I ate, I say, each mouthful a joy,
ham that was a melting ecstasy and eggs of such delicate flavour as I
had never tasted till now, it seemed.
"Diana," I sighed at last, "you are a truly wonderful cook!"
"No," she answered; "you are hungry, that's all. 'T is a good thing to
be hungry--sometimes!"
O gentle and perspicacious reader! You, madam, who being so daintily
feminine, cannot be supposed to revel in the joys of hog-flesh, flesh
of ox, sheep, bird or fish, no matter how excellent well cooked; and
you, honourable sir, who, being comfortably replete of such, seated
before your groaning board at duly frequent and regular intervals,
masticate in duty to yourself and digestion, but with none of that
fine fervour of enthusiasm which true hunger may bestow--I cry ye
mercy! For your author, tramping the roads, weary yet aglow with
exercise, hath met and had familiar fellowship with lusty Hunger, and
learned that eating, though a base necessity, may also be a joy. If
therefore your author forgetteth soul awhile to something describe and
mayhap dilate upon such material things as food and drink and their
due assimilation, here and now he doth most humbly crave your patient
forbearance.
"It is a good thing to be hungry--sometimes!" said Diana.
"If one may assuage that hunger with such ham and eggs!" I added.
"Though I greatly fear I shall never taste their like again."
"Anything'll taste good," quoth she, rising, "if you're hungry
enough!"
"Diana," said I, watching her as she flitted lightly to and fro,
engaged on what she called "tidying up.
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