“And what if he didn't, Biddy?” said his Honour the Mayor; “a good thing's a good thing, and here goes!” wherewith he plunged his spoon into the savoury mess. The Mayoress, as we have said, dared not; but she hated Lady Gorgon, and remembered it at the next election. The pride, in fact, and insolence of the Gorgon party rendered every person in the room hostile to them; so soon as, gorged with meat, they began to find that courage which Britons invariably derive from their victuals. The show of the Gorgon plate seemed to offend the people. The Gorgon champagne was a long time, too, in making its appearance. Arrive, however, it did. The people were waiting for it; the young ladies, not accustomed to that drink, declined pledging their admirers until it was produced; the men, too, despised the bucellas and sherry, and were looking continually towards the door. At last, Mr. Rincer, the landlord, Mr. Hock, Sir George's butler, and sundry others entered the room. Bang! went the corks--fizz the foamy liquor sparkled into all sorts of glasses that were held out for its reception. Mr. Hock helped Sir George and his party, who drank with great gusto; the wine which was administered to the persons immediately around Mr. Scully was likewise pronounced to be good. But Mr. Perkins, who had taken his seat among the humbler individuals, and in the very middle of the table, observed that all these persons, after drinking, made to each other very wry and ominous faces, and whispered much. He tasted his wine: it was a villanous compound of sugar, vitriol, soda-water, and green gooseberries. At this moment a great clatter of forks was made by the president's and vice-president's party. Silence for a toast--'twas silence all. “Landlord,” said Mr. Perkins, starting up (the rogue, where did his impudence come from?) “have you any champagne of YOUR OWN?” “Silence! down!” roared the Tories, the ladies looking aghast. “Silence, sit down you!” shrieked the well-known voice of the General. “I beg your pardon, General,” said young John Perkins; “but where COULD you have bought this champagne? My worthy friend I know is going to propose the ladies; let us at any rate drink such a toast in good wine.” (“Hear, hear!”) “Drink her Ladyship's health in THIS stuff? I declare to goodness I would sooner drink it in beer!” No pen can describe the uproar which arose: the anguish of the Gorgonites--the shrieks, jeers, cheers, ironic cries of “Swipes!” etc., which proceeded from the less genteel but more enthusiastic Scullyites. “This vulgarity is too much,” said Lady Gorgon, rising; and Mrs. Mayoress and the ladies of the party did so too. The General, two squires, the clergyman, the Gorgon apothecary and attorney, with their respective ladies, followed her: they were plainly beaten from the field. Such of the Tories as dared remained, and in inglorious compromise shared the jovial Whig feast.