CHAPTER IV: THE DEJEUNER.
Sacred heaven! what masticators! what bread! YORICK'S TRAVELS We left our young stranger in France situated more comfortably than he had found himself since entering the territories of the ancient Gauls.
The breakfast, as we hinted in the conclusion of the last chapter, was admirable.

There was a pate de Perigord, over which a gastronome would have wished to live and die, like Homer's lotus eaters [see the Odyssey, chap.

ix, where Odysseus arrives at the land of the Lotus eaters: "whosoever of them ate the lotus's honeyed fruit resolved to bring tidings back no more and never to leave the place, but with the Lotus eaters there desired to stay, to feed on lotus and forget his going home." Palmer's Translation.], forgetful of kin, native country, and all social obligations whatever.

Its vast walls of magnificent crust seemed raised like the bulwarks of some rich metropolitan city, an emblem of the wealth which they are designed to protect.

There was a delicate ragout, with just that petit point de l'ail [a little flavor of garlic.
The French is ungrammatical.] which Gascons love, and Scottishmen do not hate.