CORNER BOOK SHOP 
 
 102 FOURTH AVENUE 
 NEW YORK 3, N. Y. 
 
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A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
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A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN CORDY JEAFFRESON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 “ A BOOK ABOUT DOCTORS,” “ A BOOK ABOUT LAWYERS,” 
 “ A BOOK ABOUT THE CLERGY.” 
 &e. &e. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL LI. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET, 
 1875. 
 
 The Right of Translation is reserved. 
 
*’ 
 
 ‘ 
 
 Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland St 
 
 . 
 . 
 
 London 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER, PAGE. 
 I. GRACE AT MEALS. ; ; 1 
 II. BRITONS AT TABLE . : ; wae 
 III. ANTIQUE FEASTING . ; ; . 86 
 IV. APICIAN PRECEPTS . : ; » 45 
 V. THE FoRME oF CuRY 63 
 VI. Cuninary COLOURISTS : ‘ . 87 
 VII. DEATH IN THE PoT, AND DiIsH-COVERS e105 
 VIII. Mepia@vat MENUS . : SAY 
 IX. WARNERS AND SUBTLETIES, ANCIENT AND 
 MODERN . ; : sy ES 
 X. CARVING AND CARVERS - Bred Vite! 
 XI. Forks AND NAPERY . : : a 186 
 XII. Horn, BELL, AND GONG... = s ees le 
 XIII. MANNERS: AND THE WANT OF THEM . 200 
 XIV. Spirs AND JACKS... - : hap PLY 
 XV. CRUELTIES AND CURIOSITIES . acu 
 XVI. NuMBERS AT TABLE . : ' eee 
 
 XVII. Sour . : : : . 130% 
 
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A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 eS PS 
 
 CHAPTER IL. 
 GRACE AT MEALS. 
 
 “The custom of saying grace at meals had, probably, its origin in 
 the early times of the world, and the hunter-state of man, when din- 
 ners were precarious things, and a full meal was something more than 
 a common blessing; when a belly-full was a windfall, and looked like 
 a special providence. In the shouts and triumphant songs with 
 which, after a season of sharp abstinence, a lucky booty of deer’s 
 or goat’s flesh would naturally be ushered home, existed, perhaps, 
 the germ of the modern grace.”—Vide Huta’s Essay on “ Grack 
 BEFORE Murat.” 
 
 AD the late Sir Robert Peel been induced 
 to make a speech on thanksgivings before 
 and after meat, he would not have failed to 
 observe that the subject divided itself under three 
 heads. Having declared his approval of the pious 
 usage which in every Christian household daily 
 renders thanks for daily bread to the Bestower 
 of it, he would have spoken of the occasions for 
 such gratitude, of the forms which most aptly 
 express the proper sentiment, and of the persons 
 by whom those forms should be uttered. ‘he 
 VOL. 1. B 
 
yy A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 ’ 
 
 statesman’s favourite mode of discussing topics 
 shall be adopted in this opening chapter of a 
 work which, lke its precursors in a series of 
 anecdotical histories, attempts to illustrate a portion 
 of the domestic life of our forefathers. 
 
 Though his fine humour caused him to write 
 lightly of festal thanksgivings, Charles Lamb’s 
 good sense forbade him to denounce the practice 
 which, with considerations greatly impressive to 
 ordinary men, reminds us at least once a day 
 of our dependence on the divine bounty. ‘* Theore- 
 tically’ the essayist was no ‘enemy to graces;” 
 but he had winced under the embarrassments 
 that are apt to arise from their unseasonable or 
 indiscreet performance. He had been stirred to 
 ridicule or indignation by incongruities that are 
 always apparent when men, acutely and osten- 
 tatiously eager for sensual enjoyment, thank 
 God in nicely chosen terms for His goodness in 
 affording them the opportunity and means for 
 gluttonous excess. He even thought that the 
 usage, which he hesitated to condemn, assigned 
 too much importance to carnal satisfaction, and 
 might be advantageously replaced by a practice 
 that would select the higher pleasures for occasions — 
 of special thanksgiving. To prosperous men, 
 secure of daily luxuries as well as daily bread, 
 a good dinner, the cheapest of all the material 
 
GRACE BEFORE SHAKESPEARE. 3 
 
 comforts daily lavished upon them by fortune, 
 was too mean a thing for extraordinary grati- 
 tude. 
 
 There were a score of felicities which Hlia 
 thought more worthy of exceptional recognition 
 than the delights of eating and drinking. The 
 pleasant walk and friendly meeting were as fruitful 
 of gladness as the juicy steak or plate of fat, 
 tender oysters. Hla wanted thanksgivings for 
 spiritual repasts, a grace before Shakespeare, 
 another for utterance before a reading of Milton, 
 a third in acknowledgment of the joy caused by 
 a perusal of the “Fairy Queen.” Had he delighted 
 in the opera as much as the “legitimate drama,” 
 he would have suggested that concerts of purely 
 secular music should open with devotional 
 exercise. | 
 
 It needs no unusual sagacity and power of 
 reasoning to dispose of the humourist’s objections 
 to a practice which is chiefly commendable because 
 it fosters in mankind a universal habit of gratitude 
 to the one Giver of all blessings. The enjoyments 
 which Elia preferred to the vulgar pleasures of 
 the table are exceptional. Under any circum- 
 stances they must be of irregular recurrence, 
 and concern only a few of the human race. Not 
 one manin a thousand derives vivid gratification 
 from literature; and it is not often that we, who 
 
 B 2 
 
4, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 are readers, come upon a new book the excellences 
 of which dispose the most thankful and devout — 
 of us to say grace for its publication. Nor do we 
 care to read Shakespeare and Milton every day of 
 our lives. Music will never be a universal 
 delight; and the average toiler of Hast London 
 will experience no sensible diminution of happiness 
 when Sir Richard Wallace moves his artistic 
 treasures from Bethnal Green to private galleries. 
 The higher enjoyments are for the higher 
 natures. But men of lofty soul and subtlest 
 powers resemble folk of inferior quality in 
 needing and relishing daily bread. 
 
 The pleasure is not more universal than the ne- 
 cessity of eating. Men may live to eat. They 
 must eat to live. This fact is obvious alike to the 
 prig who thinks it unphilosophic, and to the ascetic 
 who deems it sinful, to enjoy a good dinner. Food 
 is the foundation of all human felicity. Though its 
 immediate pleasures are inferior to several enjoy- 
 ments, it 18s the root of all mundane blessings. 
 With it, all the finer joys are, under favourable con- 
 ditions, attainable. Without it, all enjoyment ceases. 
 Hlia, deprived of food, would soon have lost all 
 strength for “pleasant walk” and ‘ moonlight 
 ramble,” all yearning for ‘‘ friendly meetings,” all 
 appetite for “ spiritual repasts.” That he relished 
 the ethereal cates for which he required new forms 
 
ORIGIN OF GRAGES. 5 
 
 of grace, was due to those grosser aliments for 
 which he was half-ashamed to say ‘*Thank God.” 
 Though deep enough for the humourist’s purposes 
 his view of the whole question was_ superficial. 
 Nor can much be said for the historical suggestion 
 at the opening of his paper. It is far more 
 probable that the custom of saying grace at meals 
 originated in an intelligent recognition of the 
 universal importance of food, as the foundation 
 and source of earthly well-being, than that it had 
 its birth in the clamorous exultation of tribes of 
 savages hastening to satisfy their wolfish hunger 
 with long-desired flesh of deer and goats. Charles | 
 Lamb, usually so wise with his wit and drollery, 
 was guilty of nonsense when, after stating his 
 theory of the origm of graces, he wrote gravely, 
 ** It is not otherwise easy to be understood why the 
 blessing of food—the act of eating—should have 
 had a particular expression of thanksgiving an- 
 nexed to it, distinct from that implied and silent 
 gratitude with which we are expected to enter upon 
 the enjoyment of the many other various and good 
 things of existence.”’ 
 
 No doubt, the sense of thankfulness for blessings 
 is weakened in some natures—perhaps in the 
 majority of common natures—by the sense of 
 secure possession. We are all too prone to regard 
 as matters of course, and therefore as no affairs 
 
6 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 for special gratitude, the comforts which come to 
 us regularly, without forethought, or toil, or 
 anxiety on our part. The greater the need for 
 gracious forms to remind -us that the familiar 
 bounties are great bounties. And what though 
 the prosperous, secure of their six courses and 
 dessert after the daily ringing of the dinner-bell, 
 are incapable of such gratitude for a good meal 
 as is felt by men whose means of living are 
 precarious? How can the exceptional lot of these 
 favourites of fortune discredit the universal practice, 
 which was instituted for the edification of the many 
 who live on herbs, as well as of the few who do 
 their pleasure with stalled oxen? 
 
 The rich men, at whose tables Elia sometimes sat 
 a rarus hospes, could be counted by tens, whilst their 
 poor neighbours, to each of whom a savoury dinner 
 was a windfall, numbered thousands. And who holds 
 his prosperity by so sure a tenure that no enemy 
 can wrest it from him? The very conditions of 
 civilized life, which, under ordinary circumstances, 
 give us the advantage over savages, may become 
 instruments for reducing us to famine. The Prus- 
 sians march on Paris; and ere six months have 
 passed, the besieged multitude grow lean and gaunt 
 from hunger, and luxurious epicures, to whom 
 hippophagy had been a mere jest or curious subject 
 of speculation, are glad to fill themselves with 
 
THE POWER TO ENJOY. ’ 
 
 sawdust and vermin. Moreover, grace for meat is 
 not limited to the material ‘‘ creatures” of the 
 abundant board, which in seasons of peace and 
 plenty are easily attainable. It covers the power 
 to enjoy, as well as the substantial means of enjoy- 
 ment. ‘There is no feast to be thankful for in the 
 absence of desire for food, or if good digestion 
 fails to wait on appetite. And who can say how 
 long he may retain the physical conditions, which 
 are no less needful than sufficient dishes, for the 
 enjoyment of our daily bread ? Regarded as the chief 
 and type of all material comforts, food will continue 
 to be the subject and occasion for universal thank- 
 fulness. Wits may be smart against the orateful 
 usage, but simple men will not depart from their 
 old way at the order of flippancy. And even 
 though the custom of saying them audibly should 
 pass from us, grace at meals will rise silently from 
 thankful hearts. 
 
 Unanimous in their gratitude for meat, our 
 people differ in opinion as to the occasions for ex- 
 pressing it. Some think it enough to be audibly 
 thankful for dinner, and acknowledge the bless- 
 ing of breakfast silently. Others are vocally 
 grateful for every meal to which they “sit down.” 
 Country folk are, upon the whole, more eloquent 
 of thanks for daily bread than Londoners; and 
 in the country your most copious sayers of grace 
 
8 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 must be sought amongst Nonconformists, or in 
 serious coteries with a strong sympathy for dissent. 
 I know of pleasant households amongst those sober 
 
 9 
 
 kinds of rural folk, where “high tea”’ is preluded 
 with offering of thanks as ceremoniously as din- 
 ner or supper. But the severest precisian of my 
 acquaintance will partake of such flying refreshment 
 as “‘a glass of sherry and a biscuit” without a 
 special entreaty that it. may be blessed to his use. 
 All the “sects” and “sets” concur in holding 
 that mere ‘“‘ snacks’ and “ stirrup-cups”’ should be 
 taken without formal thanks to the Great Giver. In 
 our Catholic time, the Church prescribed grace before 
 and after the two chief meals of the day, a rule 
 which the popular sentiment of a later period com- 
 
 mended in the adage, 
 
 “Grace for supper, and grace for dinner, 
 Or you'll justly be thought a graceless sinner.” 
 
 At the modern dinner, which corresponds to the | 
 supper of our forefathers, one half of this order is 
 observed even in the lightest circles of worldly 
 society. But in many households that are not 
 chargeable with irreverence, grace has fallen into 
 disuse at lunch (the dinner of olden time), unless 
 children are present at it, when, as the dinner of the 
 youngsters, it becomes an occasion for utterance of 
 thanks. 
 
VARIOUS FORMS. 9 
 
 Of forms of grace it may be asserted that those 
 are most acceptable to taste and judgment which 
 are chiefly remarkable for briefness and simplicity 
 of diction. A grace should only suggest the dis- 
 position appropriate to a receiver of benefits. 
 Neither a homily nor a prayer, it should touch the 
 note of thankfulness, and forbear to repeat it. Ad- 
 dressing the heart rather than the mind, it should 
 not explain itself, or justify itself by argument. The 
 church, the chapel, and the private closet are the 
 proper scenes for fuller utterances of gratitude. In 
 the dining-room it is enough to say, “ Thanks to 
 God for all his blessings.” 
 
 Not much can be said in commendation of the 
 wordy and elaborate Latin graces which have come 
 to us from medizwval churchmen, and may still be 
 heard in the halls of ancient colleges. ‘They have 
 a pleasant savour of antiquity. ‘They remind the 
 hearer of the scholastic pedantries that prevailed 
 amongst the learned at the dates of their composi- 
 tion. ‘To men, who learnt and chanted them in 
 their boyhood, they may have agreeable associations 
 and be fruitful of sweet memories; but for the 
 - purpose which their composers may be supposed 
 to have had in view, they are ineffectual. Re- 
 garded as academic exercises or ecclesiastical offices, 
 they may be meritorious; but they fail to stir 
 the chords which a grace should touch lightly, and 
 
10 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 only fora moment. Thanks should be cordial and 
 spontaneous; whereas these antique arrangements 
 of nicely considered praise, with their several parts 
 for priest and respondents, are ostentatiously artifi- 
 cial. Save that they are shorter and more intelli- 
 gible, the several graces in the vulgar tongue, 
 which have descended to us from the Reformation 
 Period, are in no way preferable to the academic 
 thanksgivings. Sermons in miniature, some of 
 them say too much. Others have a supplicatory 
 character, and might be mistaken for collects re- 
 jected by the compilers of the Common Prayer. A 
 few of them are really wonderful specimens of 
 compressed thought; but all are more or less 
 frigid, angular, and conventional—none are simple 
 thanks. 
 
 Kven more objectionable, for their artificiality 
 and tediousness, are the musical graces which have 
 in these later years become fashionable at public 
 dinners. One seeks in vain for a reason why 
 people, when they feast together in large numbers, 
 should thank God for meat and drink by a process 
 which none of them would think of using at a 
 familiar board. JIntelligible only to the musical, 
 these operatic thanksgivings are positive inflictions 
 to ordinary hearers; whilst they are little better 
 than ‘fantastic’ impertinences to the expert in 
 melody when he is sincerely moved to gratitude 
 
WHO SHALL SAY ITP 11 
 
 for an abundant meal. No composer or vocalist 
 ever chants his thanks for a beef-steak pudding in 
 his private parlour. 
 
 Rather than these harmonious performances, 
 which put the words of praise out of hearing, 
 I would have the silent grace of the Quakers 
 and the military messes. No form at all is better 
 than one which robs a pious practice of its sincerity 
 and earnestness. 
 
 And who is the fittest person to utter the simple 
 grace which should prelude every ceremonious re- 
 past? ‘The question is no new one. ‘In houses,” 
 says Charles Lamb, “‘ where the grace is as in- 
 dispensable as the napkin, who has not seen that 
 never settled question as to who shall say it? while 
 the good man of the house and the visitor clergy- 
 man, or some other guest, belike of next authority 
 from years or gravity, shall be bandying about the 
 office between them as a matter of compliment, 
 each not unwilling to shift the burden of an equivo- 
 cal duty from his own shoulders.” 
 
 In the days of our grandfathers, it was generally 
 understood, that ‘“ respect for the cloth” required 
 the lay host to assign the duty to the principal 
 ecclesiastic at his table. In the absence of clergy, 
 the entertainer might himself ‘ask the blessing.” 
 But for him to utter it in the presence of sacred 
 clerk or minister, was to ‘‘ pass over” the holy 
 
12 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 man and commit an irreverence. Importuned for 
 a grace, Hlia’s friend, C..V. L., used to say signifi- 
 cantly “* Thank God,’ when he had first inquired, 
 “Is there no clergyman at table ?” 
 
 This moribund, but not quite obsolete, fashion of 
 asking the clergyman to say grace, had its origin 
 in times when every important household had a 
 clerical officer, and when the ceremonious graces 
 of great tables were in a tongue that required a 
 scholarly utterer. Composed in the religious houses, 
 for use in monastic halls and collegiate refectories, 
 the old Latin graces were carried from the cloisters 
 to the castles, whose seigniors were too proud to 
 thank the Almighty for His blessings, except by 
 deputy. ‘Thus introduced to secular life, the Latin 
 graces passed from courts to the homes of courtiers, 
 from the baron’s board to the knight’s table, and 
 thence to the tables of inferior quality who de- 
 lighted in copying the ways of their betters. Muni- 
 cipalities adopted the noble fashion ; and merchants, 
 in their houses, were pleased to preface their cere- 
 monious suppers with the graces spoken at the 
 banquets of their guilds. In his common life, 
 the London alderman was content to declare his 
 thankfulness in his mother-tongue ; but when he 
 invited his neighbours to feast with him, on his 
 daughter’s marriage or his son’s coming of age, he 
 invited his parish priest, or the chaplain of his 
 
DOMESTIC CHAPLAINS. : 13 
 
 Company, in order that the banquet should be 
 hallowed with grace ofa grander and politer sort. 
 The intervention of a priest was necessary for the 
 proper rendering of some of the more elaborate 
 Latin graces, with their parts for ‘‘ Sacerdos” and 
 their “ responses.” 
 The fashion, which thus arose in our Catholic 
 time, was extended in the sixteenth and seven- 
 teenth centuries by the successive ecclesiastical 
 convulsions that increased the number of the 
 clergy, who were glad to officiate as chaplains in 
 private families. In times when every well-to-do 
 squire entertained some ejected priest or minister, 
 it was unusual for a gentle family to sit down to 
 meat in the absence of a reverend personage, whose 
 principal duties under his patron’s roof were to 
 read prayers daily in the hall, and say grace at 
 table. Under these circumstances it concerned 
 the dignity of every host, who affected gentility, 
 that the thanks rendered at his board should be 
 spoken by one of the cloth. Vanity joined hands 
 with superstition; and a grand repast was deemed 
 an imperfect affair if no clerk proclaimed its eaters’ 
 gratitude. 
 _ Atthe present time, there is a growing sentiment 
 among our clergy that their cloth is more honoured 
 -by the breach than by the observance of this old- 
 world fashion, which for the moment converts the 
 
14, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 clergyman selected for the office into his host’s 
 domestic chaplain. Some of our ecclesiastics even 
 refuse to support the falling custom, which appears 
 to imply that the thanksgivings of laity are not 
 completely acceptable to the Creator unless they 
 - come to Him through priestly lips. There are also 
 social critics who urge that a clergyman is the one 
 person who should not be invited to the office of 
 erace-sayer. Graces, it is urged, besides being 
 simple, should be uttered with simplicity. The 
 clerical tone, or any kind of conventional serious- 
 ness, 18 fatal to their effect on earthly hearers. It 
 robs them of the naturalness and air of spontaneity 
 which should characterize such declarations. It 
 emphasizes the formality of a form that ought to 
 be as far as possible devoid of ceremony. And it 
 must be admitted that not one clergyman in a 
 hundred can say grace without reminding his 
 hearers that he is a clergyman, and making them 
 feel that they are a congregation assembled for 
 religious admonition, rather than a company 
 gathered together for social enjoyment. 
 
 Perhaps the simplest, and therefore most effec- 
 tive, utterers of graces at table are well-mannered 
 children. No company can desire a better orator 
 of their thanks to the Almighty than a pretty little 
 girl, who, doing with matter of fact self-possession 
 and winning gravity what she does daily for the 
 
\ 
 
 THE SCHOOLE OF VERTUR. 16 
 
 familiar good, puts her hands together meekly and 
 speaks the grateful words. Small boys are seldom 
 such felicitous performers of grace as their sisters. 
 But sometimes they discharge the thankful duty 
 with nice propriety. And there is good authority 
 for recording that in olden time little fellows, with 
 neatly combed locks, commonly officiated as grace- 
 clerks at their parents’ tables. 
 
 In his capital ‘‘ booke of the good Nourture for 
 children,” entitled ‘* The Schoole of Vertue,” (A.D. 
 1557), Master Seager admonishes the youthful 
 reader thus, 
 
 “When thy parentes downe to the table shall syt, 
 In place be ready for the purpose most fyt ; 
 With sober countenance, lookynge them in the face, 
 Thy hands holdynge up, thus begin grace : 
 ‘Geve thankes to God with one accorde 
 For that shall be set on this borde, 
 
 And be not careful what to eate, 
 To eche thynge lyvynge the Lord sends meate ; 
 For foode he wyll not se you peryshe, 
 But wyll you fede, foster and cheryshe ; 
 Take well in worth what he hath sent, 
 At thys time be therwith content 
 
 Praysynge God.’ 
 So treatablie speakyng, as possibly thou can, 
 That the hearers thereof may thee understan. 
 Grace beynge sayde, low cursie make thou, 
 
 9°99 
 
 Sayinge ‘much good may it do you. 
 
 Having followed up grace with this civil wish, the 
 little man of Seager’s ‘‘ Schoole of Vertue’”’ bestirred 
 
16 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 himself in the duties of a gentle serving-page to the 
 best of his ability, ministering to the comfort of 
 others before he took his own share of the repast. 
 If elders in olden time were served before their 
 juniors, the youngsters were spared the annoyance 
 of sitting listlessly with folded hands, and hungrily 
 eyeing the savoury dishes which they might not 
 touch. Their zeal and interest in their ministerial 
 duties spared them the sharp discomforts of ex- 
 pectancy felt by children, who may only watch and 
 sit still, till they get their portions. 
 
 In the absence of clergy and children, the choice 
 of a grace-sayer lies between the host and the 
 mistress of the house; for the quite obsolete 
 _ fashion of imposing the duty on an important 
 guest, out of compliment to his importance, was too 
 snobbish and ridiculous for anyone to desire its 
 revival. There are reasons why the host, as the 
 bread-winner and human giver of the feast, might 
 be thought the fittest person to offer thanks to the 
 divine Giver. But if he has a wife, Amphitryon 
 will usually do well to make her the orator. As 
 speakers of graces, laymen are seldom more suc- 
 cessful than clerks. They are usually sheepish or 
 pompous. Your master of the house is rarely a 
 good performer. If he does not hurry through the — 
 thanksgiving, as though he deemed it a piece of 
 trifling, and were ashamed of his part in the puerile 
 
BEFORE AND AFTER. 17 
 
 transaction, he becomes a burlesque of solemnity 
 and opens the feast as though he were burying a 
 friend. It is otherwise with his wife. Her voice 
 cannot be unmusical; and womanly taste and 
 instinct enable her to hit the proper vocal note 
 between colloquial lightness and religious severity. 
 Moreover, the duty becomes her place. Thanks 
 for daily bread are fitly offered by her whose dis- 
 tinctive title proclaims her the distributor of it. 
 
 My experience of graces discredits the cynical 
 sentiment that gratitude is thankfulness for favours 
 tocome. Thanks after meat are usually far more 
 emphatic and cordial than graces before it. Hunger 
 is an enemy to pious emotion. ‘The ravenous 
 Christian is too much occupied with sharp desire 
 and painful craving, to have a devout regard for 
 the mercies he, is only on the point of receiving. 
 But full of wine and venison, the satisfied feaster 
 speaks from the plenitude of a grateful heart. On 
 the other hand, it must be acknowledged that the 
 tone and words of the later grace are sometimes 
 expressive of disappointment and critical censure. 
 Hveryone remembers the story of the clerical 
 humourist, who, on being pressed to say an after- 
 dinner grace at a table where he had been too 
 frequently regaled with rabbits, observed signifi- 
 cantly :-— | 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
18 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 “Of rabbits young and rabbits old, 
 Of rabbits hot and rabbits cold, 
 Of rabbits tender and rabbits tough, 
 Thank the Lord, I have had enough !” 
 
 The memory, also, comes to me of Dr. Clement, 
 courtliest and kindliest of physicians, who had a 
 series of after-dinner graces that nicely expressed 
 the degrees of his thankfulness. When he had 
 partaken of a faultless repast, he would reward 
 Mrs. Clement with a radiant smile, and then turn- 
 ing his eyes upwards, say emphatically, ‘* Thank 
 God for an eacellent dinner.” A dinner of merit, 
 though of inferior excellence, was acknowledged de- 
 voutly with, “* Thank God for a good dinner.” An 
 ordinary regalement, that would justify neither 
 Special praise nor positive reproof, elicited no 
 heartier grace than, ‘* Well! I am thankful for my 
 dinner.” But when the repast had consisted of 
 cold meats, and unpalatable reproductions of 
 yesterday’s fare, the worthy man used to pray ina 
 plaintively lugubrious tone of grievance, as though 
 he were protesting against ill-usage, and imploring 
 an impossibility. ‘‘ May the Lord make me thank- 
 ful for what I have recewed!’ On hearing this 
 dolorous entreaty, Mrs. Clement seldom failed to 
 deliver some equally appropriate and edifying re- . 
 marks on the sin of daintiness. But to her honour, 
 it must be recorded, that the offensive hint was not 
 
aad 
 
 AT CLIFFORD’S INN. 19 
 
 thrown away upon her. To the last the doctor’s 
 graces were instructions to his wife, as well as 
 thanks to Heaven. 
 
 On festal days, in some of our civic and 
 collegiate halls, after-dinner grace is attended with 
 usages, alike ancient and courteous. One of them 
 is the passing round of “ poculum caritatis,”’ or 
 “loving cup,’ whose scarcely palatable contents 
 will be mentioned in a later section of this work. 
 
 Much, also, might be said about obsolete or 
 almost disused forms of thanksgiving of meat, 
 one of the strangest of which is the grace still 
 acted, instead of spoken, at the terminal dinners 
 at Clifford’s Inn. After the banquets of that 
 learned society, members and guests rise, on the 
 removal of the white cloth, and witness the follow- 
 ing thanksgiving in pantomime. Before the presi- 
 dent of the second table the butler puts a mass of 
 bread, consisting of four loaves, adhering to each 
 other by their kissing crusts. Taking this mass of 
 bread in his right hand, the said president of the 
 second table slowly raises it above his head to the 
 full reach of his arm, and after a few moments’ 
 pause brings it down with a thunderous whack on 
 the oaken table. A second time the bread is 
 elevated, and struck upon the resounding board. 
 Yet a third time the feat is performed; and then, 
 before strangers have had time to recover from 
 
 C2 
 
= 
 
 20 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 their astonishment, the grace-actor has thrown the 
 bread so that it slides and spins down to the bottom 
 of the long table, where it is caught up by the 
 butler, who instantly runs out of the dining-hall 
 with it in his outstretched hands. The whole grace 
 is typical. The four loaves represent the four 
 Gospels; the three elevations are in reverence of 
 the three persons of the Sacred Trinity; the 
 manner in which the bread is cast down the table, 
 indicates the liberality with which the Bread of Life 
 was given to mankind ; the alacrity with which the 
 butler runs out of the hall exemplifies the alacrity 
 with which zealous servants hasten to distribute the 
 bread of spiritual knowledge to those who hunger 
 for it. The date of this singular grace is. unknown ; 
 but it is certainly of ancient origin, and no one can 
 question that it sprung from devout sentiment. It 
 teaches that, whilst grateful for the bread which 
 only sustains perishable existence, men should be 
 far more thankful for the bread which affords 
 eternal Life. 
 
21 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 BRITONS AT TABLE. 
 
 “The Aborigines of Britain, to come nearer home, could have no 
 great expertness in cookery, as they had no oil, and we hear nothing 
 of their butter. They used only sheep and oxen, eating neither 
 hares, though greatly esteemed at Rome, nor hens, nor geese, froin 
 a notion of superstition. Nor did they eat fish. ‘There was little 
 corn even in the interior part of the island; but they lived chiefly 
 on milk and flesh.”—Vide Rev. Samvurt PrGen’s INTRODUCTION TO 
 “Tue Forme or Coury.” 
 
 “ L’univers nest rien que par la vie, et tout ce qui vit se nourrit.— 
 Les animaux se repaissent, l’homme mange; l’homme d’esprit seul 
 sait manger.—La destinée des nations dépend de la manicre dont 
 elles se nourrissent.—Le Créateur, en obligeant ’homme a manger 
 pour vivre, l’y invite par l’appétit, et l’en récompense par le plaisir.” 
 —BRIiLLat-SavaRin’s “ APHORISMS.” 
 
 N the last century before the Christian era, an 
 
 important suggestion respecting the origin of 
 cookery was made by Posidonius of Rhodes, who 
 was so perfect a stoic that, whilst experiencing the 
 sharpest pangs of gout, he could converse cheer- 
 fully with Pompey on the agreeable excitements of 
 pain, and declare that his bodily disturbance could 
 not be justly termed a malady, as it was no evil. 
 To this philosopher, who could enjoy a tooth-. 
 ache and think sciatica a blessing, it occurred that 
 cooking of the simplest kind was a mere imitation 
 
PAP A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 of natural processes, and that, in respect to his 
 culinary needs, every man might “ paddle his own 
 canoe.” Any man provided with a good set of 
 teeth, glands for the secretion of saliva, a tongue, 
 and the usual apparatus for digestion, could prepare 
 his own bread by merely consuming the grain of 
 which bread might be made in a more troublesome 
 fashion. His teeth could do the work of a mill; 
 with the help of a natural secretion, his tongue 
 could knead the materials which the teeth had 
 eround; muscular action might be trusted to put 
 the dough into an oven—the bread-maker’s stomach 
 —where it would be properly prepared for the 
 nutrition of the body. All that a professional cook 
 could do in the matter was to copy the operations 
 of the bodily machine. Under certain circum- 
 stances the copyist might lighten the body’s labour, 
 but he could never do away with the need of it. 
 Every man, in fact, was supplied with an excel- 
 lent cooking apparatus, and should be his own 
 cook. 
 
 Fortunately for the readers of this work, it is not 
 necessary that they should trace the culinary art 
 through every stage of its development, from the 
 time when man took his first step to gastronomic 
 proficiency from a consideration of the body’s way 
 of dealing with uncooked corn. But they should 
 reflect on the historic certainty that eating pre- 
 
 3 
 
EXCEPTIONS TO A RULE. Da 
 
 ceded cookery, which art must be regarded as the 
 invention of luxury rather than necessity. And 
 having thus glanced at the dismal period which pre- 
 ceded the earliest practices of the kitchen, they 
 should consider for a few minutes the culinary 
 barbarism of our rather remote and very “rude 
 forefathers.” 
 
 ** Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai ce que tu 
 es,’ ‘* Tell me what thou eatest and I will tell 
 thee what thou art,” said Brillat-Savarin, pointing 
 to a grand truth. Just as the man who drinks beer 
 inordinately, thinks it, the gross feeder is sure to 
 be a heavy thinker. The man who lives on beef- 
 steaks may be robust, but he is not likely to have 
 nice instincts or a subtle mind. There are limits, 
 however, to the applicability of every maxim, and 
 conditions under which the wisest rules will mislead 
 its inconsiderate followers. Mention could be made 
 of gastronomic eccentricities from which the epicu- 
 rean Frenchman would have drawn wrong infer- 
 ences, in spite of his sagacity and fine knowledge 
 of human nature. Dryden delighted in the huge 
 masses of almost raw meat that gave him restless 
 nights and a wakeful muse. Lord Eldon’s teeth 
 and eyes never failed to water from delight when 
 his nostrils caught the smell of fried pig’s liver and 
 bacon. George the First’s* liveliest gust was for 
 
 * “ Heliogobalus and George I. had this in common, that they 
 
QA A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 putrid oysters. Had M. Brillat-Savarin rashly 
 estimated those three feeders from their favourite 
 refreshments he would have called the first a prize- 
 fighter, the second a ploughman, and the third a 
 beast. In which case he would have been quite 
 wrong with respect to the poet and the peer, and 
 not altogether right regarding the king. 
 
 Judged from the gastronomic point of view, it 
 must be confessed that our British ancestors, at the 
 time of the Roman conquest, were persons for 
 whom we have cause to blush. Whatever his pride 
 of descent, there is a point in his pedigree where 
 every man finds it well to relinquish curiosity about 
 his lineal forefathers. It is never prudent for the 
 chief of a noble house to seek for the story of its 
 founder’s grandfather. For myself, if I could trace 
 my familiar stock to a gentle Briton of the Roman 
 period, I would rest content and ask no questions 
 about his grandfather of pre-Roman time. Hven a 
 Welshman would be slow to boast himself the 
 direct representative of a chieftain who was at best 
 a pious cannibal, with a quick eye for tit-bits at a 
 Druidical banquet. 
 both liked fish a trifle stale. Thus, it is known that George never 
 cared for oysters till their shells began spontaneously to gape; and 
 the Oriental master of the Roman Empire, who made a barber 
 prefect of his provisions, except at a great distance from the sea, 
 
 when they acquired the taint he loved.’—Vide Doran’s “Tape 
 TRAITS WITH SOMETHING ON THEM.” (Second Hdition). 1854. 
 
HUNGER AND ACORNS. 25) 
 
 When history first condescended to notice our 
 British forefathers, their cooking was of Posidonian 
 simplicity. Indeed, it is questionable whether their 
 culinary practice covered all the operations noticed 
 by the stoical observer. Diodorus Siculus, an au- 
 thority on many matters at this date, albeit an 
 arrant and ludicrously inaccurate book-maker, some- 
 thing less than two thousand years since, assures 
 us that they lived chiefly on dried corn, which they 
 brayed in mortars, and worked into a heavy paste. 
 The mightiest chieftain of them all had never a 
 morsel of butter wherewith to lubricate this fari- 
 “naceous mess. When corn failed these eaters of 
 paste, hunger‘ gave them appetite for acorns—the 
 food of swine, and so bitter a substitute for meat, 
 that the men of these luxurious days can scarcely 
 believe it to have ever been a common article of 
 diet. It is less generally known, that the same 
 nauseous fare was consumed in seasons of scarcity 
 by our ancestors of much more recent time. But 
 William Harrison,* supremely first of Elizabethan 
 chroniclers, assures us that, even in his day, the 
 poorer folk of Hngland sometimes ate a bread made 
 partly or altogether of acorns. | 
 
 * “The bread,” he says in his Introduction to Holinshed’s 
 Chronicles, “throughout the lande is made of such graine as the 
 soile yealdeth, neverthelesse the gentilitie commonlie provide them- 
 selves sufficientlie of wheat for their own tables, whilst their house- 
 
 hold and poor neighbours in some shires are inforced to content 
 
26 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 There were hard times, when, in the dearth of 
 mast, the aborigines of our productive land de- 
 voured herbs and roots, even more distasteful and 
 indigestible than the fruit of the oak. But they had 
 palliatives for the torments of famine. Harrison 
 records that in the Northern districts they possessed 
 
 9 
 
 a “ certaine kind of confection,” made, probably, of 
 
 earth and the inspissated juices of narcotic herbs, 
 a small pill of which alleviated wonderfully the pain 
 of fasting. Another of their measures against 
 hunger is more singular and incredible. In the 
 extremity of their anguish, the famished wretcles 
 had recourse to a primitive kind of water-cure. 
 Creeping out to the fens and morasses, they placed 
 themselves in *‘ moorish plots up unto their chins,” 
 
 themselves with rie or barlie, yea, and in time of dearth, manie 
 with bread made either of beans, peason or otes, or of altogither or 
 some acorns among, of which scourge the poorest doo soonest taste, 
 sith they are least able to provide themselves of better. I will not 
 saie that this extremitie is oft so well to be seene in time of plentie 
 as of dearth, but if I should, I could easily beare my triall. For 
 albeit there be much ground now eared in euerie place, than hath 
 beene of late yeares, yet such a price of corne continueth in each 
 towne and market without anie just cause (except it be that land- 
 lords doo get licenses to carie corne out of the lande onelie to keepe 
 up the prices for their owne private gaines and ruine of the common- 
 wealth), that the artificer and poore labouring man is not able to 
 reach unto it; but is driven to content himself with horse-corne, ° 
 I mean beanes, peason, otes, tares, and lintels, and therefore it is 
 a true proverbe, that ‘hunger setteth his foot in the horse-manger.’”’ 
 —Vide Wituam Harrison’s “ INTRODUCTION.” 
 
THE COLD WATER CURE. o7 
 
 and sat for hours at atime in mud and water. They 
 were of opinion that the cold and wet ‘ qualified 
 the heats of their stomachs,” and weakened their 
 yearning for food. Strange to say, the efficacy of 
 this process has not been fully tested in these days 
 of scientific inquiry. But any reader of this work 
 who is prone to be irritable when his wife keeps 
 him waiting for dinner, may easily make trial of 
 the frigid treatment. Instead of venting his dis- 
 pleasure at an absent wife in angry words, let him 
 retire to his bath-room, turn on the cold water, 
 and sit in it till she has returned from her after- 
 noon’s drive. He will, of course, select for the 
 experiment a day in the sharpest season of winter. 
 It may not, however, be inferred from the 
 Sicilian’s inadequate account of early British fare, 
 that the Britons were vegetarians. We have a 
 better authority on the subject in Julius Cesar, 
 who studied the barbarous islanders whilst he was 
 subjugating them, and who put it on record that 
 they were habitual consumers of flesh and milk. 
 Superstition forbade them to eat the goose, the 
 hare, and the chicken, and they were strangely 
 neglectful of the fishes that abounded in their 
 rivers. But they were eaters of meat. Though 
 the savour of a perfectly roasted sirloin of beef may 
 have never delighted their nerves of taste and 
 smell, they devoured on gaudy days huge lumps 
 
28 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 of badly broiled flesh. On especial occasions, also, 
 they were partakers of those bloody and repulsive 
 banquets, to which I have already alluded, with a 
 flippancy that will be sternly reprobated by censors, 
 whose treatment of serious subjects is always in 
 the best taste. 
 
 But though the early British chieftain’s table 
 may, under ordinary circumstances, have possessed 
 the materials for gross gluttony, no words can 
 palliate its shortcomings. At the best it was grace- 
 less, comfortless, and savage. It had neither a 
 code of etiquette, nor a soup, nor any sauce but 
 hunger. It is believed to have been altogether 
 without the-means of intoxication. 
 
 The Roman occupation was beneficent to the 
 conquered people in culinary matters. Together with 
 his munitions and rules of war, the conqueror brought 
 his science and implements of cookery. Provided 
 with various stew-pans and half-a-score of piquant 
 zests, he used them as means of government no 
 less than as instruments of selfish gratification. 
 Cooks completed the work which the triumphant 
 legions had only begun. The latter had only 
 crushed and terrified a turbulent people—the 
 former afforded timely consolation to the fallen 
 race, and, by giving them a new field of enjoyment, 
 inspired them with self-respect and hope. Cookery 
 and civilization are not purchased too dearly by 
 
CONQUEST AND COOKERY. 99 
 
 - barbarians who acquire them by the sacrifice 
 of a more or less imaginary independence. The 
 more intelligent of the Britons thought so, as they 
 sniffed the steaming pottages, and sipped the wines 
 of their victors. Physical force gave culinary art 
 the requisite time for the exercise of its influence; 
 but the captains would have failed if the chefs had 
 not been equal to the occasion. Cookery reconciled 
 the islanders to the presence and sway of the 
 foreigner. No doubt, the older and less adaptive 
 of the aborigines scorned the alluremenits of Roman 
 kitchens, and, holding to their old notions respect- 
 ing unclean and sacred meats, disdained to dip 
 their fingers in a bowl of cocky-leekie. But the 
 younger islanders, surrendering themselves to 
 savoury fascinations, learnt to bless the conqueror 
 who taught them to appreciate the oyster, to stew 
 the goose, to jug the hare, and cook the pullet in 
 half a hundred ways. Having accepted the 
 foreigner’s government on compulsion,. they took 
 his sauces from preference, and his ragouts from 
 gastronomic affection. 
 
 The German immigrants who settled in Britain 
 during the Roman occupation, were also alive to 
 the merits of the cookery practised by the rulers 
 and superior aborigines of their adopted land. 
 Caring chiefly for the quantity, they were not in- 
 different to the quality of their viands. That they 
 
30 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 delighted in rich soups is indicated by the Saxon 
 name which, from the time of Alfred to that of 
 Henry the Seventh, designated a variety of thick 
 stews, and is still preserved in the terms of culinary 
 art. Broth and bread are Saxon words; the 
 former of the two words was part of the verb 
 ‘‘ briwan, to cook,” whence also came “ brewing,” 
 the process of making malt liquor, and “ brewets,” 
 the popular name in medieval England for highly 
 seasoned hotch-potches of stewed meat, thickened 
 with meal. In “ steak” and “steam” we have two 
 other philological indications of the care expended 
 by the Saxons on gastronomic art. We should not 
 be justified in crediting them with the re-invention, 
 or even with the introduction of malt liquor, a 
 drink known to the ancient Hgyptians. On ac- 
 quiring a taste for alcohol from the Romans, the 
 Britons learnt from the same teachers how to 
 prepare wine from corn. But it is to the honour 
 of the Saxons, that at a happy moment of genial 
 inspiration they gave malt-brewet the expressive 
 title of “ ale’-—the cheerful giver of warmth. 
 Though its name is of Greek extraction, butter 
 is an article of food that was probably brought to 
 this country by the Teuton immigrants. ‘‘ Churn” 
 is a Saxon term. The Romans were connoisseurs 
 of *‘ cheese ;”’ but with their southern taste for oil, 
 as the proper instrument of culinary lubrication, 
 
ANTIQUE BUTTER. 31 
 
 they disdained to use at their tables the greasy 
 substance whose chief title to their respect was its 
 efficacy, when employed as a medicinal unguent. 
 Indeed, butter was a thing of curiosity rather than 
 of service to the ancients of Greece and Rome. 
 Its use, for any dietetic purpose, was confined to 
 a few of the old peoples. The Israelites were no 
 consumers of the oily mass. ‘This is one of the 
 points on which Biblical commentators have ceased 
 to differ. The “‘ chamea,”’ offered to the vanquished 
 Sisera on a “ lordly dish” by the most treacherous 
 murderess of all history, was a preparation of thick 
 milk. It was a fluid that, to a poetic imagination, 
 might have run down in streams. It certainly was 
 no such product as farmers’ wives were wont to 
 sell by the pint in Suffolk, and by the yard in Cam- 
 bridgeshire. The Greeks derived their knowledge 
 of badly made butter from the Thracians, the 
 Phrygians,. aud the Scythians. The same know- 
 ledge came to the Romans from Germany, to whose 
 barbarous tribes Pliny attributes the invention of 
 the process for collecting the oily particles from 
 milk. 
 
 In proportion as his climate is colder, man re- 
 quires for his comfort and support a larger supply 
 of heat-producing aliment. ‘he pie-men of St. 
 Petersburg pour train-oil on their pies, to the satis- 
 faction of their customers. Sir John Franklin, to 
 
oe A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 his surprise and alarm, saw an Hsquimaux youth 
 consume fourteen pounds of tallow candles at a 
 single sitting; and the young gentleman was desir- 
 ous of continuing the feast, when Sir John, who 
 had offered to give him as many candles as he could 
 eat, bought him off with the present of a large 
 lump of fat pork. Possessing the butyric art, it 
 is reasonable to suppose that the Northern Germans, 
 living in a rigorous atmosphere, were great con- 
 sumers of butter. They may also be credited with 
 introducing to this country the preparation which 
 was unknown to the Britons of the pre-Roman 
 period. One can believe that a wholesomely super- 
 stitious dame of the Saxon race was the originator 
 of the pious maxim, ‘ Don’t swear, or the butter 
 won’t come.” To the same source, also, may be 
 referred the adage, preserved in Thomas Cogan’s 
 ‘* Haven of Health” (1596), ‘* Butter is gold in 
 the morning, silver at noon, and lead at night.” 
 The withdrawal of the Romans was a serious 
 blow to gastronomy in Britain; but it would be a 
 mistake to suppose that their culinary practice dis- 
 appeared with their arms. Cookery is an art whose 
 lessons are not speedily forgotten. Conservative in 
 all that pertains to social usages, man is especially so 
 in matters of the table. It is, therefore, impossible 
 that the superior aborigines, who had been slowly, 
 and at first reluctantly, weaned from the gross 
 
SAXON COOKERY. 38 
 
 tastes of their forefathers, would immediately lapse 
 into culinary barbarism on the disappearance of 
 the benefactors whose arts and garb they had 
 adopted. Nor were the Germans neglectful of the 
 precepts of the Roman epicures. Power is the 
 nurse of luxury; and with their growing influence 
 the Saxons doubtless exhibited a finer taste in 
 eating. 
 
 It has been too much the fashion with writers 
 to deride the meanness and coarseness of Saxon 
 fare. In his sweet bread and bright butter, the 
 Thane had two important requisites for a good 
 table. Though inferior to fermented juices of the 
 erape, his daily liquor was no contemptible drink. 
 The potage was always present when his board was 
 spread. Rome had taught him how to treat deer 
 and small game, the flesh of swine and oxen, and 
 the meat of wild-fowl. Jish was one of his 
 favourite foods, and he cooked eggs in divers 
 fashions. 
 
 In the absence of garum, he was not without 
 some meritorious sauces and relishes. Nor was his 
 table wanting in other evidences of refinement. 
 Saxon art has transmitted to us proofs that the later 
 Saxons covered their tables with linen cloths, used 
 napkins, and were served ceremoniously by kneeling 
 ministrants. I am disposed to think that, on their 
 arrival in this country, the duzurious Normans, as 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 they are always termed in popular history, brought 
 with them few kitchen luxuries that were not 
 familiar to the vanquished chieftains. . 
 
 On the other hand, due allowance must be made 
 for the natural propensities of a robust and phleg- 
 matic people, who were certainly less disposed to 
 daintiness than to gluttony. Often immoderate, 
 the Saxons were seldom fastidious eaters. In drink- 
 ing, they cared little for flavour, provided they 
 could achieve their principal objects—the excite- 
 ment and stupefaction of drunkenness. 
 
 In these respects, the Danes resembled the 
 Saxons. Rivalling them in gluttony, they ap- 
 pear to have surpassed them in toping. To the 
 Danes, our ancestors are indebted for those of their 
 old drinking usages, that are most strongly signifi- 
 cant of intemperance. The representative men of 
 the two stocks are remembered for their excesses in 
 feasting, as well as for their policies. The virtuous 
 Alfred did not practise moderation in diet, until he 
 had paid a heavy penalty for gross indulgence. 
 Canute the Hardy prided himself on his ostenta- 
 tious and incessant hospitalities, and on adding two 
 meals to the daily regalements of his aristocracy. 
 It is noteworthy that each of these kings suffered 
 severely from bridal feasting. Alfred the Great 
 injured his constitution irreparably, by swinish 
 excess at his own wedding. Something more than 
 
 ’ . 
 a a 
 
ROYAL HOSPITALITY oo 
 
 a hundred and seventy years later, Canute the 
 Hardy drank himself to death at a marriage 
 banquet. So perished the Dane, of whom history 
 records, “He covered four times a day the tables, 
 at which all who came to them were welcome’ 
 guests.” 
 
36 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 ANTIQUE FEASTING. 
 
 “Old Lucullus, they say, 
 Forty cooks had each day, 
 And Vitellius’s meals cost a million ; 
 But I like what is good 
 When or where be my food, 
 In a chop-house or royal pavilion. 
 
 “ At all feasts (if enough) 
 I most heartily stuff, 
 And a song at my heart alike rushes, 
 Though [ve not fed my lungs 
 Upon nightingales’ tongues, ; 
 Nor the brains of goldfinches and thrushes.” 
 Captain Morris’s “ Sones.” 
 HEN it perished, after a long decay, the 
 Roman Empire bequeathed two precious 
 legacies to mankind—its laws and its cookery. 
 The societies that reformed themselves on Theo- 
 fe. ° ° ° * ° 
 dosian principles, on emerging from the disorder 
 and violence of universal anarchy, followed the 
 culinary precepts which Rome had taught and 
 illustrated in her period of highest luxury. Social 
 convulsions had never caused a general neglect of 
 those rules. ‘To suppose that the Apician code fell 
 
 out of sight and practice during the struggles 
 
a 
 
 THOUGH EMPIRES FALL. BY: 
 
 which preceded and followed the empire’s dissolu- 
 tion, 1s to surpass 1n imaginative error the historians 
 who long maintained that the mediseval civilians were 
 indebted for their system to the accidental discovery 
 of a copy of Justinian’s pandects. 
 
 Political agitations lessen neither the appetite nor 
 the need for food. The people of a falling State 
 must have their pottage. Public calamity may 
 occupy the mind, but it cannot satisfy the belly. 
 War and flight only sharpen the desire for meat 
 and drink. ‘The fasting soldier cannot fight; the 
 hungry fugitive falls behind his comrades. It is 
 the same with private sorrow. The death of a 
 virtuous citizen 1s an occasion for offering a funeral 
 banquet to his mourners. Whilst Rome lay gasping 
 on her death-bed, spits turned before her kitchen-— 
 fires. When she was dead, and her heirs were 
 struggling desperately for one or another of the dis- 
 severed portions of her estate, the spits went on 
 turning, and her cooks, the slaves of precedent, 
 prepared their sauces, and seasoned their dishes, 
 by the rules of Apicius, even as our English cooks 
 followed the directions of Mrs. Glasse and Mrs. 
 Rundell on the eve of the battle of Waterloo, and 
 as they would obey the orders of Acton and Ude, 
 if the Germans were marching on London, or 
 Mr. Odger were First President of the British 
 Republic. 
 
38 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 Religion passes from east to west; cookery 
 northwards from the south. Our earliest dinners 
 were brought us by the legions of Cesar. And 
 from that dawn of gastronomic science on our 
 island, whenever cookery has languished amongst 
 us, she has looked to the South for new ideas and 
 another inspiration. It was so at the decay of 
 feudalism, at the Caroline restoration, and at the 
 beginning of the present century. The influence 
 of ancient Rome may still be recognized in our 
 soups and entrées, our sausages and salads. 
 Lobster rissoles were invented and brought to 
 perfection by Heliogabalus. 
 
 But though we owe a vast debt of pe. to 
 Rome for her culinary benefactions, we need not 
 shut our eyes to the imperfections and bar- 
 baric grossness of her cuisine. If it was a great 
 thing for our remote forefathers to have ac« 
 quired her system, it was even more fortunate 
 that our nearer ancestors had the intelligence 
 and courage to liberate themselves from its 
 thraldom. 
 
 The discomforts and gastronomic outrages of an 
 Augustan supper are so notorious, that no epicure 
 of modern London would care to accept an invita- 
 tion to a feast served after the manner of the 
 ancients. Even though he had perfect confidence 
 in the Amphitryon’s scholarly competence for a 
 
THE MANNER OF THE ANCIENTS. 39 
 
 difficult enterprise, he would avoid an entertain- 
 ment more likely to ruffle his temper, and offend 
 his palate, than to cheer his spirits and gratify his 
 taste. Bearing in mind the requirements of the 
 triclinium he would shrink from a position, fruitful 
 of humiliations and perplexities, which may be 
 realized with sufficient accuracy by any gentleman 
 of an inquiring turn, who will do his best to enjoy 
 a long repast of soups and hashes whilst he lies 
 on a sofa, and wears a dressing-gown of ample 
 folds. Under the most favourable circumstances, 4 
 Roman dinner must have been a sloppy affair, even 
 to nicely circumspect feeders. Consumed hastily, 
 in an hour of vexatious and untoward incidents, it 
 must have been less advantageous to the eater than 
 to his tailor. It is creditable to the good sense 
 and natural dignity of our ancestors that, sepa- 
 rating Latin cookery from Latin manners, they 
 always sat at table when they feasted on Roman 
 fare. | | 
 The familiar stories of their gross and fantastic 
 enjoyments would of themselves demonstrate that 
 the voluptuaries of ancient Rome were incapable of 
 the finer delights of the table. Whether we regard 
 the Augustan spendthrifts, or the later bon-vivants 
 of the Eastern and Western empires, it may be 
 asserted that the Roman sensualist was devoid of 
 nice perceptions. Always a glutton, he was never 
 
40 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 an epicure in the modern sense of the term. The 
 dishes with which he gorged himself, appealed to 
 the fancy rather than the palate; and his imagina- 
 tion preferred grotesque, and even repulsive, ideas 
 to pleasant and cheerful associations. Vedius Pollio, 
 who could not relish a lamprey unless he could 
 imagine it to have been fattened on human flesh, 
 was a type of the many Roman gourmands whose 
 appetite was quickened by cruel fancies. Like the 
 Australian digger, who ate bank-note sandwiches, 
 the Roman gastronomer delighted to eat and drink 
 money. If he could not obtain, or was too amiable 
 to desire, dishes seasoned with human agony, he 
 required patelle of inordinate cost, and relished 
 them in proportion to the amount of labour ex- 
 pended on their preparation. | 
 
 Five thousand pounds of money were expended 
 on the pie which made Atsop, the player, famous 
 amonest wasteful feeders, and was believed by the 
 purchaser to have been made of birds that could — 
 imitate human voices. Clodius, the son of this 
 preposterous connoisseur of bird-pies, peppered 
 his drink with powdered pearls, and had no gust 
 for the daintiest dish, unless his cook could assure 
 him that a precious stone was one of its ingredients. | 
 The imperial inventor of lobster rissoles delighted 
 in salmagundis, made chiefly of the tongues and 
 brains of small birds excellent for musical voice 
 
MONEY-EATERS. 4] 
 
 or brilliance of plumage; and Septimius Geta 
 is memorable for hotch-potches whose various 
 meats, selected without any reference to their 
 flavours, bore names beginning with the same 
 letter of the alphabet. Sheer wastefulness, that 
 squandered on the whimsical humours of a single 
 person the money which, with discriminating ex- 
 penditure, might have brought felicity to a thousand 
 intelligent epicures, reached its climax in the 
 kitchens of the Apicius of Augustan Rome, who 
 surpassed all the money-eaters of his time in boot- 
 less prodigality. The strongest passion of this 
 gormandizing fool was for ragouts of half-a- 
 hundred more or less incongruous elements; and 
 when he had weakened his intellect, and destroyed 
 a naturally fine digestion by gastronomic absurdi- 
 ties, he put a violent end to his excesses with a cup 
 of poison. Having squandered on his belly, in the 
 course of a few years, something more than a 
 million and a half of money (English), he killed 
 himself, rather than prolong existence on the 
 wretched eighty or hundred thousand pounds that 
 still remained in his exchequer. 
 
 Were it needful to produce other ROTC RAL 
 illustrations against the epicureanism prevalent in 
 the wealthiest circles of ancient Rome, we should 
 select them from anecdotes told of Vitellius, who 
 in less than eight months made away with seven 
 
42, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 millions sterling (English money) in extravagances | 
 of the table, and encouraged gluttons to prepare 
 themselves for additional courses by taking emetics. 
 Another emperor, famous in the annals of gulosity, 
 was Tiberius, who, with the aid of his courtly phy- 
 sicians, could protract a single banquet for thirty- 
 six hours. i 
 
 The evidence of such stories accords with the 
 more precise and conclusive testimony of the extant 
 receipts for the choicest dishes of the Roman glut- 
 tons. There is no want of information respecting the 
 principles and details of the cuisine that, brought to 
 perfection in ancient Rome, has not to this day been 
 altogether superseded by a better cookery in some 
 of the Latin peoples. A perusal of Dr. Lister’s 
 edition of the pseudo-Apicius’s cookery-book will 
 instruct the curious scholar respecting the charac- 
 teristics of the food most grateful to the Roman 
 palate, and also respecting the processes for pre- 
 paring its principal varieties. Those who are 
 curious, without being scholarly, may gather a 
 sufficient supply of the same information from 
 Mr. Coote’s ‘Cuisine Bourgeoise of Ancient 
 Rome.” 
 
 Covering a period of some three hundred years, 
 that began in the days of the Republic and closed in 
 the time subsequent to Heliogabalus, the “ De Arte 
 
OLD THINGS AND NEW. A3 
 
 Coquinaria”’ gives us precepts followed by chefs of 
 a date long anterior to the compiler’s generation. 
 The choicest receipts of distant ages appear in its 
 records. In this respect, the work resembles modern 
 compilations of the same kind, which together with 
 rules for making dishes, popular in Tudor times, 
 contain directions for producing the choicest deli- 
 cacies of Ude and Francatelli. The dates, at which 
 some of the Apician dishes were invented, or at 
 least enjoyed a high reputation, may be inferred 
 from the names of famous personages referred to 
 by the titles of the plats. But most of the receipts 
 afford no indication of the decades in which they 
 were composed. The entire collection, however, 
 affords an equally comprehensive and minute pic- 
 ture of the Roman cuisine, when Roman luxury was 
 at its height. The compiler is unknown; but if 
 he was not some great man’s chef, he was probably 
 some fashionable gowrmet who assumed, for his 
 literary purpose, a name that had for generations 
 blazed in culinary annals. 
 
 It would only weary the reader to burden these 
 pages with Apician details, which the curious can 
 readily gather for themselves, and none but the 
 curious would peruse with interest. Nor would the 
 ordinary perusers of a popular work be thankful 
 for a diversity of receipts which they certainly 
 
44, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 would not desire their cooks to execute. It is 
 enough for the present undertaking to call atten- 
 tion to the prominent features of Roman cookery, 
 and to a few receipts that illustrate its leading prin- 
 ciples. 
 
45 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 APICIAN PRECEPTS. 
 
 * From these receipts we may acquire some idea of the complicated 
 and heterogeneous messes which formed the most exquisite deli- 
 cacies of a Roman table. At the present day, nothing can be 
 conceived more disgusting than many of these dishes; since a 
 variety of ingredients from which a modern would shrink with 
 abhorrence, were cast into them by the cooks of Rome with a lavish 
 hand. Assafcetida, rue, &c., were used in almost every high- 
 seasoned dish; and we meet repeatedly with the extraordinary 
 mixtures of oil and wine, honey, pepper, and the putrid distillation 
 from stinking fish. In short, the Roman cook seems to have gone 
 in direct opposition to the selection which the poet makes Eve use 
 in preparing an entertainment, “ For,” says he, “she so contrived 
 as not to mix 
 
 Tastes not well joined, inelegant, but bring 
 Taste after taste, upheld with kindliest change.” 
 Vide Rev. Richard WaRNER’s “ ANTIQUITATES CULINARIA.” 
 
 OTHING can be more liberal and satisfactory 
 than the list of materials employed by the 
 Roman chef. Together with most of the meats, and 
 several kinds of the poultry, still used most largely 
 in Huropean kitchens, his larder contained crea- 
 tures now-a-days neglected as distasteful, if not 
 condemned as unclean. Though he held it in low 
 esteem, he had need of beef. Wild mutton, veal, 
 lamb, kid, and venison commanded his zealous 
 
46 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE, 
 
 attention; but pork, of all meats the most accept- 
 able to the ancient epicures of the sunny South, 
 he could not regard without emotion, or mention 
 without enthusiasm. | 
 
 Tears of joyful anticipation rolled down his 
 cheeks when the fat porker dropped dead at his 
 feet; and, as he wiped from the prostrate creature’s 
 lips the stains of the sweet intoxicating drink 
 which had induced the fatal apoplexy, he smiled 
 with tender exultation. He had reason to love 
 the animal which afforded him materials:for his 
 daintiest preparations. His varieties of porcine plats 
 are almost countless. The spit, the gridiron, the 
 frying-pan, the oven, the boiler, and the stew-pan 
 were all employed by turns in preparing the flesh 
 which was the passion of Roman epicures, and to 
 which the culinary professors could impart no less 
 than eighty different flavours. The Romans were 
 consumers of pork-haggis and various kinds of 
 pork sausages. But the Apician cook was never 
 prouder of himself and his profession than when 
 he sniffed the fragrant exhalations of a small baked 
 pig which had been stuffed with a compound of 
 thrushes, beccaficos, minced ‘pluck,’ dates, 
 onions, snails, mallows, beets, leeks, celery, 
 cabbage, coriander seeds, pepper, pine-nuts, eggs 
 and garum. His hands trembled with fine emotion, 
 as he made a deep incision down the porker’s back, 
 
BIRDS OF STRONG FLAVOUR, 47 
 
 and poured into it a hot mixture of pepper, rue, 
 garum, sweet wine, honey and oil, thickened with 
 frumenty. 
 
 The same grossness of taste, which made these 
 epicures of a hot climate prefer pork to more 
 delicate meats, is seen in their choice of four-footed 
 game and birds. The hare, whose strong flavour 
 renders it barely acceptable to the more fastidious 
 palates of modern connoisseurs, was prized by the 
 Latin bon-vivant above all other ground-game. 
 he goose and peacock were not more esteemed at 
 Augustan tables than the phcenicopteros and the 
 parrot; and in the sixth book of his Treatise pseudo- 
 Apicius gives a receipt for creatures that he 
 frankly designates “ stinking birds” (aves hircosas), 
 a class including Ardean cranes and other piscivo- 
 rous fowl. 
 
 The time has now arrived for us to sip the nasty 
 compound of honey, wine, mucilage, and spice, 
 with which the luxurious Roman whetted his 
 appetite and prepared his palate for every im- 
 portant feast. The Conditum Paradoxum, as 
 pseudo-Apicius calls it, or the Promulsis, as it 
 is more commonly termed, has always been a 
 chief difficulty with modern apologists of the 
 Roman cuisine. Mr. Coote, who grows fervid 
 about the excellences of a sauce made chiefly from 
 the putrid intestines of fish, is significantly silent 
 
48 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 concerning the introductory sirup. When Lord 
 Lytton, in the “ast Days of Pompeii,’ en- 
 deavoured to rouse his readers’ sympathy for the 
 pleasures of a Pompeian supper, he coyly misre- 
 presented the Promulsis as a drink ‘of diluted 
 wine sparingly mixed with honey.” The exactness 
 of the Apician receipt for the preparation of ‘the 
 whet” (!) leaves us in no doubt as to the proportion 
 of honey in the cloying lquor, which was com- 
 pounded in this manner. Six pints of honey, two 
 pints of wine, four ounces of powdered pepper, 
 three ounces of sweet gum, one drachm of spike- 
 nard leaves, one drachm of saffron, and five 
 drachms of dried dates were mixed and boiled three 
 several times. It does not appear how much the 
 three boilings reduced the compound. Having 
 been thus concocted, the mess received sixteen 
 pints of wine, when it was regarded as a choice 
 preliminary confection for an elaborate feast. Six 
 pints of honey is no ‘‘ sparing’ proportion of sweet 
 stuff to eighteen pints of wine. Certainly the 
 ** preparation” would not dispose a modern palate 
 to relish the following delicacies. Sooner than 
 begin his dinner with a glass of such a fluid, any 
 epicure of the Carlton Club would attune his palate 
 for a coming dinner with half a pint of treacle and 
 table-beer, seasoned with all-spice. 
 
 In connection with the heavily sweetened wine 
 
SWEET WINE, SWEETENED. 49 
 
 of the Promulsis, mention may be here made of 
 the Roman taste for wines medicated with mawkish 
 savours that would utterly destroy the fine virtues 
 of the best vintage. Rosatum and Violatium were 
 in high esteem with Apician epicures. The former 
 drink was made thus. Several bags (as many as 
 possible) of dried rose petals were put into a cask, 
 and covered with good wine. The infusion having 
 stood for seven days, the rose-leaves were firmly 
 squeezed, so that the liquor might have every 
 drop of their scented juice. Another and equally 
 large supply of dried petals was then put into the 
 cask, and treated in the same way. This process 
 was repeated yet again; and when the wine had 
 been completely loaded with roseate essence, the 
 tincture was put away for use on highly festal 
 occasions. It would have been more properly 
 thrown into the nearest sewer. Violatium was 
 made in the same manner, with petals of violets 
 instead of petals of roses. It is impossible that 
 people who enjoyed such preparations, fit only for 
 an apothecary’s shop, could appreciate the subtler 
 excellences of the fermented grape. 
 
