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exact distribution of labor, evinced by its busy inhabitants. Indeed, the House of Industry much more resembled a wasp's nest, where the peevish swarm were all restless and irritated by some recent disturbance. Every body was out of humor. Mrs. Twigg scolded and wept by turns, and threatened to faint, but had not time to spare for fits; and the cook fumed and broiled at her mistress's culinary interference. The coachman sulkily helped in the kitchen, to whip cream instead of horses. The butler quarrelled with the footman; and the housemaids among themselves. The gardener growled and grumbled while he transported his hothouse plants into the open air, cropped all his choicest buds and blossoms to make bouquets and fill baskets, nor did it make him amends for his real flowers, to see artificial ones in wreaths and festoons decorating his favorite "old statues," so that Mercury looked as if he was going to dance in a ballet, and Neptune as if he had just come from Covent Garden. The grooms grew weary of galloping express on coach-horses, as the jealous tradespeople of the village tardily executed, or altogether neglected, the stray orders for forgotten articles which they grumbled "had better have been had down from London like

the rest." To crown the confusion, the cub arrived full of boisterous spirits, and began to amuse himself with

a whole flock of larks, a phrase that indicated those practical jokes, in which persons of limited capacity

are so apt to indulge. He locked the butler in his pantry-sent off the footman, when most in request, on frivolous errands-plugged the pipes of keys-fastened chairs together-set tables topsyturvy-shut the cat in the china-closet-fastened the house-dog to the gate-bell-and then was discovered ranting as Belvidera, with his clumsy person thrust into a new dress that had just been sent home for his sister. 'Tilda screamed and scolded, the mother begged and prayed-but the mischicvous spirit of this domestic Caliban was not properly quelled till Twigg senior had ten times turned him out of the business, twenty times cut him off with a shilling, and, at last, given him a sound cuffing with his own fatherly hands.

It seemed impossible that the festive preparation could be completed by the given day; but the time came, and every thing was in order. As the cub had predicted, the governor had rolled a great many entertainments into one. In the centre of the lawn stood a large marquee, containing an ample cold collation, which made a very showy appearance, the principal dishes being kept cold by the new massive silver covers, each surmounted by the family emblem, a bee, big enough for a cockchafer. Above this pavilion waved, or rather should have waved, a broad silken banner, that had often fluttered and flaunted in the procession of the Worshipful Company of Ironmongers, but now, for want of wind, hung down as motion

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less as a piece of hardware. In a line with the marquee was a target for archery, so posted, that whoever missed the butt would have a fair chance of hitting the tent; whilst, for the accommodation of anglers, the margin of the large fish-pond was furnished with sundry elbow-chairs, wherein the sedentary angler might enjoy "the contemplative man's recreation," in the immediate vicinity of a country dance and a pandean band, in those days as fashionable a band as Weippart's or Colinet's at the present time. To accommodate the musicians, the octagon summerhouse was fitted up as a temporary orchestra, in front of which stood a column of benches three deep; for Twigg, on personally inviting the pedagogue of Prospect House, and begging a whole holyday for the boys, had embraced that eligible opportunity of borrowing all the school forms. On the opposite side of the garden, the orange trees and exotics from the hothouse formed an avenue up to an arbor, christened, for the occasion, the Temple of Flora, and specially dedicated to the occupation of Miss Twigg, who undertook, in an appropriate fancy dress, to represent the Queen of Flowers. The Hermitage, in a secluded corner of the grounds, had its rustic table furnished with a huge portfolio of colored caricatures; and the paddock was devoted to trapball and cricket, the wicket for the latter game being considerately pitched, so that a barn on one side, and a haystack on the other, would materially assist the fieldsmen in stopping the ball. A whimsical feature remains to be mentioned. In anticipation of syllabub, Daisy, a polled Alderney, was tethered at a corner of the lawn, a store Cupid seeming ludicrously to keep watch over her, in the capacity of a cowboy.

