[Illustration: S]Simultaneously with the last chord of the last quadrille
the important announcement was made that supper was ready--a piece of
information that produced a visible commotion among the party. Young
gentlemen who had incautiously engaged old or ugly partners evinced a
decided desire to get rid of them, or, by the expression of their
countenances, seemed to be inwardly cursing their unfortunate situation.
Young ladies in whose bosoms the first "slight predilection" had taken up
a residence, experienced, they knew not why, a mental and physical
prostration at the absence of Orlando Sims or Tom Walker, who (how
provoking!) were doing the gallant to some "horrid disagreeable
coquettes." Mamas, who really did like a good supper, and considered it
an integral portion of their daily sustenance, crowded towards the door
that led to the comestibles, fearing that they might not get eligible
situations before the solids, but be placed among the bashful young
gentlemen, who linger to the last to pull off their gloves in order to
pull them on again, and look as though they considered they ought to be
happy and were extremely surprised that they were not.
The arrangement of the supper-table displayed the deep research of
Mesdames Applebite and Waddledot in the mysteries of gastronomical
architecture. Pagodas of barley-sugar glistened in the rays of thirty-six
wax candles and four Argand lamps--parterres of jellies, gravelled round
with ratafias or valanced with lemon-peel, trembled as though in sympathy
with the agitated bosoms of their delicate concocters--custards freckled
with nutmeg clustered the crystal handles of their cups
together--sarcophagi of pound cakes frowned, as it were, upon the
sweetness which surrounded them--whilst fawn-coloured elephants (from the
confectionary menagerie of the celebrated Simpson of the Strand) stood
ready to be slaughtered. Huge stratified pies courted the inquiries of
appetite. Chickens boiled and roast reposed on biers of blue china
bedecked with sprigs of green parsley and slices of yellow lemon. Tanks of
golden sherry and
[Illustration: FULL-BODIED PORTE]
wooed the thirsty revellers; and never since the unlucky
dessert of Mother Eve have temptations been so willingly embraced. The
carnage commenced--spoons dived into the jelly--knives lacerated the
poultry and the raised pies--a colony of custards vanished in a
moment--the elephants were demolished by "ivories[1]"--the sarcophagi were
buried--and the glittering pagodas melted rapidly before the heat and the
attacks of four little ladies in white muslin and pink sashes. The tanks
of sherry and port were distributed by the young gentlemen into the
glasses and over the dresses of the young ladies. The tipsy-cake, like the
wreck of the _Royal George_, was rescued from the foaming ocean in which
it had been imbedded. The diffident young gentlemen grew very red about
the eyes, and very loquacious about the "next set after supper;" whilst
the faces of the elderly ladies all over lie room looked like the red
lamps on Westminster Bridge, and ought to have been beacons to warn the
inexperienced that where they shone there was very little water. The
violent clattering of the plates was at length succeeded by a succession
of merry giggles and provoking little screams, occasioned by the rapid
discharge of a park of _bonbons_.
[1] _Anglicè_, Teeth.--THE _one_ PIERCE.
Where the "slight predilection" was reciprocated, the Orlando Simses and
the Tom Walkers were squeezing in beside the blushing idols of their
worship and circling the waists of their divinities with their arms, in
order to take up less room on the rout-stool.
Mamas were shaking heads at daughters who had ventured upon a tenth sip of
a glass of sherry. Papas were getting extremely jocular about the
probability of becoming grand-dittos. Everybody else was doing exactly
what everybody pleased, when Mrs. Applebite's uncle John emerged from
behind an epergne, and vociferously commanded everybody to charge their
glasses; a requisition which nobody was bold enough to dispute. Uncle John
then wiped his lips in the table-cloth, and proceeded to inform the
company of a fact that was universally understood, that they had met there
to celebrate the first dental dawn of the heir of Applebite. "I have only
to refer you," said uncle John, "to the floor of the next room for the
response to my request--namely, that you will drain your glasses; and, in
the words of nephew Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite, 'partake of our
dental delight.'" This eloquent address was followed by immense cheering
and a shower of sherry bottoms, which the gentlemen in their "entusymusy"
scattered around them as Hesperus is reported to dispense his tee-total
drops.
Nothing could be going on better--no woman could feel prouder than Mrs.
Waddledot, when--we hope you don't anticipate the catastrophe--when two of
the Argand lamps gave olfactory demonstrations of dissolution. Sperm oil
is a brilliant illuminator, but we never knew any one except an Esquimaux,
or a Russian, who preferred it to lavender-water as a perfume. Old John
was in a muddle of misery--evidently
[Illustration: LOOKING DOWN UPON HIS LUCK.--]
and was only relieved from his embarrassment by the following fortunate
occurrence:--
By-the-bye, we have just recollected that we have an invitation to dinner.
Reader--_au revoir_.
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