"and the soup is potage de mouton a
l'Ecossaise. The side-dishes contain pommes de terre au naturel, and
choufleur a l'eau."

"Mutton's mutton," said the Baronet, "and a devilish good thing. What
SHIP was it, Horrocks, and when did you kill?" "One of the black-faced
Scotch, Sir Pitt: we killed on Thursday.

"Who took any?"

"Steel, of Mudbury, took the saddle and two legs, Sir Pitt; but he says
the last was too young and confounded woolly, Sir Pitt."

"Will you take some potage, Miss ah--Miss Blunt? said Mr. Crawley.

"Capital Scotch broth, my dear," said Sir Pitt, "though they call it by
a French name."

"I believe it is the custom, sir, in decent society," said Mr. Crawley,
haughtily, "to call the dish as I have called it"; and it was served to
us on silver soup plates by the footmen in the canary coats, with the
mouton aux navets. Then "ale and water" were brought, and served to us
young ladies in wine-glasses. I am not a judge of ale, but I can say
with a clear conscience I prefer water.

While we were enjoying our repast, Sir Pitt took occasion to ask what
had become of the shoulders of the mutton.

"I believe they were eaten in the servants' hall," said my lady, humbly.

"They was, my lady," said Horrocks, "and precious little else we get
there neither."

Sir Pitt burst into a horse-laugh, and continued his conversation with
Mr. Horrocks. "That there little black pig of the Kent sow's breed
must be uncommon fat now."

"It's not quite busting, Sir Pitt," said the butler with the gravest
air, at which Sir Pitt, and with him the young ladies, this time, began
to laugh violently.

"Miss Crawley, Miss Rose Crawley," said Mr. Crawley, "your laughter
strikes me as being exceedingly out of place."

"Never mind, my lord," said the Baronet, "we'll try the porker on
Saturday. Kill un on Saturday morning, John Horrocks. Miss Sharp
adores pork, don't you, Miss Sharp?"

And I think this is all the conversation that I remember at dinner.
When the repast was concluded a jug of hot water was placed before Sir
Pitt, with a case-bottle containing, I believe, rum. Mr. Horrocks
served myself and my pupils with three little glasses of wine, and a
bumper was poured out for my lady. When we retired, she took from her
work-drawer an enormous interminable piece of knitting; the young
ladies began to play at cribbage with a dirty pack of cards. We had
but one candle lighted, but it was in a magnificent old silve