Isa, ‘ + ew 7 es ers a cgeeserestec 2 : S53 es ble va = eee SE. if s ie pews 7 MTS ae Aue ty fas i . 3 A pe | AN MORSELS yi hy. oy A “+ ! F : Gere. i. ; ‘ ‘ee 2 “ . igi ’ 4 Sa ae LONDON: — _ -SHACKELL AND BAYLIS, JOHNSON’ sccouRT, vunersenner, on ie ke . ~ om : Ps » a > ‘ See ig sy, . 4" ' ‘ bu) a F ‘a : * oa m ’ * ’ nt ) & oS ..\).%» 2» se9.ecp epee Item, one fanne of feathers ©... ..«0.-.- Item, one fanne of feathers, with a silver handle -\. . . .!s:e.s 5 san) eas ‘a Item, ajacke, with a weight of iron, and a jacke rope and wheels ........+-. is Item, two rolls of tobacco, waighing three score poundes, at ijs. and vjd. per pounde Item, one rolle of tobacco, wayinge twenty and nine poundes, at vijs. per pounde Item, .a.white stone horse «. pum .sis ane Item, a bay stone horse =>, 4925 s00a0 04 Item, a dun stone horse +.eaans=pp 00% Item, @ white geldinge .. ...0e0sseeuleae Item, a black geldinge ........ Pe Item, a greye geldinge..,..2snciesae sev Item, three dung cartes ...:— “¢ Your betters will despise you if they see Things that are far surpassing your degree ; Therefore, beyond your substance never treat, »Tis plenty in small fortune to be neat. Tis certain that a steward can’t afford An entertainment equal to his lord. Old age is frugal—gay youth will abound With heat, and see the flowing cup go round. KEEPING UP APPEARANCES. 169 A widow has cold pie—nurse gives you cake— From gen’rous merchants ham or sturgeon take ; The farmer has brown bread as fresh as day, _ And butter fragrant as the dew of May: Cornwall squab-pie, and Devon white-pot brings, And Lei’ster beans and bacon, food for kings !”” 170 RECIPROCAL RULES, &c. CHAPTER VII. MUTUAL AND CONVIVIAL RULES, &c., TO BE OBSERVED BETWEEN THE INVITER AND INVITEE. ReEcIPROCAL want being the bond by which men are most strictly united, and a breakfast or a dinner not being easily got over without some persons being invited, or others to invite them, both have a real interest in respectively regu- lating themselves, so as always to live upon a good understanding with each other. Guests, truly amiable, are rather rare aves, even in London, to take much trouble of making any distinction in seeking for them, and collecting them; and it is more particularly in this sense that we apply the proverb which says ‘‘ that there are, in a large capital, more dinners than diners.” Inasmuch as a generous host ought to keep RECIPROCAL RULES, &c. 171 aloof from him the dinner hunters, and silly parasites, which are the “tag, rag, and bobtail” of society, so much the more ought. he to endea- vour to draw to his house that crowd of artists, men of letters, and people of amiable dispo- sition, whose wit, talents, and conversation con- stitute real pleasure, and to whom nothing worse can be said than that they are not in house-keeping, and consequently do not always know where to dine. Very, well !—such people will never be at a loss on this subject, if they will but practice the precepts which are in- cluded in this little treatise. In the mean time, we shall endeavour to instruct them with the extent of the duties and obligations which they will be forced to contract, at the risk of being charged with the blackest ingratitude. From this knowledge will spring that fraternity and harmony between the imviter and the invited, which alone can be the means of procuring last- ing happiness to the one, and certain breakfasts and dinners to the other. 1. All invitations, either to breakfast, or dinner, ought to be given by word of mouth, or in writing; to which an answer oughtbe returned, as you have the liberty to refuse or accept, within twenty-four hours. In the first case, 172 RULES BETWEEN HOST AND GUEST. (although it ought not to occur, unless under extremely serious circumstances,) you ought to soften down, and give a sufficient motive for the refusal. Silence being considered as an acceptation, at the end of twenty-four hours your refusal would be no longer admissible, and your absence would be looked upon in the light of an insult. 2. Having once engaged, or accepted the in- vitation, it no longer belongs to you to decline or put it off. Should you act so, you would expose yourself never to be invited again by the same person to whom you had forfeited your word. 3. The person who invites is as strictly bound as the invited; and under no pretext can he decline the invitation—cases of imprisonment, or sudden indisposition, being alone admissible under similar. circumstances, &c. 4. The first of all qualities with the guest bemg punctuality, he should arrive at the house of his host precisely .at the hour, properly: dressed, and in possession of an appetite pro- portionate to the rank of the latter—in a word, with a disposition of the heart, stomach, and mind, necessary to contribute to the en- tire consummation—the charms and agrémens of the dinner. RULES BETWEEN HOST AND GuEstT. 173 5° Never take any other place than that assigned to you, whether it be by the master or the mistress of the house, or by the written ecard placed upon the cover destined for you. 6. During the first service, never drink any thing but water, slightly diluted with wine ; if not, you run the risk of sacrificing to the pre- sent the enjoyments of the future. 7- Whenever it happens that you have the misfortune of being placed by the side of a little girl, or what is still worse, between two little boys, the best means to be employed to get rid of them, is to make them tipsy as soon as possible, that papa or mamma may send them to bed. . , 8. It is a most shocking inconvenience to leave any liquid behind in your glass, or any thing solid on your plate. 9. At a long meal, steer by your nose. (Prenex votre nez pour boussole. ) 10. It would be a great want of civility to refuse the first wine, whether it be the vin d’en- tremets, or that of the dessert, when it is of- fered to you by the master or mistress of the house; though nothing can compel you to ac- cept it a second time. 11. To mix water with wine of a good quality, is not only offering an affront to your 174 RULES BETWEEN HOST AND GUEST. host, but is also an act of impoliteness to your- self. 7 12. An animated conversation, during the re- past, isnot less salutary than agreeable ; it favours and accelerates digestion, in the same manner as it keeps up joy of the heart and serenity of mind. It is then, under the moral as under the physical relation, a double benefit. ‘The best meal taken in silence can neither do good to soul nor body.* 13. There is another consideration much more important—namely, a guest who knows, through the medium of a conversation, as original as decent and humorous, how to captivate the atten- tion of the numerous guests who surround and listen to him, may assure himself that he will always be sought after, and consequently in- vited by the host, for whom he becomes a powerful auxiliary at dinners which he may be pleased to offer to his friends. 14. It belongs to the person at whose house you dine to avail himself of the advantages afforded * The greatest injury you can do to a gourmand is to inter- rupt him in the exercise of his masticators. It is then a breach of custom, and of a knowledge of the world, to visit people at meal-time. It is interrupting their enjoyment, and preventing them from reasoning upon each mouthful, and causing them the most sorrowful distractions.—Almanach des Gourmands, 2nd Année. RULES BETWEEN HOST AND GuEsT. 175 him by such a guest, to turn adroitly the con- versation upon subjects which are favourable to his species of wit. The commensal may, with- out failing to please, or chilling the susceptible self-love of the other guests, broach any of the questions relative to literature, the sciences, the arts, gallantry, the drama, &c. without ever touching upon political ground. It is during the dessert that the conversation usually. takes a more general turn, as it is at this particular period that some scope is given to the acquaintance previously scraped. It is then that conversation ought to give way toa song, a glee, a catch, or even a pun, although _great care must be taken never to touch upon any smutty subject, particularly if there be any ladies present. 15. In recommending a song during the dessert, it is advisable to select one, the words of which are witty, gay, and distinctly articulated. None of your semi-demi-quavers, and ha-ha- ha-ha-ing, for an unlimited space of time, like an eunuch panting for breath. Give it mouth in the true English style—suit the action to the words, and manage the muscles of the lips in a natural and unaffected manner, or the best voice will lose its effect, and be heard with an indif- ference bordering on disgust. A good old 176 RULES BETWEEN HOST AND GUEST. stave 4 la Dibdin, such as—Tom Tough—The Arethusa,— Black-eyed Susan,—The Chesa- peake and the Shannon,—The Le Pique and the Blanche,—although in the mouth of every hardy tar, might, through the organ of some of our native singers, be better received than the unmeaning effusions of ‘ Love among the Roses,’ and other such couplets, adapted well enough for the female voice, or coxcombs of the first water, but which, in the mouth of a grenadier, a boatswain’s mate, or a Whitechapel butcher, would be as ridiculous as to hear them chaunt a lullaby, or an Anacreon in the original. Manly singing will always find its advocates ; the song of times gone by,—the deeds of heroes,—ex- ploits of the brave, the defenders of our country,—are subjects worthy of the poet’s fancy, whether they be attuned in the form of a ballad, or an epic poem ; and will invariably find their way to the heart, sooner than ditties on love-sick maidens, and other airs of equally small pretensions. This agreeable hilarity on the part of a con- stant visitor will produce over the whole of the guests a double épanchement which will give. rise to an increase of gratitude on the part of the host. He will be indebted to you for it; and however little gratitude he may possess, he will RULES BETWEEN HOST AND GuUEsT. 177 be in a condition to prove it by multiplying his invitations as far as regards you. 16. A guest, whoever or whatever he may be, ought, on his arrival, to be civil; polite, during the first service ; gallant, in the second ; tender at the dessert; and discreet, on going away. 17. It is not enough to dine and breakfast at people’s houses; you ought to visit them often, and prove to them, that it is not their kitchen alone, which draws you to their houses, though, without mincing the matter, it must be acknowledged that the table is the only chain which connects every branch of society. These calls, which we shall designate provocative visits, consist of an obligation so rigorous, that it would be impossible, without unpoliteness, to evade this duty. A provocative visit, or one of entertainment, ought to be made in person to the inviter, within at least three, and, at most, eight days, after the last time you dined with him. When politeness might not dictate a visit of this description, gratitude will teach it you as a duty. It is the very least one can do to thank the person who has been instrumental to your passing an agreeable day, by causing you to make an excellent dinner with him, where he N 178 RULES BETWEEN HOST AND GUEST. pays in person, both in care and purse, and who is in a condition to repeat the same, with the hope of causing you to repay him by the agree- ableness and vivacity of your disposition. Con- sequently, you should pitch upon the hour and moment when you might be nearly sure of meeting with your host, without deranging his occupations, should he have any,—and, after having dressed yourself as quickly as possible, according to your means, and, as much as in you lies, to flatter the eye of the person by whom you expect to be invited, present yourself at his house with confidence and respect. It is considered, we conceive, superfluous, to recommend to you to let your linen be always fresh and clean, because, whatever be the dinner he may have given you, it was well worth a shirt: and if you have not a clean shirt,—a clean dickey, or, what is less, a false collar, will go off passablement bién, on such occasions. GOOD ADVICE. 