How kindness all its spirit lends,
When we discuss our dearest friends,
Not meanly faults and follies hiding,
But frankly owning each backsliding,
Confessing with polite compassion,
“They 're very bad, but still the fashion.”
The Mode.
The Kennyfecks were without strangers that day, and Cashel, who was now,
as it were by unanimous election, received into the bosom of the family,
enjoyed for the first time in his life a peep into the science of
dinner-giving, in the discussions occasioned by the approaching banquet.
No sooner were they assembled around the drawing-room fire, than
Mrs. Kennyfeck, whose whole soul was occupied by the one event, took
occasion, as it were by pure accident, to remember that they “were
to have some people to-morrow.” Now, the easy _nonchalance_ of the
reminiscence and the shortness of the invitation would seem to imply
that it was merely one of those slight deviations from daily routine
which adds two or three guests to the family table; and so, indeed, did
it impress Cashel, who little knew that the dinner in question had been
devised, planned, and arranged full three weeks before, and the
company packed with a degree of care and selection that evinced all the
importance of the event.
Time was when the Irish capital enjoyed, and justly, the highest
reputation for all that constitutes social success; when around
the dinner-tables of the city were met men of the highest order of
intelligence, men pleased to exercise, without effort or display, all
the charm of wit and eloquence, and to make society a brilliant reunion
of those gifts which, in the wider sphere of active life, won fame and
honors.
As the race of these bright conversers died out,--for, alas! they
belonged to a past era,--their places were assumed by others of very
dissimilar tastes. Many educated at English universities brought back
with them to Ireland the more reserved and cautious demeanor of the
other country, and thus, if not by their influence, by their mere
presence, threw a degree of constraint over the tone of society, which,
in destroying its freedom, despoiled it of all its charm.
Fashion, that idol of an Englishman's heart, soon became an Irish deity
too, and it now grew the “ton” to be English, or at least what was
supposed to be such, in dress and manner, in hours, accent, and
demeanor. The attempt was never successful; the reserve and placidity
which sit with gracefulness on the high-bred Englishman, was a stiff,
uncourteous manner in the more cordial and volatile Irishman. His own
demeanor was a tree that would not bear grafting, and the fruit lost all
its raciness by the admixture.
The English officials at the Castle, the little staff of a commander of
the forces, a newly-made bishop, fresh from Oxford, even the officers
of the last arrived dragoon regiment, became, by right of “accent,” the
types of manner and breeding in circles where, in the actual enjoyment
of social qualities, they were manifestly beneath those over whom they
held sway; however, they were stamped at the metropolitan mint, and the
competitors were deemed a mere depreciated currency which a few years
more would cancel forever.
Mrs. Kennyfeck, as a fashionable dinner-giver, of course selected her
company from this more choice section; a fact which deserves to be
recorded, to the credit of her hospitality; for it was a very rare
occurrence indeed, when she found herself invited by any of those
distinguished personages who figured the oftenest at her own table. They
thought, perhaps justly, that their condescension was sufficiently great
to demand no further acknowledgment; and that, as virtue is said to be
its own reward, theirs was abundantly exhibited in the frankness with
which they ate Kennyfeck's venison, and drank his Burgundy, both of
which were excellent.
Every one dined there, because they knew “they 'd meet every one.” A
pretender in the world of fashion, unlike a pretender to monarchy, is
sure to have the best company in his _salon_; and so, although you might
have met many at the tables of the first men of the country, who were
there by virtue of their talents or abilities, at Kennyfeck's the
company was sure to be “select.” They could not afford dilution, lest
they should find themselves at ease!
“Olivia, pray take that newspaper from Mr. Kennyfeck, and let us hear
who he has asked to dinner to-morrow,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, gracefully
imitating an attitude of Lady Londonderry in the “Book of Beauty.”
Mr. Kennyfeck heard the request, and started; his surprise had not been
greater if the Chancellor had addressed him as “Tom.” It was the
first time in his life that an allusion had ever been made to the bare
possibility of his inviting the company of a grand dinner; a prerogative
he had never so much as dreamed of, and now he actually heard his wife
refer to him, as if he were even a party to the deed.
“Invite! Mrs. Kennyfeck. I 'm sure I never thought--”
“No matter what you thought,” said his spouse, reddening at his
stupidity. “I wanted to remember who are coming, that we may let Mr.
Cashel learn something of our Dublin folk.”