Such were the festive arrangements over which Twigg glanced with a satisfaction that made him frequently wash his hands without water or soap, while he mentally contrasted the gay scene before him with the humble prospects of his youth. He was dressed in a full court suit of plum color, in which, as Sheriff, he had gone up with an address to the King; his partner, with her embonpoint and her pink satin, looked extremely like that hearty and substantial flower, a full-blown cabbage-rose; while Tilda, in apple-green silk, festooned with artificial flowers, and her hair wreathed with real ones, appeared actually, as he expressed it, “a cut above human nature."

At the first encounter of husband and wife in their full plumage, she saluted him with a very profound courtesy, which he returned by an elaborate bow, as if in joint rehearsal of the ceremonies to come, and then they mutually congratulated each other on the propitious weather, for the sky was calm and cloudless, though it was rather hot for the season; indeed, as Twigg said, he should have thought it" very hard if a man of his property could not have a fine day for a fete."

One thing puzzled the worthy pair. Few of the neighboring gentry had accepted their invitation, though the Ilive was so handy, and they had carriages of their own; whereas the metropolitan families who had been asked, came almost to a fraction, notwithstanding the distance was considerable, and many had to hire vehicles. It was singular, besides, that those who had the farthest to travel arrived first; guests from Bishopsgate, Ludgate, and Cripplegate, came in, and had successively made the tour of the house and grounds before a single soul was announced who belonged to the

vicinity. However, the interval was a grateful one, for it allowed the master and mistress of the Hive to feel really "at home" with their former connections, and to indulge in the luxury of civic recollections, unrepressed by the presence of their more aristocratic acquaintance. Mrs. Twigg exhibited to her female friends her drawing-room, bed-rooms, store-room, kitchen, wash-house, brewhouse, and her unprofitable dairy; meanwhile Twigg paraded his old cronies through his diningroom, billiard-room, study, and stables, or trotted them round the grounds, pointing out peeps and prospects, and then rushing back to act as showman to fresh batches, who were successively ushered into the garden by Pompey, his black face opening from ear to ear, like a personification of Coalman's Broad Grins. The coachman, in topboots, assisted the footman; and the gardener, a sort of Jerry Blossom, fancy-dressed in a straw-hat, peagreen coat, skyblue hose, and parsley-and-butter waistcoat, trotted after his master, to give the proper names of the flowers and shrubs, for the proprietor scarcely knew a peony from a pink.

At one o'clock all the company had arrived, excepting the Tyrrels and the Riverses; many of the younger guests coming in fancy dresses, more or less tasteful; there were Swiss, Turkish, and Grecian maids; nuns, Dianas, nymphs, Spanish Dons, troubadours, monks, knights, a shepherd, and no less than three shepherdesses, without a sheep. The air was now become oppressively sultry; but Twigg suffered little from the weather, in comparison with his hot and cold fits of nervousness and anxiety, originating in other causes than the mere novelty of his situation. First, he had to endure a long complimentary oration from Doctor Bellamy, an appropriate answer to which would have cost the hearer more trouble than a speech in common council; then he had to meet the Squire for the first time since smashing his decanters;—the pedagogue from Prospect House was perpetually addressing him with Latin quotations; and he was especially puzzled by the presence of the Rev. Dr. Cobb,-for archery and cricket were sports for laymen, and he could think of no clerical amusement, except inviting the worthy vicar every ten minutes to eat or drink. The occasional absences of his son kept him, besides, in an intermitting fever, for he judged rightly, that the cub, when out of sight, was engaged in mischief; above all, he could not help noticing that a damp hung over the spirits of the whole company, which he vainly tried to dissipate. The town party and the country party refused to amalgamate, and took opposite sides of the garden, like Whigs and Tories; nay, the very sexes seemed to antipathize, and the young ladies planted themselves in clumps on one part of the lawn, while the young gentlemen formed groups elsewhere. Possibly, like the guests at the feast after the manner of the ancients, as recorded in Peregrine Pickle, each individual awaited the example of his neighbor how he was to behave or enjoy himself at so unusual an entertainment; perhaps mirth was depressed by the earnest injunction to be merry of the host and hostess, who did not know that to bid a wit "to be funny," is to desire him to be dull. As Twigg trotted to and fro with the activity and volubility of a flying pieman, he indulged in such patter as the following:

