This impromptu was greeted with roars of laughter, and any awkwardness that might have been caused by the contretemps was entirely swept away by Mark Twain's bonhomie.
"I have dined in all quarters of the world: I have eaten clam and canvas back in New York, I have sipped Sake' in Tokio, I have munched junk at sea and drunk debatable water in the tropics," wrote H. H. describing his experiences; and again, "Dining as a fine art concerns rather the ear than the tongue," which is after all exactly what the witty old lady meant when she said, "It isn't the menu that matters, it's the men you sit next to."
The ideal dinner was a subject H. H. was fond of discussing, and he embodied his views in a light essay, wherefrom the gourmet will learn little but the lover of good company find much food for thought.
"A company of mutes hired to mourn over the joint and bird," was a description that could never be applied to one of H. H.'s parties, and it is pleasing to feel that such obsequies have become almost a thing of the past. I have said that H. H. was not a good platform speaker, but he had a very happy gift of after-dinner speaking and some rare flash of wit or anecdote could be counted on. He was Vice-President, if not President, of a club formed for the purpose of limiting speeches to ten minutes, whose members, be it said, were greatly sought after.
Sunday luncheon-parties in Eaton Square brought together such pleasant company as went far to attain Disraeli's concept: "A little dinner, not more than the Muses, with all the guests clever and some pretty."
In the old days, when Lord Russell of Killowen was a constant visitor, his brilliance and rich store
