When the family meet around the breakfast table, “My dear,” says the lady, addressing her _cara sposa_, “do you know where John (the butler) is gone?” “No, my dear,” returns her better half, sipping his mocha; “is he not in the house?” “No; he has not been seen since last night.” “Very strange,” rejoins the gentleman. “I must make inquiries about it as soon as I have looked over the ‘Weekly Register;’ the fellow gets too bad.” At this moment the door opens, and John enters, his head tied up in a handkerchief and a quantity of plantain leaves;[29] his countenance, deprived of its naturally deep black, displays a sickly-looking hue; his heavy blood-shot eyes, turning from one member of the family to the other, as if to inquire what they had been saying about him, and presenting altogether a most rueful appearance. “Why, John,” cries his master, elevating his eyebrows, and wiping his spectacles, to be certain it is really the lost butler,—“Why, John, where have you been, and what have you been doing with yourself?” “Quite sick, massa,” returns poor John, in a very doleful tone; “hab feber all last night, neber sleep ’tall a ’tall; head really hurt me; ’bleive me go get _hager_,” &c. The real fact of the case, John was one of the party the night before, who had paid their devoirs too zealously to the “rosy god,” “jolly Bacchus,” and the consequence was, headache and all its accompanying et-ceteras, without the benefit of “soda water” or “Morison’s pills of health.”
When these “grand balls” are in contemplation, great is the flurry and fluster of the conductors; cards of invitation are issued about eight or ten days before; glasses, lamps, dishes, &c., are borrowed from managers or overseers upon the estate where the rout is given, or if in town, from any “buckra” who they may live with; flowers are begged, or gardens robbed; and many other necessary deeds achieved. I have several of these “cards of invite” lying before me, and for the edification of my readers, I will transcribe one or two of them _verbatim_:—“Mr. James Hammilton Compliments to Mr. James, and invite him to a Quadrille party on Tuesday next week, with lady;” addressed, “Mr. James Hammilton to Mr. James, Spring Gardens.” This is written upon paper, which had once been white, but, alas! too many touches have tarnished its fair character. The next which comes to hand is traced upon that particular kind of green paper which we commonly see wrapped round quills in the stationers’ shop windows, in far-famed London, and is expressed as follows:—“Mr. James will be happy of Mr. Brown and Lady Company on Saturday the 2nd Quarter of the Moon. Price 4s. 6d. Lower Form.”[30] The direction to this last-named note is, I think, very unique—