Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1886-05-28
ROOMS | HAVE DINED in.
BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHEoP.

Why shouldn't we cherish the recollec-
tion of pleasant rooms in which we have
eaten just as we do that of agreeable
people when we have known? l have an
artist friend who used to say that every
room las its peculiar "bogey" its
mysterious, spectral influence, which may
be either propitious and eXhilarating or
malignant and depressing. There is a
great deal Of truth in this idea. Some
prople have an instinct which, on their
entering a house for the first time, leads
them uncrringly to the particular apart
ment in which u death has occurred, and
most Of rs are saddcncd or cheCred by the
atmosphere Of Il house whether we have
any association with it or not. So, since
eating is Il process often accompanied by
dclcct0ble sensations, it is natural enough
that certain dining rooms and breakfast
rooms Of the past should reappear in ones
memory through mellow haze of pleas
ing thoughts.
say 'rooms I have dined in" because,
although it is not an especially elegant
phrase, it sounds better thln s'rooms
have eaten in" TO ''dine" is something
more than merely to seat" In order to
dine, in the finer sense of The word we
CtiU WIN gnu
The act of replcnishing the fuel of life
must be localized, five are to make it any
thing more than part of the days work.
Even the poorest man, taking his repast in
humble and meager surroundings, lifts it
above the level Of the rest of the day by
saving d grace, or at least by feeling COM
fort and gratitude at the prospect of a
brief rest and refreshment. Yet he never
I 8 IoF
the job of cleaning out cellar, which may
be just as providential us the fact that he
has got something TO eat. People in the
various stages of better fortune, above the
poorest, carry the ideqlizing of nutrition
further by many little refnements, until
dinners become works Of art that are worth
remembering.
Queen Elizabeth used to dine at II 80
In the morning; and as this, with other
data, shows that dinner is a ENJOYABLE
feast" | shall include in these rem.
iniscences any meal that comes handy.
l never have sat at meal in q palace;
have never even been called upon to at
tend a 'state dinner at the White House,
though l once had the pleasure of sharing
in the family dinner of a chief executive
there, and a very gracefully managed
affair it was, although the viands and the
room were far less sumptnous that they
would have been in the homes of many
private citizens. One OF the most charm
ing lunCheonS | ever went to was ut the
Artichoke Inn, somewhere in London. It
was over twenty years ego, and | remcm-
Der only that we drove a 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. 10 enter was to
encounter transformation. Outside
everything was grimy, sOoty, dull. Inside
there was q scene of perfect neatness 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 ont upon the Thames, with its
crowd of shipping, tangled spars and rig
ging, moving steamboats, and the smoke
blackened buildings opposite. All around
Us were shipyards, foundriCs and the
numbering machinery of trade; but where
we were seated perfect peace, tranquility
and order prevailed. The walters were as
polished as the silver; and luxurious
luncheon was served including French
artichokes which greatly surpassed any
thing that could haze been had in the pre-
teutlous but poor restaurants of Piccadilly,
or at the oVcnated Verrey's on Regent
street. And yet l suppose that not one
out of 5000 Americans who have visited
London has so much as heard of the
Artichocke Inn, which has stood for q
century or two just as we found it, and
Dickens Dictionary of London" done not
mention it,