From my fondness for conversation, my imagination had been early fired
with Dr. Johnson's remark, that there is no pleasure on earth comparable
to the _fine full flow of London talk_. I, who, since I had quitted
college had seldom had my mind refreshed, but with the petty rills and
penurious streams of knowledge which country society afforded, now
expected to meet it in a strong and rapid current, fertilizing wherever
it flowed, producing in abundance the rich fruits of argument, and the
gay flowers of rhetoric. I looked for an uninterrupted course of profit
and delight. I flattered myself that every dinner would add to my stock
of images; that every debate would clear up some difficulty, every
discussion elucidate some truth; that every allusion would be purely
classical, every sentence abound with instruction, and every period be
pointed with wit.
On the tiptoe of expectation I went to dine with Sir John Belfield, in
Cavendish-square. I looked at my watch fifty times. I thought it would
never be six o'clock. I did not care to show my country breeding, by
going too early, to incommode my friend, nor my town breeding, by going
too late, and spoiling his dinner. Sir John is a valuable,
elegant-minded man, and, next to Mr. Stanley, stood highest in my
father's esteem for his mental accomplishments and correct morals. As I
knew he was remarkable for assembling at his table men of sense, taste,
and learning, my expectations of pleasure were very high. "Here, at
least," said I as I heard the name of one clever man announced after
another, "here at least, I can not fail to find
The feast of reason and the flow of soul:
here, at least, all the energies of my mind will be brought into
exercise. From this society I shall carry away documents for the
improvement of my taste; I shall treasure up hints to enrich my
understanding, and collect aphorisms for the conduct of life."
At first there was no fair opportunity to introduce any conversation
beyond the topics of the day, and to those, it must be confessed, this
eventful period gives a new and powerful interest. I should have been
much pleased to have had my country politics rectified, and any
prejudices, which I might have contracted, removed or softened, could
the discussion have been carried on without the frequent interruption of
the youngest man in the company. This gentleman broke in on every
remark, by descanting successively on the merits of the various dishes;
and, if it be true that experience only can determine the judgment, he
gave proof of that best right to peremptory decision by not trusting to
delusive theory, but by actually eating of every dish at table.
His animadversions were uttered with the gravity of a German
philosopher, and the science of a French cook. If any of his opinions
happened to be controverted, he quoted in confirmation of his own
judgment, _l'Almanac des Gourmands_, which he assured us was the most
valuable work that had appeared in France since the Revolution. The
author of this book he seemed to consider of as high authority in the
science of eating, as Coke or Hale in that of jurisprudence, or
Quintilian in the art of criticism. To the credit of the company,
however, be it spoken, he had the whole of this topic to himself. The
rest of the party were, in general, of quite a different calibre, and as
little acquainted with his favorite author, as he probably was with
theirs.
The lady of the house was perfectly amiable and well-bred. Her dinner
was excellent; and every thing about her had an air of elegance and
splendor; of course she completely escaped the disgrace of being thought
a scholar, but not the suspicion of having a very good taste. I longed
for the removal of the cloth, and was eagerly anticipating the pleasure
and improvement which awaited me.
As soon as the servants were beginning to withdraw, we got into a sort
of attitude of conversation; all except the eulogist of l'Almanac des
Gourmands, who, wrapping himself up in the comfortable consciousness of
his own superior judgment, and a little piqued that he had found neither
support nor opposition (the next best thing to a professed talker), he
seemed to have a perfect indifference to all topics except that on which
he had shown so much eloquence with so little effect.
The last tray was now carried out, the last lingering servant had
retired. I was beginning to listen with all my powers of attention to an
ingenious gentleman who was about to give an interesting account of
Egypt, where he had spent a year, and from whence he was lately
returned. He was just got to the catacombs,
When on a sudden open fly,
With impetuous recoil and jarring sound,
the mahogany folding doors, and in at once, struggling who should be
first, rushed half a dozen children, lovely, fresh, gay, and noisy. This
sudden and violent irruption of the pretty barbarians necessarily
caused a total interruption of conversation. The sprightly creatures ran
round the table to choose where they would sit. At length this great
difficulty of courts and cabinets, _the choice of places_, was settled.
The little things were jostled in between the ladies, who all contended
who should get possession of the _little beauties_. One was in raptures
with the rosy cheeks of a sweet girl she held in her lap. A second
exclaimed aloud at the beautiful lace with which the frock of another
was trimmed, and which she was sure mamma had given her for being good.
A profitable, and doubtless a lasting and inseparable association was
thus formed in the child's mind between lace and goodness. A third cried
out, "Look at the pretty angel!--do but observe--her bracelets are as
blue as her eyes. Did you ever see such a match?" "Surely, Lady
Belfield," cried a fourth, "you carried the eyes to the shop, or there
must have been a shade of difference." I myself, who am passionately
fond of children, eyed the sweet little rebels with complacency,
notwithstanding the unseasonableness of their interruption.
At last, when they were all disposed of, I resumed my inquiries about
the resting-place of the mummies. But the grand dispute who should have
oranges and who should have almonds and raisins, soon raised such a
clamor that it was impossible to hear my Egyptian friend. This great
contest was, however, at length settled, and I was returning to the
antiquities of Memphis, when the important point, who should have red
wine, and who should have white, who should have half a glass, and who a
whole one, set us again in an uproar. Sir John was visibly uneasy, and
commanded silence. During this interval of peace, I gave up the
catacombs and took refuge in the pyramids. But I had no sooner proposed
my question about the serpent said to be found in one of them, than the
son and heir, a fine little fellow just six years old, reaching out his
arm to dart an apple across the table at his sister, roguishly intending
to overset her glass, unluckily overthrew his own, brimful of port wine.
The whole contents were discharged on the elegant drapery of a
white-robed nymph.
All was now agitation, and distress, and disturbance, and confusion; the
gentlemen ringing for napkins, the ladies assisting the dripping fair
one; each vying with the other who should recommend the most approved
specific for getting out the stain of red wine, and comforting the
sufferer by stories of similar misfortunes. The poor little culprit was
dismissed, and all difficulties and disasters seemed at last surmounted.
But you can not heat up again an interest which has been so often
cooled. The thread of conversation had been so frequently broken that I
despaired of seeing it tied together again. I sorrowfully gave up
catacombs, pyramids, and serpent, and was obliged to content myself with
a little desultory chat with my next neighbor; sorry and disappointed to
glean only a few scattered ears where I had expected so abundant a
harvest; and the day from which I had promised myself so much benefit
and delight passed away with a very slender acquisition of either.