 Tt is the custom of the champions of the Roman 
 cuisine to deplore the misfortune that we endure in 
 the disappearance of the culinary “laser,” and in 
 the still more grievous loss of the process for 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 making garum. Mr. Coote is touchingly pathetic 
 on each of these subjects. Dr. Lister was scarcely 
 less emotional. Though it was akin to the growth 
 from which we derive the stinking assafoetida, the 
 Cyrenaic silphium, or laser, yielded a juice which, 
 could it be recovered, would be found inexpressibly 
 delightful to the taste and smell of modern epicures. 
 The apologists have no misgivings on this point, 
 because the Roman chefs seized every occasion for 
 throwing its requisite flavour into their pottages, 
 hashes, mince-pating, sausages, and sauces. How 
 could the thing so delectable to palates which 
 relished Promulsis and Rosatum, have been other- 
 wise than highly and naturally agreeable? But 
 prejudice is stubborn; and men who have fled in 
 fancy from the ‘“‘irruption of intolerable smells,” 
 which Mr. Pallet’s carving-knife evoked from a 
 certain fowl to Peregrine Pickle’s diversion and 
 disgust, are slow to believe that any laserpitian 
 spice ever possessed a natural pleasantness. Against 
 the apologists, it is urged that the very way in 
 which the Romans are known to have used their 
 favourite herb, declares it to have been a thing of a 
 powerfully pungent savour that could be felt and 
 smelt above all the other half-hundred flavours 
 requisite for the more elaborate products of the 
 Roman cuisine. Smollett may have taken a too 
 professional view of the subject. His judgment 
 
LASER AND GARUM. ol 
 
 may have been disturbed by his medical acquaint- 
 ance with an abominably noisome extract. He may 
 have written wildly and in utter ignorance. But it 
 is certain that, had the beloved laser been a spice of 
 delicate virtues, they would have been absolutely 
 effectless in a strongly seasoned dish, compounded 
 of several incongruous meats and as many dis- 
 cordant spices. In short, the general characteristics 
 of the cookery discredit the particular ingre- 
 dient. 
 
 To pass from the herb of which the moderns are 
 _ said to know nothing, to a sauce about which they 
 certainly know a good deal. The Romans had many 
 condiments, more or less acceptable to their palates 
 and hurtful to their digestions; but garum—or 
 liquamen, as the same preparation was also termed 
 —was the seasoning most largely used by the 
 Apician chefs, and most enthusiastically extolled by 
 _ Apician epicures. Amphore, bearing the almost 
 sacred inscription of “ Liquamen Optimum,” have 
 been exhumed at Pompeii, the pleasant watering- 
 place where the gourmands of the capital revived 
 their jaded appetites with the sea-breeze. At home, 
 no banquet was approved unless garum dominated 
 the flavours of most of the dishes. It was used in 
 soups and stews, in ragouts and sausages, in force- 
 meats and salmagundis of fishes. Improving most 
 
 EB 2 
 
52, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 materials, and agreeing with all, it was poured 
 liberally on_ flesh, fish, game, and fowl, and 
 hundreds of messes, each of which contained from 
 a dozen to fifty ingredients. When he is in doubt 
 the young whist-player plays a trump, if he can. 
 In moments of uncertainty the Roman cook used 
 the never-absent garum. Oil was silver, lquamen 
 was gold. The rich and luxurious used the garum 
 which was termed emphatically “ optimum.” There 
 were inferior kinds of the sauce for the poor and 
 thrifty. 
 
 This exquisite condiment was obtained from -the 
 intestines, gills, and blood of fishes, great and 
 small, stirred together with salt, and exposed in 
 an open vat to the sun, until the compound was 
 putrid. Nothing is known as to the proportions of 
 the several piscine ingredients; but whilst small 
 fishes were thrown whole into the vessel, the larger 
 -fishes—such as tunny, sturgeon, and mackerel 
 —contributed nothing to the mess, save their gills, 
 internal parts, and juices. When putrefaction had 
 done its work, wine and spice-herbs were added to 
 the liquescent garbage. Finally, the liquor of this 
 loathsome compound was strained, and sent in 
 amphoree from Greece to the Roman market. Some- 
 thing like this sauce might doubtless be obtained by 
 an artful treatment of fetid catsup, and caviare, so 
 far gone to the bad that the few and the many 
 
A LURKING MYSTERY. Ho 
 
 would agree in their estimate of its virtues. Any- 
 how, it was darksome, saltish, biting, and beastly. 
 But the ingenious apologists, already alluded to, 
 regard liquamen fondly. Admitting the repulsive- 
 ness of the raw materials, and also the nauseating 
 character of the sadly imperfect accounts of its 
 manufacture, they are sure that, if we knew the 
 whole process, there would be an end to the illiberal 
 prejudice against the appetizing fluid. The Romans 
 (runs the apology) were too elegant epicures to like 
 anything that was not good; for centuries the 
 Romans prized liquamen above all sauces; ergo 
 liquamen was the best of piquant sauces, and would 
 be in keen demand at our Pall Mall clubs, if we 
 could only recover the secret of making it properly. 
 ‘There lurks a mystery,” says Mr. Coote, “in the 
 details handed down to us of its mode of prepara- 
 tion.’ The daring experimentalist* who shall 
 
 * «This brings us,” Mr. Coote observes with much fine feeling, 
 *‘to the real problem of Roman cookery, the flavour imported by 
 that confection,” (7.e., garum), “to the sauces with which it inter- 
 communicated. Looking at this from the point of view of the 
 kitchen, it is no other than a grave esthetical question. If we can 
 solve it in any way, we shall penetrate to the bottom of the Roman 
 ‘system. Without experiments, which will probably never be made, 
 though Soyer vehemently desired them, we know so much as this, 
 that the materials of the zest were fish, that salt was an adjunct, 
 and that fermentation in the sun was the means of effecting a union 
 
 more or less chemical between these well pronounced elements.”— 
 Vide Cootz’s “ Cuisine BouRGEOISE oF ANCIENT Rome.” 
 
54 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 apprehend and penetrate this lurking mystery, will 
 relieve Apician cookery of unmerited opprobrium, 
 and raise the modern to the level of the ancient 
 table. 
 
 Prejudice may cause men to condemn what is 
 good. It may also make them admire what is bad. 
 And of the prejudice which disposes the mind to 
 discover nothing but goodness in things that are 
 faulty, we cannot acquit the critics, who declare 
 that a sauce must have been excellent because it 
 was highly esteemed by the Apician epicures, who 
 could relish oysters, properly dressed with pepper 
 and vinegar, and at the same time serve them with 
 honey.* In another Chapter we shall see how our 
 feudal forefathers, imitating the old Romans in this 
 last particular, put sugar on their oysters—an 
 atrocity that will seem almost incredible to lovers 
 of the delicate “ native !”’ 
 
 No impartial inquirer can peruse the Apician 
 
 * The Apician precepts for treating oysters are significant. Here 
 is an atrocious mixture for the improvement of our “ natives,” which 
 the Roman prized less for their delicacy of flavour than out of 
 regard to the difficulty of procuring them: “ Pepper, lovage’ of 
 Lombardy, parsley, dry mint, spikenard leaves, Indian spikenard 
 leaves, cumin (in larger quantity), honey, vinegar, and liquamen.” 
 Apicius, the cook, gives another receipt for a sauce for oysters in 
 these words: “ Piper, ligusticum, ovi vitellum, acetum, liquamen, 
 oleum et vinum, si volueris et mel addes.” 
 
THE FUNOTIONS OF SAUCES. 5 
 
 Or 
 
 code, without seeing that the Romans were igno- 
 rant of the first principles which should always 
 control the manufacture and administration of con- 
 diments. Not that all their sauces were altogether 
 faulty. On the contrary, they had a few prepara- 
 tions that would be acceptable to palates of the 
 present time. Oxyporon,* the Apician sharp-sauce, 
 for instance, was no contemptible zest, though it 
 contained a large proportion of so coarse a spice as 
 ginger. But when he had a supply of fairly good 
 sauces, the Apician chef, instead of relying on 
 any one of them, destroyed their special efficacy, 
 by mixing them with half-a-dozen grosser prepara- 
 tions. 
 
 At the present date, it will not be questioned 
 that the four chief functions of sauces are:—1. To 
 quicken the palate to high sensibility of the dis- 
 tinctive flavour of material. 2. To enhance the 
 said flavour. 3. To produce a new flavour, other- 
 wise unattainable, by the combination of the sauce’s 
 
 virtues with the distinctive savour of the material. 
 
 * Here is the receipt for oxyporon: Take two ounces of cumin, 
 one ounce of ginger, one ounce of green rue, six scruples of salt- 
 petre, twelve scruples of fine dates, one ounce of pepper, nine 
 ounces of honey. Beat and mix with vinegar. This being a favour- 
 able example, the reader will know what to think of the unfavourable 
 specimens, of Roman sauces. As Robson, the comedian, used to 
 say of thin claret, oxyporon might go fairly well with a salad, in 
 the absence of every kind of proper dressing. 
 
56 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 A. To supply a natural deficiency in the texture of 
 a material, as when a cleverly concocted sauce gives 
 juiciness and lubricity to a dry, rough-grained 
 viand. Of course, at seasons of privation and 
 grievous difficulty, it devolves on the chef to dis- 
 guise the evil qualities of repulsive material, or 
 impart sapidity to insipid meats. The first Napo- 
 leon’s cook signalized himself in this dismal depart- 
 ment of his art during the retreat from Moscow. 
 The late siege of Paris tried the mventiveness of 
 cooks in the same field of deception. In the 
 kitchens, also, of the cheap and rather nasty 
 dining-places of the Palais Royal, the cook’s first 
 object 1s to hide the miserable deficiencies of his 
 material with sauces that confuse whilst they tickle 
 the palate. But, occasions of emergency excepted, 
 such artifice is indefensible. The sauce that 
 kills a fine natural flavour, without utilizing 
 it nobly, is nothing else than a murderous 
 device. 
 
 That the Roman epicures were utterly ignorant 
 of these axioms is seen in their barbaric messes of 
 half a hundred multifarious and hostile ingredients. 
 In their isicia and patinzs they combined meats 
 which, for flavour’s sake, should be kept separate ; 
 and having thus brought several incongruous 
 materials into unnatural juxtaposition, they sea- 
 soned them with an even larger number of dis- 
 
ONE REDEEMING VIRTUE. Lay: 
 
 cordant additaments ; sweet and acidulous, heating 
 and cooling, rough and lubricous, saline and mu- 
 cilaginous. In fact, their highly artificial cuisine 
 was remarkable chiefly for its incessant and clumsy 
 employment of artifices to disguise flavour and 
 paralyze the taste. Instead of cherishing and 
 emphasizing delicate flavours, the Roman chef’s 
 misdirected industry smothered them. 
 
 In one respect the competent chef of ancient 
 Rome was above praise. If the succulency of his 
 plats was excessive, and if their seasonings were 
 preposterous, no one can deny them to have been 
 exquisitely tender. The Roman epicure’s tooth was 
 more fastidious than his palate. He could relish 
 what was nasty, but he revolted against what was 
 tough. Woe and stripes, if not instant death, 
 befell the culinary slave who sent a hard or leathery 
 viand to a gastronomic senator’s table. He was 
 lucky if he was not dragged summarily from his. 
 kitchen to the festal chamber, and flogged in 
 the presence of the furious Amphitryon and the 
 guests whom he had wronged so grievously. To 
 satisfy this paramount demand for tenderness, the 
 chef was an unsparing user of the mincing-knife, 
 pestle, and stew-pan. He chopped and diced, and 
 dissected infinitesimally the materials of which his 
 isicia, and patine, and minutalia were compounded. 
 Having done his best with the knife and the mincing- 
 
58 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 board, he went to work with the pestle and mortar, 
 and pounded the muscle of fish, flesh, and fowl 
 into a delicate pulp, that eventually appeared on 
 the table, in lightly fried or boiled portions. The 
 Latin epicure’s delight in plates of dormice was 
 chiefly due to the exquisite tenderness of the insipid 
 flesh. Potted meat comes to us through the 
 medieval kitchens from imperial Rome. Our 
 “‘minces’’ are the lineal descendants of the dishes 
 which the Romans termed ‘“ minutalia,’ out of 
 regard to the minute dissection of the viands em- 
 ployed for their composition. 
 
 The Roman cuisine, be it also observed, had a 
 vegetable basis. The numerous pottages in which. 
 the Latin epicures delighted were made chiefly of 
 prepared grain and pot-herbs, seasoned with wine 
 and sauces to the taste. Barley, wheat, rice, peas, 
 beans, gourds, were all used for the manufacture of 
 the highly nutritive soups, which were often en- 
 riched with pulp of pounded meat, and morsels of 
 
 tenderly stewed flesh, but never failed to exhibit — 
 
 their vegetable foundation. Often these porridges 
 were sweetened with honey, and sharpened with 
 liquamen. Some of the lighter Roman pottages re- 
 sembled closely the thin vegetable soups of the 
 modern Lenten table. But none of them are com- 
 parable with the clear gravy soups of the nineteenth 
 century. The Roman cared little for the pure 
 
THE PATINA APICIANA. 59 
 
 flavour of meat-juice, though he employed it 
 sparingly in his meretricious sauces. A soup, 
 chiefly excellent for preserving the distinctive taste 
 of the natural viand, was no delicacy to his undis- 
 cerning palate. 
 
 Relishing his joints of baked and boiled meat, and 
 his joints cooked by both processes, his broiled 
 collops served with liquamen and spices, and large 
 birds cooked whole, the Roman gourmand was 
 especially particular about his ‘‘made dishes,” 
 consisting chiefly of minced and pounded meats. 
 These isicia, patine, and minutalia were sometimes 
 made of a dozen or more different species of flesh ; 
 but for the simplest plats a single meat and numer- 
 ous seasonings were sufficient. Meat or corn 
 paste entered into the composition of several of 
 them. 
 
 The Patina Apiciana, one of the costliest and 
 most elegant of these preparations, was an achieve- 
 ment that doubtless made its inventor famous in the 
 kitchens of his period. To produce this dainty, the 
 chef took gobbets of stewed sow’s udder, flesh of 
 several fishes, meat of chickens and other young 
 things, a score or so beccaficoes, as many stewed 
 breasts of thrushes, and whatever other meats ap- 
 peared to him to be especially good (et quecunque 
 optima fuerint.) The beccaficoes excepted, he 
 
60 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 minced these ingredients minutely. His next care 
 was to mix raw eggs with oil, season the mixture 
 with triturated pepper and lovage, and pour liqua- 
 men, oil, wine, and sweet wine into it. This com- 
 pound having been boiled and thickened with 
 frumenty, it received the minced stuff and becca- 
 ficoes. The entire composition having been boiled 
 thoroughly, it was poured upon layers of peppered 
 pine-apple, each layer of the stew-laden fruit 
 being divided from the layer: above it by a thin 
 wafer biscuit. A biscuit of the same kind was 
 broken into small pieces and sprinkled on the top 
 layer, which was also lightly peppered. The only 
 one of the several ingredients of a feaster’s portion 
 of this dish that retained its natural taste, or had 
 any distinctive flavour, was the beccafico, which was 
 of course a delicious surprise. 
 
 Haggis, as the Scotch term it, was a favourite 
 preparation with Romans; but, instead of mincing 
 the flesh used for this dish, they as often as not 
 brayed it in a mortar, with liquamen and seasonings, 
 till it becamea soft pulp. The usual farinaceous 
 ingredient of the Roman haggis was frumenty ; 
 but often no grain was employed. The Apician 
 -pork-haggis—esteemed above all other compositions 
 of the same kind—was a boiled pig’s stomach filled 
 with fry and brain, raw eggs, and pine-apple, beaten 
 
MINCED CHICKEN. 61 
 
 into a pulp, and treated with the never absent sauces 
 and seasonings. 
 
 The same epicures showed their nice appreciation 
 of the chicken’s delicate flavour in the following 
 process. Having boned the fowl, they first minced 
 the flesh, and then brayed it with liquamen in a 
 mortar to a pulp. Farinaceous ingredients were 
 added ; and when the composition had been spiced 
 with pepper and other strong condiments, it was 
 boiled or fried, and sent to table in wine-sauce. 
 Any insipid meat, or piece of pliant leather would 
 have done as weil for this mess, as the tender and 
 tasteful flesh of a pullet. 
 
 The Romans were more reasonable in their treat- 
 ment of vegetables, though they used the mincing 
 knife far too freely in preparing them. Great were 
 their pains to impart a more than natural greenness 
 to their pot-herbs: a laudable aim, though, in 
 achieving it, they often sacrificed flavour to colour 
 by a too hberal employment of nitre. ‘Omne 
 olus,’ says the author of the ‘De Arte 
 Coquinaria,’  smaragdinum fiet, si cum nitro co- 
 quatur.” | 
 
 Respecting the sweetmeats and prepared fruits 
 of the Roman table, there is no need to speak fully 
 in the present Chapter. It may, however, be re- 
 marked that the confectioners and other culinary 
 specialists of ancient Rome were no less ingenious - 
 
62. (=) GP ROOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 and fantastic than the general practitioners of 
 cookery. Hnough for the present of the ee 
 method, to which it will be necessary to refer in 
 subsequent chapters for PUL of illustrati io 
 
 and comparison. 
 
 ak 
 aoe opty 
 
63 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE FORME OF CURY. 
 
 “Many of the receipts contained in the ‘Forme of Cury,’ are 
 indeed, as unintelligible to a modern, as the hieroglyphics of an 
 Hgyptian pillar; but such as we do understand, are not calculated 
 to prejudice us in favour of the culinary art of the fourteenth century. 
 The combination of such a variety of articles in the formation of one 
 dish would produce an effect very unpleasant to a palate of this day, 
 and the quantity of hot spices would now be relished only by those 
 most accustomed to the’ high-seasoned dishes of the Hast and West 
 Indies.”—Vide WaRrneEr’s INTRODUCTION TO THE ,“ ANTIQUITADES 
 CULINARIAE.” 
 
 HE cuisine, at which we have been glancing, 
 was the cookery which the Romans practised 
 at home and conveyed to their remotest provinces. 
 For the benefits thus extended to them, the im- 
 perial dependencies paid with materials for the 
 development of gastronomy in the luxurious metro- 
 polis. Whilst she procured liquamen from Greece, 
 and her choicest spices from Asia, Rome obtained 
 her fattest and juiciest oysters in the Northern 
 Island whose aborigines she had taught to make 
 soups and ragouts, 12.¢e., dishes of “ rare gowt.” 
 A system that took root and flourished in what- 
 
 ever soil it was planted, this cookery survived the 
 
64: A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 power which carried it to every region of the 
 Roman world. Its precepts were obeyed by races 
 ignorant of its history, and by generations to 
 whom the very name of its originators was un- 
 known. Alike acceptable to Celt and Teuton, it 
 eratified the primeval inhabitants of Northern Gaul 
 and their Germanic conquerors. The equally 
 daring and pliant Scandinavians, who assumed the 
 name and customs of the Franks, found it on their 
 adopted soil, and with a fine superiority to preju- 
 dice they acquired a taste for Latin dishes, whilst 
 they learnt to speak a variety of the Latin tongue. 
 Of course this marvellous diffusion of Latin 
 gastronomy was not effected with uniform ease and 
 quickness. It must have stirred local jealousies, 
 and encountered opposition in rude peoples wedded 
 to their less troublesome modes of preparing food. 
 Just as our ancestors of a later period stubbornly 
 resisted the introduction of Justinian law, and with 
 suspicious jealousy limited its operation to ‘* some 
 particular cases and some particular courts,” when 
 they had reluctantly submitted to its requirements 
 “on account of some peculiar propriety,” 1b must 
 have been that Apician law found contemptuous 
 deriders and resolute opponents amongst the Celtic 
 and German communities of Roman Britain. But 
 slowly undermining obstacles which she could not 
 carry by coups de main, Latin cookery in course 
 
NORMAN FARE. 65 
 
 of time soothing the fretful animosities of the 
 Briton, and warming the blood of the sluggish 
 Teuton, became equally dear to both elements of 
 the populace. She may have languished on this 
 soil after the Roman retirement. She may have 
 pined for want of competent professors and intelli- 
 gent patrons. She may have subsequently derived 
 a sorely needed stimulus from the luxurious tastes 
 of the Norman conquerors. But it is absurd to 
 suppose that she was powerless to retain the hearts 
 which she had won completely; and that the with- 
 drawal of the Southern legions was a signal for 
 her ignominious ejectment from the thousands of 
 kitchens which had for generations submitted to 
 her genial sway, and from the thousands of homes 
 which depended upon her for their chief enjoyments, 
 if not for their actual sustenance. 
 
 The fare which had nourished the Norman in 
 France: was fare of Roman invention, and in its 
 chief principles and the majority of its details was 
 the same good cheer that had for centuries smoked 
 on Saxon boards. Had the case been otherwise, the 
 Conqueror would perhaps have endeavoured to force 
 his food as well as his language down the throats of 
 the conquered people. But circumstances afforded 
 him neither pretext nor opportunity for such a display 
 of insolence. Though he might deride the Saxon 
 menus for their want of tastefulness and variety, 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 and scorn the Saxon cooks for their unskilfulness, 
 he could not deny that the ordinary broths, brewets, 
 and hashes of the subjugated Angles were identical 
 in material, consistency, and seasoning with the 
 common pottages, stews, and hotchpots of his own 
 people. ; 
 
 Norman influence on our medieval cookery has 
 been greatly exaggerated by the several romantic 
 writers and antiquaries who have too hastily argued 
 from insufficient data that all dishes, bearing names 
 of Norman-French etymology, were things of Norman 
 invention. Because the French intruders distin- 
 guished half-a-dozen meats by Norman names, it 
 has been inferred that the viands were peculiar to 
 the people who thus styled them with words of 
 Latin derivation. The misleading teachers have 
 gone yet further. Observing that, whilst the dead 
 meats were called by French names at French 
 tables, the living animals were known to the Saxons 
 by Saxon names, they have argued that, whilst the 
 Normans were the sole eaters of the meats, the 
 Saxons were the only tenders of the animals. Saxon 
 serfs drove owen, in order that Norman gentry 
 might have beef. The flesh of calves was only seen 
 on the tables where it bore a French designation. 
 The Norman nobles ate pork at their pleasure; it 
 was enough for Saxon slaves to be swine-herds. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott was not the originator of this 
 
MORE STRANGE THAN TRUE. 67 
 
 foolish theory ; but in a careless moment ue adopted 
 it in a passage remembered by every reader of 
 “Ivanhoe.” After remarking to Gurth, the dull 
 swine-herd, that swine are Saxons during life, and 
 Normans when they have passed through the 
 butcher’s hands, Wamba, the Saxon jester of a 
 Saxon household, explains his miserable witticism 
 step by step. ‘* And pork, I think, is good Norman- 
 French,” the wit observes to the witless serf; “and 
 so when the brute lives, and is in the charge of a 
 Saxon slave, she goes by her Saxon name; but 
 becomes a Norman, and is called pork, when she 
 is carried to the castle-hall to feast among the 
 nobles: what dost thou think of this, friend Gurth, 
 ha?’ Gurth admits it to be “too true doctrine,” 
 though coming from a fool’s mouth. Hncouraged 
 ‘by his -comrade’s approval, Wamba_ continues, 
 *““ Nay, I can tell you more; there is old Alderman 
 Ox continues to hold his Saxon epithet while he is 
 under the charge of serfs and bondsmen-such as 
 thou, but becomes beef, a fiery Freach gallant, 
 when he arrives before the worshipful jaws that are 
 destined to consume him. Mynheer Calf, too, 
 becomes Monsieur de Veau in the like manner: he 
 is a Saxon when he requires tendance, and takes a 
 Norman name when he becomes matter of enjoy- 
 ment.” Again the Saxon Gurth sees his com- 
 F 2 
 
68 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 panion’s “ points,” and assents to the smart talker’s 
 * too true doctrine.” 
 
 Perhaps Wamba’s knowledge of Norman-French 
 is not inappropriate to a jester, whose business it 
 was to observe social fashions and turn them to 
 fun. The Saxon fool—albeit the fool of a Saxon 
 lord, who smarted under the insolence and detested 
 the ways of the French intruders—may not be wise 
 in Norman matters, beyond the requirements of his 
 vocation. But it is strange that stupid Gurth, the 
 Saxon swine-herd of the Saxon proprietor, should 
 have known enough Norman-French to catch 
 Wamba’s philological points. Whence came this 
 familiarity with Norman terms to the stupid serf 
 who, for fear of a flogging, would not have dared to 
 utter one of them in his master’s hearing? And 
 how came he to approve so cordially the fool’s 
 assertion that, on becoming matters of enjoyment, 
 ox-flesh, calf’s-flesh, and swine’s-flesh were known 
 only by Norman words? Dullard though he was, 
 he must have known that swine’s-flesh was con- 
 sumed daily at the board of his irascible lord, who 
 would have flushed with rage and sworn terribly on 
 hearing any Saxon guest call it “pork.” Gurth, 
 we may be sure, had personal experience of the 
 flavour of swine’s-flesh ; and Wamba often received 
 a cut of swine’s brawn in payment for a saucy 
 speech. Both of them knew that ox-flesh and 
 
A WHIPPING FOR WAMBA. 69 
 
 calf’s-flesh were commonly served under Saxon 
 names to their masters’ friends. 
 
 To argue that the Saxons never ate bread 
 because the Normans called it by a French name; 
 or to insist that the Saxons were no equestrians 
 because cheval is French for a horse, and the 
 Norman knights were chivalric persons, would not 
 be more absurd than to infer from the Norman 
 names of meats and dishes that the same viands 
 never smoked on the tables of the vanquished race, 
 Indeed, were it not for Scott’s name, and the results 
 of his influence, we would give neither consideration 
 nor ridicule to the arguments against Saxon 
 cookery, that depend altogether on a hasty survey 
 of the nomenclature of the Anglo-Norman cuisine. 
 - But, strangely enough, the flimsiest page of a 
 charming novel has been mistaken for good history, 
 and placed in books of serious instruction. The 
 words put (be it remembered, in justice to the 
 great novelist) into the lips ofa merry fool have 
 been accepted at Gurth’s valuation by men who 
 were scribes instead of swineherds. And having 
 thus adopted as “ but too true doctrine” what they 
 should have only smiled at as a wild suggestion, the 
 solemn reproducers of a piquant blunder assure our 
 studious children that the Saxons of the twelfth 
 century were clearly no eaters of swine’s flesh, 
 because the Normans called it ‘ pork.” 
 
70 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 Our sources of information respecting the cookery 
 of our forefathers, from the Norman conquest to the 
 Reformation, are various and abundant. They are, 
 moreover, so precise that no uncertainty covers any 
 greatly important question about the English cuisine 
 during this long period. They comprise collections 
 of receipts, menus of famous feasts, admonitions to 
 
 culinary apprentices, hints to gentle servitors, cere- 
 
 monious orders for the table, and lists of the 
 
 materials consumed at particular banquets. Some 
 of the older and more important of these multi- 
 farious rules and records may be found in Warner’s 
 * Antiquitates Culinarie,”’ that, together with 
 curious tracts, and some illustrative notes of con- 
 siderable value, contains the ‘‘ Forme of Cury,” which 
 the Reverend Samuel Pegge edited with a sufficient 
 clossary, in 1780, eleven years before the appearance 
 of the Reverend Richard Warner’s large and more 
 
 ambitious publication. 
 
 Compiled in days when women practised medicine, ’ 
 
 and cookery was an art regularly followed for 
 honour and profit by reverend physicians of the 
 sterner sex, the ‘‘ Forme of Cury” was produced. by 
 
 the principal cooks of that ‘*best and royalest, 
 
 viander of all Christian kings,” Richard the Second. 
 The concise language of an old manuscript certifies 
 that these compilers were ‘ the chef maister cokes of 
 Kyng Richard,” and that their literary work was 
 
 £ 
 
KITCHEN PHYSIC. Fiat 
 
 done “by assent and argument of maisters of 
 phisik and philosophie that dwellid in his court.” 
 The former of which announcements indicates a 
 Norman source for the familiar French title of a 
 supreme cook, whilst the latter furnishes evidence 
 of the close connection of the culinary and medical 
 arts in feudal times. If our old surgeons were 
 barbers, our ancient physicians were cooks. Nor 
 need the college in Trafalgar Square blush to 
 acknowledge that the medizval doctors of the 
 highest professional quality and status concerned 
 themselves with the principles and details of an art 
 which, if not an actual department of medicine, is so 
 needful for health, and so nearly related to remedial 
 science, that no sagacious physician can affect to 
 disdain, or afford to neglect it. 
 
 Like all works of its kind, this mediaeval “ Guide 
 for Cooks and Housewives” gives the results of 
 several ages of culinary enterprise. Compiled some 
 three hundred and twenty-five years after the Con. 
 quest, it contains receipts for dishes that were 
 novelties in the days of the Plantagenets, and re- 
 ceipts for hashes that smoked on the table of the 
 Conqueror. It gives directions also for the prepa- 
 ration of messes which cautious criticism assigns 
 confidently to Saxon influence. For the most part 
 its nomenclature is Norman; but, scattered amongst 
 the culinary terms that declare the French lineage of 
 
fey | A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 the majority of the dishes, the reader comes upon 
 names whose Saxon derivation intimates that the 
 epicures ofthe fourteenth century were not insensible 
 to the merits of savoury compounds, ‘known in 
 England long before the battle of Hastings. The 
 second Richard’s cooks teach the apprentice to 
 make broths, brewets, and chewets, three elastic 
 terms that may, in fact, be said to comprehend the 
 greater part of what was appetizing and nutritious 
 in the Plantagenet cuisine. If the ‘“ potages,” 
 ‘‘mortrews,’ and ‘‘vyaundes” of the compilation 
 came hither from ancient Rome through Normandy, 
 a Saxon descent may be claimed for compositions of 
 the same design and merit. 
 
 Another noteworthy feature of “The Forme of - 
 Cury,” is its respectful mention of cheap and 
 homely dishes, adapted to the narrow means of 
 yeomen and artisans, rather than to the fastidious . 
 palates of princes. Injustice is done to the com- 
 pilers when their work is said to exhibit only 
 the culinary condition of the court, without 
 throwing light into the larders and cupboards of 
 humble dwellings. Most of their receipts are for 
 the kitchens of the prosperous. Some of them 
 are directions for the manufacture of delicacies that 
 were even too costly for habitual consumption at 
 rich men’s tables. But, whilst providing good 
 cheer for court-revels and baronial festivities, they 
 
OLD ENGLISH COOKERY. a 
 
 give rules for cooking beans and bacon, pea-soup, 
 milk-pottage, beef-hotchpotch, and gourd-pie. <A 
 book for the court and courtiers, in respect to its 
 dainties, the ** Forme”’ was also a treatise for the 
 populace, in respect to its receipts for the homely 
 fare which was set before ordinary men under their 
 own roots, and also before the servants and inferior 
 visitors of royal households. 
 
 Whether they came to Plantagenet tables through 
 a Saxon channel, or by way of Normandy, the 
 dishes of our forefathers, of the fourteenth century, 
 are referable to the same ancient source. The 
 cuisine of feudal England was Roman* in its 
 
 * Here are some of the most obvious points of resemblance, or 
 rather proofs of identity, in the Roman and medizval schools of 
 cookery. 1. The large use of frumenty, or other prepared corn, in 
 broths, stews, and hotch-potches. 2. The continual use of the pot, 
 and the less frequent employment of the spit. N.B.—The spit and 
 gridiron were more serviceable in the Roman than in the old 
 English kitchen. 38. The practice of combining in stews and “made 
 dishes” several meats of incongruous flavours. 4. The incessant use 
 of knife and block, pestle and mortar, for mincing and pounding 
 meats. 5. The practice of roasting slightly before boiling, and of 
 boiling before roasting. 6. The lavish exhibition of strong spices, 
 so as to smother the natural flavours of the seasoned meats. 7. The 
 complete ignorance of the prime functions of sauce. 8. The use of 
 saffron, a spice used sparingly by the Romans, and inordinately by 
 the medievalists, which has altogether disappeared from the modern 
 kitchen. 9. The similarity, amounting almost to identity, of some of 
 the Roman stews and old English hotch-potches. 10. The imagina- 
 tive predilection shown in the preference of the greater fowl and fish 
 
 over the smaller, and of unpalatable birds of fine plumage over delicate 
 
74 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 principles and details. No one will question this 
 statement, after studying the Apician “Art of 
 Cookery,” and comparing it with ‘* Forme of Cury.” 
 In both works we see the same materials and 
 processes, the same barbarous treatment of delicate 
 viands with overpowering sauces, and the same 
 delight in messes of multifarious and incongruous 
 ingredients. Some of the choicest compositions of 
 the modern repertory may be found in the ancient — 
 collection of receipts, with scarcely the addition of 
 a material or the substitution of a spice. Not, of 
 course, that the two schools of cookery were. 
 precisely thesame. For instance, the medizevalists 
 were less lavish users of oil than their southern 
 precursors; they had recourse to the spit less 
 frequently, and to the pot even more often than the 
 old Romans; and in default of any such noisome 
 
 birds of less attractive feather. The Romans feasted on the parrot, 
 the flamingo, and the peacock, serving the last in his hackel. The 
 old Huglish also delighted in the peacock served thus showily. The 
 swan, also, a bird in no great request with modern gourmands, was 
 prized highly by both Romans and English. Just as the ancients 
 relished their “stinking birds,” our ancestors devoured eagerly 
 bustards, cranes, and herons. 11. The taste for such execrable 
 preparations as roast lobster and sweetened oysters. The Romans 
 served our “natives” in honey, the medizevalists dished them in 
 sugar-syrup as well as honey. 12. The extravagant use of honey in 
 sauces for meats. 13. The multifariousness of ingredients in made 
 dishes. 14. The medizval broths, brewets, and mortrews were the 
 
 pultes, patinz, and minutalia of the more ancient cuisine. 
 
MEDIAVAL SOUPS. faa: 
 
 condiment as garum, they were spendthrifts and 
 madmen with ginger, cinnamon, cubebs, and other 
 stimulating flavours, which the ancients used less 
 immoderately, or neglected altogether. 
 
 Like the Roman. cuisine, medieval cookery had 
 a vegetable basis. Of its half-hundred or so of 
 soups, several consisted altogether of water 
 thickened with boiled frumenty, rice, or pulse, 
 ‘flavoured with pot-herbs, and seasoned with common 
 spices. In this way, also, the medizvalists concocted 
 bean-soup, pea-soup, turnip-soup, cabbage-soup, 
 parsnip-soup, skirret-soup, herb-soup, gourd-pot- 
 tage, rice-pottage. These thinner broths were 
 sometimes ‘enriched with the liquor of stewed meat 
 or minced viands, but the vegetable dominated over 
 all other ingredients. So also their thicker brewets 
 and stews—messes less substantial than hotch- 
 potches, and more satisfying than the lighter soups 
 —were thickened with bread, frumenty, oatmeal, 
 prepared barley, rice, and products of the garden. 
 The men of feudal England were copious takers of 
 soup ; and whilst some of their soups were meat 
 and drink for the ravenous bellies of famished 
 soldiers, others were delicate enough to please a 
 modern epicure. ‘Their Humble-soup, and Pig- 
 soup, and Roe-broth may be named as examples 
 of the former sort. Their Hge-soup and Lark- 
 soup were favourable specimens of the daintier 
 
76 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 preparations. Courtiers could appreciate a pottage 
 of small birds boiled in almond broth, flavoured 
 with onions, pellitory, and salt, and enriched with 
 lard. Yeomen smacked their lips over steaming 
 bowls of strongly seasoned ‘“* Perrey of peson,”’ 
 1.e., the purée of the modern family-table. But 
 the medieval chefs were even happier in their fish- 
 soups than their flesh-pottages. Skilfully prepared, 
 their eel-broths and sole-broths would extort 
 praise from the most fastidious gowrmets of the 
 present day. Nor should their muscle-broths and 
 oyster-soups be passed over without commenda- 
 tion. One of their oyster-pottages was execrably 
 overcharged with ginger, sugar, and mace. ** Oysters 
 
 in Cynee,” 
 
 on the contrary, was a preparation of 
 high merit, if not of genius. But the grand fault of 
 most of their soups was a multifariousness of 
 materials and seasonings, resulting in confusion of 
 flavours and torpor of the palate. The same 
 objection must be made against their more elaborate 
 mortrews and hotch-potches. 
 
 The magnificent sides of venison and barons of 
 beef that the popular imagination delights to place 
 before medizeval feasters, seldom or never appeared 
 on the tables of the Plantagenets. When they did 
 not satisfy their hunger with pottages and bread, our 
 medizeval ancestors usually found their more sub- 
 stantial nutriment in hashes, hotch-potches, fine 
 
GOBBETS AND DICES. oF: 
 
 minces, pies, and viands pounded with the pestle 
 and mortar to a pulp.* The grander creatures of 
 the stall and chase were served in gobbets, dices, 
 or still more minute pieces. The smaller animals 
 were ordinarily prepared in the same manner, with 
 an unsparing use of the chopper, mincing-knife, 
 and pestle. 
 
 The same was the case with their noblest birds 
 and royal fish. The peacock was sometimes cooked 
 whole; but at feasts, where the gorgeous bird was 
 
 * Mortrews, a numerous class of made dishes, derived their 
 name from the mortarwwm in which their meats were beaten and 
 ground to pulp. ‘“ Hack it small,” “ dice it,” are the Forme’s direc- 
 tions for preparing viands. The gobbet—the largest piece of meat 
 served in hash or soup—was about the size of a man’s thumb. A 
 gobbet (abbreviated to “ gob,”) as large as two thumbs, was a thing 
 for remark. Remember the nursery rhyme legend of King Arthur’s 
 housekeeping : 
 
 “When good King Arthur ruled the land 
 He ruled it like a king; 
 He stole three pecks of barley meal, 
 To make a black pudding. 
 
 “A black pudding the king did make, 
 He stuffed it well with plums, 
 And in it put great “ gobs” of fat 
 As big as my two thun.bs. 
 
 “The king and queen did eat thereof, 
 And noblemen beside, 
 And what they could not eat that day, 
 The queen next morning fried.” 
 Whatever his period, the writer of this charming doggerel had a 
 
 just notion of a nobly big gobbet. 
 
78 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 brought to table in its plumage, its wholeness was. 
 often only apparent, the meat having been dissected 
 by the carver, and then restored to thé interior of 
 the ‘‘ hackel.”” The same remarks are applicable to 
 the crane, the swan, the heron, and other large fowl, 
 which, though sometimes served whole, were often 
 broken into hashes, and were occasionally brought 
 upon the board in pieces, even when for pictorial 
 effect they were offered with the appearance of 
 entirety. The sturgeon, honoured for its size, was 
 usually put upon the board in fragments. ‘ He 
 schal,”’ says the ‘Forme of Cury,’ “be shorn in 
 besys, and stepyd over night, and sodyn longe as 
 flesh: and he schal be etyn in vinegar.” Capons, 
 chickens, geese, pheasants, partridges, pigeons, and 
 smaller birds were often brought to table whole, 
 and divided artistically by expert carvers, but they 
 were much more often served to the hungry 
 in pies, hashes, mortrews, and thick stews. 
 Where the medizval epicure had one joint, he had 
 twenty “made dishes ;” for every whole creature ' 
 that charmed his sight, there were a dozen hotch- 
 potches to gratify his nostrils with savoury steam. 
 In short, the medizval cuisine consisted chiefly of 
 soups and spoon-meats. The exceptions to this 
 rule were very few. The collars and sides of brawn, 
 which showed out so grandly amongst the broth- 
 pots and bowls of mortrew, were, in fact, a kind of 
 
A BLOW FOR A BLUNDERER. 79 
 
 cold soup. The cold boar’s head, an article of 
 grotesque garniture rather than a piéce de résistance, 
 afforded a meat that could be handled conveniently 
 in thick wedge-like slices by eaters unprovided with 
 forks. The fingers also could deal aptly with the 
 thick portions of the smaller game distributed by 
 professional carvers. But, in times prior to the 
 introduction of the fork, spoon-meats were naturally 
 in vogue; the nice eater avoiding such dishes as he 
 could not ‘‘ put away” with a mannerly employment 
 of his fingers and solitary utensil. 
 
 Like his Roman forerunners, the medizval epicure 
 lost his temper when his food was not sufficiently 
 tender. An apocryphal story records how William 
 the Conqueror, enraged by the toughness of a half- 
 roasted crane, was on the point of: striking his 
 favourite and prime kitchener, William Fitz-Osborne, 
 when Enudo, the courtly dapifer, saved his fellow- 
 servant from the shameful blow. The anecdote 
 may be false with regard to Dr. Freeman’s hero, 
 but it doubtless had a truthful foundation in the 
 anger of some princely gourmand suffering under a 
 cook’s incompetence. The vianders of olden time 
 must have been often disappointed by the texture of 
 viands taken from creatures whose size had occa- 
 sioned unreasonable hopes of enjoyment. Notice 
 has already been taken of the principal means em- 
 ployed by the medizvalists to ensure tenderness ; 
 
80 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE, 
 
 but it should be also observed that for the attain- 
 ment of this end they, like the Romans, pre- 
 pared meat for the spit by parboiling it, and also 
 roasted flesh lightly before committing it to the 
 boiler. 
 
 The “ sweets,” as they are now-a-days familiarly 
 termed, of the medizval table, were numerous. 
 They comprised jellies, fruit puddings, fruit tarts, 
 mashes of fruits, blanc-mange of pounded chicken 
 and rose-leaves, divers kinds of mince-pie, almond 
 cakes, milk puddings, similar to the firm custards of 
 the present time, and a variety of devices, grand or 
 minute, manufactured with honey and sugar; but 
 most of these delicacies reveal the bluntness of taste 
 that is displayed in the preparations of meat. No 
 palate with a gust for the singular flavour of quinces 
 would wish them to be stewed, after the ** Forme’s”’ 
 fashion, with lard, honey, yolks of eggs, almond 
 milk, saffron, ginger, pepper, and other strong 
 spices. ‘T'he fruit of the medizval mulberry mess 
 can scarcely have been rendered more agreeable by 
 the “strong powder’? (a compound of hot spices), 
 salt, sugar, and yolks of eggs beaten into the mash, 
 whose redness was heightened by alkanet. Ap- 
 pulmoy—a favourite medizval preparation of apples 
 —resembles some of our modern compositions in its 
 principal materials—apples, honey, and rice; butno 
 confectioner of this period would think of seasoning 
 
ROSEE. 81 
 
 such a pudding with ginger, pepper, mace, and salt. 
 Another of the ‘‘ Forme’s” choicest fruit-messes was 
 
 -Rosee, made by this receipt :—‘* Take thyk mylke 
 
 as to fore welled. Cast thereto sugar, a gode porcion 
 pynes (7.¢e. mulberries), dates ymynced, canel, and 
 powder gynger, and seeth it, and alye it with floers 
 of white rosis, and floer of rys. Cole it and messe 
 it forth. If thou wilt, instede of almonde mylke, 
 take swete cremes of kyne.” Petals of roses have 
 fallen out of culinary use in England ; but so late as 
 the last century, our people put them into tarts, 
 salads, and fruit stews. The practice was of Roman 
 
 origin.* 
 
 Except that they were often seasoned in a fashion 
 offensive to the modern palate, the mediwval bread- 
 puddings, rice-puddings, and standing custards of 
 milk and eggs differed in no important respect from 
 
 * The Apician “‘ patina de rosis” was a mortrew of rose leaves, 
 brain, and eggs, beaten up with liquamen, pepper, and wine, and 
 fried lightly. Rosee, or rose mortrew, was made in Old England 
 by this receipt: “Take the flowris of rosys, and wash them well 
 in water, and then take almonds, and temper them and seethe them, 
 and take flesh of capons or of hens, and hack it small, and then 
 bray them well in a mortar, and then do it in the rose, so that the 
 flesh accord with the milk, and so that the meat be chargeaunt; 
 and after do it to fire to boyle, and do thereto sugar and saffron, 
 and it be well coloured and rosy of leaves.” Akin to the rose- 
 mortrews were the blanc-mange mortrews made of pounded chicken, 
 ground rice, pounded almonds, or almond-creme. Of course they 
 were stiff, sometimes they were coloured with saffron, in which 
 case, however, they were still called blanc-mange. 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 our familiar preparations of the same kind. The 
 same may be said of the old English pancakes, and 
 fritters of sliced fruits clothed with batter. The 
 plum-pudding of our Christmas dinners, fondly re- 
 garded by popular fancy as the ancientest compound 
 of “true Qld English” fare, is a comparatively 
 modern invention. No older than the Restoration, 
 it did not altogether supersede plum-porridge (a 
 mess of unquestionably medizval descent) before the 
 close of the last century. But we find in the 
 ‘*‘ Forme,” receipts for one or two puddings made 
 with raisins, figs, eggs, honey, wine, and bread fried 
 in grease, which may, at least, be said to have 
 furnished culinary inventors with the first rude 
 notion of an Hnelish plum-pudding. 
 
 Mince-meat and mince-pies are articles of Christ- 
 mas fare still made very much after the fashion of 
 the medizvalists, who delighted to combine dried 
 fruits and meats in chopt messes. The Plantagenet 
 epicures had crustards or standing pies of divers 
 kinds—crustards of venison, birds, pork; crustards 
 of fish; and crustards of fruit. These preparations 
 had another familiar name, the grander being tarts, 
 and the smaller tartlets. And of these pies with a 
 designation, respecting which more will be said 
 hereafter, none were more popular than such as 
 contained in their “‘ cofyns,” or ‘‘ traps” of paste, a 
 mixture of apples, spices, figs, raisins, and pears, 
 
MEDIZVAL MINOEMEAT. 83 
 
 chopt together, or beaten into a pulp with the 
 pestle and mortar. ‘For to make tartys in applis,” 
 say Richard the Second’s chief master-cook “take _ 
 gode applys, and gode spycis, and figgs, and reysons, _ 
 and perys, and wan they are wel ybrayed, coloure 
 wyth saffron well; and do yt ina cofyn, and do yt 
 forth to bake wel.” Lenten tarts and tartlets 
 contained fish pulled to pieces, or shred, amongst 
 the sweet ingredients. So also meat tarts for festal 
 seasons contained minced or shred flesh together with 
 the fruits and sweeter elements of modern “ minced 
 meat.’ Like the housekeepers of our time, medizeval 
 cooks kept stocks of minced fruits, such as their. 
 “Fygee’ and “ Dates in Compost,’ in “earthen 
 vessels ready for use.” 
 
 Enough has been said in this general survey of 
 old English cookery to satisfy the ordinary reader 
 that, whilst it possessed the redeeming features, it 
 retained the most vicious practices of the Apician 
 school, from which it was derived, or, rather, of 
 which it was only a modern period. In respect to 
 its chief aims, tenderness and succulency,* it was 
 
 * To impart to their hashes and “ gallimawfreys,” the richness and 
 lubricity which the old English epicures desired even more than 
 tenderness, the Plantagenet cooks were lavish exhibitors of fat, oil, 
 and lard. Olive-oil was in great request with them, lard entered 
 
 into the composition of most of their meat-messes, and also into 
 many of their preparations of fruit. They were, however, sparing 
 
 (ate 
 
84 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 triumphant. With regard to flavours, it achieved 
 scarcely anything but confusion. Pegge was not 
 unjust, when he remarked of it contemptuously, 
 “ But after all the avysement of physicians and 
 philosophers, its processes do not appear by any 
 means to be well calculated for the benefit of 
 recipients, but rather inimical to them. Many of 
 them are such strange and heterogeneous composi- 
 tions, mere olios and gallimawfreys, that they seem 
 removed as far as possible from the intention of 
 contributing to health; indeed the messes are so 
 redundant and complex, that in regard to herbs, no 
 less than ten are used, where we should now be 
 content with two or three.” The particular receipt 
 to which the editor pointed in demonstration of this 
 last remark, is one for a good broth. Given 
 in modern spelling, the direction runs thus: 
 “Take borage, colewort, bugloss, parsley, beet- 
 root, orach, avens, violets, savory, fennel, and when 
 
 they are boiled, press them well small, cast them 
 
 users of butter and cheese, as culinary instruments and ingredients, 
 at least in comparison with their successors of modern England. 
 The Norman cheese, which took its special name from Rouen was 
 their most highly esteemed cheese. Though it never went out of 
 general use, as an agreeable lubricator of bread, from the time of 
 the early Saxons, butter seems to have fallen out of fashion after 
 the Norman conquest. Anyhow it was sparingly used in the pro- 
 cesses of the best kitchens of strictly feudal England. 
 
COOKS AND DOCTORS. 85 
 
 in good broth, and seethe them and serve them 
 forth.” 
 
 In this undiscerning use of sauce-herbs, the medie- 
 val followed the example of the Apician cooks. ‘The 
 jarced grewels of the old English housewives were, 
 as Mr. Coote observes, the savoury pultes of the 
 Roman ancients. It should, also, be borne in mind 
 that the herbs, administered so freely, were 
 given medicinally, as well as for flavour. In 
 times when physicians were operative cooks, and 
 epicures went to the same professors for physic and 
 food, a culinary receipt was often a remedial pre- 
 scription. Hach of the herbs of the last given 
 receipt either had, or was supposed to have, curative 
 virtues; and it was committed to the broth out of 
 regard for the consumer’s health. To catch the 
 precise significance and ‘lurking mystery” of each 
 ‘of the several herbs thrown into the same mess by 
 the cooks of the olden time, the special student 
 should have recourse to the “* Herbals,”’ which show 
 why the herb-doctors of the same period put as 
 many of the same ingredients into their strictly 
 medical potions and conserves. The same quackery 
 which invented medical justifications of the Roman 
 method of flavouring dishes, became a barrier to 
 culinary advancement. TJ orbidding experiments 
 and deriding novelties, it fostered a superstitious 
 
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 ARLEN A a eet ise re Cahn 
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 ‘ A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. cae 
 
 a 
 reverence for bad cookery, and gave an evil nae 
 to gastronomic “free thought.” Taste could not < 
 assert its rights, so long as all the wise men 
 and wise women of the country recommended, for - 
 
 health’s sake, what was distasteful. 2 
 
 s! 
 
87 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CULINARY COLOURISTS. 
 
 “July 23, 1670. This is in Saffron Walden parish, famous for 
 that useful plant, with which all the country is covered.”— Vide Joun 
 Eveuyn’s “* Diary.” 
 
 “The flower consisteth of six small blew leaves tending to purple, 
 having in the middle many very small yellow strings and threads ; 
 among which are two, three, or more thicke fat chives of a fierie 
 colour, somewhat reddish, of a strong smell when they be dried, which 
 doth stuffe and trouble the head. . . . The chives steeped in water 
 serve to illumine or (as we say) limne pictures and imagerie, and 
 also to colour meats and confections.” — Vide GERARDE’s “ HERBAL.” 
 
 “Saffron killeth moths if it be sowed in paper bags verie thin, and 
 laid up in presses amongst tapistrie or apparell.”—Vide Harrison’s 
 Intropuction To HoLinsuxp’s “ CHRONICLES.” 
 
 Autolycus. . . . I must have saffron to colour the warden 
 
 pies.— Vide “ WinTER’S TALE.” 
 
 “Croaker: One who croaks or grumbles.”—Vide Wesster’s Dic- 
 TIONARY. 
 
 ** Don’t be a croaker.’—OLp Sayine. 
 
 N arranging their tables, and preparing their 
 festal halls, the Old English were studious of 
 pictorial effect. Norman love of display was con- 
 Spicuous in the banqueting-chamber; and long 
 “after the French intruders had adopted the Saxon 
 tongue, and been blended with the English race, 
 their modes of exercising hospitality were preserved, 
 - even to minute details, by a people jealously reveren- 
 tial of ancient usage. Judged by modern canons, 
 
88 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 the medieval entertainments were deficient in 
 elegance and refinement; but in courtly life they 
 never wanted the particular kinds of splen- 
 dour and sumptuous brilliancy congenial to feudal 
 taste. 
 
 The drapery of the board was abundant, fine, 
 and delicately white; and whilst the walls of the 
 feasting-room were richly draped with tapestries 
 and banners of gaudy silk, the ceiling was adorned 
 
 with festoons of flowers, after the fashion of the 
 
 Romans, whose honourable sentiment forbade the 
 guest to blab to the world words spoken indis- 
 creetly ‘“‘under the rose.” Gentle servitors, men 
 of stately presence, or slight pages with saucy faces 
 and pert tongues, moved to and fro, bravely clad in 
 liveries which the cadet of the noblest houses were 
 proud to wear. Nor was the table devoid of colour 
 and picturesqueness. very course comprised a 
 fantastic “ subtlety,’’ whose ingeniously contrived 
 figures, typical embellishments, and quaint legend 
 
 recalled an antique story or enforced a wholesome > 
 
 maxim. ‘The boar’s-head grinned hideously in the 
 middle of the board; or perhaps the place of honour 
 
 was occupied by a peacock in its plumage. The ~ 
 
 spaces between the chief dishes offered plates of 
 fruit, or trays of sweetmeats to the idle hand; and 
 as the spectator surveyed the profusely laden board, 
 
 he could not fail to observe the contrast of the 
 
 . 
 a 
 : 
 
REDS AND YELLOWS. 89 
 
 rich or vivid colours, which culinary artifice had 
 given to the “ made dishes.” 
 
 Brilliant colourists, the medizval chefs seized 
 the lessons of the missal-painters, and delighted 
 the eye with chromatic effects, that were equally 
 daring and felicitous. On their subtleties, and other 
 stupendous pieces of confectionery, gilded leaves 
 glowed richly beneath sprays of silver. Some of their 
 “made dishes’’ were red, others crimson; some 
 were of vermilion brightness, and some of delicate — 
 carmine tint. For these hues they were indebted 
 chiefly to red sanders, alkanet, mulberry-juice, and 
 the colouring particles of blood. Throwing in these 
 vivid hues with masterly boldness, they were also 
 prodigal of yellow, from the faintest amber to 
 the deepest orange. It was their favourite colour, 
 and was conspicuous in breads and cakes, pottages 
 and hashes, brewets and twists of pastry. Two- 
 thirds of their dishes were thus enriched to the 
 eye, with the various tints of a dye which they 
 obtained from the bright petals of a delicate flower, 
 whose story, beginning in fable and ending in 
 homeliest prose, 1s so strange and whimsical as 
 to merit especial notice in the annals of Good 
 Cheer... 
 
 When Crocus, the beloved friend of Smilax, fell 
 beneath Mercury’s murderous quoit, the blood which 
 dripped from the wounded boy moistened the turf, 
 
90 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 which, after his death, brought forth a bell-shaped 
 blue flower with reddish-yellow stigmata—the Crocus 
 Sativus of botanists. Poetry declared that the lad 
 was changed to a saffron plant. Prose admitted 
 that the flower abounded on the ground where he 
 was said to have received his death-blow. Scepticism 
 remarked that probably the plant had grown there 
 long before the incident, whatever it was, that occa- 
 sioned the fable. One of the utterers of this sceptical 
 sentiment was an Elizabethan scholar, William 
 Harrison, author of the Introduction to Holinshed’s 
 Chronicles, who remarked quaintly, ‘‘A certain 
 yong gentleman called Crocus went to playe at coits 
 in the field with Mercurie, and being heedlesse of 
 himselfe, Mercurie’s coit happened by mishap to hit 
 him on the head, whereby he received a wound that 
 yer long killed him altogither, to the great discomfort 
 of his friends. JF inallie, in the place where he bled, 
 saffron was found to grow, whereupon the people 
 seeing the colour of the chive as it stood, (although 
 I doubt not it grew there long before), adjudged 
 it to come of the blood of Crocus, and therefore 
 they gave it his name.” ; 
 Attracted by the colour and smell of the three fat 
 chives, ‘“‘ verie red and pleasant to behold,” and the 
 fine yellow filaments which glowed at the bottom 
 of the deep blue cup, the ancients observed them 
 carefully. It was found that they were agreeable 
 
SAFFRON DYES AND SCENTS. 9] 
 
 to smell and taste,* as well as cheering to the eye. 
 They were supposed to possess medicinal virtues. 
 It was certain that they yielded a pigment service- 
 able to artists in colour. Henceforth the chives 
 and tendrils were gathered and pressed into yellow 
 cakes, that were sent to distant lands for divers 
 ends. Used as a dye, they gave an orange hue to 
 silk, wool, and linen. Apothecaries administered 
 them to the sick. Cooks put them into their con- 
 fections. Ladies were indebted to them for the hair- 
 wash which, correcting Nature’s error, gave them 
 golden hair. In the Roman cuisine it was used 
 moderately, as the Apician precepts demonstrate, 
 But the “Forme” shows that the cooks of Old 
 
 * “What in the ancient use of saffron is most discordant with our 
 present taste, is the employing it as a perfume. Not only were 
 halls, theatres, and courts, through which one wished to diffuse an 
 agreeable smell, strewed with this plant, but it entered into 
 the composition of many spirituous extracts, which retained the 
 same scent; and these costly smelling waters were often made to 
 flow in small streams, which spread about their much admired 
 odour. Luxurious people even moistened or filled with them all 
 those things with which they were most desirous of surprising their 
 guests in an agreeable manner, or with which they ornamented their 
 apartments. From saffron, with the addition of wax and other 
 ingredients, the Greeks as well as the Romans prepared also scented 
 salves, which they used in the same manner as our ancestors their 
 Heieams., .%. . That saffron was as much employed in seasoning 
 dishes as for a perfume, appears from the oldest work on cookery 
 which has been handed down to us, and which is ascribed to 
 Apicius.”— Vide Joun Becxmann’s “ History or INvENTIONs.” 
 
92 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 England were squanderers of the aromatic pigment. 
 Their delight in the colour was a passion—almost 
 a madness. Broths, thick soups, hashes, stews, 
 bread, pastry, fruit-mashes, mortrews, standing- 
 brewets and puddings were all “yellowed” up to 
 lemon-tint or orange-tint with the favourite dye, 
 which was, also, prized as much for its remedial ex- 
 cellence as for its colouring powers. 
 
 Hsteemed above all other spices,* notwithstand- 
 ing the comparative. mildness of its peculiar flavour, 
 it was the Prince of Herbal Medicaments. It was 
 good for maladies of the breast, lungs, stomach, 
 liver. It was of marvellous efficacy in affections of the 
 eyes, ears, and joints. Taken in potions it purified 
 the blood, and drove blotches and pimples from the 
 skin. Singularly beneficial in all the ailments to 
 which women are especially liable, it was in high 
 request with the fair sex. Bridal cakes were always 
 deeply coloured with it; women with newly-born 
 infants in their arms would drink no fluid that was 
 not tinctured with it; and on ‘ thanksgiving-day,”’ 
 whilst the young mother ate little but saffron-dyed 
 cake, her gossips consumed whole pounds of the 
 
 * The spices of the old English cuisine were cinnamon (never 
 mentioned by Apicius) mace, cloves, galyngale (the long-rooted 
 cyperus), pepper, (from the Hast Indies vid Venice and Genoa), 
 ginger, cubebs, cardamours, nutmegs, carraway, and two compound 
 
 powders, powder-fort and powder-douce, analagous to modern curry- 
 powder. Hence saffron was the mildest of the spices in taste. 
 
‘6 GOOD AGAINST THE PLAGUE.”’ 93 
 
 same virtuous food. Given in liniments, saffron 
 would dissipate tumours; taken in strong drink after 
 an accident it helped the sufferer’s fractured bones to 
 re-unite. It had the most contradictory qualities, 
 for it both prevented and provoked drunkenness. 
 Given in proper proportion it deprived wine of its 
 dangerous power over the nerves; but taken indis- 
 creetly it put the toper at the mercy of vinous devils. 
 The feaster, who returned sober, from a drinking- 
 bout, attributed the steadiness of his legs to his 
 discretion in taking “just the right amount of 
 saffron.” If he were carried home on a stretcher, 
 his misadventure was referred to the “ saffron,” in- 
 stead of the ‘‘salmon.” Lastly, saffron was an 
 effectual preservative against the plague. One of 
 the shrewdest medical practitioners of Queen 
 Elizabeth’s London—John Gerarde, the laborious 
 naturalist and author of the famous ‘ Herbal ’’— 
 gravely advises his readers that, in seasons ot 
 pestilence, they should arm themselves against the 
 plague by taking twelve two-hundred-and-tforty- 
 sevenths of a single grain of saffron every morning 
 before breaking their fast.* At the time when the 
 
 * Gerarde says, “The weight of ten graines of saffron, the kernels 
 of walnuts, two ounces, figs, two ounces, mithridate, one drachm, 
 and a few sage leaves stampt with a sufficient quantity of Pimpernell 
 water, and made into a masse or lumpe, and kept in a glasse for 
 
 your use, and thereof twelve graines, given in the morning fasting, 
 
 preseryeth from pestilence and expelleth it from those that are 
 
94, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 learned man gave this marvellous prescription, 
 saffron was still so largely used in cookery that a 
 luxurious feaster often consumed as much as a 
 drachm, or even two drachms, of the yellow paint 
 in four-and-twenty hours. From Gerarde’s recipe, 
 homceopathists may see that Hahnemann was 
 not the first doctor to recommend infinitesimal 
 doses. 
 
 Uncertainty covers the first introduction of the 
 Crocus Sativus to English soil. On the strength of 
 a pleasant tradition that has survived the culture 
 of the plant in Essex, Hackluyt tells that the first 
 bulb was brought to this country by a patriotic 
 pilgrim, who, wishing to enrich his native land 
 with the plant of the spice, hitherto imported only 
 in cakes at great cost, hid: the treasure in his 
 palmer’s staff, and so conveyed it to Britain. The 
 name of the pious traveller, who thus eluded the 
 vigilance of the police of an unrecorded medizeval 
 custom-house, and thereby destroyed a lucrative 
 monopoly of Hastern merchants, has not come to 
 us with the story of his achievement. It is thus 
 that history often neglects the men whose deeds 
 are famous. 
 
 _ Anyhow, the bulb was planted and the flower 
 infected.” If we put the “ few sage leaves” at the weight of an ounce, 
 
 the entire confection would weigh five ounces one drachm, and ten 
 
 grains ; of which only ten grains were of saffron stigmata! 
 
SAFFRON WALDEN. 95 
 
 raised in Essex during the third Hdward’s reign; 
 and it is probable that Richard the Second’s cooks 
 looked to the growers of that county for the 
 greater part of their supply of the yellow spice 
 which they used so lavishly. It was grown at an 
 early date in Gloucestershire, and other parts of the 
 West country. But, though some of the Hliza- 
 bethan dealers in the commodity thought the 
 saffron of the Western shires superior to that grown 
 in the Hastern counties, and would even buy it at 
 a slightly higher price than Essex saffron, Hast 
 Anglia continued to the close of the seventeenth 
 century to have larger crocus-grounds than any 
 other part of the kingdom. Walden, on the Hssex 
 border, was for centuries the principal seat of the 
 crocus-trade, from which it derived its distinguish- 
 ing name of Saffron-Walden, long before Thomas, 
 Earl of Norfolk built Audley End in that parish, in 
 honour of his maternal grandfather, Lord Chan- 
 cellor Audley (the pliant keeper of Henry the 
 Highth’s elastic tonscience), who there made his 
 rural home on lands which he acquired from the 
 king on the dissolution of Walden Abbey. The 
 arms of the borough, ‘‘Three saffron flowers 
 walled in,’ commemorate its ancient connection 
 with the trade that, after enriching it for centuries, 
 disappeared altogether at the close of the last 
 
 century. 
 
