A WEST-END DINNER PARTY.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume VII, Issue 1825, 26 April 1888, Page 3

A WEST-END DINNER PARTY.

(From tc Jeema K*ye's Adventures " in the " Glasgow Balllie." It's no often wo gang oot. Bailie, and still eeldomer dae we go to what ye raichit ca' gran parties , but; tho ither day we got an invitation frae an auld freen wha'a got weel on in the worl 1 , and we of course accepted it 1 Being bat a common man, I wfs a wee nervous, but Betty paid — " Jeemea, jiat be carefu' and feel your way. Never dae onything firat — oa' omny and watch weel the ithers, for noo-a-days fashlooe'a everything. If yer neebor aska for raair soap, get you some, and sup it alowiy. Keop behin', and, abin a', speak laigh — never raise your voice higher than a whiiper. And, Jeeines, dinna pit year elbows oa the table, or pick your teeth, or pat your knife in yonr month — aye work awa 1 wi' the fork — and when ye get a glees o* wine, tak' it like medicine, and don't say, ' your guid. health, mem,' "

I Arriving at the door, wo were uabered in, and wha did I see but Sandy Kerr, oor b?adle's assistant — be rings the kirk bell and keeps the fires on, and sic like. Be directed Betty up stairs tae tak' aff her bounwt, a;id I sayß— " Bless me, Sandy ? are you here ? and 1b John the beadle here V

