THE DINNER HOUR. 83 



"Now stir the fire and close the shutters fast, 

 Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, 

 And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn 

 Shoots up a steaming column, and the cups 

 That cheer but not inebriate wait on each, 

 So let us welcome peaceful evening in. " 



I am a cosmopolitan. I can dine anywhere 

 — even at a railway station. 1 am used to 

 being summoned to dinner by the sound of 

 bell or gong, to seeing all the supplies, from 

 soup to ice-cream, piled upon the table at 

 once ; used to everything, for I was once used 

 to cutting my share of salt junk from the kid 

 with my sheath knife ; but now, although I do 

 not think that any one has the right to re- 

 proach me with sestheticism, I like to see a 

 well-dressed butler — not a flunky, but one 

 who is valuable for his usefulness, and not 

 disgusting because of his superciliousness — I 

 like to see such an one open the door and 

 make his bow, to hear him announce that the 

 dinner is served. I know that in this Brace- 

 bridge Hall there is a meaning in it. 



Excessive is the politeness of the gargon of 

 a French table d'hote as he appears with 

 napkin over his arm, but we have no assurance 

 that the dinner will commend itself to us. I 



