The Kennyfecks were without strangers that day, and Cashel, who was now, as it were by unanimous election, received into the bosom of the family, enjoyed for the first time in his life a peep into the science of dinner-giving, in the discussions occasioned by the approaching banquet.

No sooner were they assembled around the drawing-room fire, than Mrs. Kennyfeck, whose whole soul was occupied by the one event, took occasion, as it were by pure accident, to remember that they “were to have some people to-morrow.” Now, the easy nonchalance of the reminiscence and the shortness of the invitation would seem to imply that it was merely one of those slight deviations from daily routine which adds two or three guests to the family table; and so, indeed, did it impress Cashel, who little knew that the dinner in question had been devised, planned, and arranged full three weeks before, and the company packed with a degree of care and selection that evinced all the importance of the event.

Time was when the Irish capital enjoyed, and justly, the highest reputation for all that constitutes social success; when around the dinner-tables of the city were met men of the highest order of intelligence, men pleased to exercise, without effort or display, all the charm of wit and eloquence, and to make society a brilliant reunion of those gifts which, in the wider sphere of active life, won fame and honors.

As the race of these bright conversers died out,—for, alas! they belonged to a past era,—their places were assumed by others of very dissimilar tastes. Many educated at English universities brought back with them to Ireland the more reserved and cautious demeanor of the other country, and thus, if not by their influence, by their mere presence, threw a degree of constraint over the tone of society, which, in destroying its freedom, despoiled it of all its charm.

Fashion, that idol of an Englishman's heart, soon became an Irish deity too, and it now grew the “ton” to be English, or at least what was supposed to be such, in dress and manner, in hours, accent, and demeanor. The attempt was never successful; the reserve and placidity which sit with gracefulness on the high-bred Englishman, was a stiff, uncourteous manner in the more cordial and volatile Irishman. His own demeanor was a tree that would not bear grafting, and the fruit lost all its raciness by the admixture.

The English officials at the Castle, the little staff of a commander of the forces, a newly-made bishop, fresh from Oxford, even the officers of the last arrived dragoon regiment, became, by right of “accent,” the types of manner and breeding in circles where, in the actual enjoyment of social qualities, they were manifestly beneath those over whom they held sway; however, they were stamped at the metropolitan mint, and the competitors were deemed a mere depreciated currency which a few years more would cancel forever.

Mrs. Kennyfeck, as a fashionable dinner-giver, of course selected her company from this more choice section; a fact which deserves to be recorded, to the credit of her hospitality; for it was a very rare occurrence indeed, when she found herself invited by any of those distinguished personages who figured the oftenest at her own table. They thought, perhaps justly, that their condescension was sufficiently great to demand no further acknowledgment; and that, as virtue is said to be its own reward, theirs was abundantly exhibited in the frankness with which they ate Kennyfeck's venison, and drank his Burgundy, both of which were excellent.

Every one dined there, because they knew “they 'd meet every one.” A pretender in the world of fashion, unlike a pretender to monarchy, is sure to have the best company in his salon; and so, although you might have met many at the tables of the first men of the country, who were there by virtue of their talents or abilities, at Kennyfeck's the company was sure to be “select.” They could not afford dilution, lest they should find themselves at ease!

“Olivia, pray take that newspaper from Mr. Kennyfeck, and let us hear who he has asked to dinner to-morrow,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, gracefully imitating an attitude of Lady Londonderry in the “Book of Beauty.”

Mr. Kennyfeck heard the request, and started; his surprise had not been greater if the Chancellor had addressed him as “Tom.” It was the first time in his life that an allusion had ever been made to the bare possibility of his inviting the company of a grand dinner; a prerogative he had never so much as dreamed of, and now he actually heard his wife refer to him, as if he were even a party to the deed.

“Invite! Mrs. Kennyfeck. I 'm sure I never thought—”

“No matter what you thought,” said his spouse, reddening at his stupidity. “I wanted to remember who are coming, that we may let Mr. Cashel learn something of our Dublin folk.”

“Here's a list, mamma,” said Olivia; “and I believe there are no apologies. Shall I read it?”

“Do so, child,” said she, but evidently out of humor that the delightful little display of indifference and ignorance should not have succeeded better.

