At ten minutes, therefore, before the appointed time, my uncle and I
found ourselves ushered into Mrs. Henpeck’s drawing-room, where all was
gaudy and profuse, while the ruddy mistress of the feast introduced
us to her guests already arrived; but to give you her portrait as she
met our view, I must describe her dress, which consisted of a cambric
_bolster-case_ bedizened with lace, into which she had crammed her
uncouth, ill-shaped figure, _a la swab_; her copper-coloured neck was
adorned with an enormous necklace of _barley-sugar_ appearance; and her
trout skin, morphew-wrinkled unprepossessing visage, was encircled by
the straggling ringlets of a black wig, which ever and anon tormented
her gooseberry-coloured crowfooted blinkers.
Mr. Henpeck was as clean scraped up and powdered as lovey could make
him appear: she had plaited his frill and tied his neckcloth as nice
as a new pin, and no doubt deputed his seat behind the door, where he
seemed fixed like one of Punch’s puppets, till the word of command from
his wife twitched the wire of liberty, and set the poor automaton in
motion.
“Mr. Henpeck!” shrieked his lady, “how you sit _glued_ to your chair,
_my love_: why don’t you introduce the company: pray, who so proper as
the master of the house.”
The placid man obeyed the mandate, and thus announced the group: “Mr.
and Mrs. Coniac; Major Pea-Chick; Mr. Munchausen; Mrs. Wau-Wau; Miss
Bleary Wau-Wau; Lady Flam;” he then continued--“Ladies and gentlemen,
this is Mr. Tweazy, this Mr. Victor St. Alban: now, my love, I’ve done
my duty,” and down he sat.
“Lord! Mr. Henpeck,” exclaimed his wife, “you’ll never be _Sir Clement_
the _Second_--but what, in the name of wonder, my dear, have you
resumed your seat for? why don’t you ring the bell for dinner?”
Mr. Henpeck obeyed: but somehow stumbled, and his glossy shoe, of
Fawcett brilliance, coming in contact with the ancle of his clean silk
stocking, left an indelible mark, and highly provoked the lady of the
house.
“My God, Mr. Henpeck, you’re worse than a child: see what a condition
your stocking is in, and you know I always _wash_ them myself--I’m the
most particular _nice_ woman living--you know I am.”
“Well, well, my love, never mind,” said the timid man.
“But I do mind,” rejoined Mrs. Henpeck, “I hate to be put out of temper
when I’ve my friends about me, I love _peace_ and _mildness_;” then
elevating her voice to a pitch of _violence_, “ring the bell again, Mr.
Henpeck: if the servants don’t answer, ring it _down_, and don’t sit
like a statue.”
Again Mr. Henpeck agitated the wire, and the servant appeared.
“Is dinner served?” asked Mrs. Henpeck with visible impatience.
“No, Ma’am,” said the foot-boy, “cook’s had an _accidency_ with the
fish _sarse_, and it’s like to have set the chimbly on fire.”
“What!” exclaimed Mrs. Henpeck, “all my rich lobster sauce wasted--a
nasty careless hussy!” and up she jumped, like an enraged tygress, to
bolt off to the scene of action.
“You can’t get into the kitchen, ma’am,” continued the boy, “it’s all
of a swim of water in trying to put the fire out, and cook’s washing
the soot off the ducks.”
“Gracious heaven! I shall run mad,” cried Mrs. Henpeck, darting out of
the room, without any interruption from her quiet husband, who knew
he did not dare interfere in kitchen fracas, till his wife’s sonorous
squall from the bottom of the stairs roused his obedience in the
following words:
“Mr. Henpeck! Mr. Henpeck! _put on my pattens_, and come down into the
floating kitchen, this moment.”
“Dear me,” said Lady Flam, “I hope the chimney is not on fire: the very
idea makes me tremble.”
“Never fear, madam,” replied Mr. Munchausen, “there’s plenty of us to
put it out; now I entertain no fears of conflagration, for I have very
often a fire in every room in the house at my Staffordshire villa, and
I think we compute _fifteen rooms, en suite, three stories high_--for
it’s a d--d cold place, I do assure you, in the hunting season; why,
would your ladyship believe it, that the poultry and spring chickens in
my hennery, to the tune of about 750 of them, were actually so cramped
with cold, that I was compelled to erect a Buzaglo stove in the centre,
guarded with gold wire work to prevent accident, and have a large
_turkey carpet_ to cover the floor, so that you’ll observe, they could
use exercise over their woollen parterre, or huddle round the fire at
pleasure; and then as to my pigs, no man so particular! Why it cost
me 75 _guineas_ in _chestnuts_ for them last winter, beside a hundred
weight of _Pistachio nuts_! I assure you my expences are not trifling.”