179 CHAPTER VIII. GOOD ADVICE FOR GOOD DINNERS. Happy indeed shall we be, if the manner, perhaps a little too concise, in which we further propose to treat the subjects connected with these pages, do not tire our readers ; and more particularly so, should it dispose them faith- fully to fulfil the indispensable functions to which they are called, as much by their bad fortune as their good appetite. I. On your first introduction to any house of respectability, make it your business to sift the character of the host, or master of the house, so that you may be upon your guard not to utter any thing offensive either towards his affections or sentiments ; and you may, on the other hand, be assured that he will be careful to avoid every thing that is likely to come in contact with yours, either directly or indirectly ; unless it be his intention to get rid of you altogether. n 2 180 GOOD ADVICE. II. It is inconsistent with the spirit and duty of a person invited, to be low and cringing towards those by whom he has _ been invited ; this, indeed, would be the surest way to make your company obnoxious to a man brought up in the great school of the world ; for nothing is_ more opposite to true politeness, to the usages dic- tated by the bon ton, than servile adulation. We _would wish you then to dispute sometimes with the master of the house,—(we say nothing about the mistress, because women are never in the wrong, if not de facto, at least de jure). You must contend with your host in such a manner, that the apparent contradiction may ultimately tend to place both your own wit and his in a more exalted point of view. Nothing will give him greater pleasure than a contradiction on your part, which in fact will be nothing less than a well-timed compliment. III. As, at a great feast, the conversation can- not be general, we would advise you never to raise your voice, otherwise you will place your- self in a very ridiculous situation by pretending to engage the attention of thirty or forty dif- ferent guests, the greater number of whom scarcely know each other. You must content yourself by chattering with those who, either by chance or your own address, are placed by GOOD ADVICE. 181 _ the side of you, should they be civil enough to make you any reply. This brings to our mind a little anecdote, which, with permission of our readers, we will here relate. Mr. Eatingtown (see Plate I.) was once invited to dine with Mrs. B » who, on this occasion, had. collected together a numerous and. fashionable company. Mr. Eat- ingtown hitherto had not opened his mouth, but had remained satisfied with listening, and — profitting by the observations of others, when, for the first time, he addressed himself to his left hand neighbour, at the moment the dessert was placed on the table; it was not long before he had reason to regret having so thoughtlessly taken it into his head, at so unseasonable a time, to have endeavoured to make himself so agree- able. Never was the confidence of folly seen in a more comic cast, or with features more in keeping with a material soul, than shone forth in his countenance. Liston, in his most inimit- able and burlesque character, would have fallen short of such an original. A single specimen of his left hand friend’s conversation will suffice. He spoke of the grief which the mar- riage of his rascally nephew had caused him. “You must know,” added he, ‘ that the girl which this-simpleton has taken it into his head to marry, has nothing; what I mean by 162 GOOD ADVICE. nothing, is to be taken both physically and morally; for physically she is ugly, and morally speaking she is not worth a farthing.” Besides, this good-natured man, who, it was afterwards understood, held some important office under government, ate and drank heartily. It is said he is not now such a novice as he then was, doubtless in consequence of giving good dinners; of this, however, we are unable to judge, since he has not yet invited us. IV. There has always existed, both in London and Paris, a number of apparently very decent houses, where the produce of the kitchen de-— pends upon the success of card-playing, or some similar projet de vivre. Here you only dine with the prospect of paying ultimately very dear for your dinner. These houses are usually kept by blacklegs, old dowagers, chevaliers dindusirie, who know how to pitch upon the unwary —ladies of fashion, who have changed their modes of living, but who, never- theless, have always at hand, to assist them in their Alcmenic* functions, some young, beauti- * Alcmena was the mother of Hercules, by Amphitrion, a Theban prince, whom she espoused, on condition that he would revenge the death of her brother. Whilst he was in the war for this purpose, Jupiter paid her.a visit.in the shape of Amphi- trion ; and, that he might enjoy the satisfactiou of her com- pany longer, without discovery, he made that night longer than any other. GOOD ADVICE. 183° ful, and tender-hearted women, particularly should you by any means have been successful at the table, and if they have either lost their own money, or other people’s. A man of prin- ciple, and desirous of deserving the invitation of people of respectability, ought never to cross the threshold of such houses; but if he has gone so far as to accept an invitation to dinner, he cannot well refuse a hand at cards. In any other respect, it would be assimilating you with those vagabonds, who make their escape from a public-house without paying their reckoning. VY. When you are invited to breakfast, or to dine in town, never take dogs with you. It is only the common people, and les dames a la mode who take such liberties—which, indeed, at all times, would be better tolerated in the country. A dog, how well soever he may have been brought up, spoils the furniture, and produces no small embarrassment, should he think proper to do his ‘little jobs” before you; but his presence is still worse at table, where he is continually among your legs, or eyeing your plate. VI. It was formerly acustom, after each meal, to wash out one’s mouth. For this purpose, and just as they were about to leave the table, each 184 GOOD ADVICE. turned his back upon the company ; a lackey presented a glass of water, a mouthful of which was taken, and after having gargled it about in the mouth for a short time, it was rejected into a proper receiver, which was in- stantly removed by the valet. This operation, owing to the manner and address with which it was done, was scarcely perceived. At the present day, however, every thing is changed. - In those houses where they pique themselves on taste and custom, as at the most fashionable restaurateurs, where the saloons are frequented by the first quality, the servant, or a boy, to- wards the end of the dessert, brings you a basin full of cold water, in the middle of which is a glass of lukewarm water. There, in the pre- sence of each other, you dip your fingers into the cold water, then drink the warm, with which, in a corresponding noise, you gargle yourmouth, and then vomit it back again into the basin or goblet. This innovation is as useless as it is disgusting ; for with those who know how to take care of their mouth and teeth, the last mouthful you drink at the dessert, sufficiently cleanses them. Besides, in eating, one ought not to grease or dirty one’s fingers to that de- gree as to require water to clean them: the napkin alone ought to suffice. Such, however, GOOD ADVICE. 185 is the ridiculous position in which we have been placed by an affectation of pretended cleanliness, which, so far from being worthy of imitation, ought, on the contrary, to be carefully avoided by every guest who is at all a little as he ought to be. VII. When once you have been received and welcomed at the house of a rich Amphitrion of the metropolis, whether it be at his town or country house, or even at a simple farm house, in the manner which we shall hereafter point out, be careful how you give an imprudent ex- tension to the familiarity which has been ac- corded to you by the mistress of the house, or the host of a place; as by so doing you may estrange them from you, and, then, adieu to all future invitations. = If your stomach can take in every thing, your heart, at least, ought to know how to be abste- mious. It will sometimes happen that the wife of your generous host will not be disagreeable, and then every thing is natural; but if the daughter should be handsome, then it is quite different. You should always bear in mind the episode of Joseph with Potiphar’s wife, as nothing gives such a high relish to sentiment as the country solitude, &c. Besides, it is 186 GOOD ADVICE. very seldom that a man and a woman, who are alone, or almost so, for eight days, do not upon the ninth feel the pernicious effects of the dif- ference of the sexes. Judge, then, if an amiable guest, who already is in possession of both board and lodging, can yield. We owe this advice to our readers, because it commonly happens that one says things to the mistress of the house out of pure gallantry, which of them- selves mean nothing ; and it no less frequently happens that certain mistresses of the house, consider these many things as if they were nothing. VIII. Ifthe devil, at length, tired of having so unprofitably lain at your door, should make way for the good luck which you have so long expected, and consequently to the rank to which it will all at once raise you in society—that is, from an invitee, you should become an inviter, or at least, one of the favourite appendages of a minister, or any other great dinner giver—never forget the general rules here laid down for your conduct, and the salutary advice pointed out under the preceding heads ; for it is by these means you will secure yourself a table for six months, and which, during this time, ought never to be removed. You ought to know the secret of changing a ball for a veal cételette, GOOD ADVICE. 187 and of pouring an opinion into a glass of cham- pagne. To one, you will blow a vote in handing over a dish of truffles ; to another, you will force the secret of amendment by drowning him in generous Bordeaux wine: you will en- chant the latter by the address with which you handle the fork; you will seduce and beguile others with the harmonious combination and jingling of glasses. It is you who will preside over the minutize of a breakfast for the majority, and over all the dinners of the privy council : you will regulate the meals of indemnity, by the bumpers of reduction. In this bill of fare will always be found the political truffle, and the ministerial champignon, the diplomatic or- _tolan, with the pie im the centre, and the sweet- ‘meats of the opposition. Upon an elegant buffet, will be arranged by your careful hands a heap of dainties, fit to attack and carry every opinion ; in short, you will render yourself so irresisti- ble, as almost to carry Catholic Emancipation through both houses, with comparatively few dissenting voices. 188 TOWN INVITATIONS. CHAPTER X. TO PROCURE TOWN INVITATIONS. Vanity, which acts so principal a part in societies, extends even to the denominations which they have attained. In every town, the union of some men and women of the privileged class, is called the world. In all great cities, the world, in this sense, is divided into what is called the beau monde, or fashionable world, and the grand monde, or great folks. Wit, fashion, and an easy inter- course, are the rules of the one; etiquette, ignorance, and falsehood, are those of the other : besides, with some few trifling exceptions, the customs are the same. Parties and dinners at Paris occupy the greatest half of human life. For many, the re- creations are composed of days of invitation, and days of custom or habit: in the latter, liberty and confidence are commonly the ex- TOWN INVITATIONS. 189 pences of a meal, where acquaintances meet - periodically at the same table. These dinners have nothing in common with those meals upon fixed days, where the master of the house, whose name and quality, frequently, are all that is known, receives, as at the dinner of an inn, people who, not knowing where to pass the evening, come and begin it at his house, pre- cisely at the dinner hour. Dinners by invitation are, at the present day, what they have always been—a kind of lottery, where the favourable chances are not the most common ; and of which those complain the most who risk nothing, and those who formerly made a fortune by them. Besides, it is not at dinners by special invitation, that we ought principally to aim at, but at those established quotidian dinners, given by an individual too happy if any one will have the goodness to come and help him to eat and drink his fortune, and to kill time for him into the bargain. The day you intend to make yourself the guest of such a person, in order to amuse you in your turn, your host might not be pleased to dine, because he appears to have placed his appetite in your stomach. In order perfectly to obtain this object, make friends with the ladies, rather than with the gentlemen; for, through the 190 TOWN INVITATIONS. medium of the women every thing that can be wished for from the men is to be obtained. Even though the latter are, for the most part, so much preoccupied with their personal affairs as to neglect yours ; nevertheless the ladies think of them incessantly, were it even from indolence itself. Speak, the preceding evening, to a. lady, who takes any interest in your affairs, about an invitation that would please you; the next day, at her piano, or upon her’ sofa, her fa- vourite romance in her hand, you will find her ruminating upon the means of obtaining for you the desired invitation. But with those whom you believe able to serve you, take care how you seek to be any thing else than a friend; for, to be lovers, as soon as there are any suspicions, quarrels, and fallings-out, all is lost. Good by invitations—consequently din- ners. . ; Be, then, towards the women, assiduous, complaisant,—yea, even gallant, if you wish it ; but nothing more, mind ye. At Paris, an Amphitrion of the cast we have just been speaking, and of whom I could wish any of our qualified readers to be the perpetual guest, reckons in his salle @ manger upwards of a hundred. seats of different kinds, indepen- TOWN INVITATIONS. 