(_Being some Brief Diary Notes of a Coming Little Dinner (New Style),
jotted down a few years hence._)
"YOUR dinner is served. Sir!"
It was the Professorial Butler who made this announcement with a
solemn and significant bow. He had undertaken, for the modest fee of
half-a-crown, to throw my four guests,--an Epicurean Duke, a couple
of noted Diners-out, and a Gourmand of a high order well known in
Society,--into a profound hypnotic sleep, under the influence of
which, while supplied with a few scraps of food, and slops by way
of drink, they were to believe that they were assisting at a most
_recherche_ repast, provided by a _cuisine_, and accompanied by choice
vintage wines, both of the first excellence.
I felt a little nervous as we proceeded to the dining-room, but as
the Professor adroitly passed his hand over the head of each as he
descended the stairs, and pointed out to me the dazed and vacant look
that had settled on the features of all of them, I felt reassured,
especially when they fell mechanically into their places, and began to
peruse, with evident delight, the contents of the _Menu_, which ran as
follows:--