Chapter 12

----This is the very barn-yard,
Where muster daily the prime cocks o' the game,
Ruffle their pinions, crow till they are hoarse,
And spar about a barleycorn. Here too chickens,
The callow, unfledged brood of forward folly,
Learn first to rear the crest, and aim the spur,
And tune their note like full-plumed Chanticleer.
_The Bear-Garden._

The Ordinary, now an ignoble sound, was in the days of James, a new
institution, as fashionable among the youth of that age as the first-
rate modern club-houses are amongst those of the present day. It
differed chiefly, in being open to all whom good clothes and good
assurance combined to introduce there. The company usually dined
together at an hour fixed, and the manager of the establishment
presided as master of the ceremonies.

Monsieur le Chevalier, (as he qualified himself,) Saint Priest de
Beaujeu, was a sharp, thin Gascon, about sixty years old, banished
from his own country, as he said, on account of an affair of honour,
in which he had the misfortune to kill his antagonist, though the best
swordsman in the south of France. His pretensions to quality were
supported by a feathered hat, a long rapier, and a suit of embroidered
taffeta, not much the worse for wear, in the extreme fashion of the
Parisian court, and fluttering like a Maypole with many knots of
ribbon, of which it was computed he bore at least five hundred yards
about his person. But, notwithstanding this profusion of decoration,
there were many who thought Monsieur le Chevalier so admirably
calculated for his present situation, that nature could never have
meant to place him an inch above it. It was, however, part of the
amusement of the place, for Lord Dalgarno and other young men of
quality to treat Monsieur de Beaujeu with a great deal of mock
ceremony, which being observed by the herd of more ordinary and simple
gulls, they paid him, in clumsy imitation, much real deference. The
Gascon's natural forwardness being much enhanced by these
circumstances, he was often guilty of presuming beyond the limits of
his situation, and of course had sometimes the mortification to be
disagreeably driven back into them.

When Nigel entered the mansion of this eminent person, which had been
but of late the residence of a great Baron of Queen Elizabeth's court,
who had retired to his manors in the country on the death of that
princess, he was surprised at the extent of the accommodation which it
afforded, and the number of guests who were already assembled.
Feathers waved, spurs jingled, lace and embroidery glanced everywhere;
and at first sight, at least, it certainly made good Lord Dalgarno's
encomium, who represented the company as composed almost entirely of
youth of the first