96 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 More than all other kinds of farming, the culture 
 of saffron was laborious, costly, and perilous. 
 The bulbs, in Hlizabeth’s time, cost in fairly plentiful 
 years only two and eightpence a coomb; but in 
 scarce seasons, when wet had rotted, or heat had 
 parched the underground “ stock,” the farmer had 
 to pay from eight to ten shillings per quarter for 
 every twenty quarters of heads that were requisite 
 for the planting of a single acre. To prepare the ~ 
 soil for his bulbs, the farmer had to manure it with 
 thirty loads per acre of good dung ; and the ground, 
 even when so enriched, would not sustain the 
 delicate and devouring growth for more than three 
 successive years. It was true the soil was still 
 capable of yielding barley for many years without 
 more compost, after the removal of the bulbs; 
 but the cost of the preparatory manuring was a 
 heavy expense. Labour demanded further outlay. 
 Hvery year the bulbs were raised in July, relieved 
 of *“‘rosse and filth,” and carefully reset in rows 
 before the later part of August. Hach rank or row 
 had to be covered and earthed up with fine mould. 
 In September the ground was carefully weeded, so 
 that “nothing might annoy the flower’ when its 
 head appeared above the earth. What with wages 
 for stoning, payments for dunging, wages for 
 raising and re-setting, and wages for weeding, the 
 grower of the dainty plant was always putting his 
 
THE OROKER’S TROUBLES. 97 
 
 hand into his pocket, and paying away money 
 which he might never recover. 
 
 When at length the blue flowers smiled in long: 
 straight lines over the carefully gardened ground, 
 the farmer’s time of keenest anxiety and most 
 urgent peril began. <A heavy fall of rain might so 
 batter and drench the delicate crop, and blend the 
 blue dye of the petals with the yellow of the stigmata, 
 that a whole acre would not yield him a single 
 packet of marketable chives. LHven fine rain would 
 injure the stigmata, so as to make the crop of 
 inferior quality. A strong gale of wind was no less 
 hurtful than untimely showers. The time for picking 
 the flowers and removing the chives, together with 
 their filaments, having come, the grower was again 
 compelled to pay wages in money or kind. By 
 paying in money he parted with what he loved. If 
 he paid the pickers with a proportion of gathered 
 chives, he parted with material that a turn of the 
 market might raise in a trice to three times the 
 sum of wages rendered incoin. He could not dally 
 and trifle with time—nor could he accomplish the 
 task with only afew hands. It was necessary to 
 gather the fresh blossoms when the morning dew 
 was upon them, and before the sun of ‘St. Luke’s 
 little summer” had ‘caused them to welke and 
 flitter.”’ The flowers having been plucked, and the 
 “yellows” separated from the worthless blue 
 
 VOu.. I. H 
 
 rt] 
 
98 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 petals, the next operation was to dry the chives 
 and filaments by placing them on trays of strained 
 canvas over a gentle fire. When dried, the chives 
 were heaped together, pressed into cakes by means 
 of weights, and put into bags for sale. 
 
 99 
 
 In “good times” the cakes sold for a price that 
 nobly rewarded the grower, who had been so 
 fortunate as to gather a large crop in fine condition. 
 But for times to be good to a crocus-grower, it was 
 
 necessary that they should be bad to his neighbour. 
 
 Whilst his own harvest was abundant, he required — 
 
 that the general yield of the saffron-gardens should 
 be deficient. Unless the general supply was 
 defective, the owner of a large stock was com- 
 pelled to sell it in a glutted market at a low rate. 
 In which case, notwithstanding his high farming, 
 and his vigilance, and his good fortune in escaping 
 rain, and his cleverness in seizing the proper 
 
 mornings for picking, he found himself even poorer 
 
 than he would have been with an ordinary yield, 
 after a generally deficient harvest. 
 
 Something was always less than quite fortunate 
 with the saffron-farmers, or ‘‘ crokers,”’ as they were 
 generally designated from their special growth. The 
 bulbs rotted in the ground; or the wind caught the 
 blossoms and injured the chives; or the show of 
 yellows was deficient in quantity, colour, bright- 
 ness, or fragrancy; or rain utterly destroyed the 
 
BLASPHEMOUS GRUMBLERS. 99 
 
 whole produce of a ground, from which the 
 *‘croker”’ had hoped to net a hundred pounds; or 
 the harvest was everywhere so ruinously plentiful, 
 that instead of rating from twenty to thirty shillings 
 a-pound, new saffron, of the finest quality, was 
 quoted at ten and twelve shillings. 
 
 It is not wonderful that a croker seldom wore a 
 cheerful face. All farmers were grumblers, but the 
 croker surpassed them all in querulous dissatisfac- 
 tion. Other farmers were sometimes heard to 
 admit that times might be worse, and that they 
 might have more reason for complaint. But the 
 *‘crokers’ were always in the worst of hard times. 
 They were incessant, unvarying, blasphemous grum- 
 blers. In an early year of Queen Hlizabeth’s reign, 
 they surpassed themselves in grumbling at the pro- 
 digious yield of their commodity, which had been so 
 enormous that they paid the pickers half the crop 
 for their trouble. Soon the pickers brought their 
 earnings into Walden market, and were competing 
 with the “crokers.” Saffron was “a drug in the 
 market’ in two senses. Merchants could buy any 
 amount of it for next to nothing; and in their 
 annoyance the ‘“crokers’” railed impiously at the 
 Providence who had been so much too munificent. 
 The exact terms in which the impious ‘“ crokers” 
 vented their rage at Saffron Walden market are on 
 record, but they are too grossly irreverent for repro- 
 
 H 2 
 
100 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 duction on this page. Social sentiment declared 
 against the ‘crokers,’”’ who were henceforth de- 
 nounced as hateful examples of wicked discontent. 
 Their impiety became proverbial, and farmers, in 
 other departments of agriculture, checked one 
 another for querulous dissatisfaction, by saying, 
 ‘““Come, come, man, don’t be a ‘croker.’ It is 
 enough for you to be a ‘grumbler.’”” The term 
 passed quickly from folk-lore to literature; and 
 when its origin had been lost sight of, the word was 
 confounded by writers and dictionary-makers with 
 a word of Saxon derivation. Webster and Richard- 
 son, cwm multis aliis of their tribe, misspell 
 ‘‘croker,”’ and refer it to the same root as the 
 *‘ croaking”’ of a frog. 
 
 There was no trade more abounding in fraud and 
 trickery than the saffron trade. The Hlizabethan 
 
 crokers used to dry the chives on greased papers, | 
 
 and put butter on the cakes of compressed stigmata, 
 in order to give them a delusive brightness of 
 colour. They used also to adulterate the genuine 
 
 article with “scraped brazell and the floure of the 
 
 Sonchus, which,” says William Harrison, “ cometh 
 somewhat neere indeede to the hue of saffron (if it 
 be gathered late), but it is soon betwraied both by 
 the depth of the colour and the hardness.” The 
 presence of butter in a sample could be detected by 
 the nice judge of the article; but the young and in- 
 
THE SAFFRON MERCHANTS. TOM 
 
 experienced dealer was often imposed upon by the 
 effects of grease. 
 
 Whilst the crokers were knavish grumblers, the 
 saffron merchants—.e. the dealers who bought the 
 commodity of the farmers—were notable for the 
 weakness and inflammatory state of their eyes, 
 which suffered greatly from constant exposure to 
 the irritating fumes of the spice. In their shops 
 they usually defended their eyes with large leather- 
 rimmed spectacles; and to save themselves from 
 inhaling the irritating vapour too freely, they 
 “muffled themselves as women doo when they 
 ride.” 
 
 Surviving the Roman, or spoon-period, of English 
 cookery, the culinary use of saffron prevailed in the 
 earlier generations of the cuisine, which resulted 
 from the introduction of the fork. Medical preju- 
 dice and jealousy retained it in the kitchen long after 
 the general gust for its flavour had been weakened 
 by the growing preference for the natural flavours 
 of boiled and roasted meats served in “joints.” 
 Throughout the seventeenth century, saffron held 
 its ground as a condiment and colouring ingredient 
 in food; and in years of scarcity it was sold at 
 astoundingly high prices. For instance, in one year 
 of James the First’s reign, it was ordinarily sold at 
 £3. 3s. 4d. per pound, a rate exceeded in Charles the 
 Second’s time, when a pound of the best chives 
 
102 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 fetched no less than £4 Is. 10d.,* an amazing price 
 to those who bear in mind the value of money in the 
 seventeenth century. Perhaps there is no article of 
 fantastic luxury on which more money has been 
 squandered than on saffron, at the order of fashion, 
 morbid taste, and medica! empiricism. 
 
 Whilst saffron was still used by the cooks of the 
 seventeenth century, dyers and laundresses employed 
 it as a colouring agent. It gave to silks the rich 
 amber hue that was in vogue with the ladies of 
 Anne of Denmark’s court; and it was put into the 
 starch that afforded stiffness and colour to the 
 
 yellow bands and cuffs, which James the First de- 
 
 tested almost as vehemently as tobacco-smoke. In 
 the days of Solomon Stuart, society divided itself 
 into two parties, and fought smartly about yellow- 
 starched ruffs and laces. Whilst the one party 
 insisted that red, blue, and purple dyes gave the 
 
 * Lord Braybrooke gives the following examples of the fluctua. 
 
 tions of the saffron market :— 
 Prices of a pound of Saffron. 
 
 ag AR £ os. d. 
 1548 é 3 ga. LO 1653 Locka suns 
 1561 : : Ce dse Bayh 1664 3 10 9 
 1614 : : iy Gets Tels ae 1665 4 Da 
 1631 : . ee. 3 a0 1689 : : 3° OOD 
 1647 . $e ane, 1717 ; : L285 
 
 Vide—Lord Braybrooke’s “History or AvuptEy Ewp.” From 
 Harrison we learn that the ordinary price of saffron in Queen 
 Elizabeth’s London was twenty shillings a-pound, 
 
* 
 THE HANGMAN’S PLUME. 103. 
 
 proper tints to such articles of costume, the other 
 party declared as passionately in favour of yellow. 
 But it was not in the power of the king’s friends, 
 who called yellow bands unclean, and the Puritans, 
 who called them wicked, to put the new starch out 
 of fashion. By wearing a yellow ruff at Tyburn, on 
 the occasion of her execution for her part in the 
 murder of Sir Thomas Overbury, Mrs. Turner threw 
 a transient discredit on lemon-tinted lawn and lace, 
 just as Mrs. Manning, the murderess of Victorian 
 London, put black satin into disgrace for a season 
 or two by mounting the scaffold in a robe of that 
 material. But the champions of saffron soon re- 
 gained their spirits. ‘They only laughed contemp- 
 tuously, and heightened the yellow of their starch, 
 when, to put them to shame, it was ordered that the 
 London hangman should wear on ‘“‘ hanging days” 
 a yellow plume in his hat, and a yellow band round 
 his neck. 
 
 The culinary use of saffron died very gradually. 
 Indeed, even now it can scarcely be said to be 
 extinct. In some of our counties dairywomen still 
 colour butter with it. Cheese also, in some dis- 
 tricts, is tinged with crocus chives. The same may 
 be said of the richly yellowed batter-puddings set 
 on farmers’ tables in the West of England, where 
 saffron-bread and saffron-cake may still be seen. 
 The large buns of Refreshment Room cookery, 
 
O-+4 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 which are so much richer to the eye than the palate, 
 derive their ‘‘eggy look” from a discreet and 
 delusive use of the ancient dye. Following in 
 the wake of the cooks, our doctors relinquished 
 the use of saffron, as a remedial agent, in the 
 earlier years of the present century. Though it 
 retains a place in the most recent and scientific 
 of our pharmacopeeias, physicians never prescribe it 
 for strictly medicinal ends, and apothecaries use it 
 only for colouring purposes. Tor the same object 
 it is used by the knavish bird-sellers of our London 
 streets, who are clever at changing house-sparrows 
 into canary-birds by means of the dye. 
 
 Saffron is, of course, largely used in the artistic 
 industries ; but manufacturers and craftsmen pro- 
 cure their needful supplies of it from foreign 
 countries. Relinquished in Hssex at the close of 
 the last century, the culture of the Crocus Sativus 
 for commercial purposes may be said to have disap- 
 peared from England ; though here and there, in 
 the old saffron districts, cottage-gardeners may still 
 produce a few chives for a strictly local market. 
 Having ceased to be saffron-growers, why should 
 not Hnglish farmers cease to be ‘‘ crokers ?”” 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DEATH IN THE POT, AND DISH-COVERS. 
 
 Tastynge and credence longethe to blode and birth royalle, 
 As pope, emperours, emperatrice, and cardynalle, 
 Kynge, queene, prince archebischoppe in palle, 
 
 Duke, erle, and no mo, bat y to remembrannce calle. 
 
 “Credence is used and tastynge, for drede of poysenynge, 
 To alle officers y-sworne, and grete othe by chargynge, 
 Therfore eche man in office kepe his rome sewer, closynge 
 Cloos howse, chest, and gardeuyan, for drede of congettynge. 
 
 *‘ Steward and Chamburlayne of a prince of royalte, 
 They have, knowledge of homages, seruice and fewte; 
 So bey have ouersight of euery office, after beire degree, 
 By wrytynge be knowleche and be credence to ouerse. 
 
 “Therefore in makynge of his credence, it is to drede, y sey, 
 To mershalle, sewer, and kervere bey must allowt alwey, 
 To teche hym of his office, be credence hym to prey ; 
 Thus shalle he not stand in makynge of his credence in no fray,” 
 JoHNn RusszLu’s “Boxe or Nurture.” 
 
 HEROIC lives are hourly at the mercy of the 
 meanest agents. The valet may any night steal 
 
 up to his lord, and send him to the next world with a 
 murderous blow. The barber, to whom the king 
 bares his throat, may any morning put another 
 sovereign on his throne. A familiar story records 
 how Charles the Second was abruptly reminded of 
 this unpleasant truth by a teacher who, for the 
 lesson, received instant dismissal from the royal 
 
106 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 service. ‘Go, man; you shall never shave me 
 again. It is treason to imagine such a thing,” 
 exclaimed the “Saviour of Society’ in the seven- 
 teenth century, to the poor fool who had only 
 meant to be funny. Charles, King of England by 
 the Grace of God, would have treated in the same 
 manner any confidential and too communicative 
 chef who had reminded him that it was easy for a 
 malicious cook to season a monarch’s broth with 
 arsenic. | 
 
 Fortunately for their peace of mind, and their 
 power to enjoy the good things of this life, epicures 
 are seldom troubled with ghastly suspicions of their 
 cooks’ sanity and good faith. Taking their soup 
 trustfully, they presume that the entrées are “all 
 right,” or at least not murderously wrong. And so 
 it is with inferior mortals, who eat their bread 
 thankfully, and in a sure belief that it contains no 
 worse poison than alum; but every now and then 
 an incident, followed by a Coroner’s inquest, gives 
 a rude shock to this universal confidence. Gentle- 
 men sometimes die suddenly after eating mortal 
 fungi, mistaken for wholesome mushrooms by a 
 careless cook. Death may lurk in the dish prepared 
 by a culinary misanthropist, or in a bowl of milk 
 from a “model dairy.” Ugly stories could be told 
 of chocolate cakes enriched with strychnine, and 
 sweetmeats painted with arsenical green. To 
 
FANCIFUL DYSPEPTICS. 107 
 
 gather such tales of horror, one has not to go back 
 to the days and doings of Maria Margaret, Mar- 
 chioness of Brinvilliers, or rake from anecdotical 
 dustheaps the worst charges against Emma Hamil- 
 ton. <A year or two since, the diminutive nurse-girl 
 of a lowly London household amused herself with 
 sprinkling poison on the bread-and-butter given to 
 the children of whom she had care. And just 
 about the same time, murderous lozenges were 
 thrown broadcast about the Brighton streets by a 
 foolish woman, who just escaped death on the 
 gallows because society shrunk from hanging 
 a lady with a Parisian bonnet and _ seal-skin 
 mantle. — 
 
 A man should not be too thoughtful for his 
 health when he is satisfying his hunger. “ Every- 
 thing agrees with you until it has disagreed with 
 you,’ Abernethy remarked to the valetudinarian 
 who troubled himself overmuch as to what he should 
 eat, drink and avoid. The malade imaginaire, who 
 creates dyspepsia for himself out of nervous fancies 
 about his food, should take the surgeon’s counsel 
 to heart. Whilst dishes are usually wholesome to 
 the eater who takes their wholesomeness for granted, 
 the best fare is apt to avenge itself on the man who 
 regards it with suspicion. Enjoyment is impossible 
 at the dinner-table without proper confidence in the 
 caterer and cook; and the man with a mischievous 
 
108 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 habit of mistrusting them has travelled some way 
 on the road that leads to the hell of hypochondria 
 and ends in madness. 3 
 
 Of all monomaniacs, there are none more truly 
 pitiable than the few wretched people who sniff 
 poison in every culinary savour, and fear death 
 from a sauce. Charles of Brunswick had said fare- 
 well to pleasure, as well as to virtue and decency, 
 when, from dread of assassination, he would not 
 taste the daintiest mess unless it had been prepared 
 by his particular chef, and was set before him in a 
 locked plate which none but himself and the . 
 supreme artiste could open. What gratification 
 could the broken and fantastic voluptuary derive 
 from his fabulous wealth, when, living only for this 
 life, he had persuaded himself that his existence 
 depended on the fidelity of the only servant whom 
 he could trust to cook his food? Sustained by the 
 imaginations of a guilty conscience, and aggravated 
 by memories of deeds which had made him an 
 object of mortal hatred to the victims of his wicked 
 passions, ihe ex-duke’s cowardly fear of poison had 
 its origi in the morbid fastidiousness and timorous 
 curiosity that. often dominate the failing appetites 
 of jaded epicures. 
 
 But ghastly experience forbade the potentates of 
 medizval Hurope to feast without fear at any board 
 where appetite met them. The preacher might 
 
AMBITION S INSTRUMENT. 109 
 
 urge them in sacred language to take no thought 
 for life; but the poisoner, by acts more impressive 
 than holy words, taught them to be apprehensive 
 of sudden death. Poison was the favourite instru- 
 ment of ambition and vengeance in olden time. 
 The old story on which Shakespeare founded his 
 noblest tragedy was told at every fireside of feudal 
 Hurope ; and wherever repeated, it stirred the minds 
 of hearers who could parallel its grand crime with 
 a deed of stealthy murder done near their own 
 homes. Hvery castle had its tale of poisoning. 
 The annals of every princely house covered traditions 
 which justified the precautions taken daily under 
 every chieftain’s roof against the treachery of cooks 
 and servers, carvers and cup-bearers. The lord of 
 olden time was taught by his own domestic story, 
 that death might come to him at any moment from 
 poison put in meat or drink, from poison in bread 
 or salt, from poison in sauce or sweet-meat. And 
 to guard against such peril, arising from the anger 
 of vindictive vassals, or the designs of pretenders 
 to his throne, he had recourse to measures which 
 are dismally significant of ceaseless dread and in- 
 cessant treachery. 
 
 The fidelity of an agent must be purchased with 
 a price something in excess of any payment that is 
 likely to be offered for his treachery. ‘This principle 
 is daily recognized by men of business in “ the 
 
110 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 City,” where confidential servants with large oppor- 
 tunities for theft are paid highly, in order that they 
 may be honest. Of course out of proper regard for 
 their feelings, it is always assumed that ‘“ judgment ” 
 and ‘‘experience’’ are the qualities so liberally re- 
 munerated. On several grounds it would be unwise ~ 
 to impress ona chief cashier or secretary that his 
 large payment, for work which a simpleton could 
 do, was an arrangement to restrain him from 
 arrant roguery. But courteous phrases do not 
 blind the cashier and his paymaster to the real 
 purpose of the munificence. 
 
 The same principle was daily recognized and 
 acted upon by men of chivalry in feudal England. 
 In proportion as he was likely to be bribed to 
 poison his lord, the cook was paid lavishly. The 
 sovereign of Norman England placed over his house- 
 hold a courtier who had a strong, selfish interest in 
 keeping him alive. Usually a man of noble lineage, 
 the Steward of the Royal Household was gratified 
 with princely bounties, and encouraged with princely 
 promises. He was thus taught to feel that under 
 any circumstances he would bea great loser by his 
 master’s death. ‘T'he steward’s subordinate officers, 
 especially those who held chief places in the kitchen 
 or approached the royal person at festal moments, 
 were appointed from the same consideration, and 
 paid with the same prudent prodigality. The 
 
HONOURS AND PRIVILEGES. 111 
 
 Larderarius, always a gentleman, often a sacred 
 personage, ranked with folk of courtly degree. If 
 a layman, he might hope for a traitor’s forfeited 
 estate in reward for his vigilance over the larder. 
 If in holy orders, he looked to a bishopric as a 
 probable guerdon of his services. The Dapifer had 
 even more splendid hopes from the faithful per- 
 formance of duties now-a-days contemned as 
 servile. The chef, a man of noble ancestry and of 
 science, according to the scientific light and dark- 
 ness of the time, seldom retired from the office of 
 “ Coquus Dominice Coquine,” without a grant of 
 lands that fixed him and heirs amongst the 
 territorial magnates of a shire. ‘The explanation of 
 the curious tenures requiring the holders of certain 
 lands to perform, or be ready to perform, culinary 
 service for the sovereign’s comfort,* must be sought 
 
 * “The Norman Conquerer William bestowed several portions of 
 land on these highly favoured domestics, the ‘Coquorum Prezpo- 
 situs,’ and the ‘ Coquus Regius.’ A manor was bestowed on Robert 
 Argylion, the ‘Grand Queux,’ to be held by the service of making 
 one mess in an earthern pot in the kitchen of our Lord the King, 
 ou the day of his Coronation, called ‘De la Groute,’ i.2., a kind of 
 plum-porridge, or water-gruel with plums in it. This dish is still 
 served up at the Royal Table at coronations, by the lord of the said 
 Manor of Addington. At the Coronation of George IV., Court of 
 Claims, July 12, 1820, the petition of the Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury, which was presented by Sir G. Nayler, claiming to perform the 
 service of presenting a dish De la Groute to the king at the banquet, 
 was considered by the Court, and allowed.”—Vide Dr KItcHINER’s 
 
 * Cook’s ORACLE.” 
 
i i be A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 in the usages of time when cooks at court were 
 gentlemen who rose to wealth and dignities in the _ 
 ordinary course of professional service. 
 
 One often hears indignant language about the 
 exorbitant wages paid at the present time to their 
 cooks by great men, who are far from liberal to 
 their children’s tutors and governesses. But it is 
 certain that cooks of the highest rank are paid far 
 less liberally in modern, than they were in strictly 
 feudal England. Now-a-days, a prince’s chef gets- 
 a salary of some £300 per annum, together with a 
 few trumpery perquisites, and the use of a dog-cart. 
 In Norman England he hada salary equal to ten 
 times that amount of modern money, a large 
 quantity of lucrative patronage, and the prospect of 
 a noble gift of lands. As life grew more secure, 
 the chet’s fees became fewer and smaller. In pro- 
 portion as his opportunities for murder, and his 
 temptations to turn poisoner diminished in number 
 and force, he lost power over his patron’s purse. 
 He may still be paid above the dignity of his labour; 
 but the time has long passed when he was rewarded 
 with a munificence that caused gentlemen of quality 
 to enter the culinary profession. | 
 
 Wherever he went, a feudal potentate of the higher 
 degrees was attended by his cook. At whatever 
 table he sat, the dishes of which he partook were 
 prepared by the officer who was at the same time 
 
> whe 
 
 OTHO AT OXFORD. TES 
 
 his chef de cuisine and body-guard. The same 
 
 fashion still prevails in the Hast, where princes are 
 taught by experience to regard their most com- 
 plaisant entertainers with suspicion. Bringing with 
 him nobles, whom he could not have safely left 
 at Teheran during his long absence from the seat 
 of government, the Shah of Persia was accompanied 
 on his Western tour by cooks in whose loyalty he 
 could confide. The same retinue, whose splendour 
 was heightened by courtiers tainted with disaffec- 
 tion, comprised a staff of culinary artistes whose 
 vigilance gave Nasr-ul-Deen a sense of security from 
 poison. 
 
 Six hundred years since, when he visited Oxford 
 on a perilous mission, Cardinal Otho provided for 
 
 his safety by retaining a cook, who was not more 
 
 firmly attached to him by interest than by natural 
 affection. Originating in the voluntary association 
 of a few schoolmasters, the guild of teachers had 
 become a populous and famous university, when 
 Gregory the Ninth’s legate approached it with a 
 purpose agreeable to the policy of the academic 
 friars and monks, but highly displeasing to the 
 academic seculars and laity. ‘‘ Universitas” was 
 divided just then into two great parties that had 
 for years been striving for the superiority. The 
 one party consisted of the favourers of papal pre- 
 tension, who, in their desire to dominate in the 
 VOL. L. ) I 
 
114 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 schools and even exclude the ancient laical element 
 of the community, welcomed the sacred envoy 
 with significant enthusiasm. The other and more 
 numerous party, consisting of seculars and laics, 
 in their hatred of the friars,'and their jealousy of 
 Rome, denounced the legate as a hostile intruder. 
 Otho saw his danger, and prudently appointed his 
 own brother to the important office of chef de cuisine 
 to the embassy. The object of this appointment is 
 specially stated by Matthew Paris, the contem- 
 porary chronicler, who says that the envoy’s kins- 
 man was selected for the post, ‘‘ne procuraretur 
 aliquid venenorum, quod nimis timebat legatus.” 
 Otho had scarcely taken up his quarters at Oseney 
 Abbey, when his opponents marched out from 
 Oxford to the religious house with a show of anger 
 and force, that, belying their peaceable professions, 
 quickened the legate’s fear, and justified him in refus- 
 ing to give them an interview. In the ensuing conflict 
 which afforded a momentary advantage to the turbu- 
 Jent scholars, and sent Otho flying to Abingdon, 
 the chef was killed whilst courageously covering 
 his brother’s retreat from the studious mob. . Whilst 
 the cook’s martial zeal points to the two-fold nature 
 of his office, his fate is significant of the view 
 which the assailants took of his functions. Thirst- 
 ing for the legate’s life, the Welshman who shot the 
 fatal arrow felt that he would do much for the 
 
TASTING. 1g es 
 
 accomplishment of his purpose by killing the envoy’s 
 culinary protector. The chef having been put out 
 of the way, another cook might be induced to 
 poison the Cardinal. 
 
 But when the medizeval prince had placed loyal 
 adherents in the chief offices of his kitchen, larder, 
 pantry, and buttery, and had provided for their 
 continuance in fidelity, by assigning them hberal 
 salaries, he had only taken the first general pre- 
 cautions against poisoners. It still remained for 
 him to direct the Marshal of his household to keep 
 ' avigilant eye on the highly paid retainers, and yet 
 further to lessen the chances of poisonous misad- 
 venture by a nice and daily observance of the “rules 
 of the assay.” By these numerous and cleverly 
 devised rules, every principal servant, concerned in 
 the preparation or serving of meat and drink, was 
 placed under the suspicious observation of another 
 ministrant. It is needful that the reader should 
 pay particular attention to the practices of “ assay,” 
 ‘‘credence,’ or “tasting,” as they were indif- 
 ferently termed, in order that he may realize the 
 degree in which the fear of death from the pot pre- 
 vailed in feudal society, and may also appreciate 
 the pains taken to defeat poisoners. 
 
 The great man’s table was never spread without a 
 strict observance of these practices, which had for 
 their object that he should eat of no dish and drink 
 
 Tee 
 
116 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 of no draught that had not been previously tested 
 by official tasters. When the cloth had been laid by 
 subordinate servants, it devolved on some chief 
 officer of the household—the chief sewer, the cap- 
 tain of the yeomen, the dapifer, or the marshal 
 himself—to see that every article on the table was 
 free from poison. ‘The bread, cut for the great 
 man’s mouth, was tested thus. Inthe presence of 
 the ‘‘ taker of the assay,” the chief officer of the 
 pantry, kneeling at the table, ate a piece of the 
 bread, which the carver cut from the prepared 
 pieces, At the same time he partook of the salt in 
 _ the lord’s salt-cellar. To ascertain that no poison 
 lurked in the water in which the lord would wash 
 his hands, the yeoman or server who placed the 
 basin on the board was required to drink some of 
 the fluid in the presence of the assaying officer. In 
 like manner every spoon, knife, or napkin put on 
 the table was kissed by a responsible servant, who 
 thereby certified to the officer of assay that no 
 murderous powder had been sprinkled on the linen, 
 that no poisonous unguent had been treacherously 
 applied to spoon or knife. These last named imple- 
 ments were burnished brightly, out of regard for the 
 lord’s peace of mind no less than for the mere 
 pleasure of his eye. If aspoon or knife were dull, 
 he was quick to suspect that it was smeared with 
 poison. | 
 
THE SURNAPPE. 11? 
 
 All these precautions having been taken against 
 the presence of poison in the furniture of the table, 
 the salt-dish was covered with its lid, and the bread 
 was covered with its napkin. A fair white pallium, 
 the surnappe, was then raised by special officers, 
 and put with much ceremony over the whole table. 
 Of course the several processes of this preliminary 
 assay were not performed without much bowing, 
 kneeling, kissing, and foot-scraping by the gentle 
 servitors.* The white coverlet having fallen over 
 
 * Of the formalities observed at the laying of the royal table in 
 Greenwich Palace, during Queen Elizabeth’s reign, Paul Hentzner 
 gives the following account in the Itinerarium, freely Englished by 
 Horace Walpole: “A gentleman entered the room bearing a rod, 
 and along with him another who had a table-cloth, which, after they 
 had both kneeled three times, with the utmost veneration, he 
 spread upon the table, and after kneeling again, they both retired. 
 Then came two others, one with the rod again, the other with a 
 salt-cellar, a plate, and bread; when they had kneeled, as the others 
 had done, and placed what was brought upon the table, they too 
 retired, with the same ceremonies performed by the first. At last 
 came an unmarried lady, (we were told she was a Countess), and 
 along with her a married one, bearing a tasting-knife; the former 
 was dressed in white silk, who, when she had prostrated herself 
 three times, in the most graceful manner, approached the table, 
 and rubbed the plates with bread and salt, with as much care as if 
 the Queen had been present; when they had waited there a little 
 time, the Yeomen of the Guard entered bare-headed, cloathed in 
 scarlet with a golden rose upon their backs, bringing in at each 
 turn, a course of twenty-four dishes, served in plate, most of it 
 gilt; these dishes were received by a gentleman in the same order 
 they were brought, and placed upon the table, while the lady-taster 
 
118 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 the board, no one but the chief sewer or yeoman 
 might raise it; and even he might not presume to 
 do so until the moment came for its ceremonious 
 removal in the presence of the lord himself, or one 
 of the supreme officers of the household. No sery- 
 ing-man could prematurely or impertinently touch 
 the sur-cloth and escape suspicion of treason. The 
 page caught with his hand under the white drapery, 
 was sure of a terrible flogging for his officiousness. 
 In troublous times he seldom escaped with so light 
 a punishment. To prove that any meddling varlet, 
 after the falling of the surnappe, had touched the 
 covered salt or covered bread, was to compass his 
 quick dismissal to the hangman. 
 
 The time for “ serving the meats” having come, 
 the chief sewer, or other officer of the assay, went 
 to the kitchen dresser, and tested the loyalty of the 
 
 steward and cook. Having cut a cornet of bread, 
 
 gave to each guard a mouthful to eat, for fear of poison. During 
 the time that this guard, which consists of the tallest and stoutest 
 men that can be found in all England, being carefully selected for 
 this service, were bringing dinner, twelve trumpets and two kettle- 
 drums made the hall ring for half an hour together. At the end of 
 all this ceremonial, a number of unmarried ladies appeared, who 
 with particular solemnity lifted the meat off the table, and conveyed 
 it into the Queen’s inner and more private chamber, where after she 
 
 had chosen for herself, the rest goes to the ladies of the court. The ~ 
 
 Queen sups and dines alone with very few attendants, and it is very 
 seldom anybody, foreigner or native, is admitted at that time, and 
 then only at the intercession of some one in power.” 
 
‘THE ASSAY. . LY 
 
 he touched the first dish with it in three places, and 
 then saw the steward and chef eat it. Witha fresh 
 cornet for each dish of soup, porridge, hotch-pot, 
 or other mess containing much liquor, he repeated 
 this ceremony again and again, until he had seen 
 the cook and steward eat as many triangular pieces 
 _ of bread as there were dishes of fluid compounds for 
 the lord’s table. Hach cornet was dipped thrice in 
 the dish under assay; and the sewer flourished it 
 thrice over his head before putting it to the lips of 
 the two chief officers of the kitchen. Together with 
 each cornet, the steward and cook were required to 
 eat a piece of the meat of the dish in which it had 
 been dipped. A morsel from each of the substan- 
 tial viands was given to both of them, so that they 
 ate of every “stew,” ‘‘roast,” ‘ boil,” “broil,” 
 «made dish,” “ porridge,” or “ sauce” that passed 
 from their dresser. The same precautions were 
 taken with the closed pies, each of which was 
 opened, in order that its two responsible makers 
 should eat of it. Hvery preparation, from the soups 
 to the sweetmeats, from the brawn tothe jellies, 
 was tested with the same formality. Nota single 
 eatable thing* left the kitchen dresser until it had 
 been assayed. 
 
 * “Tn the mean tyme the server goeth to the dresser, and there 
 
 taketh assay of every dyshe, and doth geve it to the stewarde and 
 the cooke to eat of all porreges, mustards, and other sauces. He 
 
120 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 As soon as it had been duly assayed, each dish 
 was covered, and put into the hands of the servitor, 
 whose duty it was to bear it to the table. It should 
 be particularly observed that each dish, whether hot 
 or cold, was covered. The bearer was bound to 
 carry it directly to the banqueting-room. Even 
 though the metal dish burnt his hands, he might not 
 set it down fora moment. ‘To stop on his way was 
 to expose himself to suspicion of tampering with the 
 dish. If he ventured to raise the cover, the worst 
 construction was put upon the act, for the cover of 
 a hot dish was used to keep out poison, rather than 
 to keep in heat. in the case of a cold dish, the 
 only use of the cover was to guard its contents 
 against poisoners. So that the heat of a silver dish, 
 containing a hot mess, might not trouble him in the 
 performance of his duty, the bearer, a gentle servant, ? 
 sworn, like his official superiors, to do his work 
 
 taketh assay with cornetts of trencher bread of his own cuttyng, and 
 that is thus: He taketh a cornet of bread in his hande, and toucheth 
 three parts of the dishe, and maketh a floryshe over it, and giveth 
 it to the aforenamed persons to eate, and of every stewed meate, 
 rosted, boylde, or broyled, beying fyshe or fleshe, he cutteth a little 
 thereof, &c. And yf it be baked meat close, unclose it, and take 
 assaye thereof, as ye do of sawces, and that is with cornetts of 
 breade, and so-with all other meates, as custards, tartes, gelly, 
 with other such lyke. The ministers of the churche doth after the 
 olde custome, in syngyng of some proper or godly caroll.”—Vide 
 Tue Inturonization or ArcHupisHor Nevitn. Temp. HpwarD THE 
 FourtH. 
 
BEFORE THE HIGH TABLE. gla 
 
 faithfully, would guard his hands with a layer of 
 crumbs of bread, taking care to hold the bread so 
 that it was not visible. Sewers are particularly 
 instructed on this last point in one of the most note- 
 worthy passages of the ‘*‘ Boke of Curtasye* (a.p. 
 1430—40.) 
 
 As each dish was brought to the table, it was 
 again tasted by an officer of assaye, in the presence 
 of the august persons who eventually consumed it. 
 The marshal, the chief sewer, and the carver having 
 made solemn reverences to the high table, and taken 
 proper positions before it, each act of the grand 
 assay before the table was performed ceremoniously, 
 whilst grace and carols were chanted. The marshal 
 standing, the sewer on his knees, received from the 
 carver a succession of cornets dipped in the fluid 
 
 * The Author of “‘ The Boke of Curtasye” says, 
 
 “ This wyle bo squyer to kechyn shall go, 
 And brynges a bof for assay bo; 
 Tho Coke assayes be mete ungri3t, 
 Tho sewer he takes and kouers on ry3t; 
 Wo so euer he takes bat mete to bere, 
 Schalle not so hardy bo couerture rere, 
 For cold ne hote, I warne you alle, 
 For suspecyon of treson as may befalle. 
 Yf bo syluer dysshe wylle algate brenne, 
 A sotelté I wylle be kenne, 
 Take be bredde coruyn and lay by-twene, 
 And kepe be welle hit be not sene; 
 I teche hit for no curtayse, 
 But for byn ese. 
 
 Vide, “ Tne Boxe or Curtrasyn.” 
 
122, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 preparations, and pieces of meat cut from the other 
 viands, just as the steward and cook had been 
 shortly before fed by the sewer from each dish at 
 the kitchen dresser. When the sewer knelt the 
 dish-bearer knelt, and when the sewer rose from 
 his knee the bearer stood erect. Having removed 
 the cover, which had been put on the dish in the 
 kitchen, the carver, duly dipping and flourishing 
 each cornet of bread, fed the sewer with the com- 
 _ pound which he had sent to the hall. At the same 
 time the carver gave a dipped cornet or testing- 
 piece of the viand to the dish-bearer ; so that if the 
 server had sent, or the bearer carried, a poisoned 
 dish, he would suffer for it rightly under the eyes 
 of his lord. No dish passed from the bearer’s 
 hands to the table until it had been so assayed on 
 the persons of bearer and sewer.* The dishes 
 
 * Then the marshall standeth styll, and the sewer kneeleth on his 
 knee besydes the carver, who receaveth every dyshe in course of 
 kynde, and uncovereth them. Then the carver of all potages and 
 sauces taketh assay with a cornet of trencher bread of his owne 
 cuttying, he toucheth three partes of the dishe, and maketh a 
 flourishe over it, and geveth it to the sewer, and to the bearer of the 
 dyshe; and yf it be any maner of fowle, take the assaye thereof at 
 the outsyde of the thygh or wynge; and yf it be any baked meat, 
 that is closed, uncover hym, and take assays therof with cornettes 
 dypt into the gravy, and geve it to the sewer, ut supra. And of all 
 custardes, tartes, march-paynes, or gelly take assay with cornetts. 
 And of all subtleties or leches, with your brode knyfe a litle of, and 
 geve it to the sewerand bearer, ut supra.”—Vide, “Tus IntuRont- 
 ZATION OF ARCHBISHOP NEVILL.” 
 
DISHES OF CREDENCE. 123 
 
 having been thus “assayed” by “tasting,” they 
 became “dishes of credence,” i.c., the lord might 
 trust them as fit for his diet. 
 
 But the usages of the assay were not over when 
 the board was at length covered with dishes. The 
 fish and flesh having been served, the cover was 
 taken from the salt, which was forthwith tested by 
 the chief panter in his lord’s presence. 
 
 Hivery cup of drink served to the great man was 
 in like manner assayed twice, once in the buttery 
 and again in the hall. In the buttery the butler 
 was required to drink, under the marshal’s eye, 
 some of every vessel of liquor sent to the high 
 table; and at the same place the marshal covered 
 with its lid every cup, before committing it to the 
 lord’s cup-bearer. It was treason for a cup-bearer 
 to raise the lid of a vessel thus confided to him, on 
 his way from the buttery to the table; but a sip 
 of liquor came to his lips before his lord took a 
 draught. On serving his master the cup-bearer 
 knelt, removed the lid, and then poured a little of 
 the drink into the inverted cover.* When he had 
 
 * In the mean tyme the marshall goeth to the buttery, to see the 
 covered cup be right served, and geueth to the butler his assay, and 
 delyvereth to the cup-bearer the cup of estate, and when the cup- 
 bearer commeth to the table, after his obeysaunce, he kneeleth on 
 his knee, and putteth foorth three or four droppes of ale into the 
 insyde of the cover of the cuppe, and suppes it of for his assaye 
 Then he settes the cup besydes the Lord and coveretH it, and then 
 
124 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 drunk the liquor from the the lid, which became for 
 the moment a drinking-cup, the servant handed the 
 cup of estate to his master, who, on seeing the 
 liquor thus tasted, and assayed under his eyes, 
 accepted it as a liquor of ‘credence,’ which he 
 might drink trustfully. 
 
 At the conclusion of the meal, the assayed 
 surnappe was ceremoniously drawn over the high 
 table, and napkins were given to the lord and his 
 chief guests by ministrants, who kissed the linen, 
 to signify its freedom from poison. Having washed 
 their hands and lips in assayed water, and dried 
 them on the assayed cloths, the potentate and his 
 friends retired from the banqueting-room. 
 
 It is obvious that several minutes were occupied 
 by the usages of assay; but whilst their observance 
 afforded abundant time for the orderly setting out 
 
 all the Table is served with Ale.”—Vide, “‘Tur INTHRONIZATION OF 
 ARCHBISHOP NEVILL.” 
 ‘“* As oft as be kerver fettys drynke, 
 
 The butler assayes hit how good hym thynke, 
 
 In be lordys cupp bat leuys undrynken, 
 
 Into be almesdisshe hit schalle be souken, 
 
 The kerver anon with-outen thouzt, 
 
 Unkouers pe cup bat he have brou3t ; 
 
 Into pe couertoure wyn he powres out, 
 
 Or into a spare pece, withouten doute ; 
 
 Assayes, an gefes be lords to drynke, 
 
 Or setles hit doun as hym goode thynke.” 
 
 Vide, ‘‘THE Boke or CurtTAsyn.” 
 
 A 
 3 
 | ae 
 , 
 ¥ 
 £ 
 ¥ 
 | 
 - 
 
DRAWING THE LINE. 125 
 
 of the numerous dishes of the several courses, 
 measures were taken to render the unavoidable 
 delay as little irksome as possible to the feasters. 
 Whilst the dishes of the first course were being 
 assayed, the clerks sung an elaborate grace, or 
 after ‘‘the olde custome,” chanted “some proper 
 and Godly caroll.” Music of the same kind diverted 
 the guests, whilst the dishes of the second and 
 third courses were submitted to ‘the tasting.” 
 And, doubtless, the jester seized his opportunity 
 for throwing out saucy speeches, and provoking 
 laughter during these pauses in the pleasures of the 
 table. 
 
 Whilst these precautions against murder were 
 taken at every meal by personages of high estate, 
 men of low degree ate the porridge without dread. 
 But it is uncertain at what social line the usages of 
 the assay were neglected. John Russell, indeed, 
 in the “‘ Boke of Nurture,”’ declares that ** credence’ 
 pertained to no person, whose dignity was beneath 
 that of an earl; a statement implying that, at least 
 in Russell’s opinion, the territorial lord was guilty 
 of ludicrous presumption and a heinous offence 
 against etiquette, who, being lower than an earl, 
 required the viands of his peculiar table to be 
 submitted to the assay. But remembering the 
 pleasure which people of the inferior degrees of 
 gentility find in copying the fashions of their social 
 
126 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 betters, the reader will doubtless think it probable 
 that, in the absence of an express law forbidding 
 the assay at the tables of the lower quality, 
 *‘ credence’ was commonly practised in the kitchens 
 and banqueting-rooms of manorial seigniors and 
 simple knights, whose wealth was more considerable 
 than their heraldic distinctions. Russell, be it re- 
 membered, was the chamberlain and marshal of the 
 good Duke Humphrey, of Gloucester, who was in his 
 day a superbly lavish entertainer, though his name 
 has long since passed into a proverbial pleasantry 
 which, commemorating in olden time his princely 
 munificence to scholars, has in these later genera- 
 tions been generally misconstrued to the discredit 
 of his hospitality. As the chamberlain and major- 
 domo of ‘“*A kynges sone, uncle to the kynge,”’ 
 it is probable that John Russell ‘ drew the line” 
 beneath which ‘‘credence” could not be rightly 
 observed, much higher in the table of precedence 
 than it would have been drawn by the chief servitor 
 of many a “right worthy knight.” 
 
 Anyhow, the usages of the assay were cere- 
 moniously performed, after the fashions set forth, 
 in all the princely and greatly noble houses of 
 medizval England. They were also observed in 
 such establishments throughout the strictly feudal 
 period of our history. Indeed they survived 
 feudalism, and are still commemorated in the titles 
 
YEOMEN OF THE MOUTH. 127 
 
 of courtly servants and the customs of royal 
 kitchens. Writing towards the close of the last 
 century, the Reverend Richard Warner observed 
 that the two ‘‘yeomen of the mouth,” still main- 
 tained on the royal establishment of St. James’s 
 Palace, were the official successors of the gentle 
 serving-men, who, in ancient days, tested with 
 their own lips the meat and drink offered to 
 princely feasters. , 
 
 No sovereign of comparatively modern time had 
 more reason to fear poisoners, and take continual 
 precaution against them than the virgin-queen of 
 England whose capital harboured scores of religious 
 zealots, hopeful to win salvation by taking her life. 
 And that she employed the most important of the 
 ancient measures for excluding death from the pot, 
 we know from the graphic page of the most amusing 
 “literary tourist’ of the sixteenth century. When 
 he visited England in 1598, Paul Hentzner went 
 down to Greenwich by a boat which occasioned 
 much commotion and noise amongst the flocks of 
 swans* that whitened the surface of the river. On 
 landing, the traveller went to Greenwich Palace, 
 
 * “This river,” says Hentzner, whose Latin record of his stay in 
 England was loosely Englished by Horace Walpole, “ abounds in 
 swans, swimming in flocks; the sight of them and their noise is 
 vastly agreeable to the fleets that meet them in their course.” 
 
 *Olores autem,” runs the original narrative, “agminatim, leto 
 
 occursu et festivis cantibus subeuntes classes recipiunt, ac undique 
 
128 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 and saw the fast-aging queen take the chief meal 
 of the day. Gorgeously-clad in red jackets, em- 
 bellished with golden roses, the buffetiers brought 
 the viands from the kitchen to the banquetting- 
 chamber on silver or silver-gilt dishss. The German 
 spectator was delighted with the brave costume, 
 and superb stature of the gentle side-board-men, 
 who were the tallest and comeliest' fellows in the 
 whole country. Twelve trumpeters and two 
 drummers played martial music in the great hall, 
 whilst the dishes were being arranged on the high- 
 table. And as each buffetier approached the dais, 
 he paused before a lady-in-waiting, the Pregustatrix, 
 who assayed the dish in his hands by giving him a 
 mouthful of its contents.* The viands having 
 
 retia siluris atque salmonibus expanduntur.”—Vide Pav. 
 HENTZNERI “ ITINERARIUM.” 
 
 * “Cumque pabulum commorata ad mensam esset, venerunt 
 satellites regii, omnes capite nudi, sagis rubris induti, quibus in 
 postica parte erant affixes rosx aures, singulis vicibus xxIV messes 
 ferculorum, in patinis argenteis et maxima exparte deauratis, 
 adferentes; ab his nobilis quidam ordine cibos accepit et mensze 
 imposuit; pregustatrix vero, cuilibet satelliti, ex eadem, quam ipse- 
 met attulerat, patinaé, buccellam degustandam prebuit, ne aliqua 
 veneni subesset suspicio. Dum satellites isti, qui centum numero, 
 procera corporis statura, et omnium robustissimi ex toto Anglize 
 regno, ad hoc munus summa cura deliguntur, supradictos cibos ad- 
 portarent, erant in aule area x11 Tubicines, et duo Tympaniste, 
 qui tubis, buccinis, et tympanis magno sonitu per sesquihoram 
 clangebant; czeremoniis autem, modo commemoratis, circa mensam 
 absolutis, aderant illis virgines aliquot nobiles, que singulari cum 
 
COVERS AND POT-LIDS. 129 
 
 been thus essayed and placed upon the table, 
 maids of honour (virgines aliquot nobiles) entered 
 the banqueting-chamber, and taking the dishes in 
 their hands bore them to an inner room, where the 
 queen ate her dinner under the observation of a 
 few ladies and gentlemen of the court who stood 
 before her. 
 
 From what has been said of the care taken by 
 assayers to cover the tasted meats and drinks, 
 readers may see the original purpose of dish-covers 
 and pot-lids, which were mere cuards against poison. 
 It also appears from the instruction given to cup- 
 bearers by the author of the “ Boke of Curtasye,” 
 that the lid of a cup of estate was not attached to 
 the vessel, as the cup-bearer, after removing the 
 cover and inverting it, was required to use it asa 
 drinking-cup. 
 veneratione, cibos de mensa auferebant, et in interius et secretius 
 Reginz cubiculum adportabant: Hligere ibi Regina solet quos vult, 
 ceeteri pro Gynzeceo servantur. Prandet et czenat sola paucis astan- 
 tibus.—Vide Pavitt Hentzneri, J. C., “ITiInzRaARIUM GERMANIA, 
 Gattis, ANGLIA, ITAL.” 
 
 Horace Walpole’s English rendering of this specimen of Hentzner’s 
 Latin has been given ina previous note. In the dregs of these buffetiers 
 of Greenwich Palace, the reader recognizes the ancient costume of 
 the “ beef-eaters” of the Tower of London. In the seventeenth century 
 the beef-eater’s bright jacket bore only the English rose. It received 
 
 the additional adornment of the thistle when the Stuart came to the 
 throne. The shamrock leaves were added at a still later date. 
 
 VOL. I. ’ K 
 
130 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 MEDIMVAL MENUS. 
 
 “The messes both in the Roll and the Hditor’s MS. are chiefly 
 soups, potages, ragouts, hashes, and the like hotch-potches; entire 
 joints of meat being never served, and animals, whether fish or 
 fowl, seldom brought to table whole, but hacked and hewed, and cut 
 in pieces or gobbets. The mortar was also in great request, some 
 messes being actually denominated from it, as mortrews or mor- 
 terelys.”— Vide SamuEt PrccE on “ THE ForME or Coury.” 
 
 “Of alle maner metes ye must thus know and fele, 
 The fumosities of fysch, flesche and fowles dyners and feele, 
 And alle maner of sawces for fische and flesche to preserve your 
 lord in heale ; 
 To yow it belongyth to know alle bese euery deale.” 
 Vide “ Tur Boks oF NURTURE.” 
 HE medizval menus for stately banquets com- 
 prised three courses, with from eight or ten to 
 twenty or more different viands in each course. 
 Inferior dinners often had but two courses: and a 
 homely entertainer incurred no charge of niggardli- 
 ness if his bill of fare consisted of a single course of 
 many dishes. But in “high life,” from the Con- 
 quest to the Reformation, the table was covered 
 three times at a ceremonious feast; and it was 
 usual, at least in times subsequent to the opening 
 of the fifteenth century, to prelude the first course 
 
 with some such whet as brawn served with mustard- 
 
THREE COURSES. lee 
 
 sauce, and a glass of Malmsey (if brawn was no 
 part of the first course), and to follow up the third 
 course with a wafer and comforting fillip of hippocras, 
 the favourite liqueur of our olden epicures. The 
 preliminary whet and concluding fillip were, in the 
 language of cooks, “‘given out of course.” The 
 menus at Henry the Fourth’s nuptials with Jane of 
 Navarre, and at Henry the Fifth’s marriage with 
 Catharine of France, like the stateliest bills of fare 
 set forth in John Russell’s “Boke of Nurture,” 
 comprised three courses. ‘The same was the provi- 
 sion for the chief tables at the Inthronization of 
 Archbishop Neville and Archbishop Warham. 
 
 At Henry the Fourth’s bridal feast, a feast of 
 several days and many separate regalememts, there 
 was a fish menu and a flesh menu; the one for 
 banquets on fish-days, and the other for repasts on 
 flesh-days. Following a bad leader, Mr. Warner 
 has regarded these separate menus as parts of 
 the same bill of fare, and inferred erroneously 
 that the nuptial dinner had sz courses, a pro- 
 ‘cedure unknown to the culinary authorities of the 
 period. 
 
 The flesh-menu was as follows :— 
 
 The First Course.—1. Fillets of meat, rolled, fried 
 in bread-crumbs, and powdered with dried herbs 
 and galyngale. 2. A standing compote of ground 
 rice, honey, salted mulberries, flavoured with spices 
 
 K 2 
 
132 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 and wine. 38. Hotchpot of common meats, such as 
 beef, mutton, veal. 4. Young swans. 5. Fat 
 capons. 6. Pheasants. 7. Fat puddings of minced 
 meat in crust. 8. A subtlety. 
 
 The Second Course.—1. Hashed venison with fru- 
 menty. 2. Jelly. 3. Sucking-pigs. 4. Rabbits. 
 5. Bittern. 6. Stuffed puleyng (whatever that may 
 be). 7. Fried leaches, made chiefly of cream, 
 sugar, isinglass, and almonds. 8. Boiled brawns, 
 .€., pieces of flesh of swine and other creatures. 
 9. A subtlety. 
 
 The Third Course.—1. Almond-cream. 2. Pears 
 in syrup. 38. Roast venison. 4. Ryde. 5. Wood- 
 cockes. 6. Plovers. 7. Rabbits. 8. Quails. 
 9. Snipes. 10. Fieldfares. 11. A meat (probably 
 game) pie. 12. Sturgeon. 13. Fritters. 14. A 
 subtlety. 
 
 For fish-feasts, the following bill of fare was pro- 
 vided :— | 7 
 
 The First Cowrse.—1. Viand Royal: the standing 
 compote of rice, honey, and salted mulberries, that 
 figured in the first course of the flesh-menu. 
 2. Lombardy mess of divers fish. 3. Salt-fish. 
 4, Lampreys powdered with spices. 5. Pike. 
 6. Bream. 7. Roasted salmon. 8. Lombardy fish- 
 pie. 9. A subtlety. 
 
 The Second Course-—l. Hashed porpoise with 
 frumenty. 2. Jelly. 3. Bream. 4, Salmon. 
 
A FISH DINNER. ise 
 
 5. Conger-eels. 6. Gurnards. 7. Plaice. 8. Lam- 
 prey-pie. 9. Fried leaches. 10. A subtlety. 
 
 The Third Cowrse.—1. Almond cream. 2. Pears 
 in syrup. 3. Tench, two in a dish. 4. Trout. 
 5. Hried flounders. 6. Perch. 7. Roast lamprey. 
 8. Lochys and colys (whatever they may be). 
 9, Sturgeon. 10. Crabs, crayfish, and lobsters. 
 11. Graspeys (sic). 12. A subtlety. 
 
 At the nuptial banquets of Henry the Fifth and 
 Catharine, the fish-menu was this :— 
 
 The Fist Course-—1. Brawn and mustard. 
 2. Hels. 3. Frumenty. 4. Pike with herbs. 5. Lam- 
 prey powdered with spices. 6. Trout. 7. Codlings. 
 8. Fried plaice. 9. Fried whitings. 10. Crabs. 
 11. A Lombardy leach, flourished. 12. Fish-pies, 
 1.é., hotch-potches of fish served in crust. 13. A 
 subtlety, representing a pelican on a nest with her 
 birds, and Saint Catherine holding a book, and 
 disputing with the doctors; in Catherine’s hand 
 **a reson,’ inscribed, ‘* Madame la Royne,” whilst 
 from the pelican’s mouth issued a scroll inscribed, 
 ** Ce est la signe, et du Roy, pur tenir joy, et a tout 
 sa gent elle mete sa intent.” 
 
 The Second Course.—1. Jelly dyed with columbine 
 flowers. 2. White pottage or almond-cream. 3. Sea- 
 bream. 4. Conger-eels. 5. Soles. 6. Chevin. 
 7. Broiled roach. 8. Fried smelts. 9. Lobster 
 or crayfish. 10. Leaches with Damascus cakes, 
 
134 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 flourished with “une sans plus.” 11. Baked lam- 
 preys. 12. Flampaynes* flourished with an heraldic 
 device, 7.¢., “a scutcheon royal, containing three 
 crowns of gold, and planted with flewrs de lis and 
 flowers of enamel] wrought with confections.” 13. A 
 subtlety: “‘a panter, with an image of Saynte 
 Katherine with a whele in her hande, and a rolle 
 wyth a reason in her other hande, saying, ‘* La 
 Royne ma file in ceste ile par bon reson ayes 
 renount.”’ 
 
 The Third Course.—Dates in compost, 1.¢., fruit 
 mince-meat. 2. Mottled cream. 3. Carp, fried 
 with oil, bread-crumbs and onions. 4. Turbot. 
 5. Tenche. 6. Perch. 7. Fresh sturgeon with 
 welkes. 8. Roast porpoise. 9. Crayfish. 10. Prawns. 
 11. Hels roasted with lampreys. 12. A white 
 leach, embellished with hawthorn leaves and red 
 bramble-berries. 13. A marchpayne, 1.¢., grand 
 cake, garnished with figures of angels, and an image 
 of St. Catherine, holding the motto, ‘Il est escrit 
 par voir et eit, per marriage pur, cest guerre ne 
 dure.’ 14. A subtlety (thus described in the old 
 record): “A tiger, lookynge in a myrour, and a 
 man syttynge on horsebacke, clene armyd, holdynge 
 
 * Flaumpeyns.—Take fat pork ysode. Pyke it clene. Grynde it 
 smalle. Grynde chese, and do thereto; with sugar, and gode pow- 
 ders make a coffyn of an inche depe, and do this fars therein. 
 Make a thynne foile of gode paste and kerve out thereof smale pointes. 
 Fry ham fars, and bake it up on. . 
 
A DYNERE OF FLESCHE. 135 
 
 in hys armes a tyger whelpe with this reason, ‘ Par 
 force sanz reson je ay prise cest beste ;’ and with his 
 one hande makynge a countenance of throwynge of 
 myrrours at the great tigre, the which hold thys 
 
 999 
 
 reson, ‘ Gile de mirrour ma fete distour. 
 
 Special inquirers having been told where they 
 may find fuller particulars concerning the arrange- 
 ments of the English dinner-table in the fourteenth 
 and fifteenth centuries, there is no need to burden 
 these pages with many bills of fare; but general 
 readers will like to glance at the menus set forth in 
 the “Boke of Nurture” by the greatest authority 
 of his day on all matters of courtly feeding. For 
 ‘a dynere of flesche,” John Russell directs :— 
 
 “THE Furst Course, 
 
 “Furst set for the mustard and brawne of boore, be wild swyne, 
 Such potage as be cooke hath made of yerbis, spice, and wyite, 
 Beeff, moton, stewed feysawnd, Swan with the Chawdwyf, 
 Capourn, pigge, vensoun bake, leche lombard, fruture viaunt fyne; 
 
 And ban a Sotelte: 
 Maydoft mary bat holy virgyne, 
 And Gabrielle gretynge hur with an ave. 
 
 “THE SEcoND CouRSE, 
 ‘‘Two potages, blanger mangere, and also jely, 
 For a standard, vensoun rost, kyd, fawne, or cony, 
 Bustard, stork, crane, pecok in hakille ryally, 
 Heiron-sew or betowre, with serve with bred, yf bat drynk be by; 
 Partriche, wodcok, plovere, egret, rabettes sowhere ; 
 Gret briddes, larkes, gentille breme de mere, 
 Doucettes, payn puff, with leche Joly Ambere, 
 Fretour powche, a sotelte folowynge in fere, 
 
136 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 The course for to fullfylle, 
 An angelle goodly kan appere, 
 And syngynge with a mery chere, 
 Unto iij sheperdes uppon an hille. 
 “Tux 1134, CoursE. 
 
 “ Creme of almondes, and mameny, be iij course in coost, 
 Curlew, brew, snytes, quales, sparrows, martonettes rost, 
 Perche in gely, crevise deive douz, pety perneis with be moost, 
 Quynces bake, leche dugard, Fruture sage, y speke of cost, 
 
 And soteltes for the soleyne : 
 
 That lady bat conseuyd by the holy gost, 
 
 Hym bat distroyed be fendes boost, 
 Presented plesauntly by be kynges of coleyn. 
 
 Afftur bis, delicatis mo. 
 
 Blaunderelle, or pepyns, with carawey in confite, 
 Wafurs to ete, ypocras to drynk with delite. 
 Now this fest is fynysched, voyd be table quyte, 
 Go we to be fysche fest while we haue respite, 
 And ban with goddes grace be fest wille be do.” 
 
 No mere regalement for ascetics, the ‘ dinere of 
 fische,” prescribed by John Russell, was not less 
 rich in dainties and tasteful ornaments than the 
 flesh banquet. 
 
 “THe Furst Course. 
 “ Muselade or menows, with be samoun bellows, eles, lampurns in 
 fere. 
 Peson with with be purpose, as good potage, as y suppose, 
 As falleth for tyme of be yere: 
 Baken herynge, sugre perof strewynge, 
 Grene myllewelle, deynteth and not dere; 
 Pike, lamprey, or soolis, purpose rosted on coles, 
 Gurnard, lampurnes bake, a leche, and a fritoure; 
 A semely sotelte folowynge even bere, 
 
 A galaunt yonge man, a wanton wight, 
 
4. 
 oa 
 Bir 
 
 A DYNERE OF FISCHE. pba 
 
 Pypynge and syngynge, lovynge and lyght, 
 Standynge on aclowd, sanguineus he hight, 
 The begynnynge of be seson bat cleped is ver. 
 “THe SeconD CouRsE. 
 “Dates in confyte, jely red and white, 
 This is good dewynge ; 
 Congur, somon, dorray, in syrippe if bey lay, 
 With ober disches in sewynge. 
 Brett, turbut, or halybut; carpe, base, mylet or trowt, 
 Cheven, breme, renewynge ; 
 Sole, eles, lampurnes, rost; a leche, a fryture, y make now bost: 
 The second, sotelte sewynge. 
 A man of warre semynge he was, 
 A. roughe, a red, angry syre, 
 An hasty man standynge in fyre, 
 As hote as somer by his attyre: _ 
 His name was Theron, and cleped Cistas. 
 
 “THE THIRD COURSE. 
 “Creme of almond dardyne, and onamerry, goode and fyne: 
 
 Potage for be iij*. seruyse. 
 
 Fresche sturgen, breme de mere, perche in jely, oryent and clere; 
 Whelkes, menuse, bus we devise; 
 
 Shrympis, fresche herynge bryled, pety peueis may not be exiled, 
 Leche fryture, a tansey gyse; 
 
 The sotelte, a man with sikelle in his hande 
 
 In a ryvere of watur stande, 
 Wrapped in wedes in werysom wyse, 
 
 Hauynge no deynteith to daunce : 
 The thrid age of man by liklynes: 
 Hervist we clepe hym, fulle of werynes 
 Zet ber folowythe mo bat we must dres, 
 
 Regardes riche bat ar fulle of plesaunce. 
 
 “THE 1113 Course or FRUTE. 
 “Whot appuls and peres with sugre candy, 
 Withe gyngre columbyne, mynsed manerly. 
 
138 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 Wafurs with ypocras. 
 Now pis fest is fynysched, for to make glad chere ; 
 And }aughe so be bat be use and manere 
 Not afore tyme be seyn has. 
 Neverthelesse aftur my simple affeccion 
 Y must conclude with be fourth compleccion, 
 ‘Yemps’ be cold terme of be yere, 
 Wyntur, with his lokkys grey, febille and cold, 
 Syttynge uppon be stone, both hard and cold, 
 Nigard in hert and hevy of chere.” 
 
