How long we should sit over the dinner-table is a matter of controversy. At the commencement of the nineteenth century, in the hard-drinking times, our forefathers were loth indeed to quit the table. But the fairer portion of the guests were accustomed to adjourn early, for tea and scandal in the withdrawing-room, the while their lords sat and quarrelled over their port, with locked doors; and where they fell there they frequently passed the night. The editor of the _Almanach des Gourmands_ wrote: "Five hours at table are a reasonable latitude to allow in the case of a large party and recondite cheer." But the worthy Grimod de la Reymière, the editor aforesaid, lived at a period when dinner was not served as late as 8.30 P.M. There is a legend of an Archbishop of York "who sat three entire years at dinner." But this is one of those tales which specially suited the dull, brandy-sodden brains of our ancestors. The facts are simply as follows:--the archbishop had just sat down to dinner at noon when an Italian priest called. Hearing that the dignitary was sitting at meat the priest whiled away an hour in looking at the minster, and called again, but was again "repelled by the porter." Twice more that afternoon did the surly porter repel the Italian, and at the fourth visit "the porter, in a heate, answered never a worde, and churlishlie did shutte the gates upon him." Then the discomfited Italian returned to Rome; and three years later, encountering an Englishman in the Eternal City, who declared himself right well known to His Grace of York, the Italian, all smiles, inquired: "I pray you, good sir, hath that archbishop finished dinner yet?" Hence the story, which was doubtless originally told by a fly-fisher. It is not a little singular that with increasing civilisation, a gong, which is of barbaric, or semi-barbaric origin, should be the means usually employed to summon us to the dinner-table. In days of yore the horn, or cornet, was blown as the signal. Alexander Dumas tells us that "at the period when noon was the dinner hour, the horn or cornet (_le cor_) was used in great houses to announce dinner. Hence came an expression which has been lost; they used to say cornet (or trumpet) the dinner (_cornez le diner_)." And we are asked to believe that to this practice "corned" beef owes its derivation. "In days when inferior people ate little meat in the winter months save salted beef, the more usual form of the order was _cornez le boeuf_, or 'corn the beef.' Richardson errs egregiously when he insists that corned beef derived its distinguishing epithet from the grains or corns of salt with which it was pickled. Corned beef is trumpeted beef, or as we should nowadays say, dinner-bell beef." Well--"I hae ma doots," as the Scotsman said. I am not so sure that Richardson erred egregiously. But after all, as long as the beef be good, and can be carved without the aid of pick and spade, what does it matter? Let us to dinner!