in my eyes, after witnessing an unending stream of concave and
attenuated barbarian ghosts, was the sight of these perfections of
Jones Bob-Jones, that instead of the formal greeting of this
Island--the unmeaning "How do you do it?"--I shook hands cordially
with myself, and exclaimed affectionately in our own language,
"Illimitable felicities! How is your stomach?"

"Well," replied Jones Bob-Jones, after Quang-Tsun had interpreted this
polite salutation to his understanding, "since you mention it, that's
just the trouble; but I'm going on pretty well, thanks. I've tried
most of the advertised things, and now my doctor has put me
practically on a bread-and-water course--clear soup, boiled fish,
plain joint, no sweets, a crumb of cheese, and a bare three glasses of
Hermitage."

During this amiable remark (of which, as it is somewhat of a technical
nature, I was unable to grasp the contained significance until the
agreeable Quang-Tsun had subsequently repeated it several times for
my retention), I maintained a consistent expression of harmonious
agreement and gratified esteem (suitable, I find, for all like
occasions), and then, judging from the sympathetic animation of Jones
Bob-Jones's countenance, that it had not improbably been connected
with food, I discreetly introduced the subject of sea-snails,
preserved in the essence of crushed peaches, by courteously inquiring
whether he had ever partaken of such a delicacy.

"No," replied the liberal-minded person, when--encouraged by the
protruding eagerness of his eyes at the mention of the viand--I had
further spoken of the refined flavour of the dish, and explained the
manner of its preparation. "I can't say that I have, but it sounds