 The reader may not infer from the elevation of 
 the “‘hypocras and wafers with fruit,’ to the 
 dignity of ‘a course,” that ceremonious banquets 
 in Russell’s time had more than three regular 
 courses. It has been already remarked that the 
 liqueur and wafers, when they did not figure in the 
 third course, were dainties ** served out of course.” 
 Thus given, as an additional courtesy, rather than 
 as a part of the feast proper, they were the germ 
 ofthe modern dessert. For the honour accorded 
 to them in the “ dinere of fische,” they are indebted 
 to the chef’s want of a fit occasion for the display 
 of the fourth of his series of “ grand subtleties,” 
 which he describes with the pride of an inventor 
 as having, 
 
 ‘‘byn shewed in an howse, 
 hithe do the gret plesaunce 
 with oper sightes of gret Nowelte, 
 ban han be shewed in Rialle feestes of solempnyte,” 
 
 the house, of course, being the residence of his 
 gracious master. 
 
2 
 
 DINING WITH DUKE HUMPHREY. 139 
 
 Having duly considered the fare which the good 
 Duke Humphrey was wont to set before his guests, 
 readers do not need to be assured that to ‘‘ dine 
 with his Grace” was not to ‘‘go dinnerless,”’ so 
 long as he kept open hall and a royal board. A 
 patron of letters and learned men, the Duke was 
 the founder of the University Library at Oxford, 
 which in the seventeenth century merged in the 
 larger collection of books that commemorates Sir 
 Thomas Bodley’s care for learning. In the interval 
 between the “ good duke’s”’ death and the begin- 
 ing of Bodley’s fame, Oxonian humour produced 
 the phrase “he has dined with Duke Humphrey,” 
 to denote the condition of the studious scholar who, 
 through over-reading the dinner-hour of his hall, 
 missed the earlier meal of meat and porridge, and 
 went till supper without any fare more substantial 
 than the purely intellectual refreshments provided 
 for the students of the ducal hbrary. The phrase 
 which had this significance at the University was 
 soon applied beyond the bounds of Alma Mater 
 to anyone who had dined on “ nothing without a 
 welcome.” 
 
 Of course, when considering the menus of Duke 
 Humpbhrey’s table, and the other bills of fare set 
 forth in this chapter, readers will bear in mind 
 what he has learned about the culinary processes of 
 the period. Three-fourths of the viands were 
 
140 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 served in the form of pottages, mortrews, hotch- 
 pots, chewets, and messes. The remainder con- 
 sisted chiefly of sweet puddings, standing compotes, 
 crustades, and fruit mashes. With the exception 
 of boars’ heads, brawns, and joints of venison, the 
 largest birds, such as the swan, crane, and pea- 
 cock, and the largest fishes, such as the porpoise, 
 sturgeon, and turbot, which creatures were served 
 whole, or with the appearance of entirety, the 
 medisval table seldom displayed any “pieces” of 
 ereat magnitude, though haunches of venison were 
 often served whole, quite as often as they were dished 
 in gobbets with frumenty or thickened broth. The 
 same was the case with the pestels of venison 
 and the joints of beef and mutton, which, though 
 figuring in the bills of fare as stately masses of 
 food, were served in stews, hashes, and “ stir- 
 abouts.” 
 
 Another thing to be observed in these ancient 
 menus is the distinction drawn between fiesh-feasts 
 and fish-banquets. The latter, consisting of fish, 
 fruits, and vegetable preparations, were devoid of 
 flesh; the brawn, which occasionally appears in 
 their menus, being a preparation of fish that was 
 offered as a substitute for brawn of flesh. From 
 _ the former, fish was in most cases altogether 
 absent, and, in the cases where the viands were not 
 restricted to flesh, fish was used so sparingly as 
 
FLESH AND FISH. 141 
 
 to be only an incidental and quite subordinate feature 
 of the repast. As a general rule, our medizval 
 ancestors reserved their fish for the many days on 
 which the rule of the church forbade them to eat 
 any richer viands. And keeping fish for fish-days, 
 they rarely cared to touch it on flesh-days. For the 
 rest, it is enough to remark that the courses of the 
 medizval table were as devoid of simplicity as the 
 “olios and gallimawfreys” of which they were 
 chiefly composed. Chiefly remarkable for a com- 
 plete absence of epicurean design, they were mere 
 collections of good things brought together without 
 regard to the special properties of each dish, and 
 with rude insensibility to the finer requirements 
 of the palate. Viands of the most antagonistic 
 qualities were thus put side by side, and the feaster 
 was encouraged to pass from one to another, alike 
 indifferent to gastronomic discords and confusion of 
 flavours, so long as he procured for his palate a 
 diversity of sensations. On the other hand, it 
 cannot be denied that, though they were obscured 
 by barbaric excess of quantity and by ludicrous mis- 
 
 arrangements of material, the medieval table 
 
 afforded some indications of discernment and good 
 taste. In learning to whet his palate and rouse his 
 stomach with brawn and mustard the epicure of 
 olden time made a long step towards the gastro- 
 nomic period when critical feeders prepared them- 
 
142 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 selves for pieces de résistance by playing with light 
 soups, delicate fish, and dainty entrées. Itis also 
 creditable to his sagacity that, whilst satisfying - 
 his sharper cravings with heavier and more sub- 
 stantial fare, he placed the choicer game and wild 
 fowl with the sweets and trifles of the third 
 course. 
 
 A propos of the medieval fish-menus, it may be 
 here remarked that fish was not more largely con- 
 sumed by our ancestors of Catholic times, than by 
 our forefathers of the century immediately following 
 the Reformation. If the consumption of fish was 
 discouraged by the change of religion, which 
 relaxed and modified the ancient rules of fasting, it 
 was on the other hand stimulated by civil ordi- 
 nances for the protection of fisheries, and for the 
 economical use of several kinds of food. Whilst 
 the Friday of every week was almost universally 
 kept as a fish-day in Hlizabethan England, either 
 from religious sentiment, or out of regard for 
 ancient usage, there was a general compliance with 
 an order for the same diet on Saturdays. Not 
 content with two weekly fish-days, Queen Elizabeth 
 recommended her subjects to subsist chiefly on the 
 same food on every Wednesday. At the same time 
 fish was the diet of the Lenten season, and of the — 
 special fast-days of the church. Thomas Cogan 
 did not over-state the case when he remarked, in 
 
THE HAVEN OF HEALTH. 143 
 
 1596, that half the year was set apart for the con- 
 sumption of fish.* 
 
 Nor is it so certain as some social illustrators 
 suppose, that the consumption of fish is much less 
 liberal at the present time than it was in the Hliza- 
 bethan age. Victorian England has, indeed, no 
 _days to which fish-diet has been assigned by civil 
 proclamation; and it is only in the circles of High- 
 Churchmen and Catholics that the ancient fasting- 
 days are still kept with the eating of fish. But on 
 the other hand, fish has become so general an 
 article of daily diet, that it is an ingredient of 
 almost every meal set on the table of a prosperous 
 household. It figures at the breakfast-table in 
 smoking cutlets and dishes of fried bloaters; it is 
 
 * Now concerning fish, which is no small part of our sustenance 
 in this realme of England. And that flesh might be more plentifull 
 and better cheape, two daies in the week, thatis Fryday and Saturday, 
 are specially appointed to fish, and now of late yeares by the provi- 
 dence of our prudent Queen Elizabeth, the Wednesday is also in a 
 manner restrained to the same order, not for any religion or holiness 
 supposed to be in the eating of fish rather than flesh, but only for 
 the civill policie as I have said. .. And no doubt, if all daies ap- 
 pointed for that purpose were duly observed, but that flesh and fish 
 both would be much more plentifull, and beare iesse price than they 
 doe. For, accounting the Lent Season, and all fasting daies in the 
 yeare together with Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday, you shall see 
 that the one halfe of the yeare is ordeined to eat fish in. But here I 
 must crave a pardon of divines, that they will give me leave to utter 
 mine opinion touching abstinence from meats.”—Vide Tuomas 
 Cogan’s “ Haven or Huattu,” 1596. How the more regular obser- 
 
144 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 seldom absent at luncheon; it never fails to appear 
 with the soup at dinner. No supper is complete 
 without oysters and lobster salad, when these 
 choicest shell-fish are ‘‘in season.” The case was 
 different in olden time. So long as people were 
 constrained more or less forcibly to eat fish, on 
 certain days and at certain seasons, they avoided 
 it at other times as an inopportune viand, if they 
 did not actually regard it with the repugnance 
 which the dainty are apt to conceive for diet which 
 they have taken on compulsion. Anyhow, the daily 
 and incessant consumption of fish in the modern 
 cuisine is probably not less advantageous to the 
 fisheries than the periodic and intermittent consump- 
 tion of the same food in former times. 
 
 veance of fish-days should have made fish cheaper and more abundant, 
 
 is less obvious to his readers of to-day than to the worthy Author of 
 The Haven.” 
 
145 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 WARNERS AND SUBTLETIES, ANCIENT AND MODERN. 
 
 “These iiij sotelties devised in towse, 
 wher bey byn shewed in an howse, 
 hithe doth gret plesaunce, 
 with ober sightes of gret Nowelte, 
 ban han be shewed in Rialle feestes of solempnyte, 
 A notable cost be ordynaunce.” 
 Vide Joun Russetw’s “ Boxe or Nurture.” 
 “These curious decorations of the Old English Table, were 
 nothing more than devices in sugar and paste, which, in general, as in 
 the case before us, had some allusion to the circumstances of the en- 
 tertainments, and closed the service of the dishes. The warners were 
 ornaments of the same nature, which preceded them. It seems pro- 
 bable that the splendid dessert frames of our days, ornamented with 
 the quaint and heterogeneous combinations of Chinese architecture, 
 Arcadian swains, fowl, fish, beasts and fanciful representations from 
 Heathen mythology, are only the remains of, or, if more agreeable to 
 the modern ear, refinements upon the Old English Soteltees.— Vide 
 * ANTIQUITATES CULINARIA.” 
 
 OMETHING more should be said of the Warners 
 and Subtleties which were the most conspicuous 
 of the several fanciful adornments of the Old 
 English table. Like the barley-sugar bird-cage 
 which Albert Smith saw on half-a-hundred different 
 supper-tables during tbree successive seasons of 
 Victorian London, they were made for the pleasure 
 of the eye rather than of the palate. (Guests were 
 expected to admire, without demolishing them. 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 It does not appear that they were ever eaten; and 
 they often contained materials by no means tooth- — 
 some. In earlier times, composed chiefly or alto- 
 gether of sugar and pastry, they were at a later 
 date the contrivance of the joiner and worker in 
 pasteboard, rather than of the cook. 
 
 Rising several feet above the table they were 
 bright with paint, and with curiously-blazoned flags 
 that gave the clue to their meanings. Sometimes 
 they were mere combinations of escutcheons and 
 other heraldic devices. But they more frequently 
 comprised figures grouped and adorned so as to 
 illustrate the fables of chivalric romance, or enforce 
 honest maxims, or.render an apt compliment to one 
 or more of the chief partakers of the banquet. 
 Martial exploits and the triumphs of the chase were 
 thus celebrated in confectionery. At other times 
 the subtlety would exhibit a scene of sacred story, 
 or call attention to a recent incident of the domestic 
 life ofan honoured person. The reader has already 
 seen John Russell’s subtleties of the four seasons. 
 At a bridal feast, one at least of the subtleties 
 always pointed with greater or less (usually less) 
 delicacy to what dear old Samuel Richardson calls 
 in one of his novels, ‘‘ the parturient circumstances 
 of matrimony.” for instance, the author of “For 
 to serve a lord,” (written near the close of the 
 15th century), directs that one of the chief adorn- 
 
FESTAL ADORNMENTS. 147 
 
 ments of the Bridal Banquet* should be a cake, 
 surmounted by the figure of a lady in urgent need 
 of the doctor. The mention of this adornment for 
 the bridal table reminds one of the device exhibited 
 by the Intendant of Gascony at a banquet to cele- 
 
 * * A BripaL BANQuET. 
 ‘“‘For to make a feste for a bryde, 
 
 “ The first course :—brawne with the borys hed, lying in a felde, 
 hegge about with a scriptur on this wyse — 
 
 ““Welcombe you bretheren godely in this hall, 
 
 Joy be unto you all, 
 That ene this day it is now fall! 
 That worthy lorde that lay in an oxe stalle 
 Meynteyne your husbande and you with your gystys alle. 
 Ifurmente with veneson, swanne, pigge, 
 Ifesaunte, with a grete custarde, with a sotelte. 
 A lambe stondyng in scriptour, saying on this wyse: 
 
 ‘I mekely unto you, sovrayne, am sente, 
 
 to dwell with you, and ever be present.’ 
 
 “The second cowrse.—Veneson in broth, viande Ryalle, veneson 
 rosted, crane, cony, a bake mete, leche damaske, with a sotelte: An 
 anteloppe sayng on a sele that seith with scriptour, 
 
 ‘ beith all glad and merry at this messe, 
 and prayeth for the king and all his.’ 
 
 “The thirde cowrse.—Creme of almondys, losynge in syruppe, 
 betoure, partridge, plover, snyte, pouder veal, leche veal well is in 
 sotelte, roches in sotelte, plaice in sotetlte, a bake mete with a 
 sotelte; an angel with a scriptour, ‘thanke all, god, of this feste.’ 
 
 “ The wij cowrse.—Payne puff, chese, freynes, brede hote, with a 
 cake, and a wif lying in childe-bed, with a scriptour saing in this 
 wise, ‘lam comyng toward your bryde. If yedinte onys loke to me 
 ward, I wene ye nedys muste.’ 
 
 “ Another cowrse or servise.—Brawne with mustard, vmblys of a 
 
 dere or of a sepe; swanne, capoun, lambe, 
 
 Li ye 
 
148 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 brate the birth of the Duke of Burgundy. ‘The 
 Intendant,’ says Horace Walpole, “treated the 
 noblesse with a dinner and a dessert, the latter of 
 which concluded with a representation, by wax 
 figures moved by clockwork, of the whole labour 
 of the Dauphiness, and the happy birth of an heir 
 to the monarchy.” 
 
 The warners and subtleties of the Tudor cooks 
 surpassed the subtle contrivances of earlier artistes 
 in magnitude and elaborateness. At the several 
 banquets attending the Inthronization of Arch- 
 bishop Nevill, every table had one of these 
 cumbrous ornaments, that were made of halfa- 
 dozen uneatable materials, as well as of sugar and 
 pastry. At the superior tables the quaint struc-— 
 tures were changed with the courses. One of the 
 warners, representing several scenes, was brought 
 to the table on three separate boards, each of which 
 sustained an enormous and quaintly fabricated toy. 
 The king “ sytting in the parliamment with hys 
 lordes about hym in their robes, and the Chancellor 
 
 Here again, the cook gives a fowrth course, consisting of little but 
 a cake, cheese, and the subtlety which raised the after-cates to the 
 dignity of a course. The introduction of the cheese is notable, it 
 being one of the earliest mentions of a fashion still followed. As 
 for the “ other course,” (a mere suggestion for an “ out of course,” pre- 
 ude or epilogue), it was no regular course. Though drawn by an 
 innovator, this menu was for a banquet of three courses, with addi- 
 
 tions. 
 
dea 
 . » 
 
 A COMPLIMENT FOR THE LAWYERS. 149 
 
 of Oxford, with other doctors about hym,” were 
 represented in one of the compartments of the grand 
 device, which comprised “ eight towers, embattled 
 and made with flowers, standyng on every towre a 
 bedil in his habite, with his staffe.’? At the table 
 provided for the Master of the Rolls, the Arch- 
 deacons, and Doctors, the grand subtlety was “a 
 church Abbaye lyke, with many altares, and a chayre 
 
 - set atthe hygh Altare, anda doctor syttynge therein, 
 
 with his backe turned to the altare, lyke a judge of 
 the Arches, with the certaine doctors, and proctors 
 pleadyng causes of the lawes of the Church before 
 the sayde judge.”’ 
 
 The taste for cumbrous contrivances of this kind 
 
 prevailed throughout the Tudor period; and, far 
 
 from languishing under the Stuarts, it was produc- 
 tive of greater absurdities in the seve nteenth than in 
 any earlier time of our culinary annals. The civil 
 troubles of that century were unfavourable to cooks 
 
 ‘and their art. Master Robert May, chef to Lord 
 
 Montague, Lord Lumley, Sir Kenelm Digby, as 
 well as to other lavish amphitryons of his time, 
 speaks pathetically of the injury done to gastronomic 
 science by the “‘ unhappy and culinary disturbances 
 of those times.’’ Indeed, the venerable cook* would 
 
 _ * “Though I may be envied,” he observes, grandly, “‘ by some that 
 only value the private interests above posterity and the publick good, 
 yet God and my own conscience would not permit me to bury these, 
 
150 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 have us believe that all higher cookery would have 
 perished from the land during the Commonwealth, 
 had it not been for “‘ the Mecena’s and patrons of 
 the generous art,” who sheltered him in their 
 kitchens during a gloomy epoch, and afforded him 
 opportunities for accomplishing those ‘“‘ triumphs 
 and trophies of cookery” which still render him 
 famous. Able in every department of his art, 
 Robert May was especially great in imagining 
 and enlarging the sphere of ‘ subtle 
 
 ** novelties,” 
 
 diversions.” 
 
 This artiste and his patrons cannot be fully 
 appreciated by the student who has never perused 
 «The Accomplished Cook,” which, whilst exhibit- 
 ing the resources of “the generous art,’ abounds 
 with illustrations of Caroline society. — 
 
 In the fulness of his powers, Robert May executed 
 the choicest of his triumphs, as a fit prelude toa 
 Court supper on Twelfth-night. Having modelled a 
 ship of war in pasteboard, he filled it with toy guns 
 coated with sugar and pastry, tricked it gaily with 
 flags and streamers, and sent it into action by means 
 set forth in the following passage :— 
 
 my experiences, with my silver hairs in the grave.”—Vide “TH 
 ACCOMPLISHED Cook, ork THe Art anp Mystery oF CooKERY.” 
 Wherein the whole Art is revealed. Approved by fifty years ex- 
 perience and industry of Robert May, in his attendance on several 
 
 persons of honour, 1660. 
 
SCREAMING GENTLEWOMEN. hited’ 
 
 “Place your ship,” he says, “firm in the great charger; then 
 make a salt round about it, and stick therein egg-shells full of sweet 
 water, you may by a great pin take out all the meat of the egg by 
 blowing, and then fill it up with rose-water; then on another charger 
 have the proportion of a stage made of coarse paste, with a broad 
 arrow on the side of him, and his body filled with claret wine; in 
 another charger at the end of the stag have the proportion of a 
 castle with battlements, portcullises, gates and drawbridges made 
 of paste-board, the guns and kickses, and covered with paste as the 
 former; place it at a distance from the ship to fire at each other. 
 The stag being placed between them with egg-shells of sweet water 
 (as before) placed in the salt. At each side of the charger wherein 
 is the stag, place a pye made of coarse paste, in one of which let 
 there be some live frogs, in each other some live birds; make these 
 pyes of coarse paste filled with bran, and yellowed over with saffron 
 or the yolks of eggs, guild them over in spots, as also the stag, the 
 ship and the castle; bake them and place them with guilt bay-leaves 
 on turrets and tunnels of the castles and pyes; being baked, make 
 a hole in the bottom of your pyes, take out the bran, put in your 
 frogs, and birds, and close up the holes with the same coarse paste, 
 then cut the lids neatly up; to be taken off the tunnels: being all 
 placed in order upon the table, before you fire the trains of powder, 
 order it so that some of the ladies may be persuaded to pluck an 
 arrow out of the stag, then will the claret wine follow, as blood 
 runneth out of a wound. This being done with admiration to the 
 beholders, after some short pause, fire the train of the castle, that 
 the pieces all of one side may go off, then fire the trains of one 
 side of the ship as in battel, next turn the chargers, and by degrees 
 fire the trains of each other side as before. This done, to sweeten 
 the stink of the powder, let the ladies take the egg-shells full of 
 sweet waters, and throw them at each other. All dangers being 
 seemingly over, by this time you may suppose they will desire to 
 see what is in the pyes; when lifting first the lid off one pye, out 
 skip some frogs, which make the ladies to skip and shreek; next 
 after the other pye, when come out the birds, who by a natural 
 instinct flying into the lights, will put out the candles, so that what 
 
152 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 with the flying birds and the skipping frogs, the one above, the 
 other beneath, will cause much delight and pleasure to the 
 whole company; at length the candles are lighted, a banquet 
 brought in, the musick sounds, and everyone with much delight 
 and content rehearses their actions in the former passages. These 
 were formerly the delights of the nobility, before good house- 
 keeping had left England, and the sword really acted that which 
 
 was only counterfeited in such honest and laudable exercises as these.” 
 
 In filing egg-shells with scented water, Robert 
 May followed the example of the Italian artistes, 
 who at carnivals and other festal times were wont 
 to prepare scores upon scores of the same fragile 
 missiles for the hands of sportive ladies. When 
 Dudley North, the Lord Keeper’s brother, visited 
 Italy,* in the time of Charles the Martyr, he was 
 greatly diverted by the spectacle of gentlewomen 
 pelting one another, as well as their cavaliers, in 
 the public ways, with egg-shells containing sweet 
 
 water. ‘To the same country, Robert May was also’ 
 
 indebted for the “ surprise pies,” which caused the 
 fair admirers of his culinary extravaganza to ‘* skip 
 and shreek.”’ 
 
 * “ Now is the time,” wrote the merchant of noble birth, “ between 
 Christmas and Lent, which is called Carnival. The people use all 
 the mirth they can devise; such as passing in masquerade clothes, 
 one after one, and another after another manner; tossing eggshells 
 with sweet water, where they see women they like; and thus tossing 
 eggs at first, the women will reach them till the basket be divided 
 betwixt them, and then to pelting each other they go; and so are all 
 Sundays and holidays spent.—Vide “ Lire oF tHE Hon. Str Duptey 
 
 Norra.” 
 
 matt Pb eat eM 
 
GEORGIAN NOVELTIES. Fon 
 
 In the earlier years of the eighteenth century, 
 ornaments, bearing any close resemblance to the 
 manners and subtleties of the feudal period, were 
 seldom placed on fashionable tables. They might 
 still be seen in civic halls on gaudy days; but high 
 life had replaced them with more durable and less 
 cumbrous devices of china and porcelain. Then 
 came the day of harlequins, gondoliers, and shep- 
 herdesses in ceramic ware, The writings of Addison 
 and Walpole* contain allusions to several successive 
 fashions for the embellishment of the festal board. 
 Shepherdesses, wandering in groves of paper and 
 silk thread, were superseded by pastoral scenes of a 
 more realistic character. For awhile there was a 
 rage for culinary representations of cattle browsing 
 on fat pasture, farm-yards, and rustic cottages. A 
 
 1 « The last branch of our fashion, into which the close observation 
 of nature has been produced, is our desserts. Jellies, biscuits, sugar- 
 plums, and creams have long since given way to harlequins, gondoliers, 
 Turks, Chinese, and shepherdesses of Saxon china. But these, un- 
 connected, and only seeming to wander among groves of curled paper 
 and silk flowers, were soon discovered to be too insipid and unmean- 
 ing. By degrees, meadows of cattle, of the same brittle material, 
 spread themselves over the table; cottages rose in barley-sugar; 
 Neptunes in cars of cockle-shells triumphed over oceans of looking- 
 glass or seas of silver tissue. Women of the first quality came home 
 from Chevenix’s, laden with dolls and babies, not for their children, but 
 for their housekeeper. At last, even these puerile puppetshows are 
 sinking into disuse, and more manly ways of concluding repasts are 
 
 established. Gigantic figures succeed to pigmies.”’—Vide Lorp 
 Orrorp’s “ Works.” 
 
154 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 few seasons later, fashionable humour, taking a 
 mythological turn, commissioned Neptunes of painted 
 sugar to drive triumphal cars over seas of looking- 
 glass. Dolls that.could wink their eyes and cry 
 ‘“mamma,”’ and wax babies of alarmingly natural 
 proportions and aspect, had their brief hour of 
 favour with Amphitryons and hostesses, but were 
 soon discarded on a fresh outbreak of the mytho- 
 logical mania, for monstrous dishes of gods and 
 goddesses, that required the services of a detach- 
 ment of engineers for their safe transference from 
 the pantry to the banqueting-room. ‘“ Imaginez- 
 vouz que milord n’a pas voulu faire dter le 
 plafond,”’ exclaimed the indignant chef who had 
 produced one of these preposterous structures, only 
 to learn that his master, Lord Albemarle, would not 
 allow the ceiling of his dining-room to be destroyed, 
 in order that the group of deities might be pee 
 placed on a supper-table. 
 
 Under the Regency, and after the Regent’s ex- 
 ample, fashionable folk called the gardener to the 
 aid of the cook, and brightened their tables with the 
 choicest flowers of the conservatory, an excellent 
 fashion, that in these days of dinners & la Russe 
 covers the board with objects which delight the eye, 
 when the epicures’ grosser appetites have been satis- 
 fied. At Carlton House, also, the greatest gentle- 
 man of Hurope astonished his friends by seating 
 
FRUIT AND FLOWERS. War 
 
 them at a table so constructed that, whilst regaling 
 themselves with the most delicate works of culinary 
 art, they looked on a purling rivulet, populous with 
 gold fish, and banked with moss and flowers. But 
 though applauded for a season, this singular aqua- 
 rium was soon discarded, and should be remembered 
 merely as a costly freak of the royal epicure, who 
 chiefly distinguished himself amongst table decora- 
 tors by using fruit and flowers more liberally and 
 skilfully than any previous Amphitryon of modern 
 Hngland. 
 
 Hiven in this age of revivalism, when ceramic 
 taste is restoring the long-neglected blue of the 
 willow-pattern pottery, it is not probable that the 
 Warners and Subtleties of olden time will reappear 
 at festal tables. Approving the changes which 
 have successively swept away the stupendous struc- 
 tures of paste-board and pastry, the antique groups 
 and cumbrous dishes of the old _ entertainers, 
 universal sentiment has declared in favour of leaves 
 and flowers as the proper garniture for the epi- 
 curean board. The same good taste also requires 
 that in the arrangement of these natural ornaments 
 care should be taken to place them above or below 
 the line of vision. However beautiful it may be 
 in its proper place, the decoration which breaks the 
 festal view, and puts one’s opposite neighbours out 
 of sight, is a hindrance to vis-d-vis conversation, 
 
156 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 and an irritating interference with the rights of 
 cuests. 
 
 No more effective obstacle to enjoyment can be 
 produced by human ingenuity than one of those 
 long baskets, closely packed with high, leafy plants, 
 which are sometimes set on dinner-tables for pic- 
 torial effect. Under the cold shade of such an 
 impenetrable thicket, the brightest wit ceases to 
 shine, and the dazzling belle loses her radiance. A 
 table-talker might as well pelt a haystack with 
 epigrams as throw jeue @esprit against such a wall 
 of garden-stuff. Unable to see the faces on the 
 other side of the leafy covert, he misses the smiles 
 which should encourage and reward his humour; 
 and feeling himself cut off from human sympathy, 
 
 he even lacks spirit to cheer the clouded sharer of 
 
 his depressing position. Bearing these facts in 
 mind, the artistic decorator of a festal board prefers 
 cut to growing flowers, and whilst placing the 
 bright blossoms only a few inches above the level of 
 the table, disposes his ferns so that guests on oppo- 
 site sides of the plane look at one another beneath 
 the drooping fronds. 
 
 At present, the Christmas Trees, planted on 
 supper-tables for the delight of children, are the 
 only remains of the intrusive decorations which 
 were so conspicuous at the feasts of the Old English. 
 But in the smaller confections and toy-sweetmeats 
 
KISSES AND CRACKERS. Ry: 
 
 of our tables—such as crackers, bonbons, chocolate- 
 drops, and ‘‘ kisses ’’—may still be seen the vestiges 
 of a fashion that centuries since scattered curious 
 trifles of the same kind over the groaning board. 
 In the fabrication of lozenges and minute sugar- 
 toys, the confectioners of olden time expended much 
 care, and often exhibited more of ingenuity than 
 delicacy. In spite of all that has been urged against 
 the levity and impudence of “the girl of the 
 period,” it is certain that she would not fail to ex- 
 hibit signs of abhorrence and outraged dignity if she 
 were offered at a ball-supper such whimsical sweet- 
 meats as gallant knights in the palmiest days of 
 chivalry used to press upon their dames and damoi- 
 selles. As for the mottoes of our bon-bons, it is 
 needless to observe that they are miniature re- 
 productions of the ‘resons” and _ sentimental 
 *‘ florishes”’ of the medizval subtleties. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 CARVING AND CARVERS. 
 
 “Take your knyfe in your hande, and cut brawne in ye dysshe as 
 it lyeth, and laye it on your souerayne’s trenchour and ‘se there be 
 mustarde.”—“ Tue Boxe or Keruynen” (WYNKYN DE WoORDE.) 
 
 “Now, fadir, feire falle ye, and crist yew haue in cure, 
 For of be nurture of keruynge y suppose bat y be sure. 
 JOHN RuvussEtu’s “ Boxe or NURTURE.” 
 
 * Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable, 
 And carf before his fader at the table. 
 Cuaucrr’s Tatzs: “THE YoncE SQuIER.” 
 
 O long as English fare consisted chiefly of stews 
 and minced meats, with other messes that would 
 at the present time be helped without a knife, there 
 was small need of a carver at an ordinary banquet. 
 But though the feudal table afforded him compara- 
 tively few occasions for the exhibitions of his skill, 
 the carver found employment at ceremonious feasts, 
 and his office was honoured throughout the Roman 
 or spoon-period of our ancient cookery. It was he 
 who sliced the brawn and venison and other large 
 pieces of the medizeval feast. When served whole, 
 the swan and peacock were cut artistically by his’ 
 gleaming knife. And when they were put on the 
 board with only the appearance of entirety, he 
 divided their nicely arranged parts with all the 
 
GENTLE SERVING MEN. 159 
 
 formal ‘‘ flourishes” of a carver actually dissecting 
 a royal bird. The wild fowl and smaller ground 
 game, which were usually put whole on the table, 
 afforded him other occasions for showing artistic 
 adroitness and a precise knowledge of the rules and 
 terms of his craft. 
 
 In days when the offices of footmen and other 
 male menials were filled by gentle serving-men, he 
 was always a gentleman of honest lineage, and not 
 seldom a person of noble degree, though of a rank 
 inferior to that of his employer. The four carvers 
 and cup-bearers of Hdward the Fourth’s special 
 table were bannerets or bachelor-knights ;* and at 
 the banquets attending Archbishop Nevill’s in- 
 thronization, the chief carver was Lord Willoughby, 
 some of whose fellow-servants+ at the same fes- 
 
 * “Tn the ‘Liber Niger Domus Regis Anglis,’ (7.¢e., Edward the 
 Fourth), containing orders for the Royal Household, anno 1478, we 
 read, ‘ Bannerets or Bachelor Knights to be carvers or cup-bearers, 
 (four).’ ’—Vide SamugeL Prcen’s “Curtatia MisceLnanna.” 
 
 + The staff of chief-servants at the festival comprised the following 
 nobles, knights and gentlemen :—* First, the Harle of Warwicke, 
 as Stewarde; the Harle of Northumberlande, as Treasurer; the 
 Lorde Hastinges, as Comptroller; the Lorde Wylloughby, Carver; 
 the Lorde of Buckyngham, Cup-bearer; Sir Richarde Strangwiche, 
 Sewer; Sir Walter Worley, Marshall and vit other knyghtes of the 
 Hall; also vil1 Squyers, besides other two Sewers; Sir John Maly- 
 very, Panter; the Sergeant of the Kinge’s Ewery, to be Ewerer; 
 
 Greystoke and Nevell, kepers of the Cubbords; Sir John Breaknock, 
 
 Surveyor of the Hall.”—Vide “InTHRONIZATION OF ARCHBISHOP 
 NEVILL.” 
 
160 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 tival were superior to him in wealth and social 
 quality. , 
 
 Whilst his manner conformed to the ceremonious- 
 ness, the carver’s terms accorded with the quaint 
 pedantry of the period whose chefs were schoolmen, 
 and whose scholars delighted in fantastic phraseo- 
 logy. In the “Boke of Nurture,” John Russell 
 gives us a chapter on “kervyng of flesh,” and 
 another on the ‘‘ kervyng of fische,” from which it 
 appears that Duke Humphrey’s carver had a distinct 
 set of observances for almost every “ creature” 
 that came under his knife. He might not touch 
 venison with his hand; but having sliced the 
 “piece” deftly, he put the juiciest slice on his 
 lord’s plate, by means of his broad-bladed carving- 
 knife, and without the assistance of a fork. Birds 
 he might raise by their legs with his left hand before 
 dismembering them; but his skill was seen in the 
 quickness and certainty with which he poised “ each 
 portion” on his knife, and conveyed it to the plate 
 without touching it with his fingers. At moments 
 of difficulty he had recourse to the spoon; but in 
 days prior to the introduction of table-forks, the 
 perfect carver used the spoon as little as possible, 
 and would have died of shame, had he been seen to 
 put his fingers upon a viand in a way prohibited by 
 the laws of his art. It was expressly conceded by 
 those laws that he might touch beef and mutton 
 
Pa 
 
 HANDLING AND FINGERING. 161 
 
 with his left hand; but he always exercised this 
 privilege discreetly and with sensitive care for his 
 lord’s feelings and his own honour. With the 
 knife, also, he was wondrously expert in removing 
 
 ‘sinew and unsightly bits from each slice. To the 
 
 youth aspiring to distinguish himself in courtly 
 service, John Russell says :— 
 
 “ Withe youre lift hande touche beeff, chyne, motonn, as is a-fore 
 said, 
 & pare hit clene or bat ye kerve, or hit to your lord be layd; 
 and as it is showed afore, beware of upbrayde; 
 
 alle fumosite, salt, senow, raw, aside be hit convayde.” 
 
 It was also customary for the carver, when he had 
 cut and prepared a slice of meat, to dissect it into 
 four strips, holding together at the end, so as to 
 resemble in some degree an obsolete instrument of 
 punishment—the Scotch tawse. Provided with such 
 a slice, the courtly feaster lifted it with his fingers, 
 using the undivided end asa handle, whilst he ate 
 the four long pieces. Having eaten the strips, he 
 of course laid aside the ‘“ handle,” which he had 
 touched, as unfit for the palate of a nice feeder. . 
 Addressing his apt pupil on this matter, John 
 Russell says :— 
 
 “ But furbermore enforme yow y must in metis kervynge, 
 Mynse ye must iiij lees, to oon morselle hangynge, 
 bat youre mastir may take with ij fyngurs in his sawce dippynge, 
 and sono napkyn, brest, ne boreclothe, in anywise embrowynge.” 
 
 VOL. I. bee 
 
a 
 A f 
 ¥ 
 , E 
 t 
 5 
 
 162 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 From this order, and many similar directions for 
 the performance of work which would not now-a- 
 days devolve on the mere distributor of a dish, it is 
 obvious that the carver of “ The Boke of Nurture” 
 was a thoughtful ‘helper’ of meat, as well as an 
 operator on pieces de résistance. A valet bent on 
 ministering to the comfort and caprices of his special 
 master, rather than a performer acting theatrically 
 to the admiration of a score spectators, he is a 
 vigilant, quick-handed, ready ‘‘ waiter,” not a stately 
 illustrator of the laws of carving. TFaultless as an 
 attendant on a solitary gourmet, he would perhaps 
 have failed in dramatic effectiveness, as chief carver 
 of plumed peacocks at a ceremonious regalement in 
 a crowded hall. 
 
 ‘‘The Boke of Kervynge”’ (Wynkyn de Worde), 
 published at the close of Henry the Seventh’s reign, 
 is perhaps more generally known than ‘‘'The Boke 
 of Nurture,” which it resembles so closely in phrase- 
 ology that it is little else than a prose version of 
 such parts of Russell’s poetical performance as 
 relate to culinary matters and the service of the 
 table. Whether the anonymous fabricator of this 
 tract was only the shameless plagiarist of John 
 Russell’s superior work, or whether both authors 
 made free use of some earlier scribe,* are questions 
 that antiquaries hesitate to answer, and few readers 
 
 * The following lines in the epilogue to the ‘ Boke of Nurture,” 
 
 ? 
 hat oe m 
 
TECHNICAL TERMS. 163 
 
 of this page will care to consider. But, whatever 
 may have been the source of his information, 
 Wynkyn de Worde’s hack-writer may be thanked 
 for giving us a complete list of terms used by pro- 
 fessional carvers. 
 
 TERMES OF A KERVER. 
 
 Breke that dere; lesche that brawne; rere that 
 goose; lyft that swanne ; sauce that capon; spoyle 
 that henne ; frusshe that chekyn ; unbrace that mal- 
 larde; unlace that cony; dysmembre that heron; 
 displaye that crane; dysfygure that pecocke; un- 
 joynt that bytture ; untache that curlew; alaye that 
 fesande ; wynge that partryche ; wynge that quayle ; 
 mynce that plover; thye that pegyon; border that 
 
 if taken literally, prove that Russell was not the original author, but 
 only the transcriber of the poem :— 
 “ And if so bat any be founde, as brouz myn necligence, 
 
 Cast be cawse on my copy, rude and bare of eloquence, 
 
 Whiche to drawe out (I) haue do my besy diligence, 
 
 Redily to reforme hit by reson and bettur sentence, 
 
 As for ryme or reson, be forewryter was not to blame, 
 
 For as he founde hit aforne hym, so wrote he be same, 
 
 And baughe he or y in oure matere digres or degrade, 
 
 Blame neither of us. For we neuyre hit made.” 
 
 But this disclaimer of originality may be only an exercise of 
 literary artifice, common in authors of every age, and frequent in 
 modern novelists, who often proclaim themselves only the “ editors” 
 of their own tales. It is probable that Wynkyn de Worde’s tract 
 was only the reproduction in type of an old prose MS., which John 
 Russell amended and threw into verse. 
 
 mM 2 
 
7 
 
 164 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 pasty; thye that wodcocke; thye all manner of 
 small byrdes; tymbre that fyre; tyere that egge; 
 chyne that samon; strynge that lampraye; splatte 
 that pyke; sauce that tenche; splaye that breme; 
 syde that haddocke ; tuske that barbell; culpon that 
 troute; fynne that cheven; trausene that ele; 
 traunche that sturgeon ; undertraunche that purpos ; 
 tayme that crabbe; barbe that lopster. Here 
 hendeth the goodly termes. 
 
 This list accords with what has been already said 
 as to the creatures ordinarily submitted to the 
 carver, in times when common meats were not com- 
 monly served in large pieces. Making no mention 
 of what would now-a-days be called ‘ joints,” it 
 contains no terms for the orderly carving of beef, 
 mutton, veal, pork. Russell, indeed, gives direc- 
 tions for the cutting and distribution of those com- 
 mon viands; but the carver refused to recognize 
 them as proper subjects for the exercise of his 
 eraceful art. | 
 
 The same terms, employed by carvers of centuries 
 prior to Wynkyn de Worde’s time, survived the 
 fashions of the Tudor period, and the changing 
 humours of Caroline Hngland. Appearing in 
 several of the successive cookery books of Elizabeth 
 of England, they may be found in Robert May’s 
 3 Accomplisht Cook,” and other gastronomic works 
 of the Restoration period. The eighteenth century 
 
WORK FOR WOMEN, kG 
 
 was passing ere they slowly dropped from the talk 
 of old-fashioned tables. 
 
 When a change of gastronomic taste, for which the 
 introduction of the fork was largely though not 
 altogether accountable, had covered the English 
 table with “joints,” and increased the demand for 
 skilful carvers, it was not long before the labour of 
 carving was transferred from gentle serving-men, 
 specially dexterous with the knife, to ladies seated 
 at the upper end of the festal table. 
 
 In excluding womankind from banquets that were 
 not of a private character, medizval society seems 
 to have followed a fashion still observed, with occa- 
 sional departures from ordinary usage, in modern 
 England. Ladies, indeed, brightened the entertain- 
 ments which celebrated the inthronization of Arch- 
 bishop Nevill, in Edward the Fourth’s time; and we 
 have noticed other feasts at which women displayed 
 their beauty, and wit, and brave adornments. Of 
 course bridal feasts, the grandest of all medizval 
 festivals, required the presence of the fair sex. But, 
 as a general rule, the quasi-public dinners and 
 suppers of Feudal England were enjoyed by the 
 lords of creation in the absence of their dames and 
 damoiselles. In the lower grades of good society, it 
 was enough for ‘‘ madam”’ to superintend the opera- 
 tions of her cooks and servitors in the kitchen, 
 whilst the “‘ master” and his comrades enjoyed the 
 
166 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 good cheer which she provided forthem. Andeven 
 when they appeared at table, the ladies of chivalric 
 time did not receive such consideration and cour- 
 teous treatment as are accorded to them universally 
 in the modern England from which chivalry is said 
 to have departed. The medizval entertainer of a 
 party, consisting of persons of both sexes, was at no 
 pains to match his guests, so that there was a cava- 
 ler for each gentlewoman, or even to assign a 
 gallant partner to each lady, when the number of 
 male guests would enable him to do so. The con- 
 venience of the men, rather than the pleasure of the 
 women, was considered in the arrangements for 
 seating the guests. If the table consisted of a 
 single board, the ladies, unless their rank demanded 
 exceptional courtesy, seated themselves wherever 
 they could find room, and often that room was 
 found at the lower end of the dining-hall. If the 
 single table was divided by the “salt,” a gentle- 
 woman often found herself sitting with the inferior 
 guests “ below” the line of honour, whilst men of 
 no better extraction, and of worse manners, enjoyed 
 the daintier fare “‘ above the salt.” And when the 
 table consisted of several separate boards, it often 
 happened that the women of the party were placed 
 at a table by themselves, without a gallant of any 
 kind to bear them company. 
 
 In the well-known picture of the King’s Lynn 
 
PLACES FOR LADIES. 167 
 
 peacock-feast (taken from an old brass in the 
 church of St. Margaret, Lynn Regis, Norfolk), the 
 party consists of eleven feasters seated in a line on 
 one side of a long table. Hight of the eleven 
 feasters are men, and probably the three ladies are 
 indebted for their honourable places at the board to 
 the fact that they are not members of the Amphi- 
 tryon’s household. The tall lady who, discharg- 
 ing the function of chief waitress, appears at one of 
 end of the table with a dished peacock in her hands, 
 is probably the mistress of the house. The minis- 
 tering women at the other end of the table, are 
 also of gentle degree—as their dress and coitfure 
 attest—though they do not presume to seek places 
 at the board which they cover with good cheer. 
 
 At the banquets attending Archbishop Nevill’s 
 inthronization, all the tables laid in the “ Hall” 
 were occupied by men; but there was an imposing 
 
 ‘show of noble womankind in the “ cheefe Chamber.”’ 
 
 the ‘* seconde Chamber,” and the “* great Chamber,” 
 At the first table of the cheefe Chamber, the Duke 
 of Gloucester, as the king’s brother and representa- 
 tive, had the place of honour, with the Duchess 
 of Suffolk on his right, and the Countess of West- 
 moreland on his left-hand. Three other ladies—the 
 Countess of Northumberland, and two of the Lord 
 Warwick’s daughters, also sat at the same table. 
 
 Hence the guests at the royal table were one man 
 
168 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 and five ladies. None but ladies sat at the second 
 table, which afforded accommodation to sixteen fair 
 dames, ‘‘the Baronnesse of Graystocke, with 
 three other Baronnesses, and x11 other ladies.” 
 Highteen gentlewomen—maids of honour in atten- 
 dance on the ladies at the royal table and the 
 second table—were provided with seats, but no 
 cavaliers, at the third table of the chief room. 
 Thus in the whole room there was (gentle servitors 
 excepted) only one man to thirty-nine ladies. If 
 the Duke provided small talk for the Duchess and 
 Countess who supported him, he can scarcely 
 have offered many courtesies to his other mess- 
 mates, and at the same time have paid adequate 
 attention to the good cheer. 
 
 The ‘seconde Chamber” contained only two. 
 tables, and none but ladies were received at them. 
 The feasters at the superior of these boards were 
 
 the elder Duchess of Suffolk, the Countess of 
 
 Warwick, the Countess of Oxford, the Lady 
 Hastings, and the Lady Fitzhugh; the second 
 table being laid for the entertainment of “ the Ladie 
 Huntley, the Ladie Strangwicke, and vit other 
 ladies.”” Whether the Dowager Duchess of Suffolk 
 acted as president at this dinner-party of fifteen 
 ladies, and whether the fair feasters delivered 
 speeches in honour of holy church, when they had 
 satisfied their appetite for food and drink, the 
 
WOMEN AND WAITERS. 169 
 
 chronicler omits to state; but in the absence of 
 mess-mates of the sterner sex, it is probable that 
 the ladies at table were a rather lifeless and silent 
 assembly, when they had exchanged opinions on 
 matters of toilet and housekeeping, and on the 
 various shortcomings of their servants. Anyhow, 
 we may be sure that the company was less shrilly 
 oratorical than a ladies’ dinner-party in Fifth 
 Avenue, New York. Hilarious loquacity was not 
 “the mode” of dinner-parties at the best houses 
 of Feudal England. On the other hand, it 
 should be remembered that though they had no 
 cavalier seated beside them to whisper flatteries 
 and co-operate in flirtation, the ladies of the 
 “seconde Chamber” could, without indecorum, 
 gossip with the waiters, who were all gentlemen of 
 good family. 
 
 Of the three tables in the “great Chamber,” 
 two were laid for companies altogether made up of 
 men, and the third was provided for twenty-eight 
 guests—fourteen gentlewomen and fourteen gentle- 
 men of unrecorded names. The occupants of the 
 high table in this chamber being four bishops, and 
 the second being assigned to fourteen temporal 
 peers, it may be assumed that the third party of 
 twenty-eight comprised only ladies and gentlemen 
 of unexceptionable quality. 
 
 Even so late as Charles the Second’s time, when 
 
170 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 they had long held possession of the upper end of 
 private table, it was usual to seat the ladies apart 
 from the men, at separate tables, and sometimes 
 in separate chambers, on occasions of quasi-public 
 festivity. Thus, when Mr. Samuel Pepys went in 
 his second-best suit to Sir Anthony Bateman’s 
 mayoral banquet at the Guildhall, he tells us 
 that he inspected the “tables prepared for the 
 ladies,” which were set in a room for the special 
 accommodation of the fair feasters. On that day 
 no man dined in this room, though gentlemen were 
 permitted to loiter through it and stare at the 
 eating ladies. ‘* After I had dined,” the diarist con- 
 tinues, “I and Creed rose, and went up and down 
 the house, and up to the lady’s room, and there 
 stayed gazing upon them. But though there were 
 many and fine, both young and old, yet I could not 
 discern one handsome face, which was very strange. 
 I expected musique, but there was none, but only 
 trumpets and drums, which displeased me. ‘The 
 dinner, it seems, is made by the Mayor and two 
 sheriffs for the time being, the Mayor paying one 
 half, and they the other. And the whole, says 
 Proby, is reckoned to come to about seven or eight 
 hundred pounds at most. Being tired with looking 
 upon a company of ugly women, Creed and I went 
 away, took coach, and through Cheapside, . and 
 there saw the pageants, which were very silly.” 
 
PEPYS IN A PET, 171 
 
 , Mr. Pepys was sadly out of temper throughout 
 the day. Having left his new velvet-lined cloak at 
 home ‘‘ because of the crowde,” he felt himself 
 under-dressed, and consequently was out of conceit 
 with himself and the whole world. Moreover being 
 ‘under a vowe” he could not cheer himself with 
 wine, though with an uneasy conscience he sipped 
 a little hippocras. The ladies would not have been 
 so ugly to his eyes, had he worn his bravest costume. 
 Had he drunk wine, he would have found the pageants 
 less “silly,” the drums and trumpets less “ dis- 
 pleasing,” the table-furniture less defective, and 
 the fare at the Merchant Strangers’ board more to 
 his taste. 
 
 In Elizabethan England, when gallimawfreys had 
 given way to the substantial fare of our later 
 cookery, it was the custom at private dinners to 
 place the principal joints and masses of meat at 
 the upper end of the table, above the salt, so that 
 the chief guests could see clearly the best of 
 the good cheer, and also appropriate the choicest 
 cuts, before the inferior folk below the joint of 
 
 - honour were served. Fashion having thus decided 
 
 that the “‘ carving should be done on the table,” the 
 
 ladies were invited to the top of the table, not 
 out of gallantry, but in order that they should do 
 the work which could no longer be executed con- 
 veniently by professional carvers. It may cost the 
 
yo A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 reader a struggle to admit that our ancestors 
 had no more chivalric purpose in view when 
 they promoted woman to her proper place at the 
 festal board. But there is no doubt as to the 
 fact. The new ordering of places was the 
 result of masculine selfishness and insolence,,. rather 
 than masculine gallantry. Just as in medizval 
 society the lady of the house rendered service 
 to her guests by discharging the functions of a 
 gentle serving-woman, in preparing dishes for their 
 enjoyment, and even in bringing them to table with 
 her own hands, so in Hlizabethan life she went up 
 to the top of her table, and seated herself among 
 the first guests, in order that she might serve them 
 as a carver. At the same time, the number of 
 ‘‘ ereat pieces’ requiring several carvers, she 
 brought other ministering ladies to the upper 
 end of the table where the grand joints were 
 exhibited. | 
 Having been thus called to the top of the table 
 for her lord’s convenience instead of her own 
 dignity, the mistress of the house soon made it 
 a point of honour to occupy the place, which 
 had in the first stance been conceded to her 
 as a servant, rather than as principal lady. Hre 
 long, with her characteristic cleverness in making 
 the best of things and stating her own case in the 
 way most agreeable to her self-love, she regarded 
 
= 
 
 HONOUR OR DUTY P Ws 
 
 her carver’s stool as a throne of state, and affected 
 to preside over the company, though the. terms of 
 her commission only authorized her to help them 
 to food. 
 
 It was the same with the ladies whom she invited 
 to assist her in the work of carving. Losing sight 
 of its uncomplimentary cause, they regarded their 
 promotion to the higher places as a testimony to their 
 worthiness. ‘'o carve, ere long, became with them 
 a point of honour, rather than an affair of duty ; 
 and having for the discharge of hospitable functions 
 acquired the superior seats, they, in course of time, 
 excluded the men altogether from the upper end of 
 the table. Inthe middle of the seventeenth century 
 the ladies of a dinner or supper entered the ban- 
 queting-room before the men; and when they had 
 seated themselves at the top of the table, 7.¢., the end 
 of the table farthest from the door, the cavaliers 
 who followed them shared the space left to them at 
 the inferior part of the board. 
 
 In his entertaining “ Lives” of his three notable 
 brothers—Lord Keeper Guildford, Sir Dudley North, 
 the Turkey merchant, and Dr. John North, Master 
 of Trinity College, Cambridge—Roger North makes 
 several allusions to the fashion which assigned the 
 top of the table to the fair sex, and also mentions 
 particularly the ungallant considerations which oc- 
 casioned their promotion to the chief places. 
 
174 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 On being entertained at Badminton by his Grace 
 of Beaufort, the Lord Keeper Guildford saw the 
 Duchess with her two daughters only at the head 
 of her oblong table.* Whether the Duchess carved 
 any dish, the biographer omits to state, though he 
 is careful to say that gentlemen were the only 
 liveried servants in attendance, and that differing 
 from the common use, Badminton custom forbade 
 guests to sit over the oblong table ‘ with tobacco 
 and healths.’”’ Itis improbable that Her Grace, who 
 in her pride would allow no ladies but her own. 
 daughters to sit with her at the top of the table, 
 condescended to do with her own hands any of 
 the work which the gentle serving-men and the 
 ladies of inferior degree, below the salt, could 
 readily perform. 
 
 * “The ordinary pastime of the ladies was in a gallery on the 
 other side, where she,” (¢.e., the duchess) “ had divers gentlewomen 
 commonly at work upon embroidery and fringe-making; for all the 
 beds of state were made and finished in the house. The meats 
 were very neat, and not gross; no servants in livery attended, but 
 those called gentlemen only; and, in the several kinds, even down 
 to the small beer, nothing could be more choice than that table was. 
 It was an oblong, and not an oval; and the duchess, with her two 
 daughters only, sat at the upper end. If the gentlemen chose a 
 glass of wine, the civil offers were made to go down into the vaults, 
 which were very large and sumptuous, or servants, at a sign given, 
 attended with salvers, &c., and many a brisk went round about; but 
 no sitting at table with tobacco and healths, as the common use is.” 
 
 Vide Roger Nortu’s “ Lire oF Lorp-KEEPER GUILDFORD.” 
 
A LADY TO CARVE. Wo 
 
 But that the Lord-Keeper would have required 
 his wife to carve at his ceremonious banquets, 
 had she survived the date of his instalment in 
 the Marble Chair, readers may learn from Roger’s 
 account of his grandest brother’s hospitalities. 
 When the keeper of ‘the pestiferous lump of 
 metal” gave a dinner, Roger—who, though a 
 fairly successful barrister and Recorder of Bristol, 
 was also his lordship’s accountant and major-domo 
 —used to sit at the head of the table, ‘‘ for want 
 of a lady to carve.” Save as a chief retainer of 
 his lordship’s household, bound to make himself 
 generally useful, Roger had no title to so high a 
 place, nor any disposition to take it without special 
 permission.* John North, the Master of Trinity 
 College, Cambridge, besides insisting that the ladies 
 of the upper table were bound to carve, was also of 
 opinion that they ougbt to carve expeditiously. Iu 
 early manhood, long before he became a nervous 
 
 * “ His lordship’s custom was after dinner to retire with his com- 
 pany, which were nota few, and of the best quality in town, into a 
 withdrawing-room, and the tea-table followed, where his youngest 
 brother officiated, and him his lordship set at the head of the table, 
 for want of a lady to carve. His suppers were in another room, 
 and where some of his best friends, and some (painted) enemies 
 ordinarily assembled. And this he thought the best refreshment 
 the whole day afforded him; and before twelve he retired, and 
 after a touch of his music, went to bed, his musician not leaving 
 
 him till he was composed.”— Vide Rogur Nortn’s “ Lire or Lorp- 
 
 KeEPER GUILDFORD.” 
 
176 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 valetudinarian and magnate of the university, John 
 North used to make mirth at the dinners and 
 suppers of the best houses of Charles the Second’s 
 town by noisily demanding that “the ladies at 
 the upper end of the table” should handle their 
 carving-knives briskly, or else with fit humility 
 ‘“come down to their proper places at the lower 
 end.”* <A free talker in “fit company,’ and a 
 young divine, seeking preferment at the Merry 
 Monarch’s court by a loquacious sprightliness 
 that would not now-a-days recommend a clergy- 
 man to the distributors of ecclesiastical patronage, 
 Jack North prided himself on his smartness in 
 bantering womankind. More than one great lady 
 learnt from him “that of all the beasts of the 
 field God Almighty thought woman the fittest 
 companion for man.” 
 
 * “And I might,” says Roger of the young Cantabrigian fellow, 
 ““mention some ladies with whom he pretended to be innocently 
 merry and free; and indeed more so (often) than welcome, as when 
 he touched the pre-eminencies of their sex. As for instance, saying 
 that of all the beasts of the field, God Almighty thought woman the 
 fittest companion for man. I have known him demand of the ladies 
 at the upper end of the table, by right of their sitting there, that 
 they would carve for him. ‘ Else,’ said he, ‘let them come down to 
 the places at the lower end.’ These passages and the like show 
 somewhat of his humour, which made him very popular with the 
 ladies and young company. for, notwithstanding all his serious- 
 ness and study, none ever was more agreeably talkative, in fit com- 
 pany, than he was.”—Vide Roger Nortn’s “ Lire or Dr. Joun 
 Norru.” 
 
es 9 
 
 rope «i ~~) i A oe 
 
 i = Pe = G 
 
 ee 
 
 THE OLOSET OF RARITIES. LZZ 
 
 When they had been thus appointed to officiate 
 as distributors of meat, even as their precursors of 
 
 the Anglo-Saxon period had distributed bread, 
 
 Hneglish gentlewomen of the seventeenth century 
 were instructed by school-mistresses and professors 
 of etiquette as to the ways in which it behoved them 
 to carve joints. That she might be able to grasp 
 a roast chicken without greasing her left hand, the 
 gentle housewife was careful to trim its feet and the 
 lower part of its legs with cut paper. To preserve 
 the cleanness of her fingers, the same covering was 
 put on those parts of joints which the carver usually 
 
 touched with the left hand, whilst the right made play 
 
 with the shining blade.” The paper-frill which may 
 still be seen round the bony point and small end of a | 
 leo of mutton, is a memorial of the ‘fashion in which 
 joints were dressed for the dainty hands of lady- 
 carvers, in time prior to the introduction of the 
 carving-fork, an implement that was not in universal 
 use so late as the Commonwealth, when the author 
 
 of “Lady Rich’s Closet,’ (1653) admonished 
 
 gentlewomen to adopt the convenient instrument, 
 
 in defiance of acommon prejudice. ‘“ In carving at 
 
 your own table,” says the author of that enter- 
 
 taining work to the ‘ingenious gentlewoman of the 
 period,’ “distribute the best pieces first; and it 
 will appear very comely and decent to use a fork; 
 so touch no meat without it.” 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 By the same competent teacher, the “ ingenious 
 gentlewoman” of a troublous time was instructed 
 on other points of good manners. She was told to 
 sit at table with a straight body, and, even though 
 she were an aunt, to refrain from resting her elbows 
 on the table-cloth. She might not *‘ by ravenous 
 gesture display a voracious appetite.” If she talked 
 whilst eating, or ‘‘ smacked like a pig,’ or swal- 
 lowed *‘ spoon-meat so hot” as to bring tears into 
 her eyes, she would be taken for an underbred 
 person, even though she were an earl’s daughter. 
 
 Shunning the appearance of greediness, she should — 
 
 also avoid such squeamishness as was exhibited by 
 the gentlewoman who ate her peas singly, or by 
 the half-pea at a time, and was horrified at the 
 suggestion that she should take them by the 
 spoonful. She was warned still more emphatic- 
 ally not to drink herself out of breath, so that to 
 recover herself she would have to ‘“ blow strongly.” 
 ‘Throwing down your liquor,” says the “accom- 
 plished Lady Rich,” with no excessive severity, ‘as 
 into a funnel, is an action fitter for a juggler than a 
 gentlewoman.’’* 
 
 * “A gentlewoman, being at table abroad or at home, must 
 
 observe to keep her body straight, and lean not by any means with 
 
 her elbow, nor by ravenous gesture discover a voracious appetite. 
 Talk not when you have meat in your mouth, and do not smack like 
 a pig, nor venture to eat spoon-meat so hot that the tears stand in 
 
 your eyes; which is as unseemly as the gentlewoman who pretended 
 
 ¢ ae 
 
HIGH LIFE IN HOLLAND. 179 
 
 Whilst English society sat at meals, with the 
 women at the upper and the men at the lower end 
 of the table, the author of **A Brief Character of 
 the Low Countries under the States” (1652), 
 informed his readers that the Dutch, with better 
 taste and more gallantry, intermingled the sexes, 
 so that every lady had on either hand a gentleman 
 to amuse her with gossip, and relieve her of the 
 labour of carving. ‘They sit not,” said the des- 
 criber of high life in the Low Countries, “as we in 
 Kngland, men together and women first, but ever 
 intermingled with a man between, and instead of 
 marchpanes and such juncates, it’s good manners, 
 if any there be, to carry away a piece of apple-pie 
 in your pocket.” Originating in a time when 
 fashion had discredited the ancient custom that 
 permitted guests to pocket marchpanes and sweet- 
 
 to have as little a stomach as she had a mouth, and therefore would 
 not swallow her peas by spoonsfnl, but took them one by one, and 
 cut them into two before she could eat them. It is very uncomely 
 to drink so large a draught that your breath is almost gone, and are 
 forced to blow strongly to recover yourself; throwing down your 
 liquor as into a funnel, is an action fitter for a juggler than a gentle- 
 woman. Thus much for our observations in general. If I am 
 defective in particulars, your own prudence, discretion, and curious 
 observations will supply. In carving at your own table, distribute 
 the best pieces first; and it will appear very comely and decent to 
 use a fork; so touch no meat without it.”— Vide “'lHr ACCOMPLISHED 
 Lavy Ricu’s Cxoset or Raritizs; or, Ingenious Gentlewoman’s 
 Delightful Companion.” 1653. 
 N 2 
 
180 A BOOK :ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 meats, the saying “ Hat what you like, but pocket 
 none,’ is a comparatively modern maxim. 
 
 In olden time, carvers at table had to observe 
 nice rules in discharging their functions. Besides 
 distributing the best pieces first, they were required 
 to distribute them amongst the guests of first 
 quality, and with intelligent regard for the laws of 
 heraldic precedence. The greatest man at the feast 
 had an indefensible title to the liver wing of a 
 chicken, and to the thigh of a woodcock; and his 
 wife might feel affronted if she were helped after a 
 lady of inferior quality. At a later date, fashion 
 required the carver to consult the special taste of 
 each guest before helping him to a cut of sirloin or 
 a piece of game. Dr. Kitchiner, however, had the 
 good sense to decry these nice formalities of a too 
 ceremonious etiquette, and to insist that the carver 
 should make expedition rather than politeness his 
 first object. ‘‘ To effect this,’ he urged, ‘* fill the 
 plates and send them round, instead of asking each 
 individual if they choose soup, fish, &c., or what 
 particular part they prefer, for, as they cannot be all 
 choosers, you will thus escape making any invidious 
 distinctions. A dexterous carver (especially if he 
 be possessed with that determined enemy to 
 ceremony and sauce, a keen appetite), will help 
 half-a-dozen people in half the time one of your 
 would-be-thought polite folks wastes in making 
 
RELIOS OF PAST MANNERS. 181 
 
 civil compliments.” ‘To save time, the doctor recom- 
 mended that poultry, especially turkeys and geese, 
 should be sent to table ready cut up. When the 
 author of *‘ The Cook’s Oracle” gave this advice, 
 he little imagined how near was the time when the 
 carving-knives would be removed from the table, 
 and the carver’s work would be done by waiters at 
 a sideboard. 
 
 Together with the carving-knife and carving-fork, 
 other implements vanished from the table; the 
 unsightly ‘‘ rests” on which the carver reposed his 
 weapons during the intermissions of his industry ; 
 and the long, pointed “ steel’? on which he sharpened 
 his blade with clattering noise, like a butcher pre- 
 paring to serve customers at his stall. These 
 articles may, indeed, still be seen on the tables of 
 old-fashioned folk; but they deserve mention in a 
 work which will be popular reading long after they 
 have become curious relics of past manners, and 
 shall be found on collectors’ shelves of social anti- 
 quities, by the side of snuff-bottles, decanter-slides, 
 and tinder-boxes. | 
 
 The Dutch fashion of placing men and women 
 alternately at table having been adopted by our 
 ancestors towards the close of the seventeenth 
 century, it was not long ere the toils of carving 
 passed from the gentler sex to more. muscular 
 hands. Retaining the honour of an office to which 
 
182 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 she had imparted dignity, the lady of the house 
 relinquished its labour to the men at her side; and 
 together with the honour, she kept the seat which 
 had been conceded to her as a handler of the great 
 knife. 
 
