CHAPTER XV.
Whether it was St.George's cheery announcement: "Well, gentlemen, I am sorry, but we still have each other, and so we will remember our guest in our hearts even if we cannot have his charming person," or whether it was that the absence of Poe made little difference when a dinner with St.George was in question--certain it is that before many moments the delinquent poet was for the most part forgotten.
As the several dishes passed in review, Malachi in charge of the small arms--plates, knives, and forks--and Todd following with the heavier guns--silver platters and the like--the talk branched out to more diversified topics: the new omnibuses which had been allowed to run in the town; the serious financial situation, few people having recovered from the effects of the last great panic; the expected reception to Mr.Polk; the new Historical Society, of which every one present was a member except St.George and Harry; the successful experiments which the New York painter, a Mr.Morse, was making in what he was pleased to call Magnetic Telegraphy, and the absurdity of his claim that his invention would soon come into general use--every one commenting unfavorably except Richard Horn:--all these shuttlecocks being tossed into mid-air for each battledore to crack, and all these, with infinite tact the better to hide his own and his companions' disappointment over the loss of his honored guest--did St.George keep on the move.
With the shifting of the cloth and the placing of the coasters--the nuts, crusts of bread, and finger-bowls being within easy reach--most of this desultory talk ceased.

Something more delicate, more human, more captivating than sport, finance, or politics; more satisfying than all the poets who ever lived, filled everybody's mind.

Certain Rip Van Winkles of bottles with tattered garments, dust-begrimed faces, and cobwebs in their hair were lifted tenderly from the side-board and awakened to consciousness (some of them hadn't opened their mouths for twenty years, except to have them immediately stopped with a new cork), and placed in the expectant coasters, Todd handling each one with the reverence of a priest serving in a temple.

Crusty, pot-bellied old fellows, who hadn't uttered a civil word to anybody since they had been shut up in their youth, now laughed themselves wide open.

A squat, lean-necked, jolly little jug without legs--labelled in ink--"Crab-apple, 1807," spread himself over as much of the mahogany as he could cover, and admired his fat shape upside down in its polish.
Diamond-cut decanters--regular swells these--with silver chains and medals on their chests--went swaggering round, boasting of their ancestors; saying "Your good health" every time any one invited them to have a drop--or lose one--while a modest little demijohn--or rather a semi-demi-little-john--all in his wicker-basket clothes, with a card sewed on his jacket--like a lost boy (Peggy Coston of Wesley did the sewing) bearing its name and address--"Old Peach, 1796, Wesley, Eastern Shore," was placed on St.George's right within reach of his hand.