Reader, we are not jesting here. In the very spirit of serious truth, we assure you, that the delusion about "jentaculum" is even exceeded by this other delusion about "prandium." Salmasius himself, for whom a natural prejudice of place and time partially obscured the truth, admits, however, that _prandium_ was a meal which the ancients rarely took; his very words are--"_raro prandebant veteres_." Now, judge for yourself of the good sense which is shown in translating by the word _dinner_, which must of necessity mean the chief meal--a Roman word which represents a fancy meal, a meal of caprice, a meal which few people took. At this moment, what is the single point of agreement between the noon meal of the English laborer and the evening meal of the English gentleman? What is the single circumstance common to both, which causes us to denominate them by the common name of _dinner_? It is that in both we recognize the _principal_ meal of the day, the meal upon which is thrown the _onus_ of the day's support. In everything else they are as wide asunder as the poles; but they agree in this one point of their function. Is it credible that, to represent such a meal amongst ourselves, we select a Roman word so notoriously expressing a mere shadow, a pure apology, that very few people ever tasted it--nobody sate down to it--not many washed their hands after it, and gradually the very name of it became interchangeable with another name, implying the slightest possible act of trying or sipping? "_Post larationem sine mensâ prandium_," says Seneca, "_post quod non sunt lavandæ manus_;" that is, "after bathing, I take a _prandium_ without sitting down to table, and such a _prandium_ as brings after itself no need of washing the hands." No; moonshine as little soils the hands as it oppresses the stomach.