All Languages Had Their Birth, Their Apogee

Salad Freshens Without Enfeebling And Fortifies Without Irritating.

No Man Under Forty Can Be Dignified With The Title Of Gourmet.

'monsieur,' Madame D'arestel, Superior Of The Convent Of The Visitation At Belley, Once Said To Me More Than Fifty Years Ago, 'whenever You Want To Have A Really Good Cup Of Chocolate, Make It The Day Before, In A Porcelain Coffeepot, And Let It Set. The Night's Rest Will Concentrate It And Give It A Velvety Quality Which Will Make It Better. Our Good God Cannot Possibly Take Offense At This Little Refinement, Since He Himself Is Everything That Is Most Perfect.'

Seating Themselves On The Greensward, They Eat While The Corks Fly And There Is Talk, Laughter And Merriment, And Perfect Freedom, For The Universe Is Their Drawing Room And The Sun Their Lamp. Besides, They Have Appetite, Nature's Special Gift, Which Lends To Such A Meal A Vivacity Unknown Indoors, However Beautiful The Surroundings.

If Any Man Has Drunk A Little Too Deeply From The Cup Of Physical Pleasure; If He Has Spent Too Much Time At His Desk That Should Have Been Spent Asleep; If His Fine Spirits Have Become Temporarily Dulled; If He Finds The Air Too Damp, The Minutes Too Slow, And The Atmosphere Too Heavy To Withstand; If He Is Obsessed By A Fixed Idea Which Bars Him From Any Freedom Of Thought: If He Is Any Of These Poor Creatures, We Say, Let Him Be Given A Good Pint Of Amber-flavored Chocolate... And Marvels Will Be Performed.