Bert. What would you do in this Case?  ’Tis what they have been used to, and it is a Part of a constant Mind, not to depart from a Custom.

Will. And yet, within these five and twenty Years, nothing was more in Vogue in Brabant, than hot Baths, but now they are every where grown out of Use; but the new Scabbado has taught us to lay them down.

Bert. Well, but hear the rest:  By and by, in comes our bearded Ganymede again, and lays on the Table as many Napkins as there are Guests:  But, good God! not Damask ones, but such as you’d take to have been made out of old Sails.  There are at least eight Guests allotted to every Table.  Now those that know the Way of the Country, take their Places, every one as he pleases, for there’s no Difference between Poor or Rich, between the Master and Servant.

Will. This was that ancient Equality which now the Tyrant Custom has driven quite out of the World.  I suppose Christ liv’d after this Manner with his Disciples.

Bert. After they are all plac’d, out comes the sour-look’d Ganymede again, and counts his Company over again; by and by he comes in again, and brings every Man a Wooden Dish, and a Spoon of the same Silver, and then a Glass; and then a little after he brings Bread, which the Guests may chip every one for themselves at Leisure, while the Porridge is boiling.  For sometimes they sit thus for near an Hour.

Will. Do none of the Guests call for Meat in the mean Time?

Bert. None who knows the Way of the Country.  At last the Wine is set upon the Table:  Good God! how far from being tasteless?  So thin and sharp, that Sophisters ought to drink no other.  And if any of the Guests should privately offer a Piece of Money to get a little better Wine some where else; at first they’ll say nothing to you, but give you a Look, as if they were going to murder you; and if you press it farther, they answer you, there have been so many Counts and Marquisses that have lodg’d here, and none of them ever found fault with this Wine:  If you don’t like it, get you another Inn.  They account only the Noblemen of their own Nation to be Men, and where-ever you come, they are shewing you their Arms.  By this time, comes a Morsel to pacify a barking Stomach:  And by and by follow the Dishes in great Pomp; commonly the first has Sippits of Bread in Flesh Broth, or if it be a Fish Day, in a Soup of Pulse.  After that comes in another Soup, and then a Service of Butcher’s Meat, that has been twice boil’d, or salt Meats warm’d again, and then Pulse again, and by and by something of more solid Food, until their Stomachs being pretty well staid, they bring roast Meat or stewed Fish, which is not to be at all contemn’d; but this they are sparing of, and take it away again quickly.  This is the Manner they order the Entertainment, as Comedians do, who intermingle Dances among their Scenes, so do they their Chops and Soups by Turns:  But they take Care that the last Act shall be the best.