Фредерик Марриет
Jacob Faithful
Chapter Fifteen
I am unshipped for a short time, in order to record shipments and engross invoices—Form a new acquaintance, what is called in the world “A Warm Man,” though he passed the best part of his life among icebergs, and one whole night within the ribs of death—His wife works hard at gentility
We arrived at Sheerness the next morning, landed the bricks, which were for the Government buildings, and returned in ballast to the wharf. My first inquiry was for the Dominie; but he had not yet returned; and Mr Drummond further informed me that he had been obliged to send away his under-clerk and wished me to simply take his place until he could procure another. The lighter therefore took in her cargo, and sailed without me, which was of consequence, as my apprenticeship still went on. I now lived with Mr Drummond as one of his own family, and wanted for nothing. His continual kindness to me made me strive all I could to please him by diligence and attention, and I soon became very expert at accounts, and, as he said, very useful. The advantages to me, I hardly need observe were considerable, and I gained information every day. Still, although I was glad to be of any use to Mr Drummond, the confinement at the desk was irksome, and I anxiously looked for the arrival of the new clerk to take my place and leave me free to join the lighter. Mr Drummond did not appear to me to be in any hurry; indeed, I believe that he would have retained me altogether, had he not perceived that I still wished to be on the river.
“At all events, Jacob, I shall keep you here until you are master of your work; it will be useful to you hereafter,” he said to me one day; “and you do not gain much by sailing up and down the river.”
This was true; and I also derived much advantage from the evenings spent with Mrs Drummond, who was a very sensible good woman, and would make me read aloud to her and little Sarah as they sat at their needle. I had no idea, until I was employed posting up the book, that Mr Drummond’s concern was so extensive, or that there was so much capital employed in the business. The Dominie returned a few days after my arrival. When we met his nose had resumed its former appearance, and he never brought up the subject of the evening on board of the lighter. I saw him frequently, mostly on Sundays after I had been to church with the family; and half-an-hour, at least, was certain to be dedicated to our reading together one of the classics.
As I was on shore several months, I became acquainted with many families, one or two of which were worth noticing. Among the foremost was Captain Turnbull, at least such was his appellation until within the last two months previous to my making his acquaintance, when Mr Turnbull sent out his cards, George Turnbull, Esquire. The history of Captain Turnbull was as follows:– He had, with his twin brother, been hung up at the knocker, and afterwards had been educated at the Foundling Hospital; they had both been apprenticed to the sea; grown up thorough-bred, capital, seamen in the Greenland fishery; rose to be mates then captains; had been very successful, owned part, then the whole of the ship, afterwards two or three ships; and had wound up with handsome fortunes. Captain Turnbull was a married man without a family; his wife, fine in person, vulgar in speech, a would-be fashionable lady, against which fashion Captain T had for years pleaded poverty; but his brother, who had remained a bachelor, died, leaving him forty thousand pounds—a fact which could not be concealed. Captain Turnbull had not allowed his wife to be aware of the extent of his own fortune, more from a wish to live quietly and happily than from any motive of parsimony, for he was liberal to excess; but now he had no further excuse to plead, and Mrs Turnbull insisted upon fashion. The house they had lived in was given up, and a marine villa on the borders of the Thames to a certain degree met the views of both parties; Mrs Turnbull anticipating dinners and fêtes, and the captain content to watch what was going on in the river, and amuse himself in a wherry. They had long been acquaintances of Mr and Mrs Drummond; and Captain Turnbull’s character was such as always to command the respect of Mr Drummond, as he was an honest, friendly man. Mrs Turnbull had now set up her carriage, and she was, in her own opinion, a very great personage. She would have cut all her former acquaintance; but on that point the captain was inflexible, particularly as regarded the Drummonds. As far as they were concerned, Mrs Turnbull gave way, Mrs Drummond being a lady-like woman, and Mr Drummond universally respected as a man of talent and information. Captain, or rather, Mr Turnbull, was a constant visitor at our house, and very partial to me. He used to scold Mr Drummond for keeping me so close to my desk, and would often persuade him to give me a couple of hours’ run. When this was obtained, he would call a waterman, throw him a crown, and tell him to get out of his wherry as fast as he could. We then embarked, and amused ourselves pulling up and down the river, while Mrs Turnbull, dressed in the extremity of the fashion, rode out in the carriage and left her cards in every direction.
