The Duke of Omnium and Lady Hartletop are undoubtedly
wise to have everything handed round. Friends of mine who
occasionally dine at such houses tell me that they get their wine
quite as quickly as they can drink it, that their mutton is brought
to them without delay, and that the potato bearer follows quick upon
the heels of carnifer. Nothing can be more comfortable, and we may no
doubt acknowledge that these first-class grandees do understand their
material comforts. But we of the eight hundred can no more come up to
them in this than we can in their opera-boxes and equipages. May I
not say that the usual tether of this class, in the way of carnifers,
cup-bearers, and the rest, does not reach beyond neat-handed Phyllis
and the greengrocer? and that Phyllis, neat-handed as she probably
is, and the greengrocer, though he be ever so active, cannot
administer a dinner to twelve people who are prohibited by a
Medo-Persian law from all self-administration whatever? And may I not
further say that the lamentable consequence to us eight hundreders
dining out among each other is this, that we too often get no dinner
at all. Phyllis, with the potatoes, cannot reach us till our mutton
is devoured, or in a lukewarm state past our power of managing; and
Ganymede, the greengrocer, though we admire the skill of his necktie
and the whiteness of his unexceptionable gloves, fails to keep us
going in sherry.
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