ery table itself, set out with its
artificial fruits and flowers, its pine-apples in wax, and its peaches
of paper,--all the appliances by which Mrs. D., in her ardent zeal,
hoped to propagate refinement and abstemiousness; high-breeding and low
diet being, in her esteem, inseparably united. To see the company,
the poor old faded and crushed flowers of mock gentility,--widows
and unmarried daughters of tax-collectors long "gathered;" polite
storekeepers, and apothecaries to the "Forces," cultivating the Graces
at the cost of their appetites, and descending, in costumes of twenty
years back, in the pleasing delusion of being "dressed" for dinner;
while here and there some unhappy skipper, undergoing a course
of refinement, looked like a bear in a "ballet," ashamed of his
awkwardness, and even still more ashamed of the company wherein he found
himself; and, lastly, some old Seigneur of the Lower Province,--a poor,
wasted, wrinkled creature, covered with hair-powder and snuff, but yet,
strangely enough, preserving some "taste of his once quality," and not
altogether destitute of the graces of the land he sprung from;--curious
and incongruous elements to make up society, and worthy of the
presidency of that greater incongruity who ruled them.

Condemned to eat food they did not relish, and discuss themes they did
not comprehend,--what a noble zeal was theirs! What sacrifices did they
not make to the genius of "gentility"! If they would sneer at a hash,
Mrs. D.'s magic wand charmed it into a "ragout;" when they almost
sneezed at the sour wine, Mrs. D. called for another glass of "La
Rose." "Rabbits," they were assured, were the daily diet of the Duke of
Devonshire, and Lady Laddington ate kid every day at dinner. In the
same way, potatoes were vulgar things, but "pommes de terre a la maitre
d'hotel" were a delicacy for royalty.

To support these delusions of diet, I was everlastingly referred to.
"Cregan," would she say,--placing her glass to her eye, and fixing
on some dish, every portion of which her own dainty fingers had
compounded,--"Cregan, what is that?"

"Poulet a la George Quatre, madame! "--she always permitted me to
improvise the nomenclature,--"the receipt came from the Bishop of
Beldoff's cook."

"Ah, prepared with olives, I believe?"

"Exactly, madame," would I say, presenting the dish, whose success was
at once assured.

If a wry face or an unhappy contortion of the mouth from any guest
announced disap