What shall I say of the dinner? It was the very first entertainment of the sort at which I had ever been present; though I had acquired some of the notions of town habits, on such occasions, at my aunt Legge’s table. To my surprise, there was soup; a dish that I never saw at Satanstoe, except in the most familiar way; while here it was taken by every one, seemingly as a matter of course. Everything was elegant, and admirably cooked. Abundance, however, was the great feature of the feast; as I have heard it said, is apt to be the case with most New York entertainments. Nevertheless, I have always understood that, in the way of eating and drinking, the American colonies have little reason to be ashamed.
“Could I have foreseen this dinner, Miss Mordaunt,” I said, when everybody was employed, and I thought there was an opening to say something to my beautiful neighbour; “it would have made my father very happy to have sent a sheepshead to town, for the occasion.”
Anneke thanked me, and then we began to converse about the game. Westchester was, and is still, famous for partridges, snipe, quails, ducks, and meadow-larks; and I understood expatiating on such a subject, as well as the best of them. All the Littlepages were shots; and I have known my father bag ten brace of woodcock, among the wet thickets of Satanstoe, of a morning; and this with merely a second class dog, and only one. Both Bulstrode and Harris listened to what I said on this subject with great attention, and it would soon have been the engrossing discourse, had not Anneke pleasantly said—
“All very well, gentlemen; but you will remember that neither Miss Wallace, nor I, shoot.”
“Except with the arrows of Cupid,” answered Bulstrode, gaily; “with these you do so much execution between you,” emphasizing the words, so as to make me look foolish, for I sat between them, “that you ought to be condemned to hear nothing but fowling conversation for the next year.”
This produced a laugh, a little at my expense, I believe; though I could see that Anneke blushed, while Mary Wallace smiled indifferently; but as the healths now began, there was a truce to trifling. And a serious thing it is, to drink to everybody by name, at a large table; serious I mean to a new beginner. Yet, Herman Mordaunt went through it with a grace and dignity, that I think would have been remarked at a royal banquet. The ladies acquitted themselves admirably, omitting no one; and even Harris felt the necessity of being particular with this indispensable part of good-breeding. So well done was this part of the ceremony, that I declare, I believe everybody had drunk to everybody, within five minutes after Herman Mordaunt commenced; and it was very apparent that there was more ease and true gaiety after all had got through, than there had previously been.
But the happy period of every dinner-party, is after the cloth is removed. With the dark polished mahogany for a back-ground, the sparkling decanters making their rounds, the fruit and cake baskets, the very scene seems to inspire one with a wish for gaiety. Herman Mordaunt called for toasts, as soon as the cloth disappeared, with a view I believe of putting everybody at ease, and to render the conversation more general. He was desired to set the example, and immediately gave “Miss Markham,” who, as I was told, was a single lady of forty, with whom he had carried on a little flirtation. Anneke’s turn came next, and she chose to give a sentiment, notwithstanding all Bulstrode’s remonstrances, who insisted on a gentleman. He did not succeed, however; Anneke very steadily gave “The Thespian corps of the——h; may it prove as successful in the arts of peace, as in its military character it has often proved itself to be in the art of war.” Much applause followed this toast, and Harris was persuaded by Bulstrode to stand up, and say a few words, for the credit of the regiment. Such a speech!—It reminded me of the horse that was advertised as a show, in London, about this time, and which was said ‘to have its tail where its head ought to be.’ But, Bulstrode clapped his hands, and cried ‘hear,’ at every other word, protesting that the regiment was honoured as much in the thanks, as in the sentiment. Harris did not seem displeased with his own effort, and, presuming on his rank, he drank, without being called on, “to the fair of New York; eminent alike for beauty and wit, may they only become as merciful as they are victorious.”
“Bravo!” again cried Bulstrode,—“Harris is fairly inspired, and is growing better and better. Had he said imminent, instead of eminent, it would be more accurate, as their frowns are as threatening, as their smiles are bewitching.”
“Is that to pass for your sentiment, Mr. Bulstrode, and are we to drink it?” demanded Herman Mordaunt.
“By no means, sir; I have the honour to give Lady Dolly Merton.”
Who Lady Dolly was, nobody knew, I believe, though we of the colonies always drank a titled person, who was known to be at home, with a great deal of respectful attention, not to say veneration. Other toasts followed, and then the ladies were asked to sing. Anneke complied, with very little urging, as became her position, and never did I hear sweeter strains than those she poured forth! The air was simple, but melody itself, and the sentiment had just enough of the engrossing feeling of woman in it, to render it interesting, without in the slightest degree impairing its fitness for the virgin lips from which it issued. Bulstrode, I could see, was almost entranced; and I heard him murmur “an angel, by Heavens!” He sang, himself, a love song, full of delicacy and feeling, and in a way to show that he had paid much attention to the art of music. Harris sang, too, as did Mary Wallace; the former, much as he spoke; the last plaintively, and decidedly well. Even Herman Mordaunt gave us a strain, and my turn followed. Singing was somewhat of a forte with me, and I have reason to think I made out quite as well as the best of them. I know that Anneke seemed pleased, and I saw tears in her eyes, as I concluded a song that was intended to produce just such an effect.
At length the youthful mistress of the house arose, reminding her father that he had at table the principal performer of the evening, by way of a caution, when three or four of us handed the ladies to the drawing-room door. Instead of returning to the table, I entered the room, and Bulstrode did the same, under the plea of its being necessary for him to drink no more, on account of the work before him.
Chapter VIII
“Odd’s bodikins, man, much better: use
Every man after his desert, and who shall ‘scape
Whipping? use them after your own honour
And dignity: the less they deserve, the more
Merit is in your bounty.”
—Hamlet
“Harris will be hors de combat” Bulstrode soon observed, “unless I can manage to get him from the table.—You know he is to play Marcia this evening; and, though a little wine will give him fire and spirit for the part, too much will impair its feminine beauties. Addison never intended that ‘the virtuous Marcia,’ in towering above her sex, was to be picked out of a kennel, or from under a table. Harris is a true Irish peer, when claret is concerned.”
All the ladies held up their hands, and protested against Mr. Harris’ being permitted to act a travestie on their sex. As yet, no one had known how the characters were to be cast, beyond the fact that Bulstrode himself was to play Cato, for great care had been taken to keep the bills of the night from being seen, in order that the audience might have the satisfaction of finding out, who was who, for themselves. At the close of each piece a bill was to be sent round, among the favoured few, telling the truth. As Anneke declared that her father never locked in his guests, and had faithfully promised to bring up everybody for coffee, in the course of half an hour, it was determined to let things take their own way.
Sure enough, at the end of the time mentioned, Herman Mordaunt appeared, with all the men, from the table. Harris was not