That, according to this rule, the general time for dinner ought to be somewhere about five hours after an ordinary breakfast, is evident from the almost universal return of appetite at the end of such an interval, and from the fact that many, through sheer inability to resist longer the wholesome cravings of nature, are in the regular practice of eating dinner at that time, but to save appearances give it the name of luncheon; by which means they hold themselves entitled to the enjoyment of a second and more substantial dinner later in the day.
Invalids, dyspeptics, and all who, possessing vigorous digestion, wish to retain it, will do well to follow the intentions of Nature, and observe the intervals which she has appointed. Those who disregard them, and still digest without difficulty, have reason to be grateful to Providence; but they may rest assured that they will longer enjoy their privilege, and better evince their gratitude, by submitting their conduct to the ordinary laws of the animal economy, than by presuming too much on their supposed exemption from the salutary restraints of reason and experience.
Supposing nine o’clock to be the hour of breakfast, the natural dinner-hour would thus be two o’clock; and such, accordingly, is that sanctioned by the most extended experience, and which ought to be adhered to by all whose occupations will admit of its observance, and who wish to enjoy the highest health of which they are susceptible.
Artificially arranged, however, as society now is, whole classes of the community find it impossible to dine till much later in the day. The question then comes to be—As we cannot follow the system laid down by Nature, what is the next best to be done? Ought we to eat nothing till we can find time to dine at five, six, or seven o’clock; or ought we rather to take a light meal at the natural time, about one or two o’clock, and reserve our appetite chiefly for the substantial meal which we have leisure to digest?
The principle in virtue of which digestion is interrupted by bodily or mental labour occurring after a full meal, having been already sufficiently explained, it needs scarcely be added, that the second is the better plan, and moreover that by leaving the stomach too long empty we risk impairing its functions, and weakening the system.
When dinner cannot be taken earlier than seven or eight hours after breakfast, most people will find it advantageous to partake of some slight refreshment in the mean time—enough to blunt the keenness of appetite, but not entirely to destroy it. When the individual is exposed to much bodily exertion in the open air, or is at the period of rapid growth, a portion of animal food, or an ordinary luncheon, taken in moderation, may be allowable, and even requisite; but where the habits are sedentary and the constitution formed, a bit of bread or biscuit and a glass of water will be far more serviceable. Many people, from want of any better occupation, make a pastime of filling their stomachs every forenoon at the pastry-cook’s, with as little regard to its powers and necessities as if digestion were meant merely as an appendage to taste; and think themselves entitled to complain of their defective appetites, and the great discomfort which attends the subsequent ingestion of a heavy dinner. To relieve the weakness, arising not from exhaustion but from the oppression of satiety, they resort to wine, as if by adding fuel to the fire they could hope to extinguish the flame!
Even in fashionable life the superiority of Nature’s arrangements over those of man is so far acknowledged, that it is an almost universal rule for children to dine in the middle of the day; and there cannot be a doubt that the practice is attended with manifold advantages to the young, although, as regards their moral training, these would be greatly increased were they to associate at meals with their parents, instead of being left entirely to the company and management of servants.
Here I cannot refrain from earnestly soliciting the attention of the reader to the injury inflicted on the young by the irrational mode of life and education to which they are now subjected. As growth and nutrition are in them in their highest activity, it follows that at no period of life is strict adherence to the laws of the animal economy of so much moment, because if the youthful system does not receive at the proper intervals the supplies of food of which it stands urgently in need, it must necessarily be impaired in tone, and become more liable to the inroads of disease. The completed and compact frame of an adult may resist for a time irregularity in its supplies; but the undeveloped and susceptible organization of the young, suffers from the very first, and the evil increases in proportion as the aberration from the order of Nature is repeated. Hence reason, affection, and enlightened benevolence, all concur in enforcing a strict adherence to an early dinner hour for the young. And yet, if we examine the customs of society, especially in the middle and higher ranks resident in towns, we find the school occupations so irrationally arranged, that while the children are obliged to breakfast early, even in winter, to reach them in time, most of them find it impossible to dine till five or six o’clock—eight or nine hours after their first meal, instead of four or five. And when feeble digestion, delicacy, or bad health result as the natural consequence of our insane proceedings, instead of blaming our own folly and amending our conduct, we sit down complacently to lament the degeneracy of the age, and boast of the marvellous constitutions and hardihood of the children of our day, whom neither wind nor weather could hurt. If it were a favourite colt or dog whose training we were superintending, the folly of shutting it up all day in a confined atmosphere and denying it food at proper intervals, would stare us in the face. But in our vain conceit, we cannot bring ourselves to admit that our bodies grow and thrive under the influence of the same general laws by which those of animals are regulated; and are better pleased to receive the chastisement due to our ignorance and pride in the shape of disease and death, than to inquire into the will of God towards us, and bow to it in submissive meekness, and well-founded hope.
The evil, however, is the source of much suffering and disappointment, and as it cannot be corrected until the public is rendered fully aware of its existence and influence, it cannot be too often brought under its notice, or too strongly condemned. The teacher alone has not the power of providing a remedy. The concurrence and co-operation of the parent are indispensable; but both combined could easily effect such a distribution of the time and business of the school, as to leave at least a couple of hours in the middle of the day appropriated to dinner and play after it in the open air. It is no valid objection to say that in winter the day is too short to allow the “sacrifice” of so much time. The shorter it is, the greater is the necessity for making the most of it by adequate attention to the laws of health. The real “sacrifice” of time is when health is impaired and progress retarded by undue confinement and deprivation of exercise in the open air. The very shortness of the day, indeed, implies that we should employ the hours of darkness in in-door occupations, and make the most of the daylight by going out while we have it; and I have no doubt that as society advances, this truth will be felt and acted upon to the great advantage and delight of the young.
Supposing it to be made an imperative condition of our social existence that we shall rise after mid-day, and not go to bed till a late hour in the morning, the present fashion of dining at seven or eight o’clock becomes much more rational than is commonly imagined by those who declaim against it without regard to the concomitant circumstances. It is, no doubt, most absurd and hurtful for a man who rises at seven or eight o’clock, breakfasts at nine, and goes to bed at eleven, to delay dining till seven in the evening; but it by no means follows that seven is a bad dinner-hour for a person who rises at twelve or one o’clock, breakfasts at two, and goes to bed at three in the morning. The interval between the breakfast at one and dinner at seven o’clock, is the same as between breakfast at nine and dinner at three, namely, six hours—which is little more than enough. The error lies, not in the hours chosen for meals, but in the utter perversion of the whole system of living, by which night is converted into day, and the business of life is postponed five or six hours beyond the time appointed by the Creator for its performance. So far from the late dinner being hurtful in such circumstances, it is only the stimulus and support which it affords that enables the victims to withstand the fatigue even for a single week.