“Bless me,” said Lady Flam, “I’m astonished--I really never heard of
such things as _carpets_ in a _hennery_, and _pigs_ fed on a _Pistachio
nuts_.”
“My dear lady,” resumed Mr. Munchausen, “perhaps you have never visited
Italy?”
“Never,” replied her ladyship.
“Ah! then I don’t wonder at your surprise; because it’s a very common
thing with people of distinction in Italy to give their choice pigs
Pistachio’s,” replied the bombastic narrator; “my sow, for instance,
was a present to me from the emperor of China, for some trivial
services I had rendered myself conspicuous in at his court, and a most
valuable beautiful creature she is--she was one of _five and thirty
at a litter_! and, therefore, as I before said, no man in England
possessing such a sow as myself, I don’t mind what expence I incur to
maintain her.”
“What a shame, Mr. Munchausen,” cried Miss Bleary Wau Wau, (hanging
her head on one shoulder, and leering her non-descript eye in every
direction of vacancy towards the object addressed) “what an extravagant
creature to feed pigs with such delicious rarities--’pon honour, I
don’t believe it.”
“’Pon honor, Miss Bleary,” replied he, turning his eye in the exact
direction of her’s, “you really, my dear young lady, expose your want
of knowledge very much; _I_, who have visited the Continent, and been
in most parts of the known world, must know what I’m talking about; as
well you might deny, that when I was in France, the dog that was made
me a present at the Palais Royale, did’nt have a dish of Ortolans every
day provided for his dinner.”
“Oh, monstrous!” exclaimed the ladies.
“Pray, Sir,” said Major Pea-Chick (with his _white pig-tail_, and his
_scarlet rimmed_ eyes, who wished to play off a little of his witty
artillery), “pray, Sir, where may this famous sow of yours be? I should
like mightily to see her munch the Pistachio’s: I suppose she has a
peculiar method of cracking them--or do you _crack_ for _her_?”
Mr. Munchausen aware of the little military punster’s sarcasm,
replied, “he occasionally employed an _old disabled soldier_ to
crack them.”--This silenced the witticism which no one could parry
more adroitly than Munchausen, the pupil of effrontery, who secretly
determined to retaliate on the Major the first opportunity.
“What colour is your famous sow, Mr. Munchausen?” drawled Mrs. Wau Wau,
through her nose.
“It’s brindle, ma’am,” replied he, “with a short curly white tail,
about the length of _Major Pea-Chick’s queue_.”
“I should rather have expected to hear it was _nine yards long_, like
the Bengal tyger’s that attacked a friend of mine, who positively swore
to the dimension,” cried the Major, bursting into a teh he!
“I presume,” said my uncle, very gravely, “your friend _stretched_ it
to that length in his way home--it was an elastic tail, I imagine.”
“Exactly so,” replied the Major, “for after we had _roasted_ it well,
it shrunk to a common size.”
“Do you keep pigeons, Sir?” resumed Miss Bleary.
“No, ma’am, not always--I occasionally make them _keep me_.”
“What, you make them into pies,” I suppose, snuffled Mrs. Wau-Wau; “we
are very fond of _pigeons_ at _our_ house.”
“So am I, ma’am,” replied Mr. Munchausen, with a very serious face, “I
generally _pot_ all pigeons--its an excellent way, I assure you.”
“You’ve a peculiar receipt, perhaps, for the article,” cried Major
Pea-Chick, “though potted pigeons are no great rarity now, as they
used to be.”
“When you was in the _Turkey-line_, you mean,” replied Munchausen;
“d--me how you cropped and scragged them; I remember it well, though I
was but a lad--aye! aye! you’ve been the sort, Major, you tamed your
pigeons into goldfinches, netted them snug, and then turned over a new
_leaf_.”
“Where, I believe, you’ll find few blots,” interrupted the little
Major, reddening with passion, till his ears looked like the scarlet
wattles of a dunghill cock; at which moment of snip-snap, Mr. Henpeck
re-entered the room, announcing dinner on the table, which quietly
ended the controversy.
