capillary adornment.

But on our tea-table we will have first-rate Ningyong, or Pouchong, or
Souchong, or Oolong, so that the conversation may be pure and healthy.

We propose from time to time to report some of the talk of our visitors at
the tea-table. We do not entertain at tea many very great men. The fact is
that great men at the tea-table for the most part are a bore. They are apt
to be self-absorbed, or so profound I cannot understand them, or analytical
of food, or nervous from having studied themselves half to death, or exhume
a piece of brown bread from their coat-tail because they are dyspeptic, or
make such solemn remarks about hydro-benzamide or sulphindigotic acid that
the children get frightened and burst out crying, thinking something
dreadful is going to happen. Learned Johnson, splashing his pompous wit
over the table for Boswell to pick up, must have been a sublime nuisance.
It was said of Goldsmith that "he wrote like an angel and talked like poor
Poll." There is more interest in the dining-room when we have ordinary
people than when we have extraordinary.

There are men and women who occasionally meet at our tea-table whose
portraits are worth taking. There are Dr. Butterfield, Mr. Givemfits, Dr.
Heavyasbricks, Miss Smiley and Miss Stinger, who come to see us. We expect
to invite them all to tea very soon; and as you will in future hear of
their talk, it is better that I tell you now some of their characteristics.

Dr. Butterfield is one of our most welcome visitors at the tea-table. As
his name indicates, he is both melting and beautiful. He always takes
pleasant views of things. He likes his tea sweet; and after his cup is
passed to him, he frequently hands it back, and says, "This is really
delightful, but a little more sugar, if you please." He has a mellowing