shed about vainly in search of Mrs
Taddipopple, to acquaint her with the cat's wickedness, he at last, in
desperation, laid violent hands on Miss Cookumwell, and addressed that
excellent lady by the name of Mrs Poppletaddy.

Were we courageous enough to make the attempt, we would endeavour to
describe that joyful evening from beginning to end. We would tell you
how the company's spirits rose higher and higher, as each individual
became more and more anxious to lend his or her aid in adding to the
general hilarity; how old Mr Kennedy nearly killed himself in his
fruitless efforts to be everywhere, speak to everybody, and do
everything at once; how Charley danced till he could scarcely speak, and
then talked till he could hardly dance; and how the fiddler, instead of
growing wearied, became gradually and continuously more powerful, until
it seemed as if fifty fiddles were playing at one and the same time. We
would tell you how Mr Addison drew more than ever to Mr Conway, and
how the latter gentleman agreed to correspond regularly with the former
thenceforth, in order that their interest in the great work each had in
hand for the _same_ Master might be increased and kept up; how, in a
spirit of recklessness (afterwards deeply repented of), a bashful young
man was induced to sing a song which in the present mirthful state of
the company ought to have been a humorous song, or a patriotic song, or
a good, loud, inspiriting song, or _anything_, in short, but what it
was--a slow, dull, sentimental song, about wasting gradually away in a
sort of melancholy decay, on account of disappointed love, or some such
trash, which was a false sentiment in itself, and certainly did not
derive any additional tinge of truthfulness from a thin, weak voice,
that was afflicted with chronic flatness, and _edged_ all its notes.
Were we courageous enough to go on, we would further relate to you how
during supper Mr Kennedy, senior, tried to make a speech, and broke
down amid uproarious applause; how Mr Kennedy, junior, got up
thereafter--being urged thereto by his father, who said, with a
convulsion of the cheek, "Get me out of the scrape, Charley, my boy!"--
and delivered an oration which did not display much power of concise
elucidation, but was replete, nevertheless, with consummate impudence;
how during this point in the proceedings the grey cat made a last
desperate effort to purloin a cold chicken, which it had watched
anxiously the whole