the vegetables, cheese, and so forth; before that hour. you may have lunch, when there is no table charge. Now, Goldsworthy is a gentleman and a man of genius, who has courage and simplicity enough to be poor-not like some fellows whom one meets, and who make a fanfaronnade of poverty, and, draping themselves in their rags, seem to cry, "See how virtuous I am, how honest Diogenes is!" but he is a very poor man, whose education and talents are of the best, and who in so far claims to rank with the very best people in the world. In his place in Parliament, when he takes off his hat (which is both old and well brushed), the Speaker's eye is pretty sure to meet his, and the House listens to him with the respect which is due to so much honesty and talent. He is the equal of any man, however lofty and wealthy. His social position is rather improved by his poverty, and the world, which is a manly and generous world in its impulses, however it may be in its practice, contemplates with a sincere regard and admiration Mr. Goldsworthy's manner of bearing his lack of fortune. He is going to dine for a shilling; he will have two mutton-chops (and the mutton-chop is a thing unknown in domestic life and in the palaces of epicures, where you may get cutlets dressed with all sorts of French sauces, but not the admirable mutton-chop), and with a due allowance of the Club bread and beer, he will make a perfectly wholesome, and sufficient, and excellent meal; and go down to the House and fire into Ministers this very night. Now, I say, this man dining for a shilling is a pleasant spectacle to behold. I respect Mr. Goldsworthy with all my heart, without sharing those ultra-conservative political opinions which we all know he entertains, and from which no interest, temptation, or hope of place will cause him to swerve; and you see he is waited upon with as much respect here as old Silenus, though he order the most sumptuous banquet the cook can devise, or bully the waiters ever so. But ah, Bob! what can we say of the conduct of that poor little Mr. Nudgit? He has a bedchamber in some court unknown in the neighborhood of the "Polyanthus." He makes a breakfast with the Club bread and beer; he lunches off the same supplies and being of an Epicurean taste, look what he does- he is actually pouring a cruet of anchovy sauce over his bread to give it a flavor; and I have seen the unconscionable little gormand sidle off to the pickle-jars when he thought nobody was observing, and pop a walnut or half a dozen of pickled onions into his mouth, and swallow them with a hideous furtive relish. He disappears at dinner-time, and returns at half-past seven or eight o'clock, and wanders round the tables when the men are at their dessert and generous over their wine. He has a number of little stories about the fashionable world to tell, and is not unentertaining. When you dine here, sometimes give Nudgit a glass or two out of your decanter, Bob, my boy, and comfort his poor old soul. He was a gentleman once and had money, as he will be sure to tell you. He is mean and feeble, but not unkinda poor little parasite not to be unpitied. Mr. Nudgit, allow me to introduce you to a new member, my nephew, Mr. Robert Brown. At this moment, old Silenus swaggers in, bearing his great waistcoat before him, and walking up to the desk where the coffee-room clerk sits and where the bills of fare are displayed. As he passes, he has to undergo the fire of Mr. Goldsworthy's eyes, which dart out at him two flashes of the most killing scorn. He has passed by the battery without sinking, and lays himself alongside the desk. Nudgit watches him, and will presently go up smirking humbly to join him. "Hunt," he says, "I want a table, my table, you know, at seven-dinner for eight — Lord Hobanob dines with me -send the butler-What's in the bill of fare? Let's have clear soup and turtle- I've sent it in from the city. dressed fish and turbot," and with a swollen trembling hand he writes down a pompous bill of fare. As I said, Nudgit comes up simpering, with a newspaper in his hand. "Hullo, Nudg!" says Mr. Silenus, "how's the beer? Pickles good to-day?" Nudgit smiles in a gentle deprecatory manner. "Smell out a good dinner, hey, Nudg?" says Dives. "If any man knows how to give one, you do," answers the poor beggar. "I wasn't a bad hand at ordering a dinner myself, once; what's the fish in the list to-day?" and with a weak smile he casts his eye over the bill of fare. "Lord Hobanob dines with me, and he knows what a good dinner is, I can tell you," says Mr. Silenus, Cramley." 