was
over; and told Goldmore as wonderful a history about the way in which
that bottle of wine had come into his hands as any of his former stories
had been. When the repast was all over, and it was near time to move
to the play, and Mrs. Gray had retired, and we were sitting ruminating
rather silently over the last glasses of the port, Gray suddenly breaks
the silence by slapping Goldmore on the shoulder, and saying, 'Now,
Goldmore, tell me something.'

'What?' asks Croesus.

'Haven't you had a good dinner?'

Goldmore started, as if a sudden truth had just dawned upon him. He HAD
had a good dinner; and didn't know it until then. The three mutton-chops
consumed by him were best of the mutton kind; the potatoes were perfect
of their order; as for the rolypoly, it was too good. The porter was
frothy and cool, and the port-wine was worthy of the gills of a bishop.
I speak with ulterior views; for there is more in Gray's cellar.

'Well,' says Goldmore, after a pause, during which he took time to
consider the momentous question Gray put to him--' 'Pon my word--now
you say so--I--I have--I really have had a monsous good dinnah--monsous
good, upon my ward! Here's your health, Gray my boy, and your amiable
lady; and when Mrs. Goldmore comes back, I hope we shall see you more in
Portland Place.' And with this the time came for the play, and we went
to see Mr. Phelps at Sadler's Wells. The best of this story (for the
truth of every word of which I pledge my honour) is, that after this
banquet, which Goldmore enjoyed so, the honest fellow felt a prodigious
compassion and regard for the starving and miserable giver of the feast,
and determined to help him in his profession. And being a Director of
the newly-established Antibilious Life Assurance Company, he has had
Gray appointed Standing Counsel, with a pretty annual fee; and
only yesterday, in an appeal from Bombay (Buckmuckjee Bobbachee v.
Ramchowder-Bahawder) in the Privy Council, Lord Brougham complimented
Mr. Gray, who was in the case, on his curious and exact knowledge of the
Sanscrit language.

Whether he knows Sanscrit or not, I can't say; but Goldmore got him the
business; and so I cannot help having a lurking regard for that pompous
old Bigwig.

CHAPTER XXXVI--SNOBS AND MARRIAGE

'We Bachelors in Clubs are very much obliged to you,' says my old school
and college companion, Essex Temple, 'for the opinion which you hold of
us. You call us selfish, purple-faced