At an inn in the north I once heard three men talking at their breakfast on the question of diet.They agreed that most people ate too much meat, and one of them went so far as to declare that, for his part, he rather preferred vegetables and fruit."Why," he said, "will you believe me that I sometimes make a breakfast of apples?"This announcement was received in silence; evidently the two listeners didn't quite know what to think of it.Thereupon the speaker, in rather a blustering tone, cried out, "Yes, I can make a very good breakfast on TWO OR THREE POUNDS OF APPLES."Wasn't it amusing? And wasn't it characteristic? This honest Briton had gone too far in frankness.'Tis all very well to like vegetables and fruits up to a certain point; but to breakfast on apples! His companions' silence proved that they were just a little ashamed of him; his confession savoured of poverty or meanness; to right himself in their opinion, nothing better occurred to the man than to protest that he ate apples, yes, but not merely one or two;he ate them largely, BY THE POUND! I laughed at the fellow, but Ithoroughly understood him; so would every Englishman; for at the root of our being is a hatred of parsimony.This manifests itself in all sorts of ludicrous or contemptible forms, but no less is it the source of our finest qualities.An Englishman desires, above all, to live largely; on that account he not only dreads, but hates and despises, poverty.His virtues are those of the free-handed and warm-hearted opulent man; his weaknesses come of the sense of inferiority (intensely painful and humiliating) which attaches in his mind to one who cannot spend and give; his vices, for the most part, originate in loss of self-respect due to loss of secure position.
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