19] dent of half a dozen small cushions and cano- pies, for the use of the dogs and cats belonging to the house, when they want to sleep, and on which an honest man should take good care not to sit. Only once accustom the proprietor of this establishment to see your irresistible physiognomy upon one of these hundred seats, and by your tardy loco-motion, you become one of the obliging ornaments of the saloon ; you, in fact, wriggle yourself into a niche that ever afterwards secures you against the cravings of your appetite. There are some faces so felicitously con- structed that they are equal to any piece of furniture in an apartment, and who ultimately supersede an arm-chair, where the eye has con- tracted the habit of looking at them. Have you, for instance, ever been in an apartment where pompous curtains display their double fringes? Let all these ornaments be suddenly removed, your eyes will become sorrowful, and will experience, for some time, a kind of widowhood. Become, then, a curtain—make yourself a fringe—metamorphose yourself, if you can, into an arm-chair of this person’s dining-room ; for this purpose, a little per- severance is all that is necessary, in order to get yourself considered as constituting a part 192 TOWN INVITATIONS. of his rich furniture. You will see that he will become attached to you in the same man- ner and degree as he would to some fancy article of his household, or to some precious stone; in short, he will no longer be able to do -without you. Good by, on your side, with a pleasure or an honour of seeing you again— a simple good night, in fact, a simple depart- ing salutation, would produce the effect upon him, the same as a sudden breaking up of his establishment. } There is, then, only one means left for you to parry this, which he will be more afraid of than thunder and lightning; that will be to inform you that from that moment a knife and fork will every day be laid for you at his table, and that he must understand you will always be there at the precise hour. Conse-. quently, you will thenceforward so arrange matters, that, on his return from the Exchange, or any other place, you are the first object that meets his eyes, the first individual which this worthy mviter sees in his dining-room, at Jive o’clock precisely. You must always take care to occupy the same place at table, sit upon the same seat, to unfold and place your napkin in the same invariable manner, and to say grace, should you be requested to do so, as TOWN INVITATIONS. 193 loud as a dissenting clergyman. Always break your bread on the same side, lay hold of the bottle with the same hand; do not touch the decanter, if the host himself does not drink water; and let your jaws and masticators keep pace with his, and go through the same evolutions which they do; ina word, execute, whether it bein asking, offering, or receiving, the same movements, the same gestures, the same thanks as his; the whole for the better identifying yourself with his person, so that your habits, classifying themselves symmetrically in his brain, may become, in some measure, his own. Should any serious indisposition cause you for only once to absent yourself at the ap- pointed hour, (for no other motive could pos- sibly justify you, as you interfere with no other business,) you will be informed on the following day, when you return, what a va- cuum you made in the looks of your Amphi- trion, accustomed as he is to see your figure sitting opposite to him. Be persuaded, then, of one thing: he must have been peevish with his wife; he must have scolded his servants, and have found every thing detestable about him ; the meat must have been underdone ;_ the sauces badly made; the wine stale, the coffee O 194 TOWN INVITATIONS. cold—it must, in short, have been impossible for him to dine; he must have kicked his dog, and given a to his cook ; it is even pro- bable, that the following morning you might yourself feel the counter shock.—Why ?— because you were not there the preceding evening. ‘ | But all this is nothing, in comparison with the power which you will be able to acquire over him, if you have, at dinner time, the talent or ingenuity to take upon yourself some special functions; it will then be no longer a habit which he has of seeing you at his house; it will be a necessity or want of the first kind. - How comfortable it is to be a functionary at a splendid table! ‘There an employment costs no sacrifice of conscience, no mean-spirited con- cession. A capon has no opinion; hams have never denounced any one. After having made a noble use of the knife and t¢ruel you will be able nobly to lay down your spoon and fork, and, without fearing to place your hand upon that part which separates the belly from the breast, you willonly find it, atmost, loaded with one liver of a stuffed goose. Who would dare to reproach a similar meal with the delicacy of an honest mess-mate? Hvery one‘pays in his own way : the latter, with money, because he cannot do TOWN INVITATIONS. 195 otherwise; the former, with a ‘long yarn,’ which he causes to be told by another; but you, when any one gives you a dinner, acquit yourself more nobly, and in a more useful man- ner for the public good ...... carve. 02 > ° 196 COUNTRY INVITATIONS. CHAPTER X. COUNTRY INVITATIONS. BoiLEav, a satirical and humorous French poet, says— * Paris est pour le riche un pays de cocagne— Sans sortir de la ville, il trouve la campagne.” Poetical exaggeration aside, the poet only meant to say, that at Paris, with a large for- tune, one may inclose between two parallel streets and four walls, a certam number of ornamental trees, a green sward, two plots of flowers, and sprinkle the whole through the medium of a little stream, daily supplied by means of filtrated waters, which take upon themselves to make it run in a straight line in a bituminous tract: such is the country which may be found without going out of Paris. COUNTRY INVITATIONS. 197 With respect to those which are composed of vast plains, meadows covered with flocks, woods watered with rivulets of limpid water, moun- tains where rustic labour and rural pleasures are only known—with respect to this kind of country, however powerful or rich one may be, you must make up your mind to extend beyond the environs, and even a little farther, if you wish to taste the pleasures of a country dinner. During winter, and without losing any of the pleasures of this brilliant season, ladies — of fashion and men of fortune of the capital, long for the return of spring; they only dream of walks by moonlight, breakfasts in the dairy, dinners in the shade, and rural balls under the wide spreading oak. At length the month of May arrives; still, fine weather is uncertain ; the mornings are too cool, (particularly when one does not rise before mid-day.) Besides, one cannot dispense with such and such an invi- tation, so long given; one cannot lose the last exercises of the conservatory, which, after all, are well worth the first songs of the nightingale. Then the workmen have not yet erected the new billiard table, which is even to be got up in the | dining-room, for the greater convenience of con- versation and seeing. In short, towards the early part of June, a 198 COUNTRY INVITATIONS. resolution to set out is made; every thing is ready by the end of the month: the travelling carriage, already eight days upon the road, is loaded with gaming tables, ¢ric-trac, écarté, chess boards, &c., with a couple of packs of cards. A. choice collection of novels has been made for the ladies. The wife has given orders to her milliner; and the husband pretends that he has left a world of business of importance behind him. Arrived at their country house, the first moments are delightful; before the next day, all they think of is to forget the country, and to call back to their minds the amusements of the town. At eleven o'clock the breakfast bell rings, but it is very seldom indeed that the ladies attend. One has passed a very restless night— another is at her toilette—a third has a romance to finish, and so on. During the greater part of the time, there is only one single reason for all this, namely, that in the morning one is not so pretty; and this is just the very reason one should be careful not to give—even though it should not be agreed that, on arriving, the most entire liberty should be the privilege of the country, and that it should be made use of only to do that which is agreeable. At five o'clock, the first peal of the dinner COUNTRY INVITATIONS. 199 bell informs the men that it is time to think of dressing ; for, whatever may be the extent of the liberty enjoyed in the country, woe to him who should suffer himself to be seduced by the charms of a promenade so far as to forget the time of dining! He could not decently sit down with splashed pantaloons, and a hunting jacket; he is forced to lose, in dressing himself, a time which his appetite claims for another employment. At six o'clock, every one is assembled in the saloon, dressed as in a winter evening: Madam is informed that dinner is on the table ; they then pass into the dining-room, where the marble wainscoats, and sideboards of artificial flowers, strike the eye in splendid mag- nificence. But at the dessert, the natural beauty of the fruits calls down the most flatter- ing eulogia on the country, about which every one is preparing to say the finest thing in the world, when the master of the house, who does not pass for a bad sort of a fellow, unravels every pretension by informing his guests that these magnificent fruits were bought at Covent- garden Market, and that in his kitchen garden there are only fruit trees with double flowers. The afternoon is passed, or rather the evening, = in drinking the best your host can afford, at whist, or in conversation of a general descrip- 200 COUNTRY INVITATIONS. tion, according to his quality and pretensions. All the conveniences of his house are at your service; and when the time arrives that you are about to quit this hospitable habitation, after having led, for a greater or less time, the most agreeable life, you take away with you the benedictions of your hosts, who only suffer you to depart on condition of a speedy return—a promise which opulent landlords do not always exact without distinction from their guests. PARISIAN RESTAURATEURS. 201 CHAPTER XI. INVITATIONS TO THE RESTAURATEUR'S, alias AN EATING-HOUSE. Ir is extremely convenient for travellers, strangers, bachelors, for those whose families reside temporarily in the country, and for all those, in short, who have no kitchen of their own, to invite people to an eating-house. They are always certain of not exceeding the sum which they think proper to fix for their meals, since they know, before-hand, the price of each article they may choose to call for. The amount having been once calculated, the inviter can command for the person whom he invites, a comfortable, solid, and delicate or dainty meal, which he can moisten with wines of the best quality, according to his circumstances; and with all kinds of liqueurs from the new world. 202 PARISIAN RESTAURATEURS. The first restaurateurs were established in Paris towards the end of the year 1774. .We regret it is not in our power at the moment to * recollect, for the benefit of modern gastrono- mers, the name of the founder of these institu- tions, where you dine a la carte; all we know is, that the bases of this useful institution were laid in the rwe de Pécheurs, and upon the sign of this father of restorer’s house, was formerly read the following inscription in culinary Latin :— “QO vos qui stomacho laboratis, accurite; et ego vos res- taurabo.”’ During the reign of Louis XIV. the people of quality frequently invited their friends to dine at a public-house. About the beginning \-of the eighteenth century, literary men, and artists brought into fashion dining at the cook’s shop ; since then, it is usually at the restawra- teur’s, where men of every description, who are not in house-keeping themselves, dine and in- vite their friends. If indifferent company occasionally be met with at the restaurateur’s, itis at least ina pretty place ; and as much may be said of some splendid saloons, which are not quite so public. The life of a restaurateur is tedious, for those who make a necessity of it : and it is not without its PARISIAN RESTAURATEURS. 