"My dear Miss Tipper, I declare, as blooming as ever-glad to see you take an ice-Mrs. Crowder,

have you been round the grounds?-Rev. Dr. Cobb, a glass of wine-Pray make free, gentlemen-Liberty Hall, you know-Matilda, Miss Dobbs would like to see Flora's Temple-Tilda looks well, don't she?-Mr. Deputy, there'll be a collation at four in the tent; but take a snack beforehand-plenty in the dining-room-come, young folks, be merry, be merry-what are you all for?-there's bow and arrows; and cricket and fishing, and dancing on the green, and music-Mrs. Tilby, I know you're fond of vocals-run, Pompey, and desire Mr. Hopkinson for the favor of a song-my dear, do keep an eye on John, he's drunk already, d- -n him-Mr. Sparks, a glass of wine-the same with you, Mr. Dowson-here, this way into the green-housecome, hob-a-nob-a pretty scene, isn't it, Sparks, my old boy-and all my own property-Mr. Dowson, I can't help remembering old times; but many's the time Sparks and me has clubbed our shillings together for a treat at Bagnigge Wells. A great change though, say. you, from that to this. I little thought when I wrote T. Twigg with a wateringtin, on a dusty pavement, that I should be signing it some day to cheques for thousands. I don't care who knows it, but I wasn't always the warm man I am to-day. Mr. Squire, pray step in-a glass of wine-glad to see you, Mr. Squire-break as much as you please, and I won't say any thing; we shall only be quits-now for a look about again-where the devil is T., junior?—Mr. Danvers, go to my daughter's bower, she'll present you with a bouquet -Dr. Bellamy, a glass of wine-Miss Trimmer, I know you like solitude; and that's the way to the Hermitage. Don't be alarmed at the cow, she's only flapping off the flies-Dr. Cobb, there's lunch in the dining-room-Mr. Cottrel, do go and divide those young ladies-beaux, beaux, what are you about?--come, choose partners, don't let the band play for nothing-Mr. Crump, a glass of wine-"

Such was the style of Twigg's exhortations; who, unlike other lecturers, endeavored to enforce his precepts by practice. He made a dozen ineffectual offers with the trap-bat at the ball, bobbed a fishing line up and down in the fish-pond, seized Mrs. Deputy Dobbs, and cut a brief caper with her on the grass plat, and finally, fitting an arrow to a bow, the shaft escaped from his fingers, and passed through Mrs. Tipper's turban, where it lodged, like a skewer a la Grecque. Such a commencement made every one adverse to archery, and particularly as Mrs. Twigg requested that before shooting any more arrows, they would let her put corks on all the points. As to angling, it seemed universally agreed, that on such a day no fish would take a bait; and with regard to dancing, Twigg's tarantula did not bite any more than the fish, whilst the trapball and the cricket-ball were as much out of favor as the ball on the lawn. Music itself seemed for once to have lost its charms, and the most popular of Mr. Hopkinson's songs attracted no auditor but Dr. Bellamy, who sat gravely bowing time, and waving his hand in accompaniment of the long, elaborate, rambling cadences then in fashion, and which might aptly be compared to the extraneous flourishes so much in vogue at the same period, when the pen went curveting off from plain pothooks and hangers into ornamental swans, ships, dragoons, eagles, and fierce faces in flowing wigs. Indeed, from the evolutions of Old Formality's right hand and fore-finger, their sweeps, and wavings, and circumgyrations, and occasional rapid spin

nings, a deaf man would certainly have thought that he was meditating and practising some such caligraphic devices on the empty air.