“Sir Andrew and Lady Janet MacFarline, of course!” cried Miss Kennyfeck; “ain't they first?”

“They are,” replied her sister.

“Sir Andrew, Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, “is a very distinguished officer,—a K.C.B., and something else besides. He was in all the Duke's battles in Spain; a most gallant officer, but a little rough in manner,—Scotch, you know. Lady Janet was sister to Lord—What is that lord, Caroline? I always forget.”

“Dumkeeran, mamma.”

“Yes, that's it She is a charming person, but very proud,—very proud, indeed; will not visit with the Dublin people. With us, I must say, I have never seen anything like her kindness; we are absolutely like sisters. Go on, Olivia.”

“Lord Charles Frobisher.”

“And the Honorable Elliot St. John,” chimed in her sister; “Damon and Pythias, where a dinner is concerned.” This was said in a whisper.

“They are aides-de-camp to the Lord Lieutenant. Lord Charles is younger brother to the Duke of Derwent; quite a man of fashion, and so amusing. Oh, he 's delightful!”

“Charming!” duetted the two sisters.

“Mr. St. John is a very nice person too; but one never knows him like Lord Charles: he is more reserved. Olivia, however, says he has a great deal in him.”

“Oh, mamma! I 'm sure I don't know; I only thought him much more conversable than he gets credit for.”

“Well, I meant no more,” said her mother, who did not fancy the gathering gloom on Cashel's face at this allusion; “read on again, child.”

“Lord Chief Justice Malone.”

“Oh, Mr. Kennyfeck,” said she, playfully, “this is your doing; I suspected, from your confusion awhile ago, what you were at.” Then, turning to Roland, she said, “He is always playing us this trick, Mr. Cashel; whenever we have a few friends together, he will insist upon inviting some of his old bar cronies!”

A deep groan from Mr. Kennyfeck at the terrible profanity of thus styling the chief of the Common Pleas, made every one start; but even this, like a skilful tactician, Mrs. Kennyfeck turned to her own advantage.

“Pray don't sigh that way. He is a most excellent person, a great lawyer, and, they say, must eventually have the peerage.” She nodded to Olivia to proceed, who read on.

“The Attorney-General and Mrs. Knivett.”

“Oh, really, Mr. Kennyfeck, this is pushing prerogative; don't you think so, Mr. Cashel? Not but, you know, the Attorney-General is a great personage in this poor country; he is member for—where is it?”

“Baldoyle, mamma.”

“Yes, member for Baldoyle; and she was a Miss Gamett, of Red Gamett, in Antrim; a most respectable connection; so I think we may forgive him. Yes, Mr. Kennyfeck, you are, at least, reprieved.”

“Here come the Whites, mamma. I suppose we may reckon on both, though she, as usual, sends her hopes and fears about being with us at dinner, but will be delighted to come in the evening.”

“That apology is stereotyped,” broke in Miss Kennyfeck, “as well as the little simpering speech she makes on entering the drawing-room. 'So you see, my dear Mrs. Kennyfeck, there is no resisting you. Colonel White assured me that your pleasant dinners always set him up for a month,—he, he, he.'”

If Cashel had not laughed heartily at the lisping imitation, it is possible Mrs. Kennyfeck might have been displeased; but as the quiz “took,” she showed no umbrage whatever.

“The Honorable Downie Meek, Under Secretary of State,” read Olivia, with a little more of emphasis than on the last-mentioned names.

“A person you'll be charmed with, Mr. Cashel,—so highly informed, so well bred, so perfectly habituated to move in the very highest circles,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, giving herself, as she spoke, certain graces of gesture which she deemed illustrative of distinguished fashion.

“A cucumber dressed in oil,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck, who showed more than once a degree of impatience at these eulogistic descriptions.

“The Dean of Dramcondera, your great favorite, mamma.”

“So he is, my dear. Now, Mr. Cashel, I shall insist upon you liking my Dean. I call him my Dean, because one day last spring—”

“Mrs. Biles wants to speak to you, ma'am, for a minute,” said the butler from behind the chair; and although the interruption was anything but pleasant, yet the summons must be obeyed, for Mrs. Biles was the housekeeper, and any approach to treating her with indifference or contempt on the eve of a great dinner would be about as impolitic as insulting a general who was about to command in a great battle; so that Mrs. Kennyfeck rose to comply, not even venturing a word of complaint, lest the formidable functionary should hear of it, and take her revenge on the made dishes.

