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第25部分（第1页）

nditions；　delighting　in　a　glare　and　tumult　of　busy　life　under　hostile　heavens　which；　elsewhere；　would　mean　shivering　ill…content。　The　theatre；　at　such　a　time；　is　doubly　warm　and　bright；　every　shop　is　a　happy　harbour　of　refuge……there；　behind　the　counter；　stand　persons　quite　at　their　ease；　ready　to　chat　as　they　serve　you；　the　supper　bars　make　tempting　display　under　their　many　gas…jets；　the　public　houses　are　full　of　people　who　all　have　money　to　spend。　Then　clangs　out　the　piano…organ……and　what　could　be　cheerier！

I　have　much　ado　to　believe　that　I　really　felt　so。　But　then；　if　life　had　not　somehow　made　itself　tolerable　to　me；　how　should　I　have　lived　through　those　many　years？　Human　creatures　have　a　marvellous　power　of　adapting　themselves　to　necessity。　Were　I；　even　now；　thrown　back　into　squalid　London；　with　no　choice　but　to　abide　and　work　there……　should　I　not　abide　and　work？　Notwithstanding　thoughts　of　the　chemists　shop；　I　suppose　I　should。

VI

One　of　the　shining　moments　of　my　day　is　that　when；　having　returned　a　little　weary　from　an　afternoon　walk；　I　exchange　boots　for　slippers；　out…of…doors　coat　for　easy；　familiar；　shabby　jacket；　and；　in　my　deep；　soft…elbowed　chair；　await　the　tea…tray。　Perhaps　it　is　while　drinking　tea　that　I　most　of　all　enjoy　the　sense　of　leisure。　In　days　gone　by；　I　could　but　gulp　down　the　refreshment；　hurried；　often　harassed；　by　the　thought　of　the　work　I　had　before　me；　often　I　was　quite　insensible　of　the　aroma；　the　flavour；　of　what　I　drank。　Now；　how　delicious　is　the　soft　yet　perating　odour　which　floats　into　my　study；　with　the　appearance　of　the　teapot！　What　solace　in　the　first　cup；　what　deliberate　sipping　of　that　which　follows！　What　a　glow　does　it　bring　after　a　walk　in　chilly　rain！　The　while；　I　look　around　at　my　books　and　pictures；　tasting　the　happiness　of　their　tranquil　possession。　I　cast　an　eye　towards　my　pipe；　perhaps　I　prepare　it；　with　seeming　thoughtfulness；　for　the　reception　of　tobacco。　And　never；　surely；　is　tobacco　more　soothing；　more　suggestive　of　humane　thoughts；　than　when　it　es　just　after　tea……itself　a　bland　inspirer。

In　nothing　is　the　English　genius　for　domesticity　more　notably　declared　than　in　the　institution　of　this　festival……almost　one　may　call　it　so……of　afternoon　tea。　Beneath　simple　roofs；　the　hour　of　tea　has　something　in　it　of　sacred；　for　it　marks　the　end　of　domestic　work　and　worry；　the　beginning　of　restful；　sociable　evening。　The　mere　chink　of　cups　and　saucers　tunes　the　mind　to　happy　repose。　I　care　nothing　for　your　five　oclock　tea　of　modish　drawing…rooms；　idle　and　wearisome　like　all　else　in　which　that　world　has　part；　I　speak　of　tea　where　one　is　at　home　in　quite　another　than　the　worldly　sense。　To　admit　mere　strangers　to　your　tea…table　is　profanation；　on　the　other　hand；　English　hospitality　has　here　its　kindliest　aspect；　never　is　friend　more　wele　than　when　he　drops　in　for　a　cup　of　tea。　Where　tea　is　really　a　meal；　with　nothing　between　it　and　nine　oclock　supper；　it　is……again　in　the　true　sense……the　homeliest　meal　of　the　day。　Is　it　believable　that　the　Chinese；　in　who　knows　how　many　centuries；　have　derived　from　tea　a　millionth　part　of　the　pleasure　or　the　good　which　it　has　brought　to　England　in　the　past　one　hundred　years？

