The Tureen Of Soup
Was A Black Sea, With Livers And Limbs And Fragments Of All Kinds Of
Birds And Beasts, Floating Like Wrecks About It.
A meagre winged
animal, which my host called a delicate chicken, was too delicate for
his stomach, for it had evidently died of a consumption.
The macaroni
was smoked. The beefsteak was tough buffalo's flesh, and the
countenance of mine host confirmed the assertion. Nothing seemed to hit
his palate but a dish of stewed eels, of which he ate with great
relish, but had nearly refunded them when told that they were vipers,
caught among the rocks of Terracina, and esteemed a great delicacy.
In short, the Englishman ate and growled, and ate and growled, like a
cat eating in company, pronouncing himself poisoned by every dish, yet
eating on in defiance of death and the doctor. The Venetian lady, not
accustomed to English travellers, almost repented having persuaded him
to the meal; for though very gracious to her, he was so crusty to all
the world beside, that she stood in awe of him. There is nothing,
however, that conquers John Bull's crustiness sooner than eating,
whatever may be the cookery; and nothing brings him into good humor
with his company sooner than eating together; the Englishman,
therefore, had not half finished his repast and his bottle, before he
began to think the Venetian a very tolerable fellow for a foreigner,
and his wife almost handsome enough to be an Englishwoman.
In the course of the repast the tales of robbers which harassed the
mind of the fair Venetian, were brought into discussion.
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