should deprive ourselves of the flavour bestowed by nature; and this, my
dear Pelham, was always my great argument for liberty. Cooped, chained,
and confined in cities, and slavery, all things lose the fresh and
generous tastes, which it is the peculiar blessing of freedom and the
country to afford.

"Tell me, my friend, what has been the late subject of your reflections?
My thoughts have dwelt much, and seriously, on the 'terra incognita,' the
undiscovered tracts in the pays culinaire, which the profoundest
investigators have left untouched and unexplored in veal. But more of
this hereafter;--the lightness of a letter, is ill suited to the depths
of philosophical research.

"Lord Dawton sounded me upon my votes yesterday. 'A thousand pities too,'
said he, 'that you never speak in the House of Lords.' 'Orator fit,' said
I--orators are subject to apoplexy.

"Adieu, my dear friend, for friend you are, if the philosopher was right
in defining true friendship to consist in liking and disliking the same
things. [Seneca.] You hate parsnips au naturel--so do I; you love pates
du foie gras, et moi aussi--nous voila les meilleurs amis du monde.

"Guloseton."

So much for my friend, thought I--and now for my mother, opening the
maternal epistle, which I herewith transcribe:

"My dear Henry,

"Lose no time in coming to town. Every day the ministers are filling up