Ah, that magic Bouquet! How vividly that single word recalled the scene! The little beggar-boy turning his somersault in the road—the sweet little crippled maiden in my arms—the mysterious evanescent nurse-maid—all rushed tumultuously into my mind, like the creatures of a dream: and through this mental haze there still boomed on, like the tolling of a bell, the solemn voice of the great connoisseur of _WINE_! Even _his_ utterances had taken on themselves a strange and dream-like form. “No,” he resumed—and _why_ is it, I pause to ask, that, in taking up the broken thread of a dialogue, one _always_ begins with this cheerless monosyllable? After much anxious thought, I have come to the conclusion that the object in view is the same as that of the schoolboy, when the sum he is working has got into a hopeless muddle, and when in despair he takes the sponge, washes it all out, and begins again. Just in the same way the bewildered orator, by the simple process of denying _everything_ that has been hitherto asserted, makes a clean sweep of the whole discussion, and can ‘start fair’ with a fresh theory. “No,” he resumed: “there’s nothing like cherry-jam, after all. That’s what _I_ say!” “Not for _all_ qualities!” an eager little man shrilly interposed. “For _richness_ of general tone I don’t say that it _has_ a rival. But for _delicacy_ of modulation—for what one may call the ‘_harmonics_’ of flavour—give _me_ good old _raspberry_-jam!” “Allow me one word!” The fat red-faced man, quite hoarse with excitement, broke into the dialogue. “It’s too important a question to be settled by Amateurs! I can give you the views of a _Professional_—perhaps the most experienced jam-taster now living. Why, I’ve known him fix the age of strawberry-jam, to a _day_—and we all know what a difficult jam it is to give a date to—on a single tasting! Well, I put to him the _very_ question you are discussing. His words were ‘_cherry_-jam is best, for mere _chiaroscuro_ of flavour: _raspberry_-jam lends itself best to those resolved discords that linger so lovingly on the tongue: but, for rapturous _utterness_ of saccharine perfection, it’s _apricot-jam first and the rest nowhere_!’ That was well put, _wasn’t_ it?” “Consummately put!” shrieked the eager little man. “I know your friend well,” said the pompous man. “As a jam-taster, he has no rival! Yet I scarcely think——” But here the discussion became general: and his words were lost in a confused medley of names, every guest sounding the praises of his own favorite jam. At length, through the din, our host’s voice made itself heard. “Let us join the ladies!” These words seemed to recall me to waking life; and I felt sure that, for the last few minutes, I had relapsed into the ‘eerie’ state.