You First Parents Of The Human Race...who

It Is The Duty Of All Papas And Mammas To Forbid Their Children To Drink Coffee, Unless They Wish To Have Little Dried-up Machines, Stunted And Old At The Age Of Twenty... Once Saw A Man In London, In Leicester Square, Who Had Been Crippled By Immoderate Indulgence In Coffee; He Was No Longer In Any Pain, Having Grown Accustomed To His Condition, And Had Cut Himself Down To Five Or Six Cups A Day.

Seating Themselves On The Greensward, They Eat While The Corks Fly And There Is Talk, Laughter And Merriment, And Perfect Freedom, For The Universe Is Their Drawing Room And The Sun Their Lamp. Besides, They Have Appetite, Nature's Special Gift, Which Lends To Such A Meal A Vivacity Unknown Indoors, However Beautiful The Surroundings.

The Pleasures Of The Table Belong To All Times And Ages, To Every Country And Every Day; They Go Hand In Hand With All Our Other Pleasures, Outlast Them, And Remain To Console Us For Their Loss.

Let The Progress Of The Meal Be Slow, For Dinner Is The Last Business Of The Day; And Let The Guests Conduct Themselves Like Travelers Due To Reach Their Destination Together.

An Intelligently Planned Feast Is Like A Summing Up Of The Whole World, Where Each Part Is Represented By Its Envoys.