CHAPTER VII. THE AFTER-SUPPER. THE pleasantest part of an evening entertainment to host and hostess is perhaps, after the last carriage has been driven away with its complement of congratulating guests, to hear the comments of more intimate friends who may be staying in the house in corroboration of the fact, that the whole thing has gone off well. Each, as he takes up his candlestick to light him to his room, has kindly words to mingle with his "goodnight," which cements the bond of friendship. feels certain that he or she at least can never have sympathized with the ill-natured remarks of that horrid Sir Benjamin Backbite, or of that still worse Lady Sneerwell, towards whom our eye wandered so often during the evening in smiling hatred; while if any of One these charming personages express an inclination for just one more glass of champagne, how hospitably do we, the host, lead them down to the deserted supperroom, and how cheerful a half-hour is consumed while the ladies are undergoing the mysteries of retirement, or quite as probably chatting together in each other's apartments. M. de Lernay had never been more brilliant, Mr. Jonathan Johnson had never spoken in such consecutive syllables, Mr. Percival Potts had never omitted for so lengthened a period to boast of his confounded family, as during the little after-supper which the Frenchman had proposed. The rest of the late actors shewed themselves fully equal to the situation; and when Eugenie, accompanied by Frederick Galton, came down to wish them all good-night, it was with one voice that they insisted upon their fair hostess-for whom Somebody was waiting so impatiently above stairs-taking her seat among them, if it were but for five minutes, and gracing their somewhat high-wrought revelry. "Grant us two things,' 3 quoth Bassanio, a common-law barrister in excellent practice, and as much given to fun as fees 66 66 "Not to deny us, and to pardon us. 'It is very late already, sir," returned she smiling; and I am afraid your good wife, who left you here with reluctance, remember, will blame me for making you more dissipated than you are naturally inclined to be." "We all have wives, whom we protest we love,'' returned Gratiano, a newly married but by no means juvenile conveyancer, "still, on such occasions as the present "We wish they were in heaven.' "These be the Christian husbands!" exclaimed Shy lock laughing. "I have a daughter" Here his voice sank and quavered like a harp-string that has lost its tension. "It is well," whispered Jonathan Johnson to his next neighbour, "that De Lernay does not fif-fiffinish his quo-quo-quo, does not finish his quotation." : "Very true," returned Percival Potts "the old fellow seems dreadfully conscious of having been about to put his foot in it. How odd and old he has begun to look I suppose it's his beard. Shall I propose his health, and so get him out of his difficulty?" There was a rattling of glasses and beating of fingers the table as the sub-editor rose. upon “ Shylock," commenced the Duke of Venice pompously "The world thinks, and I think so too, That thou dost lead the fashion of Mayfair With most becoming grace. That this fair feast, Combining Thespis with Terpsichore, Stop, stop," cried Frederick; "shame!” 66 6 'By which term I mean No work for Printer's Devil, but Imitation; Not my hand as steady as the circulation of the Porcupine?) I, sober, dedicate to our good host. Antonio, gratify this gentleman, For in my mind you are much indebted to him, (As we all are), by giving us the time For cheering."" "I stut―stut-stutter so," said Mr. Johnson, suiting the action to the word. "My dear fellow," whispered Frederick, "imagine you are about to say Hippopotamus, and you will give us the Hip, hip, hip to perfection. There, that's capital." The fun was getting a little too boisterous, and Eugenie slipped out of the room while every face was turned towards her father. He sat quite still in his place without speaking, without moving his head while the cheering lasted, and even after it had died away. All were then silent, awaiting the brilliant speech that did not come. |