_Lorenzo_.--Go in, Sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.
_Launcelot_.--That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.
_Lorenzo_.--Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then
bid them prepare dinner.
_Launcelot_.--That is done too, sir.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

The high square, pews of the little Congregational church, or (as in
those days the descendants of the Puritans, in order to manifest
their abhorrence for popery, and all that in their judgment sounded
papistical, loved to call their places for public worship) the
"meeting-house," were tolerably well filled by an attentive
congregation on Thanksgiving morning. We say only tolerably, some
seats being vacant, which seldom of a Sunday missed of occupants. The
rights of hospitality were allowed on this occasion to trench upon the
duties of public worship, and many a good wife with the servants, whom
no common storm or slight indisposition would have kept away, remained
at home to spread the board for expected guests. If there were some
whose stern principles condemned the practice as a carnality, they
were a small minority. Those whose fleshly appetites were to be
gratified by it took a different view of the subject very generally;
and as this was the condition of pretty much the whole community,
whose members figured now as hosts and now as guests, the verdict was
nearly unanimous in its favor. In truth, the due observance of the
day seemed to consist of two parts, worship and feasting; each was
necessary to the other to form a complement, and without both it would
have been jejune and unsatisfactory. Besides, this was the annual
period for the reunion of friends and relatives, parted for the
rest of the year, and in some instances considerable journeys were