 That her presence in that throne of honour con- 
 tributes largely to the success of a dinner, Brillat- 
 Savarin bore testimony with proper enthusiasm. 
 The same critical epicure also maintained that whilst 
 she gave splendour and animation to the repast, the 
 luxuries of the table heightened her beauty and 
 rendered her charms less perishable. ‘* La gour- 
 mandise,”’ says the Frenchman, “ est favorable a la 
 beauté.”’ And he adds, ** Une suite d’observations 
 exactes et rigoureuses a démontré qu’un régime 
 succulent, délicat, et soigné repousse longtemps et 
 bien loin les apparences extérieures de la vieillesse 
 
 . il est également vrai de dire que, toutes 
 choses égales, ceux qui savent manger sont com- 
 parativement de dix ans plus jeunes que ceux A qui 
 cette science est étrangére.”’ 
 
 Less gallant than the gastronomic lawyer, Grimod 
 de la Reynicre held that women were out of place in 
 the company of feasting epicures, whose attention 
 should not be diverted from beautiful things on to 
 lovely creatures at the table. After coffee, the fair 
 sex might resume their rights, which fell into abey- 
 ance during a grand meal. But fine gentleman 
 
* 
 
 HIGHER EDUCATION OF WOMEN. 183 
 
 though he was, M. de la Reynitre was a vulgarian 
 at table, who did not blush to declare that ceremo- 
 nious politeness should be banished from the festal 
 board. ‘Toutes les cérémonies,” he says, * lors- 
 qu'on est a table vont toujours au détriment du 
 diner. Le grand point c’est de manger chaud, pro- 
 prement, long-temps, et beaucoup.” 
 
 Whilst Brillat-Savarin wished woman to partici- 
 pate in the finer pleasures of the table, in order that 
 she should enhance and preserve her beauty, Louis 
 Hustache Ude, whilom chef to Louis XVI. and the 
 Harl of Sefton, urged that the young ladies of noble 
 houses should be brought at early age to their 
 parent’s tables, for the education of their palates, 
 and for the development of gastronomic taste. Hven 
 more than from the English fog, which depressed 
 his spirits, and from the prejudices of the Hnelish 
 physicians, who held his art in contempt bordering 
 on abhorrence, Ude suffered from the coldness and 
 indifference which the women of our aristocracy ex- 
 hibited to his special pursuit. Alike in gourmandise 
 and friandise,* he found them deficient in sensibility 
 
 * La gourmandise est une préférence passionnée, raisonnée, et 
 habituelle pour les objets qui flattent le gott. La gourmandise est 
 ennemie des excés; tout homme qui sindigére ou s’enivre court 
 risque d’étre rayé des contréles. La gourmandise comprend aussi la 
 friandise, qui n’est autre que la méme préférence appliquée aux mets 
 
 légers, délicats, de peu de volume, aux confitures, aux patisseries, 
 
 etc. C’est une modification introduite en faveur des femmes et des 
 
184 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 and enthusiasm. ‘The ladies of Hngland,” he 
 wrote towards the close of his beneficent career, 
 ‘are unfavourably disposed to our art; yet I find 
 no difficulty in assigning the cause of it. It is par-. 
 ticularly the case with them (and indeed it is so in 
 
 some measure with our own sex) that they are 
 not introduced to their parents’ table till their 
 
 ie: SE le ae ate 
 
 palates have been completely benumbed by the 
 strict diet observed in the nursery and boarding- 
 
 ee Dp ee 
 
 schools.” } 
 
 Since Louis Hustache Ude wrote thus feelingly on 
 a subject for deep regret, the culinary education of 
 our womankind, instead of improving, has greatly 
 deteriorated. Whilst their organs of taste are still 
 torpefied by a restricted diet, consisting chiefly of 
 mutton and bread and butter, our gentle girls re- 
 ceive no systematic instruction in cookery and the 
 mysteries of the kitchen, in the period of expanding 
 intelligence that intervenes between scholastic disci- 
 pline and marriage. Whatever fragmentary know- 
 ledge they possess of these high matters, has been 
 picked up at rout-suppers and clandestine visits to. 
 the housekeeper’s room. Their grandmothers seldom 
 survived their teens without acquiring at least a 
 superficial acquaintance with the theory and prac- 
 tice of the “generous art.” But now-a-days not 
 
 hommes qui leur ressemblent.”—Vide Brintat-Savarin’s ‘‘ PHyYsio- 
 LOGIE DU Gout.” 
 
; THE SCHOOL OF COOKERY. " 185 
 
 one young gentlewoman in a hundred can make an 
 omelette or cook a sole au gratin. Misfortune has 
 attended several attempts to establish seminaries for 
 the sufficient instruction of womankind in the affairs 
 of the table. The change of fashion, which degraded 
 carving from the rank of the elegant accomplish- 
 ments, gave the coup de grace to the Beak Street 
 Academy, where, so late as thirty years since, a 
 young lady on the eve of her marriage might ac- 
 quire the art of cutting meat, in a course of twelve 
 lessons, at a guinea a lesson, exclusive of the cost 
 of the viands on which she operated. A similar 
 fate befell the Berners Street School of Cookery, 
 which gave its grandest dinner on the day that saw 
 Alexandra of Denmark pass through London on 
 her triumphal way to Windsor and wedlock. The 
 South Kensington School of Cookery opened under 
 fairer auspices, but hitherto Professor Buckmaster’s 
 zeal and ability aave barely preserved it from the 
 failure which usually follows ridicule. 
 
186 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 FORKS AND NAPERY. 
 
 ‘Here I will mention a thing that might have been spoken of 
 before in the discourse of the first Italian towne. I observed a 
 custome in all those Italian cities and townes through which I passed, 
 that is not used in any other country that I saw in my travels, neither 
 do I thinke that any other nation of Christendome doth use it, but 
 only Italy. The Italian, and also most strangers that are commo- 
 rant in Italy, do alwaies at their meates use a little forke when they 
 cut their meat. For while with their knife which they hold in one 
 hand, they cut the meate out of the dish, they fasten their forke, which 
 they hold in the other hand, upon the same dish; so that whatsoever 
 he be that sitteth in the company of any others at meals, should un- 
 advisedly touch the dishe of meate with his fingers from which all at 
 the table doe cut, he will give occasion of offence unto the company, 
 as having transgressed the lawes of good manners, insomuch that for 
 his error he shalle be at least brow-beaten if not reprehended in 
 wordes. This form of feeding, I understand, is generally used in 
 all places of Italy; their forkes being for the most of yron or steele, 
 and some silver, but those are used only by gentlemen. The reason 
 of their curiosity is, because the Italian cannot by any means indure 
 to have his dish touched with fingers, seeing that all men’s fingers 
 are not alike cleane. Hereupon I myselfe thought good to imitate 
 the Italian fashion by this forked cutting of meate, not only while I 
 was in Italy, but also in Germany, and oftentimes in England since I 
 came home, being once quipped for that frequent using of my forke 
 by a certain learned gentleman, a familiar friend of mine, one Mr. 
 Lawrence Whitaker, who in his merry humour doubted not to call 
 me Furcifer only for using a fork at feeding, but for no other 
 cause.” —Vide Tomas Coryate’s ‘“ CRUDITIEs.” 
 
 * TAINGERS were made before forks,” says the 
 
 familiar adage that had its origin in the 
 warm disdain with which our ancestors of the 
 
PRIMITIVE POT-HOOKS. 187 
 
 seventeenth century repudiated the Italian table- 
 fork as a fantastic and even impious contrivance. 
 The ancient people of the world fingered their 
 cooked meat, and it was only at a quite recent date 
 that the modern peoples adopted the pronged tool 
 by which we convey food to the mouth without 
 soiling the hand. 
 
 Products of necessity, the first culinary forks 
 were devised for the benefit of artistes bent on 
 withdrawing sodden flesh from a boiling cauldron. 
 The Greek creagra—a staff, fitted at the lower end 
 with a hook, or with prongs that bore a distant re- 
 semblance to human fingers—was a rude pot-fork, 
 which, though greatly serviceable to cooks, would 
 have been of no convenience to a reclining gour- 
 mand. Possessing several varieties of this kitehen 
 tool, the Romans, notwithstanding their care for 
 the caprice as well as for the comfort of epicurean 
 feasters, never produced a table fork, though it was 
 more needed by the ancient, whose recumbent 
 posture deprived him of the use of one arm, than 
 by the medizvalist who, sitting at meat, could 
 serve his mouth with both hands. Caylus and 
 Grignon, indeed, maintain that table-forks were not 
 absolutely unknown to the imperial gastronomers ; 
 but their opinion, which never had the testimony of 
 sufficient facts, has been altogether discredited. 
 Had the luxurions Romans been users of forks, 
 
188 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 some specimens of the implement would certainly 
 have been found in the ruins of Herculaneum and 
 Pompeii. 
 
 But though they fed themselves with their fingers, 
 it must not be imagined that the medievalists 
 were altogether fork-less. Forty years since, a 
 fork of Anglo-Saxon manufacture was discovered 
 in Wiltshire, under circumstances which leave no 
 room for doubt that it was made at least as early 
 as the later part of the ninth centnry. Another 
 Anglo-Saxon fork, described in Akerman’s Pagan 
 Savondom, is a bone-handled implement that some 
 foppish Thane may have used to the mingled sur- 
 prise and contempt of his simpler acquaintances. 
 And from that period to the close of the Tudor 
 time, there is evidence that our ancestors had a 
 few forks, long before they were commonly placed 
 on the English table, and regarded as necessary 
 articles of furniture. Queen Elizabeth had at 
 least three forks, one of “crystal, garnished 
 with gold, and sparks of garnets; another of coral, 
 shehtly garnished with gold; and a third of gold 
 garnished with two little rubies, two little pearls 
 pendant, and a little coral.” But it is obvious 
 that these daintily set and jewelled tools were never 
 meant for serious use. Presents from courtiers 
 who sought her royal smile with gifts curious 
 for their costly whimsicalness, her Highness re- 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH’S FORKS. 189 
 
 garded them as toys for the casket, or cabinet, 
 rather than as tools for the table. She may have 
 used one of them to pick a sweetmeat or a 
 candied fruit from a dish of syrup; but it cer- 
 tainly never occurred to her to put them into 
 gobbets of venison, or the breast of a Michaelmas 
 goose. ‘l’o the last, whether eating in public or 
 private, the virgin-queen fingered her victuals, and 
 would have imputed sheer madness to any courtier 
 who had prophesied. that, ere another century 
 had passed, no queen of England would be able 
 to do likewise without rousing the disgust of 
 all beholders of her incivility. As for her fair 
 cousin, Mary of Scotland—that paragon of feminine 
 delicacy and winsomness to manufacturers of his- 
 torical romance—it is probable that her little 
 head fell from her neck, ere her eyes had seen 
 even a toy-fork. 
 
 Whilst the spoon was the only implement used 
 in feeding the mouth, entertainers were not re- 
 quired to provide the guest with one. Whether 
 he came for a month or a day, to a series of 
 banquets or a single repast every guest always 
 brought his spoon in his pocket. Never travelling 
 without the implement, which was as universal 
 a piece of personal equipment as a _ watch 
 is at the present time, the modish man of olden 
 England no sooner found himself seated at a 
 
190 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 strange board than, taking his ‘spoon-case from 
 its place of concealment, he exhibited the spoon, 
 which had usually been given him by one of his 
 baptismal sponsors. It was the same with women 
 and children. When everyone used a spoon,’ and 
 hosts seldom thought of providing spoons, the spoon 
 was a piece of portable property that went wherever 
 its owner went.* 
 
 As to shape, the most common was the apostle 
 spoon, 1.e., the spoon whose handle was fashioned 
 in the likeness of one of the apostles. Spoons so 
 made were usually given at christenings by spiritual 
 parents to their spiritual children; richer sponsors 
 giving an entire set of twelve spoons, whilst the 
 less opulent or liberal god-parent gave a set of 
 four, or a single spoon. The gift, besides being 
 typical of the material abundance which the 
 sponsor of course desired for the child of grace, 
 and being fashioned so as to remind him in after 
 years at every mealof his religious obligations, was 
 also an eminently useful present in the days when 
 
 * Only a few years since it was usual with the keepers of boarding- 
 schools to require each of their pupils to bring a spoon, or a spoon 
 and fork, for his or her special use. This’ practice, still maintained 
 in a few old-fashioned schools, is the ‘ survival” of the once 
 universal fashion that required guests to bring their own table 
 implements to their entertainer’s board. As spoons became cheaper 
 and more plentiful, the custom became less and less general; and 
 at present its observance, even amongst school-children, is not 
 
 common. 
 
SPOONS AND MUGS. 191 
 
 to go spoonless was nearly tantamount to going 
 supperless, since the person without a spoon in his 
 wallet was likely to fare badly even at a liberal 
 table. Such good reasons cannot be urged in 
 defence of the conventional christening present in 
 these days, when spoons of secular pattern are still 
 given at the font to children who are never ex- 
 pected to use them on arriving at years of discre- 
 tion. Now-a-days, the customary offering of a spoon 
 is the mere “‘ survival” (as an excellent social writer 
 would term it) of a usage that was convenient and 
 practically beneficial when spoons were not abun- 
 dant in every household. The same may be said of 
 the silver ‘‘ mug,” a gift which, when handsome 
 
 drinking vessels were not easily attainable, proved a 
 
 most useful possession to the Christian, who, having 
 
 acquired it in infancy from a godfather, used it 
 daily through his adult life for caudle, wine, or 
 ale. 
 
 Spoons were made of several materials. In the 
 rich or fairly prosperous circles they were usually of 
 silver, which was sometimes gilt. But for folk of 
 the poorer sort, spoons were made of tinned iron, 
 horn, wood, and other cheap stuff. “ll give him 
 a dozen latten spoons, and thou’ shalt translate 
 them,” Shakespeare is said to have remarked to 
 Ben Jonson, when about to stand godfather to one 
 of his fellow-poet’s children, making a pun, whose 
 
192 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 badness does not strengthen the credibility of an 
 apocryphal story. Spoons of tinned iron were 
 called latten spoons. The meanest of all spoons 
 was the wooden spoon. And it is worthy of remark 
 that this cheapest of table implements has, like the 
 spoon of precious metal, given us a pungent and 
 long-lived adage. — 
 
 To say of a man, ‘‘He was born with a silver 
 spoon in his mouth,” was equivalent to calling him 
 a prosperous fellow, whose good fortunes commenced 
 at his very birth, when he had a sponsor rich enough 
 
 to give him a silver spoon. And the meaning of — 
 
 the apt words was extended so as to cover all the 
 favourites of fortune whose good estate, in no re- 
 
 spect consequent on their own merits, came to them 
 
 in the cradle from the benevolence of other persons. 
 To remark of a man that “he had always fed him- 
 self with the wooden spoon,” implied that he was a 
 person of no account, who at any banquet would of 
 course sit ‘ below the salt’ with inferior company, 
 and fill himself with the poorer fare, as became a 
 guest armed only with a spoon of wood. When it 
 had passed from general folk-lore, this saying won a 
 special significance at the universities. At Cam- 
 bridge, to this day, the o¢cupant of the lowest place 
 in the mathematical tripos is termed ‘ the wooden 
 spoon,” 7.¢., is rated as a scholar who, when feasting 
 at the table of knowledge, sat with the users of 
 
TOURIST OF OLDEN TIMES. 193 
 
 wooden spoons, and was only allowed to help him- 
 self to the poorer fare of the hoi polloi, below the 
 salt. A propos of this mention of the salt, it may be 
 observed that the word, when applied to the choicest 
 persons of company, had a twofold meaning. Be- 
 sides implying that they gave flavour and piquancy 
 to the social mess, it also intimated that they were 
 the proper occupants of the higher places above the 
 great. salt-cellar. 
 
 Our ancestors were still feeding themselves 
 without forks, on fare something more massive 
 and heavy than the food of the mediaval cuisine, 
 when, in the time of James the First, it entered the 
 head of a Somersetshire squire to pack his traps, 
 and start for a five months’ tour in “ France, Savoy, 
 Italy, Rhetia, commonly called the Grisons country, 
 Helvetia, alias Switzerland, some parts of Germany 
 and the Netherlands.” It was a time when English 
 gentlemen seldom visited the Continent for plea- 
 sure. The Reformation had put an end to the 
 pilgrimages to Rome and Jerusalem, which made 
 travellers of so many of the English folk of our 
 ‘Catholic period. Many years had also passed since 
 English men and women had fled from the 
 Marian inquisitors to Switzerland and the Low 
 Countries. It was not yet the mode with British 
 parents to send their ‘“‘ youngsters of quality,” 
 under the guardianship of reverend bear-leaders 
 
 VOL. 1. 0 
 
194 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 for “the grand tour;” and the newest kind of 
 modern ‘‘ tourism,” with its railways and steam- 
 boats, was the unimagined fashion of a distant 
 future. 
 
 When Tom Coryate declared his purpose to see 
 the world on the other side of the English Channel, 
 and even to work his way to Italy, there was a stir 
 in “the hungry aire of Odcombe, in the county of 
 Somerset.’’ Tom’s neighbours were alarmed for 
 his health, his morals, his religion. If he were not 
 caught by the Jesuits and won over to idolatry, he 
 would return to Somersetshire with vicious manners 
 and a broken constitution. But their expostulations 
 were in vain. Like other wilful men, Mr. Coryate 
 took his own way ; and the consequences to society 
 were noteworthy. | 
 
 An epicure and lover of sights, Mr. Coryate 
 partook freely of foreign dishes, whilst he gathered 
 materials for his delightful narrative of travel. At 
 Cremona he ate frogs with gust. He drank wine 
 from the famous Heidelberg cask. At Venice he 
 saw without disapprobation women on the stage of 
 the principal theatre—“ a thing,” he remarks, 
 ‘‘that I never saw before, though I have heard 
 that it hath been sometimes used in London, and 
 _ they performed it with as good a grace, action, and 
 gesture, and whatever convenient for a player, as 
 ever I saw any masculine actor.” He saw other 
 
SOUTHERN NOVELTIES. 195 
 
 ladies, whose vocation was even more questionable 
 than that of the she-actors, and whose chopines 
 (high-heeled shoes) appeared to him worthy of 
 especial notice. But of all the Southern novelties, 
 none delighted him more completely than the 
 Italian fork, the Italian fan, and the Italian um- 
 brella. 
 
 It was left for Jonas Hanway, in the middle of 
 the following century, to emulate the courage of 
 Thomas Coryate, and repeat his triumph over 
 popular prejudice, in the eventually successful 
 battle for the sunshade and the parapluie. But to 
 Coryate belongs the honour of laying forks on the 
 English table. It may not be imagined, however, 
 that the innovation was accomplished without 
 strenuous opposition. Apt at times to wax furious 
 about. trifles, English society was pricked by the 
 pronged tool into a rage of contemptuous indigna- 
 tion which it is impossible to recall without a smile. 
 Whilst the pulpit denounced, and the stage derided 
 the new instrument, the sages of the fireside— 
 forgetting that fingers were made before knives 
 and spoons, as well as before forks—pushed the 
 novelty aside with disdainful words, placed at the 
 opening of this chapter. To the delight of his 
 hearers, an angry preacher maintained that to 
 touch meat with a fork was to declare impiously 
 that God’s comfortable ‘“ creatures”” were not 
 
 0 2 
 
196 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 worthy of being touched by human hands. Pan- 
 dering to the popular excitement, Beaumont and 
 Fletcher seasoned one of their plays with a fling 
 at the ‘ fork-carving traveller,’ whom. Lawrence 
 Whitaker had nicknamed “ furcifer,’—‘‘ only for 
 using a forke at feeding, but no other cause,” says 
 Coryate, who had enough Latin to know the precise 
 meaning of the opprobrious designation. The fight 
 between Furcifer and his foes was at its fiercest 
 heat, when Fynes Morison in his “ Itinerary,” ad- 
 vising all young travellers to avoid a bootless 
 conflict, urged them, on ‘‘ returning home, to lay 
 aside the fork of Italy,” as well as ‘ the affected 
 gesture of France and all strange apparel.” 7 
 But though it delayed, such vehement intolerance 
 could not prevent the adoption of a simple con- 
 trivance, that in course of time commended itself to 
 nice feeders of either sex, and to all orderly persons. 
 It had no effect whatever on Coryate, whose good- 
 humour equalled his daring. Decried and repudi- 
 ated by the well-dressed mob, he had no sooner 
 endured a repulse than he renewed the charge with 
 smiling face and shining steel. Fixing his fork, and 
 rushing for the thousandth time on his adversary, 
 he eventually thrust it between the teeth of 
 ‘* society.” ) 
 In his ‘‘ Cosmography” (1652) Heylin alluded to 
 
 “the use of silver forks which is by some of our 
 
ae 
 
 THE SIUVER-FORK SCHOOL. 197 
 
 spruce gallants taken up of late;” and at the same 
 
 ' time gentlewomen were admonished to use the fork 
 
 in carving. By the close of Charles the Second’s 
 reign, forks, though still derided by hinds and 
 artisans, were seen on all fairly furnished English 
 tables. — 
 
 In a museum of social curiosities a large cabinet 
 might be filled with single specimens of the various 
 forks, commonly used by our ancestors between the 
 daysof Anne and Victoria. There were forks with 
 any number of prongs between two and six. Usually 
 made of steel, they had handles of several materials, 
 and half a hundred diversities of shape. Forks with 
 green, yellow, and pink handles have disappeared, 
 
 and the steel table-fork has become an almost obso- 
 
 lete thing in these days of sham silver. The few 
 forks of Heylin’s time were for the most part of silver. 
 But the silver fork was somewhat rare till the 
 opening of the present century. As the type of 
 inferior gentility, it was used by the satirists of 
 George the Fourth’s time to designate the school of 
 super-genteel writers who fifty years since described 
 the beau-monde which they knew only by report. 
 The ‘‘silver-fork school” was contemporaneous 
 with, and closely related to, the “ Rosa Matilda’ 
 school of novelist. So late as thirty years since, 
 the introducers of the silver fork amongst our pro- 
 vincial commonalty encountered no little opposition. 
 
198 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 ‘Waiter, take away that thing and bring me a 
 fork,” a fox-hunting squire once said in our hear- 
 ing at a hunt-dinner. The thing he contemptu- 
 ously rejected was a silver fork. 
 
 The fork did much for the simplification and 
 advancement of the national cuisine by encouraging 
 the taste for solid viands and natural flavours, that 
 had been becoming more and more general since 
 the days of Elizabeth, who, holding the ancient 
 ‘“‘ callimawfreys” in low esteem, liked a “cut of 
 roast’ above all things. The ‘“ delicate slice” was 
 a thing unknown to the medigval epicures, who 
 fingered their “ gobbets,” or spooned their “ dices” 
 of meats, that to be justly appreciated should be 
 eaten in dainty slivers, thin as silk and light as 
 gossamer. The beef of Old England never had its 
 proper honour until the fork enabled the carver to 
 cut it properly. 
 
 The fork had also notable effects on the equip- 
 ment and manners of the English table. The 
 piquant author of ‘The Art of Dining,” remarks 
 of the Roman epicures, “Tt is quite frightful to 
 think how they must have slobbered their long 
 beards and togas, in conveying food from the table 
 to the mouths without forks .... and it is diffi- 
 cult to conceive how they could manage to drink at 
 all, unless they sat up as the goblet was passed to 
 them.” Our medieval ancestors had a great advan- 
 
MADAME EGLENTINE. 199 
 
 tage over the Romans in their adoption of a posture 
 that left both hands free for action. But one part 
 of Mr. Hayward’s animadversion on the Apician 
 gourmands is applicable to the English ‘ quality” 
 of all times, prior to the general use of the pronged 
 tool. Dining in olden England must have been a 
 distressingly sloppy process, when the rude feaster 
 grabbed the choicest bits from dishes brimming 
 with thick gravy, and the nicest feeder, after taking 
 a gobbet of flesh, dipped it into the sauce-bowl 
 before he carried the dripping morsel over the 
 table-cloth to his lips. During the prevalence of 
 such manners, the noble dame or damoiselle was 
 commended for exemplary breeding, who dipped 
 only the tips of her fingers in the sauce-dish, and 
 contrived to eat her dinner without letting frag- 
 ments of meat fall from her lips upon the table- 
 cloth. Chaucer says of Madame Helentine, the ex- 
 emplary Prioress, 
 
 * At mete was she wele ytaughte withalle; 
 She lette no morsel from her lippes falle, 
 Ne wette hire fingeres with her sauce depe. ~ 
 Wel coulde she carie a morsel, and wel kepe, 
 That no drope ne fell upon hire brest. 
 In curtesie was sette full moche hire lest, 
 Hire over-lippe wiped she so clene, 
 
 . That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene 
 Of grese, when she dronken hadde hire draught. 
 Ful semely after hire mete she raught.” 
 
200 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 So long as she did not plunge her hand deep in the 
 gravy, the poet admitted ber right to thrust her sop 
 in the pan, even though she greased the tips of her 
 
 fingers in doing so. 
 
 A better novelist than antiquary, Alexander 
 Dumas committed a prodigious blunder in the 
 ‘* Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine,”’ when he asserted 
 that table-cloths and, napkins were unknown in 
 France much before the 13th century. ‘‘ Le linge,” 
 wrote the daring and indiscreet Alexandre, “ sur- 
 tout Je beau linge, ne fit que trés tard son appari- 
 tion en France. La propreté est le résultat, et non 
 le présage, de la civilization. Nos belles dames du 
 XIII*. et du XIV*. siécle, aux pieds desquelles s’age- 
 
 * Alexandre is less unfortunate in telling an old story to illustrate — 
 a use to which the napkin was often put by angry gentlemen at 
 table-quarrels. “Alors s’établit,” he says, “en France un usage 
 singulier, celui de couper la nappe devant eux qu’on voulait défier 
 ou a quion voulait faire un reproche de bassesse ou de lacheté. 
 Charles VI., le jour de ’Epiphanie, avait a table plusieurs convives 
 illustres, parmi lesquels se trouvait Guillaume de Hainault, comte 
 d’Ostrevant. Tout-a-coup un héraut vint trancher la nappe devant 
 le comte, en lui disant qu’un prince qui ne portait pas d’armes 
 n’était pas digne de manger @ la table du roi, Guillaume répondit 
 gue, comme les autres seigneurs, il portait l’écu, la lance, et Pépée., 
 ‘Non, sire,’ répondit le héraut, ‘ cela est impossible; car votre oncle a 
 été tué par les Frisons, et jusqu’a ce jour cependant sa mort est 
 restée impunie; certes, si vous possédiez des armes, il y a longtemps 
 quwil serait vengé.” ‘To cast a gauntlet at a man was to declare 
 him an enemy to be fought: to throw a napkin at him was to | 
 intimate that he was a dirty fellow who needed washing. 
 
TABLE LINEN, 201 
 
 nouillérent Jes Galaor, les Amadis, et les Lancelot 
 du Lace, il faut bien avouer, non-seulement n’avaient 
 pas de chemise la plupart du temps, mais ne les 
 connaissaient point. Les nappes, déja employées 
 du temps d’ Auguste, avaient disparu et n’étendirent 
 sur nos tables leur blanche surface que vers le 
 XIII’. siécle, et encore seulement chez les princes 
 et chez les rois.”’ 
 
 The Roman cuisine necessitated the continual use 
 of napkins. The Augustan dandies were fanciful 
 about their hand-towels, which were often stolen 
 from their owners by such parasites as Hermogenes 
 who, at a banquet without napkins, gratified his 
 cleptomaniacal propensity by running off with the 
 table-cloth. — 
 
 “ Attulerat mappam nemo, dum furta timentur, 
 
 Mantile e mensa surpuit Hermogenes. 
 
 Another stealer of napkins was the Asinius whom 
 Catullus handed over to comical infamy. In “ The 
 Last Days of Pompeii,” Lord Lytton called atten- 
 tion to the napkins of delicate linen with purple 
 fringe, which Glaucus provided for his friends, and 
 to the ediles special napkin, which he drew forth 
 with the ostentation of a rich parvenu. 
 
 The peoples, who adopted the Apician code after 
 the fall of Rome, were no less particular in respect 
 to their table-linen. Plebeians were of course con- 
 
202 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 tent to lick their fingers as well as their platters; 
 but medizval ‘ society,” alike in its earlier period 
 and strictly feudal time, never grudged the cost of 
 clean board-cloths and towels. The Anglo-Saxons 
 spread their tables with pure napery; and from the 
 Conquest to the era of the English Stuarts, our’ 
 forefathers of the higher grades used table-linen 
 lavishly, and made much parade of washing before 
 and after meat. The sloppiness of their repasts 
 forbade them to do otherwise. We have already 
 seen how, in feudal England, the surnappe was put 
 over the laid table, and how the lord laved his 
 hands in assayed water, on the removal of the sur- 
 cloth. At the conclusion of the meal, the spoons 
 and dishes having been removed, the surnappe 
 was drawn over the soiled table-cloth, when the 
 satisfied feasters washed from their lips and hands 
 the uncleanness which they had necessarily con- 
 tracted during the banquet. It was the special 
 office of the ewerer and his subordinates to provide 
 lavers and linen for this purpose. 
 
 In these times of no forks and much washing at 
 meat, the napkin, as a thing. to be used rather than 
 trifled with, was produced in a form convenient to 
 the feaster actually needing it. ‘The case was other- 
 wise when the fork had made eating a pastime from 
 which a fairly careful feeder could retire without 
 wishing to cleanse his hands. No longer a necessity, 
 
‘FOR FOLDING NAPKINS. 203 
 
 the napkin became a mere ornament and thing of 
 ceremony; and in their desire to use it for decora- 
 tive effect, the article which was no longer required 
 for positive cleanliness, the Restoration chefs dis- 
 
 played curious ingenuity in folding it in new 
 
 ways. 
 
 Charles the Second’s favourite artiste, Giles Rose, 
 the chef who succeeded to Robert May’s honours and 
 prophetic mantle, gave his “ officers of the mouth” 
 minute instructions for folding dinner napkins in 
 twenty-six different fashions. On referring to the 
 ** Perfect School of Instructions for Officers of the 
 Mouth, by Giles Rose, one of the Master-Cooks In 
 
 His Majestie’s Kitchen’? (1682), the reader may 
 
 learn how, 
 
 1. To frise a napkin. 
 
 2. To fold a napkin in bands. ° 
 
 3. To pleat a napkin in the form of a cockle-shell 
 double. 
 
 4, To do the same single. 
 
 5. To pleat or fold a napkin in the form of a 
 double melon. 
 
 6. To fold a napkin in the form of a melon 
 single. 
 
 7. To fold a napkin in the fashion of a cock. 
 
 8. To pleat a napkin in the form of a hen. 
 
 9. To fold and pleat a napkin in the form of a 
 hen and chickens. 
 
204 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 10. To fold a napkin like two pullets. 
 
 11. ‘To fold a napkin in the form of a pigeon upon 
 her nest in a basket. | 
 
 12. To pleat a napkin in the form of a partridge. 
 
 13. To pleat a napkin in the form of a pheasant. 
 
 14. To fold a napkin in the form of two capons 
 in a pye. 
 
 15. To fold a napkin like a hare. 
 
 16. To fold a napkin like two rabbits. 
 
 17. To fold a napkin hke a sucking pig. 
 
 18. To fold a napkin like a dog with a “ choller” 
 about his neck. 
 
 19. To fold a napkin like a pike. 
 
 20. To fold a napkin in the form of a carp. 
 
 21. To fold a napkin hke a turbot. 
 
 22. To fold a napkin like a mitre. 
 
 23. To fold a napkin like a turkey. 
 
 24. To fold a napkin lke a tortoise. 
 
 25. To fold a napkin in the fashion of a cross, 
 like the Order of the Holy Ghost. 
 
 26. To make the cross of Lorraine. 
 
 In Ben Jonson’s “ Devil’s an Ass” (Act. V., scene 
 4), Meercraft speaks of 
 
 “The laudable use of forks, 
 Brought into custom here as they are in Italy, 
 
 T'o the sparing of napkins.” 
 
 So early was it seen that the adoption of the fork 
 
 would spare napkins, by greatly diminishing the 
 
 Po ee ee ee 
 
A STRANGE OMISSION. 205 
 
 need for them, And forks had not been for many 
 years in use ere they had the effect predicted by the 
 dramatist. Napkins disappeared from the tables of 
 economical housekeepers, who, before the introduc- 
 tion of the fork, would have deemed them indis- 
 pensable for decency and cleanliness. And the few, 
 still placed on more sumptuous tables, showed by 
 their fantastic and complicating foldings that they 
 were exhibited only for ornament. To “undo” a 
 napkin folded lke a turkey was to destroy a work 
 of art; and in Charles the Second’s time the young 
 spark who was guilty of such a demolition of a 
 beautiful object, would have offended his host, 
 whilst infuriating his host’s butler. 
 
 Napkins were retiring before the victorious forks, 
 when, in an early year of Charles the Second’s 
 actual reign, Samuel Pepys went to the Guildhall 
 banquet mentioned in the last chapter. His place 
 was at the Merchant-strangers’ table, and, on seeing 
 it unprovided with napkins, he was disposed to im- 
 pute the strange omission to his entertainer’s nig- 
 gardliness and incivility. ‘* At noon,” he wrote in 
 his Journal, “I went to Guildhall, and, meeting 
 with Mr. Proby, Sir R. Ford’s son, and Lieutenant- 
 Colonel Baron, a city commander, we went up and 
 down to see the tables, where, under every salt, 
 there was a bill of fare, and at the end of the table 
 the persons proper for the table. Many were the 
 
206 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 tables, but none in the Hall, but the Mayor’s and 
 the Lords of the Privy Council, that had napkins or 
 knives, which was very strange.” A few years 
 later young Mr. Pepys would have seen nothing re- 
 markable in this distinction between the chief and 
 ordinary tables. And even in 1663 he would have 
 been less surprised at it, had he known the town as 
 well as he knew it after. a longer study of its 
 humours. 
 
 He had, of course, entered the Hall with his best 
 spoon and spoon-case in his pocket. Already prid-— 
 ing himself on his modishness, he was doubtless 
 provided with a fork, an implement which every 
 velvet-wearing gallant by that time carried to 
 private banquet or public ordinary. For the absence 
 of knife and napkin he could have accounted readily, 
 had he been aware of the change of fashion with 
 respect to those articles. While napkins were fall- 
 ing into comparative disuse, it was becoming more 
 and more usual for the ‘‘ diner-out” to carry on his 
 person a case fitted with a knife as well as witha 
 fork and spoon. Sir Antony Bateman, the Lord 
 Mayor, was no mere citizen in high office. Belong- 
 ing to a gentle family, that moved in the brightest 
 circles of the town, he affected the newest fashions, 
 and had probably ordered his butler to set the table 
 in West-End style. The chief servant may be pre- 
 sumed to have withheld the napkins from the in- 
 
SIR ANTONY’S VINDICATION. 207 
 
 ferior tables in obedience to some such order. He 
 also forbore to lay knives, because he assumed, in 
 his politeness, that the gentlemen of the city would 
 bring their own case-knives, and would rather use 
 them than such old-fashioned weapons as were 
 stored in the buttery of the Guildhall. The liberality 
 of the fare provided for the Merchant-strangers for- 
 bids us to attribute the absence of napkins to par- 
 simony. Pepys admits that each mess at his table 
 had “‘ ten good dishes,” with ‘“ plenty of wine of all 
 sorts.” Nor is the imputation of stinginess sus- 
 tained adequately by the fact that the dishes were 
 *‘ wooden,” and the drinking vessels of earthenware. 
 Plate was scarce in England so soon after the Civil 
 war, which had brought thousands upon thousands 
 of silver spoons, tankards, and dishes to the melt- 
 ing-pot. And the civic store-rooms had no sufi- 
 cient supply of glass for several hundreds of 
 feasters, when the gentlemen of the Inns of Court 
 were wont to eat off wooden trenchers and drink 
 from pots of wood or earth. The cost of the ban- 
 quet being some £800, a sum equal to £7000 of 
 modern money, Pepys’ insinuations of niggardliness 
 were absurdly groundless. 
 
 The last diner-out to bring his own knife, fork, 
 and spoon to an epicure’s table was Mr. Pelham, 
 the record of whose doings in the world of fashion 
 was one of Lord Lytton’s earliest literary achieve- 
 
208 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 ments. Every reader of “‘ Pelham’’ remembers how 
 the hero of that capital novel exhibited his case and 
 its tools to the delighted Lord Guloseton. ‘It con- 
 tains,’’ he said, eloquently, to the noble bon-viwant, 
 ‘“my spoon, my knife, my fork. Nature afflicted 
 me with a propensity which, through these ma- 
 chines, I have endeavoured to remedy by art. I 
 eat with too great a rapidity. It is a most un- 
 happy failing; for one often hurries over in one 
 minute what ought to have afforded the fullest de- 
 light for the period of fwe. It is, indeed, a vice © 
 which deadens enjoyment, as well as abbreviates it; 
 it is a shameful waste of the gifts, and a melancholy 
 perversion of the bounty of Providence. My con- 
 science tormented me; but the habit, fatally in- 
 dulged in early childhood, was not easy to over- 
 come. At last I resolved to construct a spoon of 
 peculiarly shallow dimensions, a fork so small that 
 it would only raise a certain portion to my mouth, 
 and a kmife rendered blunt and jagged, so that it 
 required a proper and just time to carve the goods 
 ‘the gods provide me.’ My lord, ‘the lovely Thais 
 sits beside me’ in.the form of a bottle of Madeira. 
 Suffer me to take wine with you.” 
 
 Of course Lord Guloseton accepted the challenge 
 graciously, and, forming a favourable opinion of so 
 excellent a young gentleman, was ready to take his 
 
HIS KNIFE IN HIS MOUTH. 2.09 
 
 advice on politics and other matters less important 
 than eating and drinking. 
 
 Generally discarded from fashionable tables at 
 the close of the eighteenth century, the napkin 
 was seldom used or seen by the more modish epi- 
 cures of Horace Walpole’s era. ‘En Angleterre,” 
 says the author of “ L’Art Culinaire,” “tout le 
 monde est rentré a trois heures, et l’on sert le diner 
 chez le négociant et le bourgeois; car chez les 
 grands on ne dine qu’a quatre heures. Une nappe 
 qui descend jusqu’a terre couvre la table; il n’y a 
 point de serviettes. Ce qui forme le couvert est 
 ordinairement une fourchette & manche rond avec 
 deux points d’acier, et un couteau dont la lame, large 
 et arrondie, peut, dans le besoin, remplacer la 
 cuillére ; on en change a chaque service. Au dessert 
 on enléve la nappe, et lon sert a chacun un plus 
 petit couvert, une jale de verre pour se laver les , 
 mains, et une serviette carrée, extrémement petite. 
 Aprés le dessert, qui n’est jamais long, vient le boire, 
 que les Anglais préférent & tout, et les dames dis- 
 paraissent.” Whence it appears that in George the 
 Third’s time the dessert doily was regarded as the 
 elegant and sufficient substitute for the old table- 
 towel, and that the handler of a two-pronged steel 
 fork might use his knife as a spoon. Four-pronged 
 silver forks had come into general use before the 
 
 VOL. P 
 
210 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 epicure was forbidden to put his knife into his 
 mouth. 7 
 
 In these later years of universal luxury the full- 
 sized white napkin is seen on every table, set for 
 English folk who take their meals comfortably. 
 Whether it should be rated more highly as an adorn- 
 ment, or a requisite for cleanliness, is a question 
 that each reader may decide for himself. No critic 
 of the festal board will underrate its decorative im- 
 portance. On the other hand, everyone will admit 
 that, though less needful than in ancient time, it is 
 a convenient and useful article of table furniture. 
 The author of ‘“‘ Autres Contenances de Table”’ ad- 
 monishes the apprentice in good breeding not to 
 twist his dinner napkin into a cord. 
 
 “ De ta touaille ne fais corde 
 Honnesteté ne s’y accorde.” 
 
 Nervous and fidgetty gentlemen may still be 
 found to whom this counsel should be repeated. 
 These torturers of the napkin, when they have no 
 occasion to use, should refrain from abusing it, so 
 that it becomes as unsightly as a crumpled news- 
 paper or a piece of hay-rope. 
 
211 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 HORN, BELL, AND GONG. 
 
 “T’homme regut de son estomac, en. naissant, l’ordre de manger 
 au moins trois fois par jour, pour réparer les forces que lui enlévent 
 le travail et, plus souvent encore, la paresse.’—Vide ALEXANDRE 
 Dumas’s “ DICTIONNAIRE DE CUISINE.” 
 
 “ Braikfastis for my lorde and my ladye. Furst a loof of brede in 
 trenchers, two manchets, one quart of bere, a quart of wine, halfa 
 chyne of muton, ells a chyne of beif boyled.”—Vide “‘ NortHumMBER- 
 LAND HovusEHoLD Book,” (1512.) . 
 
 “When foure houres be past after breakfast, a man may safely 
 take his dinner, and the most convenient time for dinner is about 
 eleven of the clocke before noone. . . . About foure houres, or sixe 
 after we have dined, the time convenient for supper.”—Vide Tuomas 
 Coean’s “Haven oF HEattu.” 
 
 “Que le mouvement de consommation soit modéré le diner étant 
 la derniére affaire de la journée; et que les convives se tiennent 
 comme des voyageurs qui doivent arriver ensemble au méme but.” — 
 Vide BrinLat-SavaRin’s “ PHysioLoGie pu Govt.” 
 
 ECOGNISING three kinds of appetite, and three 
 
 kinds of gourmandise, Alexandre Dumas 
 insists that man is instructed by nature to satisfy 
 his craving for food at least three times a day. 
 
 The fiercest desire for food is the hunger of famine, 
 which, to appease its pangs, devours raw flesh as 
 greedily and thankfully as a roast pheasant or 
 pullet. Such hunger is never experienced by the 
 
 fortunate epicure, whose sharpest gust proceeds 
 | 3 p 2 
 
212 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 from the gentle stimulus of the soup, oysters, or 
 dainty plat, which rouses his gastronomic powers at 
 the opening of a banquet. The finest of the three 
 appetites is the transient revival of desire, which 
 raises the scientific gowrmet above the sensations of 
 vulgar felicity when he regards an exquisite and 
 specially-beloved delicacy at the close of a long 
 repast. ‘‘ Give me money to buy a loaf of bread, 
 for [am very hungry,” the street-beggar implored 
 of the Prince Regent. ‘* Lucky fellow,” returned 
 the Prince. ‘‘ How many years have passed since 
 I had the delight of a good appetite!” But the 
 greatest gentleman and sensualist of modern Hng- 
 land was a bon-vivant of the grosser sort. All 
 great authorities on fine eating concur with the 
 French novelist in the opinion that hunger para- 
 lyses the palate. The epicure should never bring 
 an appetite to his table. Before satisfying it with 
 tood, he should create it by eating. The soup should 
 call it into existence, the fish should quicken it, the 
 entrées should raise it to the fulness of vigour, and, 
 when it kas been tranquilly allayed with substantial 
 viands, the concluding plat should enable it to smile 
 sportively as it dies away. 
 
 Just as there are three appetites, Dumas insists 
 that there are three kinds of gowrmandise. The 
 first is the vehement sensuality, which becomes 
 gluttony in its most repulsive manifestations, and 
 
THREE KINDS OF GOURMANDISE., OS 
 
 which theologians have placed amongst the seven 
 deadly sins. It was the gourmandise of Vitellius. 
 The second is the polite gowrmandise, sung by 
 Horace and glorified by Lucullus, which in these 
 later times has been invested with mysteries, and 
 raised to religious rank by the genius and labours 
 of Grimod de la Reyniére and Brillat-Savarin. In- 
 cluding friandise, the love of tit-bits, this highest 
 gastrolatry enlarges the affections, stimulates the 
 intellect, and inspires our race with lofty ambitions. 
 In every respect dissimilar to this beneficent pas- 
 sion for delicate eating, the third gouwrmandise is 
 even more revolting than the first. It is the morbid, 
 insatiable, and incessant craving for heavy food, 
 which is fully described, with stories too marvellous 
 for credence, in Mason Good’s “ Study of Medicine.” 
 It attacked Brutus after the death of Cesar; and 
 M. Dumas has no doubt that Esau suffered from it 
 when he sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. 
 “Ce fut sans doute,” says Alexandre, “dans un 
 acces de cette fatale maladie qu’Hsati vendit a 
 Jacob son droit d’ainesse pour un plat de len- 
 tilles.” 
 
 In the number of their meals, and also in their 
 hours for taking them, the practice of the old 
 English differed much less from modern usage than 
 is ordinarily supposed. The difference consists 
 chiefly in the relinquishment of a term, the shifting 
 
914 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 of another, and the substitution of a third. When 
 regard is had to the times at which our ancestors 
 rose from, and went to, bed, the difference becomes 
 so slight that it may be said to disappear alto- 
 oether. 
 
 Like Alexandre Dumas, our forefathers were gener- 
 ally of opinion that nature, by the promptings of the 
 stomach, ordered man to take food three times a-day. 
 They held that on rising from his couch he required 
 a slight “‘ snack,” to break the fast which had lasted 
 throughout the hours of sleep; that he needed a 
 substantial banquet some four hours after his break- 
 fast; and that it was good for him to have a second 
 sound repast some five or six hours after the first 
 grand meal. Rising at about six o’clock, they 
 breakfasted after making the toilet, dined at ten or 
 eleven o’clock, and supped at five in the afternoon. 
 Acting on the same rule, now that we rise later from 
 
 bed, we breakfast at nine, lunch some four hours ~ 
 
 later, and dine about six hours after luncheon. The 
 hour of leaving bed postpones all the daily meals in 
 the ‘society,’ which breakfasts at ten, lunches at 
 two or three, and dines at eight or nine. In this 
 matter the moderns have done little more than re- 
 linquish the word “ supper,” shift to the third meal 
 the name which our forefathers applied to the 
 second, and, in place of the term taken from it, 
 
 give to the second repast the inexpressive name of 
 
 ee 
 
a ae ee ee 
 
 NUNTIONS AND REAR-SUPPERS. 215 
 
 luncheon. In addition to their three daily repasts, 
 the more luxurious and indulgent of the old English 
 
 ‘had intermediate ‘‘snacks” called ‘“ nuntions” 
 
 (afterwards ‘* luncheons’’), and “rear-suppers”—the 
 former coming between breakfast and dinner, and 
 
 the latter following supper by three or four hours. 
 
 Hence it appears that the modern dinner is the old 
 
 Hneglish supper, and that the late repast, still served 
 under the name of supper at routs shortly after 
 midnight, is, in fact, the rear-supper of feudal 
 society. 
 
 In the social history of every people, luxury is 
 seen to ebb and flow, fall and rise, like a tidal river. 
 Indulgence begets a disposition for temperance, or 
 even asceticism;’ and then severe moderation is 
 followed by a reaction towards excess. This must 
 be borne in mind. Whilst the Old English were 
 usually in favour of three meals a day, there were 
 times when the more temperate restrained them- 
 
 selves to two meals or even to one meal; and also 
 
 times when the indulgent permitted themselves to 
 
 enjoy four, five, or even six daily repasts. ‘The 
 Danes, under Canute the Hardy, are reported to 
 have been eaters of five or six mealsa day. Alike 
 remarkable for general luxuriousness and occasional 
 abstinence, the Normans, alternately denouncing, 
 and commending rear-suppers, were by turns ab- 
 stainers and gourmandizers. 
 
216 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 It is remarkable that two of our best Hlizabethan 
 authorities on the table customs of their time deliver 
 conflicting evidence concerning the meals of our 
 ancestors towards the close of the sixteenth century. 
 Whilst. Wiliam Harrison bears witness that the 
 English of his time were content with “ dinner and 
 supper onelie,’ Thomas Cogan, writing about the 
 same time, speaks precisely of ‘‘ breakefast, dinner, 
 and supper’ as the three regular daily meals of 
 every well-kept Hnglishman. This discrepancy is 
 doubtless due to the fact that though breakfast was 
 the common indulgence of prosperous folk im Queen 
 Elizabeth’s days, it was not universally taken by all 
 kinds of people. Hence, whilst Cogan, writing 
 culinary notes for educated people, might fairly treat 
 of breakfast as a meal of which all his readers par- 
 took, Wilham Harrison, writing a survey of the 
 general state of the people, might decline to notice 
 as a regular repast what was only the superfluous 
 daily regalement of the richer folk. 
 
 In the fifteenth century, breakfast was no set 
 meal for inferior people. Hdward the Fourth’s ex- 
 emplary mother was a breakfast-eater. ‘* She 
 taketh somethinge to recreate nature,” says her 
 biographer, ‘‘and so goeth to the chappell, hearing 
 divine service and two lowe masses; from thence to - 
 dynner.” But it was only to the chief officers of 
 her household that she allowed the same indulgence. 
 
CATES FOR A COUNTESS. AZ 
 
 ** Breakfastes,” the chronicler continues, ** be there 
 none, savinge onely the head offycers when they be 
 present; to the ladyes and gentlewomen; to the 
 deans and to the cbappell; to the almoner; to the 
 gentlemen-ushers ; to the cofferer; to the clerks of 
 the kytchin, and to the marshal.” 
 
 Compassionating the state of our grandfathers, 
 whose nightly indulgence in port and punch must 
 have been followed by excruciating headaches in the 
 morning, Mr. Thackeray asked pitifully and won- 
 deringly what on earth they did for the mitigation 
 of their torture, in the absence of soda water. Joe 
 Sedley cooled his burning throat with mild beer ; 
 but the draught, which may have assuaged his 
 heartburn, can scarcely have tranquillized his nerves, 
 or been an anodyne to his throbbing head. 
 
 In these days of hot tea and deliciously aromatic 
 coffee, the modern epicure is apt to wonder how our 
 ancestors contrived to breakfast without either of 
 the two fragrant and cheering drinks. His concern 
 for their miserable condition will not be lessened by 
 the assurance that, in the absence of tea and coffee, 
 they drank beer and ale. Bread, salt fish, larded 
 herrings, and sprats, washed down with beer and 
 wine (on fish days), and bread, and mutton, or’ 
 . chine of boiled beef, diluted with the same drinks 
 (on flesh days), were the regular breakfasts of the 
 Harl and Countess of Northumberland, at the begin- 
 
218 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 ning of Henry the Highth’s reign. The LHarl’s 
 children breakfasted on like fare, only they had no 
 wine in addition to their beer. As for the Countess’s 
 maids of honour, their caterer wrote thus :—‘** Break- 
 
 fastys for my lady’s gentylwomen. Item, a loif of 
 
 houshold bred, a pottel of beire, and three mutton 
 bonys boyled, or ells a pece of bief boyled.” How 
 would any young gentlewoman .of the present 
 century like to exchange for such pot-house regale- 
 ment her delicate breakfast picked from a table 
 furnished with new laid eggs, lobster rissoles, 
 cutlets in sharp sauce, game-pie, dainty rolls, a 
 teapot full of choicest infusion, and a jug of scald- 
 ing hot milk ready to be mixed with the black, 
 fragrant decoction of coffee ? 
 
 In the ‘‘ Merry Wives of Windsor’ (hota iil., 8. B)4 
 Page says :—‘*I do invite you to-morrow morning 
 to my house to breakfast; after, we'll go a birding 
 together: I havea fine hawk for the bush. Shall 
 it be so?” ‘The frequency of Shakespeare’s allu- 
 sions to breakfast demonstrates that the repast was 
 common in Hlizabethan England. But in the seven- 
 teenth century breakfasts were seldom so substan- 
 tial as those of the ‘* Northumberland Household 
 Book.” Towards the close of Elizabeth’s reign, 
 Thomas Cogan urged ‘‘all those that have a care 
 for health” to make light breakfasts. ‘ For break- 
 fast, I thinke,”’ he says, in ‘The Haven of Health,’ 
 
THE EARLY SNACK. 219 
 
 “those meates be most convenient, especially for 
 students, which be of light digestion, as milke, 
 butter, eos, and such like.” At the same time, 
 William Harrison maiutained that the early snack 
 was only the affair of the **voung hongrie stomach 
 that cannot fast till dinner-time.’ That typical 
 gentleman of. Caroline England, the Duke of New- 
 castle, made his breakfast habitually on a manchet 
 of fine bread and a glass of sack ; and to the close 
 of the seventeenth century the ordinary breakfast of 
 a not indulgent Englishman was a slice of bread 
 and a glass of ale, beer, or dry wine. Husbandmen 
 took the early snack as they walked round their 
 fields, or to their first spell of labour. In the towns 
 and villages it was general for men of all social 
 grades, from the squire to the petty tradesman, to 
 get it at the nearest ale-house. The ‘ morning 
 draught’’ at the inn was, in fact, the ordinary break- 
 fast of the majority of Englishmen from the days of 
 bluff Henry, to the time when the taste for tea put 
 an end to the early meetings at the public house, 
 and caused our great grandfathers to breakfast 
 leisurely at their own tables rather than in a crowded 
 bar-parlour. Unless they bear this fact in mind, 
 readers of old biographies are apt to attribute tavern 
 haunting propensities to sober and discreet gentle- 
 men who, though they always opened the day with 
 
290 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 drink and gossip at an ale-house, were no wastrels 
 or ill-livers. 
 
 The old names for the two chief meals of the day 
 deserve attention. Supper, the repast at which 
 men took soup, commemorates the importance of 
 the part played by pottages and porridges in the 
 cuisine of the Old English. Several suggestions 
 have been made for a derivation for ‘ dinner.” 
 Dr. Doran, in his pleasant ‘“‘ Table Traits,” insists 
 that the word is an abbreviation of ** dixiéme heure,”’ 
 ten o'clock, the usual hour for breakfast in Norman 
 England. Whilst this explanation appears fanciful, 
 and certainly imposes much work on the abbre- 
 viating process, itis (as the Doctor himself observes) 
 irreconcileable with the fact that nine was a common 
 dinner hour with Hngland’s French nobility. A 
 better suggestion of the same kind is that the 
 familiar word is a contraction of déjewner, the 
 word still applied in France, not to the “ early 
 snack” (the café-au-lait and roll), but to the earlier 
 of two chief meals. At one time the classical 
 pedants insisted that ‘* dinner’ came from the Greek 
 “* dewpnon.”’ ~ Bat on reviewlng all the derivations of 
 the familiar term, provided by the ingenuity of ety- 
 mologists and antiquaries, the readers of this page 
 will be disposed to think the first sownd meal of the 
 day, eaten deliberately when workers in olden time 
 ceased from their first spell of day’s labour, gained 
 
NUNCHIONS AND LUNCHEONS. Dap 
 
 its original name from the old French disner to cease 
 from work. On this point Richardson says, “ Dine, 
 Fr. Disner; It. Desinare. Perhaps, as suggested 
 by Minshew, from the Lat. Desinere, i.e., cessare, a 
 cessatione ab opera, to cease, the time of ceasing from 
 labour.” Htymologists have in like manner racked 
 their brains to find the derivation of the more 
 modern word luncheon, or, as the Elizabethan writers 
 usually spelt it, nunchion. Whilst some regard the 
 term as coming from longus (lonja), and having 
 references to long slices of cake; others would have 
 us think that it is akin to nooning, and points to the 
 proper hour for the meal of those who shwn the full 
 heat and shining sun of noon. Perhaps “ moon- 
 shine” is the best comment on such talk about 
 *noon-shun”’ and “ noon-shine.” 
 
 The practice of Old England in respect to hours 
 for mealing accorded with the practice of the other 
 countries of feudal Europe. To avoid mistakes, the 
 reader should bear in mind the old rule, which 
 required dinner to be served for ‘‘ quality’? some 
 four hours after the hour of leaving bed. The 
 apparent disagreements of old chroniclers on an 
 interesting subject disappear, when it is remembered 
 that the time of quitting the couch varied with the 
 seasons, and that the rule required the meal to be 
 somewhat earlier in the summer than the winter. 
 Rising later in the cold than in the warm months, 
 
oyu A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 the Anglo-Norman gentry dined at nine in summer 
 and ten in winter. It was the same in the Hliza- 
 bethan period, péople dining an hour earlier or later 
 as the temperature induced them to rise early or lie 
 late. 
 
 Alike in the Western and Hastern worlds, it was 
 formerly a point of honour and modishness with 
 great folk to dine before their social inferiors, 
 When the Khan of Tartary had filled himself with 
 mare’s milk and horse-flesh, a herald used to pro- 
 claim daily that, “‘the omnipotent Khan having 
 dined, all other potentates, princes, and great men 
 of the earth might go to dinner.” The great men 
 having said grace after meat, the rabble might 
 satisfy the cravings of hunger. On being asked 
 what was the best hour for dining, Diogenes, never 
 free from idlers bothering him with foolish ques- — 
 tions, answered that a rich man should suit his 
 pleasure, and a poor one seize his opportunity. In 
 feudal Hugland, whilst it pleased the nobility to dine 
 as soon as they were hungry, gentle retainers found 
 their earliest opportunity of dining when they had 
 waited at table on their employers. ‘Too modest to 
 imitate lords and ladies, the merchants and traders — 
 of Khzabethan London took their meals at the feed- 
 ing hours of courtly servitors. ‘With us,” says 
 William Harrison, ‘the nobilitie, gentrie, and 
 students doo ordinarilie go to dinner at eleven 
 
ELIZABETHAN SUPPERS. Paes 
 
 before noone, and to supper at five, or between five 
 and six at afternoone. The merchants dine and sup 
 seldome before twelve at noone and six at night, 
 especiallie in London. The husbandmen dine also 
 at high noone, as they call it, and sup at seven or 
 eight; but out of tearme in our universities the 
 scholers dine at ten. As for the poorest sort, they . 
 generallie dine and sup when they may, so that to 
 talke of their order of repast, it were but a needlesse 
 matter.” Cogan says, “But the usual time for 
 dinner in the universities is eleven, or elsewhere 
 about noone.” ‘The same author puts the time for 
 supper at six hours after dinner, ‘ which in the 
 universities 1s about five of the clocke in the after- 
 noone.” And he adds, “ But here ariseth a great 
 question, whether a man should eat more at dinner 
 than at supper. Learned doctors are divided on 
 this subject.” Cogan was of opinion that, though 
 the strong might take heavy suppers with impunity 
 and even with profit, the delicate should sup lightly. 
 The Hlizabethan proverb, ‘‘ After dinner rest awhile, 
 after supper walk a mile,” shows that our ancestors 
 did not go to bed immediately after the second 
 satisfying meal. . i 
 
 In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the 
 dinner hour was gradually made later and later, 
 until the meal called dinner was eaten at the Hliza- 
 bethan supper hour. In the same way supper was 
 
994, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 postponed to the hour of the old rear-supper; and, 
 dinner having been thus pushed off to the later part 
 of the afternoon, the necessity arose for substantial 
 luncheons. In the earlier half of George the Third’s 
 reign midday dinners were still permissible in good 
 society, but three o’clock was a modish, and four 
 the highly fashionable hour for dining. A French 
 writer of the First Empire gives four o’clock as the 
 fashionable hour for dinners in London. The great 
 Napoleon’s chancellor, and political dispenser of 
 hospitality, had his dinners served at half-past five, 
 and never failed to upbraid the guest who was five 
 minutes after time. Five or half-past five was late 
 enough to please Grimod de la Reynigre, who con- 
 curred with Brillat-Savarin in holding that dinner 
 should be so timed that the satisfied feaster, on 
 leaving the table, should be ready for bed. By the 
 close of the Farmer King’s time, five was the usual 
 dinner hour of great people in England. Dr. Kit- 
 chiner, the famous medical epicure and author of 
 the ‘* Cook’s Oracle,’’ who died in 1827, was to the 
 last served with dinner at that hour; though before 
 he retired for ever from his cosy house in Warren 
 Street (43), Fitzroy Square, six was the dinner hour 
 of Mayfair. In his “ Apician Morsels” (1829), Dick 
 Humelberguis Secundus names six o’clock as the 
 time for dinner in good society, both in town and 
 country. 
 
PUNCTUALITY. er 
 
 But whatever the hour for dinner, all authorities 
 agree that it should be observed scrupulously 
 alike by host, cook, and guests. Brillat-Savarin 
 declares of all qualities requisite in a cook exactitude 
 is the most indispensable. The chef, exact in all 
 his operations, should be especially so in respect to 
 time. ‘To ensure this accuracy, Kitchiner insisted 
 that every dining-room should be furnished with a 
 clock, that kept time with another good clock tick- 
 ing over the fire-place of the kitchen. But with all 
 his care for punctuality, the Doctor declared that 
 dinner had better be a few minutes late than that a 
 dish should be served underdone, or, even worse, 
 overdone. ‘* The first consideration,” he observes, 
 « must still be that the dinner ‘ be well done, when 
 *tis done.’ It is a common fault with cooks, who 
 are over anxious about time, to over-dress every- 
 thing. The guests had better wait than the dinner. 
 A little delay will improve their appetite; but if the 
 dinner waits for the guests, it will deteriorate every 
 minute.” In fact, the punctuality of guests was 
 chiefly desirable, in order that the dinner should 
 not suffer from being “kept back,’ when ready to 
 be served. 
 
 With the clear common sense, never wanting in 
 intelligent voluptuaries, Brillat-Savarin maintained 
 that for a host ‘to wait too long for a tardy guest 
 was to be failing in proper respect for those who 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
“a 
 ‘ oy 
 y 
 
 226 _ A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 are present.” A fine epicure, as well as a great 
 lawyer, Lord Lyndhurst was of the same opinion. 
 He had no mercy for man or woman who had so 
 little consideration for others as to trifle with a 
 chef’s reputation, and the natural cravings of a 
 fasting company by want of punctuality. During 
 his third tenure of the Seals, it was the affectation 
 of “the town” to be late for dinner. In his deter- 
 mination that ‘*the fashion” should not interfere 
 with his comfort and the happiness of his more sen- 
 sible friends, the Chancellor ordered his porter to 
 bar the hall door when five minutes had passed 
 over the appointed dinner hour, and not to open it 
 again for any purpose whatever till dinner was at 
 anend. ‘The order was obeyed implicitly without 
 respect to persons; and a few great people having 
 been thereby rightly punished for their little foolish- 
 ness, gentlemen, who could not be punctual at 
 any other house in town, soon showed themselves 
 precisely attentive to the most important require- 
 ment of the Lord Chancellor’s invitations. 
 
