PETERSFIELD.
A very awkward incident, to say the least, has occurred within the sound of the bell in this town. To wit, a certain Mr. Bonniface had spent the evening in jovial and social company with a party who had assembled at his house, being a mixture of both sexes. Now our host, as it transpires, had cast a “sheep’s eye” at the fair partner of one of his customers, and upon their breaking up to part, by some unaccountable means the gas-lights were extinguished (which has often been the case lately throughout the town, from some mismanagement it is said). Our host thought this too favourable an opportunity to let slip, and by way of salutation placed, as he thought, his arm round the neck of his intended object. But, alas! oh! ye powers judge of the shock! when he found his lips in close contact with the whiskers of her beloved spouse. It appears that the parties in the darkness had changed places. Candles being brought, picture if you can, the confused expression of our friend Bonniface, who, as he afterwards stated to a friend, ‟was completely flabbergasted,” and he continued, “Never did I feel in such a fix in all my life, you might have knocked me down with a feather.” Both parties being in such amazement, the matter passed off without an explanation being required or given.
‟Not a voice was heard in a discordant sound,
As each moved off to his dwelling.”
—Twelfth Night.