When darkness puts an end to the play there is no lack of refreshment suited to the taste of each sex, and there are some men who are so selfish that they do not scruple to light their cigars and pipes in the presence of the ladies, but it is to be regretted that the good old fashion has passed away when no man smoked in the presence of a lady. Certainly the men have plenty of advantages special to themselves. For instance, when the ladies have to go into the house to prepare for dinner and change their dresses, the men usually adjourn to the swimming-bath. At many large factories there is a fine swimming-bath in a house built for the purpose, from 50 to 70 feet long, and more than half as wide. One of the greatest pleasures of which the human body is capable is to plunge hissing-hot into the clear and cool water of the bath, and to swim a few lazy strokes to the nearest resting-place. There used to be a medical myth, that it was dangerous for a man to bathe when very hot. But later and wiser doctors have discovered the error, and very grateful we should be for their discovery. To those who have learnt at Eton, or elsewhere, to take a good “header” we can recommend no more exquisite sensation than that which they will derive from plunging red hot into the cool water of a swimming-bath. There may be more splendid entertainments elsewhere, but there are few more sociable and pleasant dinner-parties than those which crown the labours of the day at a good indigo factory. The ladies are not often quite equal in number to the men; but that is a fault on the right side so far as they are concerned, as they will receive all the more attention, whilst there are always one or more greedy or hungry men who are more inclined to devote themselves to the substance of their dinner than to the pleasures of conversation; nor are they absolutely in the wrong. The dishes may be simple, but they are sure to be good. Who does not remember the saddle of mutton from a sheep reared and carefully fed in the farm up to its fourth year? Neither the downs of Sussex nor the hills of Wales produce more delicate and well-flavoured meat. What is there to be compared with the whiteness and tenderness of the well-boiled capon, the last fortnight of whose life has been the subject of the most careful feeding, as he passed, day by day, through the separate compartments of the fattening range until he was promoted to the condemned cell at the head of the range? Capons should, of course, be well fed always, but for the last fortnight they should be taken up and fed most delicately in a fattening range specially constructed with fourteen or fifteen compartments with sliding panels between them, so that those who are being thus treated for about a fortnight, find themselves promoted day by day towards the highest compartment, a condemned cell, from which there is no promotion except to the kitchen. We cannot stop to enumerate all the fine vegetables, such as the