At last Massa, Baronet Tyrrel was announced by the obsequious Pompey, and the jovial Sir Murk immediately appeared, with his family, including his daughter elect, Grace Rivers, the avocations of the Justice not allowing him to be present so early. The Baronet, delivered from gout, was in excellent health and spirits; Mrs. Hamilton seemed unusually cheerful; Raby and Grace were of course happy in each other's society; and even Ringwood and St. Kitts appeared either to have forgotten their old feud, or to have agreed on an armistice for the day. The host and hostess were loud and eager in their welcome and salutations.

"Oh, Sir Mark Tyrrel, Baronet," exclaimed Mrs. Twigg, in a tone of reproach, "how could you be so behind time? You promised to enjoy a long day."

"To be sure, madam," answered Sir Mark, "to judge by the field, I am rather late at the meet; but no matter--a short burst may be a merry one; and as yet, from all I see, I have lost little sport."

"Sir Mark Tyrrel, Baronet, a glass of wine ?" said Mr. Twigg. "A votary of Diana," lisped Miss Twigg, "must be a friend to Flora,-may I offer a bouquet ?"

"I shall be proud and happy," returned the gallant Sir Mark, with a bow that belonged to the Hunt Balls; but in stepping hastily forward to receive the nosegay, he unluckily set his right foot with some emphasis on the forepaw of a little Blenheim spaniel that was careering round Flora's green sandals. The poor brute immediately set up a dismal howl, and the Goddess, divesting her hands with little ceremony of the proffered bouquet, caught up the curly favorite, and began to fondle it in her arms.

"D- -n the dog!" exclaimed Twigg, with his usual abruptness; "chuck him down again, and give Sir Mark Tyrrel, Baronet, his bow-pot."

"I am really ashamed of her, sir," said the mother, stooping and presenting the flowers herself; "but the little animal's a great darling, a real Marlbro', and a present from Mr. Ringwood."

The Baronet winced at the information, and could have kicked the dog back to Blenheim with all his heart; while Ringwood, Raby, and the Creole exchanged looks of vexation with each other, which gradually altered into smiles, and at last they all laughed in concert. There's a story current on the turf, of a certain jockey who very profitably disposed of three several whips, to as many gentlemen, as the identical whip with which he had won the Derby; and the keeper, or under-keeper of Blenheim had practised a similar imposition on our three collegians, by selling to each of them the only spaniel of that celebrated breed that "was not to be had for love or money." However, each prudently kept the secret. Twigg took the Baronet into the green-house for a glass of wine; Mrs. Twigg invited Mrs. Hamilton to take a peep at the preparations in the marquee, and Matilda led Grace to her temple.

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During this interlude the dulness of the rest of the company had rather increased, and the gaudy flag, that still drooped motionless upon its staff, seemed a proper emblem of their listless and inanimate condition. They stood about the grounds in

groups, idle, weary, and dreary, and seemed by common consent to have adopted the line of conduct of the Hon. Mr. Danvers, a sort of exclusive of those days, who, in answer to every proposition of amusement, lisped languidly, "that he preferred to look on."

"It's very odd a man of my property can't have a merry party," thought Twigg, as he looked round on his grand to-do, and saw the festive scene with a visible damp over it, like a wet night at Vauxhall. In the bitterness of his heart he sidled up to Mrs. Twigg, who was standing near the marquee, and said to her, in a low tone, "Our friends, d- -n them, are as dull as ditch-water. What the devil can we do with them?"

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"Nine, ten, eleven," said Mrs. abstracted look, and a little nod of her head at each number.

"What the is running in your fool's head, madam?" said the master of the Hive.

"Hush; fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen," continued Mrs. Twigg, with the action of a Mandarin. "Drat that Pompey; I know there's more heads than plates." And she rushed off to scold the oblivious black. The poor African, indeed, during the last half hour, had fully entitled himself to receive what Twigg, junior, would have called a regular good wigging.

