he windows above, speculate upon having to eat an uncooked
turkey, or fancy their ravenous appetites waiting while it is
cooked--the youngsters calculating upon a dinner all pudding. Mr. Brown
returns, and tenders his arm to Lady Lucretia de Camp--in the
excitement, leading her down the side where the stairs taper to
nothing,--causing that lady to lose both equilibrium and temper.

[Illustration: THE PUDDING.
AS IT OUGHT TO HAVE APPEARED.]

In the hall they are introduced to the viands, all thought to partake
of;--which have arrived too late, and are now displayed in their
primitive state--a picture of still life; whilst the guests--a picture
of disappointment--have to put up with odds and ends, concocted to meet
the emergency, ending with a series of plum-dumplings, in place of the
legitimate large pudding. However, the indigent relatives, who prefer
the cold corners, and take "any part," declare themselves well
satisfied:--all partaking of everything, and brandy afterwards, as if
the viands were rich. Master Brown does justice to everything, of
course--that sweet child is now pulling the _merry thought_ with his
maiden aunt; he is victor, and, as no one wishes to know his _thoughts_,
seems determined to tell them,--_wishing_ "Jemy. and Mr. Latimer would
look sharp, and knock up the match Mamma spoke of; as then he should be
breeched, have pockets, and money:" here the little dear turned to the
Captain, saying, "You'll give me a crown, won't you?"--a question at
which the maiden aunt blushed intensely, as did Mrs. Brown, who
attempted to hide her emotion by saying, "What strange things children
do think of!"--at the same time helping a gentleman who had had
enough--the bashful gentleman, who sat at the junction of the tables,
and appeared so incommoded by the table-land of one being higher than
the table-land of the other--causing his plate to oscillate in a very
remarkable manner, and discharge its contents in his lap,--the conjoined
legs compelling him either to sit at a fearful distance, and spill the
gravy, or to split his kerseymeres, by extending them too much for their
frail make:--however, he has at last succeeded in thrusting one knee
between them, and the shorter leg of the two off Bunyan's "Pilgrim's
Progress"--used to stilt it;--letting the unfortunate gentleman's
pudding down, and his plate travel, until at last it stops, performing a
gyration, all to itself, under the sideboard.

[Illustration: T