his

memory is odoriferous- no clown curseth, while his stomach half rejecteth, the rank bacon- no coalheaver bolteth him in reeking sausages he hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful stomach of the judicious epicure and for such a tomb might be content to die.

He is the best of sapors. Pineapple is great. She is indeed almost too transcendent

a delight, if not sinful, yet so like to sinning, that really a tender-conscienced person would do well to pause too ravishing for mortal taste, she woundeth and excoriateth the lips that approach her-like lover's kisses, she biteth she is a pleasure bordering on pain from the fierceness and insanity of her relish --but she stoppeth at the palate - she meddleth not with the appetite. and the coarsest

hunger might barter her consistently for a mutton chop.

Piglet me speak his praise — is no less provocative of the appetite, than he is satisfactory to the criticalness of the censorious palate. The strong man may batten on him, and the weakling refuseth not his mild juices.

Unlike to mankind's mixed characters, a bundle of virtues and vices, inexplicably intertwisted, and not to be unravelled without hazard, he is good throughout. No part of him is better or worse than another. He helpeth, as far as his little means extend, all around. He is the least envious of banquets. He is all neighbors' fare.

I am one of those, who freely and ungrudgingly impart a share of the good things of this