midnight
As a system , he was rigidly abstemious . For days together he would drink nothing but water , eat nothing but bread , or hard biscuit , or a couple of eggs ; then , having wound up some allotted portion of work , Ardworth would indulge what he called a self - saturnalia , -- would stride off with old college friends to an inn in one of the suburbs , and spend , as he said triumphantly , `` a day of blessed debauch ! '' Innocent enough , for the most part , the debauch was , consisting in cracking jests , stringing puns , a fish dinner , perhaps , and an extra bottle or two of fiery port . Sometimes this jollity , which was always loud and uproarious , found its scene in one of the cider-cellars or midnight taverns ; but Ardworth 's labours on the Press made that latter dissipation extremely rare . These relaxations were always succeeded by a mien more than usually grave , a manner more than usually curt and ungracious , an application more than ever rigorous and intense . John Ardworth was not a good-tempered man , but he was the best-natured man that ever breathed . He was , like all ambitious persons , very much occupied with self ; and yet it would have been a ludicrous misapplication of words to call him selfish .