66 so does "Both well-known epicures," says Nudgit. "I'm going to give Hobanob a return dinner to his at the 'Rhododendrum.' He bet me that Batifol, the chef at the 'Rhododendrum,' did better than our man can. Hob's dinner was last Wednesday, and I don't say it wasn't a good one; or that taking Grosbois by surprise is giving him quite fair play - but we'll see, Nudgit. I know what Grosbois can do." "I should think you did, indeed, Silenus," says the other. "I see your mouth's watering. I'd ask you, only I know you're engaged. You're always engaged, Nudgit- not today? Well then, you may come; and I say, Mr. Nudgit, we'll have a wet evening, sir, mind you that." Mr. Bowls, the butler, here coming in, Mr. Silenus falls into conversation with him about wines and icing. I am glad poor Nudgit has got his dinner. He will go and walk in the Park to get up an appetite. And now, Mr. Bob, having shown you over your new house, I too will bid you for the present farewell. A WORD ABOUT BALLS IN SEASON. HEN my good friend, some Mr. Punch, and happiness of all young people: and nothing, I thought, would be easier than to touch off a few light, airy, graceful little sets of phrases, which young fellows might adopt or expand, according to their own ingenuity and leisure. Well, sir, I imagined myself, just for an instant, to be young again, and that I had a neat waist instead of that bow-window with which Time and Nature have ornamented the castle of my body, and brown locks instead of a bald pate (there was a time, sir, when my hair was not considered the worst part of me, and I recollect when I was a young man in the Militia, and when pigtails finally went out in our corps, who it was that longed to have my queue it was found in her desk at her death, and my poor dear wife was always jealous of her)-I just chose, I say, to fancy myself a young man, and that I would go up in imagination and ask a girl to dance with me. So I chose Maria a man might go farther and fare worse than choose Maria, Mr. Bob. "My dear Miss E.," says I, "may I have the honor of dancing the next set with you?" "The next what?" says Miss E., smiling, and turning to Mrs. E., as if to ask what a set meant. "I forgot," says I; "the next quadrille, I would say." "It is rather slow dancing quadrilles," says Miss E; "but if I must, I must." "Well, then, a waltz, will that do? I know nothing prettier than a waltz played not too quick." "What!" says she, "do you want a horrid old threetimed waltz, like that which the little figures dance upon the barrel-organs? You silly old creature: you are goodnatured, but you are in your dotage. All these dances are passed away. You might as well ask me to wear a gown with a waist up to my shoulders, like that in which mamma was married; or a hoop and high heels, like grandmamma in the picture; or to dance a gavotte or a minuet. Things are changed, old gentleman - the fashions of your time are gone, and and the bucks of your time will go too, Mr. Brown. If I want to dance, here is Captain Whiskerfield, who is ready; or young Studdington, who is a delightful partner. He brings a little animation into our balls; and when he is not in society, dances every night at Vauxhall and the Casino." I pictured to myself Maria giving some such reply to my equally imaginative demand for of course I never made the request, any more than she did the answer and in fact, dear Bob, after turning over the matter of ball-room conversations in my mind, and sitting with pen and ink before me for a couple of hours, I found that I had nothing at all to say on the subject, and have no more right to teach a youth what he is to say in the present day to his partner, than I should have had in my own boyhood to instruct my own grandmother in the art of sucking eggs. We should pay as much reverence to youth as we should to age; there are points in which you young folks are altogether our superiors: and I can't help constantly crying out to persons of my own years, when busied about their young people-leave them alone; don't be always meddling with their affairs, which they can manage for themselves; don't be always insisting upon managing their boats, and putting your oars in the water with theirs. So I have the modesty to think that Mr. Punch and I were a couple of conceited old fogies, in devising the above |