Tuggeridge Coxe drank
a very good share of it (but the Claret and Jonnysberger, being sour, we
did not much relish). However, the feed, as I say, went off very well:
Lady Blanche Bluenose sitting next to me, and being so good as to put
me down for six copies of all her poems; the Count and Baron von Punter
engaging Jemimarann for several waltzes, and the Field-Marshal plying my
dear Jemmy with Champagne, until, bless her! her dear nose became as
red as her new crimson satin gown, which, with a blue turban and
bird-of-paradise feathers, made her look like an empress, I warrant.

Well, dinner past, Mrs. C. and the ladies went off:--thunder-under-under
came the knocks at the door; squeedle-eedle-eedle, Mr. Wippert's
fiddlers began to strike up; and, about half-past eleven, me and the
gents thought it high time to make our appearance. I felt a LITTLE
squeamish at the thought of meeting a couple of hundred great people;
but Count Mace and Sir Gorman O'Gallagher taking each an arm, we
reached, at last, the drawing-room.

The young ones in company were dancing, and the Duchess and the great
ladies were all seated, talking to themselves very stately, and working
away at the ices and macaroons. I looked out for my pretty Jemimarann
amongst the dancers, and saw her tearing round the room along with Baron
Punter, in what they call a gallypard; then I peeped into the circle
of the Duchesses, where, in course, I expected to find Mrs. C.; but she
wasn't there! She was seated at the further end of the room, looking
very sulky; and I went up and took her arm, and brought her down to the
place where the Duchesses were. "Oh, not there!" said Jemmy, trying to
break away. "Nonsense, my dear," says I: "you are missis, and this is
your place." Then going up to her ladyship the Duchess, says I, "Me and
my missis are most proud of the honor of seeing of you."

The Duchess (a tall red-haired grenadier of a woman) did not speak.

I went on: "The young ones are all at it, ma'am, you see; and so we
thought we would come and sit down among the old ones. You and I, ma'am,
I think, are too stiff to dance."

"Sir!" says her Grace.

"Ma'am," says I, "don't you know me? My name's Cox. Nobody's introduced
me; but, dash it, it's my own house, and I may present myself--so give
us your hand, ma'am."

And I shook hers in the kindest way in the world; but--would you
believe it?--the old cat screamed as if my hand had been a hot 'tater.
"Fitzurse! Fitz