“I also maintain that with the simplest and cheapest of all aliments, when in good condition, I have turned out a most wholesome and palatable food, quite worthy of the most refined palate, or of that of the initiated epicure. For instance, if only first-class provisions could be converted into succulent dishes, the gastronomic bill of fare of this sublunary world would indeed be so limited that more than two-thirds of its inhabitants would be classified as martyrs to the Mageric art--or, more plainly speaking, martyrs to the science of cookery--a too often neglected art, though of daily requirement; for, believe me, the everlasting pleasures of the table, which favour all ages, are not only the basis of good health when properly managed, but also the soul of sociability, not merely in high circles, but in every class of society, no matter how humble, the stomach of each individual having been nursed according to rank and wealth. Those most to be pitied are the real epicures of limited means, or the wealthy man without appetite or of bad digestion. The proverb is quite correct, ‘What the eye does not see the heart cannot grieve;’ and appetite being the best of sauce, will cause the coarsest food to be digested with delight by a robust stomach. By the same rule, what is more relished by our noble epicure than a dry sandwich or a coarse crust of bread and cheese at a farmhouse after a hard day’s sport?” “Upon my word, you are perfectly right; appetite is really the best of sauce, for I often make a good and hearty supper upon baked potatoes, a little salt, and butter.” “Now, my friend, I am ready to start; come with me--it is a fine frosty morning, and will do you good--come on.” “I wish I could, but my City business is very heavy this morning, so I must decline; besides, we have a railway meeting called for three o’clock at the London Tavern.” “Master, here’s a Hansom coming this way; shall I call it?” “Yes, Annette, that’s a good girl.” I shook hands with my friend, and jumped into the cab--“I say, coachman, look sharp and drive to the Windsor railway station; I fear I shall miss the special train.” “No, you will not,” said my friend, looking at his watch, “you have full twenty minutes; good-bye, a pleasant journey.” “Well, adieu! I shall see you some evening at Jullien’s or Drury Lane Theatre.” “Very probably.” “Stay a minute, cabby;”--to the servant--“Annette, put any letters which may come on my desk; if anybody calls, say I shall be here to-morrow or next day at the latest.” “Very well, sir, I will do so.”