Here we found Mrs. Henpeck seated, with a face like scarlet, with
passion and culinary exertions, apologizing to her company for the
carelessness of her cook in destroying the fish sauce, and spoiling the
delicious ducks--add to which, the baker had broke her a fine pigeon
pye, which from its mutilated state could not make its appearance, and
the fruit tarts were scorched to a cinder; “but here does not end my
perplexity,” continued the auditress (who looked the picture of Medusa,
with black snakes hanging over her fiery cheek) “for my beautiful
blamange swan has entirely melted into a mass of cream owing to the
heat of the weather.”
“Never mind, madam, here’s a very good dinner still left to gratify our
appetites,” said Munchausen.
“I think so, too,” cried little Mr. Coniac, leering his _sneaking eyes_
all round the table, and biting his _spite-puckered_ lips, “we’d a pig
of the same sow at _our_ house the other day.”
“No such a thing, Mr. Coniac,” replied his contradicting wife, “you
know nothing of the matter; I beg you’ll never trouble your head with
my domestic concerns for the pleasure of retailing them in company;
I want no mol-codling husband at my heels--I always chose to be
directress of my own house, from the garret to the cellar.”
“No, my dear, no;” replied Mr. Coniac, “not directress of the _cellar_
neither, that is _my_ department, Mrs. Coniac, women have no business
in cellars for fear of ----” and he winked his eye at Mr. Henpeck.
“Aye, for fear of the _rats_,” interrupted Mr. Munchausen, “d--n the
rats--I had one in my cellar the other day as big as a rabbit, gnawed
me a dozen of Madeira corks; but, as luck would have it, never touched
those of a _pipe_ of _port_ I had just bottled and laid down.”
“Aye, well,” continued Mr. Coniac, “I don’t know how it is, but I’d
rather have four-legged rats than two-legged ones; there’s no vermin
in our cellars, but a devilish lot of spirits, that vanish whenever
the door opens; it matters not who turns the key, for when you come to
look, egad they are all off.”
“Lord! Mr. Coniac,” exclaimed his wife, foaming at the mouth with
_anchovy froth_, “your disagreeable conversation is quite brutal and
disgusting.”
“Don’t quarrel with fish-bones in your mouth, Mrs. Coniac,” replied her
aggravating husband, “take a little drop of brandy, my dear, or you’ll
be sick presently.”
“Not I, indeed,” replied Mrs. Coniac, tossing her head in a terrible
rage.
“Aye, do, madam,” cried Mr. Henpeck, “and I’ll pledge you--fish is very
apt to _rise_ in my stomach.”
“Then I’m sure fish is likely to _fall_ in your stomach,” replied
Mrs. Henpeck--“Good God, Mr. Henpeck, touch a drop of brandy if you
dare--what would Dr. Tonic say? hemph, brandy indeed! _I’ll_ take some
with Mrs. Coniac, with _pleasure_; but as to you, it’s out of the
question.”
She then ordered the servant to fill out four _thimbles_ full, one of
which was handed to Lady Flam, another to Mrs. Wau Wau (who always sat
with her mouth _open_ for the ready convenience of any consequences
that might arise from a _surcharge_) a third to Mrs. Coniac, (who never
used such _small_ glasses at _home_), and the remaining one she tossed
off herself.
“What a pretty dance, ‘Drops of Brandy’ is,” said Miss Bleary Wau Wau.
“Yes,” replied the Baron’s great-grandson, _alias_ Mr. Munchausen, “I
have seen many capital _reels_ danced to that _tune_.”
“Ma’r and I are very fond of reels,” continued Miss Bleary.
“Not _brandy reels_, I hope,” whispered Munchausen.
“O you brute! no, to be sure;” answered she, “I mean Scotch reels,
danced with skipping-ropes; you should see my _Ma’r_ skip: Commodore
_Grapple_, Captain _Flash pan_, and Lieutenant _Powder-proof_, all
India folks of our acquaintance, declared she skipped scientifically,
about two or three years ago, when it was such a fashionable
amusement.”
“_Nar, now_, Bleary, _now_! you make a body blush; consider I’m an old
_duman_, you should not talk about such nonsense now,” drawled the lady
mother, grinning like a turnip-ghost upon the head of a mischievous
school-boy’s crab stick, decked in the Eastern presents of Messrs.
Grapple, Flash-pan, and Powder-proof, ornamented by _Indian pigeon_
feathers, highly _perfumed_: while Miss Bleary, a mere composition of
musk and otto, was the quintessence of affectation.
