"It is an exquisite idea of yours," said Guloseton--"and the next time
you dine here, we will have perfumes. Dinner ought to be a reunion of all
the senses--

"'Gladness to the ear, nerve, heart, and sense.'"

There was a momentary pause. "My lord," said I, "what a lusty
lusciousness in this pear! it is like the style of the old English poets.
What think you of the seeming good understanding between Mr. Gaskell and
the Whigs?"

"I trouble myself little about it," replied Guloseton, helping himself to
some preserves--"politics disturb the digestion."

"Well," thought I, "I must ascertain some point in this man's character
easier to handle than his epicurism: all men are vain: let us find out
the peculiar vanity of mine host."

"The Tories," said I, "seem to think themselves exceedingly secure; they
attach no importance to the neutral members; it was but the other day,
Lord--told me that he did not care a straw for Mr.--, notwithstanding he
possessed four votes. Heard you ever such arrogance?"

"No, indeed," said Golouston, with a lazy air of indifference--"are you a
favourer of the olive?"

"No," said I, "I love it not; it hath an under taste of sourness, and an
upper of oil, which do not make harmony to my palate. But, as I was
saying, the Whigs, on the contrary, pay the utmost deference to their