203 little pleasures for those who are not accustomed to it. The ease which is there met with, super- sedes the etiquette of invitations ; and the dinner which you make at one of these places, is seldom lost upon him who has availed himself of this medium of dining or of inviting a friend. Are you going, for instance, to the Cadran Bleu (blue dial) ? The waiters, surprised to see you arrive alone, will ask you at first if you are waiting for any one? On replying that you are waiting for a friend, one of them will show you, without taking you, a hall or dining room, which will admit of a hundred to dine, where you find people: you will there be warmed, served, and lighted, like any other commoner ; but should you ask for a private room, what activity prevails! All the bells in the house are put in motion ; the waiters are scudding through the staircases twenty times in a minute, loaded with the most rare viands, the most exquisite wines; but that which is not upon the carte a manger, is still that for which the most is paid. At the first glance of these apartments, it is guessed that it is not customary to dine alone at the restaurateur’s on the Boulevard of the Temple, and that generally one only gies there with a friend. Should you have it in contemplation to give 204 FARISIAN RESTAURATEURS. a dinner to strangers or country people, on whom you would wish to impress a high idea of the establishments of this kind in the capital, and where you are yourself to do the honours of the table, you must take them to the Café de Paris. How you will enjoy their astonish- ment at the sight of those brilliant saloons, where every thing seems arranged to please the eye! Tables of granite, chandeliers of gilded bronze, those vases of flowers, which are mul- tiplied by the panes of glass with which the walls are lined, commence an _ enchantment, which the whiteness of the porcelain, the polish of the crystals, and the vermilion and splen- dour support, with the art of the cook, during the repast, but which, for the most part, is de- stroyed, the moment the waiter comes in with the bill ; for the sight of these kind of prodigies costs dear.: Do you wish to form an idea how students of different classes, or those of limited incomes, live at Paris upon twelve hundred frances (£50.) per annum? It is at the restaurateur’s in the Rue St. Jacques, where you must go for this information precisely at four o’clock. You will - neither find upon the bill of fare (carte a man- ger), potage a la camerany, nor suprémes au coulis de perdreaua, nor karis a lV Indienne ; PARISIAN RESTAURATEURS. 205 but an abundant potage, soup, or stew, con- taining every possible combination of beef, roasted, boiled, and fricasseed ; the inexhausti- ble gigot aux haricots, and the eternal frican- deau. Burgundy and Medoc have never poured the produce of their rich vintages into the cellars of the restaurateurs of the Latin land; but to make good this defect, La Brie, Orleans, Gascony, shower down torrents of a wine, cowpé and generously baptized, with which, indeed, neither reason, nor health have ever found fault. Taking every thing into considera- tion, there is much less difference between the quality of the wines and the meats, at the most moderate, or most celebrated eating house, than between the prices marked upon their cards re- spectively. The inviters who may be pleased to take up their residence at the most eminent restaura- teurs of the capital, as well as the guests they often invite there, will not be sorry to know to what the greater number of these establish- ments are indebted for the fashion which has already inscribed their names in letters of gold in the great book of Gastronomy. Let them know, then, that the Provincial Brothers owe their reputation to the brandade de morue, (a cod-fish stuffed, or rather seasoned with garlic) ; 206 A PEEP INTO CHATELIN'’S. Very, to his entrées truffées; THenneven, to the mysterious boudoirs, upon his third floor ; and Chiatelin, to the finesse of his wines. A PEEP INTO CHATELIN’S. The double saloons of this learned patrician, examined with a little tact, present to the eye of the observing guest, a picture worthy of his interest, from the variety of objects which are there assembled. In the first place, the bottom of the ae is occupied by a young lady, who unites the most perfect grace to the most tender solicitude ; her anticipations are equal to all the guests who come, without distinction, to make a stay, shorter or longer, in this kind of temple; she seems also to possess the gift of second-sight, for, with a commanding glance of the eye, the meats which you have most desired in silence upon the card, are brought and laid before you by one of the waiters, even before you have given the smallest intimation of that which you intend to take; just as if it were done by enchantment ; and more than one consumer, were he put to the test, would confess that he has not with im- punity been seated in a certain place, without having experienced the effects of this species of sorcery on his going away. A PEEP INTO CHATELIN’S. 207 The fore-part of the saloon is usually occu- pied with solitary eaters, who never invite any body, because they are never invited themselves by any one ; for this reason, they call loudly for what they want, wait impatiently, eat precipi- tately, and pay slowly, even on going away. The lower sides of the saloon are usually furnished with travelling families, who, satis- fied with a modest meal, sharpen it with one of those meats which is unknown to them; and they seem to enjoy with pleasure a sight en- tirely new to their eyes. Inthecentre of the saloon, and insome measure concealed by a stove, laden with the richest gifts of Flora and Pomona, stands a small table, for the most part occupied with old customers, who frequently obtain a very con- siderable reduction by the care and delicacy of the little dishes which are presented to them by the hand of the master of the house. Here, then, is the place in question. The saloon, upon the first floor, is usually oc- cupied with two lovers ; tojudge of them by the eagerness of the one, the small faces of the other, and the sensuality of both, pleasure sparkles in their eyes ; and by the choice which presides over the composition of their meal, one may : guess the past, and foresee the future. 208 / A PEEP INTO CHATELIN’S. Lastly, in one of the particular cabinets, are two married people of the same stamp. -One may judge, by the shawl which the lady has kept on her shoulders, and the respectable distance which the gentleman observes, that a long time has passed since they had any thing new to say to each other; they had, nevertheless, made up their minds to go to the play en loge grillée. They went in at half- past four, and it is now half-past eight. Not seeing them come down, though they had asked for nothing during three hours, Henvi ventures to go into their cabinet—after, how- ever, having tapped at the door with his fore- finger.... They are both asleep. O, ye, who have the good fortune to be invited to dine by a connoisseur at Chatelin’s, do not go so high; remain below, and place yourself at the above-mentioned table near the stove, christened in the house by the name of the 8, for two reasons: the first, because—but you know them both already ! Chatelin now advances, and presents himself to your inviter, (for he knows well how to dis- tinguish the inviter from the tmvitee), his carte &@ manger bound in veaw de Pontoise, with gilt edges. His eyes are seeking to read in your’s to what meats you intend to give the CHATELIN’S BILL OF FARE 209 preference. But as this card, from its shape and bulk, might be taken for the supplement to the Dictionnaire de l Academie, Monsieur Chatelin relieves you from the embarrassment, in which you are suspended, the first course and the entremets, by telling you, in a modest tone, to the tune of the “ King of Prussia’s March,” in the following lines, which, as they would lose considerably by any translation, we shall give our readers in the original :— “ A bon titre je suis Renommé dans Paris, Pour les morceaux exquis Que je fournis ; *¢ Mon salon est toujours garni, Et mon buffet bien assorti, Des mets qui sont les mieux choisis ; Dans tous les tems, au méme prix, On peut trouver réuni Des alimens de tout pays. *¢ On vante mon chablis, Mes huitres, mes radis, Ainsi que mes salmis De perdrix. Mes godiveaux au ris ; Mes tourtes, mes hachis ; Fameux patés, gros et petits, Bien dorés et bien arrondis ; Beeuf au naturel, au coulis ; Mouton aux navets bien roussis.”’ rE 210. CHATELIN S BILL OF FARE. As the uncertainty of the inviter is always the same, and, moreover, as it is impossible for you to eat of all these articles, Chatelin, who perceives this, continues to excite your sen- suality, by giving you, in a higher key, the following short cut :— * Papillotes, Poulets rétis, Gibelotes, Macaronis, Matelotes, Salsifis, Frits, Fines compotes, De puits, Cuits. Je conserve dindons farcis Pour les maris, Excellent thon pour les impolis, Cervelle pour les étourdis.”’ Know, then, that once seated in this place, you have under your controul, as the elements of the dinner that is offered to you, to choose between : 11 Stews, 29 Hers d’ceuvres, cold and hot, 25 Entrées of beef, 27 Ditto of veal, 35 Ditto of poultry,, 12 Ditto of game, 9 Ditto of pastry, 26 Ditto of fish, 29 Ditto of dessert. A GUILDHALL DINNER. 211 The whole of which you may moisten with— 27 Kinds of red wine, 17 Ditto of white, 7 Ditto of vins de liqueur, 33 Ditto of liqueurs. Without reckoning the coffee, and other mix- tures, such as gloria, punch, bishop, &c. &e. Happy, indeed, is he who can every day verify the exactitude of this description, made to stimulate the curiosity and emulation of those who reflect on the surest means of putting the theories here taught in practice. But with all this French frippery and ele- gance, (though we do not mean to say by any means the French live upon _ soup- maigre, ) could Monsieur Chatelin, or any other chief of the kitchen, turn out such a bill of fare as the following, which we have the honour to record, as a specimen of a modern civic feast, where the batterie de cuisine raged with its most destructive violence? This memorable affair signalized the entry of Alderman Thompson upon the duties of his mayoralty on the 10th of November, (the 9th falling on a Sunday,) for the present year. It may fairly be questioned, indeed, whether, in point of substantiability, any other city in Europe could turn out such a choice and ponderous table. It is truly John p 2 212 A GUILDHALL DINNER. Bull, cut and come again, of the best sort ; this was the intention of the Amphitrion who gave it; and all we can say more is, that the man who isa generous host, possesses many more good qualities with which he is equally profuse. We were favoured with the following bill of fare, for the LORD MAYOR'S DINNER, AT GUILDHALL, Nov. 10th, 1828. and we can vouch for its accuracy, viz. :— 200 tureens of turtle, 60 dishes of fowls, 35 roasted capons, 35 roasted pullets, 30 pigeon pies, 10 sirloins of beef, 50 hams, (ornamented), 40 tongues, 2 barons of beef, 10 rounds of beef, 50 raised French pies, 60 dishes mince-pies,. 40 marrow-pud- dings, 25 tourtes of preserves, 25 apple and damson tarts, 90 marbree jellies, 50 blanc-manges, 10 chantilly baskets, 4 fruit- baskets, 36 dishes shell-fish, 4 ditto prawns, 4 lobster salads, 60 dishes of vegetables, 60 salads. Remove—50 roasted turkeys, 30 leverets, 50 pheasants, 2 dishes pea-fowl, 24 geese, 30 dishes of partridges. Dessert—200lb. of pine-apples, 100 dishes of hot-house grapes, 200 ice-creams, 60 dishes of apples, 60 dishes of pears, 50 Savoy cakes (ornamented), 30 dishes of walnuts, 75 ditto dried fruit and preserves, 55 ditto rout cakes, 20 ditto filberts, 20 ditto preserved ginger, 4 ditto brandy-cherries. HUSTINGS TABLE, (At which the Right Hon. the Lord Mayor presides. ) 7 tureens of turtle, 2 dishes of fowls, 2 roasted capons, 2 hams (ornamented), 1 tongue, 2 raised French pies, 1 pigeon-pie, 1 dish shell-fish, 1 ditto prawns, 1 roasted pullet, 2 dishes mince A GUILDHALL DINNER. 213 pies, 2 tourtes, 2 marrow puddings, 3 marbré jellies, 3 blanc- manges, 4 dishes of potatoes, 2 salads, 2 chantilly baskets. Remove—2 roasted turkeys, 2 pheasants, 1 goose, 1 dish of partridges, 1 dish wild fowl, 1 leveret, 2 dishes pea-fowl. Dessert—6 pine-apples, 6 dishes of grapes, 2 dishes apples, 8 ice-creams, 2 ditto pears, 1 dish dried fruit, 2 ditto walnuts, 2 ditto brandy cherries, 2 dishes Savoy cakes, 2 ditto rout cakes, 2 ditto filberts, 2 ditto preserved ginger. THE FIVE LONG TABLES ON THE HUSTINGS. 45 tureens of turtle, 15 dishes of fowls, 10 roasted pullets, 10 roasted capons, 10 hams (ornamented), 10 tongues, 12 raised French pies, 12 pigeon pies, 12 dishes shell fish, 2 sirloins of beef, 15 dishes mince pies, 10 marrow puddings, 15 tourtes and tarts, 23 marbree jellies, 5 blanc-manges, 15 dishes potatoes, 20 salads, 5 lobster salads. Remove—15 roasted turkeys, 10 leverets, 5 geese, 10 phea- sants, 10 dishes partridges, 10 dishes wild fowl. Dessert—25 pine apples, 40 dishes grapes, 15 dishes apples, 15 dishes pears, 45 ice creams, 15 Savoy cakes (ornamented), 20 dishes dried fruit, 15 dishes rout cakes, 15 dishes walnuts. THE FOUR SHORT TABLES IN THE HALL NEXT THE HUSTINGS. 