It was about this time that the dinner-party at the King’s House came off. Old Colonel and Mrs. Stafford were hospitable, if not very entertaining, and liked to bring their neighbours together, without ceremony, round a saddle of mutton and a gooseberry pie, and other such solid comforts; and then, hey for a round game!— for the young people, Pope Joan, or what you please, in the drawing-room, with lots of flirting and favouritism, and a jolly little supper of broiled bones and whipt cream, and toasts and sentiments, with plenty of sly allusions and honest laughter all round the table. But twice or thrice in the year the worthy couple made a more imposing gathering at the King’s House, and killed the fatted calf, and made a solemn feast to the big wigs and the notables of Chapelizod, with just such a sprinkling of youngsters as sufficed to keep alive the young people whom they brought in their train. There was eating of venison and farced turkeys, and other stately fare; and they praised the colonel’s claret, and gave the servants their ‘veils’ in the hall, and drove away in their carriages, with flambeaux and footmen, followed by the hearty good-night of the host from the hall-door steps, and amazing the quiet little town with their rattle and glare.

Dinner was a five o’clock affair in those days, and the state parlour was well filled. There was old Bligh from the Magazine — I take the guests in order of arrival — and the Chattesworths, and the Walsinghams; and old Dowager Lady Glenvarlogh — Colonel Stratford’s cousin — who flashed out in the evening sun from Dublin in thunder and dust and her carriage-and-four, bringing her mild little country niece, who watched her fat painted aunt all the time of dinner, with the corners of her frightened little eyes, across the table; and spoke sparingly, and ate with diffidence; and Captain Devereux was there; and the next beau who appeared was — of all men in the world — Mr. Mervyn! and Aunt Becky watched, and saw with satisfaction, that he and Gertrude met as formally and coldly as she could have desired. And then there was an elaborate macaroni, one of the Lord Lieutenant’s household,— Mr. Beauchamp; and last, Lord Castlemallard, who liked very well to be the chief man in the room, and dozed after dinner serenely in that consciousness, and loved to lean back upon his sofa in the drawing-room, and gaze in a dozing, smiling, Turkish reverie, after Gertrude Chattesworth and pretty Lilias, whom he admired; and when either came near enough, he would take her hand and say,—‘Well, child, how do you do?— and why don’t you speak to your old friend? You charming rogue, you know I remember you no bigger than your fan. And what mischief have you been about — eh? What mischief have you been about, I say, young gentlewoman? Turning all the pretty fellows’ heads, I warrant you — eh!— turning their heads?’ And he used to talk this sort of talk very slowly, and to hold their hands all the while, and even after this talk was exhausted, and grin sleepily, and wag his head, looking with a glittering, unpleasant gaze in their faces all the time. But at present we are all at dinner, in the midst of the row which even the best bred people, assembled in sufficient numbers, will make over that meal.

Devereux could not help seeing pretty Lilias over the way, who was listening to handsome Mervyn, as it seemed, with interest, and talking also her pleasant little share. He was no dunce, that Mervyn, nor much of a coxcomb, and certainly no clown, Devereux thought; but as fine a gentleman, to speak honestly, and as handsome, as well dressed, and as pleasant to listen to, with that sweet low voice and piquant smile, as any. Besides he could draw, and had more yards of French and English verses by rote than Aunt Becky owned of Venetian lace and satin ribbons, and was more of a scholar than he. He? He!— why —‘he?’ what the deuce had Devereux to do with it — was he vexed?— A fiddle-stick! He began to flag with Miss Ward, the dowager’s niece, and was glad when the refined Beauchamp, at her other side, took her up, and entertained her with Lady Carrickmore’s ball and the masquerade, and the last levee, and the withdrawing-room. There are said to have been persons who could attend to half a dozen different conversations going on together, and take a rational part in them all, and indulge, all the time, in a distinct consecutive train of thought beside. I dare say, Mr. Morphy, the chess-player, would find no difficulty in it. But Devereux was not by any means competent to the feat, though there was one conversation, perhaps, the thread of which he would gladly have caught up and disentangled. So the talk at top and bottom and both sides of the table, with its cross-readings, and muddle, and uproar, changed hands, and whisked and rioted, like a dance of Walpurgis, in his lonely brain.

What he heard, on the whole, was very like this —‘hubble-bubble-rubble-dubble — the great match of shuttlecock played between the gentlemen of the north and those of hubble-bubble — the Methodist persuasion; but — ha-ha-ha!— a squeeze of a lemon — rubble-dubble — ha-ha-ha!— wicked man — hubble-bubble — force-meat balls and yolks of eggs — rubble-dubble — musket balls from a steel cross-bow — upon my — hubble-bubble — throwing a sheep’s eye — ha-ha-ha — rubble-dubble — at the two remaining heads on Temple Bar — hubble-bubble — and the duke left by his will — rubble-dubble — a quid of tobacco in a brass snuff-box — hubble-bubble — and my Lady Rostrevor’s very sweet upon — rubble-dubble — old Alderman Wallop of John’s-lane — hubble-bubble — ha-ha-ha — from Jericho to Bethany, where David, Joab, and — rubble-dubble — the whole party upset in the mud in a chaise marine — and — hubble-bubble — shake a little white pepper over them — and — rubble-dubble — his name is Solomon — hubble-bubble — ha-ha-ha — the poor old thing dying of cold, and not a stitch of clothes to cover her nakedness — rubble-dubble — play or pay, on Finchley Common — hubble-bubble — most melancholy truly — ha-ha-ha!— rubble-dubble — and old Lady Ruth is ready to swear she never — hubble-bubble — served High Sheriff for the county of Down in the reign of Queen Anne — rubble-dubble — and Dr. and Mrs. Sturk — hubble-bubble — Secretaries of State in the room of the Duke of Grafton and General Conway — rubble-dubble — venerable prelate — ha-ha-ha! hubble-bubble — filthy creature — hubble-bubble-rubble-dubble.’

And this did not make him much wiser or merrier. Love has its fevers,............