“Pray,” said Mr. Coniac, sneeringly, “who might be the upholsterer that
furnished your Staffordshire villa?”
“Who,” replied Munchausen, “why that stilish dog _George Oakley_ to be
sure, one of the most tasty fellows in England; I left it all to his
management: even the _carpet_ and _curtain_ of the _buttery_ were his
choice; every suite of rooms carries you into a different country, we
have the Chinese, the Grecian, the Parisian, and the Russian costume,
with transparent blinds attached, to correspond, with the scenery of
the various countries; so that I can breakfast in China, dine at Paris,
and drink tea in Russia, every day of my life; and then there’s the
grounds, the successive houses, the forcing tables for my nectarine
and peaches, where you may sit round, and by taking the trouble to
raise the leaf, every person has the pleasure to pluck his own fruit.
I mean to take Mrs. Munchausen, and my family, down, in the course of
a fortnight, with a few select friends; for, to say the truth, I can’t
well go earlier on account of my new landau-barouche, the springs of
which are so infernal stiff, that I have lent it to a friend to give
it a fortnight’s rattle; but, observe you, I don’t lend him my set of
greys--no, no, they are training in high condition--cost me a cool five
hundred, and four more for the barouche--I’m a sad extravagant dog, but
I can’t help it: it’s a _knack_ I was _born_ with.”
“Well,” cried the Major, “I can content myself with my humble marine
cottage.”
“It’s according to the taste you possess, or was bred up in, probably,”
replied Munchausen, “for my part, a _Pleb_ cottage would have nothing
but the horrors for me; I should imagine myself transported to a
Dyot-street attic, where the pigs, poultry, jack-asses, family and Co.
independent of the live-stock they enjoy gratis, all exist in the same
enclosure, graced with a garden of wall-flowers, stuck in a broken
tea-pot to conceal the ventilator of the shattered crockery casement,
and make it look _rural_: or, what think you, by way of a _cooler_
prospect, of a _canal_ in a _red dish_ full of _tittle-bats_.”
The company set up a loud laugh; but Mr. Munchausen did not smile:
it was no laughing matter, in his opinion, for he had _visited such
scenes_, and _coloured_ them to the _life_.
“Talking of fish-ponds,” resumed he, “I have some of the first in
England: I sent down three waggons of Portland stone to dam the
banks with--one I have fitted up in a peculiar style of elegance for
gold-fish, where, by this time, I suppose I have about _five hundred
brace_ under the good management of my steward, who has stocked two
extensive canals with every description of curious and delicious fish,
reserving a certain snug corner for the accommodation of a pair of
turtles during their appropriate residence in this country, according
to the statute of their existence, that they may enjoy their _lives_,
and I their _deaths_, devoting an elegy to their perfection from the
pen of the _jaw-worker’s_ company, some men of _taste_ belonging to
which I should invite for the express purpose.”
“What a funny man you are,” exclaimed Miss Bleary; “is it possible you
can ever be grave, blessed with such a share of spirits as you possess.”
“Indeed,” replied Munchausen, “I should have no objection to become
possessor of a much more _eminent share_ of _spirits_, and make you my
pretty bar-maid, the cordial drops you would retail would revive every
expiring cockle in a poissard’s basket, and then the world would be
justified in calling me a _rum_ fellow, while your situation would be
constituted the _mart_ of _universal comfort_, supported by men and
women of _taste_.”
“But I should not be thought a girl of taste--I thank you kindly, Sir,”
answered Miss Bleary with much resentment, “I’d have you to know, Sir,
my ideas soar to a palanquin.”
“Oh! the sweetest lounge upon earth--don’t mention such an uncomattable
luxury: I’ve been carried in the most superb stile in one the emperor
lent me, covered with musical bells, that played fifty different
successive tunes; the mattrass was eider down, covered with pink
embroidered silk, and the curtains were fringed with gold--and, egad,
the slaves scampered along with me at the rate of ten miles an hour!”
“Delightful,” exclaimed Lady Flam, “how I should like a trip to the
East, to be waited on by slaves, and actually lulled to repose in the
cradle of luxury, if my time was to come over again.”
“Aye, madam,” replied Major Pea-Chick, “but _you_ and _I_ e’ent
_chick-a-biddies_ now.”