" Oh, Rye ! he's upstairs : ye'll Bee him when we go up. " "I'mgied ••' that, I'il hae a crack wi' him. Man, ye've an anoo heap o 1 bottlee and glessea in there," I say?, keeking in at the dining-room door, " we micht go in and get a bit taste," it'a vera chilly hurling In thae caba in weather like this-,' So in vre gaed v him and me. He wia for cettin' some wine, but I lookß coon and got the decanter o' whisky, and as I ponred oot a wee drap. I says — " Yoor guid health, Sandy, and may It no be lnng till ye get a beadleabip o' yer ain. I'm nae great jadge o' thae kin' o' foreign drinks like champagne and zoedone aid thae things, I aye like tae etlok tae what I ken beat — a wee drap o' the 'auld kirk.' D'ye ken, I think we'd be nane the wanr o 1 anither yln. They say it gl'eß ye an appetite ! We'll " Here the bell rang, and anither arrival coming in, Sandy had tae flee ; so I c?ept awa' up the stairs. Betty wls waitin' on the landin', and W6 were nshered intae the drawing-room, where, after shaking hauns wi' the host and hostess, I got a card wi' the name o' the leddy I wls tae tak' doon tae dinner. Somehoo or lther, through my nervousness or something, the card got mislaid. The only thing I coald dae wia tae turn b3ck taa Betty ; but, as she wig claimed by anither gentleman, we had a fine rippet ower the heid o't. Peac3 wiß restored at laßt, and doon we marched tae dinner, I getting for a fart ntr & wee, bit a ve:ra dignified lady wi' a far, wha aye keptemelling at a Btna battle. Tae mak' amsnda for my causing the confusion ower Batty and the card. I tiled a bit j >ko tae mak' mysel' as pleasant as possible, eo I says, wi' a lauch, ', la that Jsley or Gampbelton, mem'? There oanna be muckle in'fc, but maybe it'a no reduced. Inßtead o' a smile, sb I expected she wad gi'e, her faca grew red,, and she glared and froo ied at me. " Hool ! toot ! '' says I, '' I'm no gaeu tae mention it tae ony body ; bat, between you and me, it wia maybe fanr-seeing o 1 you tae bring it, for in thae teetotal days thero'a nae Baying where ye m>y land ; but I c^n aßsnro you in tlra booso there's plenty, for I saw It, aye, and tasted It tae." She wJs so aslismcd at me hasing seen the bottie that ehe never answered me; 90 I set doon between her and anither auld gentfemau wi 1 grey whiskers and a broon wig, and eeeia 1 what I took tae be a. bill of f*re, I lifted it and began tae read ; but it was a' in Greek or Latin — ['m no sure which* Sio names, indeed, I never Baw ; so I sayß tae the auld gentleman — 11 I'm afraid I've sot the wrang bill I " He looked round and remarked wl' a laugh, "Oh no, it's all right ; the dishes taste better wi 1 thao names, you know" 3o we pat still a wee, and wha does I 180 but John Simpson, oor beadle, coming in tae the ro^in and walking bohin' the folk as if he couldna' get a sate, so [ t-tood up and cries — " Hey. John, come np and I'll mak 1 room for ye. We're a wee croodit, but L think ye can squeeze in," John made a face at me, and then, »ettln' be-ped tae a plato o 1 soup, he cam' back carrying before him. "Here, John," I says, c * come awa' and I'll mak' room for ye." At this my frben in tha broon wig ffhispars tae me, " Why, that'a a waiter." " Oh no," Bayu I, " he's a beadle— ln Fac' he's the beadle o' oor kirk. But he's a decent man for a' that, although E wisna aware he had been invited here till a little ago." "Nover mind him," replies the auld gentleman ; and, aa I saw a' the folk looking at me, and as Betty was kioking me below tha table, I thooht it wid be best tee let John look oot for hiimeP, and I whispers tae my partner — "Can I asset ye, mem. tae ony wine; or wld ya prefer a wee drap whisky 1 I aye atlck tae it raysel' — I feel it agrees wi' me best, It's no sie heavy." "No," obe eays, "I always drink claret " "Ah ! " I lauohed, " soor a wee. Claret's Boor and champagne's watery, forbye being dear ; port and sheery are no sae bad ; but whisky is the only drink suitable for a' climates and a 1 seasons. In Bummer heat or winter cauld whisky is what 1 ralcht ca' in poetic language tha f Nil Desperandnra 'o' drlnkn. Noo I'm sure ye couldna drink claret the time o' the last hard frost. ? As my worthy fre.-n, Councillor Martin, says, it wid actually mak' a slide — Ahem ! Claret may dae in India or p-harever it's made, but we're over near the North Pole here, mem. Try a wee drap whisky, and I'll get ya anither bit o' this ' Flllo de Bouf' whatever that ia." She wisna aocieblp, hooever, ao I turaod taa the auld gentleman, and I says — " "The'y's vcra fine glessee, thae red yins ; are they for the toddy 1 "Oh, these are for the claret," ho replied. " Ah, jfst so." I remarks, " fine feathers mak' fine birds, I've been looking ower thia bill, and it seemß tae me a' the things &re frao abroad, and I'm quite at a loss tae thick what tae ask for. In the firrtt place, I dlnna ken what the dishes are ; and, In the second place, even . though I kent, I couldna pronounce their names. I managed tae geek for mull-1 go-tuwn7, and gst a epunefu' o't ; but here's yin, 'Chatee municipal en Eapagne;' noo, in the name o' a' that'a guid, what's that. I feel I cou'd eat nmr, but what am I tae eat 1 In the midst o' plenty, I'm starving ! Here's anither, ' Merin de Tower de Babel a la Creme ' — something like the Tower o' Babel isn't it? That'll be yon tap-itoorle thing in the middle o' the table ; it looks weel. Then there's 'Macaroni an Gratin ;' sio nonsenßG ! Dear me, it's an awiu' genteel rrorl' noo. Weel, weel, pasa me a wee bit o' the Tower o' Babel, will ye !" I got a bit o't, but although it wls nice, it wlsna satisfying ; so then I had a corner o' the "Municipal Buildings "-—-It wis like toffie, and I had tae gle't up. Hooever, aB a decanter was not far frae me, I began tae be mair at hame, Dinner was finished at laat, and when the bottom dish had been preed, the waiters cam' roon wi' gold platen, and evorybody dipped their towels In them, and put them to their lips and forehead* Aa I, hooever, wls a wee hot, I rowed up my sleeves- and put in my hauns, and then gied my face a rub — it wls real fine scented water. Indeed, I wondered taa see it pne plentiful. Bat I needna say more. It wis a grand nffur tae see the table ; ye wid hae thooht it wis fit for a king — silver knives and forks, and waiters better drenaed than oor minister, wl' fanr whiter neckties, and aboot seven gles363 for everybody tae drink oot o\ and sboot ten plates. A' that's no jist in my line ; I'm no accustomed tae't, ye see The veta grandeur o't took r.wa' my self poßaeßeion ; but next day, after some exerdae o' speerlt, I returned tae my auld plain waya wi' a contented mind.

At Oleeve, near Cheltenham, England, a lady of 70 has just married her fifth husband. The bride was attired in lavender silk, with orange blossoms and tulle veil. As the wedding party left the churoh they were treated to a shower of rice, old shoes, and snowballs.

A million and a half sterling has been given away by Mr Corcoran, the Washington philanthropist, who has just celebrated his 89th birthday. He declares that the pleasure of doing good with money is greater than- that arising from hoarded wealth,