in principalities, and in realms, and in the nature of things. Cheese
does most gloriously reflect the multitudinous effect of earthly things,
which could not be multitudinous did they not proceed from one mind.

Consider the cheese of Rocquefort: how hard it is in its little box.
Consider the cheese of Camembert, which is hard also, and also lives in
a little box, but must not be eaten until it is soft and yellow.
Consider the cheese of Stilton, which is not made there, and of Cheddar,
which is. Then there is your Parmesan, which idiots buy rancid in
bottles, but which the wise grate daily for their use: you think it is
hard from its birth? You are mistaken. It is the world that hardens the
Parmesan. In its youth the Parmesan is very soft and easy, and is
voraciously devoured.

Then there is your cheese of Wensleydale, which is made in Wensleydale,
and your little Swiss cheese, which is soft and creamy and eaten with
sugar, and there is your Cheshire cheese and your little Cornish cheese,
whose name escapes me, and your huge round cheese out of the Midlands,
as big as a fort whose name I never heard. There is your toasted or
Welsh cheese, and your cheese of Pont-l'eveque, and your white cheese of
Brie, which is a chalky sort of cheese. And there is your cheese of
Neufchatel, and there is your Gorgonzola cheese, which is mottled all
over like some marbles, or like that Mediterranean soap which is made of
wood-ash and of olive oil. There is your Gloucester cheese called the
Double Gloucester, and I have read in a book of Dunlop cheese, which is
made in Ayrshire: they could tell you more about it in Kilmarnock. Then
Suffolk makes a cheese, but does not give it any name; and talking of
that reminds me how going to Le Quesnoy to pass the people there the
time of day, and to see what was left of that famous but forgotten
fortress, a young man there showed me a cheese, which he told me also