I　like　to　look　at　my　housekeeper　when　she　carries　in　the　tray。　Her　mien　is　festal；　yet　in　her　smile　there　is　a　certain　gravity；　as　though　she　performed　an　office　which　honoured　her。　She　has　dressed　for　the　evening；　that　is　to　say；　her　clean　and　seemly　attire　of　working　hours　is　exchanged　for　garments　suitable　to　fireside　leisure；　her　cheeks　are　warm；　for　she　has　been　making　fragrant　toast。　Quickly　her　eye　glances　about　my　room；　but　only　to　have　the　pleasure　of　noting　that　all　is　in　order；　inconceivable　that　anything　serious　should　need　doing　at　this　hour　of　the　day。　She　brings　the　little　table　within　the　glow　of　the　hearth；　so　that　I　can　help　myself　without　changing　my　easy　position。　If　she　speaks；　it　will　only　be　a　pleasant　word　or　two；　should　she　have　anything　important　to　say；　the　moment　will　be　AFTER　tea；　not　before　it；　this　she　knows　by　instinct。　Perchance　she　may　just　stoop　to　sweep　back　a　cinder　which　has　fallen　since；　in　my　absence；　she　looked　after　the　fire；　it　is　done　quickly　and　silently。　Then；　still　smiling；　she　withdraws；　and　I　know　that　she　is　going　to　enjoy　her　own　tea；　her　own　toast；　in　the　warm；　fortable；　sweet…smelling　kitchen。

VII

One　has　heard　much　condemnation　of　the　English　kitchen。　Our　typical　cook　is　spoken　of　as　a　gross；　unimaginative　creature；　capable　only　of　roasting　or　seething。　Our　table　is　said　to　be　such　as　would　weary　or　revolt　any　but　gobbet…bolting　carnivores。　We　are　told　that　our　bread　is　the　worst　in　Europe；　an　indigestible　paste；　that　our　vegetables　are　diet　rather　for　the　hungry　animal　than　for　discriminative　man；　that　our　warm　beverages；　called　coffee　and　tea；　are　so　carelessly　or　ignorantly　brewed　that　they　preserve　no　simple　virtue　of　the　drink　as　it　is　known　in　other　lands。　To　be　sure；　there　is　no　lack　of　evidence　to　explain　such　censure。　The　class　which　provides　our　servants　is　undeniably　coarse　and　stupid；　and　its　handiwork　of　every　kind　too　often　bears　the　native　stamp。　For　all　that；　English　victuals　are；　in　quality；　the　best　in　the　world；　and　English　cookery　is　the　wholesomest　and　the　most　appetizing　known　to　any　temperate　clime。

As　in　so　many　other　of　our　good　points；　we　have　achieved　this　thing　unconsciously。　Your　ordinary　Englishwoman　engaged　in　cooking　probably　has　no　other　thought　than　to　make　the　food　masticable；　but　reflect　on　the　results；　when　the　thing　is　well　done；　and　there　appears　a　culinary　principle。　Nothing　could　be　simpler；　yet　nothing　more　right　and　reasonable。　The　aim　of　English　cooking　is　so　to　deal　with　the　raw　material　of　mans　nourishment　as　to　bring　out；　for　the　healthy　palate；　all　its　natural　juices　and　savours。　And　in　this；　when　the　cook　has　any　measure　of　natural　or　acquired　skill；　we　most　notably　succeed。　Our　beef　is　veritably　beef；　at　its　best；　such　beef　as　can　be　eaten　in　no　other　country　under　the　sun；　our　mutton　is　mutton　in　its　purest　essence……think　of　a　shoulder　of　Southdown　at　the　moment　when　the　first　jet　of　gravy　starts　under　the　carving　knife！　Each　of　our　vegetables　yields　its　separate　and　characteristic　sweetness。　It　never　occurs　to　us　to　disguise　the　genuine　flavour　of　food；　if　such　a　process　be　necessary；　then　something　is　wrong　with　the　food　itself。　Some　wiseacre　scoffed　at　us　as　the　people　with　only　one　sauce。　The　fact　is；　we　have　as　many　sauces　as　we　have　kinds　of　meat；　each；　in　the　process　of　cookery；　yields　its　native　sap；　and　this　is　the　best　of　all　sauces　conceivable。　Only　English　folk　know　what　is　meant　by　GRAVY；　consequently；　the　English　alone　are　petent　to　speak　on　the　question　of　sauce。

To　be　sure；　this　culinary　principle　presupposes　food　of　the　finest　quality。　If　your　beef　and　your　mutton　have　flavours　scarcely　distinguishable；　whilst　both　this　and　that　might　conceivably　be　veal；　you　will　go　to　work　in　quite　a　different　way；　your　object　must　then　be　to　disguise；　to　counterfeit；　to　add　an　alien　relish……in　short；　to　do　anything　EXCEPT　insist　upon　the　natural　quality　of　the　viand。　Happily；　the　English　have　never　been　driven　to　these　expedients。　Be　it　flesh；　fowl；　or　fish；　each　es　to　table　so　distinctly　and　eminently　itself　that　by　no　possibility　could　it　be　confused　with　anything　else。　Give　your　average　cook　a　bit　of　cod；　and　tell　her　to　dress　it　in　her　own　way。　The　good　creature　will　carefully　boil　it；　and　there　an　end　of　the　matter；　and　by　no　exercise　of　art　could　she　have　so　treated　the　fish　as　to　make　more　manifest　and　enjoyable　that　special　savour　which　heaven　has　bestowed　upon　cod。　Think　of　our　array　of　joints；　how　royal　is　each　in　its　own　way；　and　how　utterly　unlike　any　of　the　others。　Picture　a　boiled　leg　of　mutton。　It　is　mutton；　yes；　and　mutton　of　the　best；　nature　has　bestowed　upon　man　no　sweeter　morsel；　but　the　same　joint　roasted　is　mutton　too；　and　how　divinely　different！　The　point　is　that　these　differences　are　natural；　that；　in　eliciting　them；　we　obey　the　eternal　law　of　things；　and　no　human　caprice。　Your　artificial　relish　is　here　not　only　needless；　but　offensive。