“Here's a list, mamma,” said Olivia; “and I believe there are no
apologies. Shall I read it?”
“Do so, child,” said she, but evidently out of humor that the delightful
little display of indifference and ignorance should not have succeeded
better.
“Sir Andrew and Lady Janet MacFarline, of course!” cried Miss Kennyfeck;
“ain't they first?”
“They are,” replied her sister.
“Sir Andrew, Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, “is a very distinguished
officer,--a K.C.B., and something else besides. He was in all the
Duke's battles in Spain; a most gallant officer, but a little rough in
manner,--Scotch, you know. Lady Janet was sister to Lord--What is that
lord, Caroline? I always forget.”
“Dumkeeran, mamma.”
“Yes, that's it She is a charming person, but very proud,--very proud,
indeed; will not visit with the Dublin people. With us, I must say,
I have never seen anything like her kindness; we are absolutely like
sisters. Go on, Olivia.”
“Lord Charles Frobisher.”
“And the Honorable Elliot St. John,” chimed in her sister; “Damon and
Pythias, where a dinner is concerned.” This was said in a whisper.
“They are aides-de-camp to the Lord Lieutenant. Lord Charles is younger
brother to the Duke of Derwent; quite a man of fashion, and so amusing.
Oh, he 's delightful!”
“Charming!” duetted the two sisters.
“Mr. St. John is a very nice person too; but one never knows him like
Lord Charles: he is more reserved. Olivia, however, says he has a great
deal in him.”
“Oh, mamma! I 'm sure I don't know; I only thought him much more
conversable than he gets credit for.”
“Well, I meant no more,” said her mother, who did not fancy the
gathering gloom on Cashel's face at this allusion; “read on again,
child.”
“Lord Chief Justice Malone.”
“Oh, Mr. Kennyfeck,” said she, playfully, “this is _your_ doing; I
suspected, from your confusion awhile ago, what you were at.” Then,
turning to Roland, she said, “He is always playing us this trick, Mr.
Cashel; whenever we have a few friends together, he will insist upon
inviting some of his old bar cronies!”
A deep groan from Mr. Kennyfeck at the terrible profanity of thus
styling the chief of the Common Pleas, made every one start; but
even this, like a skilful tactician, Mrs. Kennyfeck turned to her own
advantage.
“Pray don't sigh that way. He is a most excellent person, a great
lawyer, and, they say, must eventually have the peerage.” She nodded to
Olivia to proceed, who read on.
“The Attorney-General and Mrs. Knivett.”
“Oh, really, Mr. Kennyfeck, this is pushing prerogative; don't you
think so, Mr. Cashel? Not but, you know, the Attorney-General is a great
personage in this poor country; he is member for--where is it?”
“Baldoyle, mamma.”
“Yes, member for Baldoyle; and she was a Miss Gamett, of Red Gamett, in
Antrim; a most respectable connection; so I think we may forgive him.
Yes, Mr. Kennyfeck, you are, at least, reprieved.”
“Here come the Whites, mamma. I suppose we may reckon on both, though
she, as usual, sends her hopes and fears about being with us at dinner,
but will be delighted to come in the evening.”
“That apology is stereotyped,” broke in Miss Kennyfeck, “as well as the
little simpering speech she makes on entering the drawing-room. 'So you
see, my dear Mrs. Kennyfeck, there is no resisting you. Colonel
White assured me that your pleasant dinners always set him up for a
month,--he, he, he.'”
If Cashel had not laughed heartily at the lisping imitation, it is
possible Mrs. Kennyfeck might have been displeased; but as the quiz
“took,” she showed no umbrage whatever.
“The Honorable Downie Meek, Under Secretary of State,” read Olivia, with
a little more of emphasis than on the last-mentioned names.
“A person you'll be charmed with, Mr. Cashel,--so highly informed, so
well bred, so perfectly habituated to move in the very highest circles,”
said Mrs. Kennyfeck, giving herself, as she spoke, certain graces of
gesture which she deemed illustrative of distinguished fashion.
“A cucumber dressed in oil,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck, who showed more
than once a degree of impatience at these eulogistic descriptions.
“The Dean of Dramcondera, your great favorite, mamma.”
