rs. Chirrup's attention is distracted; she smiles, but
heareth not. You proceed with your story; meanwhile the glittering knife
is slowly upraised, both Mrs. Chirrup's wrists are slightly but not
ungracefully agitated, she compresses her lips for an instant, then
breaks into a smile, and all is over. The legs of the bird slide gently
down into a pool of gravy, the wings seem to melt from the body, the
breast separates into a row of juicy slices, the smaller and more
complicated parts of his anatomy are perfectly developed, a cavern of
stuffing is revealed, and the goose is gone!

To dine with Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup is one of the pleasantest things in the
world. Mr. Chirrup has a bachelor friend, who lived with him in his own
days of single blessedness, and to whom he is mightily attached.
Contrary to the usual custom, this bachelor friend is no less a friend of
Mrs. Chirrup's, and, consequently, whenever you dine with Mr. and Mrs.
Chirrup, you meet the bachelor friend. It would put any
reasonably-conditioned mortal into good-humour to observe the entire
unanimity which subsists between these three; but there is a quiet
welcome dimpling in Mrs. Chirrup's face, a bustling hospitality oozing as
it were out of the waistcoat-pockets of Mr. Chirrup, and a patronising
enjoyment of their cordiality and satisfaction on the part of the
bachelor friend, which is quite delightful. On these occasions Mr.
Chirrup usually takes an opportunity of rallying the friend on being
single, and the friend retorts on Mr. Chirrup for being married, at which
moments some single young ladies present are like to die of laughter; and
we have more than once observed them bestow looks upon the friend, which
convinces us that his position is by no means a safe one, as, indeed, we
hold no bachelor's to be who visits married friends and cracks jokes on
wedlock, for certain it is that such men walk among traps and nets and
pitfalls innumerable, and often find themselves down upon their knees at
the altar rails, taking M. or N. for their wedded wives, before they know
anything about the matter.

However, this is no business of Mr. Chirrup's, who talks, and laughs, and
drinks his wine, and laughs again, and talks more, until it is time to
repair to the drawing-room, where, coffee served and over, Mrs. Chirrup
prepares for a round game, by sorting the nicest possible little fish
into the nicest possible little pools, and calling Mr. Chirrup to assist
her