“Now for the Dean. Is mamma out of hearing?” said Miss Kennyfeck, who rejoiced at the casual opportunity of a little portrait-painting in a different style. “Conceive a tall, pompous man, with large white features, and a high bald head with a conical top; a sharp, clear, but unpleasant voice, always uttering grave nonsense, or sublime absurdity. He was a brilliant light at Oxford, and came over to illumine our darkness, and if pedantry could only supply the deficiency in the potato crop, he would be a providence to the land. His affectation is to know everything, from chuck-farthing to conic sections, and so to diffuse his information as always to talk science to young ladies, and discuss the royal game of goose with Lords of the Treasury. His failures in these attempts at Admirable Crichtonism would abash even confidence great as his, but that he is surrounded by a little staff of admirers, who fend off the sneers of the audience, and, like buffers, break the rude shocks of worldly collision. Socially, he is the tyrant of this capital; for having learning enough to be more than a match for those he encounters, and skill enough to give his paradoxes a mock air of authority, he usurps a degree of dictation and rule that makes society mere slavery. You 'll meet him to-morrow evening, and you'll see if he does not know more of Mexico and Savannah life than you do. Take care, I say, that you venture not into the wilds of the Pampas; for you'll have his companionship, not as fellow-traveller, but as guide and instructor. As for myself, whenever I read in the papers of meetings to petition Parliament to repeal this or redress that, in the name of 'Justice to Ireland,' I ask, why does nobody pray for the recall of the Dean of Drumcondera?”

“Here's mamma,” whispered Olivia, as the drawing-room door opened.

“We've done the Dean, mamma,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with calm composure.

“Well, don't you feel that you love him already? Mr. Cashel, confess that you participate in all my raptures. Oh dear! I do so admire talent and genius,” exclaimed Mrs. Kennyfeck, theatrically.

Cashel smiled, and muttered something unintelligible; and Olivia read on, but with a rapidity that showed the names required no special notice. “The Craufurds, the Smythes, Mrs. Felix Brown, Lady Emmeline Grove.”

“Oh, that dear Lady Emmeline! a most gifted creature; she 's the authoress of some sweet poems. She wrote that touching sonnet in the 'Nobility's Gallery of Loveliness,' beginning, 'Twin Sister of the Evening Star.' I'm sure you know it.”

“I 'm unfortunate enough never to have seen it,” said Cashel.

“Well, you shall see the writer to-morrow evening; I must really take care that you are acquainted. People will tell you that she is affected, and takes airs of authorship; but remember her literary success,—think of her contributions to the 'Court Journal.'”

“Those sweet flatteries of the nobility that Linton calls court-plaster, mamma,” said Miss Kennyfeck, laughing maliciously.

“Linton is very abusive,” said her mother, tartly; “he never has a good word for any one.”

“He used to be a pet of yours, mamma,” insinuated Olivia.

“So he was till he became so intimate with those atrocious Fothergills.”

“Who is he?” said Cashel.

“He's a son of Sir George Linton.”

“That's one story, mamma; but as nobody ever saw the aforesaid Sir George, the presumption is it may be incorrect. The last version is that he was found, like Moses, the discoverer being Lady Harriet Dropmore, who, with a humanity never to be forgotten,”—“or forgiven,” whispered Olivia, “for she has been often taunted with it,”—“took care of the creature, and had it reared,—nay, better again, she sent it to Rugby and to Cambridge, got it into Parliament for Elmwood, and has now made it Master of the Horse in Ireland.”

“He is the most sarcastic person I ever met.”

“It is such an easy talent,” said Miss Kennyfeck; “the worst of wine makes capital vinegar.”

“Then here follow a set of soldier people,” said Olivia,—“hussars and Queen's Bays, and a Captain Tanker of the Royal Navy,—oh, I remember, he has but one arm,—and then the Pelertons and the Cuffes.”

“Well, are we at the end of our muster-roll?”

“Yes, we have nearly reached the dregs of the cup. I see Mr. Knox Softly, and the Townleys!”