In　the　case　of　veal；　we　demand　〃stuffing。〃　Yes；　for　veal　is　a　somewhat　insipid　meat；　and　by　experience　we　have　discovered　the　best　method　of　throwing　into　relief　such　inherent　goodness　as　it　has。　The　stuffing　does　not　disguise；　nor　seek　to　disguise；　it　accentuates。　Good　veal　stuffing……reflect！……is　in　itself　a　triumph　of　culinary　instinct；　so　bland　it　is；　and　yet　so　powerful　upon　the　gastric　juices。

Did　I　call　veal　insipid？　I　must　add　that　it　is　only　so　in　parison　with　English　beef　and　mutton。　When　I　think　of　the　〃brown〃　on　the　edge　of　a　really　fine　cut　of　veal……！

VIII

As　so　often　when　my　thought　has　gone　forth　in　praise　of　things　English；　I　find　myself　tormented　by　an　after…thought……the　reflection　that　I　have　praised　a　time　gone　by。　Now；　in　this　matter　of　English　meat。　A　newspaper　tells　me　that　English　beef　is　non…existent；　that　the　best　meat　bearing　that　name　has　merely　been　fed　up　in　England　for　a　short　time　before　killing。　Well；　well；　we　can　only　be　thankful　that　the　quality　is　still　so　good。　Real　English　mutton　still　exists；　I　suppose。　It　would　surprise　me　if　any　other　country　could　produce　the　shoulder　I　had　yesterday。

Who　knows？　Perhaps　even　our　own　cookery　has　seen　its　best　days。　It　is　a　lamentable　fact　that　the　multitude　of　English　people　nowadays　never　taste　roasted　meat；　what　they　call　by　that　name　is　baked　in　the　oven……a　totally　different　thing；　though　it　may；　I　admit；　be　inferior　only　to　the　right　roast。　Oh；　the　sirloin　of　old　times；　the　sirloin　which　I　can　remember；　thirty　or　forty　years　ago！　That　was　English；　and　no　mistake；　and　all　the　history　of　civilization　could　show　nothing　on　the　table　of　mankind　to　equal　it。　To　clap　that　joint　into　a　steamy　oven　would　have　been　a　crime　unpardonable　by　gods　and　man。　Have　I　not　with　my　own　eyes　seen　it　turning；　turning　on　the　spit？　The　scent　it　diffused　was　in　itself　a　cure　for　dyspepsia。

It　is　very　long　since　I　tasted　a　slice　of　boiled　beef；　I　have　a　suspicion　that　the　thing　is　being　rare。　In　a　household　such　as　mine；　the　〃round〃　is　impracticable；　of　necessity　it　must　be　large；　altogether　too　large　for　our　requirements。　But　ories　does　my　mind　preserve！　The　very　colouring　of　a　round；　how　rich　it　is；　yet　how　delicate；　and　how　subtly　varied！　The　odour　is　totally　distinct　from　that　of　roast　beef；　and　yet　it　is　beef　incontestable。　Hot；　of　course　with　carrots；　it　is　a　dish　for　a　king；　but　cold　it　is　nobler。　Oh；　the　thin　broad　slice；　with　just　its　fringe　of　consistent　fat！

We　are　sparing　of　condiments；　but　such　as　we　use　are　the　best　that　man　has　invented。　And　we　know　HOW　to　use　them。　I　have　heard　an　impatient　innovator　scoff　at　the　English　law　on　the　subject　of　mustard；　and　demand　why；　in　the　nature　of　things；　mustard　should　not　be　eaten　with　mutton。　The　answer　is　very　simple；　this　law　has　been　made　by　the　English　palate……which　is　impeccable。　I　maintain　it　is　impeccable！　Your　educated　Englishman　is　an　infallible　guide　in　all　that　relates　to　the　table。　〃The　man　of　superior　intellect；〃　said　Tennyson……justifying　his　love　of　boiled　beef　and　new　potatoes……　〃knows　what　is　good　to　eat〃；　and　I　would　extend　it　to　all　civilized　natives　of　our　country。　We　are　content　with　nothing　but　the　finest　sa

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