Brawn was a noble thought. It is not every common
gullet-fancier that can properly esteem it. It is like a picture of one
of the choice old Italian masters. Its gusto is of that hidden sort. As
Wordsworth sings of a modest poet, "you must love him, ere to you he
will seem worthy of your love," so brawn, you must taste it, ere to you
it will seem to have any taste at all. But 'tis nuts to the
adept,--those that will send out their tongues and feelers to find it
out. It will be wooed, and not unsought be won. Now, ham-essence,
lobsters, turtle, such popular minions, absolutely _court you_, lay
themselves out to strike you at first smack, like one of David's
pictures (they call him _Darveed_), compared with the plain
russet-coated wealth of a Titian or a Correggio, as I illustrated above.
Such are the obvious glaring heathen virtues of a corporation dinner,
compared with the reserved collegiate worth of brawn. Do me the favour
to leave off the business which you may be at present upon, and go
immediately to the kitchens of Trinity and Caius, and make my most
respectful compliments to Mr. Richard Hopkins, and assure him that his
brawn is most excellent, and that I am moreover obliged to him for his
innuendo about salt water and bran, which I shall not fail to improve. I
leave it to you whether you shall choose to pay him the civility of
asking him to dinner while you stay in Cambridge, or in whatever other
way you may best like to show your gratitude to _my friend_.
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