deliberate and cold-blooded torture of the creatures whose marrowy bones
are _crunched_ by the epicure, without a thought of the suffering that
preceded his intensely pleasurable emotions, and the bare mention of
which, in this narrative, is almost more than sufficient, then, worst of
all, the wilful prodigality and waste--the wickedness of casting to the
dogs the healthy food for which whole families, widows, and beggared
orphans are pining in the neighbouring street--the guilty indifference of
him who finds the wealth for the profusion, and the impudent recklessness
of the underling who abuses it. Such are a few of the causes which concur
in giving to the finest banquet I have seen an aspect not more odious
than humiliating; and here I dwell upon the fact, because the incident
which I shall shortly bring before the reader's eye, served to confirm
the feelings which I entertain on this subject, and presented an
instructive contrast to the splendid entertainment which greeted my
immediate arrival.

I slept at the house of Mr Treherne, and, on the following morning, was an
early riser. I strolled through the city, and, returning home, found my
active friend seated at his breakfast-table, with a host of papers, and a
packet of newly-arrived letters before him. The dinner was no more like
the breakfast, than was my friend in the midst of his guests like my
friend alone with his papers. His meal consisted of one slice of dry
toast, and one cup of tea, already cold. The face that was all smile and
relaxation of muscle on the preceding evening, was solemn and composed.
You might have ventured to assert that tea and toast were that man's most
stimulating diet, and that the pleasures of the counting-house were the
highest this world could afford him. I, however, had passed the evening
with him, and was better informed. Mr Treherne requested me to ring the
bell. I did so, and his servant speedily appeared with a tray of garnished
dainties, of which I was invited to partake, with many expressions of