“So he is, my dear. Now, Mr. Cashel, I shall insist upon you liking my
Dean. I call him _my_ Dean, because one day last spring--”
“Mrs. Biles wants to speak to you, ma'am, for a minute,” said the butler
from behind the chair; and although the interruption was anything
but pleasant, yet the summons must be obeyed, for Mrs. Biles was the
housekeeper, and any approach to treating her with indifference or
contempt on the eve of a great dinner would be about as impolitic as
insulting a general who was about to command in a great battle; so that
Mrs. Kennyfeck rose to comply, not even venturing a word of complaint,
lest the formidable functionary should hear of it, and take her revenge
on the made dishes.
“Now for the Dean. Is mamma out of hearing?” said Miss Kennyfeck, who
rejoiced at the casual opportunity of a little portrait-painting in
a different style. “Conceive a tall, pompous man, with large white
features, and a high bald head with a conical top; a sharp, clear, but
unpleasant voice, always uttering grave nonsense, or sublime absurdity.
He was a brilliant light at Oxford, and came over to illumine our
darkness, and if pedantry could only supply the deficiency in the potato
crop, he would be a providence to the land. His affectation is to know
everything, from chuck-farthing to conic sections, and so to diffuse his
information as always to talk science to young ladies, and discuss the
royal game of goose with Lords of the Treasury. His failures in these
attempts at Admirable Crichtonism would abash even confidence great as
his, but that he is surrounded by a little staff of admirers, who fend
off the sneers of the audience, and, like buffers, break the rude shocks
of worldly collision. Socially, he is the tyrant of this capital; for
having learning enough to be more than a match for those he encounters,
and skill enough to give his paradoxes a mock air of authority, he
usurps a degree of dictation and rule that makes society mere slavery.
You 'll meet him to-morrow evening, and you'll see if he does not know
more of Mexico and Savannah life than you do. Take care, I say, that you
venture not into the wilds of the Pampas; for you'll have his
companionship, not as fellow-traveller, but as guide and instructor. As
for myself, whenever I read in the papers of meetings to petition
Parliament to repeal this or redress that, in the name of 'Justice to
Ireland,' I ask, why does nobody pray for the recall of the Dean of
Drumcondera?”
“Here's mamma,” whispered Olivia, as the drawing-room door opened.
“We've done the Dean, mamma,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with calm composure.
“Well, don't you feel that you love him already? Mr. Cashel, confess
that you participate in all my raptures. Oh dear! I do so admire talent
and genius,” exclaimed Mrs. Kennyfeck, theatrically.
Cashel smiled, and muttered something unintelligible; and Olivia read
on, but with a rapidity that showed the names required no special
notice. “The Craufurds, the Smythes, Mrs. Felix Brown, Lady Emmeline
Grove.”
“Oh, that dear Lady Emmeline! a most gifted creature; she 's the
authoress of some sweet poems. She wrote that touching sonnet in the
'Nobility's Gallery of Loveliness,' beginning, 'Twin Sister of the
Evening Star.' I'm sure you know it.”
“I 'm unfortunate enough never to have seen it,” said Cashel.
“Well, you shall see the writer to-morrow evening; I must really take
care that you are acquainted. People will tell you that she is affected,
and takes airs of authorship; but remember her literary success,--think
of her contributions to the 'Court Journal.'”
“Those sweet flatteries of the nobility that Linton calls court-plaster,
mamma,” said Miss Kennyfeck, laughing maliciously.
“Linton is very abusive,” said her mother, tartly; “he never has a good
word for any one.”
“He used to be a pet of yours, mamma,” insinuated Olivia.
“So he was till he became so intimate with those atrocious Fothergills.”
“Who is he?” said Cashel.
“He's a son of Sir George Linton.”
“That's one story, mamma; but as nobody ever saw the aforesaid Sir
George, the presumption is it may be incorrect. The last version is that
he was found, like Moses, the discoverer being Lady Harriet Dropmore,
who, with a humanity never to be forgotten,”--“or forgiven,” whispered
Olivia, “for she has been often taunted with it,”--“took care of the
creature, and had it reared,--nay, better again, she sent it to Rugby
and to Cambridge, got it into Parliament for Elmwood, and has now made
it Master of the Horse in Ireland.”
“He is the most sarcastic person I ever met.”
“It is such an easy talent,” said Miss Kennyfeck; “the worst of wine
makes capital vinegar.”
“Then here follow a set of soldier people,” said Olivia,--“hussars and
Queen's Bays, and a Captain Tanker of the Royal Navy,--oh, I remember,
he has but one arm,--and then the Pelertons and the Cuffes.”
“Well, are we at the end of our muster-roll?”