“D----n it,” said Munchausen, “you can’t forget _trade_, the old
_Guinea-hen concern_ seems to stick in your stomach; I’ll thank you to
amputate me a limb of that duck--ah, if you could see my _Staffordshire
duckery_, you’d say they exceeded all the ’Change-alley waddlers, for
we hatch them in such abundance, that half an acre which I ordered to
be sowed with onions and sage, is not sufficient to season them with,
so that my cottagers and menials are literally _gorged_ with them.”
“I wish I was your neighbour,” cried Mr. Henpeck, “for ducks are a
terrible price in London.”
“Pray, Mr. Henpeck, hold your tongue; you’ve no business, my dear,
to trouble yourself with market expences; we a’nt going to exact so
much a-head from our friends after dinner, as to explain the various
prizes like an inn-keeper,” said the indignant Mrs. Henpeck, seizing a
beautiful bowl of sallad, which she unmercifully devoured before any
of the company had partaken of it; and after having half bolted it
down, observing it to be an article in much requisition, she actually
re-called the servant, and returned the remaining particles off her
plate into the bowl, _pro bono publico_, which vegetable was not again
demanded at table, for Mr. Munchausen observing the circumstance,
immediately enlarged on the qualities of his spring cucumbers.
“My gardiner,” said he, “cut me _six brace_ of patagonian cucumbers
last _Valentine’s day_.”
“_Natives_ of _Brodinag_, I presume,” replied Major Pea-Chick, “for
I’ll be bound they were the _only_ ones in England at that _period_ of
the season.”
My uncle, who had been a mere eating automaton during the retaliating
snip-snap of Messrs. Munchausen and Pea-Chick, and who well knew the
rhodomontade principles of the former, proposed a general bumper of
Madeira, to wash down the patagonian cucumbers, which caused another
laugh at the expence of the credulous.
“You shall not drink Madeira, Mr. Henpeck, I assure you,” exclaimed
his observant wife, just as he had raised the bewitching glass to his
lips, the contents of which he, with a brisk mechanical chuck, gulped
down, before the sentence of forbearance reached his ears, the lady not
having been quick enough in her commands, which were never delivered in
the mildest terms.
This breach of non-conformity encreased Mrs. Henpeck’s anger. “If
you choose to kill yourself, Mr. Henpeck, I have no fears of getting
a third husband, depend upon it--there _are_ men who would take my
advice, and _value_ it too: so play your own game, and see who’ll
suffer for it in the end.”
“Madam,” cried Mr. Munchausen, “it was only an accidental slip over
the tongue, I declare Mr. Henpeck was making _full charge_, when your
mandate to _halt_ vibrated on his ear, and had he stopped at the
moment, strangulation had made you a widow in the midst of your gala.”
“Aye, you’re a good hand to help a lame dog over a stile, we well
know,” replied Mrs. Henpeck, helping the floating remains of her
vanished blamange swan, which so reminded Lady Flam of a dish of cream,
that she asked Mr. Munchausen if he kept cows?
“O, yes, ma’am,” replied he, “and some extraordinary _bulls_ of my
own breed; I have likewise half a score choice buffalos, about five
and twenty couple of deer, and three score of Merino sheep, all the
children of liberty in my park.”
“Oh, the lovely brebi’s,” exclaimed Lady Flam; then turning to Mrs.
Coniac, “Oh how I doat on the brebi’s.”
“The what?” enquired Mrs. Coniac, to whom Mrs. Flam might as well have
talked Greek or French: “the what, did your ladyship say?”
“The brebi’s, the petite agneau’s.”
Mrs. Coniac shook her head in non-comprehension.
“What, don’t you know what I mean?” resumed her pedantic ladyship.
“No,” said Mrs. Coniac, very ignorantly.
Lady Flam, astonished, drew up her lips to the dimension of a
buttonhole, exclaiming, “impossible!” then dilating them on equal
stretch, and curving her arched eye brows into a frown of incredulity,
“incroya’ble,” continued she, staring Mrs. Coniac from head to foot.
“He! he! he!” sniggered Mr. Coniac, “my wife don’t understand the
_parley-woo’s_--she don’t understand French but when I order soup and
_bully_ of a washing-day. Mrs. Coniac never loved school, though she
was at it the first twenty years of her life, but somehow she could
never learn French.”
“No, not I,” answered Mrs. Coniac (with cheek of scarlet indignation,
who, well knowing the origin of Lady Flam was no other than an
_Abcedarian_ at a London school, from whence she eloped in the
character of _chere amie_ to Lord Flam, who afterwards married her).