16 tureens of turtle, 4 dishes chickens, 2 roasted capons, 6 roasted pullets, 4 hams (ornamented), 4 tongues, 4 raised French pies, 4 dishes shell fish, 4 pigeon pies, 4 dishes mince pies, 4 tourtes and tarts, 4 marrow puddings, 8 marbree jellies, 4 blanc- manges, 4 dishes potatoes, 4 salads. Remove—4 turkeys, 4 pheasants, 2 geese, 1 leveret, 4 dishes partridges, 4 dishes wild fowl. Dessert—8 pine apples, 12 ice-creams, 12 dishes grapes, 4 dishes apples, 4 dishes pears, 4 dishes walnuts, 4 Savoy cakes (ornamented), 4 dishes dried fruit, 4 dishes rout cakes. D4 A GUILDHALL DINNER. THE. FOUR TABLES IN THE BODY OF THE HALL. 52 tureens of turtle, 12 dishes chickens, 8 roasted capons, 8 roasted pullets, 16 hams (ornamented), 12 tongues, 16 raised French pies, 8 pigeon pies, 16 dishes mince pies, 8 dishes shell fish, 8 marrow puddings, 12 tourtes and tarts, 20 marbree jellies, & blanc-manges, 12 dishes potatoes, 16 salads. Remove—12 turkeys, 12 pheasants, 8 geese, 8 leverets, 12 dishes partridges, 4 dishes wild fowl. Dessert—24 pine-apples, 40 ice-creams, 36 dishes grapes, 12 dishes apples, 12 dishes pears, 16 dishes walnuts, 12 Savoy cakes (ornamented), 12 dishes dried fruit, 12 dishes rout cakes, 12 dishes preserved ginger. FIVE SIDE-TABLES IN THE HALL. 15 tureens of turtle, 8 dishes fowls, 3 roasted capons, 2 roasted pullets, 4 hams (ornamented), 2 tongues, 5 raised French pies, 5 dishes shell fish, 5 dishes mince pies, 5 tourtes and tartes, 10 marbree jellies, 5 marrow puddings, 5 dishes potatoes, 5 salads. . Remove—4 turkeys, 3 pheasants, 2 geese, 1 leveret, 5 dishes partridges, 1 ditto wild fowl. Dessert—9 pine-apples, 14 dishes grapes, 11 ice creams, 5 dishes apples, 5 ditto pears, 5 ditto walnuts, 5 ditto dried fruits, 5 ditto Savoy cakes, 5 ditto preserved ginger. COURT OF KING’S BENCH. 30 tureens of turtle, 9 dishes of chickens, 4 roasted capons, 5 roasted pullets, 6 hams (ornamented), 6 tongues, 6 raised French pies, 6 pigeon pies, 6 dishes shell fish, 9 ditto mince pies, 6 marrow puddings, 6 tourtes and tarts, 18 marbree jellies, 3 blanc-manges, 9 dishes potatoes, 9 salads. . Remove—6 roasted turkeys, 3 leverets, 3 geese, 6 pheasants, 3 dishes wild fowl], 6 dishes partridges. ‘ Dessert—15 pine-apples, 21 ice creams, 2] dishes grapes, 6 ‘THE ALDERMAN’S WISH. Q15 dishes apples, 6 dishes pears, 5 Savoy cakes (ornamented), 12 dishes dried fruit, 9 ditto rout cakes, 9 ditto walnuts. Wines—Champagne, hock, claret, Maderia, port, sherry. Compared with the fare of our continental neighbours, we hesitate not to say, that the greatest, nay, the most refined gourmand, or the most slovenly glutton, could not fail to be gratified here. The ‘‘Alderman’s wish,”* we are sure, might on this occasion be more than realized : 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 at 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. Naturally fond ourselves of eating and drinking, when it comes honestly before us, either of our own, or other people’s, with a hearty welcome, we feel no reluctance in offer- ing some allusions, inuendoes, or whatever else they may be called, on this savoury subject, * See Gent. Mag. 216 EATING AND DRINKING MATCHES. whenever we can throw out a beneficial hint to a fellow-traveller in the high road of this eating and drinking life; but, unfortunately, so re- markably prevalent is the love of gluttony and feasting, that we are almost inclined to believe that man is endowed with an immortal mind only to invent high-flavoured meats, and to con- sult what dishes are most pleasing to his palate ; a luxury of invention is employed to banish plain viands from their tables, and the most per- nicious compositions of strong wines and de- structive spices substituted in their stead. Old England for ever !—thou country of véritable eating and drinking,—how shall we describe thee? What encomium shall we not bestow upon thee, for thy all and ever-con- suming powers ?—for, let it be but the business of a parish that is to be settled,—a public feast, at the expense of the parish, is provided. Should the boundaries of a district require to be determined, or the key stone of a bridge to be laid, a public feast is ordered ;—when the livery attend upon the Lord Mayor, an eating and drinking match is appointed, and the Island of Ascension, so remarkable for turtle, wafts its groans across the Atlantic to Guildhall, where, -asif by magic, upwards of three hundred and fifty tureens of piping-hot turtle soup, stand STOMACHIC PHILANTHROPY. 217 smoking before you. And when the governors of public charities meet together, dainties are prepared, over which public benevolence may be properly digested; in short, nothing is cele- brated, nothing is performed, nothing is said, whistled, or sung—there is neither loyalty nor patriotism, public spirit, charity nor harmony, unless the table be plentifully and substantially decorated with eatables and drinkables of the choicest kind, the produce of every climate. At births, marriages, and burials, (Catholic meet- ings not even now excepted,) there is always something for the ventre. After all, we con- fess there is something peculiarly grateful, whatever be the topic, in sitting down to a good English dinner, with an agreeable Am- phitrion; but we strenuously oppose the idea of a man’s philanthropy being measured by the capacity of his stomach. 218 ACCIDENTAL, OR CHAPTER XII. ACCIDENTAL, OR RURAL INVITATIONS. A PHILOSOPHER of the nineteenth century has very judiciously observed that, in society, it is necessary to know how to avoid three things—namely, a civic comedy, a concert of | amateurs, and a dinner without ceremony. As regards the two first, the evil resulting from them is not without.a remedy ; all that is necessary is to stop your eyes and ears with your hands. It is different, however, with respect to the third; as one cannot stop the appetite unless by means of a good meal, we ought in charity to put our readers on their guard against an abuse, or rather a calamity, which, in Egypt, and in the time of good Master Potiphar, would have passed for an_ eighth plague, if it had been known. The question is simply of those kinds of impromptu dinners, known commonly by the name of pof- luck, dinners without ceremony, kind of make-— RURAL INVITATIONS. 219 shift dinners, rural dinners, and what the French call repas sur le pouce, Se. which are frequently neither more nor less than a real friendly mystification. We might still class in the list of accidental invitations, — wedding dinners, christenings, breakfasts, burial suppers ;—but we shall con- fine ourselves here solely to those invitations truly unexpected, which are made in the country, and which it is agreed upon to call rural meals. It is not when the sun, running through the scorching signs of Leo and Virgo, darts upon you his absorbent rays, that you ought to look for invitations, where a dinner upon the grass is the only object. The excessive heat would then do away with the pleasures which you propose to enjoy :—those of enjoying all the delights of the promenade, and of tasting, in the most unlimited ‘sense, the pleasures of the country,—the less so, as you might be able to do this, were you even living in a town, and from which you could only absent yourself but seldom, and then only for a short time. It is only in the months of June and July that such an invitation, under every considera- tion, is truly agreeable ; earlier, the verdure of the fields is not sufficiently developed ; later, it begins to grow yellow ; whilst, at that time, it is 220 ACCIDENTAL, OR in the highest splendour of vegetable beauty. The leaves, even those of the most tardy trees, have taken their increase, and afford a cool and . agreeable shade; the grass, which has reached its greatest height, will never present us with a softer or better furnished carpet; the greater part of the flowers are reigning in all their lustre; and the rose, which is known as the queen of all, is never more fresh, nor is its vermilion red in greater splendour and_per- fection. Try all you can, then, to get invited, during the months of June and July, to those rural dinners, you, who, tired with being pent up in dark dining-rooms, or at obscure eating houses, breathe, during your meals, no other atmos- phere than that of the kitchen, if you wish to renovate nature, and particularly the appetite by a salutary exercise, and to refresh in some measure your organs by drawing in those beneficent emanations which are exhaled from vegetables, at this season of the year, which is truly that of happiness and pleasure. But in order to enjoy all these advantages, it is not necessary that you should get yourself dragged thither in a travelling box, and almost herme- tically closed, from about some hundred paces from the outskirts of the town, where the air RURAL INVITATIONS. 221 is more unwholesome than in the centre of the capital, from being, as it is, composed of the most putrid exhalations, from various causes ; besides, travelling in an overloaded coach is not changing air, and is at most but changing place. The appetite, the first of blessings here below, for an individual accustomed to be invited, must be purchased at some trouble, and would even deserve to be so at some sacrifice. The rich man scarcely knows what appetite is, because he does not give it time to grow, and he does nothing to recal it; if he excites it, it is by artificial means, often prejudicial to his health, for which, Nature, almost always, sooner or later, punishes him, for having encroached upon her rights by endeavouring to walk in her footsteps. It is not, therefore, in a hackney coach, a cabriolet, or a chaise-cart, nor even in an elegant landau, that you ought to repair to the place of mvitation for a rural dinner, but on foot, unless the distance be too great. Ladies alone, and the provisions, have the privilege of being carried to the appointed place. A veri- table rural repast ought to take place in the open air, where there should be no other table than the rich verdure of nature; no other seats p byte ACCIDENTAL, OR than the turf, enamelled with flowers; no other shelter than the trees, whose verdant branches ought to be so interwoven, as not to deprive you of daylight, but at the same time sufficiently so to protect you from the scorching rays of the sun. It is then in the midst of a forest or wood, with thickly tufted trees, where a rural feast ought to be held; every thing ought to he trans- ported thither in large baskets, which we will suppose is a cold dinner, but which, the fire of good wine, your amiable pleasantries, and Anacreontique couplets will not be long in warming. The zest of your enjoyment and your wit ought to be allied to every thing, to render the dinner exquisite, though even in itself it should not be worth much. The Amphitrion, or father of the feast, ought, nevertheless, not to depend too much upon you; he should, beforehand, make an abundant provision of well-selected articles, so that the cold pies, ham, and poultry, dried tongues, Westphalia sausages, pastry, &c. be all packed up in a safe manner ; that the wines, such as Burgundy, Roussillon, and Cham- pagne, which give courage to the most timid, and love to the most indifferent, arrive upon the spot safe and sound; that cheering and beneficent Mocha, which facilitates the most RURAL INVITATIONS. 223 laborious digestion, and that half-a-dozen of the best and most fashionable liqueurs, still more powerful, arrive with the guests; and that they be immediately placed in cold water, to keep them cool in the mean time, till they are ready to disappear in the stomachs of the party. Mirth and cheerfulness will not be long in following them; animating conversa- tion, and declarations still more tender, will still be listened to with more eagerness and at- tention. A little bal champétre, at the expense of folly, will doubtless succeed this rural enter- tainment, over which simple Nature has pre- ‘sided; and you will afterwards return home, replete with the sentiment of happiness, es- teeming yourself well rewarded at having so joyfully satisfied your appetite, and in the firm resolution of devising other means of getting yourself invited to similar entertainments in the months of June and July. We shall conclude this chapter with the following admonitions to every host who would render himself agreeable, according to his means, ina plain, economical, John Bull sort of a way. His guests, we are sure, would always find more satisfaction and pleasure at such a table than at the most splendid profu- 224 AMPHITRIONIC PRINCIPLES, &c. sion, at the expense either of his or his family’s happiness :— 1. If you all sorts of persons would engage, Suit well your eatables to every age. 2. Crowd not your table—let your numbers be Not more than sev’n, and never less than three. 