FLORA'S DINNER.
Lyndsay had some literary friends in Edinburgh, whose kindly intercourse
greatly enhanced the pleasure of a month's residence near the metropolis
of Scotland. The foremost among these was M----, the poet, who, like
Lyndsay, was a native of the Orkney Islands. Having been entertained at
the house of this gentleman, he naturally wished to return his courtesy.
"Flora," said he, addressing his wife, the day after their visit to the
Greggs, "do you think you could manage a dinner for a few friends?"
Flora dropped her work, and opened her eyes in blank dismay at the very
idea of such a thing.
"What, in these poor lodgings? and Mrs. Waddel such an impracticable,
helpless old body? My dear John, it is impossible!"
Now, Lyndsay had set his heart upon the dinner, which he thought not
only very possible, but could see no difficulty at all about it. Men
never look behind the scenes, or consider the minor details of such
things; and on these trifling items, in their eyes, the real success or
failure of most domestic arrangements depend. But Flora had been behind
the scenes, and knew all about it, to her cost, for it was with the
greatest difficulty she could prevail upon Mrs. Waddel to cook the
plainest food. Mrs. Waddel declared she could "na fash hersel about;
that dainties were a' verra weel, but the meat ate jest as sweet without
them." The idea of such a tardy mistress of the kitchen cooking a dinner
for company, appeared perfectly ridiculous to Flora, who knew that any
attempt of the kind must end in mortification and disappointment.
"Flora," said Lyndsay, quite seriously, "I am certain that you could
manage it quite well, if you would only make the trial."
"It is from no unwillingness on my part that I object to your
entertaining your friends. But there is but one cooking range in the
house, and that one small and inconvenient, and I fear the cooking
utensils are limited to the dimensions of the fire."
"There is a large fireplace in our bed-chamber, Flora," said Lyndsay,
unwilling to beat a retreat.
"True," replied Flora, musingly; "I did not think of that. It would do
that damp, cold room good to get a fire lighted in it."
Seeing her husband determined upon the dinner, she began to question him
as to the items of the entertainment.
"Oh, nothing particular, dear. M---- knows that we are in lodgings, and
can't manage as well as if we were in a house of our own. A nice cut of
fresh salmon, which is always to be had in the fish-market, a small
roast of beef, or leg of mutton, with vegetables and a pudding, will do;
and, above all things, Flora, don't look annoyed, if every thing does
not exactly please you, or it will only make matters worse. I am going
to call upon M---- this morning, and I will ask him and his friend P----
to step over and dine with us at six o'clock."
"What shall we do for wine and spirits?"
"I will order these as I go along. So mind, dear, and have everything as
snug and comfortable as you can."
In spite of the anxiety she felt as to the success of the dinner, Flora
could not help pausing to admire the spacious fish-market, with its cool
stone pavement and slabs of white marble, on which lay piled in
magnificent profusion, the most beautiful specimens of the finny rangers
of the deep. Filled with marine curiosities, she could have spent hours
in contemplating the picturesque groups it presented. There lay the
salmon in its delicate coat of blue and silver; the mullet, in pink and
gold; the mackerel, with its blending of all hues,--gorgeous as the tail
of the peacock, and defying the art of the painter to transfer them to
his canvas; the plaice, with its olive green coat, spotted with vivid
orange, which must flash like sparks of flame glittering in the depths
of the dark waters; the cod, and the siller haddies, all freckled with
brown, and silver, and gold; the snake-like eel, stretching its slimy
length along the cool stone pavement, among moving heaps of tawny
crabs--those spiders of the deep--which seemed to emulate the
scorpion-like lobsters near them in repulsive ugliness.
But what most enchanted Flora, was the antique costume of the Newhaven
fish-women, as, seated upon their upturned baskets, they called the
attention of the visitor to their various stores of fish.
Flora was never tired of looking at these sea-maids and matrons. Their
primitive appearance, and quaint, old-fashioned dress, took her fancy
greatly--with their short petticoats, their blue stockings and buckled
shoes, their neat, striped linen-jackets, and queer little caps, just
covering the top of their head, and coming down in long, straight mobs,
over their ears; their honest, broad features, and pleasant faces, which
had been fair before the sun and the sea air tanned them to that warm,
deep brown; their round, red arms, and handsome feet and legs, displayed
with a freedom and ease which custom had robbed of all indecorum, and
rendered natural and proper.
Flora wished that she had been an artist, to copy some of the fine forms
she saw among these fish-girls--forms which had been left as the great
God of nature made them, uncrippled by torturing stays and tight
vestments. How easy their carriage! with what rude grace they poised
upon their heads their ponderous baskets, and walked erect and firm,
filling the air with their mournfully-musical cry! The great resemblance
between these people and the Bavarian broom-girls, both in features and
costume, impressed her with the idea, that they had originally belonged
to the same race. The Newhaven sea-nymph, however, is taller, and has a
more imposing presence, than the short, snub-nosed Bavarian.
But time, that waits on no one's fancy or caprice, warned her that she
must not linger over a scene which she afterwards visited with renewed
pleasure, but gave her a gentle hint, that there was work to be done at
home--that she had better make her purchases and proceed to business.
She returned, therefore, to her lodgings in high spirits, despatching
Jim to the greengrocer's in the next street, and then followed Hannah
and her basket into Mrs. Waddel's kitchen.
"Marcy me! what ha' ye got, the noo?" said Mistress Waddel, lifting the
napkin from the basket: "meat enough, I declare, to last the hale week.
The weather's owr hot, I'm thinkin', for a' they to keep sweet sae
lang."
"Mrs. Waddel, I expect two gentlemen to dinner, particular friends of
Mr. Lyndsay; and I want you to cook these things for me as well as you
can," said Flora coaxingly.
"Twa' gentlemen, did ye say?--There's ten times mair in yon basket than
twa gentlemen can eat!"
"Of course there is; but we cannot stint our guests."
"Whist, woman!" cried Mrs. Waddel, "it makes my heid ache only to think
about a' that roast an' boil, an' boil an' roast!"
"Pray, how did you contrive to cook for Lady Weyms?" asked Flora, rather
indignantly.
"Gudeness gracious! Do ye think, that my Leddy Weyms cared for the
cooking o' the like o' me? When his late majestie, God bless him,
honoured our auld toon wi' his preesence, folk were glad to get a
deecent place to cover their heids, an' war in no wise owr particlar,
sae they could get lodged ava."
"So I should think, when a titled lady put up with such as these; where
the mistress engages to cook for her lodgers, and has not a whole pot in
her culinary establishment."
"My Leddy brought her ain cook, an' she had my twa best rooms jest aff
the passage, whar' Captain Macpherson bides the noo."
"And how do you manage to cook for him?" asked Flora, very sullenly.
"He keeps a man. An auld soger, whar' does the cooking himsel."
However, the dinner went off better than could have been expected,
though little praise could be conscientiously given to the cooking. The
fish was done _too much_, the ham _too little_, and the baked fowls
looked hard and dry. The pastry was the only thing at table about which
no fault could be found.
After the cloth was removed, Flora gave the poet and his friend the
history of the dinner, which so amused Mr. M., that he declared it was
worth twenty dinners hearing her relate the misadventures of the
morning. Flora forgot the disasters of the day while enjoying the
conversation of Mr. M. and his friend,--men who had won by their genius
no common literary reputation in the world; and the short hour "ayont
the twal" had been tolled some time from all the steeples in Edinburgh
before the little party separated, mutually pleased with each other,
never to meet in this world of change again.