With scraping of feet,
grins, and bows, they welcome us back, smother us with compliments,
and seem overwilling to lavish their kindness. From the parlour they
bow us into a long room in the right wing, its walls being plain
boarded, and well ventilated with open seams. A table is spread with
substantial edibles,-such as ham, bacon, mutton, and fish. These
represent the southern planter's fare, to which he seldom adds those
pastry delicacies with which the New Englander is prone to decorate
his table. The party become seated as Franconia graces the festive
board with her presence, which, being an incentive of gallantry,
preserves the nicest decorum, smooths the conversation. The wine-cup
flows freely; the Elder dips deeply-as he declares it choice.
Temperance being unpopular in the south, it is little regarded at
Marston's mansion. As for Marston himself, he is merely preparing
the way to play facetious jokes on the Elder, whose arm he touches
every few minutes, reminding him how backward he is in replenishing
his glass.
Not at all backward in such matters, the Elder fills up, asks the
pleasure of drinking his very good health, and empties the liquid
into the safest place nearest at hand. Repeated courses have their
effect; Marston is pleased, the Elder is mellow. With muddled
sensibilities his eyes glare wildly about the table, and at every
fresh invitation to drink he begs pardon for having neglected his
duty, fingers the ends of his cravat, and deposits another
glass,-certainly the very last.
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