the Frenchman staggering under the weight of Miss Bunion, who
tramps and kicks like a young cart-horse.

But the most awful sight which met my view in this dance was the
unfortunate Miss Little, to whom fate had assigned THE MULLIGAN as a
partner. Like a pavid kid in the talons of an eagle, that young creature
trembled in his huge Milesian grasp. Disdaining the recognized form of
the dance, the Irish chieftain accommodated the music to the dance of
his own green land, and performed a double shuffle jig, carrying Miss
Little along with him. Miss Ranville and her Captain shrank back
amazed; Miss Trotter skirried out of his way into the protection of the
astonished Lord Methuselah; Fred Sparks could hardly move for laughing;
while, on the contrary, Miss Joy was quite in pain for poor Sophy
Little. As Canaillard and the Poetess came up, The Mulligan, in the
height of his enthusiasm, lunged out a kick which sent Miss Bunion
howling; and concluded with a tremendous Hurroo!--a war-cry which caused
every Saxon heart to shudder and quail.

"Oh that the earth would open and kindly take me in!" I exclaimed
mentally; and slunk off into the lower regions, where by this time half
the company were at supper.

THE SUPPER.

The supper is going on behind the screen. There is no need to draw
the supper. We all know that sort of transaction: the squabbling, and
gobbling, and popping of champagne; the smell of musk and lobster-salad;
the dowagers chumping away at plates of raised pie; the young lassies
nibbling at little titbits, which the dexterous young gentlemen procure.
Three large men, like doctors of divinity, wait behind the table, and
furnish everything that appetite can ask for. I never, for my part, can
eat any supper for wondering at those men. I believe if you were to
ask them for mashed turnips, or a slice of crocodile, those astonishing
people would serve you. What a contempt they must have for the guttling
crowd to whom they minister--those solemn pastry-cook's men! How they
must hate jellies, and game-pies, and champagne, in their hearts! How
they must scorn my poor friend Grundsell behind the screen, who is
sucking at a bottle!

This disguised green-grocer is a very well-known character in the
neighborhood of Pocklington Square. He waits at the parties of the
gentry in the neighborhood, and though, of course, despised in families
where a footman is kept, is a person of much importance in female
establishments.