We had the fish, which, as the kind reader may remember, I had brought down in a delicate attention to Mrs. Ponto, to variegate the repast of next day; and cod and oyster-sauce, twice laid, salt cod and scolloped oysters, formed parts of the bill of fare until I began to fancy that the Ponto family, like our late revered monarch George II., had a fancy for stale fish. And about this time, the pig being consumed, we began upon a sheep.

But how shall I forget the solemn splendour of a second course, which was served up in great state by Stripes in a silver dish and cove; a napkin round his dirty thumbs; and consisted of a landrail, not much bigger than a corpulent sparrow.

‘My love, will you take any game?’ says Ponto, with prodigious gravity; and stuck his fork into that little mouthful of an island in the silver sea. Stripes, too, at intervals, dribbled out the Marsala with a solemnity which would have done honour to a Duke’s butler. The Bamnecide’s dinner to Shacabac was only one degree removed from these solemn banquets.

As there were plenty of pretty country places close by; a comfortable country town, with good houses of gentlefolks; a beautiful old parsonage, close to the church whither we went (and where the Carabas family have their ancestral carved and monumented Gothic pew), and every appearance of good society in the neighbourhood, I rather wondered we were not enlivened by the appearance of some of the neighbours at the Evergreens, and asked about them.

‘We can’t in our position of life — we can’t well associate with the attorney’s family, as I leave you to suppose,’ says Mrs. Ponto, confidentially. ‘Of course not,’ I answered, though I didn’t know why. ‘And the Doctor?’ said I.

‘A most excellent worthy creature,’ says Mrs. P. saved Maria’s life — really a learned man; but what can one do in one’s position? One may ask one’s medical man to one’s table certainly: but his family, my dear Mr. Snob!’

‘Half-a-dozen little gallipots,’ interposed Miss Wirt, the governess: ‘he, he, he!’ and the young ladies laughed in chorus.

‘We only live with the county families,’ Miss Wirt (1) continued, tossing up her head. ‘The Duke is abroad: we are at feud with the Carabases; the Ringwoods don’t come down till Christmas: in fact, nobody’s here till the hunting season — positively nobody.’

‘Whose is the large red house just outside of the town?’

‘What! the CHATEAU-CALICOT? he, he, he! That purse-proud ex-linendraper, Mr. Yardley, with the yellow liveries, and the wife in red velvet? How CAN you, my dear Mr. Snob, be so satirical? The impertinence of those people is really something quite overwhelming.’

‘Well, then, there is the parson, Doctor Chrysostom. He’s a gentleman, at any rate.’ At this Mrs. Ponto looked at Miss Wirt. After their eyes had met and they had wagged their heads at each other. They looked up to the ceiling. So did the young ladies. They thrilled. It was evident I had said something terrible. Another black sheep in the Church? thought I with a little sorrow; for I don’t care to own that I have a respect for the cloth. ‘I— hope there’s nothing wrong?

‘Wrong?’ says Mrs. P., clasping her hands with ............