astoundingly surcharged with an additional world of a composition of stony colour and sudorific aspect, which, after examining in mute attention for some moments, and carefully removing, as well as he was able, to the extreme edge of his plate, the Earl discovered to be suet pudding.
"You eat nothing, my Lord!" cried the Squire; "let me give you (this is more underdone;)" holding between blade and fork in middle air a horrent fragment of scarlet, shaking its gory locks,—"another slice."
Swift at the word dropped upon Mauleverer's plate the harpy finger and ruthless thumb of the grey-headed butler.
"Not a morsel more," cried the Earl, struggling with the murtherous domestic. "My dear Sir, excuse me; I assure you I have never eat such a dinner before—never!"
"Nay now!" quoth the Squire, expostulating, "you really—(and this air is so keen that your Lordship should indulge your appetite, if you follow the physician's advice,) eat nothing!"
Again Mauleverer was at fault.
"The physicians are right, Mr. Brandon,"