“Yes, we have nearly reached the dregs of the cup. I see Mr. Knox
Softly, and the Townleys!”
“Oh, the Townleys! Poor Mrs. Townley, with her yellow turban and red
feathers, that Lord Dunbrock mistook for a _vol-au-vent_ garnished with
shrimps.”
“Caroline!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, reprovingly, for her daughter's
sallies had more than once verged upon the exhaustion of her patience.
“We shall not weary you with any description of the 'refreshers,' Mr.
Cashel.”
“Pray who and what are they?” inquired Cashel.
“The 'refreshers' are that amiable but undervalued class in society who
are always asked for the evening when the other members of the family
are invited to dine. They are the young lady and young gentleman
class,--the household with ten daughters, and a governess that sings
like, anything but, Persiani. They are briefless barristers, with
smart whiskers; and young men reading for the Church, with moustaches;
infantry officers, old maids, fellows of college, and the gentleman who
tells Irish stories.”
“Caroline, I really must request--”
“But, mamma, Mr. Cashel surely ought to learn the map of the country he
is to live in.”
“I am delighted to acquire my geography so pleasantly,” cried Cashel.
“Pray go on.”
“I am bound over,” said she, smiling; “mamma is looking penknives at me,
so I suppose I must stop. But as to these same 'refreshers,' you will
easily distinguish them from the dinner company. The young ladies are
always fresher in their white muslin; they walk about in gangs, and eat
a prodigious deal of bread-and-butter at tea. Well, I have done, mamma,
though I 'm sure I was not aware of my transgressions.”
“I declare Mr. Kennyfeck is asleep again.--Mr. Kenny-feck, have the
goodness to wake up and say who is to make the whist-table for Lady
Blennerbore.”
“Yes, my Lord,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, waking up and rubbing his eyes,
“we'll take a verdict for the plaintiff, leaving the points reserved.”
A very general laugh here recalled him to himself, as with extreme
confusion he continued, “I was so fatigued in the Rolls to-day. It was
an argument relative to a trust, Mr. Cashel, which it is of great moment
you should be relieved of.”
“Oh, never trouble your head about it now, sir,” said Cashel,
good-naturedly. “I am quite grieved at the weariness and fatigue my
affairs are costing you.”
“I was asking about Lady Blennerbore's whist,” interposed Mrs.
Kennyfeck. “Who have you for her party besides the Chief Justice?”
“Major M'Cartney says he can't afford it, mamma,” said the eldest
daughter, slyly. “She is so very lucky with the honors!”
“Where is Thorpe?” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, not deigning to notice this
speech,--“he used to like his rubber.”
“He told me,” said Miss Kennyfeck, “that he would n't play with her
Ladyship any more; that one had some chance formerly, but that since she
has had that touch of the palsy, she does what she likes with the Kings
and Aces.”
“This is atrocious; never let me hear it again,” said the mamma,
indignantly; “at all events, old Mr. Moore Hacket will do.”
“Poor old man, he is so blind that he has to thumb the cards all over
to try and know them by the feel, and then he always washes the King
and Queen's faces with a snuffy handkerchief, so that the others are
sneezing at every trick they play.”
“Caroline, you permit yourself to take the most improper freedoms; I
desire that we may have no more of this.”
“I rather like old Mr. Hacket,” said the incorrigible assailant; “he
mistook Mr. Pottinger's bald and polished head for a silver salver, and
laid his teacup on it, the last evening he was here.”
If Cashel could not help smiling at Miss Kennyfeck's sallies, he felt
it was in rather a strange spirit of hospitality the approaching
entertainment was given, since few of the guests were spared the most
slighting sarcasms, and scarcely for any was there professed the least
friendship or affection. He was, however, very new to “the world,” and
the strange understanding on which its daily intercourse, its social
life of dinners, visits, and _déjeuners_ subsists, was perfectly unknown
to him. He had much to learn; but as his nature was of an inquiring
character, he was as equal as he was well inclined to its task. It was
then, with less enjoyment of the scene for its absurdity, than actually
as an occasion to acquire knowledge of people and modes of living
hitherto unknown, he listened gravely to the present discussion, and sat
with attentive ears to hear who was to take in Lady Janet, and whether
Sir Archy should precede the Chief Justice or not; if a Dragoon Colonel
should take the _pas_ of an Attorney-General, and whether it made the
same difference in an individual's rank that it did in his comfort, that
he was on the half-pay list When real rank is concerned, few things are
easier than the arrangement of such details; the rules are simple, the
exceptions few, if any; but in a society where the distinctions are
inappreciable, where the designations are purely professional, an
algebraic equation is simpler of solution than such difficulties.