One day Mr Turnbull called upon the Drummonds, and asked them to dine with him on the following Saturday; they accepted the invitation. “By-the-by,” said he, “I got what my wife calls a remind in my pocket;” and he pulled out of his coat-pocket a large card, “with Mr and Mrs Turnbull’s compliments,” etcetera, which card he had doubled in two by his sitting down upon it, shortly after he came in. Mr Turnbull straightened it again as well as he could, and laid it on the table. “And Jacob,” said he, “you’ll come too. You don’t want a remind; but if you do, my wife will send you one.”
I replied, “that I wanted no remind for a good dinner.”
“No, I dare say not, my boy; but recollect that you come an hour or two before the dinner-hour, to help me; there’s so much fuss with one thing or another, that I’m left in the lurch; and as for trusting the keys of the spirit-room to that long-togged rascal of a butler, I’ll see him harpoon’d first; so do you come and help me, Jacob.”
This having been promised, he asked Mr Drummond to lend me for an hour or so, as he wished to take a row up the river. This was also consented to; we embarked and pulled away for Kew Bridge. Mr Turnbull was as good a hand at a yarn as old Tom, and many were the adventures he narrated to me of what had taken place during the vicissitudes of his life, more especially when he was employed in the Greenland fishery. He related an accident that morning, which particularly bore upon the marvellous, although I do not believe that he was at all guilty of indulging in a traveller’s licence.
“Jacob,” said he, “I recollect once when I was very near eaten alive by foxes, and that in a very singular manner. I was then mate of a Greenland ship. We had been on the fishing ground for three months, and had twelve fish on board. Finding we were doing well, we fixed our ice-anchors upon a very large iceberg, drifting up and down with it, and taking fish as we fell in with them. One morning we had just cast loose the carcass of a fish which we had cut up, when the man in the crow’s nest, on the look-out for another ‘fall,’ cried out that a large polar bear and her cub were swimming over to the iceberg, against the side of which, and about half-a-mile from us, the carcass of a whale was beating. As we had nothing to do, seven of us immediately started in chase we had intended to have gone after the foxes, which had gathered there also in hundreds, to prey upon the dead whale. It was then quite calm: we soon came up with the bear, who at first was for making off; but as the cub could not get on over the rough ice as well as the old one, she at last turned round to bay. We shot the cub to make sure of her, and it did make sure of the dam not leaving us till either she or we perished in the conflict. I never shall forget her moaning over the cub, as it lay bleeding on the ice, while we fired bullet after bullet into her. At last she turned round, gave a roar and a gnashing snarl, which you might have heard a mile, and, with her eyes flashing fire, darted upon us. We received her in a body, all close together, with our lances to her breast; but she was so large and strong, that she beat us all back, and two of us fell; fortunately the others held their ground, and as she was then on end, three bullets were put into her chest, which brought her down. I never saw so large a beast in my life. I don’t wish to make her out larger than she really was, but I have seen many a bullock at Smithfield which would not weigh two-thirds of her. After that, we had some trouble in despatching her; and while we were so employed, the wind blew up in gusts from the northward, and the snow fell heavy. The men were for returning to the ship immediately, which certainly was the wisest thing for us all to do; but I thought that the snowstorm would blow over in a short time, and not wishing to lose so fine a skin, resolved to remain and flay the beast; for I knew that if left there a few hours, as the foxes could not get hold of the carcass of the whale, which had not grounded, they would soon finish the bear and the cub, and the skins be worth nothing. Well, the other men went back to the ship, and as it was, the snow-storm came on so thick that they lost their way, and would never have found her, if it was not that the bell was kept tolling for a guide to them. I soon found that I had done a very foolish thing; instead of the storm blowing over, the snow came down thicker and thicker; and before I had taken a quarter of the skin off, I was becoming cold and numbed, and then I was unable to regain the ship, and with every prospect of being frozen to death before the storm was over. At last, I knew what was my only chance. I had flayed all the belly of the bear, but had not cut her open. I ripped her up, tore out all her inside, and then contrived to get into her body, where I lay, and, having closed up the entrance hole, was warm and comfortable, for the animal heat had not yet been extinguished. This manoeuvre, no doubt, saved my life: and I have heard that the French soldiers did the same in their unfortunate Russian campaign, killing their horses and getting inside to protect themselves from