“Oh, the Townleys! Poor Mrs. Townley, with her yellow turban and red feathers, that Lord Dunbrock mistook for a vol-au-vent garnished with shrimps.”

“Caroline!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, reprovingly, for her daughter's sallies had more than once verged upon the exhaustion of her patience.

“We shall not weary you with any description of the 'refreshers,' Mr. Cashel.”

“Pray who and what are they?” inquired Cashel.

“The 'refreshers' are that amiable but undervalued class in society who are always asked for the evening when the other members of the family are invited to dine. They are the young lady and young gentleman class,—the household with ten daughters, and a governess that sings like, anything but, Persiani. They are briefless barristers, with smart whiskers; and young men reading for the Church, with moustaches; infantry officers, old maids, fellows of college, and the gentleman who tells Irish stories.”

“Caroline, I really must request—”

“But, mamma, Mr. Cashel surely ought to learn the map of the country he is to live in.”

“I am delighted to acquire my geography so pleasantly,” cried Cashel. “Pray go on.”

“I am bound over,” said she, smiling; “mamma is looking penknives at me, so I suppose I must stop. But as to these same 'refreshers,' you will easily distinguish them from the dinner company. The young ladies are always fresher in their white muslin; they walk about in gangs, and eat a prodigious deal of bread-and-butter at tea. Well, I have done, mamma, though I 'm sure I was not aware of my transgressions.”

“I declare Mr. Kennyfeck is asleep again.—Mr. Kenny-feck, have the goodness to wake up and say who is to make the whist-table for Lady Blennerbore.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, waking up and rubbing his eyes, “we'll take a verdict for the plaintiff, leaving the points reserved.”

A very general laugh here recalled him to himself, as with extreme confusion he continued, “I was so fatigued in the Rolls to-day. It was an argument relative to a trust, Mr. Cashel, which it is of great moment you should be relieved of.”

“Oh, never trouble your head about it now, sir,” said Cashel, good-naturedly. “I am quite grieved at the weariness and fatigue my affairs are costing you.”

“I was asking about Lady Blennerbore's whist,” interposed Mrs. Kennyfeck. “Who have you for her party besides the Chief Justice?”

“Major M'Cartney says he can't afford it, mamma,” said the eldest daughter, slyly. “She is so very lucky with the honors!”

“Where is Thorpe?” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, not deigning to notice this speech,—“he used to like his rubber.”

“He told me,” said Miss Kennyfeck, “that he would n't play with her Ladyship any more; that one had some chance formerly, but that since she has had that touch of the palsy, she does what she likes with the Kings and Aces.”

“This is atrocious; never let me hear it again,” said the mamma, indignantly; “at all events, old Mr. Moore Hacket will do.”

“Poor old man, he is so blind that he has to thumb the cards all over to try and know them by the feel, and then he always washes the King and Queen's faces with a snuffy handkerchief, so that the others are sneezing at every trick they play.”

“Caroline, you permit yourself to take the most improper freedoms; I desire that we may have no more of this.”

“I rather like old Mr. Hacket,” said the incorrigible assailant; “he mistook Mr. Pottinger's bald and polished head for a silver salver, and laid his teacup on it, the last evening he was here.”

If Cashel could not help smiling at Miss Kennyfeck's sallies, he felt it was in rather a strange spirit of hospitality the approaching entertainment was given, since few of the guests were spared the most slighting sarcasms, and scarcely for any was there professed the least friendship or affection. He was, however, very new to “the world,” and the strange understanding on which its daily intercourse, its social life of dinners, visits, and dÉjeuners subsists, was perfectly unknown to him. He had much to learn; but as his nature was of an inquiring character, he was as equal as he was well inclined to its task. It was then, with less enjoyment of the scene for its absurdity, than actually as an occasion to acquire knowledge of people and modes of living hitherto unknown, he listened gravely to the present discussion, and sat with attentive ears to hear who was to take in Lady Janet, and whether Sir Archy should precede the Chief Justice or not; if a Dragoon Colonel should take the pas of an Attorney-General, and whether it made the same difference in an individual's rank that it did in his comfort, that he was on the half-pay list When real rank is concerned, few things are easier than the arrangement of such details; the rules are simple, the exceptions few, if any; but in a society where the distinctions are inappreciable, where the designations are purely professional, an algebraic equation is simpler of solution than such difficulties.

