As to the dinner itself--the mere dinner--it goes off much the same everywhere. Tureens of soup are emptied with awful rapidity-- waiters take plates of turbot away, to get lobster-sauce, and bring back plates of lobster-sauce without turbot; people who can carve poultry, are great fools if they own it, and people who can't have no wish to learn. The knives and forks form a pleasing accompaniment to Auber's music, and Auber's music would form a pleasing accompaniment to the dinner, if you could hear anything besides the cymbals. The substantials disappear--moulds of jelly vanish like lightning--hearty eaters wipe their foreheads, and appear rather overcome by their recent exertions--people who have looked very cross hitherto, become remarkably bland, and ask you to take wine in the most friendly manner possible--old gentlemen direct your attention to the ladies' gallery, and take great pains to impress you with the fact that the charity is always peculiarly favoured in this respect--every one appears disposed to become talkative--and the hum of conversation is loud and general.

'Pray, silence, gentlemen, if you please, for Non nobis!' shouts the toast-master with stentorian lungs--a toast-master's shirt- front, waistcoat, and neckerchief, by-the-bye, always exhibit three distinct shades of cloudy-white.--'Pray, silence, gentlemen, for Non nobis!' The singers, whom you discover to be no other than the very party that excited your curiosity at first, after 'pitching' their voices immediately begin TOO-TOOing most dismally, on which the regular old stagers burst into occasional cries of--'Sh--Sh-- waiters!--Silence, waiters--stand still, waiters--keep back, waiters,' and other exorcisms, delivered in a tone of indignant remonstrance. The grace is soon concluded, and the company resume their seats. The uninitiated portion of the guests applaud Non nobis as vehemently as if it were a capital comic song, greatly to the scandal and indignation of the regular diners, who immediately attempt to quell this sacrilegious approbation, by cries of 'Hush, hush!' whereupon the others, mistaking these sounds for hisses, applaud more tumultuously than before, and, by way of placing their approval beyond the possibility of doubt, shout 'Encore!' most vociferously.

The moment the noise ceases, up starts the toast-master:- 'Gentlemen, charge your glasses, if you please!' Decanters having been handed about, and glasses filled, the toast-master proceeds, in a regular ascending scale:- 'Gentlemen--AIR--you--all charged? Pray--silence--gentlemen--for--the cha-i-r!' The chairman rises, and, after stating that he feels it quite unnecessary to preface the toast he is about to propose, with any observations whatever, wanders into a maze of sentences, and flounders about in the most extraordinary manner, presenting a lamentable spectacle of mystified humanity, until he arrives at the words, 'constitutional sovereign of these realms,' at which elderly gentlemen exclaim 'Bravo!' and hammer the table tremendously with their knife- handles. 'Under any circumstances, it would give him the greatest pride, it would give him the greatest pleasure--he might almost say, it would afford him satisfaction [cheers] to propose that toast. What must be his feelings, then, when he has the gratification of announcing, that he has received her Majesty's commands to apply to the Treasurer of her Majesty's Household, for her Majesty's annual donation of 25l. in aid of the funds of this charity!' This announcement (which has been regularly made by every chairman, since the first foundation of the charity, forty- two years ago) calls forth the most vociferous applause; the toast is drunk with a great deal of cheering and knocking; and 'God save the Queen' is sung by the 'professional gentlemen;' the unprofessional gentlemen joining in the chorus, and giving the national anthem an effect which the newspapers, with great justice, describe as 'perfectly electrical.'

The other 'loyal and patriotic' toasts having been drunk with all due enthusiasm, a comic song having been well sung by the gentleman with the small neckerchief, and a sentimental one by the second of the party, we come to the most important toast of the evening-- 'Prosperity to the charity.' Here again we are compelled to adopt newspaper phraseology, and to express our regret at being 'precluded from giving even the substance of the noble lord's observations.' Suffice it to say, that the speech, which is somewhat of the longest, is rapturously received; and the toast having been drunk, the stewards (looking more important than ever) leave the room, and presently return, heading a procession of indigent orphans, boys and girls, who walk round the room, curtseying, and bowing, and treading on each other's heels, and looking very much as if they would like a glass of wine apiece, to the high gratification of the company generally, and especially of the lady patronesses in the gallery.