3. Neat, let your discretion moderate your cost, And when you treat, three courses be the most. Let never fresh machines your pastry try, | Unless grandees or magistrates are by— : Then you may put a dwarf into a pie Or, if you’d fright an alderman and mayor, Within a pasty lodge a living hare ; Then midst their gravest furs shall mirth arise, And all the guild pursue with joyful cries. 4. Clog not your constant meals, for dishes few Increase the appetite, when choice and new. Even they who will extravagance profess, Have still an inward hatred for excess. 5. The fundamental principle of all, Is what ingenious* cooks the relish call ; * I hope it will not be taken ill by the wits that I call my cooks by the title of ingenious ; for I cannot imagine why cooks may not be as well read as any other persons. I am sure their apprentices, of late years, have had very great opportunities of improvement ; and men of the first. pretences to literature have been very liberal, and sent in their contributions very largely ; they have been very serviceable, both to spit and oven ; and, for these twelve months past, whilst Dr. Wotton and his modern learning was defending pie-crust from scorching, his dear * capons. AMPHITRIONIC PRINCIPLES, &c. For when the market sends in loads of food, They are all tasteless till that makes them good. Besides, ’tis no ignoble piece of care, To know for whom it is you would prepare : You'd please a friend, or reconcile a brother ; A testy father, or a haughty mother : Would mollify a judge, wou’d cram a squire, Or else some smiles from court you may. desire: Or would perhaps some hasty supper give, Toshew the splendid state in which you live. Pursuant to that interest you propose, Must all your wines and all your meats be chose. Let men and manners every dish adapt,' Who’d force his pepper where his guests art cl—pt? - When straighten’d in your time, and servants few, You'll rightly then compose an ambigue.* When first and second course, and your dessert, All in one single table have their part ; From such a vast confusion, ’tis delight To find the jarring elements unite, And raise a structure grateful to the sight. . ’Tis the dessert that graces all the feast, For an ill end disparages the rest : A thousand things well done, and one forgot, Defaces obligation by that blot. Q 225 friend, Dr. Bentley, with his Phalaris, has been singing of Not that this was occasioned by any superfluity, or tediousness of their writings, or mutual commendations ; but it was found out by some worthy patriots, to make the labours of the two Doctors, as far as possible, to become useful to the pub- lic. Art of Cookery, 2d edit. 226 A WIND UP. Make your transparent sweet-meats timely rise, With Indian sugar and Arabian spice 5 And let your various. creams enriched. be, With swelling fruit just. ravish’d from the tree. Let plates and dishes be from. China. brought, With lively paint and. earth transparent wrought. The feast now done, discourses are renew’d, And witty arguments. with mirth pursued ;. The cheerful master, midst his jovial friends, His glass to their best, wishes. recommends, The grace cup follows to his sovereign’s health, And to his country,peace and wealth. Performing then the piety of grace, Each man that. pleases re-assumes his place ; While at his gate from such abundant store, He show’rs his godlike blessings on the poor. And, as a further wind up to this chapter, we annex the following extract, from the same source ; let those appreciate it who may. It contains some excellent practical truths, which it would be well for some people to turn to some practical account. They would, guard many an honest and generous. heart—not. less. so because there may be a native weakness, and inherent bonhomie, which exposes it. to imposition, de- eeipt, and. insult-—from. being deceived by, flat- tery and want of*sincerity. It will‘also serve as a check to vanity and ambition on the other side; and, show, the fulsomeness of. aspiring to a morbid reputation for. qualities. which might DINNER ADULATION. 227 be acquired through more praiseworthy and lasting channels :— Some do abound with such a plenteous store, That if you’ll let them treat, they’ll ask no more ; And, ’tis the vastambition of the soul, To see their port admir’d and table full. But then, amidst that cringing, fawning crowd, Who talkso very much, and laugh’so loud, Who with such grace his honour’s actions praise ; How well he fences, dances, sings, and plays ; Tell him his liv’ry’s rich, his chariot fine ; How choice his meat—how delicate his wine. Surrouuded thus, how should the youth descry The happiness of friendship from a lie ? Friends eat with caution when sincere, But flattering impudence is void of care ; So at an Irish funeral appears, A train of drabs with mercenary tears, Who, wringing of their hands with hideous moan, Know not his name for whom they seem to groan $ While real grief with silent step proceeds, And love unfeigned with inward passion bleeds. HARD FATE OF WEALTH! were lords, as butchers, wise, They from their meat would danish all the flies 2 The Persian kings, with wine and massy. bowl, Search’d to the dark recesses of the soul : That so laid open, no one might pretend, Unless a man of worth, to be their friend ; But now the guests their patrons undermine, And slander them for giving them their wine. Great men have dearly thus companions bought ; Unless by these instructions theyll be taught, } They spread the net, and will themselves be caught. a2 ‘298 HORACE’S INVITATION, &c. HORACE’S INVITATION OF TORQUATUS TO SUPPER, IMITATED.* (From Dr. King to Dr. Lister.) Conceiving this to be the most proper place to introduce this appropriate morceau, we shall give it, with some trifling orthographical exceptions, as we find it in the original :— To a small room, few dishes, and some wine, I shall expect my happiness at nine. Two bottles of smooth palm, or Angou white, Shall give a welcome, and prepare delight. Then for the Bourdeaux you may freely ask, But the champagne is to each man his flask. I tell you with what force I keep the field, And if you can exceed it, speak—I’Il yield. The snow-white damask ensigns are display’d, And glitt’ring salvers on the sideboard laid. Thus we’ll disperse all busy thoughts and cares, The genral’s counsels, and the statesman’s fears ; Nor shall sleep reign in that precedent night, Whose joyful hours lead on the glorious sight, Sacred to British worth on Blenheim’s fight. _ The blessings of good fortune seem refus’d, Unless sometimes with generous freedom us’d. Tis madness, not frugality, prepares A vast excess of wealth for squand’ring heirs. Must I of neither wine nor mirth partake, Lest the censorious world should call me rake ? If Belville can his generous soul confine, } * Epist 5, lib. I. A TALE OF THE TABLE. 229 Who, unacquainted with the gen’rous wine, E’er spoke bold truths, or fram’d a great design ? That makes us fancy every face has charms ; That gives uscourage, and that finds us arms : See care disburthen’d, and each tongue employ’d, The poor grown rich, and every wish enjoy’d. This I’ll perform, and promise you shall see A cleanliness from affectation free ; No noise, no hurry, when the meat’s set on 3 Or when the dish is chang’d, the servants gone : For all things ready, nothing more to fetch ; Whate’er you want is in the master’s reach. Then for the company, I’ll see it chose, Their emblematic signal is the Rose. If you of Freeman’s raillery approve, Of Cotton’s laugh, and Warner’s tales of love, And Ballar’s charming voice may be allowed, What can you hope for better from a crowd ? But Ishall not prescribe, consult your ease, Write back your men, and number as you please ; Try your back stairs, and let the lobby wait, A stratagem in war is no deceit. § A TALE OF THE TABLE. The passion for imitation, for doing as other people do, however foolish, or even con- temptible, it may be, is so prevalent, that there is hardly a single person who mixes in the world capable of resisting the impulse he feels to make himself completely ridiculous upon particular occasions. There are a thou- 230 A TALE OF THE TABLE. sand ways in which men may expose them-— selves by imitation; and few exhibit them- selves in a more laughable light than those who are fond of giving entertainments, espe- cially to people who figure in a superior style of life. The author went, a few aay ago, to spend his Christmas holidays with a friend at his house, in a village not many miles from Lon- don. The master of this villa—for every dwelling removed from the metropolis but half a mile, is dignified with that appellation—is a tradesman, and actually keeps a retail shop in town; but as his wife and family are too genteel to breathe the vulgar air of the city, he hired this house, and fitted it up in a tasty manner, (as he calls it), that he might enjoy his friends out of the smoke and bustle of London. Among these friends (as they stand in his catalogue),-is a-man of family, with a title, who is very distantly related to his wife, and who now and then sends for her and the children to dine with him and his lady, when they are denied to every body else—these cousins of theirs not being fit, in their opinion, to be introduced to their company. They do not look upon my shopkeeper as any body, though they always treat him with two courses and A TALE OF THE TABLE, 931 a dessert, to keep up their consequence, and to lord it over him, hoping to make him ready to expire with envy at the sight of such a number of elegant dishes and exquisite | wines which they had to set before him. Now and then, however, the housekeeper, knowing that no person of rank could possibly be ad- mitted when a man just come from behind the counter was at table, ordered a cold dish, left on the preceding day untouched, or something very common, to fill up a vacant corer on the table. While they were endeavouring to confound our cousins one day with their grandeur, and to make them stare, they were extremely dis- appointed ; for they had not only the astonish- ing impudence to sit quite at their ease in their presence, but even preswmed to invite them to dinner with them. At first they hesitated, in consequence of their surprise at the freedom which my tradesman took to put himself upon ait equality with people of their rank; but; upon his being entirely unembarrassed by the refusal, and repeatedly pressing them, they began to impute the apparent vanity in him to its true motive, the want of being better ac- quainted with the rules of propriety, and thought they might enjoy some diverting 232 A TALE OF THE TABLE. scenes by complying with his: entreaties, from the exposure of his vulgarities, as the town was empty, and nothing going forward nae ridiculous in their own line. In compliance, therefore, with their cousin’s invitation, these people of fashion agreed to eat a bit of mutton with them im the Christmas week, as they had then few elegant visits to make, and as few elegant diversions that ex- cited their attention. This prodigious favour being granted, the mistress of the villa, as soon as she was informed that such guests were to dine with her, began to make prepara- tions for their reception ; and finding that the.village did not afford variety enough for an entertainment fit for such personages, the husband was commissioned to send down from London fish, purchased at an exorbitant price, a turkey and chine, rein-deer tongues, and several other costly things for the palate ; while Mrs. Busy and her family set themselves to make jellies, syllabubs, cakes, and sweet- meats, &c. in such abundance, that one would have imagined they were preparing a Lord Mayor’s feast: and so eager were they to have every thing right, that from the excess of their anxiety on this extraordinary occasion, almost every thing was wrong. When they A TALE OF THE TABLE. 233 had procured a sufficient number of eatables, their next care was concerning the place in which they were to be eaten. A warm debate ensued, that lasted near two hours and a half, in which the disputants could not determine upon the apartment that would be most eligible for the occasion, the parlour or the dining- room. _ This, debate, between man and wife, was carried on with such vigour and volubility, that we may safely say, with Mrs. Mincing, “ [ really thought they would have fought !” They did not indeed absolutely come to blows, but I am not sure whether the conjugal conflict of that day will not lay the basis of a separa- tion. Mrs. Busy insisted upon the parlour as being the most proper room to dine in.’ On the other hand, Mr. Busy strenuously con- tended for the dining-room as the fittest place, from the very name, by which it is distinguished from every other room in the house, as well as from its size. The parlour, he affirmed, was not large enough to afford them elbow- room. The lady, however, by mere dint of yociferation, gained her point ; the cloth, there- fore, was ordered to be laid in the parlour. Upon reckoning up the dishes which were 234 A TALE OF THE TABLE. to make the first course, the belligerents found, after all, that they had not a table large enough for the purpose. Mrs. Busy was for having one purchased immediately in London, and sent down; but Mr. Busy, who began to feel the expense of entertaining great people, said that a couple of small tables set close together would not be noticed when they were covered with the cloth. This proposal being assented to, though with great reluctance, no cloth was found of sufficient size. Mr. Busy then pro- posed the junction of two cloths, to which Mrs. B. strongly objected, as a mean and shabby mode of proceeding; declaring that a table- cloth could be no loss, and might be wanted on other occasions; a new cloth, was, therefore procured. But new difficulties arose; they soon found that they had not knives and forks enough for so many changes ; they also found that they wanted a few dozen more plates ; the wine-glasses were pronounced old-fashioned, and an additional number of bottle-stands were to be provided, which, with mugs, jugs, trays, and tankards, required almost as much money as the new-furnishing their house. While these expensive necessaries were being sent backwards and forwards, the operations within doors went on very indifferently ; the jel- ‘a A TALE OF THE TABLE. 235 lies were not clear, the creams turned to curds and whey, the sweetmeats were ropy, from the present badness of the sugar; in short, the wines were cloudy, the ale was muddy, and there was nothing but finding fault and dis- puting for a whole week, in every part of the family ; so that the quarrels alone, setting aside the enormous sums appropriated to the projected entertainment, made every body exceedingly uncomfortable. The long-expected day at length arrived ; a day of dressing, cookery, hurry, and confusion —every body concerned in it seemed to be out of his element. As great people never dine early, the dinner was ordered at four o'clock, that is, two hours later than usual. This new regulation affected the subterraneous part of the family in a very sensible manner—their hunger produced anger, and this anger was not a little increased, as they waited full three quarters of an hour after the time appointed ; they were obliged to put back the spits, and to take the saucepans off the fire, while the fricandeaux, ragouts, and mock-turtle, &c. were stewing till they lost all their flavour. At length, when the whole dinner was completely spoiled, Sir John, my Lady, and Miss P., an honourable friend of her ladyship’s, 236 A TALE OF THE TABLE. with Captain S., a creature of the baronet, arrived in a vis-d-vis, and a chariot, attended: by such a retinue, that Mrs. Busy’s maid and boy, with the people they had hired to assist in the kitchen, soon found there would not be victuals enough for the lower gentry, and sent: out for a large leg of mutton, to be roasted, with potatoes, for the servants; at which they all turned up their noses, ‘while the great folks, in the parlour, sniffed in their turn.— My lady exclaimed,—* Lard, Mr: Busy ! how came you to put yourself to so much trouble and expense :” deciaring, at the same time, she could never make a tolerable dinner, without half a dozen things at least; making all the while signs of disgust at Miss P., and calling for brandy and water every third mouthful. Sir John and the captain, tossed down half-pint bumpers of Madeira, till their ‘ wit began to burn ;? and from the brisk circulation of the spirituous liquors before them, they soon drank themselves into an inflamed state. No sooner had the ladies endeavoured to settle their heads with a dish of coffee, (which they freely declared, had not the least flavour in the world) ; they ordered their carriages ; and having sufficiently convinced their enter- tainers, by indubitable tokens of contempt, A TALE OF THE TABLE. i; Yaa] that they heartily despised them for pretending to make a dinner for them, drove off, laughing loudly, at the bustle they had occasioned in the tradesman’s family ; saying, and very justly, that such people deserved all the ridicule they brought upon themselves, by attempting things so entirely out of their sphere—so totally out of the reach of their abilities. When their fashionable guests were gone, Mr. and Mrs. Busy began to reproach each other for the depredations which the entertainment of the day had occasioned, and for the sums ex- pended in support of it. However, as they had not been able to eat much at dinner, in con- sequence of their attention to Sir John and my Lady, (the latter of whom, declared more than once, that it made her sick to see the mistress of the house thrust her great, red, greasy fist into the dish; and, that for her part, she always helped every body with a spoon, and in her gloves,) they unanimously agreed to collect the fragments of the feast together, and to make the most of them at supper. As for my- self, being surfeited with the over-acted delicacy of the baronet and his corps, and sorry to see my foolish friends attempt to put themselves on a footing with people whom they should have 938 A TALE OF THE TABLE. most cordially despised, I returned to my own apartment, with the determination never to give the greatest friend I had in the world any thing better than a beef-steak, or amutton-chop, with a hearty welcome—or none at all. MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, &c. 239 CHAPTER XII. NUTRITIVE VARIETIES. Mazxims,—Reflections,—Anecdotes,—and Epicurean Whims. AN epicure (gourmand), really worthy of this name, so often usurped, distinguishes himself when he sits down to. table, and when he rises from it, by always. taking his soup and coffee boiling hot. Itis agenerally received maxim, thatiron ought never to touch fish from the moment it appears on the table; gold and silver are the only metals worthy of coming: in contact with it during the course of carving. Every. host, who knows: the world, asks. his guests, as: often. as three times, to. eat of the 240 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, &c. same dish. His first duty is, to fly to the assistance of those who are timid at table, to give them courage, to stimulate their appetite, and to spare nothing to satisfy them. The greatest pain which you can give an - epicure, is to interrupt him during the exercise of his jaws. It is a breach of custom, as well: as of politeness, to pay a visit to people at feeding time. It is interrupting their enjoy- ments, preventing them from philosophizing their mouthfuls, and causing them great un- easiness. It is no less a want of politeness to arrive, as a guest, after dinner has commenced ; thus, when people are at table, the guests who arrive ought to refrain from entering, even should they fast the remainder of the day, as a punishment for their want of punctuality. A true epicure never suffers himself to be waited for. Stale wine, a friendly dinner, and the music of amateurs, are three things ey to be feared. The method of serving dish after dish is the very essence of the art of good living. It is MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, &c. 241 the way to eat hot, long, and plenty ; each dish being then a single centre, towards which every appetite inclines. Nothing paralyses a good appetite so much as the presence of valets or Johns, at table. They ought only to enter when they bring fresh dishes; after that immediately to retire; the female ser- vants necessary to the course, running with plates. It would still be better to bring in each dish in its turn, one of the guests, at the same time, getting up to go and take it from the bearer at the door. But there are mechanical means which save that trouble: e.g. a dumb-waiter. It is essential that a dining-room be warmed in every part. A stove effects this purpose very well; but the precaution should never be for- gotten, to shelter the legs of the guests from the external air. It is no less necessary to preserve the feet warm during the time of eating. This may be effected by various means, according to con- venience, which every gourmand who has the well-being of his guests at heart will know how to contrive: the ladies—that’s wink e the cold seldom strikes downwards. R 242 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, &c. Nor is it less essential that the dining-table be well lighted, without crowding the service, or endangering the sauces. This may easily be effected, by means of a lamp with two or more ~ branches. | The master of the house ought to know how to carve all kinds of meats and fish. This for- merly constituted the integral part of a good education, and in the old school there were carving-masters, the same as dancing-masters. In this respect, the Germans are very superior. With them, it is the butler who carves. He removes each piece as soon as it appears, and returns it cut up in the most expert manner. It then goes round the table, and each serves him- self, according to his rank or taste. This is what we should term a knowledge of serving up a good dinner as it ought to be The principal study of every Amphitrion, at table, is to keep his eye incessantly upon the plate of his guest; this is the star by which he ought to steer; his first duty, then, is, to keep it always well supplied, as well as his glass full. In these he ought to hold a vacwum in horror. MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, &c. 243° Digestion is the business of the stomach, and indigestion that of physicians. The valets ought never to remove a service without being ordered to do so by the master ; and the master ought never to give his order without being certain that his guests have re- nounced every dish. The most delicate morsel of a roast duck is the wing. The best part of a boiled fowl is the thigh, particularly if it be fat, plump, and white. For some years past, the ladies have become very fond of the rumps of fowls; and, if it be a partridge, the stomach. To leave any thing for manners on your plate, is rather a breach, than an observance, of common politeness towards your host. Empty glasses and empty plates. Ina leg of beef, two things are distinguished— namely, the parish-priest’s piece, and the parish- clerk’s. The last is the least tender ; as, indeed, it ought to be, for there is scarcely any thing so tuff as an old humbug of this caste. The tail of a rabbit, or of a hare, is the most rR 2 244 AMENDES HONORABLES. delicate morsel; and is always offered to the most distinguished guest. Geese, ducks, widgeons, and, generally, all aquatic birds, are all carved upon the different _ principles of poultry ; and are served up accord- ingly. AMENDES HONORABLES. According to the famous rules of the cele- brated Monsieur Aze, strictly observed in some Parisian societies, to neglect coming after hay- Ing accepted an invitation to dinner, incurred a forfeit of five hundred francs. This forfeit is reduced to three hundred, if forty-eight hours’ notice be given that the party will not be able to come. Later than this, the whole penalty is enforced. This regulation has appeared frivolous, or too severe, to many people; but, upon reflection, it will be admitted that the absence of a guest, on whom one had depended, and for whom the company had been arranged, and the dishes combined, not unfrequently paralyses a whole dinner. Young people, who think they may do every thing they like, when they are in a particular humour, stand in great need of dis- covering this truth; for we all know those who TABLE MAXIMS, &c. 245 are so deficient of politeness and knowledge of the world, as to imagine they can dissolve an engagement, by a note written in the morning —a gross and fatal error, into which a véritable gourmand would never fall. This identical M. Aze said, that it was better to get merry with wine, than with ink,* as the former was not so black as the other. This was one of his best sayings ; and the greatest honour has invariably been done to it. All ceremonies, when once you are at table, turn always to the disadvantage of the dinner. The great points are to eat hot, comme il faut, long, and beaucoup. Real epicures have always done dinner before the dessert. What they eat in addition to, or over and above the roast, is only the result of pure politeness ; but they are, generally, in this respect, remarkably polite. It would be an insult offered to the master of the house, to leave any thing eatable on your plate, or any wine in your glass. The manner in. which you fold your napkin, * Qu’il vaut mieux se griseravecdu vin que de l’encre, parce que c’est moins noir. 246 TABLE PUNCTILIO. will ensure you another invitation; but this is never done in London or Paris, unless you a are very familiar in the house. — Every time you receive a general invitation, without the day being fixed, is but, at best, doing you a very insignificant kind of polite- ness ; and one might often be duped to be taken at the word. The only acceptable invitations are given for an appointed day, and this in writing ; because, in every instance, the written document constitutes your title. This obser- vation is very important, and for want of having observed it, more than one provincialist has been | indifferently received, and made but a very poor dinner into the bargain. In all things, one cannot be too discreet or reserved, as regards an invitation, general or limited. Of all the affairs of the day, to a gourmand, the dinner is the most important, (the more so since suppers are no longer in fashion,) nor can one be too scrupulously attentive as regards every thing connected with it. It is considered alinost as uncivil to artive too soon to dinner, as too late—above all, at the TABLE PUNCTUALITY. 