 To ensure proper punctuality in the members of 
 his household, and in guests tarrying under his 
 roof, the prudent chief of an establishment never 
 fails to give due warning of the approach and 
 arrival of the dinner-hour. ‘To effect this he has 
 the choice of three instruments, the horn, the bell, 
 and the gong. for the gong we are indebted to 
 
RINGSION AND HORNING. OO 
 
 the nabobs who a century or more since used to 
 return from eastern lands with vast wealth, and 
 tempers too irritable to endure any disrespect for 
 their gastronomic needs. The old-fashioned nabob 
 who swore incessantly, and talked mysterious 
 gibberish with a swarthy valet, kept curricles by the 
 score, and on dying of liver-disease sometimes left 
 his money to the heroine of the last new novel, is 
 no longer with us. He has been replaced by a 
 much less gorgeous and choleric Anglo-Indian, 
 who subsists on a moderate pension, and seldom 
 leaves much wealth to his children. But his 
 gong and chutnee are still with us, to stun 
 our ears on the approach, and to warm our 
 stomachs during the progress, of dinner. For a 
 century before the introduction of the gong, the 
 bell was the only instrument used for summoning 
 the hungry to dinner. But in more distant time 
 the ecclesiastical tintinnabulum was rarely used for 
 so profane a purpose. Instead of heralding the 
 
 b) 
 
 advent of meals with “‘ringsion,”” as Jeremy Ben- 
 tham used to term the music of a ringing bell, the 
 feudal English, like their contemporaries of the 
 Continent, gathered feasters to the smoking board 
 with a concert of trumpets and drums, or with 
 blasts from a single horn. The music of hunts- 
 men running in upon their quarry, was the music 
 which declared the venison and wild-boar ready 
 Q 2 
 
228 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 for the trenchers. Blown to announce the coming 
 of dinner and supper, the horn was also wound to 
 celebrate the virtue of particular dishes. The — 
 nobler creatures of the chase were seldom brought 
 to table without notes from the trumpet. The 
 same musical honours were also accorded to the 
 grander birds and fishes—the peacock and swan, 
 the sturgeon and turbot, when served in their 
 entirety, being usually introduced with flourishes 
 from the musicians in attendance. ‘Au XVII° 
 siécle,”’ says Alexandre Dumas, mentioning a usage 
 of several earlier centuries, as well as the seven- 
 teenth age, ‘c’est-a-dire 4 l’epoque ot l’on dinait 
 & midi, le cor, dans les grandes maisons, annon- 
 cait le moment du diner. De 1a une locution 
 perdue; on disait, ‘ Cornez le diner.’ ” 
 
 “Cornet the dinner,” was the feudal equivalent 
 of the modern and more familiar phrase, ‘‘ ring for 
 dinner.’ And in days when inferior people ate 
 little meat in the winter months save salted beef, 
 the more usual form of the order was ‘“ cornez le 
 boeuf,” or “corn the beef.” Hence the viand, 
 which during the long winters occasioned so much 
 trouble to the sore gums of menials suffering from 
 the scurvy, was called ‘ corn-beef,” 7.¢., the only 
 beef that for months together was trumpeted to 
 table. Richardson errs egregiously when he in- 
 sists that corned beef derived its distinguishing 
 
DUTY TO ONE’S GUESTS. 299 
 
 epithet from the grains or corns of salt with which 
 it was pickled. Corned beef is trumpeted beef, 
 or, as we should now-a-days say, dinner-bell beef. 
 Though the university was rich in bells that might 
 have called the hungry, the dinner-horn was 
 blown daily in several of the halls and colleges of 
 Laudian Oxford. To this day the lawyers of the 
 Middle Temple are “horned in” to dinner. 
 Apropos of these notes of horn-music, it may be 
 remarked that before they adopted the louder and 
 more effective bell, the directors of our earliest 
 railways—following the practice of the coaches— 
 summoned the passengers to their trains by the 
 trumpet. 
 
 If itis bad for guests to be late, it is far worse 
 for a host to delay his appearance beyond the ap- 
 pointed hour. In the latter case the culprit’s 
 remissness inflicts embarrassment, and possibly 
 suffering, on an entire assembly of persons, for 
 whose pleasure he is bound by honour to be solici- 
 tous, so long as they are under his roof. If the 
 tardy ouest deserves censure, what punishment is 
 due to the offender who only begins his toilet as the 
 last visitor enters the drawing-room ? 
 
 In the “Physiologie du Gott” Brillat-Savarin 
 gives a comically-agonizing picture of the tortures 
 which he endured whilst waiting four hours for 
 dinner in the salon of the Arch-Chancellor Cam- 
 
230 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 bacérés. The first Napoleon was in the plenitude 
 of his power when the Chancellor, whose “ dinners” 
 were a powerful element of the Imperial system, 
 invited Monsieur Brillat-Savarin to assist at a cere- 
 monious banquet. When the guests arrived, there 
 was no host to bid them welcome. The clock 
 pointed to half-past five, the time fixed for the 
 dinner, and still the Chancellor was conspicuous by 
 his absence. Demanding punctuality from others, 
 and ever ready to censure vehemently any want of 
 it in his friends, he was, of all great hosts, the last 
 who should have offended so signally. On entering 
 the room of reception shortly before the half hour, 
 Brillat-Savarin found it a scene of agitation and 
 dismay. Some of the guests conversed in whispers 
 or lowly-muttered words. Some were regarding 
 one another curiously and piteously from the 
 corners of their eyes. The countenances of all 
 were expressive of surprise, perplexity, and painful 
 apprehension. ‘‘ What has happened?” Brillat- 
 Savarin murmured in the ear of an acquaintance. 
 “« Alas!” was the answer, “ Monseigneur has been 
 sent for to the Council of the State; he has just set 
 out, and who knows when he will return?’ ‘The 
 man of law and gastronomic wisdom endeavoured 
 to treat the affair hightly; but the attempt at play- 
 fulness was a doleful failure. Dropping into de- 
 spondency at the close of the first hour, when every 
 
TOO LATE! TOO LATE! ood 
 
 guest had made half a dozen conjectures as to the 
 nature of the urgent business at the Tuileries, the 
 learned epicure seated himself on the corner of a 
 sofa, and meditated gloomily on sudden reversals of 
 fortune. Before the second hour had passed the 
 victims became morose and querulous. ‘There are 
 conditions under which even Frenchmen, of the best 
 temper and breeding, cannot be cheerful and polite. 
 Those who bore themselves least manfully were 
 three or four seatless wretches. Wandering to and 
 fro, they scowled at one another, and regarded the 
 sitting martyrs with looks of implacable animosity. 
 The tortures of the second hour were repeated and 
 intensified in the third. The aspect of affairs did 
 not brighten when, towards the middle of the fourth 
 hour, a gentleman, returning from a visit of inquiry 
 to the kitchen, remarked viciously, ‘‘ Monseigneur 
 went out without giving orders, and, however long 
 his absence, dinner will not be served till his 
 return.” The announcement was followed by a groan 
 of anguish from the entire company. “ Amongst 
 all the martyrs,” says the narrator, “the most 
 wretched was the good D’Aigrefeuille, who is known 
 to all Paris; his body was all torture; the agony 
 of Laocoon was in his face. Pale, distracted, see- 
 ing nothing, he sat crouched upon an easy-chair, 
 crossed his little hands upon his large belly, and 
 closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to wait the ap- 
 
a ed 
 aw 2 
 
 akc 
 Par. 
 
 ane A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 proach of death.’ But ere this extreme sufferer 
 lost consciousness, he was revived by a sound of a 
 wheels, and an animating assurance that relief was 
 at hand. In another minute Cambacérés appeared - 
 —but too late. His friends had lost appetite, nerve, . q 
 and all disposition for epicurean enjoyment. The q 
 stronger of them were restored to their usual vigour a 
 by a night’s repose, but the weaker and more sensi- __ 
 tive were obliged to send for their physicians on the. 
 
 morrow. 
 
 / 
 
 Eatin: 
 aE 
 
y-. = a 
 
 233 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 MANNERS: AND THE WANT OF THEM. 
 
 “ And though that he was worthy he was wise, 
 And of his port as meke as is a mayde.” 
 CHAUCER’s “ CANTERBURY T'ALEs,” 
 “Manners make the man, and want of them ‘the fellow.’ ”—OLp 
 PROVERB. 
 “JT cannot much commend the extravagance of the feasting at 
 these readings.” —“ Lirz or Lorp KrErrerR GUILDFORD.” 
 “ As drunk as a lord.”—Current CaLumny. 
 HH Hnglish of strictly feudal times were no 
 long sitters over the dinner-table. Having 
 eaten sufficiently, they drank a deep draught of ale, 
 passed the loving-cup, said grace, and went their 
 ways—knightly persons to their sports, lawyers to 
 their courts, traders to their shops, and farmers to 
 their fields. The best of the day was the interval 
 between dinner and supper, and men of pleasure 
 resembled men of business in declining to spend it 
 in drink. Cogan was of opinion that an hour was 
 long enough for anyone’s, and far too long fora 
 student's, dinner. The directions given by cham- 
 berlains and masters of ceremonies for ‘‘ voiding the 
 hall,” as soon as feasters had washed their hands 
 
 after the third course, show that it was not the 
 
234 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE, 
 
 mode with the old English to sit long over their 
 drink when they had taken enough food at the earlier 
 of the two chief meals. 
 
 But in Elizabethan time the wealthy would, on 
 highly festal occasions, remain at table for several 
 hours, to the confusion of their speech, and to the 
 scandal of sober witnesses of their excess. ‘ For 
 the nobilitie, gentlemen, and merchantmen, espe- 
 ciallie at great meetings,’ says Harrison, “‘ doo sit 
 commonlie till two or three of the clocke at after- 
 noone, so that with manie it is an hard matter to 
 rise from the table to go to evening prayer, and 
 returne from thence to come time enough for 
 supper.” But such indulgence appeared to the 
 Hlizabethan chronicler a discreditable departure 
 from the better manners of olden time. 
 
 Clerical dignitaries had an evil fame, at least on 
 the lips of their enemies, for their inordinate devo- 
 tion to the pleasures of the table. Butif not the 
 pure inventions of Protestant malice, the Hliza- 
 bethan stories of gluttonous prelates and tippling 
 deans, who signalized themselves by intemperance 
 in days prior to the Reformation, were certainly 
 not devoid of humorous exaggeration. 
 
 Cogan speaks of an Archbishop of York who sat 
 three entire years at dinner. But on inquiry it 
 
 appears the primate only enjoyed himself at an un- 
 
 usually solemn banquet, ‘“‘ which,” says Thomas 
 
THE ARCHBISHOP DINES. ASE, 
 
 Wilson in the “ Arte of Rhetoric” (1553), “* perhaps 
 began at eleven, and continued well-nigh till fower 
 in the afternoone.” Thus, instead of feasting for 
 three years, His Grace did not prolong his sitting 
 beyond the fifth hour. Scarcely had he entered.on 
 the first course when there appeared at his gate the 
 Italian ecclesiastic, whose pleasantry gave birth to 
 the malicious story. On learning that the Arch- 
 bishop was at dinner, the Italian whiled away an 
 hour in looking at the Minster, and then made a 
 second attempt to get admittance to the Primate, 
 when he was again repelled by the porter with a 
 declaration that His Grace, being at dinner, could 
 not receive callers. With no better result, the 
 foreign priest knocked at the archbishop’s gate at 
 two o clock; and fora fourth time at three o’clock, 
 when ‘“‘the porter, in a heate, answered never a 
 worde, and churlishlie did shutte the gates upon 
 him.” Whereupon the Italian, whose affairs were 
 urgent, set out at once for London, and returned to 
 Rome without seeing the spiritual chief of the 
 northern province. ‘Three years later, encounter- 
 ing in Rome an Englishman who declared himself 
 right well-known to His Grace of York, the Italian, 
 clothing his face with a merry smile, inquired, 
 drolly, ‘‘I pray you, good sir, hath that archbishop 
 dined yet ?”’ 
 
 The time which this archbishop actually spent at 
 
236 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 the banquet was not inordinate in Grimod de la 
 
 Reyniére’s opinion. ‘“ Cing heures a table,” says 
 the famous editor of the ‘“Almanach des Gour- 
 mands,” ‘‘sont une latitude raisonnable pour un 
 diner nombreux et une chére recherchée.” 
 
 - But though the piquant stories of clerical gowr- 
 mandise were based on gross exaggerations, and 
 garnished with pure lies, there is no lack of evidence 
 that the typical dignitaries of Holy Church in 
 Catholic England were not deficient in gastronomic 
 zeal and taste. Cranmer’s orders, for the restraint 
 of excess at clerical tables indicate that the festal 
 freedom of the hierarchy sometimes bordered on 
 licentiousness. By those orders, primates were 
 limited to six flesh dishes on flesh days, and to the 
 same number of fish dishes on fish days. Bishops 
 were allowed five dishes, deans and archdeacons 
 four dishes, and beneficed clergy of the inferior 
 erades two dishes. Custards, tarts, fritters, cheese, 
 and apples did not “count” as dishes. They were ' 
 mere ‘‘ extras’ and fanciful additaments, of which 
 the clerical gourmet might eat as many and much as 
 he pleased. In his ‘ Sufferings of the Clergy,” Dr. 
 Walker tells how a pious parish-priest was ejected 
 from his cure by the Commonwealth’ Puritans be- 
 cause he was accused of having ‘‘eaten custard 
 scandalously.” The Reformers of the sixteenth 
 century knew of no such offence, and permitted 
 
ORANMER’S ORDERS. Lave 
 
 men of all degrees to consult their pleasure in the 
 eating of tarts and sweet-meats. But whilst limit- 
 ing the numbers of dishes to be placed on clerical 
 tables, they were careful also to prescribe the 
 quantity of good cheer for each dish. Cranmer 
 (vide Leland’s ‘* Collectanea’’) ordered “ that of the 
 greater fyshes or fowls, there should be but one in 
 a dyshe, as crane, swan, turkey, haddocke, pyke, 
 tench; and of the less but two, viz., capons two, 
 _ pheasants two, conies two” (rabbits ranking as 
 poultry at table, as they still do), ‘‘ and woodcockes 
 two. Of less sortes, as of partriches, the arch- 
 bishop three, the bishop, and other degrees under 
 hym, two. Of blackbirdes, the archbishop six, the 
 bishop four, the other degrees three. Of larkes and 
 - snypes, and of that sort, but twelve.” The object 
 of the restrictions was the good of the poor, for 
 whom the clergy were enjoined to buy ‘“ playne 
 meates” with money hitherto spent on superfluous 
 luxuries. 
 
 There was more talk after supper than after 
 dinner in fendal time. The while during which our 
 pre-Reformation ancestors rested themselves after 
 the earlier, and the mile that they walked after the 
 later meal, were alike short. As twilight deepened 
 in summer, or when the log-fires on winter even- 
 ings covered wall and tapestry with flickering flame- 
 shine, our forefathers liked to chat on their homely 
 
238 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 interests, or listen to the music of minstrels and 
 ballad-singers. Supper was also a jollier meal than 
 dinner. 
 
 But in the nobler circles it was not the mode to 
 be noisily hilarious at'either meal. Populace might 
 be riotous at meat, but aristocracy, even over its 
 cups, was sedate, decorous, even frigid, notwith- 
 standing its courteousness. Conversation was no 
 art in high esteem at medieval tables of the first 
 class. The fun was made by the professional 
 fool during the processes of assay and the shift- 
 ings of courses. The actual eating was done in 
 silence. Mirthful loquacity being the business of 
 the jester with belled cap—the prattler, who 
 because he could prattle lightly, was pitied and 
 petted, and sometimes whipt for his impudence 
 —gentlemen of quick wit were reluctant to show 
 it lest they too should be mistaken for “ fools,” 
 or at least should lose something of their dignity. 
 
 Towards the close of the strictly feudal (say of 
 the Tudor) period, English manners in the higher 
 ranks lost much of their ancient formality; but 
 the same stately decorousness distinguished per- 
 sons of patrician breeding and carriage from the 
 commonalty. ‘I might here,” says William Har- 
 rison of his contemporaries in England, ‘ talke 
 somewhat of the great silence that is used at the 
 tables of the honourable and wiser sort generallie 
 
COURTIERS AND COMMONALTY. 239 
 
 over all the realme (albeit that too much deserveth 
 no commendation, for it belongeth to guests to be 
 neither muti nor loquaces), likewise the moderate 
 eating and drinking that is dailie seene, and finallie 
 of the regard that each one hath to keepe himselfe 
 from note of surfetting and drunkennesse (for 
 which cause salt meat, except beefe, bacon, and 
 porke are not anie whit esteemed, and yet these 
 three may be much powdered); but as in the 
 rehearsall thereof I should commend the nobleman, 
 merchant, and frugall artificer, so I could not 
 cleare the meaner sort of husbandmen of verie 
 much bobbling (except it be here or there some od 
 yeoman), with whom he is thought to be meriest 
 that talketh of most ribaldrie, or the wisest man 
 that speakest fastest among them, and now and 
 then surfetting and drunkennesse, which they 
 rather fall into for want of heed-taking, than wil- 
 fullie following or delighting in those errours of 
 set mind and purpose. It may be that diuers of 
 them living at home with hard and pinching diet, 
 small drinks, and some of them having scarce 
 enough of that, are soonest overtaken when they 
 come unto such bankets, howbeit they take it 
 generallie as no small disgrace if they happen to 
 be cup-shotten, so that it is a grefe unto them, 
 though now sans remédie sith the thing is done 
 
 and past.” 
 
940 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 At times of high revel, and at particular festi- 
 vities, such as bridals} the feudal English of the 
 higher classes, however, allowed themselves greater 
 freedom. And in accordance with the temper of 
 a period, whose general dissoluteness was due to 
 other causes besides antagonism to and reaction 
 against Puritanism, our gentry of the Caroline © 
 reigns exhibit in their festivities a proneness to 
 riot and “‘ungodly glee,’ unknown in former 
 times. In his notice of the extravagant feasting, 
 with which Francis North (Lord Guildford) cele- 
 brated his Temple “readings,” Roger North gives 
 a notable instance of the riotous ill manners that 
 often distinguished the festive meetings of modish 
 gentlemen in Charles the Second’s London. ‘* The 
 profusion of the best provisions and wine,” he 
 observes, ‘“‘ was to the worst of purposes, de- 
 bauchery, disorder, tumult and waste. I will give 
 but one instance: upon the grand day, as it was 
 called, a banquet was provided to be set on the 
 table, composed of pyramids, -and smaller services 
 inform. ‘The first pyramid was at least four feet 
 high, with stages one above another. The con- 
 veying this up to the table, through a crowd, that 
 were im full purpose to overturn it, was no small 
 work; but with the friendly assistance of the 
 gentlemen, it was set on the table. But, after it 
 was looked upon a little, all went hand over head, 
 
CHESTERFIELD’S INFLUENCE. DAA 
 
 among the rout in the hall, and, for the more 
 part, was trod under foot. The entertainment 
 the nobility had out of this was, after they had 
 tossed away the dishes, a view of the crowd in 
 confusion, wallowing one over another, and con- 
 tending for a dirty share of it.” When the “ gen- 
 tlemen”’ of the Temple behaved in this unseemly 
 manner, the “ Inns of Court’’ were still regarded 
 as the university for our aristocratic youth, and the 
 more modish gallants of the four inns prided them- 
 selves on being the flower of fashion. | 
 
 Throughout the remaining years of the seven: 
 teenth, and the earlier half of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, Hnglish manners continued to deteriorate 
 under the growing taste for heavy wines and 
 ardent spirits. The aristocratic mohocks of Queen 
 Anne’s time, like the German baron who amused 
 himself by dancing on his dinner table, were out- 
 rageously noisy and clumsily sportive over their 
 cups. The table manners of our earlier Georgian. 
 times are proverbial for grossness, and the litera- 
 ture of the period fully justifies their evil reputation. 
 It was not till Chesterfield had made war against 
 the swaggerers, and produced the school of stately 
 *‘exquisites’ who were the forerunneis of the 
 Brumwellian ‘‘ dandies,” that good sense combined 
 with good taste to put drunkenness and festal 
 uproar once more out of fashion. 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
24,2 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 SPITS AND JACKS. 
 
 ‘“Pinguia in verubus torrebinus exta colurnis.” 
 Vide Viretu’s ‘ Georgic IT. 396.” 
 “Roost beef and goos, with gurlek, vinegre or pepur in conclu- 
 sionn.”—Vide RussEuu’s “ Boke oF NURTURE.” 
 “ He was not pale as a forpined gost, 
 A fat swan loved he best of any rost.” 
 Vide CHaucrer’s Monx, —CanTERBURY TALES. 
 “ His arguments in silly circles run, 
 Still round and round, and end where they begun, 
 So the poor turnspit, as the wheel runs round, 
 The more he gains, the more he loses ground. 
 Vide Prrv’s “ Art o¥ PREACHING.” 
 Lord Kenyon (to the Clerk of the Rules.) “ Sir, tell the House of 
 Commons that I will not be yelped at by my own turnspit.” Jekyll 
 (on Lord Kenyon’s “always bright 'spits.”) ‘‘ Don’t talk about the 
 spits, for nothing turns on them.’—Vide Lorp CamppnEti’s “ Lire 
 or Lorp Keryyon.” 
 
 es the series of inventions the spit precedes the 
 
 Madame Dacier overstated the case when 
 she ee that Homer makes no mention of 
 boiled meat. An instance against her assertion may 
 be found inthe Fifth Book of the “ Ihad,’’ which 
 Warner produces as the only notice of boiling in the 
 Homeric poems. The heroes of mythical Greece 
 fed on “roasts” and ‘‘broils,” in their general, if 
 
 not universal, want of pots that would endure fire. 
 
 ae a cou” ial 
 
POT-LUCK. 243 
 
 But as soon as such vessels were invented by the 
 Heyptians, they quickly came into common use. 
 Whilst the rich, with slaves to turn their spits, 
 accepted the boiler as a contrivance for multiplying 
 the luxuries of the table, the poor adopted it as an 
 instrument for cooking with the least possible trouble 
 and cost. Boiling saved the waste of the dripping, 
 and the labour of a vigilant “ turner” of the roasting 
 meat. Having thrown pieces of meat into the pot, 
 the cook could ‘leave them with a quiet mind till the 
 time came for dishing the savoury pottage. ‘The pot 
 needs no watching. Indeed, there is an old adage 
 which forbids the cook to watch his boiler. ‘* The 
 watched pot never boils.” 
 
 In the medizval kitchen, economy and convenience 
 preferred the pot to the spit. For one dish cooked 
 with the latter, twenty messes came from the former. 
 The recipes of the “‘ Forme of Cury” demonstrate 
 this fact. Populace fed habitually from the pot, 
 and, save on highly festal occasions, never sniffed the 
 smell of “crackling.” Even to modern time 
 ‘‘roasts’ were regarded as delicacies for the rich 
 rather than as food for the poorer sort of people. 
 Noble and knight, squire and wealthy franklin, 
 thought gratefully of the spit. The husbandman 
 and hind extolled the ‘‘ pot” as the chief friend of 
 the hungry. 
 
 Broiling doubtless preceded roasting; and it is 
 
 B 2 
 
DAA, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 probable that ere meat was exposed to fire ona spit, 
 the primitive roasters hung their flesh before the 
 flaming fuel by means of string and cross-bar. But 
 the wooden spit played an important part in cookery 
 at an early date, and had been used for centuries 
 when metal spits were regarded as novelties. It 
 has been suggested that the steel spit is a contri- 
 vance for which we are indebted to the military pro- 
 fession. In default of a hazel skewer and iron pot, 
 the fasting soldier would be apt to use his sword or 
 spear as a toasting-fork. It may be that the mili- 
 tary aptitude for cooking under difficulties led to 
 the discovery which in Time’s slow course put out 
 of general request such rude and simple broaches as 
 Virgil mentions in the second Georgic :— 
 
 “ The altar let the guilty goat approach, 
 And roast his fat limbs on the hazel broach.” 
 
 Centuries have passed since wooden broaches dis- 
 appeared from the well-furnished kitchen. Refer- 
 ring to them as the exploded contrivances of a 
 remote time, Rabelais says, ‘‘ Then immediately did 
 Hpistemon make, in the name of the nine Muses, 
 
 nine antique wooden spits.” But to this day they 
 are used on Twelfth Night, in those parts of France 
 where the superstitious peasant delights to work a 
 miracle on the eve of Hpiphany by spitting a few 
 larks with a slender and fresh-cut twig, and then 
 placing the loaded broach before a brisk fire. In a 
 
 é 
 
SPITS AND BROACHES. QA 
 
 few minutes the heat acts upon the bark and sap- 
 vessels of the twig, so that it turns round without 
 any application of muscular force. Of course, the 
 simple beholders of this marvel exclaim, ‘‘ A miracle! 
 .a miracle!” and attribute to spiritual agency the 
 phenomenon for which they have no scientific ex- 
 planation. 
 
 A simple stake of hard wood, thick at one end 
 and sharpened at the other, the primitive spit, when 
 it had been forced through a mass of flesh, was laid 
 on two wooden crutches that were fixed at a con- 
 venient distance from the fire. To, facilitate the 
 turner’s labour, a mechanical genius in course of 
 time fitted this rudest form of spit with a handle, 
 which was attached to the thick end of the staff by 
 nails or pegs. ‘l'o broach is to prick, whether the 
 thing operated upon bea horse’s flank, a vessel of 
 liquor, a doctrine, an article of clothing, or a piece 
 of news. Knights in olden time broached their 
 steeds with points which perforated the skin. To 
 this day ladies broach their mantles and neck- 
 kerchiefs with pins that are usually fitted with clasps. 
 A spit with the thick end pierced by the pins of a 
 handle, was called a broached or broach-spit, a term 
 that distinguished it from the pointed rod without a 
 handle. The compound word was lost when it had 
 become the universal custom to make spits with 
 handles; and from that time the large roasting 
 
246 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 skewer was called “the broach” as often as ‘ the 
 spit.” | 
 
 The broach-turners of the Old English kitchen 
 were amongt its lowest drudges; though their toil 
 was fairly remunerated. It was only in great house- 
 holds that they were retained permanently. In- 
 ferior establishments found their broach-turners for 
 the preparation of special banquets in their ‘‘ odd 
 men” and “servile loafers,’ who had no title to 
 rank as ‘‘regular servants.” The aged pensioner 
 of squire or merchant gladly took his groat and 
 victuals for turning the spit on festal days in his 
 patron’s kitchen.. The wandering beggar was always 
 on the look-out for the same employment in the 
 dwellings he approached with shuffling gait and 
 whining voice. Diccou, the vagabond of ‘‘ Gammer 
 Gurton’s Needle,” says :— 
 
 “Many a mile have I walked, divers and sundry waies, 
 And many a good man’s house have been at in my days, 
 Many a gossip’s cup in my time have I tasted, 
 
 And many a broche-spit have I both turned and basted. 
 Many a piece of bacon have I had out of their balkes, _ 
 In running over the country, with long and wery walkes.” 
 
 Fourpence was the sum paid from the chest of St, 
 Bartholomew’s Hospital, Sandwich, a.p. 1569, to the 
 varlet who turned the broach for a feast served in 
 honour of the mayor of the borough. Of course, 
 the fellow had his food as well as his fee. 
 
BROKEN TO THE WHEEL. OAV 
 
 Not more fond of dogs than clever in training 
 them to service, our Tudor ancestors substituted 
 canine for human turnspits. To effect this they 
 produced the obsolete “ roaster,’ whose spit was 
 set in motion by a wheel worked by a long-backed 
 cur with short crooked legs. Set in a frame, nailed 
 to a convenient beam of the kitchen ceiling, or fixed 
 against an adjacent wall, the dog-wheel was con- 
 nected by an ‘endless rope’ with the spit that, 
 instead of being fitted with a handle, had a circular 
 piece of wood at one end. When the dog had been 
 placed in the larger wheel of this ingenious appa- 
 ratus, the spit was soon in action. Lifting his feet 
 in futile attempts to run forwards, and escape from 
 a hot coal laid at his heels on the inner surface of 
 the wheel’s circumference, the young animal gave 
 the requisite impulse to the machine. If he grew 
 sluggish as the ember cooled, another piece of burn- 
 ing fuel was taken from the fire, and placed where 
 it would rouse his enthusiasm for monotonous toil. 
 A day at the wheel was enough to teach a fairly 
 intelligent cur that, once on duty, he could only save 
 his heels from the fiery torture by using them 
 actively in the cook’s service, and that he could not 
 escape from his rotatory workshop until he had 
 accomplished the task imposed on his reluctant 
 energies. On the second day, if he shrunk from the 
 hand which proposed to put him to another spell of 
 
248 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 work, the whip taught him the necessity of obe- 
 dience to law. If he ventured to avoid his social 
 obligations on the third day by hiding, as the roast- 
 ing hour drew nigh, he was flogged with still 
 greater severity. After a week of this sharp disci- 
 pline he seldom failed to recognize his place in life. 
 Yielding to the tyranny which he could not resist 
 with advantage, he usually accommodated himself 
 to circumstances with canine common sense, and if 
 a dog of an unusually obsequious temper, he would 
 even feign contentment with a lot and labour which 
 his soul necessarily abhorred. 
 
 ‘* How well do I recollect,’’ wrote Mr. Jesse, ** in 
 the days of my youth watching the operations of a 
 turnspit dog at a house of a worthy Welsh clergy- 
 man who taught me to read. He was a good man, 
 wore a bushy wig, black worsted stockings, and 
 large plated buckles in his shoes. As he had 
 several boarders as well as day scholars, his two 
 turnspits had plenty to do. ‘They were long- 
 bodied, crook-legged, ugly dogs, with a suspicious 
 unhappy look about them, as if they were weary of 
 the task they had to do, and expected every moment 
 to be seized upon to perform it. Cooks in those 
 days, as they are said to be at present, were very 
 cross; and if the poor animals, wearied with having 
 a larger joint than usual to turn, stopped for a 
 moment, the voice of the cook might be heard rating 
 
FROM DOGS TO DONKIES. QAI 
 
 them in no gentle manner. When we consider that 
 a large solid piece of beef would take at least three 
 hours before it was properly roasted, we may form 
 some idea of the task a dog had to perform in 
 turning a wheel during that time. A pointer has 
 pleasure in finding game, the terrier worries rats 
 with eagerness and delight, and the bull-dog even 
 attacks bulls with the greatest energy, while the 
 poor turnspit performs his task with compulsion, 
 hike a culprit on a tread-wheel, subject to scolding 
 or beating if he stops a moment to rest his weary 
 limbs, and is then kicked about the kitchen when 
 the task is over.” 
 
 Whilst dogs of suitable smallness worked in the 
 broach-wheels of the Hlizabethan kitchens, dogs of 
 creater size and strength—mastiffs, so-called, says 
 Harrison, from their ability to ‘‘ master thieves’— 
 were made to turn wheels that raised water from 
 wells. At Royston, in Queen Elizabeth’s time, 
 water was thus lifted from the spring of a deep well 
 by a dog that worked on a revolving floor, just as 
 a squirrel plays on the wires of a rotatory cage. 
 The ass, whose greater weight made it in the well- 
 wheel a more efficient worker than the heaviest dog, 
 was substituted for this service in the seventeenth 
 century; and to this day a donkey raises water at 
 Carisbrooke Castle, in the Isle of Wight, by vainly 
 
250 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 trying to ascend the inner surface of a huge wooden 
 wheel. 
 
 Speaking of the four-legged turners of the broach, 
 an Hlizabethan physician, Dr. Caius, the founder of 
 Caius College, Cambridge, wrote: ‘* There is com- 
 prehended, under the curs of the coarsest kind, a 
 certain dog in kitchen service excellent. For when 
 any meat is to be roasted, they go into a wheel, 
 which they, turning about with the weight of their 
 bodies, so diligently look to their business that no 
 drudge nor scullion can do the feat more cunningly, 
 whom the popular sort hereupon term turn-spits.” 
 
 The veriest wretch of all domesticated animals, 
 the canine turnspit had an appearance that ac- 
 corded with his miserable estate. Deriving from 
 the skill of dog-breeders an unseemly shape, that, 
 whilst fitting him for his peculiar drudgery, made 
 him a by-word amongst ‘‘ fanciers” for unsurpass- 
 able ugliness, he could not regard the reflection of 
 his distorted limbs and graceless body, in shining 
 pewter or brilliant steel, without emotions of self- 
 abhorrence. The cripple and helot of his species, he 
 was scorned by dogs of better looks and higher 
 qualities. The mastiff regarded him as an indolent 
 Carolinian proprietor regards a negro of the lowest 
 type. Whilst my lady’s spaniel and her toy-terrier 
 shrunk from him as a terrifying monster, the blood- 
 hound and the deer-hound growled significantly if 
 
COME ‘‘ WHEEL,’ COME WOE ! 251 
 
 he ventured to approach them. No hand ever 
 caressed him. The groom kicked, the scullion 
 rated, the cook flogged him. But he had not the 
 courage to wreak upon his human persecutors the 
 fury of a temper whose natural malignity they 
 ageravated by incessant cruelties. It might be 
 imagined that, in a kitchen provided with two turn- 
 spits, he would at least find one congenial and 
 sympathizing friend in the equally despised comrade 
 of his toil and sorrow. But it was not so. Of all 
 living creatures, your true turnspit dog detested 
 none more ferociously and implacably than his 
 fellow turnspit. Abused by men of all degrees, 
 ‘and scorned by every other “ dog of the house,” a 
 pair of turnspits were continually snarling at and 
 fighting each other. Hach accused the other of 
 shirking his fair share of their common work, and 
 devouring more than his fair share of their common 
 rations; and in their mutual rage they would 
 sometimes fight to the death. Buffon tells the 
 story of a turnspit dog that, on escaping from the 
 wheel in the Duc de Lianfort’s kitchen in Paris, ran 
 in upon his fellow turnspit and killed him, because 
 the latter had, by skulking, compelled him to per- 
 form an additional spell of work. A similar incident 
 occurred at the Jesuit’s College of La Fléche, where 
 a turnspit dog, infuriated by being compelled to 
 work in the wheel when it was his turn to be 
 
woe A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 resting, had no sooner escaped from the cage of 
 torture than he hunted out his dishonest comrade, 
 and, after a brief conflict with him, took his life. 
 
 The satirical literature of the seventeenth and 
 eighteenth centuries contains several allusions to 
 the turnspits’ labour, which, in spite of its import- 
 ance and beneficence, is invariably treated by the 
 satirists with ingratitude and flippant disdain. The 
 dog, however, is not the only creature that has 
 been compelled to turn a spit. Lemery, the 
 famous French chemist, who flourished in the time 
 of Louis the Fourteenth, once saw a goose turning 
 the broach on which a fat turkey was being. roasted. 
 ** Alas!’ says a gastronomer who moralizes on this 
 incident with appropriate feeling, ‘ we are all turn- 
 spits in thig world; and when we roast a friend 
 let us be aware that many stand ready to return the 
 compliment.’ Describing the way in which this 
 turnspit goose performed his task, Dumas says, 
 ‘Hille tenait ’extrémité de la broche par le bec, et 
 son cou, en sallongeant et en se rétrécissant, faisait 
 Yeffet d’un bras. De temps en temps seulement on 
 avait soin de lui donner a boire.” The story is 
 produced by the novelist to prove that geese are 
 susceptible of education. 
 
 Comical stories could be told of misadventures 
 following from the untimely disappearance of turn- 
 spit curs. Many an epicure’s kitchen has been 
 
BATH IN TROUBLE. Pasi? | 
 
 thrown into confusion by the sudden retirement of 
 the broach-dog. Still worse; all the inhabitants of 
 populous cities have been deprived of their “ roasts,”’ 
 and reduced to pot-luck by the unexpected loss of 
 many hundred curs, simultaneously and maliciously 
 lured away from their proper kitchens. At the 
 close of the last century the captain of a man-of- 
 war stationed off Bristol, in his resentment. at the 
 city’s incivility, sent his blue-jackets on shore with 
 orders to seize and carry on board every turnspit 
 dog to be found in the western metropolis. The 
 sailors executed their instructions so completely, that 
 the Bristolians were without roast meat until they 
 came to terms with the heroic dog-stealer, and had 
 solemnly promised to entertain him with a banquet 
 appropriate to a sailor of his rank and special 
 achievements. A similar trouble befell the fashion- 
 able folk of Bath some years later, when the chair- 
 men of the streets, obeying certain practical jokers 
 in the ranks of the highest quality, seized all the 
 turnspits of the town on Saturday night, and kept 
 them in concealment till Monday morning. Bath 
 was without “hot roast” all Sunday, the day on 
 which the smell and flavour of “hot roast’ are 
 especially agreeable to church-going Hnglishmen. 
 By-the-way, the turnspit curs of Bath were notable 
 for piety. When their professional avocations per- 
 mitted them to do so, they never failed to accom- 
 
D254 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 pany their mistresses to the services of the abbey. 
 And it is on record that they were examples of 
 grave demeanour at the religious celebrations, 
 unless the First Chapter of Ezekiel, with its re- 
 iterations of wheels within wheels, was one of the 
 appointed lessons for the day. Verse 15 of that. 
 agonising chapter made the dogs restless; verse 16 
 caused them to yelp and bark angrily; the reader’s 
 voice was lost in the lamentable howlings and 
 whinings that expressed the canine disapproval of 
 verses 19 and 20. In their terror and anguish, the 
 cruelly-entreated animals, raising as they ran a 
 dismal concert of doleful sounds, rushed in a body 
 from the abbey as the reader continued, ‘*‘ When 
 those were lifted up from the earth, the wheels 
 were lifted up over against them: for the spirit of 
 the living creature was in the wheels.” 
 
 In Charles the Second’s time, a curious mechan- 
 ician contrived a machine for roasting meat that 
 was set in action by clock-work. Speaking of this 
 invention in the “ Life of Lord Keeper Guildford,” 
 Roger North says, ‘“‘ And once, upon an invitation, 
 his lordship dined with Sir Samuel Moreland at his 
 house; and, though his entertainment was exqui- 
 site, the greatest pleasure was to observe his de- 
 vices ; for everything showed art and mechanism. 
 . . . » His coach was most particular ; and he made 
 a portable engine that moved by watch-work, which 
 
INGENIOUS PROPOSALS. AT 
 
 might be called a kitchen; for it had a fireplace and 
 grate, with which he could make a soup, broil 
 costelette, or roast an egg; and for that, his con- 
 trivance was by a fork with five tines (as I may call 
 it), which stood upright at a due distance before 
 the firegrate, and turned slowly. An egg, put into 
 that, would roast according to art, and, if a piece of 
 meat were stuck upon it, it was dressed by clock- 
 work. He said that this machine cost him £30. 
 He took it with him in his coach, and, at the inns, 
 he was his own cook.” 
 
 Cleverer in contriving new instruments than in 
 ruling womanhood, the inventor of this cooking 
 apparatus was the same Sir Samuel Moreland whose 
 wife amused London with her misdemeanours, 
 whilst he entertained it with ingenious proposals. 
 Pepys’s diary and correspondence contain several 
 allusions to peccadilloes of -the lady, who was 
 eventually separated from her husbind by judicial 
 decree. Moreland corresponded with the Secretary 
 for the Admiralty on his project for a new gun- 
 carriage. An experimental agriculturist, Sir Samuel, 
 lost his money in farming; and he is one of the 
 several mechanicians of the seventeenth century 
 who, on insufficient evidence, have been credited 
 with the invention of the steam-engine. 
 
 Another notable invention for roasting meat was 
 the musical turnspit, that, whilst causing joints to 
 
256 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 gyrate before the Count de Castel Maria’s kitchen- 
 fire, played four-and-twenty tunes to the cooks of 
 that opulent lord of Treviso. The spits of this 
 machine turned a hundred and thirty roasts at the 
 same time ; and the chef was informed, by the pro- 
 gress of the melodies, when the moment had arrived 
 for removing each piece of meat. Chickens were 
 done to a-turn when the organ had played its 
 twelfth tune; the completion of the eighteenth air 
 was the signal for withdrawing hares and pheasants ; 
 but the largest pieces of beef and venison were not 
 ready for the board until the twenty-fourth melody 
 had been played out. Of course this delightful 
 machine for charming the ear ‘and gratifying the 
 stomach could be set in motion by the dog, the 
 human turnspit, or the revolving fans of the smoke- 
 jack. A barrel-organ provided with roasting-spits 
 is a mechanical combination that would delight our 
 cook-maids, who are the steadiest and most munifi- 
 cent supporters of the vagrant organ-grinders of 
 our London streets. 
 
 Towards the close of the eighteenth century the 
 wheel and dog were replaced in many kitchens by 
 the smoke-jack, an arrangement of rotating fans 
 that, sent round by the draught of air and smoke 
 ascending the chimney, accomplished the work 
 hitherto performed by a miserable cur. At the 
 opening of the present century, the village black- 
 
SMOKE AND BOTTLE-JACKS. DAG 
 
 smith made considerable yearly earnings as a maker 
 and repairer of smoke-jacks ; and whilst attending 
 to this department of his business, the intelligent 
 artisan could not fail to observe that a chimney’s 
 draught was quickened by the rising smoke, and 
 that it also increased in proportion to the largeness 
 and fierceness of the fire. These obvious facts 
 bear in an interesting way on the application of the 
 ‘‘ blast” to the locomotive. Makers and repairers 
 of smoke-jacks, like all the other handy smiths of 
 their district, the Northumbrian engine-wrights, 
 who built our earliest working locomotives, were 
 sagacious observers of all circumstances affecting 
 the draught of house-chimneys. It devolved on 
 them to cure chimneys of smoking, and to increase 
 the burning power of stoves by quickening the 
 chimney draught. Under these circumstances, it 
 is not wonderful that at an early date in the history 
 of the locomotive they saw that its waste steam 
 might be used to quicken the draught of its chim- 
 ney, and that the value of this instrument for 
 keeping up a good fire would increase in propor- 
 tion to their ability to make a larger amount of 
 steam. 
 
 The dog-wheel having been superseded by the 
 smoke-jack, the latter was in its turn discredited 
 by the jack, called a bottle-jack, from its resem- 
 blance to a large bottle. The motive power of 
 
 VOL. I. S 
 
958 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 this instrument is the weight of the suspended 
 meat, which it causes to revolve before the fire. 
 Thus the work of turning the spit, in the course 
 of centuries, passed from mento dogs, from dogs 
 to atmospheric force, from sportive air to dead 
 weight. Having first imposed the labour on his 
 meanest curs, man next constrained the buoyant 
 breeze to play the part of kitchen drudge. His 
 next innovation was to substitute the hook-spit for 
 the spear-spit, and by an ingenious piece of clock- 
 work extort from ‘‘ gravity” the service formerly 
 rendered by the wanton atmosphere or by muscular 
 force. He must be an old man who can remember 
 seeing a turnspit-dog working in its wheel. But the 
 smoke-jack is not yet altogether a thing of the 
 past. Gloucestershire contains at least one great 
 county-house, the bright spits of whose conser- 
 vative kitchen are to this day turned by the fans 
 of an old fashioned smoke-jack revolving in a huge 
 old-fashioned chimney. 
 
 Apropos of ‘jacks,’ be it observed that the 
 human drudge, who in feudal times turned a lord’s 
 meat-broach, was always called “ Jack” by his 
 contemptuous fellow-servants, who, by thus giving 
 him a name universally despised by the people of 
 Chaucer’s England, expressed their disdain of 
 his lowly office. Together with his labour, his 
 name passed to the despised cur, the active air, 
 
THE JACK-TOWEL. 259 
 
 and the modern bottle. <A jack-towel is another 
 piece of kitchen furniture to be noticed in connec- 
 tion with the ancient turn-spit’s special name. 
 Antiquaries have erred in supposing that the end- 
 less towel, running on a roller, was called a jack 
 or “jerk” towel because the user in selecting a 
 dry place of the cloth “‘jerks” it round. The long, 
 endless napkin running on a roller was called a_ 
 jack-towel from its resemblance to the endless 
 band or cord that connected the dog-wheel and 
 spit. 
 
 Suspended from the crooked spit of a bottle-jack, 
 and changing colour before a clear fire, a sirlom 
 of beef may be fairly called its own turnspit. 
 Human ingenuity achieved one of its proudest 
 triumphs when it thus compelled a mass of uncon- 
 scious flesh to prepare itself for the table. The 
 epicures of old time never imagined that dead 
 flesh would be thus made its own cook. All they 
 . could accomplish in this department of the mar- 
 vellous was to signalize their barbarity by roasting 
 live geese in a way that dispensed with the ser- 
 vices of the turnspit. 
 
260 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CRUELTIES AND CURIOSITIES. 
 
 “ A little before our times, a goose was wont to be brought to the 
 table of the King of Arragon, that was roasted alive, as I have 
 heard by old men of credit.’—Vide Baptista Porta’s “ NatuRan 
 Macicx.” 
 
 “At last I discovered, with some joy, a pig at the lower end 
 of the table, and begged a gentleman that was near to cut me a 
 piece of it. Upon which the gentleman of the house said with real 
 civility, ‘I am sure you will like the pig, for it was whipt to death.’” 
 —Vide Appison’s No. 148, “Tou Tatimr.” 
 
 “So ox-flesh may grow tender, especially of old oxen, for they 
 are hard and dry, and will not easily boil.”—Vide “ NaturaL 
 Macicx.” : 
 
 HE Neapolitans of the sixteenth century were 
 instructed by John Baptista Porta how plea- 
 sant and droll a thing it was to pluck a living 
 goose, anoint her with suet, put her on the floor of 
 a closet walled in with a circular fireplace, roast her 
 almost to death, and finally eat her palpitating flesh. 
 Having received minute instructions for compassing 
 this diabolical repast from the learned author of 
 ‘‘ Natural Magick,” the finest gentlemen and dain- 
 tiest ladies of Naples carried them out with con- 
 scientious exactitude in their kitchens and at their 
 super-fashionable tables. 
 
 Speaking on the authority of ‘ old men of credit,” 
 
A DISH TO SET BEFORE A KING. 261 
 
 Baptista Porta relates that the ‘“‘ King of Arragon’”’ 
 delighted in no dish so much as in a goose that had 
 cooked itself before expiring on his plate and under 
 his royal observation. There was no ‘ morbid 
 tenderness” for the lower animals in Baptista’s 
 time. On the contrary, it was urged by the moralists 
 of the period that for man to compassionate the 
 sufferings of the unreasoning brutes was to question 
 the benevolence of the Providence who had made 
 pain a condition of their existence. As for Bap- 
 tista’s feelings, it is enough to say that, on eating 
 his first fowl cooked in this Arragonese manner, he 
 was sincerely sorry that it had not been roasted a 
 little more. It was alive and excellent on the out- 
 side; but, alas! the process had suffered from the 
 cook’s precipitancy. 
 
 Recovering himself, the learned gentleman, whose 
 poor Latin was superior to his humanity, ob- 
 serves :—** The rule to do it is thus: Take a duck, 
 or a goose, or some such lusty creature, but the 
 goose is best for the purpose; pull all the feathers 
 from his body, leaving his head and his neck; then 
 make a fire round about him, not too narrow, lest 
 the smoke choke, or the fire rost him too soon 
 not too wide, lest he escape unrosted. Within side 
 set everywhere little pots of water, and put salt and 
 honey to them. Let the goose be smeered all over 
 with suet, and well larded, that he may be the better 
 
262 A BOOK ABOUT. THE TABLE. 
 
 meat, and rost the better; put fire about, but make 
 not too much haste; when he begins to rost he will 
 walk about, and cannot get forth, for the fire stops 
 him; when he is weary, he quencheth his thirst by 
 drinking the water, by cooling his heart and the rest — 
 of his internal parts. .... Continually moisten 
 his head and heart with a sponge. But when you 
 see him run mad up and down, and to stumble, his 
 heart then wants moysture, wherefore take him 
 away, and set him on the table to your guests.” 
 “*Ubi vero,” says the noble philosopher, whose 
 Latin is inadequately rendered by his English 
 translator, “‘insania ferri, et cespitare conspexeris 
 (deficit cordi humidum) remove, convivis appone 
 evulsis semper partibus vociferantem, ut fere prius 
 commessatus quam mortuus videatur.” ? 
 
 This revolting receipt for cooking a goose may 
 also be found in John Wecker’s “ Highteen Books 
 of the Secrets of Art and Nature,” the impudent 
 and clumsy reproduction of Porta’s ‘“ Natural 
 Magick,” which Dr. Read putinto English and pub- 
 lished in the year of Charles the Second’s restora- 
 tion. From Read’s translation of Wecker’s piratical 
 performance, it passed to Dr. Kitchiner’s ‘“‘ Cook’s 
 Oracle,” and other works on the curiosities of 
 gastronomy. 
 
 If there ever was a time when our ancestors could 
 have relished such a diabolical preparation, it had 
 
HOW TO MAKE THINGS PLEASANT. 265 
 
 passed long before the English physician produced 
 his rendering of Wecker’s “Art and Nature.” 
 There is no evidence that the King of Arragon’s 
 favourite dish was ever set on an English table. 
 Not that our ancestors, in their pursuit of gastro- 
 nomic pleasure, were incapable of practices repug- 
 nant to the finer feeling of the present generation. 
 It was their custom to kill animals by slow and 
 terrifying processes, in order that their flesh should 
 be made tender by muscular agony and mental dis- 
 tress. The flesh of the hunted hare is said to be 
 more tender than the flesh of a shot hare; and it is 
 probable that the struggles of a creature slowly 
 killed by torture soften its muscles. Anyhow, our 
 forefathers were assured that flesh was tender in 
 proportion to the amount of pain and terror em- 
 ployed in slaying it. Game struck by the terrifying 
 falcon was more toothsome than game killed in a 
 quicker and less alarming manner. Hence it was 
 usual with the Old English to fly a hawk at barn- 
 door poultry and “crammed birds.” At other 
 times, the feudal housekeeper would throw turkeys 
 and peacocks into the air from the top of a gate- 
 tower or church-steeple, in order that the fowls, as 
 they dropped to the ground below, “with great 
 pains and shaking of their wings,” might endure 
 terror which could not fail to intenerate their flesh. 
 Or, with the same object in view, he would hang 
 
| 
 264 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. ! 
 live geese or turkeys by their bills or necks to the 
 bow of a saddle, and order a servant to mount 
 horse, and take them fora gallop across country. 
 ** And these,” says the narrator, “‘ being thus rackt 
 and tossed with great pains, at the journey’s end you 
 shall find dead and very tender.” 
 In like manner bulls were baited with dogs, not 
 so much for the barbarous pleasure of witnessing 
 brutal conflicts as for the inteneration of the beef, 
 which would have been less eatable had the animals 
 been killed quickly with knife and bludgeon. ‘‘ The 
 butchers,” says Baptista Porta, “‘ put hounds at 
 them, and let them prey upon them, and they will 
 for some hours defend themselves with their horns; 
 at last, beimg overcome by multitudes of dogs, they 
 fall with their ears torn, and bit in their skin; 
 these, brought into the shambles, and cut out, are 
 more tender than ordinary.” ‘To bait an ox with 
 dogs was to soften its flesh for the teeth of old men 
 and children; but to bait the animal with bears was 
 to make the meat so tender and soluble that it — 
 would melt ina babe’s mouth. The apologist for 
 the brutalizing amusements of our ancestors will see — 
 his advantage in this account of the origin ‘and 
 prime purpose of bull-baiting. To show that the 
 barbarity had a commendable object is at least to 
 palliate its worst features, and also to account for 
 the social toleration of its exhibitions. So long as 
 
FOR THE GOOD OF THE MBAT, 265 
 
 schoolboys were allowed to subscribe their pence to 
 defray the cost of bull-baitings, teachers of the 
 young in their recognition of the usefulness over- 
 looked the cruelty of the sport. To the gentle- 
 women of George the Second’s London, who daily 
 watched from their drawing-room windows the bull- 
 baitings of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the pastime was 
 little else than a process for supplying the market 
 with meat of the finest quality. Had they known 
 that the proper inteneration of meat could have been 
 compassed by means less inconvenient and harass- 
 ing to the baited animal, these fair watchers of the 
 bull-ring would have raised their voices for the sup- 
 pression of a sport that was decidedly diverting and 
 pleasant—to the spectators. But since Providence 
 and human wisdom had ordained that beef should 
 be thus prepared for the table, who were they that 
 they should presume to question the merits of the 
 arrangement? What was the transient discomfort 
 of a brute in comparison with the pleasure of civi- 
 lized men, and all the good that ensues from delicate 
 feeding? It was not to be supposed that, having 
 authorized man to kill and devour the inferior 
 creatures, the great Giver of ‘‘ good cheer” forbade 
 him to use every means for rendering them in the 
 highest degree palatable and digestible. 
 
 While bull-baiting was still sanctioned in England 
 
 as a wholesome culinary process, our ancestors in- 
 
266 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 tenerated pigs by whipping them to death, a treat- 
 ment that produced the requisite bodily convulsions 
 and mental distress in the dying animal. Addison 
 tells us that in his time the fastidious epicure would 
 commend a sucking pig, or a piece of older pork, 
 to his friends with the assurance that the creature 
 had died under the lash. But though ordinary folk 
 saw nothing objectionable in this culinary practice, 
 moralists debated whether man was justified in 
 using it for the gratification of his palate. With 
 a seriousness that, taking the statement from the 
 domain of humour, gives it historic dignity, Charles 
 Lamb observes, in his ‘“‘ Dissertation on Roast Pig,” 
 “J remember an hypothesis argued upon by the 
 young students when I was at St. Omer’s, and 
 maintained with much learning and pleasantry on 
 both sides, ‘ Whether, supposing that the flavour of 
 a pig who obtained his death by whipping (per 
 flagellationem extremam) superadded a pleasure upon 
 the palate of a man more intense than any possible 
 suffering we can conceive in the animal, is man 
 justified in using that method of putting the animal 
 to death? I forget the decision.” 
 
 Uninfluenced by the votes of the Catholic stu- 
 dents, the humourist differed in no degree from the 
 Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals 
 with respect to the barbarity of the process. ‘* Yet,” 
 he added, “‘ we should be cautious, while we con- 
 
 = by 
 ~ a 
 
DEGREES OF CRUELTY. °67 
 
 demn the inhumanity, how we censure the wisdom 
 of the practice. It might impart a gusto.” 
 
 At present, none but a rashly-daring man would 
 venture to defend our ancestors’ flagellatory treat- 
 ment of the young pig, whose flesh was by nature 
 sufficiently soft and soluble. But in judging their 
 equally repulsive treatment of the ox, we should 
 remember the toughness and hardness of the 
 animals that they worried into tenderness. ‘The 
 beef of “Old England” lacked the juicy richness 
 and delicacy of the modern sirloin. Operating on 
 creatures that bore little resemblance to the high- 
 bred, stall-fed brutes of the Smithfield Cattle Show, 
 the butchers of olden England would have lost their 
 customers had they refused to worry their oxen with 
 bull-dogs. 
 
 The same apology cannot be made for cruelties 
 still perpetrated by dealers in meat. When we are 
 . virtuously indignant with the bull-baiters of former 
 time, who were cruel for the sake of texture, we 
 should reserve some of our wrath for the wretches 
 who, to this day, are far more cruel for the sake of 
 colour. To produce a veal of excellent whiteness, 
 it is still the brutal custom of butchers in some 
 parts of England to kill young calves by flogging 
 them. 
 
 Hven Monsieur Louis Eustache Ude would have 
 conceded that the attainment of a superior colour 
 
268 A BOOK AROUT THE TABLE. 
 
 in a viand was no sufficient object to justify the 
 infliction of extreme torture on a helpless animal. 
 According to this Frenchman any cruelty was per- 
 missible, and even commendable, in cookery that 
 was conducive to health or the palate’s gratification. 
 But he went no further. In his receipt for a 
 “matelotte. of eels” he says lightly and concisely, 
 *‘ Take one or two live eels. Throw them into the 
 fire. As they are twisting about on all sides, lay 
 hold of them with a towel in your hand, and skin 
 them from head to tail. This method is best, as it 
 is the means of drawing out the oil, which is un- 
 palatable.” Assailed by an Edinburgh Reviewer 
 and other critics for the apparent cruelty of this 
 precept, Ude defended himself in the seventh 
 edition of the “ French Cook” by remarking, in a 
 note, ‘‘ Several gentlemen have accused me of 
 cruelty for recommending in my work that eels 
 should be burnt alive. As my knowledge of cookery 
 is entirely devoted to the gratification of their taste, 
 and the preservation of their health, I consider it 
 my duty to attend to what is essential to both. 
 The blue skin and the oil, which remain when they 
 are skinned, are highly indigestible. If any gentle- 
 man or lady should make the trial of both, they 
 will find that the burnt ones are much healthier ; 
 but it 1s, after all, left to their choice whether to 
 burn or skin.” It is clear on which side Monsieur 
 
HALF-AND-HALF. 269 
 
 Ude would have spoken and voted had he taken 
 part in the discussion on the propriety of whipping 
 pigs to death. By the way Monsieur Ude, in his 
 youth, was designed for the Church, and had re- 
 ceived the first elements of a clerical education. 
 But enough for the present of processes that are 
 no less revolting than singular. To relieve him of 
 disgust occasioned by recent recitals, let the next 
 few pages entertain the reader with dishes that are 
 curious without, at the same time, being cruel. 
 When he told his readers how Archestratus, the 
 Syracusan, used to cook a pig so that it was roasted 
 on the one half and boiled on the other, Isaac 
 Disraeli was not aware that an earlier writer had 
 given even more precise directions for the same 
 culinary achievement. In the ninth book of the 
 “‘ Deipnosophiste,” Athenzus describes how a hog 
 may be served, with one half well roasted and the 
 other delicately boiled. Dishes of this kind were in 
 high favour with the ancient epicures, and the taste 
 for them was transmitted by the gourmands of the 
 Roman Empire to the medieval gastronomers. 
 They were, also, occasionally seen on the tables of 
 our ancestors in Charles the Second’s time. 
 Together with Athenzeus’s receipt for thus trifling 
 with the sublime grandeur of a boar, Baptista 
 Porta, in the ‘‘ Natural Magick,” gives directions for 
 cooking poultry and fish in the same fantastic 
 
270 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 manner. He instructed the chefs of the sixteenth 
 century how to fry, boil, and roast a lamprey all at 
 once, and how to surprise a novice in gastronomy 
 with a capon, one half roasted, and the other half 
 boiled. To accomplish this last-named exploit, the 
 cook had only to lay a properly-dressed capon on 
 its side in a rather deep dish, add broth till the 
 liquor rose over the lower half of the fowl, and then 
 put the vessel into the oven. ‘The upper part 
 of the capon,” says the author, ‘ will be roasted by 
 the heat of the oven, and the under part will be 
 boiled. Nor will it be less pleasant to behold.” 
 When he had feasted to excess on: birds and 
 beasts cooked thus curiously, the gourmand of 
 Charles the Second’s time was in a condition to 
 derive benefit from the stomach-brush or “ pro- 
 vang,” which Judge Rumsey of Gray’s Inn con- 
 trived, during the Commonwealth, for the season- 
 able relief of gentlemen who had overeaten them- 
 selves. Mentioned in the ‘ Book about Doctors,” . 
 this elegant invention is also described in a number 
 of the Gentleman's Magazime for 1750, where the 
 inquirer may, moreover, find a picture of the ap- 
 paratus. But no student who would fully under- 
 stand the inventor’s “instrument to cleanse the 
 stomack,”’ and ascertain the conditions most favour- 
 able for its efficacious use, should fail to peruse the 
 ‘‘Organon Salutis’ (1657), wherein the Judge 
 
A NEAT LITTLE INVENTION. 971 
 
 commends his harmless and convenient brush as a 
 substitute for the perilous emetics of the apothecary. 
 It is, he observes, ‘*‘ a whalebone instrument, which 
 may be made from two foot in length or more to a 
 yard long, after this form, to be used for all ages, 
 according to the stature of their bodies. It may be 
 made after the form of a long feather out of a 
 goose-wing, with a small button of fine linen or 
 silk, to the bignesse of a cherrystone, fastened at 
 one end, which goeth into the body, and with a 
 string fastened at the other end, that a man may 
 use and draw it out at pleasure. These are com- 
 monly sold in London, and especially at the long 
 shops in Westminster Hall. If it be kept in water, 
 it will be as gentle as may be desired. It must be 
 stirred gently, and always used after some meat 
 and drink, as any man liketh best, and findeth 
 occasion for it.” 
 
 For fear of shocking the polite reader, the present 
 writer forbears to recite Judge Rumsey’s minuter 
 directions for the use of the brush, which, strange to 
 say, proved less agreeable to epicures than the con- 
 triver hoped it would be. “Sir, I have tried your 
 sherry, and I prefer the gout,” the last Lord Derby 
 replied to the puffing wine-merchant, who had sent 
 him a sample of “pure unbrandied sherry,” of 
 which it was asserted the Earl might drink two 
 bottles. a-day without provoking an attack of his 
 
Rape A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 podagra. The epicures took the same view of Judge 
 Rumsey’s “ first remedy: the provang.” Having 
 tried it, and even praised it into transient fashion, 
 they preferred dyspepsia, tempered by old-fashioned 
 emetics, notwithstanding the obvious disadvantages 
 of the ancient medicines. ‘‘ My dear doctor,” an 
 Irish gentleman observed to Dr. Babbington, “it is 
 of no use your giving me an emetic. I tried it 
 twice in Dublin, and it would not stay on my 
 stomach either time.” 
 
 The men who made trial of Judge Rumsey’s 
 stomach-brush belonged to a generation of daring 
 and self-sacrificing experimentalists. Some of them 
 would “ swallow small white pebble stones, to cool 
 the heat of their stomachs, which,’’ adds the wit- 
 nessing inventor of the provang, ‘‘ I conceive to 
 be in imitation of long-winged hawks.” Others of 
 them cooled their coppers with leaden bullets. “I 
 have known others,” says Judge Rumsey, “ that 
 used to swallow small bullets of lead, which giveth 
 me occasion to report a strange history which I 
 know to be true. An old souldier and commander 
 in Queen Klizabeth’s time, in the Low Countries, 
 
 was drinking of healths among his companions, and 
 
 at every health did drink a pistol bullet to the 
 number of eighteen, which continued in his belly 
 for neer the space of two years. He acquainted a 
 physition with his case, who did hang the souldier 
 
 hs il 
 
STRANGE STORIES. OT a 
 
 by the heels, by a beam in a chamber, and then all 
 the bullets dropped out of his mouth again ; but the 
 same were somewhat worn in his belly. The souldier 
 is yet living, and in good health, and about fore- 
 score and ten years of age.” 
 
 The Younger Brunel (Isambart Kingdom) was 
 amusing his children with conjuring tricks, when he 
 slipped into his mouth a half-sovereign, that, enter- 
 ing his gullet, lodged there for a few days. To 
 relieve the engineer of his sufferings, his physicians 
 caused him to be raised from his sofa, feet upwards 
 and head downwards, when the coin dropped through 
 the patient's mouth to the floor. Mr. Brunel’s mis- 
 adventure has been thought a singular case. But 
 it is a trivial affair in comparison with the case of 
 Judge Rumsey’s soldier. Sceptics will probably 
 reject the lawyer’s story asa fiction. The reader 
 may be left to decide between the judge and his 
 censors. 
 
 VOL. I. 7 ak 
 
274 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 NUMBERS AT TABLE. 
 
 “Terna tibi heec primum triplici diversa colore 
 Licia cireumdo, terque hec altaria circum 
 Effigiem duco, Numero Deus impare gaudet.” 
 Vide Vireit,' Hct. vit. 
 “Crowd not your table, let your number be 
 Not more than seven, and never less than three.” 
 Dr. Krne’s “ Art oF CooKERY.” 
 
 “The more the merrier, the fewer the better cheer,—Two are 
 company, three are none.”—OLD PROVERBS, 
 
 “Que le nombre des convives n’excéde pas douze, afin que la 
 
 conversation puisse étre constamment générale.””—BRILLAT-SAVARIN S 
 “‘ PHYSIOLOGIE DU GOUT.” 
 
 “En France tous les nombres sont bons, hors le nombre treize.” 
 —ALEXANDRE Dumas’ “ DICTIONNAIRE DE CUTSINE.” 
 HOUGH epicures differ as to the best number of 
 guests for an agreeable dinner, they are 
 unanimous in holding that no party, with enjoyment 
 for its sole object, should be too numerous for 
 
 general conversation. Like the best authorities of © 
 
 ancient Rome, on matters pertaining to the table, 
 some of the most eminent Amphitryons of modern 
 England have insisted that dinner should never be 
 served for less than three persons, the number of 
 
NUMBERS FOR ENJOYMENT. ees 
 
 the Graces, or for more than nine, the number of 
 the Muses. Dr. King, Swift’s friend, and the author 
 of **The Art of Cookery,” thought nine too many 
 by two for perfect enjoyment. In his opinion, the 
 feasters at a banquet should never be so few as two 
 or exceed the number of the days in a week. 
 Grimod de la Reyniére’s favourite number was three, 
 but he allowed it to be raised to six, which no 
 dinner party ought, in his opinion, to exceed under 
 any circumstances. ‘“‘ Les diners fins se font en 
 petites comités. Ht comme une fricassée de poulets 
 ne sauroit étre parfaite si l’on met plus de trois, de 
 méme un repas de foncés amateurs ne doit excéder 
 s1x couverts.” 
 
