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 chemist's 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 o'clock 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 o'clock 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 man's 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