drop't the word 'Miss,' 'cause it sounded ridikilous,
and took the title of 'Mrs.' to look like widders. Two
or three wivewomen of the Chinese stock, a bustin' of
their stays off a'most, and as fat as show-beef; an oldest
son or two, with the eend of the silver spoon he was born
with, a peepin' out o' the corner of his mouth, and his
face as vacant as a horn lantern without a candle in it;
a younger son or so jist from college, who looks as if
he had an idea he'd have to airn his livin', and whose
lantern face looks as if it had had a candle in it, that
had e'en amost burnt the sides out, rather thin and pale,
with streaks of Latin and Greek in it; one or two
everlastin' pretty young galls, so pretty as there is
nothin' to do, you can't hardly help bein' spooney on
'em.

"Matchless galls, they be too, for there is no matches
for 'em. The primur-genitur boy takes all so they have
no fortin. Well, a younger son won't do for 'em, for he
has no fortin; and t'other primo geno there, couldn't if
he would, for he wants the estate next to hisn, and has
to take the gall that owns it, or he won't get it. I pity
them galls, I do upon my soul. It's a hard fate, that,
as Minster sais, in his pretty talk, to bud, unfold,
bloom, wither, and die on the parent stock, and have no
one to pluck the rose, and put it in his bosom, aint it?

"Dinner is ready, and you lock and lock, and march off
two and two, to t'other room, and feed. Well, the dinner
is like town dinner, there aint much difference, there