A breath of air displaying for the first time the Ironmongers' banner, it was discovered that the obtuse negro had hoisted it reversed, with all the armorial bearings of that Worshipful Company standing on their heads; and in absurdly attempting to rectify this blunder, by swarming up the staff, down came Pompey, pole, flag, and all, on the dignified head of the Hon. Mr. Danvers, who was indulging his preference for looking on. His next exploit was in bowing and backing to make way for Mr. Justice Rivers, whereby he got a fair roll and tumble over Miss Bower, one of the shepherdesses, who was sitting very pastorally on the grass; and by-and-by, recollecting some neglected previous order, he ran off headlong to execute it, popping down a trayful of ices to thaw and dissolve themselves into a dew, under the broiling sun. long hundred of such little enormities were committed by the wrong-headed Hottentot; but only imagine the amazement of his mistress, when she saw him gravely conveying a reinforcement of cake and wine to the green-house in a common handbarrow-and conceive her still greater horror when he came back on the broad grin, with the same vehicle containing the helpless, portly body of the coachman as drunk as the celebrated sow of David. The only possible thing that could be urged in favor of the sot, was, that he was not cross in his cups, for during his progress he persisted in singing a jolly song, quite as broad as it was long, with all the voice that he had left.

"I shall faint away! I shall go wild! I shall die on the spot!" exclaimed the distressed mistress of the Hive. "I wonder where Mr. T. is? That Pompey is enough to-has any body seen Mr. T.? It is really cruel,-what can a woman do with a tipsy man? Do run about, Peter, and look for your master, Mr. T.! Mr. T.! Mr. T.!"

But no one responded to the invocation, although the whole grounds resounded, gradually, with an universal call for Mr. Twigg. The unhappy lady was in despair-she feared she knew not what. When she last saw him, he had been worked up

by successive mistakes and accidents to an awful pitch of nervous excitement, and she did not feel sure that he had not actually run away in a paroxysm of disgust and horror, leaving her, like Lady Macbeth, to huddle up the banquet as she might. At last a popping sound attracted her to the tent, and there she found the wished-for personage, cursing and swearing in a whisper, and stopping with each thumb a bottle of champagne, which had suffered so from the hot weather, that the fixed air had determined on visiting the fresh.

Oh, Mr. T., what would you think!"-began the poor hostess, but he cut her short; and the following dialogue ensued:

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Hamstring her!-kill her! knock her on the head!" shouted Twigg, dancing on his tiptoes with excitement, and unconsciously imitating the action of a slaughter-man.

"None of your clack, madam; but stop those mistress, with some indications of her old fainting two bottles"—and he pointed to a couple of long-fits. necked fizzlers; "d- -n it, madam, stop 'em tight, -you're making them squirt in my face. There you go agin! Where's Pompey,-where's Peter, where's John,-what the devil's the use of servants, if they're away when you want 'em-curse the champagne!-Here's a pretty situation for a man of my property!"

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'My dear, do only have a little patience-" "Patience be hanged! I've been standing so, madam, this half hour-till I've got a cramp in both thumbs. I told that rascal, John, never to quit the tent, and you, madam, you, with your confounded she-gossips—why didn't you come sooner? I'll tell you what-if ever I have a fete again-is any body happy-is any body lively-will any body shoot at the target-or dance on the lawn-or play cricket? No, says you, it's a failure, a regular failure; and as for pleasure, there an't a farthing in the pound!"

The colloquy would doubtless have proceeded much further, but for a succession of female shrieks which arose from all quarters at once, whereat leaving the champagne to take care of itself, the perplexed pair rushed out, with palpitating hearts, to inquire into the nature of this new catastrophe. And truly they beheld a sight to London-bred spectators peculiarly appalling. The human groups that occupied the lawn had disappeared, and in lieu of them, the terrific Alderney was racing about "like mad," with her head up, and her tail bolt upright, and as stiff as a kitchen poker. Driven to wildness by three hours' exposure to a hot sun, and the incessant tormenting stings of insects, poor Daisy had broken her tether, or more probably it had been cut for her by young Twigg, and she immediately began that headlong gallop which cows are apt to take when goaded by the breeze-fly. After running three heats round the lawn, she naturally made for the shades of the shrubbery, but being headed back by the gentlemen, she paused, and looked around for an instant, as if to consider; and then, making up her mind, she suddenly dashed off for the only place of shelter, and rushed headlong into the marquee. An awful crash ensued. Plate clattered, glass jingled, and timber banged! The canvas bulged fearfully on one side, and the moorings giving way, out rushed Daisy, and down fell the tent like a clap-net, decidedly catching the cold fowls, ducks, and pigeons that were under it.