Then came a very animated debate as to the places at table, wherein lay
the extreme difficulty of having every one away from the fire and nobody
in a draught, except, of course, those little valued guests who really
appeared to play the ignoble part of mortar in a great edifice, being
merely the cohesive ingredient that averted friction between more
important materials. Next came the oft-disputed question as to whether
the champagne should be served with the _petits pâtés_, after the fish,
or at a remote stage of the second course, the young ladies being
eager advocates of the former, Mrs. Kennyfeck as firmly denouncing the
practice as a new-fangled thing, that “the Dean” himself said he had
never seen at Christchurch; but the really great debate arose on a still
more knotty point, and one on which it appeared the family had brought
in various bills, without ever discovering the real remedy. It was by
what means--of course, moral force means--it were possible to induce old
Lady Blennerbore to rise from table whenever Mrs. Kennyfeck had decreed
that move to be necessary.
It was really moving to listen to Mrs. Kennyfeck's narratives of signals
unnoticed and signs unattended to; that even on the very last day her
Ladyship had dined there, Mrs. Kennyfeck had done little else for three
quarters of an hour than half stand and sit down again, to the misery of
herself and the discomfort of her neighbors.
“Poor dear old thing,” said Olivia, “she is so very nearsighted.”
“Not a bit of it,” said her sister; “don't tell me of bad sight that can
distinguish the decanter of port from the claret, which I have seen her
do some half-dozen times without one blunder.”
“I 'd certainly stop the supplies,” said Cashel; “wouldn't that do?”
“Impossible!” said Miss Kennyfeck; “you couldn't starve the whole
garrison for one refractory subject.”
“Mr. Linton's plan was a perfect failure, too,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck. “He
thought by the introduction of some topic ladies do not usually discuss
that she would certainly withdraw; on the contrary, her Ladyship called
out to me, 'I see your impatience, my dear, but I must hear the end
of this naughty story.' We tried the French plan, too, and made the
gentlemen rise with us; but really they were so rude and ill-tempered
the entire evening after, I 'll never venture on it again.”
Here the whole party sighed and were silent, as if the wished-for mode
of relief were as distant as ever.
“Must we really ask those Claridge girls to sing, mamma?” said Miss
Kennyfeck, after a long pause.
“Of course you must. They were taught by Costa, and they are always
asked wherever they go.”
“As a matter of curiosity, Mr. Cashel, the thing is worth hearing.
Paganini's monocorde was nothing to it, for they 'll go through a whole
scena of Donizetti with only one note in their voice. Oh dear! how very
tiresome it all is; the same little scene of pressings and refusals and
entreaties and rejections, and the oft-repeated dispute of the sisters
between 'Notte divina' and 'Non vedro mai,' ending in that Tyrolese
thing, which is on every organ in the streets, and has not the merit of
the little shaved dog with the hat in his mouth, to make it droll. And
then”--here Miss Kennyfeck caught a side glance of a most rebuking frown
on her mother's face, so that adroitly addressing herself to Cashel, she
seemed unaware of it,--“and then, when the singing is over, and those
who detest music are taking their revenge by abusing the singers, and
people are endeavoring to patch up the interrupted chattings,--then, I
suppose, we are quite suddenly, without the slightest premeditation, to
suggest a quadrille or carpet-dance. This is to be proposed as a most
new and original idea that never occurred to any one before, and is
certain to be hailed with a warm enthusiasm; all the young ladies
smiling and smirking, and the gentlemen fumbling for their soiled kid
gloves,--clean ones would destroy the merit of the impromptu.”
“I 'm certain Mr. Cashel's impression of our society here will
scarcely be flattering, from what he has heard this evening,” said Mrs.
Kennyfeck, rising.
“He'll see with his own eyes to-morrow night,” said Miss Kennyfeck,
coolly.
“Will you favor me with a little of your time in the morning?” said Mr.
Kennyfeck to Cashel. “I find that I cannot avoid troubling you; there
are several documents for signature, and if you could devote an hour,
or, if possible, two--”
“I am perfectly at your orders,” said Cashel; “the ladies say that they
will not ride, and therefore dispose of me as you like.”
A hearty good-night followed, and the party broke up.