law, Pogson is acquainted with the state of the tallow-market; but what
should he know of eating, like you and me, who have given up our time
to it? (I say ME only familiarly, for I have only reached so far in
the science as to know that I know nothing.) But men there are, gifted
individuals, who have spent years of deep thought--not merely
intervals of labor, but hours of study every day--over the gormandizing
science,--who, like alchemists, have let their fortunes go, guinea by
guinea, into the all-devouring pot,--who, ruined as they sometimes are,
never get a guinea by chance but they will have a plate of pease in May
with it, or a little feast of ortolans, or a piece of Glo'ster salmon,
or one more flask from their favorite claret-bin.

It is not the ruined gastronomist that I would advise a person to select
as his TABLE-MASTER; for the opportunities of peculation would be too
great in a position of such confidence--such complete abandonment of
one man to another. A ruined man would be making bargains with the
tradesmen. They would offer to cash bills for him, or send him opportune
presents of wine, which he could convert into money, or bribe him in one
way or another. Let this be done, and the profession of table-master is
ruined. Snorter and Pogson may almost as well order their own dinners,
as be at the mercy of a "gastronomic agent" whose faith is not beyond
all question.

A vulgar mind, in reply to these remarks regarding the gastronomic
ignorance of Snorter and Pogson, might say, "True, these gentlemen know
nothing of household economy, being occupied with other more important
business elsewhere. But what are their wives about? Lady Pogson in
Harley Street has nothing earthly to do but to mind her poodle, and her
mantua-maker's and housekeeper's bills. Mrs. Snorter in Belford Place,
when she has taken her drive in the Park with the young ladies, may