_Dunsford_. Hesiod told the world, some two thousand years ago, how much greater the half is than the whole. _Ellesmere_. Dinner-givers and managers of theatres should forthwith be made aware of that fact. What a sacrifice of good things, and of the patience and comfort of human beings, a cumbrous modern dinner is! I always long to get up and walk about. _Dunsford_. Do not talk of modern dinners. Think what a Roman dinner must have been. _Milverton_. Very true. It has always struck me that there is something quite military in the sensualism of the Romans—an “arbiter bibendi” chosen, and the whole feast moving on with fearful precision and apparatus of all kinds. Come, come! the world’s improving, Ellesmere. _Ellesmere_. Had the Romans public dinners? Answer me that. Imagine a Roman, whose theory, at least, of a dinner was that it was a thing for enjoyment, whereas we often look on it as a continuation of the business of the day—I say, imagine a Roman girding himself up, literally girding himself up to make an after-dinner speech. _Milverton_. I must allow that is rather a barbarous practice. _Ellesmere_. If charity, or politics, cannot be done without such things, I suppose they are useful in their way; but let nobody ever imagine that they are a form of pleasure. People smearing each other over with stupid flattery, and most of the company being in dread of receiving some compliment which should oblige them to speak! _Dunsford_. I should have thought, now, that you would always have had something to say, and therefore that you would not be so bitter against after-dinner speaking. _Ellesmere_. No; when I have nothing to say, I can say nothing. _Milverton_. Would it not be a pleasant thing if rich people would ask their friends sometimes to public amusements—order a play for them, for instance—or at any rate, provide some manifest amusement? They might, occasionally with great advantage, abridge the expense of their dinners; and throw it into other channels of hospitality. _Ellesmere_. Ah, if they would have good acting at their houses, that would be very delightful; but I cannot say that the being taken to any place of public amusement would much delight me. By the way, Milverton, what do you say of theatres in the way of recreation? This decline of the drama, too, is a thing you must have thought about: let us hear your notions.