the dreadful weather. Well, Jacob, I had not lain more than half-an-hour, when I knew by sundry jerks and tugs at my newly invented hurricane-house that the foxes were busy—and so they were sure, enough. There must have been hundreds of them, for they were at work in all directions, and some pushed their sharp noses into the opening where I had crept in; but I contrived to get out my knife and saw their noses across whenever they touched me, otherwise I should have been eaten up in a very short time. There were so many of them, and they were so ravenous, that they soon got through the bear’s thick skin, and were tearing away at the flesh. Now I was not so much afraid of their eating me, as I thought that if I jumped up and discovered myself they would have all fled. No saying, though; two or three hundred ravenous devils take courage when together; but I was afraid that they would devour my covering from the weather, and then I should perish with the cold; and I was also afraid of having pieces nipped out of me, which would of course oblige me to quit my retreat. At last daylight was made through the upper part of the carcass, and I was only protected by the ribs of the animal, between which every now and then their noses dived and nipped my sealskin jacket. I was just thinking of shouting to frighten them away, when I heard the report of half-a-dozen muskets, and some of the bullets struck the carcass, but fortunately did not hit me. I immediately halloed as loud as I could, and the men, hearing me, ceased firing. They had fired at the foxes, little thinking that I was inside of the bear. I crawled out; the storm was over, and the men of the ship had come back to look for me. My brother, who was also a mate on board of the vessel, who had not been with the first party, had joined them in the search, but with little hopes of finding me alive. He hugged me in his arms, covered as I was with blood, as soon as he saw me. He’s dead now, poor fellow—That’s the story, Jacob.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied I; but perceiving that the memory of his brother affected him, I did not speak again for a few minutes. We then resumed our conversation, and pulling back with the tide, landed at the wharf.
On the day of the dinner party I went up to Mr Turnbull’s at three o’clock as he had proposed. I found the house in a bustle; Mr and Mrs Turnbull, with the butler and footman, in the dining-room, debating as to the propriety of this and that being placed here and there, both servants giving their opinion, and arguing on a footing of equality, contradicting and insisting, Mr Turnbull occasionally throwing in a word, and each time snubbed by his wife, although the servants dare not take any liberty with him. “Do, pray, Mr Turnbull, leave hus to settle these matters. Get hup your wine; that is your department. Leave the room, Mr Turnbull, hif you please. Mortimer and I know what we are about, without your hinterference.”
“Oh! by the Lord, I don’t wish to interfere; but I wish you and your servants not to be squabbling, that’s all. If they gave me half the cheek—”
“Do, pray, Mr Turnbull, leave the room, and allow me to regulate my own ’ousehold.”
“Come, Jacob, we’ll go down into the cellar,” said Mr Turnbull; and accordingly we went.
I assisted Mr Turnbull in his department as much as I could, but he grumbled very much. “I can’t bear all this nonsense, all this finery and foolery. Everything comes up cold, everything is out of reach. The table’s so long, and so covered with uneatables, that my wife is hardly within hail and, by jingo, with her the servants are masters. Not with me, at all events; for if they spoke to me as they do to Mrs Turnbull, I would kick them out of the house. However, Jacob, there’s no help for it. All one asks for is quiet; and I must put up with all this sometimes, or I should have no quiet from one year’s end to another. When a woman will have her way, there’s no stopping her: you know the old verse—
“A man’s a fool who strives by force or skill
To stem the torrent of a woman’s will;
For if she will, she will, you may depend on’t,
And if she won’t, she won’t—and there’s an end on’t.
“Now let’s go up into my room, and we will chat while I wash my hands.”
As soon as Mr Turnbull was dressed, we went down into the drawing-room, which was crowded with tables loaded with every variety of ornamental articles. “Now this is what my wife calls fashionable. One might as well be steering through an ice-floe as try to come to an anchor here without running foul of something. It’s hard-a-port or hard-a-starboard every minute; and if your coat-tail jibes, away goes something, and whatever it is that smashes, Mrs T always swears it was the most valuable thing in the room. I’m like a bull in a china-shop. One comfort is, that I never come in here except when there’s company. Indeed, I’m not allowed, thank God. Sit on a chair, Jacob, one of those spider-like French things, for my wife won’t allow blacks, as she calls them, to come to an anchor upon her sky-blue silk sofas. How stupid to have furniture that one’s not to make use of! Give me comfort but it appears that’s not to be bought for money.”
