l liked and seldom
sitting at the side-table, except when there is no room at the other;
for they make no stranger of him. His time is pretty much taken up in
keeping his relation, who is a little melancholy, in spirits, and in
learning to blow the French-horn. My eldest daughter, however, still
remembers him with regret; and she has even told me, though I make a
great secret of it, that when he reforms she may be brought to relent.
But to return, for I am not apt to digress thus, when we were to sit
down to dinner our ceremonies were going to be renewed. The question was
whether my eldest daughter, as being a matron, should not sit above the
two young brides, but the debate was cut short by my son George, who
proposed, that the company should sit indiscriminately, every gentleman
by his lady. This was received with great approbation by all, excepting
my wife, who I could perceive was not perfectly satisfied, as she
expected to have had the pleasure of sitting at the head of the table
and carving all the meat for all the company. But notwithstanding this,
it is impossible to describe our good humour. I can't say whether we
had more wit amongst us now than usual; but I am certain we had more
laughing, which answered the end as well. One jest I particularly
remember, old Mr Wilmot drinking to Moses, whose head was turned another
way, my son replied, 'Madam, I thank you.' Upon which the old gentleman,
winking upon the rest of the company, observed that he was thinking of
his mistress. At which jest I thought the two miss Flamboroughs would
have died with laughing. As soon as dinner was over, according to my
old custom, I requested that the table might be taken away, to have
the pleasure of seeing all my family assembled once more by a chearful
fireside. My two little ones sat upon each knee, the rest of the company
by their partners. I had nothing now on this side of the grave to wish
for, all my cares were over, my pleasure was unspeakable. It now only
remained that my gratitude in good fortune should exceed my former
submission in adversity.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Vicar of Wakefield, by Oliver Goldsmith

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