THE DEVIL'S DINNER-PARTY. A LEGEND OF THE NORTH COUNTREE. Nobilis quidam, cui nomen _Monsr. Lescrop, Chivaler_, cum invitasset convivas, et, hora convivii jam instante et apparatu facto, spe frustratus esset, excusantibus se convivis cur non compararent, prorupit iratus in hæc verba: "_Veniant igitur omnes dæmones, si nullus hominum mecum esse potest!_" * * * * * Quod cum fieret, et Dominus, et famuli, et ancillæ, a domo properantes, forte obliti, infantem in cunis jacentem secum non auferunt. Dæmones incipiunt comessari et vociferari, prospicereque per fenestras formis ursorum, luporum, felium, et monstrare pocula vino repleta. _Ah_, inquit pater, _ubi infans meus?_ Vix cum hæc dixisset, unus ex Dæmonibus ulnis suis infantem ad fenestram gestat, &c. _Chronicon de Bolton._ It's in Bolton Hall, and the Clock strikes One, And the roast meat's brown, and the boil'd meat's done And the barbecu'd sucking-pig's crisp'd to a turn, And the pancakes are fried, and beginning to burn; The fat stubble-goose Swims in gravy and juice With the mustard and apple-sauce ready for use; Fish, flesh, and fowl, and all of the best, Want nothing but eating--they're all ready drest. But where is the Host, and where is the Guest? Pantler and serving-man, henchman and page, Stand sniffing the duck-stuffing (onion and sage), And the scullions and cooks, With fidgetty looks, Are grumbling, and mutt'ring, and scowling as black As cooks always do when the dinner's put back; For though the board's deckt, and the napery, fair As the unsunn'd snow-flake, is spread out with care, And the Dais is furnish'd with stool and with chair, And plate of _orfèvrerie_ costly and rare, Apostle-spoons, salt-cellar, all are there, And Mess John in his place, With his rubicund face, And his hands ready folded, prepared to say Grace. Yet where is the Host?--and his convives--where? The Scroope sits lonely in Bolton Hall, And he watches the dial that hangs by the wall, He watches the large hand, he watches the small, And he fidgets, and looks As cross as the cooks, And he utters--a word which we'll soften to "Zooks!" As he cries, "What on earth has become of them all?-- What can delay De Vaux and De Saye? What makes Sir Gilbert de Umfraville stay? What's gone with Poyntz, and Sir Reginald Braye? Why are Ralph Ufford and Marny away? And De Nokes, and De Stiles, and Lord Marmaduke Grey? And De Roe? And De Doe?-- Poynings, and Vavasour--where be they? Fitz-Walter, Fitz-Osbert, Fitz-Hugh, and Fitz-John, And the Mandevilles, _père et filz_ (father and son)? Their cards said 'Dinner precisely at One!' There's nothing I hate, in The world, like waiting! It's a monstrous great bore, when a Gentleman feels A good appetite, thus to be kept from his meals!"