Three hours had glided away amongst the contents and non-contents,
when Mrs. Macfriz requested the game might be broke up to make room
for the servant to lay the cloth, which was, of course, immediately
complied with; and the table was spread with an inundation of spoons,
glasses, silver goblets, and numerous etceteras; till the entrance of
three immense capons, a leg of pork, a smoaking tongue, with sallad,
vegetation, pies, and custards, wholesale, completed the set-out; Mr.
Macfriz presiding at the _head_ of the table, Mrs. Macfriz took the
_bottom_, and the guests were promiscuously seated.
Now it happened to be the fate of Simon Undermine to sit next Mrs.
Downright, who modestly requested the leg of a chicken; and wishing
to hand her plate for that purpose, and enforce his attention, she
gave him a violent slap on the shoulder, and exclaimed, “Come,
cockey, hand up my plate--will you?”
Simon, bursting with indignation at her vulgar and familiar address,
snatched it rudely from her, and called the servant to relieve his
lily-white _do-nothing_ of its incumbrance.
“I could have done that myself,” said Mrs. Downright. “La! la! what a
_tom bore_ of a young man you be, Mister; you should always serve the
ladies!”
Simon curled up his nose in derision, and turned his back upon her.
“You sha’n’t be my son-in-law; you’d never do for my Jenny,”
continued Mrs. Downright, giving him a second slap, which acted like
an electric shock on his nervous system. “Be so good to give me a
slice of that there tongue.”
“I thought you had got some,” replied sulky Simon.
“That’s well said,” answered his father: “few ladies are in want of
that article! Ha, ha, ha! Well said, Simon.”
Mrs. Downright, nothing daunted by the retort of any puppy whatever,
jumped up, and fetched herself a piece of bread; observing, those who
were too indolent to _get_ their bread ought to go without it.
“Then I should soon starve,” replied Mrs. Dashwell, “for I could not
earn mine now.”
“Oh, there’s more ways than one of _yearning_ one’s livelihood,”
replied Mrs. Downright: “if you could not do it one way, you _mought_
another.”
“But Mrs. Dashwell has no occasion to do it,” replied her lord and
master, piqued at his gross companion’s _inuendo_.
“That makes no odds,” replied Mrs. Downright: “what she _is_, and
what she _may_ be, are two very different things.”
“Well, I’m a very happy man,” cried Mr. Earwig: “I’m like a
gardener; I can raise my _salary_ quicker than any man, and dispose
of my _time_ as I think proper.” Then grinning at his own wit, and
displaying his _amber dechements_, he actually hummed the O. P.
dance, while his plate was refreighting with bonbons.
“And I’ll tell you what you can do beside,” said Mr. Consequence, in
an audible whisper--“you can get the blind side of one great man,
and the _deaf_ side of another great man--eh, Earwig! you can do any
thing but what you’re _wanted_, we all know.”
This caused a general laugh; but Mr. Earwig swallowed it in custard;
and it died away.
At length the diligent Mr. Macfriz, wiping the pearls of notability
from his face, ordered the fragments to be removed, and the wine set
on the table.
Various patriotic toasts having briskly circulated, the ladies were
called on for their favourites.
“Lord have ye! I’ve no favourites upon earth, but my chuck: however,
I’ll give you a toast,” cried Mrs. Downright: “so here’s a health to
the poor sick gentleman, and may he live to see those _turn’d out_
who _turn’d him out_! I _loves_ a bit of tit for tat; but some folks
_is_ like the hedgehog--love to worm themselves _in_, and worm others
_out_.”
The glasses of Mr. Undermine and Mr. Consequence were very sparingly
replenished, which being perceived by the Argus eye of Mrs.
Downright, she insisted on bumpers, which was very reluctantly
complied with.
My uncle proposed the addition of three cheers, in the energy of
which applause he knocked off the foot of his wine-glass.
“Never mind!” exclaimed Mrs. Downright: “I’d sooner make Mr. Macfriz
a present of a dozen to-morrow, than lose the honour of my toast.”
“Come, come! as we a’n’t in the House of Commons, gentlemen, I _begs_
we may be all _unonymous_, and not reap up old grievances. Who will
give us a song? None of my family were born skylarks; but I’ve some
notion Mr. Simon Undermine can tip us a stave,” cried Mr. Macfriz.
Mr. Simon, who was sitting at full stretch on his chair, with his
hands, as usual, _tucked into his breeches pockets up to his elbows_,
assured the company, in his silly way, he never could sing in all his
life, though he had had the advantage of plenty of singing-masters.
“How d’ye mean? how d’ye mean?” asked his father.
“Why, haven’t I kept an aviary of Canary birds this _ever so long_?”
replied Simon.
“Pish!” said his scarlet-faced papa, shocked at his son’s nonsensical
pun.
“Oh-ho, Monsieur Canarie!” exclaimed the pedantic Mr. Earwig (who
loved to let the world know he had attained a smattering of French,
as well as a few _Irish bulls_); “vous êtes wit-ty.”
Simon, abashed, sat silent; and, as I much suspected, my uncle
pitched on me, requesting I would sing “Old Towler,” with which I
unhesitatingly complied, and for which I received some very high
encomiums from everybody but Mr. Consequence and Messrs. Undermine.
Mrs. Downright soon afterwards found out she began to feel sleepy,
and it was time for all honest tradesfolks to go home to bed; she
therefore began pinning up her pearl sattin, which gave the signal of
departure, and broke up the company.
“I think old Mother Downright cut up the _ousters_ with a vengeance,”
said my uncle, as we walked home. “To be sure, she’s a woman of very
low extraction and rough manners; but she possesses an excellent
heart of honesty and benevolence, and that’s an equivalent.” Few more
comments passed, as the hour was late; and we therefore retired to
rest.