A boy who had means to buy a piece of these would be followed about while eating it by a crowd of perhaps twenty-five or thirty livid-gummed scorbutics, each imploring him for the rind when he was through with it.
We thought of food all day, and were visited with torturing dreams of it at night.

One of the pleasant recollections of my pre-military life was a banquet at the "Planter's House," St.

Louis, at which I was a boyish guest.

It was, doubtless, an ordinary affair, as banquets go, but to me then, with all the keen appreciation of youth and first experience, it was a feast worthy of Lucullus.

But now this delightful reminiscence became a torment.