Then came a very animated debate as to the places at table, wherein lay the extreme difficulty of having every one away from the fire and nobody in a draught, except, of course, those little valued guests who really appeared to play the ignoble part of mortar in a great edifice, being merely the cohesive ingredient that averted friction between more important materials. Next came the oft-disputed question as to whether the champagne should be served with the petits pÂtÉs, after the fish, or at a remote stage of the second course, the young ladies being eager advocates of the former, Mrs. Kennyfeck as firmly denouncing the practice as a new-fangled thing, that “the Dean” himself said he had never seen at Christchurch; but the really great debate arose on a still more knotty point, and one on which it appeared the family had brought in various bills, without ever discovering the real remedy. It was by what means—of course, moral force means—it were possible to induce old Lady Blennerbore to rise from table whenever Mrs. Kennyfeck had decreed that move to be necessary.

It was really moving to listen to Mrs. Kennyfeck's narratives of signals unnoticed and signs unattended to; that even on the very last day her Ladyship had dined there, Mrs. Kennyfeck had done little else for three quarters of an hour than half stand and sit down again, to the misery of herself and the discomfort of her neighbors.

“Poor dear old thing,” said Olivia, “she is so very nearsighted.”

“Not a bit of it,” said her sister; “don't tell me of bad sight that can distinguish the decanter of port from the claret, which I have seen her do some half-dozen times without one blunder.”

“I 'd certainly stop the supplies,” said Cashel; “wouldn't that do?”

“Impossible!” said Miss Kennyfeck; “you couldn't starve the whole garrison for one refractory subject.”

“Mr. Linton's plan was a perfect failure, too,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck. “He thought by the introduction of some topic ladies do not usually discuss that she would certainly withdraw; on the contrary, her Ladyship called out to me, 'I see your impatience, my dear, but I must hear the end of this naughty story.' We tried the French plan, too, and made the gentlemen rise with us; but really they were so rude and ill-tempered the entire evening after, I 'll never venture on it again.”

Here the whole party sighed and were silent, as if the wished-for mode of relief were as distant as ever.

“Must we really ask those Claridge girls to sing, mamma?” said Miss Kennyfeck, after a long pause.

“Of course you must. They were taught by Costa, and they are always asked wherever they go.”

“As a matter of curiosity, Mr. Cashel, the thing is worth hearing. Paganini's monocorde was nothing to it, for they 'll go through a whole scena of Donizetti with only one note in their voice. Oh dear! how very tiresome it all is; the same little scene of pressings and refusals and entreaties and rejections, and the oft-repeated dispute of the sisters between 'Notte divina' and 'Non vedro mai,' ending in that Tyrolese thing, which is on every organ in the streets, and has not the merit of the little shaved dog with the hat in his mouth, to make it droll. And then”—here Miss Kennyfeck caught a side glance of a most rebuking frown on her mother's face, so that adroitly addressing herself to Cashel, she seemed unaware of it,—“and then, when the singing is over, and those who detest music are taking their revenge by abusing the singers, and people are endeavoring to patch up the interrupted chattings,—then, I suppose, we are quite suddenly, without the slightest premeditation, to suggest a quadrille or carpet-dance. This is to be proposed as a most new and original idea that never occurred to any one before, and is certain to be hailed with a warm enthusiasm; all the young ladies smiling and smirking, and the gentlemen fumbling for their soiled kid gloves,—clean ones would destroy the merit of the impromptu.”

“I 'm certain Mr. Cashel's impression of our society here will scarcely be flattering, from what he has heard this evening,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, rising.

“He'll see with his own eyes to-morrow night,” said Miss Kennyfeck, coolly.

“Will you favor me with a little of your time in the morning?” said Mr. Kennyfeck to Cashel. “I find that I cannot avoid troubling you; there are several documents for signature, and if you could devote an hour, or, if possible, two—”

“I am perfectly at your orders,” said Cashel; “the ladies say that they will not ride, and therefore dispose of me as you like.”

A hearty good-night followed, and the party broke up.