‘Let me record two other experiences. I have a friend who keeps a boarding-house in a certain square not a hundred miles from Holborn. He had often asked me to stay a night with him; he could help me with materials for an article I wanted to write; I would spend my last night there. Of course, I found him out, and the house so full that any bed there was out of the question. One little incident in the course of my troubles is rather amusing and characteristic. A West-End swell lately forced himself on my acquaintance. His talk is all of lords and ladies and people in high life, in whom I take no interest whatever. I even am sick of the woeful tittle-tattle of the newspapers, and never read it. But I met my fine gentleman accidentally. He was delighted to see me, inquired most politely after the welfare of my family, hoped I would manage to run up to a certain fashionable exhibition—the most pleasant lounge in town of a summer evening—and then bade me good-morning as coolly as if he had never gone out of his way to beg me to make his house my home the next time I was in London. And this is London life, and a fair illustration of how a countryman gets on when there, and of the utter impossibility of accomplishing anything there in a reasonable time. It is wiser—better far—to stay at home and get your business done by writing. Londoners love writing. There is a difficulty I have with a limited liability company in a matter of five shillings, and we are as far from getting it settled as ever, though we have been corresponding on it for half a year. But London, with its worrying days and sleepless nights, is to be avoided by any who regards his health or temper or pocket. I have quite made up my mind that I will never visit London again—at any rate, not till the next time. And there is another thing that disgusted me. I was at a public dinner last night, and had to sit for three hours listening to awful speeches.’
‘Well, they are generally tedious,’ said Wentworth. ‘I have had to attend a good many at one time or other.’
‘Yes, but there was such a waste of time; all sorts of irrelative toasts obviously introduced merely for the purpose of affording mediocre aldermen and M.P.’s a chance of airing their vocabulary. But worst of all,’ said the minister, ‘was the awful amount of guzzling and feeding. Everyone seemed only intent on getting as many of the good things on his plate as he could. And as to the champagne, the gentlemen, as they called themselves, seemed as if they had never tasted any before, and as if they would never have the chance again. Many of them were quite drunk, and the whole affair soon resolved itself into a drunken orgy. I was quite disgusted with my species. No one who would wish to think well of humanity ought to attend a public dinner. The wine being provided, they seemed as if they could not have enough of it. It was positively sickening.’
‘And yet Thomas Walker advocates the public dinner. Indeed, he goes so far as to say that to ensure good parochial government, good dinners should be provided for the authorities. The aim should be, he tells us, to procure the best services at the cheapest rate, and in the most efficient way, and there is no system so cheap or efficient as that of the table. The Athenians, in their most glorious days, rewarded their citizens who had deserved well of the State by maintaining them at the public expense in Prytaneum or Council Hall. The table also is a mode of payment for services to be performed which goes further than any other, and will command greater punctuality, greater attention, and greater regularity. When properly regulated it is the bond of union and harmony, the school for the improvement of manners and civilization, the place where information is elicited and corrected better than anywhere else; and I believe, after all,’ said Wentworth, ‘old Walker was right.’
‘And pray who was Walker?’
‘Thomas Walker was the author of “The Original,” a book highly popular with our forefathers and well worthy to be read by their sons. Walker was a police magistrate in London. “The Original” appeared in twenty-nine parts. Since then it has been republished in a volume. The first number appeared in May, 1835. He was ill when he commenced it, and died before it was completed. Almost his last essay in it was on “The Art of attaining High Health.” It is curious to reflect that it was written by a man at whose door death was already knocking. He died suddenly in Brussels, the early age of fifty-two. By all means, I repeat, read Walker.’
‘So I will. I am quite aware there are two sides to every question.’
‘According to Walker, City feasting has many advantages. He is of opinion that it creates a good deal of public spirit; as long as men are emboldened by good cheer, they are in no danger of becoming slaves. The City Halls, with their feasts, their music, their associations, are, he says, so many temples of liberty; and I believe that after all Walker was right I speak from experience; and yet there are evils connected with the system.’
‘Evils!’ exclaimed indignantly his ascetic friend, ‘I believe there are. And last night I saw what I never saw before, and never wish to see again: men dressed in evening costume—respectable people, apparently—all eating and drinking to excess. I hope they all got home, but they could scarcely find their way after dinner to the room where tea and coffee were served up; utterly unable to take a part in any rational conversation.’
‘Ah, again let me quote Walker!’ exclaimed Wentworth. ‘“Anybody can dine, but few know how to dine so as to ensure the greatest quantity of health and enjoyment.” I am coming to believe that aristology, or the art of dining, has yet to be discovered. When ladies are admitted to these banquets there will, at any rate, be less of that eating and drinking to excess which so disgusted you last night.’