As every court newsman knows, the quality of a social gathering may be reasonably appraised by the simple expedient of studying the names and stations of those individuals who attend it. When the liveried retainer at the top of the marble staircase announces the names of Mr and Mrs Veneering, or Lord Frederick Verisopht, or Sir Mulberry Hawk, or Sir Leicester Dedlock and his lady wife, those already assembled in the drawing room may assure themselves that they belong to the right set.
The names of the guests who gathered at Mr Headstone's lodgings to celebrate the birth date of Mr Charles Dickens would no doubt come as a recommendation to any person who had previous cognisance of their character, but they were not sufficiently known outside those circles to attract the general interest of society. First to arrive were Mr Benjamin Allen and Mr Bob Sawyer, both students of medicine, conveniently followed some few minutes later by Dr Slammer, surgeon to the ninety seventh regiment at Chatham Barracks. These three gentlemen were no sooner introduced to each other than they became embroiled in a debate on certain procedures of amputation, which could only be resolved by a practical demonstration performed on a roast chicken with the carving knife. Next to arrive was Mr Simon Tappertit, who had been knocking on the street door for ten minutes in an effort to rouse the occupants, and had finally been obliged to enter the building by the scullery window, a fact which caused Mr Sawyer a great deal of mirth when he learnt that Mr Tappertit was a locksmith's apprentice. Mr William Guppy, of Kenge and Carboy's, arrived with Mr Mortimer Lightwood, who was also in law, even though he rather wished to be out of it, and with them the company was complete.
Mr Headstone welcomed his guests with an affecting speech and proposed a toast to Mr Dickens, which was roundly seconded, and, in between the oysters and the ham and the beef and the poultry, each member of the party imitated the example of the host and apostrophised the great author. With each raised tumbler of wine or spirits, the speeches became more sentimental, and as they became more sentimental, they became more indistinct, and, by the time the port was passed around with the cheese, it would have been very remarkable if any of the gentlemen at the table had any clear notion of what their companions were saying.
In proposing the first toast of the evening and in acquiescing to further demands for alcoholic tributes from the assembled company, Mr Headstone was forgetful of his pledge of temperance. Notwithstanding this lamentable lack of resolution, the pedagogue was in good spirits when - on the insistence of Mrs Raddle, who started knocking on the ceiling of the room below with a broom handle - the party broke up, and the visitors departed to make their separate ways home under the guiding light of a full moon.
Mr Charles Dickens
