Six o’clock was now near at hand, and Mrs Turnbull entered the drawing-room in full dress. She certainly was a very handsome woman, and had every appearance of being fashionable; but it was her language which exposed her. She was like the peacock. As long as she was silent you could but admire the plumage, but her voice spoilt all. “Now, Mr Turnbull,” said she, “I wish to hexplain to you that there are certain himproprieties in your behaviour which I cannot put hup with, particularly that hof talking about when you were before the mast.”  
“Well, my dear, is that anything to be ashamed of?”
 
“Yes, Mr Turnbull, that his—one halways sinks them ere particulars in fashionable society. To wirtuperate in company a’n’t pleasant, and Hi’ve thought of a plan which may hact as an himpediment to your vulgarity. , Mr T, whenhever I say that Hi’ve an ’eadache, it’s to be a sign for you to ’old your tongue; and, Mr T, hoblige me by wearing kid gloves all the evening.”
 
“What! at dinner time, my dear?”
 
“Yes, Mr T, at dinner time; your ’ands are not fit to be touched.”
 
“Well, I recollect when you thought otherwise.”
 
“When, Mr T? ’ave I not often told you so?”
 
“Yes, lately; but I referred to the time when one Poll Bacon of Wapping took my hand for better or for worse.”
 
“Really, Mr T, you quite shock me. My name was Mary, and the Bacons are a good old Hinglish name. You ’ave their harms quartered on the carriage in right o’ me. That’s something, I can tell you.”
 
“Something I had to pay for pretty smartly, at all events.”
 
“The payment, Mr T, was on account of granting harms to you, who never ’ad any.”
 
“And never wished for them. What do I care for such stuff?”
 
“And when you did choose, Mr Turnbull, you might have consulted me, instead of making yourself the laughing-stock of Sir George Naylor and all the ’eralds. Who but a madman would have chosen three saluims, and three barrels couchants, with a whale for a ? Just to point out to everybody what should hever be buried in hoblivion; and then your beastly motto—which I would have changed—‘Blubber for ever!’ Blubber indeed! henough to make hany one blubber for ever.”
 
“Well, the told me they were just what I ought to have chosen, and very apposite, as they termed it.”
 
“They took your money and laughed at you. Two pair of griffins, a lion, half-a-dozen , and a hand with a , wouldn’t ’ave cost a farthing more. But what can you hexpect from an ’og?”
 
“But if I was cured, I should be what you were—Bacon.”
 
“I won’t demean myself, Mr Turnbull.”
 
“That’s right, my dear, don’t; there’s no curing you. Recollect the motto you chose in preference to mine.”
 
“Well, and a very proper one—‘Too much familiarity breeds contempt’—is it not so, Master Faithful?”
 
“Yes, madam, it was one of our copies at school.”
 
“I beg your pardon, sir, it was my hown hinvention.”
 
Rap, tap, rap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
 
“Mr and Mrs Peters, of Petercumb Hall,” announced the butler. Enter Mrs Peters first, a very lady, and followed by Mr Peters, six feet four inches without his shoes, for stooping and curved shoulders seven inches. Mr Peters had from the Stock Exchange with a , bought a place, named it Petercumb Hall, and set up his carriage. Another knock, and Mr and Mrs Drummond were announced. Compliments exchanged, and a pastile lighted by Mrs Turnbull.
 
“Well, Drummond,” said Mr Turnbull, “what are coals worth now?”
 
“Mr Turnbull, I’ve got such an ’eadache.”
 
This was of course a matter of condolence from all present, and a stopper upon Mr Turnbull’s tongue.
 
Another sounding rap, and a pause. “Monsieur and Madame de Tagliabue coming up.” Enter Monsieur and Madame de Tagliabue. The former, a dapper little Frenchman, with a neat pair of legs, and stomach as round as a pea. Madame sailing in like an outward-bound East Indiaman, with studding sails below and aloft; so large in her dimensions, that her husband might be compared to the pilot-boat about her stern.
 
“Charmée de vous voir, Madame Tom-bulle. Vous vous portez bien; n’est-ce pas?”
 
“Ve,” replied Mrs Turnbull, who thus her knowledge of the French language while the Monsieur tried in vain, first on one side, and then on the other, to get from under the lee of his wife and make his bow. This was not until the lady had taken possession of a sofa, which she filled most comfortably.
 
Who these people were, and how they lived, I never could find out: they came in a fly from Brentford.
 
Another announcement. “My Lord Babbleton and Mr Smith coming up.”
 
“Mr T, pray go down and receive his lordship. (There are two wax candles for you to light on the hall table, and you must walk up with them before his lordship,” said the lady aside.)
 
“I’ll be hanged if I do,” replied Mr Turnbull; “let the servants light him.”
 
“O, Mr T, I’ve such an ’eadache?”
 
“So you may have,” replied Mr T, sitting down .
 
In the meantime Mr Smith entered, leading Lord Babbleton, a boy of twelve or thirteen years old, shy, awkward, red-haired, and ugly, to whom Mr Smith was tutor. Mrs T had found out Mr Smith, who was residing near Brentford with his charge, and made his acquaintance on purpose to have a lord on her visiting list, and, to her delight, the leader had not forgotten to bring his bear with him. Mrs Turnbull sprang to the door to receive them, making a prepared courtesy to the aristocratical , and then shaking him respectfully by the hand. “Won’t your lordship walk to the fire? Isn’t your lordship cold? I hope your lordship’s sty is better in your lordship’s eye. Allow me to introduce to your lordship’s notice Mr and Mrs Peters—Madame and Mounsheer Tagleebue—Mr and Mrs Drummond, the Right Lord Viscount Babbleton.” As for Mr Turnbull and myself, we were left out as unworthy of introduction. “We are ready for dinner, Mr Turnbull.”
 
“Snobbs, get dinner dressed up,” said Mr T to the butler.
 
“O, Mr T, I’ve such an ’eadache.”
 
This last headache was produced by Mr T forgetting himself, and calling the butler by his real name, which was Snobbs; but Mrs Turnbull had resolved that it should be changed to Mortimer—or rather, to Mr Mortimer, as the household were directed to call him, on pain of expulsion.
 
Dinner was announced. Madame Tagliabue, upon what I know not, was considered the first lady in the room, and Lord Babbleton was requested by Mrs Turnbull to hand her down. Madame rose, took his lordship’s hand, and led him away. Before they were out of the room, his lordship had disappeared among the ample folds of Madame’s gown, and was seen n............