leads elsewhere. It is the universal opinion of all most accustomed to
weigh evidence (and in these I very properly include not only such
political hacks as are already upon the bench but sweepingly every
single lawyer in Parliament, since any one of them may tomorrow be a
judge) that milk is older than cheese, and that man had the use of milk
before he cunningly devised the trick of squeezing it in a press and by
sacrificing something of its sweetness endowed it with a sort of
immortality.

The story of all this has perished. Do not believe any man who professes
to give it you. If he tells you some legend of a god who taught the
Wheat-eating Race, the Ploughers, and the Lords to make cheese, tell him
such tales are true symbols, but symbols only. If he tells you that
cheese was an evolution and a development, oh! then!--bring up your
guns! Open on the fellow and sweep his intolerable lack of intelligence
from the earth. Ask him if he discovers reality to be a function of
time, and Being to hide in clockwork. Keep him on the hop with ironical
comments upon how it may be that environment can act upon Will, while
Will can do nothing with environment--whose proper name is mud. Pester
the provincial. Run him off the field.

But about cheese. Its noble antiquity breeds in it a noble diffusion.

This happy Christendom of ours (which is just now suffering from an
indigestion and needs a doctor--but having also a complication of
insomnia cannot recollect his name) has been multifarious
incredibly--but in nothing more than in cheese!

One cheese differs from another, and the difference is in sweeps, and in
landscapes, and in provinces, and in countrysides, and in climates, and