics, and with the sixth bottle they begin discussing Moral Philosophy. Mrs. Kitson's health is at length proposed by the family Doctor, who speaks of her as "the exemplary wife—the tender mother—and the woman whom to know is to admire, ay! and he would say—to love." And then Kitson wants words to express his feelings for the honour they have done him, and winds up his catalogue of Mrs. K.'s virtues with a tear. Now "the exemplary wife" upstairs gets nervous about her husband and the wine below, and sends the footman in every ten minutes to say that "Tea is ready." Suddenly the ladies commence singing, and the family Doctor, who lives but to please, proposes to join them.
As soon as the gentlemen have retired upstairs, Kitson, who remains below, carefully locks up the remnants of the fruit and wine, and reminds Master K. of that little affair of the Champagne, and trusts he may never have to speak to him on that subject again. Then the gentlemen upstairs ask each lady in turn to oblige them with a song, and after considerable difficulty, prevail upon Mrs. Kitson's unmarried sister to favour them with "Did you ne'er hear of Kate Kearney;" but unfortunately the nuts spoil the runs. And then the gentlemen begin to have a strong inclination for Sofas and forty winks, and will put their "nasty greasy heads" on the bright yellow satin damask cushions. And then the company grows very silent; so that Kitson, who can't get up his rubber, is not sorry when he hears the Coal and Potato Warehouseman announce the first carriage. Then comes the hunting for Cloaks, and the running for Cabs, and the giving generous shillings and very generous half-crowns to the Coal and Potato Warehouseman, who is very careful to be at the door as each party is leaving. At length they have all gone, and Kitson tells his better half to see the plate right, and retires to bed.
Next morning he is very surly all breakfast, and very late for business, and Mrs. K. speaks out about the quantity of wine that was drunk; and the family, much to the delight of the little K.'s, have the remainder of the jellies, and other good things, for dinner all the next week.
PEOPLE ONE MEETS IN SOCIETY.
No. 1.
THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN WHO HAS JUST GOT HIS COMMISSION.
Do you see that young man at the top of the quadrille, dancing with that pretty flaxen-haired girl? That's Arthur Bumpshus; he has just got his commission; though one might guess as much, for he's paying more attention to himself, as you perceive, than to his partner, and he holds his coat by both of the lapels, so as to keep it off his shoulders, while he puffs out his chest like a pouter pigeon. His hair too, you observe, is cut very short behind, and frizzed out at the sides, and stuck up at the top, with the true military effect; and whenever his partner speaks to him he looks down on the floor, and, inclining his head slightly on one side, listens with a haughty frown.
The quadrille is over, and now here he comes. Hark! he's talking to the flaxen-haired girl about Chatham, and the Provisional Battalion, and the Mess, larding his conversation with as many military technicalities as he can possibly cram into it, though, between you and me, he has not yet joined his regiment, and has dined only once—or twice at the outside—at Chatham. He says, too, that it's deuced unpleasant being bottled up in uniform this hot weather, though we know for a fact that his own regimentals are not yet finished, and that he means "to let out at the tailor above a bit" for disappointing him with his things for this evening. When however a friend asks him how it is that he does not appear en militaire, he replies, "Oh, when a man (rich that, for a boy of eighteen!) is forced to wear uniform he naturally prefers being in Mufti whenever he can."