 Twelve has, however, been declared a permissible 
 number by the finest gourmands of modern France 
 and modern England. Brillat-Savarin and Alex- 
 andre Dumas insist that, though less desirable than 
 a smaller party, a dinner of twelve may be altogether 
 successful. 
 
 The largeness of the number does not preclude 
 general conversation, when each member of the 
 assembly is careful to address the company rather 
 than his next neighbour, and talks for the general 
 enjoyment rather than his own pleasure. But 
 though it is possible for a speaker to make 
 himself heard over a table of twelve without 
 raising his voice to the pitch of deciamation, or to 
 
 pet 
 
276 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 any offensive loudness, an animated talker is apt to 
 become too noisy and oratorical at so large a meet- 
 ing. The conversational competition of twelve 
 persons too often begets the clamorous contention 
 that puts an end to sociable gossip, and is more 
 prejudicial than any other disturbing influence to 
 gastronomic enjoyment. With due respect to the 
 many eminent feeders who have spoken of the 
 number with approval or toleration, it may be 
 questioned whether so many as a dozen persons 
 should ever be invited to the dinner, which is de- 
 signed for something better than formal and cere- 
 monious hospitality. 
 
 Two will always remain with high epicures the best 
 of all social numbers for an artistic rezalement. More 
 secure from disturbing incidents than any higher 
 number, it is especially favourable to gastronomic 
 sympathy and the poetry of feeding. Hspecially 
 conducive to mutual confidence and the enthusiasm 
 of friendship, the déte-a-téte dinner is distinguished 
 by an almost sacred repose. Lord Barrymore and 
 his Jacobite physician, Dr. Beauford, had no need 
 to talk of their devotion to the Pretender, when 
 they exchanged looks of ecstasy and unalterable 
 affection over their choicest dishes. 
 
 “You know Lord Barrymore?” Dr. Beauford 
 was asked during his examination by the Lords of 
 the Privy Council. 
 
SAFETY 1N TWO. AMET 
 
 “Intimately, most intimately,” replied the 
 Doctor. 
 
 - You are continually with him?’ urged the 
 questioner. 
 
 “We dine together,” was the answer, “ almost 
 daily when his lordship is in town.” 
 
 ** What do you talk about ?” 
 
 “* Hating and drinking.” 
 
 ** And what else ?”’ 
 
 “Oh, my lord, we never talk of anything except 
 eating and drinking, drinking and eating.” 
 
 Of what else should two wise and delicate feasters 
 Speak at a téte-a-téte meal? To them the subject 
 comprehends the whole domain of the higher 
 interests. Together with the generous emotions, 
 it covers politics, philosophy and art. Moreover, 
 for such fervid politicians as our lord and his 
 doctor, two is an agreeably safe number at table, 
 should the talk run into politics and treason. The 
 law of England declares three persons, at least, to 
 be requisite for a conspiracy. And even moralists 
 have held that a man may defend himself against 
 a treacherous comrade, by repudiating as false the 
 traitor’s true report of words interchanged ‘‘ under 
 the rose” of social confidence. 
 
 Perfect harmony is endangered by the introduc- 
 tion of a third person. In compliment to the 
 Graces, the Fates, and possibly the Furies, the 
 
278 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 ancients were frequent givers of dinners for three. 
 When Lucullus, Cicero, and Pompey dined together 
 in the Chamber of Apollo, at a cost of seventy-five 
 thousand sesterces, they had a perfect menu; but 
 the felicity of the meeting scarcely equalled that of 
 Lucullus’s dinners with himself, or Lord Barry: 
 more’s téte-a-téte ‘‘ feeds’ with his congenial doctor. 
 
 The traitor at a téte-ad-téte repast may be defeated ° 
 
 with permissible perjury ; but disastrous truth may 
 
 be established out of the mouths of two witnesses. 
 
 who, on leaving a dinner of three, combine to 
 hand their common associate over to his political 
 adversaries. When he has decided to ask a third, 
 Amphitryon had better invite a fourth guest. Har- 
 mony is exposed to less peril by the fourth than by 
 the third. If the third possesses any unamiable pro- 
 pensity, it may be corrected by a contrary dispo- 
 sition in the fourth. Moreover, with four at table, 
 dinner may be followed by whist, a game beloved 
 by gastronomers beyond all other games. 
 
 For a festal meeting of philosophers, five is 
 the fittest of all numbers. Unproductive in 
 addition—(five+five equals ten, i.e, equals only 
 one cypher)—the number, which symbolizes 
 virginity, is sacred to Minerva, whose festival, 
 the Quinquatrus, began on the fifth day after 
 the Ides of March, and in the time of Ovid 
 lasted for five days. Cognizant of these facts, 
 
MEETINGS OF THE SEXES. 279 
 
 the Fellows of our Royal Society should relinquish 
 the periodical dinners of their entire brotherhood, 
 and blush to dine together in any number exceeding 
 Minerva’s symbol. In further commendation of 
 five as the number for a dinner of savants, it should 
 be observed that it is admirable for the purposes of 
 scientific discussion. Whilst five learned minds 
 are enough for the ventilation of nice questions, of 
 science, a party of that number is less likely than a 
 larger assembly to be guilty of such exhibitions of 
 animosity as sometimes disturb the serenity of 
 philosophers in debate. Moreover, it is well for 
 learned men to assemble in an uneven number, so 
 that the functions of moderator may be discharged 
 by an “odd man,” who, voting only when the 
 disputants on both sides of an argument are equal, 
 may determine even controversies by a dispassionate 
 casting vote. 
 
 But whether they are ee of many 
 *‘ologies,’’ or epicures whose one philosophy has 
 reference to the enjoyments of the table, six 
 (Grimod de la Reyniére’s number) is better than 
 five for a party consisting of representatives of both 
 sexes. When the sexes meet at the social board 
 they should be equally matched—at least, in num- 
 ber. They should also be arranged so that 
 their alternation is complete. The man is never 
 altogether content at a dinner-table who, with a 
 
280 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 lady next him on one side, has a man for his other 
 neighbour. It is even worse when two of the 
 gentler sex are seated together. Like a swimmer © 
 with one arm tied, and therefore powerless to use 
 the other effectively, the woman who is denied the 
 stimulus of a flirtation on her left hand can seldom 
 flirt brilliantly and consistently with her partner on 
 the right. For this reason, eight and twelve are 
 inconvenient numbers for a party of both sexes at 
 an oblong table, with the hostess at the top and the 
 host at the bottom, after the old fashion. | 
 Seven, the mystic number with which the ancient 
 Hegyptians divided time into weeks, has several 
 claims to consideration as the proper force of cele- 
 brants for a festal exercise. Whilst the dinner, a 
 noble work, reminds one of the greatest of all crea- 
 tive achievements, it may be well that the number 
 of the guests should equal the six days of productive 
 labour and the one day of rest. With Dr. King, as 
 we have already seen, seven was a@ maximum num- 
 ber for a banquet of wits. And certainly the number 
 is quite enough for an assembly of * wits,” all over- 
 flowing with raillery, and more ready to talk than 
 to listen. Bedlam on visiting-day, at the full of the 
 moon (as it was in the old time when the moon still 
 affected the, phrenzies of lunatics), would be less 
 deafening than a meeting of twelve such table- 
 talkers as Sydney Smith. ‘The thunder-storm of 
 
*© OOTAVES.”’ 281 
 
 such a meeting would burst and spend itself without 
 any “brilliant flashes of silence.”’ 
 
 Far better than seven, for a meeting of both 
 sexes, and not too many for a small dining-room, 
 eight is not a number to be shut out of respectful 
 consideration by a pedantic reiteration of Dr. King’s 
 precept. It is much in its favour that it is the 
 favourite number of one of our most enlightened 
 epicures, a man scarcely less honourably known in 
 literature and the arts than in the profession of 
 which he is a brilliant leader. After much conside- 
 ration and experience in hospitable labours, this 
 consummate entertainer insists that, whilst eight is 
 neither too many nor too few for the requirements 
 of social intercourse, it had several economical re- 
 commendations. A dinner for eight is so easily 
 managed in the kitchen that the chef can give the 
 proper amount of personal attention to each item of 
 the menu, and is not compelled to expend his powers 
 on the chief works of the menu to the prejudice 
 of subordinate, though important, dishes. More- 
 over, a bottle of wine, distributed by a judicious 
 butler, gives eight glasses, a fact that of itself com- 
 mends the number to the Amphitryon whose wines 
 are curious and costly, and who never sends the 
 same wine twice round his table. Anyhow, the 
 *‘ octaves” of this entertainer are so successful and 
 
282 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 famous that they have given the dinner of eight a 
 new place in epicurean annals. 
 
 Besides commemorating the Muses, nine possesses 
 
 in an especial degree the luck which folk-lore has — 
 
 for centuries assigned to odd numbers. ‘“ Pll hold,” 
 
 says Falstaff in the ‘“‘ Merry Wives of Windsor,” | 
 
 ‘this is the third time: I hope, good luck lies in 
 odd numbers. Away, go; they say, there is a 
 divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, 
 or death.” If three was lucky, much more so was 
 three times three. The decalogue is honoured by 
 the feast for ten persons. Hleven, an odd number, 
 covers the ten commandments and the precept of 
 mutual love. Mention has been made of twelve. 
 A questionable number, it is too good to be re- 
 jected, and not good enough to be accepted, without 
 amurmur. Just not too many for sociability under 
 favourable conditions, twelve are barely enough for 
 pomp and ceremonious grandeur. When it com- 
 _prises four persons ambitious of leading the con- 
 versation, the party of twelve is often unmanage- 
 able ; and when found too large for general gossip, 
 it is also found too small for subdivisions into knots 
 and coteries. Still, in spite of its disadvantages, it 
 ranks among the sociable numbers. 
 
 To speak of the difficulty of placing guests, is to 
 think of the different shapes of the table. For the 
 grand dinner of two dozen or thirty «guests, no 
 
 —s 
 
SHAPING THE BOARD. 283 
 
 board is better than the oblong table. Larger 
 banquets require the horse-shoe board, or one of the 
 several combinations of long tables—the L, the H, 
 or the Pi table. For smaller parties the circular 
 table is excellent. But it is inconvenient for a com- 
 pany exceeding twelve; the circle, whose circum- 
 ference affords ample space for eighteen guests, 
 being so large that each sitter is at a most unsocial 
 distance from his diametrically opposed fellow- 
 guest, whilst the middle of the board, lying beyond 
 reach of hands, is so much useless area. King 
 Arthur’s round table was a mythical impossibility. 
 The oval table has all the advantages, while avoiding 
 the disadvantages, of the circular board. The full- 
 sized square table is best for a party of eight. By 
 the way, ‘‘ square meals” is an American collo- 
 quialism for meals taken at table, in contradistinc- 
 tion to “‘ snacks” taken from a buffet. The rect- 
 angular table should always be so large that two 
 persons may sit in line at the top and two side by 
 side at the bottom; and, for reasons already indi- 
 cated, at a party of eight or twelve persons, taken 
 in equal numbers from both sexes, either end of the 
 table should be occupied by a gentlewoman and her 
 cavalier. The Amphitryon whose dining-room is 
 too narrow for such table, or whose rectangular 
 table is too narrow to admit of such an arrangement, 
 should compass a perfect alternation of the sexes by 
 
284, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 putting a man at either end of the board. It is no 
 longer a point of dignity with a lady to sit at the 
 upper end of her own table. 
 
 A word on the woods of which dining-tables may 
 be made, Rose-wood, walnut, maple—indeed, any 
 wood that takes a good polish, and by its colour 
 pleases the eye,—may be used for other furniture ; 
 but in England oak and mahogany are the woods 
 for the festal table. ‘‘The old tree’ of the olden 
 English was invariably an oak; but in later times it 
 has been generally supplanted by the mahogany, 
 which came into vogue in the days of Anne and her 
 nearest successor. Dr. Gibbons, the physician 
 whom Dr. Radcliffe detested, and nick-named 
 ‘‘ Nurse Gibbons,” may be thanked for the warm- 
 coloured wood with which we have so many agree- 
 able associations. His brother, a West Indian 
 captain, brought over some of the wood as ballast, 
 thinking it might possibly turn to account in the 
 London. At first the carpenters, in a truly con- 
 servative spirit, refused to have anything to do with 
 the ‘‘new wood,” saying it was too hard for their 
 tools. Dr. Gibbons, however, had first a candle- 
 box, and then a bureau made for Mrs. Gibbons out 
 of the condemned material. The bureau so pleased 
 his friends, amongst whom was the Duchess of 
 Buckingham, that Her Grace ordered a similar 
 piece of furniture, and introduced the wood into 
 
IN HIS LONELESS. 285 
 
 high life, where it quickly became the fashion. Hre 
 long the wood of the warm hue and brilliant 
 ‘polish’ was seen in every dining-room of good 
 society ; and in order that they might sce their glass 
 and plate reflected on the lustrous surface of their 
 mahogany, epicures ordered the cloth to be removed 
 before the after-service or dessert. Thus the new 
 wood, having put conservative oak into disfavour, 
 introduced a new table-fashion. 
 
 Much may be said in behalf of solitary dinners. 
 If two is the number of social confidence and se- 
 curity, one is the number of wnsocial safety. In 
 troublous times the wretch who can trust no one 
 does well to dine alone. The secrets which a man 
 confides to himself at a lonely regalement are in his 
 own keeping, and it is only by his own act that 
 they can be brought in evidence against him. Hven 
 more than two, one is a number favourable to har- 
 mony. The man who can agree with no one else may 
 at least be able to think well of himself. He can 
 approve lis own arguments when there is none to 
 oppose them, and applaud the jeux d’esprit of which 
 he is the creator and sole recipient. Two has been de- 
 clared company, when three may be no such thing ; 
 but to certain natures two ata table is one too many, 
 whilst one at a feast is the perfection of companion- 
 ship. ‘‘ There is society where noise intrudes,” and 
 epicures have declared that this society is best 
 
286 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 cultivated at a sybaritic board. Of course the man 
 may be found who, shunning all men, thinks meanly of 
 himself. But the anchorite who, in his solitude, 
 quarrels with himself is a prodigy of captiousness 
 and self-hatred that defies consideration. Ceasing 
 to dine, he should starve himself out of existence as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 Lucullus never dined more sumptuously than when 
 he dined alone. All readers remember how he 
 upbraided his chef for serving him a cheap repast 
 (costing about £100 of English money) when 
 ** Lucullus dined with Lucullus,” and no one else. 
 Kqually great as a consumer and a composer, Haydn 
 liked to dine alone and eat much. It was his 
 custom to order dinner for five at his favourite 
 hotel, and at the appointed hour to devour the 
 whole banquet. ‘‘ Serve dinner,” he said on one 
 occasion to a new waiter, who was not aware of the 
 musician’s way of sustaining himself. ‘ The dinner 
 is ready,” returned the waiter, bowing respectfully 
 to the hotel’s best customer, “‘ but, Sir, the company 
 is not come.” ‘‘De gompany!” Haydn retorted 
 contemptuously. ‘Pooh! de gompany! Iam de 
 gompany.” ‘The dinner for five was forthwith put 
 before ‘‘ de gompany,’’ and not an eatable scrap of 
 it found its way back to the kitchen. Haydn’s 
 ducal contemporary of Norfolk was another lordly 
 feeder, who delighted to eat at a Covent Garden 
 
 9 
 
 —_ 
 
ENOUGH FOR ONE. 287 
 
 tavern food enough for five ordinary feasters. 
 But the duke, more sensitive of observation than 
 the musician, never again dined five times at once 
 in the hotel where his gastronomic capabilities had 
 caused the waiter to regard him with obvious 
 amazement. The Curé de Brequier, immortalized 
 by Brillat-Savarin, was another solitary diner, who 
 could eat at a sitting as much food as would keep 
 a working man in vigour for ten days. The re- 
 verend gentleman could refresh himself thus liberally 
 under observant eyes with perfect composure. 
 Brillat-Savarin once saw him, in less than three- 
 quarters of an hour, sweep into his stomach a quart 
 of soup, a plate of bouilli, a large leg of mutton, a 
 superb ham, a copious salad, a pound or two of 
 cheese, a prodigious quantity of bread, a bottle of 
 water, a full bottle of wine, and a cup of coffee. 
 ** Apres quoi,’ says the narrator of this exploit, “ i 
 se reposa.’ Severely accurate, Brillat-Savarin is 
 careful to state that the curé did not eat either the 
 ham-bone or the bone of the gigot. 
 
 A dinner less remarkable for grandeur, but 
 famous for the humour of its eater, was consumed 
 by the President of the Tribunal at Avignon. 
 
 ** By my faith,” said this excellent judge of law 
 and good cheer to an interested auditor, ‘‘ we have 
 just had a superb turkey. It was excellent, stuffed 
 to the beak with truffles, tender as a chicken, fat as 
 
288 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 an ortolan, aromatic as a thrush. By my faith, we 
 left nothing but its bones !” 
 
 “And how many were there of you?” inquired 
 the curious hearer. 
 
 “Only two,” answered the gourmand, with a self- 
 complaisant smile. 
 
 “‘ Only two ?” ejaculated the simple auditor, with 
 amazement. 
 
 “ Precisely so,” the lawyer answered; ‘ only two. 
 There was myself and there was—the turkey.” 
 
 This judge was a man of infinite jest; but in 
 eluttonous ability he was surpassed by an HEnglish- 
 man of letters and politics, who at his solitary dinner 
 in an Old Bailey beef shop ate seven pounds and a 
 half of solid meat, sliced from a round of boiled 
 beef. As his customer ate, the keeper of the shop is 
 regarded him with increasing anger; for diners at 
 the establishment were at liberty to eat as much as 
 they pleased for a stated sum. 
 
 ‘“‘ Capital beef,’ said the gourmand graciously, 
 when he at length rose from his seat, “a man may 
 cut and come again here.” | 
 
 “You may cut, Sir,’’ responded the purveyor of 
 dinners, ‘‘ but P’ll be blowed if you shall come again.” 
 
 The story went about the town, and in its travels 
 encountered the famous caricaturist, who retold it in 
 a familiar cartoon, which gave the Reverend Row- 
 land Hill his irreverent simile for the divine grace. 
 
FATHER AND SON. 289 
 
 *The grace of God,” said the jocular but earnest 
 preacher to the congregation whom he lured heaven- 
 wards with pleasantries, ‘“‘is like a round of beef; 
 you may cut and come again.” 
 
 If historians may be believed, Grimod de la 
 Reyniére—the editor of the ‘* Almanach des Gour- 
 mands,” and uncle of the famous Count d’Orsay— 
 had a son worthy of his epicurean father. Travel- 
 ling towards Paris, Grimod de la Reyniére (pére) 
 alighted from his carriage at the entrance of a pro- 
 vincial hotel, with an appetite that demanded im- 
 mediate and copious satisfaction. 
 
 *¢ Let me have for dinner,” he cried, ‘‘ everything 
 good and eatable in the house.” 
 
 & Alas, Sir,’ answered the landlord, ‘ my larder 
 is empty, and I can give you no dinner.” 
 
 _ At this moment, the opening of a door enabled the 
 epicure to see seven turkeys on a broach before a 
 splendid fire. Sniffing the rich savour of culinary 
 incense that came through the kitchen door, Grimod 
 de la Reyniére exclaimed indignantly, 
 
 ‘** Are you mad or insolent? I see seven turkeys 
 on the spit.” 
 
 Again asserting that his larder was empty, the 
 host explained that the seven noble fowls—the only 
 good provision of the house—were on the point of 
 being served for a. young gentleman who had 
 ordered them for his dinner. 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
290 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 “What! seven turkeys for one gentleman—for 
 one young gentleman?” urged the amazed and 
 hungry traveller. 
 
 ‘It is so,’ answered the Boniface. 
 
 **Conduct me to his chamber. At least he will 
 spare me one of his seven birds!” Grimod de la 
 Reynicre implored. 
 
 The landlord consented, and in another minute 
 the chief illuminator of Parisian gourmands was 
 bowing courteously to the youth who, with the 
 daring of his years, had ordered seven turkeys to 
 be cooked for his solitary meal. The youth was De 
 la Reyniére’s son. 
 
 _ What!” cried the father, angrily, ‘fis it you 
 who ordered seven turkeys for your dinner P” 
 
 ‘Sire,’ said the son, with fine emotion, “ pardon 
 the apparent vulgarity of my taste and conduct, so 
 unbecoming in one who has the honour to be your 
 offspring. Believe me, I am the victim of circum- 
 stances. My taste, my hereditary genius impelled 
 me to order a more varied repast. But the larder 
 contained nothing, my host could give me nothing 
 but the turkeys.”’ 
 
 ‘‘But why, my dear boy,” inquired the mollified 
 parent, ‘“‘be so extravagant as to order seven 
 turkeys, when, surely, two would have been enough 
 
 for your appetite p”? 
 
HISTORIC DOUBTS. 291 
 
 A smile of conscious worth and self-respect 
 brightened the youth’s visage, as he replied, 
 
 “ Father, you have always told me that a turkey 
 not stuffed with truffles comprised no part save 
 les-sots-les-laissent’ (Anglice, ‘ oyster,” or ‘the 
 parson’s nose’) “fit for a gentleman’s plate and 
 palate. I ordered the seven turkeys in order that I 
 might dine off the fourteen les-sots-les-laissent. 
 What other course was open to me under the dis- 
 tressing circumstances ?” 
 
 The father and son embraced each other. 'T'wo 
 hours later, the elder Grimod de la Reyniére pro- 
 ceeded on his journey ful) of turkey and overflowing 
 with parental pride. 
 
 The story is excellent; but unfortunately it has 
 been told of half-a-score fathers and sons, besides 
 the two De la Reyniéres. The careful author of 
 “The Art of Dining” assigns it to Brillat-Savarin 
 and his eldest boy, and says that the number of 
 turkeys roasted for the youthful gourmet did not 
 exceed four. Such contradictions bewilder the 
 simple reader, and dispose the critic to regard the 
 anecdote as apocryphal. The sceptic asks whether 
 the editor of the ‘“‘ Almanach des Gourmands”’ had 
 ason. In the confusion of claims and uncertainty 
 of titles, any masculine reader of this page, with 
 a son of suitable age and taste, is at liberty to 
 
 uU 2 
 
292 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 appropriate the story and tell it of himself and his 
 heir. 
 
 In the way of eating money, it is probable that 
 no modern epicure has surpassed the achievement 
 by which the Vicomte de Vieil-Castel won a wager 
 of five hundred francs, under the eyes of half-a- 
 score Parisians of the highest fashion, who watched 
 the astounding performance with equal delight and 
 amazement. Monsieur le Vicomte had undertaken 
 to consume five hundred francs’ worth of food and 
 liquor within two hours. Of course he was allowed 
 to order the costly repast. It consisted of twenty- 
 four dozen Ostend oysters, thirty francs; a soup 
 aux nids @ hivrondelles, one hundred and fifty francs; . 
 a beef-steak, two francs; a fish (wne ferra) from 
 the Lake of Geneva, forty francs; a pheasant stuffed 
 with truffles, forty francs; a salmis of ortolans, 
 fifty francs; a dish of asparagus, fifteen francs ; 
 a plate of young peas, twelve francs; a pine-apple, 
 twenty-four francs; a dish of strawberries, twenty 
 francs; a bottle of Johannisberg, twenty-four 
 francs; two bottles of Bordeaux, fifty-francs; half 
 a bottle of Constance, forty francs; half a bottle of 
 choice sherry, that had been to India and back, 
 fifty francs; coffee and liqueurs, one france fifty 
 centimes; total, five hundred and forty-eight francs, 
 fifty centimes. Thus the cost of the dinner ex- 
 cee ded the stipulated sum by forty-eight francs and 
 
WHEN ONE DINES ALONE. 293 
 
 a half. The victor had sipped his concluding 
 - liqueur and café, and received the congratulations 
 of his spectators before one hour and forty minutes 
 had passed since he took his first oyster. Of 
 course, both in respect to the quantity and the 
 cost of the aliments consumed, this exploit would 
 have been mere child’s play to Lucullus dining with 
 Lucullus. But for a modern it was a creditable 
 performance. So that he may account for the high 
 price of some of the items of the menu, the reader 
 should be told that the affair came off in the middle 
 of an unusually severe winter. 
 
 The solitary diner (if he be an epicure, and none 
 but epicures can be justly said to dine) seldom 
 fails in appetite for food. But he usually drinks 
 more freely than he eats. The Vicomte de Vieil- 
 Castel drank four bottles of wine at his little repast. 
 ‘¢When one dines alone,’ said Theodore Hook, 
 ‘the bottle does come round so fast.” On being 
 asked whether he had taken the whole of three 
 bottles of port at a solitary dinner, without any 
 assistance, Sir Hercules Langrishe replied, ‘“ No, 
 not quite that, I had the assistance of a bottle of 
 Madeira.” Whilst lovers of good cheer may in 
 their hours of loneliness humour their gulosity, to 
 any degree of self-indulgence, without incurring 
 social obloquy, it is generally thought scandalous 
 for a man to drink deeply in the absence of 
 
294, A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 fellow-topers. Dr. Johnson held an exactly con- 
 trary opinion, and acted upon it. Indeed when 
 he allowed himself the rather discreditable pleasure 
 of drunkenness, he disdained to take it in festal 
 society. ‘Sir,’ he once said to Boswell, “I 
 do not say it 1s wrong to produce self-compla- 
 cency by drinking; I only deny that it improves 
 the mind. When I drank wine, I scorned to drink 
 it when in company. I have drunk many a bottle 
 by myself; in the first place, because I had need 
 of it to raise my spirits, in the second place, be- 
 cause I would bave nobody to witness its effects 
 upon me.” 
 
 The auricular nerves being intimately related 
 with the nerves of the nose and palate, it is not 
 strange that whatever afflicts the hearing is preju- 
 dicial to a process which appeals directly to the 
 taste and smell. Always averse to noise whilst 
 they are eating, epicures shrink instinctively from 
 speakers with harsh and overbearing voices.- It is 
 the reverse with mere gluttons. Always noisy at 
 meat, both in their speech and their manner of 
 eating, gross feeders delight in uproar and riotous 
 associates. Some epicures are so sensitive of 
 sound, that, whilst tumultuous clamour completely 
 paralyses their palates, they require perfect silence 
 in order to appreciate delicate flavours. ‘Ah, 
 gentlemen, keep a little quiet, one does not know 
 
SILENCE IS GOLDEN. 295 
 
 what one is eating,” said Montmaur, the French 
 gourmet, who fed nicely in the earlier part of the 
 “seventeenth century, and who, in his reasonable 
 recognition of the piquancy which his discreetly 
 exercised wit gave to a repast, used to say to his 
 friends, “‘ You find the meats and wine, and I will 
 find the salt.” Itis on record that Thackeray—a 
 man of fine gust as well as of lofty genius—required 
 unbroken silence for the full enjoyment of a dish 
 of superlative merit. In order that justice, should 
 be done to a matelote of exquisite goodness, served 
 at a Parisian dinner, he paused after the first taste 
 of the charming preparation, and turning to Mr. 
 Hayward, said beseechingly, ‘“‘My dear fellow, 
 don’t let us speak a word till we have finished this 
 dish.’ The novelist, by the way, is said to have 
 been the first to discover that, to be perfect, a 
 curry should contain a slight flavour of crab. 
 
 For the highest gastronomic pleasure, silence was 
 no less necessary to the famous Marquis of Hertford, 
 the wicked lord whose portrait may be found in the 
 pages of Thackeray, Disraeli, and Reynolds, to say 
 nothing of a score other novelists. A man of wit, 
 who relished wit in his companions, the Marquis 
 was also a consummate epicure, who held that, 
 whilst sprightly conversation heightened the de- 
 lights of the table, it should be jealously used as 
 nothing more than a subordinate influence towards 
 
296 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 the higher enjoyments. Theodore Hook was. the 
 niost judicious of table talkers. Jubilant over his 
 claret at dessert, and vociferously hilarious to- 
 wards early morning over his gin-and-water, he 
 bridled his frolicsomeness at the epicurean board. 
 His talk between the soup and the cheese consisted 
 of gently stimulating pleasantries, thrown about in 
 the intervals between courses. On the appearance 
 of each fresh course he grew taciturn. Whilst a 
 culinary work of extraordinary excellence was under 
 consideration, he was always as silent as death. 
 His great influence with his patron was largely due 
 to his discretion at table. : | 
 Never jealous of young aspirants in the social arts, 
 and above all things sedulous for his patron’s 
 amusement, Theodore sometimes introduced to the 
 Marquis’s table a new talker about town. His 
 selections of candidates for preferment from the 
 rising generation of “ diners out” were never made 
 without consideration, and rarely failed to achieve 
 their object. On one occasion, however, he com- 
 mitted the serious blunder of bringing to one of his 
 lord’s * little dinners” a gentleman who, in his zeal 
 to fascinate the noble entertainer, forgot’ that 
 colloquial smartness is not more requisite than 
 ability to keep silence in a professional parasite. 
 “Don’t bring that young gentleman again,” the 
 
UNSEASONABLE LEVITY. 297 
 
 Marquis observed on the following day to his chief 
 jester. 
 
 “He told some good stories,” Hook urged, at the 
 same time defending himself and the absent cul- 
 prit. 
 
 Struc,” returned the Marquis, “I will not 
 do him an injustice. He has a very good col- 
 lection of stories, and he tells them with con- 
 siderable cleverness ; but, my dear Hook, he does 
 not know when to tell them. I was in the middle 
 of that charming matelote, as perfect a thing as my 
 man ever sent to table, when he disturbed me with 
 
 -anepigram. It was a good jew d’esprit, doubtless. 
 
 So much the worse for me and my matelote. A 
 bad mot would have occasioned me less disturbance. 
 I may not be ruffled in that way, my dear Hook, 
 when I am dining.” 
 
 - Gallantly fighting for his protégé, Hook replied, 
 “The honour of dining with you, my lord, elated 
 him, and made him too talkative. Moreover, he 
 would have done better had he been less anxious to 
 impress you favourably.” 
 
 Never deficient in generosity to his friends, or in 
 good breeding to his enemies, the Marquis relented. 
 ** Well, Hook,” he said, graciously, ‘‘ you may bring 
 him again next season, when you have trained him to 
 good manners. [I'll give him another chance. The 
 
298 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 animal has some good points; but at present he is 
 only a half-broken colt.” 
 
 This story should be taken to heart by young 
 ‘‘lions’ and other adventurers, who would talk 
 themselves into favour at the tables of “the great.” 
 Lordly entertainers are not always so forbearing and 
 lenient as the Marquis of Hertford, who gave the 
 offender of the story. a second chance. .Many a 
 smart adventurer, after gaining admission to great 
 houses, and figuring for a season as a ‘‘ man in 
 society,’ has been dropped in the ensuing year by 
 the fastidious patrons whom he has offended by 
 overbearing or excessive loquacity at dinners to 
 which he was invited ‘on trial.” 
 
 “A guest,” says Dick Humelbergius Secundus, 
 in the ‘* Apician Morsels’ (1829) ‘who knows, 
 through the medium of a conversation, as original 
 as decent and humorous, how to captivate the 
 attention of the numerous guests who surround 
 and listen to him, may assure himself that he will 
 always be sought after, and consequently invited by 
 the host for whom he becomes a powerful auxiliary 
 at dinners which he may be pleased to offer his 
 friends.” But to succeed in his more difficult than 
 lofty vocation, it 1s not enough for the commensal 
 to talk cleverly on several subjects and give new 
 points to old stories. His speech must be season- 
 able and considerate, or, whatever its vivacity and 
 
 ‘ 
 
ASSURED SILENCE. 299 
 
 abufdance, it will diminish the satisfaction of the 
 company. His first duty is to please, and to accom- 
 plish this end he must assist others to shine whilst 
 displaying his own brilliance. Instead of extorting 
 attention he should render it. Playing the part of 
 a courteous and sympathetic listener, he should 
 smile complacently at badly delivered anecdotes, 
 and feign contentment when he is irked by prosy 
 gossips, or irritated by his professional competitors. 
 Above all things he should refrain from raising a 
 laugh to the sacrifice of a sauce, or to the prejudice 
 of a gastronomic sensation. 
 
 Some epicures are so sensitive of noise, that for 
 the full appreciation of delicate fare they require, in 
 addition to silence, a sense of security from auricular 
 disturbances.. ‘To these scarcely fortunate though 
 finely organised beings, the mere presence of com- 
 panions who may be startled: into inopportune 
 speech, or of servants who may destroy the volup- 
 tuous stillness by dropping a fork or glass, 1s enough 
 to create a nervous unrest incompatible with perfect 
 felicity. ‘The gastronomer, thus delicately or mor- 
 bidly constituted, seldom consents to dine at a table 
 set for more than three persons. Shrinking from 
 ' the bare imagination of a possibility of agonizing 
 interruption, he prefers to dine by himself, and to 
 ensure the requisite tranquillity by dispensing, as far 
 as possible, with attendants. If he permits a servant 
 
300 A BOOK ABOUT! THE TABLE. 
 
 to watch him at his repast, the menial wears list 
 slippers, breathes hghtly, and has been retained on 
 the understanding that immediate dismissal from his 
 office will follow the first noisy fauw pas that he may 
 commit in the performance of his duties. It 18, - 
 however, more usual for the gourmand of extremely 
 sensitive hearing to eat in perfect solitude, his 
 attendant retiring, after the service of each course, to 
 an ante-room, whence he can be summoned or other- 
 wise ordered by the noiseless signals of an ‘‘ indi- 
 cator,” similar to the contrivance which an ingenious 
 coach-builder has recently substituted for the car- 
 riage check-string. The ‘“ revolving dumb-waiter,”’ 
 to be placed on the solitaire’s dining-table, is another 
 arrangement for the epicure who desires complete 
 isolation at his meals. The volant table, invented 
 by Louis the Fifteenth and the Pompadour, may 
 also be adapted to the requirements of the solitary 
 eater, who, by means of the beautiful invention, 
 may receive all the courses of an elaborate banquet 
 from the hands of invisible and inaudible minis- 
 trants. By pressing a spring gently at the close of - 
 each course, he causes his table to descend slowly 
 through the floor, and then, after the lapse of a few 
 minutes, he sees it rise silently, and place within 
 his reach a fresh supply of culinary comforts. The 
 only grave objection to this magical table is that its — 
 delicate mechanism is liable to disarrangement 
 
OFFICIOUS MINISTRANTS. 301 
 
 through the neglect or clumsiness of servants. Its 
 provisions, however, ensure perfect noiselessness, if 
 the flaps or sliding panels of the trap door are pro- 
 perly padded. Of course, it is needless to remind the 
 fairly educated readers of this page that Louis the 
 Vifteenth’s volant table was constructed for a party 
 of thirty, and that the purpose of its joint inventors 
 was not to compass silence at meals, but to afford a 
 numerous company the greatest possible amount of 
 privacy and perfect freedom from the embarrassing 
 attentions of servitors. Had such a table been 
 known to our ancestors of Alexander Barclay’s time, 
 it would have been commended by the censorious 
 poet who, assailing with equal severity servants and 
 their masters, wrote :— 
 
 “‘ Slowe be the sewers in serving in alway, 
 But swift be they after, taking the meate away; 
 A speciall custom is used them amonge, 
 No good dishe to suffer on borde to be longe; 
 If the dishe be pleasaunt, eyther fleshe or fyshe, 
 Ten handes at once swarme in the dishe; 
 And if it be fleshe ten knives shalt thou see, 
 Mangling the fleshe, and in the platter flee, 
 To put there thy handes is perill without fayle, 
 Without a gauntlet, or els a glove of mayle.” 
 
 Quin only reproduced an old sarcasm when he 
 declared that no one could dine safely at a civic 
 turtle-feast, unless he went to it armed with “a 
 basket-hilted knife and fork.’ In the sixteenth 
 
“BO? A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 century the volant board would not have improved 
 the manner of the gentlefolk who fed themselves 
 with their fingers, but it would have preserved them 
 from the officiousness of liveried menials. In recent — 
 times, the general distrust of servants who may 
 report maliciously the incautious speeches uttered 
 at table, has been increased by the odious practice 
 of employing them as political spies. 
 
 ‘Though a dozen is the highest number of feasters 
 for a social party, any greater number, with a single 
 exception, may be invited to the board which is 
 spread for ceremonious and ostentatious hospitality. 
 Banquets for twelve times twelve persons, and for 
 still larger companies, are of frequent occurrence. 
 The Duke of Norfolk, mentioned by Sir Nathaniel 
 Wraxall, would not have relinquished his purpose 
 of celebrating the ter-centenary of his ancestor’s ex- 
 altation with a dinner to all his living kindred, had 
 the descendants of Jock of Norfolk numbered no 
 more than three thousand. 
 
 It remains to say a few words of the single excep- 
 tion to the rule that declares all numbers ‘‘ good for a 
 feast.”’ Whilst his vigorous and subtle mind regarded 
 vulgar superstitions disdainfully, Comte could not 
 liberate himself from the fascination of numbers. 
 Thirteen had a peculiar charm for him, as the 
 seventh prime number, 2¢., the seventh number 
 that has no factors. He experienced an animating 
 
THE FATAL NUMBER. 303 
 
 sense of good fortune whenever he found himself 
 at table with twelve other companions. In 
 nothing was he more eccentric than in this pre- 
 ference for a number that has for centuries been 
 regarded as the number of evil omen. 
 
 The dismal incidents which followed the Last 
 Supper occasioned the ancient opinion that when- 
 ever thirteen, and no more, persons broke bread 
 together, death would in the following year take at ‘ 
 least one of the party. Writing in the earlier half 
 of the seventeenth century, Peter du Moulin (styled 
 pedantically Petrus Molinceus) observed, ‘‘if there 
 are thirteen guests at a feast, it 1s believed that one 
 of them will die within the year; for just so many 
 persons reclined at table when Christ celebrated the 
 Kucharist on tbe day before he died. Thus, also, 
 amongst the superstitious thirty is a number of evil 
 omen, because Christ was sold for thirty pieces of sil- 
 ver.” The superstitious repugnance to thirty has not 
 endured. That number is commonly seen at the 
 pompous dinners of our London entertainers, and it 
 never causes uneasiness or provokes remark. But 
 the prejudice against “thirteen” still endures. 
 It affects even vigorous minds, who are none the less 
 troubled by it because they are aware that an average 
 mortality removes yearly from the world at least 
 one out of every thirteen persons of middle or old 
 age. Lord Chancellor Erskine could never be in- 
 
304 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE, 
 
 duced to seat himself at a table with only twelve 
 other people; and the same nervous dislike to be 
 one of thirteen at a social meeting is felt by a con- 
 siderable proportion of educated Englishmen, who 
 are secretly ashamed of their weakness in yielding 
 to a superstitious fancy. 
 
 Some years since poor Albert Smith gave a supper 
 of thirteen that discredited the superstition in a re- 
 ‘markable manner. Himself on the point of starting 
 for China, he entertained twelve friends who were 
 bound for the Crimea, to encounter the perils of 
 war as military officers, or as journalists reporting 
 the incidents of the conflict. Deeming it in the 
 highest degree improbable that they would meet 
 again on English ground when they had once started 
 for the scene of danger, the twelve guests met their 
 host with light hearts, and laughed about the fate 
 which some of them would of course encounter 
 in a few months. Strangely enough, all twelve 
 returned from the war in perfect health, and supped 7 
 again at a table of thirteen with the humorous 
 lecturer. 
 
 Mindful of the slowly-dying superstition, which 
 *“‘ dying hard” is still powerful over a large propor- 
 tion of ordinary minds, the prudent Amphitryon 
 thinks twice before he arranges for a party of fourteen, 
 since a single “failure at the last moment” would 
 reduce the company to the fatal number. If he has. 
 
FRIENDS IN NEED. 305 
 
 in reserve a trencher-man, whom he can summon 
 at the last instant to act as quatorziéme, or a child 
 whom he can place in a vacant chair, he orders for 
 fourteen without misgivings. But in default of such 
 resources against untoward accident, he limits his 
 party to twelve or raises it to sixteen. In George 
 the Third’s time, it was thought that thirteen persons 
 might safely dine together if the party comprised a 
 lady with reasonable hopes of adding to the popula- 
 tion in the course of a few weeks. Reference is 
 made to this opinion by a correspondent of the 
 *‘Gentleman’s Magazine’ for July, 1796. The 
 French of the same period held that thirteen per- 
 sons might sit together at the same board and yet 
 escape the penalty, if one of the party, sacrificing 
 himself for the rest of the company, refrained from 
 partaking of the cheer. Grimod de la Reyniére 
 was of this opinion, 
 
 At the same time it was generally believed by our 
 grandfathers, that Paris contained a select body of 
 ‘* diners-out’’ who subsisted chiefly by officiating as 
 guests at tables where the presence of a profes- 
 sional quatorzieme was requisite for the company’s 
 contentment. Even so late as thirty years since a 
 writer in one of our magazines described, with ex- 
 cellent minuteness, a gentlemen who occupying an 
 apartment within a stone’s throw of the Palais Royal, 
 had long followed the calling of a fourteenth guest 
 
 merle i. x 
 
306 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 in the highest circles of French society. For a 
 moderate fee and a good dinner he appeared on the 
 shortest notice at the social board of any of his 
 patrons; and when on duty he never failed to charm 
 by his agreeable address the persons with whom it 
 was no less his business than his pleasure to dine 
 on terms of apparent equality. The professional 
 quatorzieme of Parisian society was the purely 
 fictitious creation of the humorists. But fiction 
 treated him so realistically that he was long re- 
 garded as a veritable personage on this side of the 
 Channel. And laughingly enough, whilst Londoners 
 believed in the Parisian quatorziéme as a recognized 
 power of good society in France, the Parisians 
 amused themselves by telling how, in that equally 
 ludicrous and perfidious Albion, it was usual for 
 gentlemen of narrow means to earn a precarious 
 subsistence by letting themselves out as quatorziémes 
 to aristocratic entertainers. We have outgrown 
 our belief in the quatorzieme of Paris; but Paris 
 still believes in the professional ‘‘ fourteenth” of the 
 English dinner-table. Some three years since a 
 French illustrator of the Hnglish and their ways, 
 told the readers of a leading Parisian journal how a 
 certain Monsieur Fitzjones, residing in a highly 
 fashionable street near Leyssterre Squarr, earned 
 his daily dinner and piece of gold by appearing as — 
 quatorziéme at the table of a rich milord or Sir Baron. 
 
307 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SOUP. 
 
 *“T hate French cooks, but love their wine; 
 On fricassee I scorn to dine, 
 And bad’s the best ragout ; 
 Let me of claret have my fill, 
 Let me have turtle to my will, 
 In one large mighty stew 
 
 “ A napkin let my temples bind, 
 In night-gown free and unconfined, 
 And undisturbed by women; 
 All boons in one I ask of fate, 
 At city feasts to eat my weight, 
 And drink enough to swim in.” 
 THE ALDERMAN’S WISH. 
 “Tl faut manger sa soupe bouillante, et prendre son café brulant.’ 
 —ALMANACH DES GOURMANDS. 
 
 HEODORE HOOK enjoyed soup and fish till he 
 merrily declined a plate of turtle on the plea 
 that he was not a soup-or-fish-al person. The pun 
 became famous, and, to support it with consistent 
 behaviour, the jester henceforth abstained from the 
 two species of nutriment. 
 Like the Romans, our medizval ancestors were 
 large consumers of soups. ‘They had flesh-broths, 
 fish-pottages, vegetable-soups, and soups concocted 
 
 in various proportions of meat and vegetables, and 
 ae” 
 
308 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. ; 
 
 of fish and vegetables. The pot, as we have seen, 
 was their commonest cooking utensil, and pottage 
 was their commonest diet. Some of their richest 
 soups contained so much meat or fish that the 
 culinary historian doubts whether he should not rank 
 them with broths or hashes. These same pottages 
 were also thickened with grain and meal. In his 
 fondness for fluid food, the medizval epicure could 
 seldom relish meat until he had drowned it with 
 pottage-liquor. He covered his slice from a haunch 
 of venison with frumenty 7.e. wheat-pottage—a pre- 
 paration that, still seen at rude tables in the pro- 
 vinces, was banished long since from polite boards 
 in favour of bread-sauce. ‘‘ When I consider bread- 
 sauce in all its. branches, [ am proud that I am 
 an Hnglishman,” a Regency epicure said of the 
 modern substitute for the obsolete frumenty. The 
 French deride our bread-sauce, calling it poultice, 
 and maintaining that it should be used only by 
 surgeons. 
 
 Consisting altogether of water and herbs, the 
 thinnest of the old vegetable soups were properly 
 
 called herb-pottages. ‘The Church commended them 
 
 as fit diet for meagre days; and in seasons of 
 fasting they still find favour with the religious 
 persons who observe the Church’s culinary ordi- 
 nances. Nourishing in the lowest degree, they are 
 sometimes agreeable to the educated feeder if pre- 
 
Qn 
 
 PORRIDGE AND BRAWNS. 309 
 
 pared cleverly. Concocted according to ancient 
 receipts, they are interesting to the antiquary, who 
 regards them as “ survivals” of the culinary medi- 
 cine which was so largely present in the medizeval 
 cuisine. When physic was invariably administered 
 in the form of herbs, green-meat pottages were 
 given for curative purposes. Like the other medi- 
 cinal compounds of the period, these spoon-food 
 stomach mixtures contained from a score to halfa 
 hundred herbal ingredients, each of which was pre- 
 scribed for the consumer’s health. 
 
 Delighting in hot soups, our ancestors were also 
 great consumers of cold pottage. An old rhymster 
 Says : 
 
 “‘ Peas-porridge hot, 
 Peas-porridge cold, 
 Peas-porridge in a pot, 
 Nine days old.” ' 
 Of all the thick soups which he lapped with ecstasy 
 in their fluid state, there was not one from which 
 the old epicure turned when it had cooled into 
 substance, and acquired the consistency of the 
 mortrew, the jelly, and the standing compote. But 
 to win his unqualified approval, it was necessary 
 that a cold soup should contain a large number of 
 “brawns’ stewed to such tenderness that they 
 melted in the mouth. When the medieval cook 
 said ‘* Take brawns,’’ he meant “Take pieces of 
 
310 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE, 
 
 flesh.” The rich meat soups of old time were made 
 chiefly of ‘‘brawns,” chopped in “ gobbets”’ and 
 ‘* dices,’ that floated in a hot fluid, thickened with 
 meal and poundec flesh. Served cold and “ char- 
 geant,” these soups were commonly called ‘‘brawns”’ 
 long before an ingenious chef produced the “ collar” 
 and ‘ shield” of “brawn proper.” This should be 
 borne in mind, for it gives the etymology and pedi- 
 gree of our modern “brawns,” those gelatinous 
 viands that are never regarded at breakfast or 
 supper without approval. 
 
 In the earlier centuries of our feudal time, meats 
 were almost always served with more or less juice, 
 in gobbets, slices, or dices. In the later centuries 
 of the same period, it became usual with the best 
 chefs to serve “large pieces” of flesh in their 
 pottages, taking care, however, that these nobler 
 masses were boiled to extreme tenderness. Pieces, 
 that in course of time came to be called ‘‘ joints,” 
 were thus boiled for the Tudor tables and served 
 in a rich broth of meat-juice and vegetables. 
 Calves’ heads, gigots, and rounds of beef were 
 cooked whole in this fashion, and at table the - 
 ‘pieces’ so cooked and served were, for the 
 carver’s convenience, taken from their deep soup- 
 dishes and put on flat trenchers. The modern 
 “joint” in its separate dish owes its place on the 
 festal board to this olden mode of transferring from 
 
MISSON ON MANNERS. out 
 
 the pot to flat dishes the larger ingredients of the 
 *‘pot’s luck.’ So also the fashion, not yet quite 
 obsolete, of garnishing boiled joints with boiled 
 carrots, turnips, parsnips and other vegetables, 
 points to the period when such “pieces” were 
 brought to the board in a large deep vessel, brim- 
 ming with the multifarious contents of the big kitchen 
 pot. ‘Another time,” says Misson, describing 
 English cookery at the close of the seventeenth 
 century, ‘‘they will have a piece of boiled beef, 
 and then they salt it some days beforehand and 
 besiege it with five or six heaps of cabbages, car- 
 rots, turnips, or some other herbs or roots, well 
 peppered and salted, and swimming in butter.” 
 And he adds, ‘* When they have boiled meat, there 
 is sometimes one in the company that will have the 
 broth; this is a kind of soup, with a little thin 
 oatmeal in it and some leaves of thyme and sage, 
 or other such small herbs. They bring up this 
 in aS many porringers as there are people that 
 desire it; those that please crumble a little bread 
 into it, and this makes a kind of pottage.”’ Misson 
 put his feet under the Hnglish table just at the 
 time when it became the fashion to serve the boiled 
 meat and pot-liquor separately, instead of bring- 
 ing them to table in the same vessel. 
 
 Pork, beloved by our feudal fathers as fervently 
 as by the ancient Romans, was of all meats the 
 
no A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 flesh most liberally thrown into the pot ; and whilst 
 “coddling” it to exquisite softness, with a view to — 
 cold soup of superlative merit, the old English 
 cooks became connoisseurs of the material, and 
 consummate makers of “brawn.” The meat was 
 stewed slowly and for several hours. It might 
 remain in the pot almost any length of time without 
 injury to its virtues; but it was never taken from 
 the seething vessel until it was so tender that “a 
 brused rush or soft straw could be thrust cleane 
 through the fat.’ In order that they should not 
 be ‘done to rags’ by this process, the pieces of 
 swine’s flesh were bound round with bulrushes, 
 osier-peels, tape, or string, before they were put 
 into the water. On being taken from the boiler 
 they were exposed to cooling air, and when they 
 had acquired firmness they were “soused” for 
 several days in good ale, or in beer seasoned with 
 verjuice and salt, the sousing liquor being renewed 
 from time to time. For the manufacture of this 
 “brawn,” pork of the finest quality was used. 
 ‘Collars of brawn” were made from the boned 
 neck-pieces, whilst “shields of brawn” were made 
 from the shoulders. Brawn proper was seldom 
 made of any but the fore parts of the animal; the 
 flesh of the hinder parts being designated “ souse,” 
 when it had been duly sodden and pickled. 
 
 A viand peculiarly English, brawn was highly 
 
A SURPRISE FOR THE FRENCHMEN. 313 
 
 esteemed by our ancestors, who placed it on their 
 tables at dinner and supper on almost every flesh- 
 day between the first of November and the last of 
 ‘February. At the same season on fish-days they 
 ate slices of cold fish-porridge, which was prepared 
 so as to resemble pork brawn; and this gelatinous 
 fish-food was sometimes called “ brawn.” 
 
 William Harrison is at great pains to describe the 
 processes for making brawn, and he gives us several 
 stories which exhibit our ancestors’ pride in the 
 national dainty. In their ignorance of its nature, 
 the French cooks, after the fall of Calais, destroyed 
 most of the large stock of brawn found in the city 
 by attempting to roast, bake, broil, or fry the de- 
 licate fare. Supposing that it was made of fish,a 
 pious French gentleman had imperilled his soul’s 
 salvation by eating in Lent a quantity of ‘‘ souse”’ 
 sent out to him by an English nobleman. Better 
 still, an English humourist, whilst residing in Spain, 
 had entertained certain Jews with the forbidden 
 meat, and in their simplicity the wretched Israelites 
 had literally gorged themselves with ‘‘ shields’ and 
 ** collars” of the unclean viand. 
 
 The English soups of the seventeenth century 
 differed little from the soups of the medizval Eng- 
 lish, save that they sometimes contained joints 
 of meat instead of gobbets. Cotgrave makes honour- 
 able mention of several varieties of oat-meal pottage, 
 
314 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 as ‘‘meates very wholesome and temperate, and 
 light of digestion,” the best of them being the ale- 
 porridge, or groat-ale, 7.e. oat-meal soup, made 
 with malt-liquor instead of water. From this “ groat- 
 ale,’ rendered in base Latin grutellum, came the 
 modern term “gruel.” Daisy soup was an Hliza- 
 bethan herb-pottage (good for the brain), of which 
 the modern epicure would rather read than partake. 
 The same may be said of nettle-soup, highly com- 
 mended by the old doctors for ‘‘ procuring sleep,” 
 “helping coughs,” and assuaging the gout. An- 
 other medicinal pottage of the seventeenth century 
 was snail-soup, made of garden-snails, earth-worms, 
 a score or more herbs, and strong ale, boiled to- 
 gether and strained. As the squeamish reader will 
 soon be invited to relish a plate of turtle, he shall 
 not be told too precisely how this choice concoction 
 was prepared for the special benefit of invalids 
 stricken with consumption. It 1s enough to say, that 
 snail-broth held its place in culinary medicine so 
 late as the beginning of this ceutury, and that an 
 elaborate receipt for preparing it may be found in 
 s* The Pastry-Cook’s Vade Mecum” (1705). 
 
 So long as the Hnglish of every social grade were 
 habitual consumers of pottage, their dames and 
 soldiers were as clever at making palatable broths 
 “out of nothing” as the French are at the present 
 time. It was a common saying with our thrifty 
 
STONE BROTH. ae 
 
 housewives two centuries and more since, that any 
 simpleton could make a soup with a little salt, a can 
 of water, and a handful of garden stuff. Giles Rose 
 re-tells the story of the two soldiers, one of whom 
 went without broth, whilst the other made excellent 
 pottage from a stone. The fellow who begged at 
 an open door for all the materials for a simple pot- 
 tage, was told that he required too much and must 
 go elsewhere. His comrade, taking a stone from 
 his knapsack, asked only for a pot in which to boil 
 his stone. Even a miser would have granted so 
 modest a request. The pot was supplied, and soon 
 the wily soldier was boiling a large stone under the 
 curious eyes of half-a-dozen bystanders. Could one 
 of them give him a little salt ? the cook asked. The 
 salt was given. <A minute later the cook observed, 
 ** A few herbs make a pleasant seasoning for stone- 
 broth, but I must manage for once to relish soup 
 without a perfect flavour.” In a trice one of the 
 spectators threw a bundle of herbs into the pot, 
 saying, “‘So clever a fellow ought to have a soup 
 to his taste when he shows us how to make it of a 
 stone.” After another while the adventurer ob- 
 served, *‘ Stone-broth is good broth, but there is no 
 question that a scrap of meat or bacon brings out 
 the flavour of a flint-stone.”’ Half-an-hour had not 
 passed since his arrival at the house, when the 
 soldier was enjoying an excellent pottage made of 
 
(3) 
 
 316 A ROOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 the materials supplied by his spectators for the vwm- 
 provement of his broth. 
 
 Stone-broth made in this manner was as rich and 
 nutritious as several of the soups served on meagre 
 days to the quality of Charles the Second’s London. 
 That sovereign’s chef, Giles Rose, gives receipts for 
 several pottages that may have amused the palate, 
 but can have afforded no satisfaction to the empty 
 belly. For instance, his Herb Pottage without 
 Butter was made of herbs, water, a slice or two of 
 bread, and a few capers to render the mess a “ little 
 sowerish.” His Bran Pottage—the strained liquor, 
 in which bran, a handful of almonds, and a few 
 sweet herbs had been boiled—was another broth that 
 a saintly man might take on Friday with an easy con- 
 science, or an invalid drink without fearing its in- 
 flammatory power. Another of the same artiste’s 
 cheaper vegetable soups was Pompeion (or Pump- 
 kin) Broth. Mr. Rose’s Snow Pottage—made like 
 the medizeval white-soups, of milk, eggs, rice, and 
 sugar—was a richer, as well as more agreeable, soup 
 for fast days. In the time of many fish-soups, how- 
 ever, there was no lack of generous and highly 
 nutritious broths for carnally-disposed feeders on 
 saints’ days. For instance, ‘‘ Potage @ la Reyne” 
 was an eel-soup, to gratify an epicure’s gust or stay 
 a farmer’s appetite. Sole, carp, tench, indeed all 
 the fishes commonly brought to table, were also 
 
COPIES OLDER THAN THE ORIGINAL. BLY. 
 
 served in pottages that would now-a-days be called 
 “stews and “ hashes.” 
 
 Mock-turtle soup was known to our ancestors 
 long before they made acquaintance with real turtle. 
 The medizval gourmands delighted in calf’s-head 
 broth, whose thick and lubricous liquor was loaded 
 with strips of the gelatinous viand. The Restoration 
 epicures preferred another cookery for the head. 
 Instead of cutting it into pieces, they removed the 
 bones, stuffed it with force-meat, and, after boiling | 
 it to proper tenderness, put it whole upon the table 
 in a dish brimming with broth. Using his knife 
 and the new fork, the carver distributed slices of 
 the head with each apportionment of the soup, and 
 sometimes for his convenience removed the viand 
 from the broth-bowl to an adjacent trencher. 
 Hence ‘‘calf’s-head” is another of the ‘‘ modern 
 joints’ that were served in the pot together with 
 other elements before they were promoted to sepa- 
 rate dishes, and made to figure as piéces de ré- 
 sistance. 
 
 In default of turtle—a material which, strange to 
 say, did not find its way to the Hnglish table till 
 we had held our West Indian possessions for several 
 generations—the Restoration cooks made with the 
 flesh of the land-tortoise a pottage of considerable 
 merit, though inferior in every respect to the soup 
 which renders the sea- tortoise glorious in death. 
 
318 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 ‘** Take your tortoises,” says Guiles Rose, “ and cut 
 off their heads and feet, and boy! them in fair water, 
 and when they are almost boyl’d put to them some 
 white wine, some sweet herbs, and a piece of bacon, 
 and give them a brown in the frying-pan with 
 good butter, then lay them upon your bread 
 a-steeping in good strong broth, and well-seasoned ; 
 garnish the dish with green sparrow-grass and 
 lemon over it.’”’ It is questionable whether tortoise- 
 soup ever held a high place amongst gastronomic 
 creations, but it appeared from time to time in the 
 menus of fastidious epicures, till it was banished 
 from the kitchen on the introduction of turtle. 
 
 In language alike creditable to his head and his 
 heart, the learned author of the ‘** Tabella Cibaria”’ 
 (1820) says of the turtle, “This splendid and de- 
 licate gift, sent from the Transatlantic Nereids to the 
 gastronomers of the old world, could not be known 
 to the ancients, and we regret that the pens of 
 Martial, Juvenal, and Horace had not to describe 
 the three-fold quality found in the flesh of this 
 enormous reptile and amphibious animal. How 
 harmoniously calipash and -calipee, tasting acci-— 
 dentally so much of Grecian origin, might have 
 begun Hexameter, or ended Iambic verses! For 
 instance, 
 
 “ Callipash hinc gustum languentem provocat, inde 
 Novum ministrat appetitum Callipee. 
 
BY WAY OF BRISTOL. 319 
 
 ** And it seems a pity that the tortoise, the shell 
 of which was adapted to the lyre of Mercury, had 
 not the gratification to accompany the dithyrambic 
 odes composed, as they would have been, in en- 
 thusiastic praise of her testaceous sister, the 
 turtle. Some travellers mention the turtle as an 
 inhabitant of the Hast Indian seas; but the nautical 
 knowledge of the Greeks and Romans was so very 
 confined that, were this assertion positively true, 
 they would not have obtained a sufficient acquain- 
 tance with this excellent food. However, it never 
 appeared upon their tables.” : 
 
 Ihe turtle found its way to London wid Bristol. 
 It was still a dainty seldom seen at the richest 
 tables of the metropolis, when the merchants of 
 the western port feasted habitually on the grandest 
 of all soups. The recent developments of British 
 commerce have enabled several of our subordinate 
 cities to surpass Bristol in wealth and populousness. 
 She is no longer the ‘‘ second city of the Hmpire ;” 
 but time cannot rob her of the right to boast that 
 her sons were the first inhabitants of Great Britain 
 to appreciate the virtues of the turtle. Apart from 
 this fact, a singular uncertainty covers the whole 
 history of the creature’s introduction to the modern 
 table. When a writer on The World (No. 128, 
 May 8, 1755), noticed the new food, it was a 
 luxury often seen at the feasts of our richer epicures. 
 
SPA) A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 A passage in Lord Lyttleton’s ‘‘ Dialogues of the 
 Dead,” supports the general opinion that it was 
 first brought to our tables between the years 1740 
 and1750. Thereis no doubt that it was a principal 
 feature of civic banquets long before the second 
 George had closed his exemplary career. At the 
 beginning of the present century, six pounds (live 
 weight) of turtle was deemed a fairly liberal pro- 
 vision for each guest at a solemn dinner. The 
 four hundred gentlemen who feasted off turtle at 
 the City of London Tavern, in August, 1&08, 
 managed to ‘consume without any fatal accident or 
 immediate discomfort, twenty-five thousand pounds 
 of the delicious fare. 
 
 In the days of our grandfathers, few men were 
 more notorious in London than Samuel Birch, the 
 best confectioner in ‘‘the city,” and first purveyor 
 of turtle-soup in the whole capital. Inheriting a 
 fine business from his father, the famous Cheapside 
 pastrycook drew to his shop epicures from every 
 quarter of the town. The merchant, who slipt 
 away from his office at mid-day for “a plate of 
 turtle at. Birch’s,’ 
 thronged with gourmets from the Inns of Court, 
 
 F) 
 
 took his luncheon in a room 
 
 and dandies from Bond Street. Forest venison 
 could be bought at Birch’s, as well as all the good 
 things usually provided. at a restaurant. But 
 during the turtle season No. 15, Cornhill was 
 
A CONFLICT OF WIT. 321 
 
 emphatically a turtle house, and customers seldom 
 entered it without a view to turtle. ‘On the 
 tables,” says Dick Humelbergius Secundus, “are 
 placed the lemons, cayenne, and other condi- 
 ments, with toasted French bread for the free use 
 of the visitants.”’ 
 
 But Samuel Birch, whose business passed even- 
 tually to Messrs. Ring and Rymer of gastronomic 
 renown, was much more than a successful dealer in 
 table delicacies. A man of wit and lettters, he pro- 
 duced plays that held the stage, and books that 
 are still readable, though seldom read. One of his 
 musical dramas, “ The Adopted Child,” was popu- 
 lar long after the author had killed his last turtle 
 and breathed his last breath. His temper was so 
 amiable and his humour so lively that he heartily 
 enjoyed the joke when, on his appointment to be 
 colonel of the City Militia, it was proposed to 
 style him Marshal Tureen. ‘By all means,” 
 the confectioner cried gaily to the originator of 
 this witticism, a brother officer in the Militia who, 
 asa great flour and corn merchant, regarded con- 
 fectioners disdainfully, ‘‘ and you shall be Marshal 
 Sacks.’ Scarcely had the dealer in flour, a pom- 
 -pous and choleric gentleman, felt the first sting of 
 this blow from the Birch, when his annoyance was 
 increased by a roar of laughter from the hearers 
 of the smart reply. Neither of the prin- 
 
 VOL. I. ¥ 
 
Ba? A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 cipals in this duel survived his recollection of the 
 affair. But whilst Birch always smiled cheerily at 
 acquaintances who greeted him as Marshal Tureen, 
 the ‘other marshal” reddened with rage whenever 
 an allusion to ‘‘ sacks” was made in his hearing. 
 An efficient officer of his regiment, Marshal Tureen 
 gained some credit as a military author from his 
 essay on ‘‘ National Defence.” 
 
