endeavoured to get professed "diners out" to
enliven the tedium of the table. But the practical
success of the truest principle depends upon
its being worked on a sound system. At times
the "diner out" was not up to the mark, or he
was sulky and silent owing to the presence of
a rival, or his position at the table prevented
him from talking with effect, and finally all minor
matters being favourable, it frequently happened
that his mental bias was not in unison with
that of the company generally. Nevertheless,
a belief in the necessity of mind at the
dinner- table was the chief point to be gained.
It was the glory of Mr. Jones that he created
a systematic association of intellect with
gastronomic enjoyment.

O reader! dwell awhile on the
comprehensiveness of the "system Jones;"
Recollect that dinner is the law of civilised
humanity. Coenandum est omnibus! politicians
and poets, men of science, men of art, men of
sport, transcendentalists, materialists, stout-bodied
theologians, and slim damsels with golden hair
and violet eyes—all, all are the slaves of that law.
It was necessary that Mr. Jones should be
en rapport with the whole circle of human
interest, from the merit of the last prima donna
and the crinoline question, up to the profoundest
questions of philosophy, and the combat of
Sayers and Heenan.

The "system Jones" was carried on in the
following method. I will suppose that you have
asked your friends to dinner, and received their
reply, taking care always to leave one or two
vacant places at the table, and that you have
finally decided on the menu with your chef.
You then called by appointment on Mr. Jones,
and gave him a list of your guests, with the best
description in your power of their mental bias
and taste, and also a copy of the menu. After
making careful notes and: asking a few definite
questions, Mr. Jones bade you good morning,
taking a preliminary fee of a guinea. On the
evening of each day Mr. Jones carefully read
over his notes and settled in his mind the topics
of conversation, and the method of treatment
which would be most interesting to your guests
generally.  I need scarcely say that this was a
most difficult operation. For instance, given an
evangelical Dean hot on revivals, and an
enthusiastic fox-hunter, to find the bond of
common interest between the two; and yet so
great was the sympathetic power of Mr. Jones,
that he was enabled to devise a line of conversation
equally interesting to the parson and the
sportsman. If this were wonderful in the case
of two persons of opposite tastes, how much
more wonderful the power he possessed of
arranging a conversation which was capable of
engaging the sympathy of perhaps half a dozen
persons of distinct pursuits and inclinations?
Of course this was very difficult to effect: the
result often of hours of laborious thought. The
charge for a dinner of this kind was far higher
than for one in which the guests had been asked
with some regard to community of sentiment:
still, if you chose to pay for it, you might with
safety ask your friends pell-mell, and rest with
happy confidence in the success of your dinner.

The menu was an object of importance as a
secondary point in Mr. Jones's calculations. His
early studies with regard to the palate, as an
inlet of consciousness to the mind, were by no
means valueless to him, now that they were
divested of youthful extravagance. The current
of conversation was set in responsive harmony
with the character of each plat, in the way that
the mere gastronomist associates certain
wines with certain dishes. So with a piquante
sauce there was a stronger dash of irony and
persiflage, a more serious tone with a brown
sauce than a white sauce, lightest and most
brilliant fancy with the soufflé, deepest tones of
all with the roti.

Mr. Jones's final arrangements with regard to
the conversation were noted into a book under
the date of your dinner party. It will be obvious,
with such nicety of arrangement, that if one of
the guests failed at the last, he or she could
only be replaced by a person whose tastes
and sentiments were in accordance with those
of some of the original guests, because the
introduction of an entirely new mental
element would have destroyed the plan
of the conversation. A few days after your
interview with Mr. Jones, you received a
note giving the names of the two professional
conversationalists who would attend your
dinner; the places that they ought,
if possible, to occupy at the table so as to give
them the power of talking with due effect.
Many people objected to giving up two chairs,
but on this point Mr. Jones was very emphatic—
it was his maxim that the conversation must
flow, that there must be no abrupt jumping at
points. Unless the topic was opened by a
second person it was impossible for the "talker"
to make his points with apparent spontaneity.
Mr. Jones affirmed that he had frequently known
some of the most perfect stories and bons mots
fall utterly lifeless because the narrator had
been obliged to force them without a natural
introduction; he would never guarantee the
success of a dinner unless he was allowed to
send a "leader," as he was technically termed,
to open the line of conversation for his co-adjutor.
The two conversationalists duly arrived at the
hour appointed for dinner, but never in one
another's company,— they were ushered into
the drawing-room, and received with the same
courtesy as the real guests — the whole charm
would have been broken had their professional
character been for a moment suspected. With
regard to those heavy, sullen minutes before
dinner is announced, Mr. Jones confessed
his inability to afford any relief; indeed, he
held that all conversation at that period was an
utter waste of power, as the human mind, like
the caged tiger prior to feeding-time, was in
too disquieted a condition to receive any
impression with effect.

Perhaps the most extraordinary circumstance
connected with the "system Jones" was the fact
that very frequently the professional talkers