CHAPTER V.
“THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES,” BY ALBERT SMITH.
I have already spoken of the extreme difficulty of collecting material for this book, and to difficulty must be added the expense which is incurred by my publisher. I bear the latter affliction with the equanimity common to those who escape it; indeed, there is a kind of satisfaction in finding that books which are perfectly worthless as literary productions are so highly valued on account of the prints which illustrate them. I venture to give an instance in a very little book called “The Physiology of Evening Parties,” written by Albert Smith. My reader will be able to judge by the extracts given in explanation of the drawings, of the merits of Mr. Smith’s part in the “Physiology.” This work, published at 2s. 6d. when clean and new, costs 18s. 6d. when well “worn on the edge of time,” yellow, dirty, and unbound. The “Physiology” first saw the light in 1840. I plead again for forgiveness for chronological shortcomings, which my difficulties make unavoidable.
My first illustration represents a mamma and her two daughters in the serious business of selecting guests for an evening party.
“It is evening,” says Mr. Albert Smith; “mamma and her two daughters are seated at a table arranging the names of the visitors upon the back of an old letter, having turned out the dusty record of the card-basket before them in order that no one of importance may be forgotten.
“Ellen (loc.): ‘I am sure I don’t see why we should invite the Harveys, mamma. They have been here twice, and never asked us back again.’
“Fanny: ‘And we shall see those dreadful silver poplins again; they must be intimately acquainted with the cane-work of all the rout-seats in London.’
“Ellen: ‘And William Harvey is so exceedingly disagreeable; he always looks at the ciphers on the plate to see if it is borrowed or not.’
“Fanny: ‘And last year he declared the pine-apple ice was full of little square pieces of raw potato; and when Mr. Edwards broke a tumbler at supper he told him “not to mind, for they were only tenpence apiece in Tottenham Court Road.” The low wretch! he thought he had made a capital joke.’