 So cheery and clever a gentleman as Mr. Birch 
 could not fail to win the approval of his fellow- 
 citizens. Throwing himself into local politics, he 
 figured as common councillor, alderman, and Lord 
 Mayor, the year of his mayoralty being the famous 
 1815. When Chantrey’s statue of George the Third 
 was placed in the Council Chamber of Guildhall, 
 during the Waterloo year, Birch’s pen produced the 
 inscription for it. Fortunate in business and friend- 
 ship, this prince of pastrycooks was also fortunate 
 in his children. His daughter married Lamartine 
 the poet, and one of his sons, a good classic student, 
 begot a family of scholars. 
 
 With the exception of their lightest meagre soups, 
 some of which were almost as thin as water, our 
 ancestors’ soups were notable for thickness. Most 
 of their vegetable pottages were thickened with 
 meat and grain, and most of their fish broths were 
 unstrained messes that on cooling resembled brawn 
 in firmness and substantiality. The flesh soups, 
 
LEBLANO’S GARBURES. Bags’ 
 
 lke our “mock turtle’ and ox-tail,’’ were served 
 with pieces of flesh floating in their heavy liquor. 
 The clear gravy soup of the modern English table 
 is a comparatively recent invention, which resulted 
 from the efforts of chefs to enrich their meagre 
 soups with forbidden ingredients, and at the same 
 time escape clerical detection and censure. 
 
 It is told of the Count de Flavigny, whilom French 
 Minister at Parma, that he commanded his chef, 
 Leblanc, to learn how the garbures served on meagre 
 days at the Hétel de Noailles were prepared. Being 
 on friendly terms with the maker of these garbures, 
 Leblanc had no great trouble in ascertaining that 
 their excellence was due to a subtle use of gravy 
 extracted from white meats. The chef, who thus 
 dared to disobey the rules of the church, was at 
 infinite pains to clarify the meat juice, which he 
 furtively added to his clear herb pottages, alike to 
 the advancement of his fame and the delight of his 
 patron. The “doctored” garbures being in no 
 degree discoloured or clouded by the clear gravy, 
 their unusual goodness was attributed to the pious 
 skill of the cook, who was applauded for superior 
 art when he should have been punished for satanic 
 artifice. 
 
 Acting on instructions that were given in strict 
 confidence, Leblanc became no less famous than his 
 teacher as a maker of garbures. In Paris, the 
 
 Yeu 
 
324 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. 
 
 Count’s table on fast days was never without guests 
 who by merest accident happened to *‘ drop in” at 
 his dinner hour. The friends who surrounded him 
 at his country seat were no less delighted with his 
 meagre pottages. Leblanc was pressed on all sides 
 with entreaties for the secret of his success. No 
 one was more curious and urgent for enlightenment 
 than the curé of the parish in which Flavigny’s 
 estate lay. But Leblanc was faithful to his promise 
 of secresy. ‘Sir curate,’ he answered his clerical 
 petitioner, ‘‘ I will tell you how I make my garbures 
 when you area bishop.” Leblanc subsequently kept 
 a Restaurant in the Rue de la Harpe, where he 
 added to his renown by the ham pies which 
 Grimod de la Reyniére could never mention without 
 emotion. 
 
 The practice of strengthening clear maigre broths 
 with the colourless juice of white meats having 
 become general, it was not long before chefs pro- 
 duced clear soups, that strong with the gravy of red 
 meats, pleased the eye whilst charming the palate. 
 Of clear gravy soup there are, at least, a hundred 
 
 varieties. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
—————————E—E—EE——E————E=EEiE — Se a re ne an nee 
 
 13, GREar MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT’S 
 
 aot OF NEW WORKS. 
 
 A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. By J. C. 
 
 JEAFFRESON, Author of “A Book about Doctors,” “Lawyers, % 
 “ The Clergy,” &e. 2 vols. 8vo. 30s. 
 
 Principat Conrents:—Grace at Meals; Britons at Table; Antique Feasting; 
 Apician Precepts; The Form of Cury; Culinary Colourists; Death in the Pot 
 and Dish Covers; Medieval Menus; Warners and Subtleties, Ancient and 
 Modern; Carving and Carvers; Forks and Napery; Horn, Bell, and Gong; 
 Manners and the Want of them; Spits and Jacks; Cruelties and Curiosities ; 
 Numbers at Table; Soup; Fish; Joints and Steaks; Pie and Pie Tart: Poultry; 
 Goose ; Game; Bread and Vegetables; The Salad: Eggs; Dessert; Ordering of 
 Feasts; Cook Shops and Club Houses; The Folk Lore of Feeding; Epicures ; 
 Political Gastronomy ; Cooks and their Natures; Cookery Books. 
 
 WILD LIFE IN FLORIDA. By Captain F. T. 
 
 TOWNSHEND, 2nd Life Guards, Author of “Ten Thousand Miles of 
 Travel,” &c. 8vo, with Map and Illustrations. 15s, 
 
 OUR BISHOPS AND DEANS. By the Rev. F 
 
 ARNOLD, B.A., late of Christ Church, Oxford. 2% vols. 8vo. 
 (Ln the Press.) 
 
 ON THE WING; A SoutHern Fuicut. By the 
 
 Hon. Mrs. ALFRED Montcomery. 1 vol. 8vo. (In the Press.) 
 
 VOLS. II. & IV. or truaz HISTORY OF TWO 
 QUEENS: CATHARINE OF ARAGON and ANNE BOLEYN. 
 By W. Herworrs Drxon. Second Edition. Demy 8vo. Price 30s. 
 Completing the Work. 
 
 » These concluding volumes of Mr. Dixon’s ‘ History of two Queens’ will be per- 
 used with keen interest by thousands of readers. Whilst no less valuable to the 
 student, they will be far more enthralling to the general reader than the earlier 
 half of the history. Every page of what may be termed Anne Boleyn’s story affords 
 a happy illustration of the author’s vivid and picturesque style. The work should 
 be found in every library.”—Post. 
 
 ‘Mr. Dixon has pre-eminently the art of interesting his readers. He has pro- 
 duced a narrative of considerable value, conceived in a spirit of fairness, and 
 written with power and picturesque effect.”—Daily News. 
 
 “Mr. Dixon has completed in these volumes the two stories which he has narrat- 
 ed with so much grace and vigour. Better still, he has cast the light of truth upon 
 incidents that have not been seen under that light before. Full of romantic and 
 dramatic sentiment as the story of Catharine is, we think that the more absorbing 
 interest is concentrated in the story of Anne Boleyn. Never has it been told so 
 fully, so fairly, or so attractively.”—Wotes and Queries. 
 
 “This work throughout bears evidence of great research; and in the hands of 
 a writer of Mr. Dixon’s talents, a book on such a subject of course could not 
 fail to be interesting. He has availed himself of all the newest lights brought out 
 by the publications of the Master of the Rolls.”—Athenzwum. 
 
 “Mr. Dixon’s book is written in a most charming style. Moreover, it is written 
 as all history should be written; the precision of the annalist being combined with 
 the connexion and ease of the simple narrator.”—Hxzaminer. 
 
 ‘Mr. Dixon’s work is a most effective sketch, framed with considerable dramatic 
 skill, of the leading incidents and secret springs of one of the most eventful epi- 
 sodes i in English history.”—7Zhe Graphic. 
 
13, Great MarRLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT’S 
 NEW WORKS—Continued. 
 
 HISTORY OF TWO QUEENS: CATHARINE 
 OF ARAGON and ANNE BOLEYN. By W. Herpworrs Drxen. 
 Second Edition. Vols.1&2. Demy 8vo. 30s. Vols. 3 & 4, com- 
 pleting the Work, are also now ready. 
 
 “In two handsome volumes Mr. Dixon here gives us the first instalment of a 
 new historical work on a most attractive subject. The book is in many respects a 
 favourable specimen of Mr. Dixon’s powers. It is the most painstaking and 
 elaborate that he has yet written..... On the whole, we may say that the book 
 is one which will sustain the reputation of its author as a writer of great power 
 and versatility, that it gives a new aspect to many an old subject, and presents in 
 a very striking light some of the most recent discoveries in English history.”— 
 Atheneum. 
 
 ‘‘In these volumes the author exhibits in a signal manner his special powers 
 and finest endowments. It is obvious that the historian has been at especial pains 
 to justify his reputation, to strengthen his hold upon the learned, and also to 
 extend his sway over the many who prize an attractive style and interesting narra- 
 tive more highly than laborious research and philosophic insight.”—Morning Post. 
 
 “The thanks of all students of English history are due to Mr. Hepworth Dixon 
 for his clever and original work, ‘ History of two Queens.’ The book is a valuable 
 contribution to English history. The author has consulted a number of original 
 sources of information—in particular the archives at Simancas, Alcala, and Venice. 
 Mr. Dixon is a skilful writer. His style, singularly vivid, graphic, and dramatic— 
 is alive with human and artistic interest. Some of the incidental descriptions 
 reach a very high level of picturesque power.”’—Daily News. 
 
 “‘Mr. Hepworth Dixon, in his new work, has chosen a theme at once intrinsi- 
 cally interesting and admirably fit for illustration by his practised and brilliant 
 pen. The lives of Catharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn give ample scope to a 
 writer so clear and vivid in his descriptions, so lifelike in his portraiture, so de- 
 cided in his judgment, and whose sparkling vivacity of style can be shaded off, 
 when necessary, by such delicate touches of tenderness and pathos. For pleasant 
 reading and very effective writing we can warmly commend Mr. Dixon's yolumes.” 
 Daily Telegraph. 
 
 “Two fascinating volumes. It is a work of careful criticism and conscientious 
 investigation.”—Standard. 
 
 WORDS OF HOPE AND COMFORT TO 
 THOSE IN SORROW. Dedicated by Permission to THE QUEEN. 
 Second Edition. 1 vol. small 4to, 5s. bound. 
 
 “These letters, the work of a pure and devout spirit, deserve to find many 
 readers. They are greatly superior to the average of what is called religious 
 literature.”—Athenzum. 
 
 “The writer of the tenderly-conceived letters in this volume was Mrs. Julius 
 Hare, a sister of Mr. Maurice. They are instinct with the devout submissiveness 
 and fine sympathy which we associate with the name of Maurice; but in her there 
 is added a winningness of tact, and sometimes, too, a directness of language, which 
 we hardly find even in the brother. The letters were privately printed and circu- 
 lated, and were found to be the source of much comfort, which they cannot fail 
 to afford now to a wide circle. A sweetly-conceived memorial poem, bearlng 
 the well-known initials, ‘E. H. P.’, gives a very faithful outline of the life.”—Brittish 
 Quarterly Review. 
 
 “This touching and most comforting work is dedicated to THz QuEEN, who took 
 a gracious interest in its first appearance, when printed for private circulation, and 
 found comfort in its pages, and has now commanded its publication, that the 
 world in general may profit by it. A more practical and heart-stirring appeal to 
 the afflicted we have never examined.”—Standard. 
 
 ‘“‘ These letters are exceptionally graceful and touching, and may be read with 
 profit.”"—Graphic. 
 
13, Great MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT’S 
 NEW WORK S—Continued. 
 
 LIFE or THE RT. HON. SPENCER PERCEVAL ; 
 
 Including His Correspondence. By His Grandson, SPENCER WAL- 
 POLE. 2 vols. 8vo, with Portrait. 30s. 
 
 This work contains Letters from the King, the Prince Regent, the Dukes of Cum- 
 berland, Wellington, Portland, Richmond; Lords Liverpool, Grenville, Grey, 
 Loughborough, Spencer, Wellesley, Lonsdale, Castlereagh; Mr. Pitt, Mr. Adding- 
 ton, Mr. Canning, and other distinguished men. 
 
 “Mr. Walpole’s work reflects credit not only on his industry in compiling an 
 important biography from authentic material, but also on his eloquence, power of 
 interpreting political change, and general literary address. The biography willtake 
 rank in our literature, both as 2 faithful reflection of the statesman and his period, 
 as also for its philosophic, logical, and dramatic completeness.”—Morning Post. 
 
 “In Mr. Perceval’s biography his grandson has undoubtedly made a valuable 
 addition to our Parliamentary history. The book is full of interest.”—Daily News. 
 
 ‘We thank Mr. Walpole for a very valuable and interesting biography, and for 
 doing justice to the memory of one who has too long been without it.”—Standard. 
 
 ‘A very useful, a very honest, and a very interesting political biography.”—Pall 
 Mall Gazette. 
 
 “‘ As a contribution to political and Parliamentary history Mr. Spencer Walpole’s 
 work possesses considerable value.” —Saturday Review. 
 
 “We have been extremely interested in Mr. Walpole’s book. He has added no 
 little to our knowledge of the character of, and the springs of action in, the times 
 of which he writes. As a Life of Perceval, by his grandson, the work is as valuable 
 as it could be expected to be. As a contribution to history, we are justified in 
 according to it no inconsiderable praise.’—Hxaminer 
 
 SPAIN AND THE SPANIARDS. By Azamart 
 
 Batuk. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 2ls. 
 
 ‘t Here is at last a book on Spain of the kind we have been asking for. Azamat 
 Batuk fills his pages with his personal experiences among the armed factions who 
 are contesting the government of the country, and describes the men who have 
 made themselves conspicuous. Altogether, his gallery of contemporary portraits 
 is alone sufficient to recommend his book.”—Saturday Review. 
 
 ‘“* By the aid of this really entertaining book, the present state of the Northern 
 Provinces of Spain may be easily divined, and the Cosas de Espana of the moment 
 be brought before the mind’s eye...... It would be too much to say that this is the 
 most interesting book upon Spain and the Spaniards that has appeared of late 
 years, but many may think so after reading it.”—Athenzum. 
 
 “A highly interesting and amusing book. In this work Azamat Batuk has 
 made himself more enjoyable and readable than ever.”—Zzaminer. 
 
 “Two clever and readable volumes. Any person who wants to know something 
 about Spanish parties and their prospects, about the probabilities of the present 
 civil war, or about the real inner life of the Spanish people, will do well to consult 
 Azamat Batuk. He is generally instructive, and always entertaining.”—Scotsman. 
 
 THROUGH RUSSIA: From Sr. Pererspure To 
 ASTRAKHAN AND THE CRIMEA. By Mrs. Gutueiz. 2 vols. » 
 crown 8vo, with Illustrations. 21s. 
 
 ‘‘Mrs. Guthrie is a lively, observant, well-informed, and agreeable travelling 
 companion. Her book is interesting throughout.”—Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 “No book of travel within our knowledge is pleasanter to read than ‘Through 
 Russia.’ It is fresh, bright, and comprehensive. Mrs. Guthrie gives us admir- 
 able descriptions of St. Petersburg, Moscow, and Astrakhan, and the voyages on 
 the Volga and the Don are full of incident, character, and observation.’’—Spectator. 
 
 ‘“‘ A pleasant book to read. It contains a fair, and often very picturesque descrip- 
 tion of a part of Russia by no means familiar to tourists.” —Saturday Review. 
 
 “The story of Mrs. Guthrie’s ramble through Russsia is at once attractive in 
 itself, and likely to be of decided use to future travellers.”—Graphic. 
 
 2 
 
 o 
 
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT’S 
 NEW WORKS—Continued. 
 
 . 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF SOCIETY IN FRANCE 
 AND ENGLAND. By Lapy Ciementina Davies. Second Edition. 
 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 Among numerous other distinguished persons referred to in this work are :—Louis 
 XVI, Marie Antoinette, Louis XVIII, the Duchesse D’Angouleme, Napoleon I, 
 the Empress Josephine, Queen Hortense, Charles X, Louis Philippe, the Duke 
 and Duchess de Berry, the Count de Chambord, the Emperor Alexander, King 
 Frederic William, Prince Talleyrand, Prince Esterhazy, Blucher, Ney, Soult, 
 Fouché, the Polignacs, Talma, Napoleon III, the Empress Hugenie, the Duc 
 de Morny, Count d’Orsay, Victor Hugo, George IV, Queen Caroline, Prince 
 Leopold, the Princess Charlotte, the Duke of York, the Duke of Wellington, 
 Lord Byron, Sir Walter Scott, Sir H. Davy, Tom Moore, Mr. Barham, Mrs. Sid- 
 dons, the Kembles, Mrs. Jordan, Miss Stephens, Mlle. Mars, Madame Catalani, 
 Mile. Rachel, the Countess Guiccioli, Lady Cork, Lady Blessington, &c. 
 
 “On proceeding to a conscientious examination of the contents, we found the 
 familiar and commonplace matter lightened and relieved by many lively touches of 
 description, many traits of character, many illustrative incidents, which may prove 
 helps to history, and might have beenirretrievably lost had they not been marked 
 and recorded as they occurred. Lady Clementina Davies’s opportunities were ex- 
 cellent, and the very traditions of her family are fraught with interest. Some of 
 her local and personal impressions are as graphic and distinct-as if they had been 
 —so to speak—photographed on her memory.”—TZhe Times. 
 
 “Two charming volumes, full of the most interesting and entertaining matter, 
 and written in plain, elegant English. Lady Clementina Davies has seen much, 
 heard much, and remembered well. Her unique and brilliant recollections have the 
 interest of a romance, wherein no character is fictitious, no incident untrue.” —Post. 
 
 FROM THE THAMES TO THE TAMAR: A 
 SUMMER ON THE SOUTH COAST. By the Rev. A. G. 
 L’Estrance. Second Edition. 8vo, with Illustrations. 15s. 
 
 “Mr. L’Estrange’s pages have not the least flavour of the guide-book ; they are 
 pleasant and interesting chapters of local history, relieved by cfear and unaffected 
 descriptions of scenery, plainly written, yet picturesque and sufficient.”—Times, 
 
 “To all who visit the south coast this book will afford much useful and interest- 
 ing information.”—Standard. 
 
 THE SWITZERS. By W. Herpworts Dixon. 
 Third Edition. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 15s. 
 
 “Turn where we will there is the same impassioned eloquence, the same lavish 
 wealth of metaphor, the same vigour of declamation, the same general glow upon 
 the pages. Switzerland may be hackneyed as a country, yet there is freshness in 
 Mr. Dixon’s subjects. Mr. Dixon throws a passing glance at the snow peaks and 
 glacier fields that are the Switzerland of the tourist. If he deals with the grand 
 catastrophes of nature, with avalanche, flood, and storm, it is in their relation 
 to the victims of the elements, for his topics are the people and their institutions, 
 We assent entirely to the parable of his preface.” —Times. 
 
 “A lively, interesting, and altogether novel book on Switzerland. It is full of 
 valuable information on social, political, and ecclesiastical questions, and, like all 
 Mr. Dixon's books, it is eminently readable.”—Daily News. 
 
 “ We advise every one who cares for good literature to get a copy of this brilliant, 
 novel, and abundantly instructive account of the Switzers. The composition of the 
 book is in the very best style.”"—Morning Post. 
 
 “A work of real and abiding value.”—Standard 
 
 4 
 
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT’S 
 NEW WORKS—Continued. 
 
 MY RECOLLECTIONS, FROM 1806 to 1873. 
 By Lorp Wittiam Pirr Lennox. 2 vols. 8vo. 30s. 
 
 These volumes contain anecdotes and reminiscences of George IV., William IV. 
 Louis XVIIL, Prince Leopold, the Prince Consort, Prince Talleyrand, Napoleon 
 IIL, the Empress Eugenie, the Prince Imperial, the Duke of Wellington, the Mar- 
 quess of Anglesea, Lords Byron, Chesterfield, Brougham, Normanby, G, Bentinck, 
 Dalling; Messrs. Pitt, Moore, Rogers, Hook, Barham, Dickens, Thackeray, Kean, 
 Matthews, Young, Talma, Mdlle. Mars, Madame Malibran, &c. 
 
 “Lord William Lennox’s book is a very good specimen of the class to which it 
 belongs. In one way or another he has seen a great deal, and he records his ex- 
 periences so as to amuse and interest his readers.’—Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 “Tt is impossible to find a more efficient chronicler of men and manners than the 
 writer of these fascinating pages "—John Bull. 
 
 “A most entertaining work The author numbered among his friends and ac- 
 quaintance all ranks of society—sovereigns, peers, statesmen, authors, wits, actors, 
 and military men. He gives us some most delightful anecdotes and reminiscences.” 
 —Court Journal. 
 
 LIFE OF MOSCHELES; WITH SELECTIONS FROM 
 HIS DIARIES AND CORRESPONDENCE. By His Wirt. 
 Adapted from the German by ARTHUR DUKE COLERIDGE. 2 vols. 
 large post 8vo, with Portrait. 24s. 
 
 “‘ This life of Moscheles will be a valuable book of reference for the musical his- 
 torian, for the contents extend over a period of threescore years., commencing with 
 1794, and ending at 1870. We need scarcely state that all the portions of Mosche- 
 les’ diary which refer to his intercourse with Beethoven, Hummel, Weber, Czerny, 
 Spontini, Rossini, Auber, Halévy, Schumann, Cherubini, Spohr, Mendelssohn, F. 
 David, Chopin, J B. Cramer. Clementi, John Field, Habeneck, Hauptmann, Kalk- 
 brenner. Kiesewetter, C. Klingemann, Lablache, Dragonetti, Sontag, Persiani, 
 Malibran, Paganini, Rachel, Ronzi de Begnis, De Beriot, Ernst, Donzelli, Cinti- 
 Damoreau, Chelard, Bochsa, Laporte, Charles Kemble, Paton (Mrs. Wood), 
 Schréder-Devrient, Mrs. Siddons, Sir H. Bishop, Sir G. Smart, Staudigl, Thalberg, 
 Berlioz, Velluti, C. Young, Balfe, Braham, and many other artists of note in their 
 time, will recall a flood of recollections. It was a delicate task for Madame Mos- 
 cheles to select from the diaries in reference to living persons, but her extracts have 
 been judiciously made. Moscheles writes fairly of what is called the ‘ Music of the 
 Future’ and its disciples, and his judgments on Herr Wagner, Dr. Liszt, Ruben- 
 stein, Dr. von Biilow, Litolff, &c., whether as composers or executants, are in a 
 liberal spirit. He recognizes cheerfully the talents of our native artists, Sir Stern- 
 dale Bennett, Mr. Macfarren, Madame Arabella Goddard, Mr. John Barnett, Mr. 
 Hullah, Mrs. Shaw, Mr. A. Sullivan, &c. The celebrities with whom Moscheles 
 came in contact, include Sir Walter Scott, Sir Robert Peel, the late Duke of Cam- 
 bridge, the Bunsens, Louis Philippe, Napoleon the Third, Humboldt, Henry Heine, 
 Thomas More, Count Nesselrode, the Duchess of Orleans, Prof. Wolf, &c. In- 
 deed, the two volumes are full of amusing anecdotes.” —A theneum. 
 
 “The publication of these memoirs will give satisfaction to many of our readers. 
 The devotees of music in this country are both numerous and earnest. By this 
 class these volumes will be hailed with particular delight; but they will be accept- 
 able also to a far wider circle—to all who enjoy a sonata at home or a symphony 
 in the cencert-room. The scope of the work gives it this popular interest, apart 
 from the technical value it possess. It is as well ‘a record of the life of Moscheles’ 
 as ‘a chronicle of the musical history of his time’—a period of sixty years.”—Times. 
 
 “This work is full of interesting information and pleasant gossip about the 
 musical events of the last half-century. Moscheles kept up to the day of his 
 death a diary, in which he recorded all his experiences, and his constant inter- 
 course with such men as Beethoven, Weber, Mendelssohn, and Schumann, enabled 
 him to collect a mass of facts and anecdotes which throw much valuable light on 
 recent musical history. The greater part of the diary was written in London, where 
 Moscheles settled in 1826; and he describes in a vivid and attractive style the vari- 
 ous incidents of his career in England, and the events which most interested 
 our musical public during that time. Of all Moscheles’ recollections none are so 
 interesting as those of Mendelssohn.”—Pall Mall Gagette. 
 
 5 
 
12, Great MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT’S 
 NEW WORKS—Continued. 
 
 VOLS. I. & II. OF HER MAJESTY’S TOWER. 
 By W. HEPWORTH DIXON. DEDICATED BY EXPRESS 
 PERMISSION TO THE QUEEN. Sixth Edition. 8vo. 30s. 
 
 Contents:---The Pile—Inner Ward and Outer Ward—The Wharf—River Rights— 
 The White Tower—Charles of Orleans—Uncle Gloucester—Prison Rules—Beau- ~ 
 champ Tower—The good Lord Cobham—King and Cardinal—The Pilgrimage 
 of Grace—Madge Cheyne—Heirs to the Crown—The Nine Days’ Queen—De- 
 throned—The Men of Kent—Courtney—No Cross no Crown—Cranmer, Lati- 
 mer, Ridley—White Roses—Princess Margaret—Plot and Counterplot—Mon- 
 sieur Charles—Bishop of Ross—Murder of Northumberland—Philip the Con- 
 fessor—Mass in the Tower—Sir Walter Raleigh—The Arabella Plot— 
 Raleigh’s Walk—-The Villain Waad—The Garden House-—The Brick Tower 
 —The Anglo-Spanish Plot—Factions at Court—Lord Grey of Wilton— 
 Old English Catholics—The English Jesuits—White Webbs—The Priests’ Plot 
 —Wilton Court—Last of a Noble Line—Powder-Plot Room—Guy Fawkes— 
 Origin of the Plot—Vinegar House—Conspiracy at Large—The Jesuit’s Move— 
 In London—November, 1605—Hunted Down—In the Tower—Search for Gar- 
 net—End of the English Jesuits—The Catholic Lords—Harry Percy—The 
 Wizard Earl—A Real Arabella Plot—William Seymour—The Escape—Pursuit 
 —Dead in the Tower—Lady Frances Howard—Robert Carr—Powder Poisoning 
 
 From Tar Trmes:—‘ All the civilized world—English, Continental, and Ame- 
 rican—takes an interest in the Tower of London. The Tower is the stage 
 upon which has been enacted some of the grandest dramas and saddest tragedies 
 in our national annals, If, in imagination, we take our stand on those time-worn 
 walls, and let century after century flit past us, we shall see in due succession the 
 majority of the most famous men and lovely women of England in the olden time. 
 We shall see them jesting, jousting, love-making, plotting, and then anon, per- 
 haps, commending their souls to God in the presence of a hideous masked figure, 
 bearing an axe in his hands. It is such pictures as these that Mr. Dixon, with 
 considerable skill as an historical limner, has set before us in these volumes. Mr. 
 Dixon dashes off the scenes of Tower history with great spirit. His descriptions 
 are given with such terseness and vigour that we should spoil them by any attempt 
 at condensation. As favourable examples of his narrative powers we may call at- 
 tention to the story of the beautiful but unpopular Elinor, Queen of Henry IIL, and 
 the description of Anne Boleyn’s first and second arrivals at the Tower. Then we 
 have the story of the bold Bishop of Durham, who escapes by the aid of a cord 
 hidden in a wine-jar; and the tale of Maud Fitzwalter, imprisoned and murdered 
 by the caitiff John. Passing onwards, we meet Charles of Orleans, the poetic 
 French Prince, captured at Agincourt, and detained for five-and-twenty years a 
 prisoner in the Tower. Next weencounter the balefulform of Richard of Gloucester, 
 and are filled with indignation at the blackest of the black Tower deeds. As we 
 draw nearer to modern times, we have the sorrowful story of the Nine Days’ 
 Queen, poor little Lady Jane Grey. The chapter entitled “‘No Cross, no Crown” 
 is one of the most affecting in the book. A mature man can scarcely read it with- 
 out feeling the tears ready to trickle from his eyes. No part of the first volume 
 yields in interest to the chapters which are devoted to the story of Sir Walter 
 Raleigh. The greater part of the second volume is occupied with the story of the 
 Gunpowder Plot. The narrative is extremely interesting, and will repay perusal. 
 Another cause celébre possessed of a perennial interest, is the murder of Sir Thomas 
 Overbury by Lord and Lady Somerset. Mr. Dixon tells the tale skilfully. In con- 
 clusion, we may congratulate the author on this work. Both volumes are decided- 
 ly attractive, and throw much light on our national history.” 
 
 “From first to last this work overflows with new information and original 
 thought, with poetry and picture. In these fascinating pages Mr. Dixon dis- 
 charges alternately the functions of the historian, and the historic biographer, with 
 the insight, art, humour and accurate knowledge which never fail him when he 
 undertakes to illumine the darksome recesses of our national story.”—Morning Post. 
 
 ‘‘We earnestly recommend this remarkable work to those in quest of amuse- 
 ment and instruction, at once solid and refined.."—Daily Telegraph. 
 
 6 
 
13, GrEaT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT’S 
 NEW WORKS—Continued. 
 
 VOLS. III. & IV. or HER MAJESTY’S TOWER. 
 By W. HEPWORTH DIXON. DEDICATED BY EXPRESS 
 PERMISSION TO THE QUEEN. Completing the Work. Third 
 Edition. Demy 8vo. 30s. 
 
 ConxtEents:—A Favourite; A Favourite’s Friend; The Countess of Suffolk; To the 
 Tower; Lady Catherine Manners; House of Villiers; Revolution; Fall of Lord 
 Bacon; A Spanish Match; Spaniolizing; Henry De Vere; The Matter of Hol- 
 land; Sea Affairs ; The Pirate War; Port and Court; A New Romanzo; Move 
 and Counter-move; Pirate and Prison; In the Marshalsea ; The Spanish Olive ; 
 Prisons Opened; A Parliament; Digby, Earl of Bristol; Turn of Fortune; Eliot 
 Eloquent; Felton’s Knife; An Assassin; Nine Gentlemen in the Tower; A 
 King’s Revenge ; Charles I. ; Pillars of State and Church; End of Wentworth; 
 Laud’s Last Troubles; The Lieutenant's House; A Political Romance; Phi- 
 losophy at Bay; Fate of an Idealist; Britannia; Killing not Murder; A Second 
 Buckingham; Roger, Earl of Castlemaine ; A Life of Plots; The Two Penns; 
 A Quaker’s Cell; Colonel Blood; Crown Jewels, King and Colonel; Rye House 
 Plot ; Murder; A Patriot; The Good Old Cause; James, Duke of Monmouth; 
 The Unjust Judge; The Scottish Lords ; The Countess of Nithisdale; Escaped, 
 Cause of the Pretender; Reformers and Reform , Reform Riots; Sir Francis 
 Burdett; A Summons to the Tower; Arthur Thistlewood; A Cabinet Council ; 
 Cato Street; Pursuit; Last Prisoners in the Tower. 
 
 “Mr, Dixon’s lively and accurate work.”—TZimes. 
 
 “This book is thoroughly entertaining, well-written, and instructive.”—Zxaminer. 
 
 “These volumes will place Mr. Dixon permanently on the roll of English authors 
 who have rendered their country a service, by his putting on record a truthful and 
 brilliant account of that most popular and instructive relic of antiquity. ‘Her 
 Majesty’s Tower; the annals of which, as related in these volumes, are by turns 
 exciting and amusing, while they never fail to interest. Our ancient stronghold 
 could have had no better historian than Mr. Dixon.”—Post. 
 
 “By his merits of literary execution, his vivacious portraitures of historical 
 figures, his masterly powers of narrative and description, and the force and grace- 
 ful ease of his style, Mr. Dixon will keep his hold upon a multitude of readers.”— 
 Illustrated News. 
 
 “These yolumes are two galleries of richly painted portraits of the noblest 
 men and most brilliant women, besides others commemorated by English 
 history. The grand old Royal Keep, palace and prison by turns, is revivified in 
 these volumes, which close the narrative, extending from the era of Sir John Eliot, 
 who saw Raleigh die in Palace Yard, to that of Thistlewood, the last prisoner im- 
 mured in the Tower. Few works are given to us, in these days, so abundant in 
 originality and research as Mr. Dixon’s.”—Standard. 
 
 HISTORY OF WILLIAM PENN, Founder of 
 Pennsylvania. By W. Hepworts Drxon. A New Liprary EDITION. 
 1 vol. demy 8vo, with Portrait. 12s. 
 
 “Mr. Dixon’s ‘ William Penn’ is, perhaps, the best of his books. He has now re- 
 vised and issued it with the addition of much fresh matter. It is now offered in a 
 sumptuous volume, matching with Mr. Dixon’s recent books, to anew generation of 
 readers, who will thank Mr. Dixon for his interesting and instructive memoir of 
 one of the worthies of England.”—Zxaminer. 
 
 ‘““¢ William Penn’ is a fine and noble work. Eloquent, picturesque, and epigra- 
 matic in style, subtle and philosophical in insight, and moderate and accurate in 
 statement, it is a model of what a biography ought to be.”—Sunday Times. 
 
 “The character of this great Christian Englishman, William Penn, a true hero 
 of moral and civil conquests, is one of the fairest in modern history, and may be 
 studied with profit by his countrymen of all ages. This biography of him now 
 finally put into shape as a standard work of its kind, is Mr. Dixon’s most useful 
 production. Few books have a more genial and wholesome interest, or convey 
 more beneficial instruction.”—J/lustrated News. 
 
 7 
 
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MESSRS HURST AND BLACKETT’S 
 NEW WORKS—Continued. 
 
 CRISS-CROSS JOURNEYS. By WALTER THoRN- 
 
 BuRY. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s. 
 
 ‘*A lively, graphic, and interesting book.”"—Daily News. 
 
 “An interesting book. Very pleasant companions are Mr. Thornbury’s two 
 volumes of travel, revealing as they do glimpses of the oldest and newest world, 
 enlivened with countless anecdotes and many personal adventures. The reader 
 will find Mr. Thornbury a fascinatiug racontewr.’”—Graphic. 
 
 “Mr, Thornbury is a shrewd and observant traveller. His descriptions are 
 singularly life-like and truthful, and his humour is genuine. His journeys are 
 excellent. His descriptions of America are both truthful and valuable, and what 
 he says about Egypt and Russia is worth saying and well said.”’—Sunday Times. 
 
 BRIDES AND BRIDALS. By J.C. JEarrreson, 
 B.A., Oxon. Second Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. 30s. 
 
 “Tn this book Mr. Jeaffreson appeals to an audience even larger than those 
 addressed in his books about Lawyers, Doctors, and the Clergy. His ‘ Brides and 
 Bridals’ cannot fail to go straight to the heart of every woman in England. We 
 doubt not that these volumes will be carefully scanned by fair eyes of all ages and 
 conditions, and will afford no less amusement than instruction.”—Atheneum. | 
 
 THE LITERARY LIFE OF THE REV. WIL- 
 LIAM HARNESS, Vicar of All Saints, Knightsbridge, and Pre- 
 bendary of St. Paul’s. By the Rev. A. G. L’EstraneGs. 8vo. 15s. 
 
 “The book is a pléasant book, and will be found excellent reading. AI] those 
 to whom the good name of Byron is dear, will read with an almost exquisite plea- 
 sure the testimony given by Harness.”—Atheneum. 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF WILLIAM BEWICK, 
 THE ARTIST. Edited by THomas LanpsEER, A.R.A. 2 vols. 
 
 * Bewick’s fellow pupil and old friend, Mr. T. Landseer, the famous engraver, 
 has put the materials before us together with much skill. The literary sketches 
 which Bewick made of Hazlitt, Haydon, Shelley, Keats, Scott, Hogg, Jeffrey, 
 Maturin, and others, are extremely bright, apt, and clear.” —Athenxeum. 
 
 THE LION AND THE ELEPHANT. By the 
 late C. J. ANDERssoN, Author of ‘Lake Ngami,” &c. Edited by 
 L. Luoyp, author of “Field Sports of the North,” &c. 8vo. 
 With Illustrations. 15s. 
 
 “This handsome volume contains a most graphic account of the adventures of 
 Mr. Andersson, from papers which he left behind him, and which have been most 
 ably edited by Mr. Lloyd. The favourite pursuit of the deceased traveller was 
 the chase of the lion, and he gives us most minute particulars of the habits and 
 customs of the royal beast. The portion of the work anent elephants is of equal 
 interest. All fond of tales of adventure and daring should procure this capital 
 book.” —John Bull. 
 
 “This book is pleasant reading. It gives much valuable information, and many 
 excellent stories about these interesting animals.”—Hzaminer. 
 
 “Interesting to the general reader, this attractive book will be found especially 
 worthy of the attention of naturalists and sportsmen.”—Standard. 
 
 “ An attractive and exciting volume, full of adventures and hair-breadth escapes, 
 and which will be read with interest and delight.”—Graphic. 
 
 MODERN TURKEY. By J. Lewis Fartey, 
 
 Consul of the Sublime Porte at Bristol. Second Hdition. 1 vol. 14s. 
 
 “Mr. Farley has a good deal of interesting information to communicate in regard 
 to the resources of modern Turkey ; and we may add that he puts it briefly, clearlv 
 and in an agreeable style.”’—Saturday Review 
 
 8 
 
13, Gruar MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT’S 
 NEW WORKS—Continued. 
 
 feet ROM CONSTANTINOPLE. By 
 
 Housert HK. H. JERNIncHAM. 8vo, with Illustrations. 15s. 
 
 ‘Mr. Jerningham has filled a very agreeable volume with the tale of his excur- 
 sions during the last three years among scenes of classic or Oriental interest. His 
 style is lively, clear, and picturesque.”—Saturday Review. 
 
 “Mr. Jerningham’s work includes trips from Brindisi to Athens, to Corinth by 
 Nauplia, and Mycene, to Mount Athos, to Cyzicus, Broussa, Nicomedia, and 
 Nicsea, besides chapters upon Constantinople and its environs. While the most 
 interesting parts of the work to a general reader are the descriptions of the 
 people, the author gives a mass of notices as to the antiquities and interesting 
 sites of the localities he visits.”— Standard. 
 
 THE LUSHAI EXPEDITION. 1871-72. By R. 
 G.WooptHorp®, Lieut. R.E. 1 vol.demy 8vo, with Illustrations. 15s. 
 
 “ Lieut. Woodthorpe’s account of the Lushai Expedition is important as well as 
 interesting. The writer excels in description, and is very pleasing in his geogra- 
 phical and scenic sketches.”—Post. 
 
 FREE RUSSIA. By W. Hepworty Dixon. Third 
 Edition 2 vols. 8vo, with Coloured Illustrations. 30s. 
 
 “Mr. Dixon’s book will be certain not only to interest but to please its readers 
 and it deserves to do so. It contains a great deal that is worthy of attention, and 
 is likely to produce a very useful effect. The ignorance of the English people 
 with respect to Russia has long been so dense that we cannot avoid being grateful 
 to a writer who has taken the trouble to make personal acquaintance with that 
 seldom-visited land, and to bring before the eyes of his countrymen a picture of 
 its scenery and its people, which is so novel and interesting that it can scarcely 
 fail to arrest their attention.”—Saturday Review. 
 
 TURKISH HAREMS & CIRCASSIAN HOMES. 
 By Mrs. Harvey, of Ickwell Bury. 8vo. Second Edition. 15s. . 
 “Mrs. Harvey not only saw a great deal, but saw all that she did see to the 
 
 best advantage. In noticing the intrinsic interest of Mrs. Harvey’s book, we must 
 not forget to say a word for her ability as a writer.”—Zimes. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF QUEEN HORTENSE, MOTHER 
 OF NAPOLEON III. Cheaper Edition, in 1 vol. 6s. 
 
 “A biography of the beautiful and unhappy Queen, more satisfactory than any we 
 have yet met with.”—Daily News. 
 
 THE CITIES OF THE NATIONS FELL. By 
 
 the Rev. JoHn Cummine, D.D. Second Edition. 1 vol. 6s. 
 
 “ The work before us contains much historical information of interest and value. 
 We must applaud here, as we applauded in his treatise on The Seventh Vial, the 
 skill and diligence of the author in the vast and careful selection of facts, both phy- 
 sical and moral, the interest of each when taken singly, and the striking picture of 
 the whole when presented collectively to the view.” —Record. 
 
 THE EXILES AT ST. GERMAINS. By the 
 Author of ‘The Ladye Shakerley.” 1 vol. 7s. 6d: bound. 
 
 “The whole narrative is picturesque, ie laa and entertaining, as well as moral 
 and pathetic.”—Morning Post. 
 
 “¢The Exiles at St. Germains’ is an excellent attempt to depict the life of the 
 latter Stuarts while they lived under the protection of the Lilies of France. The 
 author is that skilled penwoman who wrote ‘ The Ladye Shakerley,’ and she has 
 seized fully the spirit of the Stuart age. ‘The Exiles at St. Germains’ will 
 every whit as popular as ‘The Ladye Shakerley.’ ’—Standara. 
 
 9 
 
THE NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS, 
 PUBLISHED BY HURST & BLACKETT. 
 
 MY STORY. By KATHARINE S. Macquorp, Author 
 of “ Patty,” &c. 3 vols. 
 
 THE ITALIANS. By Frances Eutuiot, Author of 
 “The Diary of an Idle Woman in Italy,” &c. 3 vols. (In the Press.) 
 
 THE BLOSSOMING OF AN ALOE; ano THE 
 chee ecrae By Mrs. CasHet Hoey, Author of ‘Out of 
 ourt,” &c. 3 vols. 
 
 OUR DETACHMENT. By KATHARINE KING, author 
 of “The Queen of the Regiment,” &. 3 vols. (Jn Dec.) 
 
 LIZZIE. By Lavy Durrus-HaArpy. 3 vols. 
 
 “¢Vizzie’ is a charming and interesting story, replete with taste, judgment, and 
 spirit. The theme of woman’s love is worked out with thrilling and enchaining 
 power.” —Court Journal. 
 
 HOPE MEREDITH. By the Author of “ St.Olave’s,” 
 ‘¢ Janita’s Cross,” ‘‘ The Blue Ribbon,” &c. 3 vols. 
 
 “A powerful and interesting story.”—Morning Post. 
 
 “ This interesting novel will afford its readers much entertainment and amuse- 
 ment.” — Messenger. 
 
 ‘¢* Hope Meredith’ has decided merit. It is a very readable tale.”—Graphic. 
 
 DARKNESS AND DAWN. A Russian Tale. By 
 
 ANNIE GRANT. Dedicated, by permission, to the DucHEss or EDIN- 
 BURGH. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 “There is much in this book to interest and excite besides the descriptions of 
 Russian people and scenery, which form the groundwork of the romance.”— 
 Athenzum. 
 
 “A graceful and pleasantly told story. The glimpses of Russian manners and 
 customs are decidedly Interesting.’"—Morning Post. 
 
 QUEENIE. 3 vols. 
 
 “This novel is a bright and charming one, possessing much pathos and deep 
 feeling. There is a decided originality and piquancy about the story. The style is 
 fresh, and the book bids fair to become a favourite.”—Morning Post. 
 
 SAFELY MARRIED. By the Author of “ Caste.” 
 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 “The reader will experience rare pleasure in the perusal of this interesting and 
 original novel.”—Morning Post. 
 
 ““*Safely Married’ is decidedly above the average of excellence, and very well 
 worth reading. The story is wrought out with great cleverness.”—Graphic. 
 
 FRANCES. By Mortimer Coxtins. 3 vols. 
 
 “«Frances’ is decidedly interesting; the style is crisp and racy, keeping the 
 reader pleased as well as amused throughout. Under all the fun and frolic of the 
 story there is evidence of a good deal of reading and refined taste. Frances is a 
 ‘lovely lady,’ and should hold her own on Mr. Mudie’s shelves against all comers.” 
 Times. 
 
 10 
 
THE NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS. 
 PUBLISHED BY HURST & BLACKETT. 
 
 A ROSE IN JUNE. By Mrs. OtrpHant, Author 
 of “Chronicles of Carlingford,” ‘‘ May,” &c. 2vols. 21s. 
 
 **A Rose in June’ is as pretty as its title. The story is one of the best and 
 most touching which we owe to the industry and talent of Mrs. Oliphant, and in 
 its slender grace and playful satire may hold its own with even ‘The Chronicles of 
 Carlingford.’ "—Times. 
 
 “In ‘A Rose in June’ Mrs. Oliphant is at her very best again. The book is full 
 of character, drawn with the most delicate of touches.”—Athenxum. 
 
 “One of the most exquisite stories Mrs. Oliphant has yet written. It is an ad- 
 mirable work.”—Z£zaminer. 
 
 MARIAN’S TRUST. By the Author of “Ursula’s 
 
 Love Story.” 3 vols. 
 “The interest must not be marred by premature disclosures, though there is 
 much in ‘ Marian’s Trust’ to make it good reading apart from the thread of the 
 story.”—Times. 
 
 ROUGH HEWN. By Mrs. Day, Author of “ From 
 
 Birth to Bridal,” &c. 3 vols. 
 “There is no lack of incident in ‘Rough Hewn.’ Mrs. Day has sncceeded in 
 some original and bold sketches.” —TZimes. 
 
 SYLVIA’S CHOICE. By Groratana M. Craik. 2 v. 
 
 “ ¢Sylvia’s Choice’ is a gentle, pretty story, written throughout with the 
 thoroughly honest and good feeling which has made Miss Craik so popular with a 
 large class of the novel constituency..”—Z%mes. 
 
 “ This story is brightly and freshly told, and contains many graceful pictures of 
 home life and affection. Sylvia herself is very charming.’—Standard. 
 
 WON AT LAST. By Lavy CHatterton. 3 vols. 
 
 “A really good novel. Lady Chatterton always writes well. ‘Won at Last’ is 
 a thrilling story, and the powers of the authoress were never more apparent.”— 
 John Bull, 
 
 SPELL-BOUND. By Atice Kine, Author of 
 
 ‘Queen of Herself,” &c. 3 vols. 
 “ A decidedly clever and original novel, well and charmingly told, the interest 
 being unflaggingly sustained.”—Post. 
 
 OUT OF COURT. By Mrs. CasHeEt Hory. 3 vols. 
 
 “¢QOut of Court’ is a fresh and lively story—far and away the best novel Mrs. 
 Hoey has written. The interest is kept up from the first page to the last.’”—TZimes. 
 
 FOR LOVE AND LIFE. By Mrs. Oxrpenanr, 3 vy. 
 
 “** For Love and Life’ is equal in all respects to the reputation of its writer. It 
 will be read with delight.”"—John Bull. 
 
 GENTIANELLA. By Mrs. RANDoLPH. 3 vols. 
 
 “‘A thoroughly entertaining and healthy romance, spirited in style, pleasing in 
 tone, and tender in sentiment.”—Post. 
 
 SECOND-COUSIN SARAH. ByF. W. Rozinson, 
 
 Author of “‘Grandmother’s Money,” ‘*No Church,” &. 3 vols. 
 “ A book which it is impossible to lay aside. The writer exercises a marvellous 
 fascination over the reader.”—John Bull, 
 
 11 
 
Ender the Especial Patronage of Her Alajesty. 
 
 Published annually, in One Vol., royal 8vo, with the Arms beautifully 
 engraved, handsomely bound, with gilt edges, price 31s. 6d. 
 
 LODGE’S PEERAGE 
 AND BARONETAGE, 
 
 CORRECTED BY THE NOBILITY. 
 THE FORTY-THIRD EDITION FOR 1874 18 NOW READY. 
 
 LopcE’s PEERAGE AND BARONETAGE is acknowledged to be the most 
 complete, as well as the most elegant, work of the kind. As an esta- 
 blished and authentic authority on all questions respecting the family 
 histories, honours, and connections of the titled aristocracy, no work has 
 ever stood so high. It is published under the especial patronage of Her 
 Majesty, and is annually corrected throughout, from the personal com- 
 munications of the Nobility. It is the only work of its class in which, the 
 type being kept constantly standing, every correction is made in its proper 
 place to the date of publication, an advantage which gives it supremacy 
 over all its competitors. Independently of its full and authentic informa- 
 tion respecting the existing Peers and Baronets of the realm, the most 
 sedulous attention is given in its pages to the collateral branches of the 
 various noble families, and the names of many thousand individuals are 
 introduced, which do not appear in other records of the titled classes. For 
 its authority, correctness, and facility of arrangement, and the beauty of 
 its typography and binding, the work is justly entitled to the place it 
 occupies on the tables of Her Majesty and the Nobility. ; 
 
 LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS. 
 
 Historical View of the Peerage. 
 
 Parliamentary Roll of the House of Lords. 
 
 English, Scotch, and Irish Peers, in their 
 orders of Precedence. 
 
 Alphabetical List of Peers of Great Britain 
 and the United Kingdom, holding supe- 
 rior rank in the Scotch or Irish Peerage. 
 
 Alphabetical list of Scotch and Irish Peers, 
 holding superior titles in the Peerage of 
 Great Britain and the United Kingdom. 
 
 A Collective list of Peers, in their order of 
 Precedence. 
 
 Table of Precedency among Men. 
 
 Table of Precedency among Women. 
 
 The Queen and the Royal Family. 
 
 Peers of the Blood Royal. 
 
 The Peerage, alphabetically arranged. 
 
 Families of such Extinct Peers as have left 
 Widows or Issue. 
 
 ae poeta List of the Surnames of all the 
 
 eers. + \ 
 
 The Archbishops and Bishops of England, 
 Ireland, and the Colonies. 
 
 The Baronetage alphabetically arranged. 
 
 Alphabetical List of Surnames assumed by 
 members of Noble Families. 
 
 Alphabetical List of the Second Titles of 
 Peers, usually borne by their Eldest 
 
 ons. 
 
 Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of 
 Dukes, Marquises, and Earls, who, hav- 
 ing married Commoners, retain the title 
 of Lady before their own Christian and 
 their Husband’s Surnames. 
 
 Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of 
 Viscounts and Barons, who, having 
 married Commoners, are styled Honour- 
 able Mrs.; and, in case of the husband 
 being a Baronet or Knight, Honourable 
 Lady. 
 
 Mottoes alphabetically arranged and trans- 
 lated. 
 
 “A work which corrects all errors of formerworks. It is a most useful publication. 
 We are happy to bear testimony to the fact that scrupulous accuracy is a distinguish- 
 
 ing feature of this book.”—Zimes. 
 
 ‘*Lodge’s Peerage must supersede all other works of the kind, for two reasons: first, it 
 is on a better plan; and secondly, it is better executed. We cansafely pronounce it to be 
 the readiest, the most useful, and exactest of modern works on the subject.”—Spectator. 
 
 “A work of great value. It is the most faithful record we possess of’ the aristo- 
 
 cracy of the day.”—Post. 
 
 “The best existing, and, we believe, the best possible Peerage. Itis the standard 
 
 authority on the subject.”—Standard. 
 
 12 
 
HURST & BLACKETY’S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 
 OF CHEAP EDITIONS OF 
 POPULAR MODERN WORKS, 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY SIR J. GILBERT, MILLAIS, HOLMAN HUNT, LEECH, 
 BIRKET FOSTER, TENNIEL, SANDYS, E. HUGHES, SAMBOURNE, &e. 
 
 Each in a Single Volume, elegantly printed, bound, and illustrated, price 5s. 
 
 I.—SAM SLICK’S NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 “The first volume of Messrs. Hurst and Blackett’s Standard Library of Cheap Editions 
 forms a very good beginning to what will doubtless be a very successful uudertaking. 
 ‘Nature and Human Nature’ is one of the best of Sam Slick’s witty and humorous 
 productions, and is well entitled to the large circulation which it cannot fail to obtain 
 in its present convenient and cheap shape. The volume combines with the great recom- 
 mendations of a clear, bold type, and good paper, the lesser but attractive merits of 
 being well illustrated and elegantly bound.”— Post. 
 
 Il.—JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. 
 
 “This is a very good and a very interesting work. It is designed to trace the career 
 from boyhood to age of a perfect man—a Christian gentleman; and it abounds in inci- 
 dent both well and highly wrought. Throughout it is conceived in a high spirit, and 
 written with great ability. This cheap and handsome new edition is worthy to pass 
 freely from hand to hand as a gift book in many households.”—Zxaminer. 
 
 IiI.—THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS. 
 BY ELIOT WARBURTON. 
 
 “Independent of its value as an original narrative, and its useful and interesting 
 information, this work is remarkable for the colouring power and play of fancy with 
 which its descriptions are enlivened. Among its greatest and most lasting charms is 
 its reverent and serious spirit.”—Quarterly Review. 
 
 IV.—NATHALIE. By JULIA KAVANAGH. 
 
 “ * Nathalie’ is Miss Kavanagh’s best imaginative effort. Its manner is gracious and 
 attractive. Its matter is good. A sentiment, a tenderness, are commanded by her 
 which are as individual as they are elegant.”—Athenxum. 
 
 V.—A WOMAN’S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 “A book of sound counsel. It is one of the most sensible works of its kind, well- 
 written, true-hearted, and altogether practical. Whoever wishes to give advice to a 
 young lady may thank the author for means of doing so.”—Zxaminer. 
 
 VI—ADAM GRAEME. By MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 “A story awakening genuine emotions of interest and delight by its admirable pic- 
 tures of Scottish life and scenery. The author sets before us the essential attributes of 
 Christian virtue, with a delicacy, power, and truth which can hardly be surpassed.’’—Post. 
 
 VIL—SAM SLICK’S WISE SAWS AND MODERN 
 INSTANCES. 
 
 “The reputation of this book will stand as long as that of Scott’s or Bulwer’s Novels. 
 Its remarkable originality and happy descriptions of American life still continue the 
 subject of universal admiration.” —Messenger. 
 
 VII.—CARDINAL WISEMAN’S RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 THE LAST FOUR POPES. 
 
 “ A picturesque book on Rome and its ecclesiastical sovereigns, by an eloquent Roman 
 Catholic. Cardinal Wiseman has treated a special subject with so much geniality, that 
 his recollections will excite no ill-feeling in those who are most conscientiously opposed 
 to every idea of human infallibility represented in Papal domination.”—Athenzum. 
 
 13 
 
HURST & BLACKETT’S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 (CONTINUED.) 
 
 IX.—A LIFE FOR A LIFE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “ JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 “In ‘A Life for a Life’ the author is fortunate in a good subject, and has produced a 
 work of strong effect.”—Athenzum. 
 
 X.—THE OLD COURT SUBURB. By LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 “A delightful book, that will be welcome to all readers, and most welcome to those 
 who have a love for the best kinds of reading.”—Hzaminer. 
 
 “A more agreeable and entertaining book has not been published since Boswell pro- 
 duced his reminiscences of Johnson.”—Observer. 
 
 XI.—MARGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 
 
 “We recommend all who are in search of a fascinating novel to read this work for 
 themselves. They will find it well worth their while. There are a freshness and ori- 
 ginality about it quite charming.”—Athenzum. 
 
 XII.—THE OLD JUDGE. By SAM SLICK. 
 
 “The publications included in this Library have all been of good quality ; many give 
 information while they entertain, and of that class the book before us is a specimen. 
 The manner in which the Cheap Editions forming the series is produced, deserves 
 especial mention. The paper and print are unexceptionable; there is a steel engraving 
 in each volume, and the outsides of them will satisfy the purchaser who likes to see 
 books in handsome uniform.”—Examiner. F 
 
 XIUI.—DARIEN. By ELIOT WARBURTON. 
 
 “This last production of the author of ‘The Crescent and the Cross’ has the same 
 elements of a very wide popularity. It will please its thousands.”—Globe. 
 
 XIV.—FAMILY ROMANCE; OR, DOMESTIC ANNALS 
 
 OF THE ARISTOCRACY. 
 BY SIR BERNARD BURKE, ULSTER KING OF ARMS. 
 
 “It were impossible to praise too highly this most interesting book. It ought to be 
 found on every drawing-room table.”—Standard. 
 
 XV.—THE LAIRD OF NORLAW. By MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 “The ‘iaird of Norlaw’ fully sustains the author’s high reputation.”—Sunday Times. 
 
 XVI.—THE ENGLISHWOMAN IN ITALY. 
 
 “We can praise Mrs. Gretton’s book as interesting, unexaggerated, and full of oppor- 
 tune instruction.” —TZimes. 
 
 XVIIL.—NOTHING NEW. 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “ JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 ‘‘¢ Nothing New’ displays all those superior merits which have made ‘ John Halifax 
 one of the most popular works of the day.”—Post. 
 
 XVIIIl.—FREER’S LIFE OF JEANNE D’ALBRET. 
 
 “Nothing can be more interesting than Miss Freer’s story of the life of Jeanne 
 D’Albret, and the narrative is as trustworthy as itis attractive.” —FPost. 
 
 XIX.—THE VALLEY OF A HUNDRED FIRES. 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “MARGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS.” 
 
 “Tf asked to classify this work, we should give it a place between ‘John Baltes. and 
 ‘The Caxtons.’ ”"—Standard. 
 
 XX.—THE ROMANCE OF THE FORUM. 
 BY PETER BURKE, SERGEANT AT LAW. 
 
 “ A work of singular interest, which can never fail to charm. The present cheap and 
 elegant edition includes the true story of the Colleen Bawn.”—ZJilustrated News. 
 
 14 
 
 = 
 
HURST & BLACKETT’S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 
 XXI.—ADELE. By JULIA KAVANAGH. 
 
 “t Adele’ is the best work we have read by Miss Kavanagh; it isa charming story 
 full of delicate character-painting.”—Athenzeum. 
 
 XXII.—STUDIES FROM LIFE 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “ JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 “These ‘Studies from Life’ are remarkable for graphic power and observation. The 
 book will not diminish the reputation of the accomplished author.”—Saturday Review. 
 
 XXU1I.—GRANDMOTHER’S MONEY. 
 
 “Wecommend ‘Grandmother’s Money’ to readers in search of a good novel. The 
 characters are true to human nature, and the story is interesting.”—Athenzum. 
 
 XXIV.—A BOOK ABOUT DOCTORS. 
 
 BY J. C. JEAFFRESON. 
 
 “ A delightful book.”.—Athenzum. ‘A book to be read and re-read; fit for the study 
 as well as the drawing-room table and the circulating library.”—Lancet. 
 
 XXV.—NO CHURCH. 
 
 “We advise all who have the opportunity to read this book.”—Athenxeum. 
 
 XXVI.—MISTRESS AND MAID. 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “ JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 ** A good wholesome book, gracefully written, and as pleasant to read as it is instruc- 
 tive.’—Atheneum. ‘A charming tale charmingly told.”—Standard. 
 
 XXVIIL—LOST AND SAVED. By HON. MRS. NORTON. 
 
 “¢Tost and Saved’ will be read with eager interest. It is a vigorous novel.”’—Times. 
 “A novel of rare excellence. It is Mrs. Norton’s best prose work.”—Zzaminer. 
 
 XXVIII.—LES MISERABLES. By VICTOR HUGO. 
 AUTHORISED COPYRIGHT ENGLISH TRANSLATION. 
 
 ‘The merits of ‘Les Miserables’ do not merely consist in the conception of it as a 
 whole; it abounds with details of unequalled beauty. M. Victor Hugo has stamped upon 
 every page the hall-mark of genius.” —Quarterly Review. 
 
 XXITX.—BARBARA’S HISTORY. 
 BY AMELIA B, EDWARDS. 
 
 “Tt is not often that we light upon a novel of so much merit and interest as ‘ Barbara’s 
 History.’ It is a work conspicuous for taste and literary culture. It is a very graceful 
 and charming book, with a well-managed story, clearly-cut characters, and sentiments 
 expressed with an exquisite elocution. Itis abook which the world will like.”—TZimes. 
 
 ee —LIFE OF THE REV. EDWARD IRVING. 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 ‘A good book on a most interesting theme.”—7Zimes. 
 
 “A truly interesting and most affecting memoir. Irving’s Life ought to have a niche 
 in every gallery of religious biography. There are few lives that will be fuller of in- 
 struction ,interest, and consolation.”—Saturday Review. 
 
 XXXI.—ST. OLAVE’S. 
 
 “This charming novel is the work of one who possesses a great talent for writing, as 
 well as experiance and knowledge of the world. ’—Atheneum. 
 
 XXXU.—SAM SLICK’S AMERICAN HUMOUR. 
 “Dip where you will into this lottery of fun, you are sure to draw out a prize.”—Post. 
 XX XIII.—CHRISTIAN’S MISTAKE. 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 ‘A more charming story has rarely been written. Evenif tried by the standard of 
 the Archbishop of York, we should expect that even he would pronounce ‘Christian’s 
 Mistake’ a novel without a fault.”—Zimes. 
 
 1d 
 
HURST & BLACKETT’S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 
 XXXIV.—ALEC FORBES OF HOWGLEN. 
 BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D. 
 
 “No account of this story would give any idea of the profound interest that pervades 
 the work from the first page to the last.”—Athenceum. 
 
 XXXV.—AGNES. By MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 “* Agnes’ is a novel superior to any of Mrs. Oliphant’s former works.”—Athenceewm. 
 “ A story whose pathetic beauty will appeal irresistibly to all readers.”—Post. 
 
 XXXVI.—A NOBLE LIFE. 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “‘ JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 “This is one of those pleasant tales in which the author of ‘John Halifax’ speaks 
 out of a generous heart the purest truths of life.’"—HZxaminer. 
 
 XXXVIJI.—NEW AMERICA. By HEPWORTH DIXON. 
 
 “A very interesting book. Mr. Dixon has written thoughtfully and well.”—Times. 
 
 Mr. Dixon’s very entertaining and instructive work on New America.”—Pall Mall Gaz. 
 
 “We recommend every one who feels any interest in human nature to read Mr. 
 Dixon’s very interesting book.”’—Saturday Review. 
 
 XXX VIII.—ROBERT FALCONER. 
 BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D. 
 
 “* Robert Falconer’ is a work brimful of life and humour and of the deepest human 
 interest. It is a book to be returned to again and again for the deep and searching 
 knowledge it evinces of human thoughts and feelings,’—Athencewm. : 
 
 XXXIX.—THE WOMAN’S KINGDOM. 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 “The Woman's Kingdom’ sustains the author’s reputation as a writer of the 
 purest and noblest kind of domestic stories.—Atheneum. 
 
 XL.—ANNALS OF AN EVENTFUL LIFE. 
 BY GEORGE WEBBE DASENT, D.C.L. 
 
 “A racy, well-written, and original novel. The interest never flags. The whole 
 work sparkles with wit and humour.”---Quarterly Review. 
 
 XLI—DAVID ELGINBROD. 
 BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D. 
 
 “ A novel which is the work of a man of true genius. It will attract the highest 
 class of readers.” —Zimes. 
 
 XLIL—A BRAVE LADY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 “A very good novel; a thoughtful, well-written book, showing a tender sympathy 
 with human nature, and permeated by a pure and noble spirit.” —Hxaminer. 
 
 XLIU.—HANNAH. 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “ JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 “A powerful novel of social and domestic life. One of the most successful efforts of 
 
 a successful novelist.”—Daily News. om 
 ‘ A very pleasant, healthy story, well and artistically told. The book is sure ofa 
 wide circle of readers. The character of Hannah is one of rare beauty.”—Sitandard. 
 
 XLIV.—SAM SLICK’S AMERICANS AT HOME. 
 
 “This is one of the most amusing books that we ever read.”—Standard. 
 
 XLV.—THE UNKIND WORD. 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 
 
 “The author of ‘John Halifax’ has written many fascinating" stories, but we can 
 call to mind nothing from her pen that has a more enduring charm than the graceful 
 sketches in this work. Such a character as Jessie stands out from a crowd of heroines 
 as the type of all that is truly noble, pure, and womanly.”—United Service Magazine. 
 
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