Chapter Sixteen
High life above stairs, a little below the mark—Fashion French, Virtue, and all that
Six o’clock was now near at hand, and Mrs Turnbull entered the drawing-room in full dress. She certainly was a very handsome woman, and had every appearance of being fashionable; but it was her language which exposed her. She was like the peacock. As long as she was silent you could but admire the plumage, but her voice spoilt all. “Now, Mr Turnbull,” said she, “I wish to hexplain to you that there are certain himproprieties in your behaviour which I cannot put hup with, particularly that hof talking about when you were before the mast.”
“Well, my dear, is that anything to be ashamed of?”
“Yes, Mr Turnbull, that his—one halways sinks them ere particulars in fashionable society. To wirtuperate in company a’n’t pleasant, and Hi’ve thought of a plan which may hact as an himpediment to your vulgarity. Recollect, Mr T, whenhever I say that Hi’ve an ’eadache, it’s to be a sign for you to ’old your tongue; and, Mr T, hoblige me by wearing kid gloves all the evening.”
“What! at dinner time, my dear?”
“Yes, Mr T, at dinner time; your ’ands are not fit to be touched.”
“Well, I recollect when you thought otherwise.”
“When, Mr T? ’ave I not often told you so?”
“Yes, lately; but I referred to the time when one Poll Bacon of Wapping took my hand for better or for worse.”
“Really, Mr T, you quite shock me. My name was Mary, and the Bacons are a good old Hinglish name. You ’ave their harms quartered on the carriage in right o’ me. That’s something, I can tell you.”
“Something I had to pay for pretty smartly, at all events.”
“The payment, Mr T, was on account of granting harms to you, who never ’ad any.”
“And never wished for them. What do I care for such stuff?”
“And when you did choose, Mr Turnbull, you might have consulted me, instead of making yourself the laughing-stock of Sir George Naylor and all the ’eralds. Who but a madman would have chosen three harpoons saluims, and three barrels couchants, with a spouting whale for a crest? Just to point out to everybody what should hever be buried in hoblivion; and then your beastly motto—which I would have changed—‘Blubber for ever!’ Blubber indeed! henough to make hany one blubber for ever.”
“Well, the heralds told me they were just what I ought to have chosen, and very apposite, as they termed it.”
“They took your money and laughed at you. Two pair of griffins, a lion, half-a-dozen leopards, and a hand with a dagger, wouldn’t ’ave cost a farthing more. But what can you hexpect from an ’og?”
“But if I was cured, I should be what you were—Bacon.”
“I won’t demean myself, Mr Turnbull.”
“That’s right, my dear, don’t; there’s no curing you. Recollect the motto you chose in preference to mine.”
“Well, and a very proper one—‘Too much familiarity breeds contempt’—is it not so, Master Faithful?”
“Yes, madam, it was one of our copies at school.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, it was my hown hinvention.”
Rap, tap, rap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
“Mr and Mrs Peters, of Petercumb Hall,” announced the butler. Enter Mrs Peters first, a very diminutive lady, and followed by Mr Peters, six feet four inches without his shoes, deduct for stooping and curved shoulders seven inches. Mr Peters had retired from the Stock Exchange with a competence, bought a place, named it Petercumb Hall, and set up his carriage. Another knock, and Mr and Mrs Drummond were announced. Compliments exchanged, and a pastile lighted by Mrs Turnbull.
“Well, Drummond,” said Mr Turnbull, “what are coals worth now?”
“Mr Turnbull, I’ve got such an ’eadache.”
This was of course a matter of condolence from all present, and a stopper upon Mr Turnbull’s tongue.
Another sounding rap, and a pause. “Monsieur and Madame de Tagliabue coming up.” Enter Monsieur and Madame de Tagliabue. The former, a dapper little Frenchman, with a neat pair of legs, and stomach as round as a pea. Madame sailing in like an outward-bound East Indiaman, with studding sails below and aloft; so large in her dimensions, that her husband might be compared to the pilot-boat plying about her stern.
“Charmée de vous voir, Madame Tom-bulle. Vous vous portez bien; n’est-ce pas?”
