Mark, was a famous waiter, almost equal to Bacchus, who was head man, on such occasions.  They were in their elements at a dinner party, and the sideboard, and tables, on such an occasion, were in their holiday attire.  A strong arm, a hard brush, and plenty of beeswax, banished all appearance of use, and the old servants thought that every article in the room looked as bright and handsome as on the occasion of their young mistress’ first presiding at her table.  The blinds of the windows looking south, were partly open; the branches of the lemon-tree, and the tendrils of the white-jessamine, assisted in shading the apartment, making it fragrant too.  The bird-cages were hung among the branches of the flowers, and the little prisoners sang as if they had, at last, found a way of escape to their native woods; old-fashioned silver glittered on the sideboard, the large china punch-bowl maintaining its position in the centre.

William had gone to the drawing-room to announce the important intelligence, “Dinner is ready!” and Bacchus looked around the room for the last time, to see that every thing was, as it should be, snuffing up the rich fumes of the soup as it escaped from the sides of the silver-covered tureen.  He perceived that one of the salt-cellars was rather near the corner of the table, and had only time to rearrange it, when William threw open the doors.  The company entered, and with some delay and formality took their places.  We need not wait until the Rev. Mr. Aldie says grace, though that would not detain us long; for the Rev. Mr. Aldie, besides being very hungry, has a great deal of tact, and believes in short prayers; nor will we delay to witness the breaking down of the strongholds of precision and ultra propriety, that almost always solemnizes the commencement of an entertainment; but the old Madeira having been passed around, we will listen to the conversation that is going on from different parts of the table.

“We have outlived, sir,” said Mr. Chapman, addressing a northern gentleman present, “we have outlived the first and greatest era of our country.  Its infancy was its greatest era.  The spirit of Washington still breathes among us.  One or two of us here have conversed with him, sat at his table, taken him by the hand.  It is too soon for the great principles that animated his whole career to have passed from our memory.  I am not a very old man, gentlemen and ladies, yet it seems to me a great while since the day of Washington’s funeral.  My father called me and my brothers to him, and while our mother was fastening a band of black crape around our hats, ‘My boys,’ said he, ‘you have seen the best days of this republic.’  It is so, for as much as the United States has increased in size, and power, and wealth, since then, different interests are dividing her.”

“Was Washington a cheerful man?” asked an English gentleman who was present, “I have heard that he never laughed.  Is it so?”