The skin is a beautiful brown, the substance firm and succulent.

The very bones thereof are full of marrow, yea and charged with memories of the happy past.

Fried fish binds Anglo-Judaea more than all the lip-professions of unity.

Its savor is early known of youth, and the divine flavor, endeared by a thousand childish recollections, entwined with the most sacred associations, draws back the hoary sinner into the paths of piety.

It is on fried fish, mayhap, that the Jewish matron grows fat.