“Ve,” replied Mrs Turnbull, who thus exhausted her knowledge of the French language while the Monsieur tried in vain, first on one side, and then on the other, to get from under the lee of his wife and make his bow. This was not accomplished until the lady had taken possession of a sofa, which she filled most comfortably.
Who these people were, and how they lived, I never could find out: they came in a fly from Brentford.
Another announcement. “My Lord Babbleton and Mr Smith coming up.”
“Mr T, pray go down and receive his lordship. (There are two wax candles for you to light on the hall table, and you must walk up with them before his lordship,” said the lady aside.)
“I’ll be hanged if I do,” replied Mr Turnbull; “let the servants light him.”
“O, Mr T, I’ve such an ’eadache?”
“So you may have,” replied Mr T, sitting down doggedly.
In the meantime Mr Smith entered, leading Lord Babbleton, a boy of twelve or thirteen years old, shy, awkward, red-haired, and ugly, to whom Mr Smith was tutor. Mrs T had found out Mr Smith, who was residing near Brentford with his charge, and made his acquaintance on purpose to have a lord on her visiting list, and, to her delight, the leader had not forgotten to bring his bear with him. Mrs Turnbull sprang to the door to receive them, making a prepared courtesy to the aristocratical cub, and then shaking him respectfully by the hand. “Won’t your lordship walk to the fire? Isn’t your lordship cold? I hope your lordship’s sty is better in your lordship’s eye. Allow me to introduce to your lordship’s notice Mr and Mrs Peters—Madame and Mounsheer Tagleebue—Mr and Mrs Drummond, the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Babbleton.” As for Mr Turnbull and myself, we were left out as unworthy of introduction. “We are ready for dinner, Mr Turnbull.”
“Snobbs, get dinner dressed up,” said Mr T to the butler.
“O, Mr T, I’ve such an ’eadache.”
This last headache was produced by Mr T forgetting himself, and calling the butler by his real name, which was Snobbs; but Mrs Turnbull had resolved that it should be changed to Mortimer—or rather, to Mr Mortimer, as the household were directed to call him, on pain of expulsion.
Dinner was announced. Madame Tagliabue, upon what pretence I know not, was considered the first lady in the room, and Lord Babbleton was requested by Mrs Turnbull to hand her down. Madame rose, took his lordship’s hand, and led him away. Before they were out of the room, his lordship had disappeared among the ample folds of Madame’s gown, and was seen no more until she pulled him out, on their arrival at the dinner-table. At last we were all arranged according to Mrs Turnbull’s wishes, although there were several chops and changes about, until the order of precedence could be correctly observed. A French cook had been sent for by Mrs Turnbull; and not being mistress of the language, she had a card with the names of the dishes to refresh her memory, Mr Mortimer having informed her that such was always the custom among great people, who, not ordering their own dinners, of course they could not tell what there was to eat.
“Mrs Turnbull, what soup have you there?”
“Consummy soup, my lord. Will your lordship make use of that or of this here, which is o’juss.”
His lordship stared, made no answer; looked foolish; and Mr Mortimer placed some soup before him.
“Lord Babbleton takes soup,” said Mr Smith, pompously; and the little right honourable supped soup, much to Mrs Turnbull’s satisfaction.
“Madame, do you soup? or do you fish?”
“Merci, no soup—poisson.”
“Don’t be afraid, madame; we’ve a French cook: you won’t be poisoned here,” replied Mrs Turnbull, rather annoyed.
“Comment, my chère madame, I meant to say dat I prefer de cod.”
“Mr T, some soup for Madame. John, a clean plate for Lord Babbleton. What will your lordship condescend to make use of now?” (Mrs Turnbull thought the phrase, make use, excessively refined and elegant.)
“Ah, madame, votre cuisine est superbe,” exclaimed Monsieur Tagliabue, tucking the corner of his napkin into his button-hole, and making preparations for well filling his little rotundity.
“Ve,” replied Mrs Turnbull. “Mrs Peters, will you try the dish next Mr Turnbull? What is it?” (looking at her card)—“Agno roty. Will you, my lord? If your lordship has not yet got into your French—it means roast quarter of lamb.”
“His lordship is very partial to lamb,” said Mr Smith, with emphasis.
“Mr Turnbull, some lamb for Lord Babbleton, and for Mr Peters.”
“Directly, my dear.—Well, Jacob, you see, when I was first mate—”
“Dear! Mr Turnbull—I’ve such an ’eadache. Do, pray, cut the lamb. (Aside.) Mr Mortimer, do go and whisper to Mr Turnbull that I beg he will put on his gloves.”
