Before dining
we pay a second visit to the host, who is still busy digesting the
President's Message. Obviously, the longer he has it under
consideration, the worse he finds it. He has nausea from its bragging,
his head aches with its loudness, and its emptiness fills him with
wind. We are at our wits' end to prescribe for him, and take our leave
with grave commiseration, telling him that we, too, have had it, but
that the symptoms it produces in the North are a reddening in the cheek
and a spasmodic contraction of the right arm. Now comes great dinner
on. A slave announces it, and with as little ceremony as may be we take
our places. And here we must confess that our friend the banker had
rendered us an important service. For he had said,--"Look not upon the
soup when it is hot, neither let any victuals entice thee to more than
a slight and temporary participation; for the dishes at a Cuban dinner
be many, and the guest must taste of all that is presented; wherefore,
if he indulge in one dish to his special delectation, he shall surely
die before the end." And it came to pass that we remembered this, and
walked through the dinner as on egg-shells, gratifying curiosity, on
the one hand, and avoiding satiety, on the other, with the fear of
fulness, as it were, before our eyes.
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