“As I was neither bred, or intended for a _teacher_, it was a science
of no consequence where my _livelihood_ was not _dependant_ upon my
abilities.”
Lady Flam, who felt the _retort uncourteous_, instantly replied, “it
was very fortunate where people’s bread was ready buttered to their
appetites, particularly if they were deficient in ability to earn it.”
“Aye, aye,” replied little Coniac, “We’ve plenty of bread well buttered
in my _wife’s family cupboard_: but the _lock’s rusty_ at present, and
the _hinges_ are creaky, so you see we only take a peep through the
keyhole.”
“Yes, yes,” cried the vulgar pleb Major, “we all know you fell with
your nose in a butter-tub when you married.”
“To be sure I did,” replied Mr. Coniac, “but I took care not to
_butter_ my _fingers_ as _some folks_ do.”
The Major coloured from the effect of his private feelings on that
score, but made no reply.
“Egad,” said Munchausen, “I should have no objection to fall with
my nose into a tub of tallow, but the chance is gone by I believe;
I’ve played many harlequin manœuvres in my time, skipped out of the
frying-pan into the fire, leaped from thence on to the grid-iron, and
been soaked in boiling-water, by way of stewing out my troubles, have
been roasted like a red-herring on a fork, and picked to pieces, so
that all the grease I ever possessed, melted away in torrents like a
pound of rush-lights in the dog-days, and now the sweat of my brow
must make up for’t, that’s all I know--I must look sharp after my
Staffordshire tenantry, and save my bacon--yes, yes, they sha’nt gammon
me.”
“Do you play _back gammon_?” asked Lady Flam.
“Oh, yes, frequently,” replied Munchausen.
“He is an adept, madam, I assure you,” said the Major, “and more
particularly in the science of _face gammon_: may be that’s a game you
never heard of, if you are not very intimate with Mr. Munchausen.”
“La! what is _face gammon_?” cried Miss Bleary.
“A very deep game, I assure you,” replied Munchausen; “extremely
difficult to attain, because there are one hundred different ways of
playing it, there being no established rule or prescription, so that
each party plays it according to his own judgment and benefit.”
“Is it played with cards or dice?” enquired Mrs. Coniac, (whose husband
was a dab at _back gammon_ in more senses of the word than one.)
“Madam,” replied Munchausen gravely, “it is played only with _brass_
instruments, such as arrows, lancets, shuttlecocks, &c.; in short, it’s
by no means a lady’s game, tho’ I have seen some attempt it.”
“Well, I can’t comprehend it,” replied Mrs. Coniac.
“I can only say, it’s a pity you should, madam--it ill suits your sex,”
answered Munchausen, laughing in her face.
“Come, come,” cried Mrs. Henpeck, “you gentlemen seem to be at cross
purposes--pray don’t measure swords, while we ladies adjourn to make
your coffee. Mr. Henpeck, my dear, remember your restrictions: help
your friends liberally, but don’t exceed three glasses yourself--now
mind what I say, don’t play the baby in my absence--we shall expect you
in the drawing-room to cards in half an hour;” so saying, the ladies
following in train, withdrew.
Mr. Henpeck assumed his wife’s chair, requesting Mr. Munchausen to
officiate as vice-president: no one better calculated to push the
bottle, fabricate a story, or confound an argument as long as a
Chancery suit; and, suffice it to say, he completely kept the company
in a roar, till Mrs. Henpeck’s patience being quite exhausted, her card
table all arranged, and her coffee cold, rushed into the room like an
unexpected hurricane, insisting Mr. Henpeck was an invalid, and should
drink no longer.
“Mr. Vice,” cried she, “pray oblige me by doing the duties of the
chair, and supplying every gentleman’s glass--but as to my dear Mr.
Henpeck, he shall not take poison before my face--he must and shall
retire with me to the drawing-room,” saying which, she linked her arm
within his, and led the placid soul out of the room in triumph, thereby
setting an example we all felt compelled to follow; and, therefore, as
he had marched off under the flying colours of petticoat government, we
had only to bring up the rear, which we immediately did, each digesting
his own opinion upon the transaction.
Coffee having been cleared away, Mrs. Henpeck arranged us at the
card-table, as follows:
My uncle and Lady Flam, with Mrs. Coniac and Munchausen; Mr. Coniac and
Mrs. Wau-Wau, versus Major Pea-Chick and Mrs. Henpeck. Miss Bleary and
Mr. Henpeck, and myself, were seated at three handed cribbage.