“So it seems, Doctor.”

“What do you suppose a glass of port costs?”

“About three pence English, Doctor.”

“That must be poor port.  But how much good bread will three pence English purchase?”

“Three penny rolls, Doctor.”

“How many glasses of port do you suppose a man may drink at a meal?”

“The gentleman at White Waltham drank a bottle at a dinner.”

“A bottle contains just thirteen glasses—­that’s thirty-nine pence, supposing it poor wine.  If something of the best, which is the only sort any sane man should drink, as being the least poisonous, it would be quadruple that sum, which is one hundred and fifty-six pence, which is seventy-eight two-penny loaves.  Now, do you not think that for one man to swallow down seventy-two two-penny rolls at one meal is rather extravagant business?”

“But he drank a bottle of wine; he did not eat seventy-two two-penny rolls, Doctor.”

“He drank the money worth of seventy-two loaves, which is drinking the loaves themselves; for money is bread.”

“But he has plenty of money to spare, Doctor.”

“To have to spare, is to have to give away.  Does the gentleman give much away?”

“Not that I know of, Doctor.”

“Then he thinks he has nothing to spare; and thinking he has nothing to spare, and yet prodigally drinking down his money as he does every day, it seems to me that that gentleman stands self-contradicted, and therefore is no good example for plain sensible folks like you and me to follow.  My honest friend, if you are poor, avoid wine as a costly luxury; if you are rich, shun it as a fatal indulgence.  Stick to plain water.  And now, my good friend, if you are through with your meal, we will rise.  There is no pastry coming.  Pastry is poisoned bread.  Never eat pastry.  Be a plain man, and stick to plain things.  Now, my friend, I shall have to be private until nine o’clock in the evening, when I shall be again at your service.  Meantime you may go to your room.  I have ordered the one next to this to be prepared for you.  But you must not be idle.  Here is Poor Richard’s Almanac, which, in view of our late conversation, I commend to your earnest perusal.  And here, too, is a Guide to Paris, an English one, which you can read.  Study it well, so that when you come back from England, if you should then have an opportunity to travel about Paris, to see its wonders, you will have all the chief places made historically familiar to you.  In this world, men must provide knowledge before it is wanted, just as our countrymen in New England get in their winter’s fuel one season, to serve them the next.”

So saying, this homely sage, and household Plato, showed his humble guest to the door, and standing in the hall, pointed out to him the one which opened into his allotted apartment.

CHAPTER VIII.