so "curious in his liquors," and, in
despite of Beau Brummell, patronizes "malt," as far as to take one glass
of excellent "college ale,"--which he gets through his friend Dr. Dusty of
All Souls--between pastry and Parmesan. After cheese, he can relish one,
and only one, glass of port--all the better if of the "Comet vintage," or
of some vintage ten years anterior to that. His drink, however, is claret,
old hock, Madeira, and latterly, since it has become a sort of fashion,
old sherry. In these he is a connoisseur not to be sneezed at; and if
asked his opinion, makes it a rule never to give it upon the first glass,
invariably observing, that "if he would he couldn't, and if he could he
_wouldn't_!" He produces anchovy toast as an indispensable in a long
evening, after dinner, and to it he recommends a liqueur-glass of
cherry-brandy, which he believes is of that incomparable recipe, of which
the late King was so fond. If he be a bachelor, he has, in his dining-room,
a cellaret, in which repose this, and other similar liquid rarities, and
beneath his sideboard stands a machine, for which he paid twelve guineas,
for producing _ice extempore_.

His literary tastes bear a certain resemblance to, and have a certain
analogy with, his gustatory--proving the truth of that intimate connexion
between the stomach and the head, upon which physiologists are so
delighted to dwell. In poetry the heresies and escapades of Lord Byron are
too much for him, although as a Peer and a gentleman he always speaks well
and deferentially of him. Shelley he can make nothing of, and therefore
says, which is the strict truth in one sense at least, that he has never
read him. He praises Campbell, Crabbe, and Rogers, and shakes his head at
Tom Moore; but Pope is his especial favourite; and if anything in verse
has his heart, it is the "Rape of the Lock." Peter Pindar he partly
dislikes, but Anstey, the "Bath Guide," is high in his estimation; and
with him "Gray's Odes" stand far above those of Collins'. Of the "Elegy in
a Country Church" he thinks, as he says, "like the rest of the world."
"Shenstone's Pastorals" he has read. Burns he praises, but in his heart
thinks him a "wonderful clown," and shrugs his shoulders at his extreme
popularity. He says as little about Shakespeare as he can, and has by
heart some half dozen lines of Milton, which is all he really knows of him.
In the drama he inclines to the "unities;" and of the English Theatre
"Sheridan