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264 having been omitted, there was sufficient hunger to do justice to a banquet the most refined in its perfection. Not that hunger does a cook justice. "I do not like people that are hungry," says Ude; "hungry people eat any thing: I would have my dishes create of themselves an appetite; I do not wish them to be wanted till they are tasted, and then to eat is a compliment." But it was on the dessert Mr. Morland piqued himself. It was served in the room Helen had been so anxious to ornament. The delicate colour of the fruit—the fragrant spirit of the Burgundy—the icy coolness of the claret—were not destroyed by an atmosphere already heavy with soup and fish, and heated by two courses of culinary triumph: no! the air, pure and clear, was only imbued with the sweetness of the strawberry, or the breath of the roses from the window—while the garden beyond reminded you how fresh was the fruit which heaped the silver baskets. It is true enough for a proverb, that the pleasantest parties are those of which the least can be told. To make a recital entertaining, there must be a little touch of the ridiculous—a few sparkles of satire—the excellence of a