The Irish standard., 1886-08-28
ROOMS I HAVE DINED IN,
by GEORGE PARSONS I.hrARoI.

why shouldn't we cherish the recollec-
ton Of pleasant roolns in which we have
eaten lust as we 60 that Of agreeable
peoyla whom VIC have kDownt / have all
artist friend who used to say shat every
room has its peculiar "f'ugey" its
mysterious, spectral Influence. which may
be either propitious and exhilarating or
malignant and depressing. There Is q
great deal Of truth in this idea. Some
prNple have al Instinct which, on their
entering house fol- he first time, leads
them unerYingly to the particular apart
nlent in which IL death has occurred and
most of us are sadGened OF c]lcered by the
atmosphere of a house whether we have
any association with it or not. So, since
eating is process often accompanied by
de1ectable sensations, it is natural enough
that certain dining rooms n;ld breakfast
rooms Of the past should reappear in ones
memory through mellow haze of pleas
Ing thoughts.
say sroo1ns T have dined in," because,
although it is not an especially elegant
phrase, it sounds better than strooms I
have eaten in.' TO saline" is something
more than merely to steat.' In order to
dine in the finer sense Of The word we
must eat with imagination ard sentiment.
The act Of replenishing the fuel of life
must be localized, if we are to make it any
thing more than part of the days work.
Even the poorest man, taking his repast In
humble and neager surroundings, lifts 1t
above the level of the rest of tho day by
saving q grace, or at least by feeling COM
fort and gratitude at the prospect of q
brief rest and refreshment Yet he never
thinks of saying grace before beginning
the lob OF cleaning out a cellar, which may
be Just as providential as the fact that he
has got something to eat. People IN the
various stages Of better fortune, above the
poorest, carry the idealizing Of nutrition
further by many little rshuements, until
dinners become works OF art that are worth
remembering.
Queen Elizabeth used to Cine at II 80
in the morning; and as this, with other
data, shows that dinner is a ENJOYABLE
FEAST" l shall include in these rem
iniscences any meal that comes handy.
never have sat at meal in palace {;
have never even been called upon to at
tend a. estate dinner" at the White House,
though once had the pleasure OF sharing
in the family dinner of a chief executive
there, and very gracefully managed
affair It was, although the yialds and the
voo1n were far less sumptnous that they
would have been in the homes Of many
private citizens. One Of the 1..ost charm
ing luncl,eous | ever went TO was at the
Artichoke Inn, somewhere in London. 1t
was over twenty years ogo: and remem-
Der only that we drove long way to the
docks and shipyards at the east end of
London, then took steamer along the river,
landed on the Surrey side, turned corner
or two and went into dingy old building
close to the waters edge. To enter was to
encounter q transformation. Outside
everything was grimy sooty, dull. Inside
there was scene Of perfect neatncss and
comfort. The floor was bare but wonder
fully clean. The glass and napery shone.
There were pictures on the walls, and
quiet, decorous hospitality reigned
throughout the low-ceiled apartment. A
broad window at the eud OF the room
looked out upon the Thames with its
crowd Of shipping, tangled spars and rig
ging, moving steamboats, and the smoke
blackened buildings opposite. AL around
us were shipyards, found1ies and the
numbering machinery of trade; but where
we were seated perfect peace. tranquility
and order prevailed. The walters were as
polished SIS the silver; and q luxurious
luncheon was served. 1ucludlnS EIeuCn
artichokes, which greatly surpassed any
thing that could have been had in the pre-
tentlous but poor restaurants of Piccadilly,
or at the overrated Verrey's on Regent
street. And yet suppose that not one
out OF 5000 Americans who have visited
London has 80 much as heard Of the
Artichocke Inn, which has stood for
century or two just as we found it, and
Dickens Dictionary of London" done not
rpontipn ~