O fortunate nimium, who were not bred on the Bohn, and feel no inclination, therefore, to come out in the flesh:  were you so foolish as to ask me for a proof that this Age is not like the last, what more answer need I give than to point to the edition after edition of Petronius, text, notes, translation, illustrations, and even a collotype reproduction of the precious manuscript, that have been poured out upon us during the last twenty years.  But you can read—­and have read, I am sure—­a whole multitude of stories in the newspapers, which are recovering admirably the old frankness in narration, and have discarded the pose of sermonising rectitude which led the journalists of a hundred years ago to call things (the names of which must have been constantly on their lips) “too infamous to be named”; and from these stories you must have become familiar with the existence in our country to-day of every one of the types whom you will discover afresh in Mr. Burnaby’s and the “other Hand’s” pages.  It is customary to begin with Trimalchio, not that he is the chief, or even the most interesting figure in the book, but because his is the type most commonly mentioned in society.  To name living examples of him would be actionable; besides, you are old enough, surely, to remember the Great War against Germany, and the host of Trimalchiones and Fortunatae whom it enknighted and endamed.  But to go back to our hill above Saint Andrew’s, Wester Pitcorthie yonder was the birthplace of James, Lord Hay, of Lanley, Viscount Doncaster and Earl of Carlisle, the favourite of James vi and I, of whom the reverend historian tells us that “his first favour arose from a most strange and costly feast which he gave the king.  With every fresh advance his magnificence increased, and the sumptuousness of his repasts seemed in the eyes of the world to prove him a man made for the highest fortunes and fit for any rank.  As an example of his prodigality and extravagance, Osborne tells us that he cannot forget one of the attendants of the king, who, at a feast made by this monster in excess, ’eat to his single share a whole pye reckoned to my lord at L10, being composed of ambergris, magisterial of pearl, musk,’ etc.  But, perhaps, the most notable instance of his voluptuousness, is the fact that it was not enough for his ambition that his suppers should please the taste alone; the eye also must be gratified, and this was his device.  The company was ushered in to a table covered with the most elegant art and the greatest profusion; all that the silver-smith, the shewer, the confectioner, or the cook could produce.  While the company was examining and admiring this delicate display, the viands of course grew cold, and unfit for such choice palates.  The whole, therefore, called the ante-supper, was suddenly removed, and another supper quite hot, and forming the exact duplicate of the former, was served in its place.