one might suppose, if judging him merely by his
uncouth grammar, and the clipped coin of his jangling speech:--

"His voice was nasal with the twang
That spoiled the hymns when Cromwell's army sang."

Now, then, O reader, returning from this feast of fat things, I lay
before you the scraps.

* * * * *

"Character is Digestion."

"There's been a good deal of high-fangled nonsense written about genius.
One man says it's in the head; another, that it comes from the heart,
etc., etc. The fact is, they're all wrong. Genius lies in the stomach.
Who ever knew a fat genius? Now there's De Quincey,--he says, in his
outlandish way, that genius is the synthesis of the intellect with the
moral nature. No such thing; and a man who sinned day and night against
his stomach, and swilled opium as he did, couldn't be expected to know.
If there's any synthesis at all about it, it's the synthesis of the
stomach with the liver."

"What a complete knowledge of human nature Sam Slick shows, when he
says, 'A bilious cheek and a sour temper are like the Siamese twins:
there's a nateral cord of union atween them. The one is a sign with the
name of the firm written on it in long letters.'"

"The French are a mighty cute people. They know a thing or two about as
well as the next man. There's a heap of truth and poetry in these maxims
of one of their writers: 'Indigestion is the remorse of a guilty
stomach'; 'Happiness consists in a hard heart and a good digestion.'"

"The old tempter--the original Jacobs--was called in Hebrew a _nachash_,
so I'm told. But folks don't seem to understand exactly what this
_nachash_ was. Some say it was a rattlesnake, some a straddle-bug. Old
Dr. Adam Clarke, I've heard, vowed it was a monkey. They're all out of
their reckoning. It's as plain as a pikestaff that it was nothing but
Fried Fat cooked up to order, and it's been a-tempting weak sisters ever
since. That's what's the matter."

"Let me make the bran-bread of a nation, and I care not who makes its
laws."

"It makes me master-sick to hear all these fellows who've just made out
to scrape together a few postage-stamps laying down their three-cent
notions about the way to get on in the world, the rules for success, and
all that. Just as if a couple of greenbacks could make a blind man see
clean through a millstone! They're like these old nursing grannies: No.
1 thinks catnip is the only thing; No. 2 believes the