as if they had once been straw-bonnet makers, and so had used up all their spare straw when they left off business; but even this did not do, and the mats stood their ground. Everything at the table was an imitation of something; each dish might have been labelled, Aut navis, aut galerus; the mutton was roasted to imitate venison; the soup was mock turtle; potato loaves played the part of Risoles without anything in them; and a peahen took refuge in celery-sauce, and passed itself off for a turkey. It was not till dinner was half over, and the "gentlemen had asked the ladies" over and over again to take wine, and Mr. Tymmons had praised his " Burgundy port" quite as much as his wife had lauded the dinner and the cookery, that Mr. Rush Tymmons made his entrée, his throat bare, and tempting assassination; his eyes "in a fine phrensy rolling," and apparently totally unconscious of the presence of any one. Miss Seraphina made room for him beside herself, which she was in duty bound to do, for she it was who was the cause of his being so late, for she was always telling him that the genius of every aristocratic family (when there was one) invariably either kept every one waiting dinner an hour, or else walked in when it was half over. Now it so happened that this day, of all days in the year, poor Mr. Rush was most unpoetically hungry; but, sooner than violate the aristocratic standard of genius, he had stood for a full quarter of an hour outside the dining-room door, quadrupling his appetite by the friande steams of the forbidden feast. 'Why, Rush," said his sire, "always last." At all events, I hope not least, sir," said Mr. Rush, modestly. "No, no, that ye can never be as long as ye are six feet high, and all yer brothers so much shorter," said Hoskins, with a laugh and a wink that was anything but complimentary to Mr. Rush's greatness, and for which that gentleman planned lampoons on him for the rest of dinner. "As everything is cold by this time," said Mr. Tymmons, senior," you had better try some of my souse," pointing to the seductive plat on the dumb-waiter beside him. Mr. Rush looked wild boars at his progenitor for insulting his delicacy by such a proposition, and glancing at a chicken, " motioned" to Alonzo to bring him some, which, when he had discussed, he gallantly drank toast and water with all his sisters, for he never touched wine. When the cloth was removed, and very small divers-coloured worsted doyleys were placed before every one, with one wineglass upon each, and Alonzo had knocked down the last trayful of things, Mr. Hoskins became so alarmingly demonstrative to Miss MacScrew, that Mrs. Tymmons was fain to do something to turn the current of his thoughts; and seeing Mr. Rush, with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling, as if watching the arrival of a new cargo of ideas, which, no doubt, came straight from heaven through the roof of the house, as people always look for them in that direction, she ventured to request that they might be favoured with a sight of his ode upon the fleas. "Now do, my dear Rush," urged his fond mother, "for I'm thure ith beautiful, like everything you write." Mr. Rush blushed and stammered, and declared it was not yet finished. 66 Well, but let uth thee as much of it ath ith done,” entreated his mother. "Why, certainly, if you wish it," said the obedient son, glancing round the table for further suffrages. "Do, Rush," nodded his father, who again began to feel somniferosuly inclined, and who knew his son's effusions were infallible narcotics. "Well," said Rush, withdrawing the precious morceau from his waistcoat pocket, where it had lain like a loveletter in a postoffice, "to be kept till called for," "remember it's not finished, and it's an irregular ode”—and irregular enough it certainly was-"and, in order to make you understand it, I should tell you that one flea enacts Napoleon, another the Duke of Wellington, two more O'Connell and Lord Alvanley fighting a duel, a whole band imitate Strauss's, while two young fleas are flirting in a drawing-room, and the mamma flea is reading a newspaper and does not see them." After this clear and lucid explanation, Mr. Rush smoothed the crumpled ode and read as follows, his mother exclaiming, by way of prelude, "How very interesting!" ODE TO THE INDUSTRIOUS FLEAS! Silent! subtle! hopping flea! But Wellington thou canst not be, And take thy flight, Like Joseph, when from Zulica, he Ne'er cut and run. But what is this? Oh fire and fuel! May kill, but never flee his man. His vow in heaven! But list! Flea fiddlers fill the house She'll get, I fear! "That's all I've done yet," said Mr. Rush, looking round for admiration. "Oh, very clever, very clever indeed," cried Mrs. Tymmons; "in fact, tho clever, that ith not every one that would understhand it." "It's a great deal cleverer than that," said Hoskins, "for augh don't think there's ony one who could understand it." "Well, that ith a great deal for you to thay, Peter, and your praithe ith worth having about poetry (!) ith so hard to get," said Mrs. Tymmons; "and," continued she, "thuch a pretty compliment to the Duke of Wellington, I'm thure hithe grathe would be much flattered if he heard it, and he could not doubt ith sintherity, becauthe you are futht to O'Connell, calling him the mighty Dan; but ith quite delightful, my dear Rush, to thee a young man of your age, though really liberal in politics, giving merit on every thide where merit is due." "D-n those fleas !" muttered Mr. Tymmons, starting from his slumbers; "they are all over me," continued he, scratching the back of his hands. 66 244 CHEVELEY; OR, THE MAN OF HONour. "There, Master Rush," laughed Hoskins, "augh advise you to make the most of that, for it's as grat a compliment as the birds pecking at the grapes of Zeuxis." "My dear, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Tymmons, screaming at her spouse, " you're going to sleep again; let uth have tea, and that will waken you." Tea was accordingly ordered, and all the cups and spoons rattled immediately under Mr. Tymmons's ears, till they produced the desired effect, and he was wide awake as every attorney ought to be. This enabled him to look over some bills; and while he was billing, Mr. Hoskins was cooing, which delightful amusement lasted till nine o'clock, at which hour Miss MacScrew invariably left "the festive scene," for, as she justly observed, in houses where there was no supper, there was no use in staying any longer, as it was only leading Sally into the temptation of burning a rushlight, as no servant could be trusted to sit by the firelight alone. Accordingly, at nine o'clock, Alonzo appeared with lantern, clogs, and umbrella, and, flanked by the obsequious Peter, Miss MacScrew was escorted back to Lavender-lane. Scarcely had she left the house before Miles Datchet (who had taken leave of the Lees, Mrs. Stokes, and even Madge, during which last ceremony he had caught Freddy Flipps grinning over a hedge, and for which he had bestowed upon him a parting drubbing, with a benedictory prophecy that he would yet ride a horse foaled by an acorn)* called for Mrs. Tymmons's despatches to Lord de Clifford and his mother, as he (Datchet) was to start for the Continent early on the following morning, where it is high time we should follow him. Come to the gallows END OF VOL. I. |