“Mrs Peters, you’re doing nothing. Mr Mortimer, ’and round the side dishes, and let John serve out the champagne.”
“Mrs Peters, there’s a wolley went o’ weaters. Will you make use of some? Mrs Drummond, will you try the dish coming round? It is—let me see—chew farsy. My Lord Babbleton, I ’ope the lamb’s to your liking? Monshere Tagliabue—William, give Monshere a clean plate. What will you take next?”
“Vraiment, madame, tout est excellent, superbe! Je voudrais embrasser votre cuisinier—c’est un artiste comme il n’y a pas?”
“Ve,” replied Mrs Turnbull.
The first course was removed; and the second, after some delay, made its appearance. In the interim, Mr Mortimer handed round one or two varieties of wine.
“Drummond, will you take a glass of wine with me?” said Mr Turnbull. “I hate your sour French wines. Will you take Madeira? I was on shore at Madeira once for a few hours, when I was before the mast, in the—”
“Mr Turnbull, I’ve such an ’eadache,” cried his lady, in an angry tone. “My lord, will you take some of this?—it is ding dong o’ turf—a turkey, my lord.”
“His lordship is fond of turkey,” said Mr Smith, dictatorially.
Monsieur Tagliabue, who sat on the other side of Mrs T, found that the turkey was in request—it was some time before he could help himself.
“C’est superbe?” said Monsieur, thrusting a truffle into his mouth. “Apparemment, madame, n’aime pas la cuisine Anglaise?”
“Ve,” replied Mrs Turnbull. “Madame, what will you be hassisted to?” continued Mrs T.
“Tout de bon, madame.”
“Ve; what are those by you, Mr Peters?” inquired the lady in continuation.
“I really cannot exactly say; but they are fritters of some sort.”
“Let me see—hoh! bidet du poms. Madame, will you eat some bidet du poms?”
“Comment, madame, je ne vous comprends pas—”
“Ve.”
“Monsieur Tagliabue, expliquez donc;” said the foreign lady, red as a quarter of beef.
“Permettez,” said Monsieur, looking at the card. “Ah, c’est impossible, ma chère,” continued he, laughing. “Madame Turnbull se trompait; elle voudrait dire Beignets de pommes.”
“Vous trouvez notre langue fort difficile, n’est-ce pas?” continued madame, who recovered her good humour, and smiled graciously at Mrs T.
“Ve,” replied Mrs Turnbull, who perceived that she had made some mistake, and was anxiously awaiting the issue of the dialogue. It had, however, the effect of checking Mrs T, who said little more during the dinner and dessert.
At last the ladies rose from the dessert, and left the gentlemen at the table; but we were not permitted to remain long before coffee was announced, and we went up stairs. A variety of French liqueurs were handed about, and praised by most of the company. Mr Turnbull, however, ordered a glass of brandy as a settler.
“Oh! Mr Turnbull, I’ve such an ’eadache!”
After that the party became very dull. Lord Babbleton fell asleep on the sofa. Mr Peters walked round the room, admiring the pictures, and asking the names of the masters.
“I really quite forget; but, Mr Drummond, you are a judge of paintings I hear. Who do you think this is painted by?” said the lady, pointing to a very inferior performance. “I am not quite sure; but I think it is Van—Van Daub.”
“I should think so too,” replied Mr Drummond, drily; “we have a great many pictures in England by the same hand.”
The French gentleman proposed écarté, but no one knew how to play it except his wife; who sat down with him to pass away the time. The ladies sauntered about the room, looking at the contents of the tables, Mrs Peters occasionally talking of Petercumb Hall; Mr Smith played at patience in one corner; while Mr Turnbull and Mr Drummond sat in another in close conversation; and the lady of the house divided her attentions, running from one to the other, and requesting them not to talk so loud as to awake the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Babbleton. At last the vehicles were announced, and the fashionable party broke up, much to the satisfaction of everybody, and to none more than myself.
I ought to observe that all the peculiar absurdities I have narrated did not strike me so much at the time; but it was an event to me to dine out, and the scene was well impressed upon my memory. After what occurred to me in my after life, and when I became better able to judge of fashionable pretensions, the whole was vividly brought back to my recollection.
