Well; it is absolutely too late for dinner! Turtle, salmon, tautog,
woodcock, boiled turkey, South-Down mutton, pig, roast-beef, have
vanished, or exist only in fragments, with lukewarm potatoes, and
gravies crusted over with cold fat. The Judge, had he done nothing
else, would have achieved wonders with his knife and fork. It was he,
you know, of whom it used to be said, in reference to his ogre-like
appetite, that his Creator made him a great animal, but that the
dinner-hour made him a great beast. Persons of his large sensual
endowments must claim indulgence, at their feeding-time. But, for once,
the Judge is entirely too late for dinner! Too late, we fear, even to
join the party at their wine! The guests are warm and merry; they have
given up the Judge; and, concluding that the Free-Soilers have him,
they will fix upon another candidate. Were our friend now to stalk in
among them, with that wide-open stare, at once wild and stolid, his
ungenial presence would be apt to change their cheer. Neither would it
be seemly in Judge Pyncheon, generally so scrupulous in his attire, to
show himself at a dinner-table with that crimson stain upon his
shirt-bosom. By the bye, how came it there? It is an ugly sight, at any
rate; and the wisest way for the Judge is to button his coat closely
over his breast, and, taking his horse and chaise from the livery
stable, to make all speed to his own house. There, after a glass of
brandy and water, and a mutton-chop, a beefsteak, a broiled fowl, or
some such hasty little dinner and supper all in one, he had better
spend the evening by the fireside. He must toast his slippers a long
while, in order to get rid of the chilliness which the air of this vile
old house has sent curdling through his veins.
Up, therefore, Judge Pyncheon, up! You have lost a day. But to-morrow
will be here anon. Will you rise, betimes, and make the most of it?
To-morrow. To-morrow! To-morrow. We, that are alive, may rise betimes
to-morrow. As for him that has died to-day, his morrow will be the
resurrection morn.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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