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sent friends" with ferocious zest over
one eighteenth of a bottle of Sillery
the last of its hamper, which was alas!
no longer mousseaux.

But if this solitary relic of festival
days had lost its sparkle we had not.
We passed around [Tuskus] roast
and boiled, Roast beef and onions
and potatoes. Cucumbers water
melons, and god knows what cravings
of longing scurvied palates, with entire
exclusion of the fact that each one of
these, and the grand ensemble,
was represented by Pork and Beans.
Poor Morton stumped about on his
lame heel and with a grin of semi
pathetic deprecation. Served out impossible
combinations of [this?] staple.
Radicals of sea life, skilled as he was in culinary deceits
whether as potters or plum pudding
or mashed potatoes. Pork and beans
sustained their supremacy. No power
could Cardinalise fish into fleshy
banquets.

Hear McGeary, we listen to
the story every day and always laugh
at it. "Caesar Johnson dines
with "Ole Ben" a respectable negro
who does occasional white washing.
The [worthies?] eat and eat staunchly
enjoying the food, a single dish
of beans rendered brown by a central
suspicion of Pork. By and by
after a hospitable pause, "Old Ben"
with a wave of the hand addresses
his wife.

"Ole women!" Bring on
de resarve."

"Haint got no resarve."