Benedict's were so splendid and enormous, that James, Mrs. Chuff's boy,
trembled amongst them, and said he would give warning rather than carry
the books to that church any more.
The furnishing of the house was not done without expense.
And, ye gods! what a difference there was between Sackville's dreary
French banquets in Pimlico, and the jolly dinners at the Oval! No more
legs-of-mutton, no more of 'the best port-wine in England;' but ENTREES
on plate, and dismal twopenny champagne, and waiters in gloves, and
the Club bucks for company--among whom Mrs. Chuff was uneasy and Mrs.
Sackville quite silent.
Not that he dined at home often. The wretch had become a perfect
epicure, and dined commonly at the Club with the gormandising clique
there; with old Doctor Maw, Colonel Cramley (who is as lean as a
greyhound and has jaws like a jack), and the rest of them. Here you
might see the wretch tippling Sillery champagne and gorging himself with
French viands; and I often looked with sorrow from my table, (on which
cold meat, the Club small-beer, and a half-pint of Marsala form the
modest banquet,) and sighed to think it was my work.
And there were other beings present to my repentant thoughts. Where's
his wife, thought I? Where's poor, good, kind little Laura? At this
very moment--it's about the nursery bed-time, and while yonder
good-for-nothing is swilling his wine--the little ones are at Laura's
knees lisping their prayers: and she is teaching them to say--'Pray God
bless Papa.
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