s but a
trifling pretence. No man of the most rigid virtue gives offence in
any excesses of plum-pudding or plum-porridge, and that because
they are the first parts of the dinner. Is there anything that
tends to incitation in sweetmeats more than in ordinary dishes?
Certainly not. Sugar-plums are a very innocent diet, and conserves
of a much colder nature than your common pickles."

In another place speaking of the dinner table, Addison ridicules the
"false delicacies" of the time. He tells us how at a great party he
could find nothing eatable, and how horrified he was at being asked to
partake of a young pig that had been whipped to death. Eventually, he
had to finish his dinner at home, and is led to inculcate his maxim that
"he keeps the greatest table who has the most valuable company at it."
In another place he complains of the lateness of the dinner-hour, and
asks what it will come to eventually, as it is already three o'clock!

Of the evil courses of the "wine-brewers" Addison, who lived in the
world of the rich, no doubt heard frequent complaints--

"There is in this city a certain fraternity of chemical operators,
who work underground in holes, caverns, and dark retirements, to
conceal their mysteries from the eyes and observation of mankind.
These subterraneous philosophers are daily employed in the
transmutation of liquors, and, by the power of magical drugs and
incantations, raising under the streets of London the choicest
products of the hills and valleys of France. They can squeeze
Bordeaux out of the sloe, and draw Champagne from an apple. Virgil
in that remarkable prophecy,

'Incultisque rubens pendebit sentibus uva,'
The ripening grape shall hang on every thorn,

seems to have hinted at this art, which can turn a plantation of
northern hedges in a vineyard. These adepts are known among one
another by the name of _wine-brewers_; and I am afraid do great
injury not only to Her Majesty's customs, but to the bodies of many
of her good subjects."

After what we have seen in our own times we need not be surprised that
the ladies of Addison's day revived the old "fardingales," an expansion
of dress which has always been a subject of ridicule, and probably will
continue to be upon all its future appearances. The matter is first here
brought forward as follows:

"The humble petition of W