272 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 
We give it as nearly verbatim as possible, but must 
premise, that from an occasional twinkle that we noticed 
in the Major’s eyes, we have never been perfectly satis- 
fied that he did not, to use the language of an Irish 
friend of ours, “ make an intentional mistake.” 
“There ought to be nothing about a dinner, gene- 
rally speaking,” commenced the Major, “to make it an 
era in one’s history in any way. 
“The power merely to gratify the appetite just suf- 
ficient to sustain life, is eating in poverty; a life spent 
merely in gratifying the appetite, is brutal. We like a 
good dinner, and we sit down to one with that compla- 
cency of feeling that denotes a thankfulness, that may 
properly be called, a silent blessing; yet we feel more 
pity for a man who recollects his bad dinners, than we do 
for one who distinctly remembers his good ones. In every- 
day life, things commemorative often start from the ta- 
ble. ‘Do you remember,’ says Gustibus, ‘ that so and 
so happened the day we ate the fresh salmon?’ ‘TI re- 
member the event,’ replies Dulce, ‘from that exquisite 
bon-mot uttered on the occasion.’ 
‘““T remember my first dinner in New Orleans as dis- 
tinctly as I remember my first love. I trust it was im- 
pressed upon my mind through the excitement of the 
intellect, as well as through the gratification of the senses. 
As I journeyed on to New Orleans for the first time, 
I naturally suggested to my travelling companion, my 
desire to be most pleasantly provided for while in the 
