href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@28681@[email protected]#Footnote_17-1_3" class="fnanchor pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">17-* and do not desire to provoke appetite beyond the powers and necessities of nature; proceeding, however, on the purest epicurean principles of indulging the palate as far as it can be done without injury or offence to the stomach, and forbidding18-* nothing but what is absolutely unfriendly to health.

——“That which is not good, is not delicious
To a well-govern’d and wise appetite.”—Milton.

This is by no means so difficult a task as some gloomy philosophers (uninitiated in culinary science) have tried to make the world believe; who seem to have delighted in persuading you, that every thing that is nice must be noxious, and that every thing that is nasty is wholesome.

“How charming is divine philosophy?
Not harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo’s lute,
And a perpetual feast of nectar’d sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns.”—Milton.

Worthy William Shakspeare declared he never found a philosopher who could endure the toothache patiently:—the Editor protests that he has not yet overtaken one who did not love a feast.

Those cynical slaves who are so silly as to suppose it unbecoming a wise man to indulge in the common comforts of life, should be answered in the words of the French philosopher. “Hey—what, do you philosophers eat dainties?” said a gay Marquess. “Do you think,” replied Descartes, “that God made good things only for fools?”

Every individual, who is not perfectly imbecile and void of understanding, is an epicure in his own way. The epicures in boiling of potatoes are innumerable. The perfection of all enjoyment depends on the perfection of the faculties of the mind and body; therefore, the temperate man is the greatest epicure, and the only true voluptuary.

The pleasures of the table have been highly appreciated and carefully cultivated in all countries and in all ages;19-* and in spite of all the stoics, every one will allow they are the first and the last we enjoy, and those we taste the oftenest,—above a thousand times in a year, every year of our lives!

The stomach is the mainspring of our system. If it be not sufficiently wound up to warm the heart and support the circulation, the whole business of life will, in proportion, be ineffectively performed: we can neither think with precision, walk with vigour, sit down with comfort, nor sleep with tranquillity.

There would be no difficulty in proving that it influences (much more than people in general imagine) all our actions: the destiny of nations has often depended upon the more or less laborious digestion of a prime minister.19-† See a very curious anecdote in the memoirs of Count Zinzendorff in Dodsley’s Annual Register for 1762. 3d edition, p. 32.

The philosopher Pythagoras seems to have been extremely nice in eating; among his absolute injunctions to his disciples, he commands them to “abstain from beans.”

This ancient sage has been imitated by the learned who have discoursed on this subject since, who are liberal of their negative, and niggardly of their positive precepts—in the ratio, that it is easier to tell you not to do this, than to teach you how to do that.

Our great English moralist Dr. S. Johnson, his biographer Boswell tells us, “was a man of very nice discernment in the science of cookery,” and talked of good eating with uncommon satisfaction. “Some people,” said he, “have a foolish way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat; for my part, I mind my belly very studiously and very carefully, and I look upon it that he who does not mind his belly, will hardly mind any thing else.”

The Dr. might have said, cannot mind any thing else. The energy of our BRAINS is sadly dependent on the behaviour of our BOWELS.20-* Those who say, ’Tis no matter what we eat or what we drink, may as well say, ’Tis no matter whether we eat, or whether we drink.

The following anecdotes I copy from Boswell’s life of Johnson.

Johnson.—“I could write a better book of cookery than has ever yet been written; it should be a book on philosophical principles. I would tell what is the best butcher’s meat, the proper seasons of different vegetables, and then, how to roast, and boil, and to compound.”

Dilly.—“Mrs. Glasse’s cookery, which is the best, was written by Dr. Hill.”

Johnson.—“Well, Sir—this shows how much better the subject of cookery20-† may be treated by a philosopher;20-‡ but you shall see what a book of cookery I shall make, and shall agree with Mr. Dilly for the copyright.”

Miss Seward.—“That would be Hercules with the distaff indeed!”

Johnson.—“No, madam; women can spin very well, but they cannot make a good book of cookery.” See vol. iii. p. 311.

Mr. B. adds, “I never knew a man who relished good eating more than he did: when at table, he was totally absorbed in the business of the moment: nor would he, unless in very high company, say one word, or even pay the least attention to what was said by others, until he had satisfied his appetite.”

The peculiarities of his constitution were as great as those of his character: luxury and intemperance are relative terms, depending on other circumstances than mere quantity and quality. Nature gave him an excellent palate, and a craving appetite, and his intense application rendered large supplies of nourishment absolutely necessary to recruit his exhausted spirits.

The fact is, this great man had found out that animal and intellectual vigour,21-* are much more entirely dependent upon each other than is commonly understood; especially in those constitutions whose digestive and chylopoietic organs are capricious and easily put out of tune, or absorb the “pabulum vitæ” indolently and imperfectly: with such, it is only now and then that the “sensorium commune” vibrates with the full tone of accurately