A loud cry of a mixed character arose from the spectators of this lamentable catastrophe. The ladies screamed from terror; the expectant citizens bellowed from hungry disappointment, and some of the younger gentlemen, amateurs of fun, gave a shout that sounded like a huzza!

"She's upset the tables!" shrieked Mrs. Twigg, with her arms working aloft like a telegraph's. "And there goes every delicacy of the season," exclaimed Mr. Twigg, gazing with the stupefied aspect of an underwriter at a total wreck.

groaned the lady.

แ "The new covers "All battered and bruised-nothing but dents and bumps," added her husband, in the same tone. "And the beautiful cut glass-not a bit of it blowed," said the hostess, beginning to whimper.

After standing a minute at gaze, the cow had recommenced her career about the lawn, causing a general panic, and nature's first law, the sauve qui peut principle, triumphed over all others. Guided by this instinct, Twigg rushed into the green-house, and resolutely shut the door against the cow, as well as against Mrs. Twigg, who had made for the same place of refuge. The corpulent Mr. Deputy Dobbs, by hard running, contrived to place the breadth of the fish-pond between himself and the "infuriated animal," the orchestra box, alias the octagon summer-house, was crowded with company,-the hermitage, oh, shade of Zimmerman, what a sacrilege! was a perfect squeeze; and Flora had clambered up the lattice-work of her temple, and sat shrieking on the top. All the guests were in safety but one; and every one trembled at the probable fate of Mrs. Tipper, who had been sitting on the end of a form, and was not so alert in jumping up from it as her juniors. The bench, on a mechanical principle well understood, immediately reared up and threw it's rider; and before the unfortunate lady, as she afterwards averred, "could feel her feet, she saw the rampaging cretur come tearing at her, with the black man arter her, making her ten times worser."

The scared Alderney, however, in choosing her course, had no design against Mrs. Tipper, but merely inclined to enjoy a cold bath in the fishpond, into which she accordingly plunged, accompanied by Pompey, who had just succeeded, after many attempts, in catching hold of the remnant of her tether. In they went-souse!-saluted by a chorus of laughter from the orchestra; and there, floundering up to their necks in water, the black animal and the red one hauled each other about, and splashed and dashed as if an aquatic parody of the combat of Guy of Warwick and Dun Cow had been part of the concerted entertainments.

"Confound the fellow-she'll be drown'd!" cried an angry voice from the greenhouse.

"His livery's dish'd and done for," responded a melancholy voice from the hothouse.

"Oh! my gold-fish will be killed!" cried a shrill tone from the top of the temple; while a vaccine bellow resounded from the pond, intermingled with a volley of African jargon, of which only one sentence could be caught, and it intimated a new disaster.

"O ki! him broke all de fishin'-rods and de lines!" As Pompey spoke, he exchanged his grasp of the halter, which had become slippery, for a clutch at the tail; an indignity the animal no sooner felt, than with a desperate effort she scrambled out of the pond, and dashed off at full gallop towards the paddock, making a dreadful gap by the way in Flora's display of exotics, whether in tubs or pots. As for Pompey, through not timing his leap with the cow's, he was left sprawling under the rails of the paddock; meanwhile the persecuted Alderney finally took shelter under the shade of the haystack.

"Smash'd-shivered to atoms-curse her soul!" cried the host, with the fervor of a believer in the And now the company, with due caution, came metempsychossi. abroad again from roof and shed and leafy recess, "My poor damask table-cloths!" moaned the like urchins after a shower. Twigg sallied from the

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