The bachelor and the chafing dish

Does any woman know that? Does any woman realize the honest, pure feeling of affection that one man may have for another — that feeling that is never lost as long as life lasts? I The Bachelor and the Chafing-dish . think Jim enjoyed my enjoyment more than he did his own ; I know he did. He left the table with a worried brow, and I saw him talk to the proprietor — old Gerot gone to his reward — then he returned with a smile, and “it’s all right until to-morrow ! ” Emerson has said, “ We walk alone in the world.” I don’t believe it. “ Men talk of unkind hearts, kind deeds With coldness still returning. Alas ! the gratitude of men Has often left me mourning.” Musing sit I on the settle, By the firelight’s cheerful blaze, Listening to the busy kettle Humming long-forgotten lays.” — Heine. It was blowing great guns outside one night, and I was just in for a lazy time of it with a “ churchwarden” and a “ hot Scotch,” when my friend Henderson squeezed through the doorway, and instantly filled the room with his ruddy glow of geniality. From a capacious pocket in his great topcoat he drew forth a sealed quart-can and placed it on the table with a bang. “ There ! ” said he, “ is something direct from Glasgow ; you never tasted the like of it. But give me a Scotch haggis when I’m hungry, and I call it the ‘ hecht ’ of hospitality ! ” “ And what is a haggis, pray ? ” I asked with some astonishment, surveying the object as I might a can of dynamite. “ A haggis ? ” Then he stretched himself on the settle, lit a warden, and said with an injured air : “ I thought better than that of you, old chap. I knew you never tasted one, but it’s not# half so mysterious as your American hash. A haggis ? The Bachelor and the Chafing-dish. Why, it’s the stomach of a sheep filled with its other good things — heart, tongue, and liver, all cut up ; then there’s added to it a bit of bacon, eggs, anchovies, wine, and pepper and salt ! Then you boil it for two hours ! ” “ That’s pleasant,” I ejaculated. “Of course it is,” said Henderson. “Why, man alive, it’s the pleasantest thing on earth ! ” “ I mean — sitting around for a couple of hours — waiting for it to boil ! ” “ But if / don’t object to sitting around why should you ? Come, don’t you think you’re a bit unreasonable for a man who doesn’t know anything about haggis? Besides, what is time made for, anyway ? ” “ Of course, I know, but ” — I put in — “ it isn’t the time so much as it is the waiting. Now, look at it seriously, old fellow. Say, for instance, we start in : you tell that old Scotch story of yours about Doctor McLeod’s Sunday out ; that will take twenty minutes, possibly half an hour, if you’re in the humor of it. After that you’ll tell me George Augustus Sala’s conversation with Sardou about French plays being prejudicial to the morals of the young ; that certainly won’t take ten minutes, if you get excited over it. Then you’ll follow wdth your inimitable, and, I may say, superb, description of My Scotch Friend . the Maharajah’s palace ; that’s another twenty minutes. Now, what are we to do the next hour ? ”