Sea Swallows 
he spread what was certainly an elegant repast 
for supper. Breakfast was still more elaborate, 
so that one might almost have thought he was 
the chef of some fashionable hotel in disguise— 
excellent coffee, splendid hot rolls (he named 
the ‘‘ baking powder ’”’ he had used for twenty 
years, and declared it couldn’t be beaten, and, 
judging from his biscuit, I thought so, too), 
beans, terns’ eggs—and two kinds of cake! 
Attractive as were all the outward aspects of the 
house, high on a bluff overlooking the ocean, 
with its broad veranda, amid silver-leaf pop- 
lars, and birds, sheep and chickens flocking 
about, the coziest spot was the ‘‘ throne-room ”’ 
of my generous host—the low-studded kitchen, 
with barrels in one corner, an old lounge in an- 
other, pails of water in the sink, shining lamps 
on the narrow shelf, and a polished stove giving 
out a comfortable warmth, while the presiding 
genius often interrupted his dish-washing and 
other duties of state with high argument of 
philosophy and theology. 
Probably the rarest delicacy in the world is 
a dish of peacocks’ tongues. It is doubtful 
‘whether fine feathers make fine tongues; even 
if they do, economic considerations prevent 
my hoping ever to enjoy that luxury. Perhaps 
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