Beadle's Dime Novels No. 20: Florida; or, The Iron Will — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ETHEREAL FOOD. 23 “ That transition reflects no great credit upon your taste,” she said, still laughing merrily. “TI happened to think of it on the moment,” he replied, laughing likewise. “It was sour, and has made me sour all day, I believe—that and the dearth of your face. I think sometimes when I. am sitting down to these coarse country breakfasts—oh ! for the corporation of a honey-bee and the heart of a red rose! All sorts of delicious visions rise up before me to cheat my sense. Perhaps one of my scholars sits opposite with round eyes and gaping mouth till his plate is filled, and then down goes every thing. It makes my jaws ache to see the rest. eat—and I, famishing, can only nibble here and there. I stayed once at farmer Spicer’s, and Madge was so attentive. She heaped my platter (it was blue, and had a little boy with a pitcher in his hand glazed on the surface) with hot, clammy bread, a something they call scrapple, and, most odious lrorror of all, a gigantic green pickle! I was particularly sensitive that morning, as I had been stand- ing at the door among the honeysuckles, and they always suggest the idea of food as ethereal as their fragrance. ‘ You don’t eat any thing,’ she said, looking at me so compassion- ately, while her bread and scrapple and tice enormous pickles vanished. I pleaded indisposition. ‘ Well, said she, ‘if I am ever so sick, I can eat pickles’ Since then she has seemed sourer than ever.” “ You are forgetting yourself now, and talking scandal !” cried Virginia, laughing heartily even as she spoke. “It is very unkind of me, I suppose,” he replied, “ and perhaps I ought to go into the brown bread, scrapple, pork and beans, and learn to eat them. But Iam strangely constituted. I have shed more tears over my mother’s accusation that I was plana i pai perhaps I shall ever shed again for far * For geass sake, what can you eat?” cried Virginia, 2 small alarm in her voice. “ Whatever is. seasoned well by the sun,” he replied gravely. “I reject artificial condiments entirely—and confes _ I should like to live in a world without cooking-stoves Ugh! their red glare makes me sick. A month ago } boarded at farmer Linscott’s. He is a man after my own ‘ conmicldbookks. conn > *