rd. But still they shook their heads. Harassed, St. Peter went
to consult with St. David, who, with a smile, was reading the
works of Caradoc Evans.

St. David said, "Try toasted cheese. Build a fire just inside the
gates and get a few angels to toast cheese in front of it" This
St. Peter did. The heavenly aroma of the sizzling, browning
cheese was wafted over the walls and, with loud shouts, a great
concourse of the Welsh came sprinting in. When sufficient were
inside to make up a male voice choir of a hundred, St Peter
slammed the gates. However, it is said that these are the only
Welsh in Heaven.

And, lest we forget, the wonderful drink that made Alice grow and grow
to the ceiling of Wonderland contained not only strawberry jam but
toasted cheese.

Then there's the frightening nursery rhyme:

The Irishman loved usquebaugh,
The Scot loved ale called Bluecap.
The Welshman, he loved toasted cheese,
And made his mouth like a mousetrap.

The Irishman was drowned in usquebaugh,
The Scot was drowned in ale,
The Welshman he near swallowed a mouse
But he pulled it out by the tail.

And, perhaps worst of all, Shakespeare, no cheese-lover, this tune in
_Merry Wives of Windsor_:

'Tis time I were choked by a bit of toasted cheese.

An elaboration of the simple Welsh original went English with Dr.
William Maginn, the London journalist whose facile pen enlivened the
_Blackwoods Magazine_ era with _Ten Tales_:

[Illustration] Dr. Maginn's Rabbit

Much is to be said in favor of toasted cheese for supper. It is
the cant to say that Welsh rabbit is heavy eating. I like it best
in the genuine Welsh way, however--that is, the toasted bread
buttered on both sides profusely, then a layer of cold roast beef
with mustard and horseradish, and then, on the top of all, the
superstratum, of Cheshire _thoroughly_ saturated, while, in the
process of toasting, with genuine porter, black pepper, and
shallot vinegar. I peril myself upon the assertion that this is
not a heavy supper for a man who has been busy all day till
dinner in reading, writing, walking or riding--who has occupied
himself between dinner and supper in the discussion of a bottle
or two of sound wine, or any equivalent--and who proposes to
swallow at least three tumblers of something hot ere he resigns