Dear Gourmands! My Bowels Yearn Towards Them

I Am Not Accustomed To Take My Wine In Pills.

Tell Me What You Eat, And I Will Tell You Who You Are.

Seating Themselves On The Greensward, They Eat While The Corks Fly And There Is Talk, Laughter And Merriment, And Perfect Freedom, For The Universe Is Their Drawing Room And The Sun Their Lamp. Besides, They Have Appetite, Nature's Special Gift, Which Lends To Such A Meal A Vivacity Unknown Indoors, However Beautiful The Surroundings.

All Men, Even Those We Call Savages, Have Been So Tormented By The Passion For Strong Drinks, That Limited As Their Capacities Were, They Were Yet Able To Manufacture Them.

For Unknown Foods, The Nose Acts Always As A Sentinal And Cries. 'who Goes There?'