247 tables of the middling classes, where the mis- tress of the house has the good sense to take upon herself the affairs of the kitchen. To delay the dinner beyond the appointed time is a serious injury to the whole service. For this reason, at the house of a véritable gourmand, they sit down to table just as the clock strikes, and then the door is shut against all intruders. It is convenient to dine late, as then one may concentrate all their thoughts upon one’s plate, forget business, only think of eating, and going to bed. A real gourmand would rather fast, than be obliged to eat a good dinner in a hurry. Five hours at the dinner-table are a reason- able latitude, when the company is numerous, and no lack of good cheer. Some are terribly frightened at seeing the salt-cellar upset, and thirteen people at table, There may be occasion for alarm at the num- ber thirteen, when there is only enough for twelve: and, as regards the salt being spilt, the principal consideration is, to take care 248 VISIT OF DIGESTION. that it has not fallen into, and spoiled some 2S dish, or sauce. Every thing has it proper price in this nether world—much more so a good dinner. If then, such or such a guest cannot pay for one in purse, he must in some other manner. - The or- dinary way is, to loll out your tongue, instead of pulling out your purse, and to amuse the company with a song, draw the long bow, tell them a tough yarn, twenty fathoms long, when you have not the means of regaling them at your own house: this is what a Frenchman calls, paying ‘“‘en monnoie de singe,” a species of coin very current both in London and Paris. Women, who, every where else, constitute the delight of society, are out of place at an epi- cure’s dinner, where the attention, which cannot be divided, is solely directed to the furniture of the table, and not to that by which it is surrounded. Also, on these important occasions, the most stupid goose has an advantage over the most amiable woman; but after the nwptial wine and the coffee, the fair sex resume all their rights. The visit of digestion is a sacred duty, in which NUTRITIVE INVITATIONS. — 949 every man, who knows the world, and has not lost his appetite for another occasion, never fails. ‘The extent of this visit is regulated in some countries, by the quality of the repast ; some have lasted as long as three hours. There are many Amphitrions who would gladly dis- pense with so long a mark of gratitude. There is an article in the famous regula- tions, already mentioned, of M. Aze, strictly obligatory, which forbids us to slander the man at whose table we dine; and that for a time commensurate with the quality of the dinner: for an ordinary dinner, the term is eight days; but it never can exceed six months; after that, M. Aze allows the tongue its full play. ‘Though it is always in the power of the Amphitrion to tie it up again, by an appropriate and timely invitation. Hence it is unanimously agreed, among gourmands, that of all the ways of preventing any one from speaking ill of another, this is by no means the least amiable. The extreme levity of the manners of the present day, is the reason why so little impor- tance is frequently attached to what are called nutritive invitations. Leaving behind us the time when there were more dinners than diners, it was then thought that acknowledgments of the 250 =. A PARALLEL BETWEEN kind ought to be reciprocal; and to justify this species of ingratitude, it is asked, what would the Amphitrion.do with such a large dinner ? Bad logic! the reasoning of a false and corrupt heart !—for this identical great dinner would not have existed had he invited no one; and it is only to fatten his guests that he expects them, and for which he has put himself to such ex- pense. The gratitude of a real gourmand is of more consequence ; and, as it has its origin in the belly, no one can doubt his sincerity. ) In many places, a large dinner is a state affair; it is spoken of three months before hand, and it takes nearly as long to digest it after it is Over. EPICUREAN PARALLEL, &c. A celebrated gourmand, who was dining in company, where some profane subjects, as they are called, were present,—namely, some young, sober persons, were engaged in a discussion, the consequences of which brought him to establish a parallel between women and good cheer. It may be readily conceived that, in his capacity of a gourmand, he gave the preference to the table. The following is the manner in which he undertook to establish and prove his opinion. ** Let us lay down the principles,” says he ; WOMEN AND GOOD-CHEER. 251 “< you will agree in the first place, gentlemen, . that the pleasures which good cheer procures, are those which are soonest known, latest relin- quished, and which one may taste the oftenest. Now, can you say as much of the others ? “¢ Is there a woman, as handsome as you may suppose her to be, even had she the head of Miss A——, the majestic air of Mrs. B——, the en- chanting graces of Miss C , the splendour, and killing embonpoint of Mrs. D , the mouth and smile of Miss , &c. who would be worth those admirable partridges, the odour of which is superior to the perfumes of Arabia ? Would you put her upon a parallel with these pies, made of the livers of geese and ducks, to which the towns of Strasburgh, Toulouse, and Auch, owe the greater part of their celebrity ? What is she then by the side of Yorkshire hams, Epsom sausages, Stilton, Gloucester and Cheshire cheeses, for which Old England is so much renowned; and those morsels which have acquired so much glory in the person of the hog?—or can you compare her with all the luxuries of the table, brought far and near, from every quarter of the habit- able globe. Where, in fact, is the gourmand so depraved as to prefer a silly meagre beauty, to those enormous and succulent rounds of 252 A PARALLEL, &C. English beef, which inundate those who carve them, and which throw into a swoon those who eat them? Incomparable pieces of roast beef ! O the roast beef of Old England! It is from your vast loins, the source of every vital prin- ciple and true sensation, that the gourmand in- hales his existence, the musician his talent, the lover his tenderness, and the poet his creative genius !* Having drawn an endless comparison with every good thing, solid and fluid, in this world, prepared by the cooks of England and New France, torrified by the roasters of the London Tavern, carved, in fact, by British butlers, our gourmands call upon us to agree with him, that the enjoyments which good cheer procure for a rich epicure, ought to be placed in the first rank ; that, quite differently prolonged than those which are tasted by breaking the sixth commandment, they bring on neither lan- guor, disgust, fear, nor remorse; that the source * « The things we eat by various juice controul The narrowness or largeness of our soul. Onions will make ev’n heirs or widows weep, The tender lettuce brings on softer sleep; Eat beef or pie-crust, if you’d serious be ; Your shell-fish raises Venus from the sea : For Nature, that inclines to ill or good, Still nourishes our passions by our food.’’ EPICUREAN ANECDOTE. 953 or spring, whence they incessantly rise, never dries ; that far from enervating the constitution or weakening the brain, they become the happy principle of firm health, brilliant ideas, and more vigorous sensations. Thus, far from be- getting regret, disposing to hypochondriasm, and ultimately rendering a man insupportable to himself, and to others, we are, on the con- trary, indebted to them for that merry-making face, the distinctive mark of all the children of Comus—very different from the pale and squalid visage, the common mark of decrepit love, and dessicated manhood. Such, in fine, was the discourse of our cele- brated gourmand. We are not aware that he made many proselytes ; but what we positively know is, that the next morning were reckoned in that society, more than one Ariana, and five or six indigestions. BENEDICTINE MONKS, OR L’ABBE D’UN JOUR. In the department De la Creuse, in France, there still exists an abbey formerly inhabited by those good monks of the order of St. Bernard, the name of which still recals to mind some illustrious gourmands. It is situated upon the Q54 THE BENEDICTINE MONKS; Taurior, a small river which deseryes to be better known, for it supplies some excellent trout : the Bernardines knew how to do justice to it, and they frequently worked this inexhaustible mine. There, only two in number, and under the direction of a venerable abbot, who could eat as much as three, they led a quiet and delicious life, forgetting the world and its pleasures, their daily occupation alone they made to uses in completing their embonpoint. Indeed it is supposed that had the ‘Almanach des Gourmands’ existed at that time, they would, sans doute, have been fonder of turning over its leaves than the pages of their breviary. However this may be, the order only named to the abbot of the palace, a subject distin- tinguished for the discoveries he had made in every thing which could flatter a nice and well- exercised palate, and truly worthy of belonging to a gourmand. ‘The abbot at length died; several candidates solicited this dignity, and it was conferred upon Father Eutraphis. He sets out immediately, and arrives the following evening at the palace. The farmers wish to give him an account of everything; his brother monks wish to amuse him with the affairs of the house, &c.—He listens to nothing ; all he asks for is trout. One was served up for his supper OR, L’ABBE D’UN JOUR. 255 that weighed twenty pounds. Father Eutraphis attacks it, finds it excellent, and congratulates himself upon an appointment, which placed it in his power to do every day the same thing. But alas ! man proposes, and God disposes; scarcely were three-parts of the fish consumed, before old Kutraphis was choked ; assistance is in vain ; he makes useless attempts to swallow, and dies with the tail of the trout in his mouth. The order to which he belonged learned at the same ‘time his installation and his decease; they gave him a splendid interment, and occupied them- selves in naming a successor, who also, it was hoped, might probably die of indigestion ;—a death truly worthy of one of the order of Saint Bernard, and of a véritable gourmand,—two names, at one time, nearly synonymous. This anecdote is told by M. Dolo, who vouches for its authenticity. We are almost tempted to believe that Fontaine was acquainted with the same fact, when he composed his pretty story of the glutton, and that he had, at the time he composed the following stanza, the abbé @un jour in his eye: < Et, puisqu’il faut que je meure Sans faire tant de facon, Qu’on m’apporte tout-a-lheure Le reste de mon poisson.” 956 GOURMAND ANECDOTES. / THE USELESS SOP; OR, THE CONVALESCENT GOURMAND OUTWITTED. Mons. De L. B., in his time, was the most illustrious gourmand in all Paris. He was exceedingly rich, and only had his appetite to satisfy, when he could find one. Huis house was abundantly stocked with every article of luxury that could be procured, far and near, for either love or money; in which he enjoyed himself with the most exquisite sensibility. But his wife, who no doubt was afraid of becoming a widow too soon, was incessantly opposing him in his various tastes, so that he was compelled, in order to luxuriate with ease and satisfaction, to shut himself up in a private room. At length he fell sick, and the first remedy which the phy- sicians prescribe for a gourmand is abstinence. . This was, for ours, the worst of all; and doubtless it would have been very differently observed by him, had he not been watched by his wife, who, having taken possession of all the keys,. and established herself as a nurse, took him under her tutorship, in the same manner as any other person forced to keep his bed. The remedies operate, and our gourmand becomes conva- lescent ; he is at length permitted to eat; and GOURMAND ANECDOTES. 257 ~ the physician who knew his weak side, scrupu- lously prescribed the quantum of food he was to eat; which, for the first time, consisted of a new laid egg, and one small morsel of bread for him to sop in it. Mons. de L. B. could heartily have wished that this egg had been laid by an ostrich, rather than a hen; but he made good this disparity by the sop of bread: he caused the longest loaf that could be formed in all Paris to be bought, so that his sop was about an ell in length, and weighed nearly a pound. His wife was going to quarrel with him, about going against the doctor’s orders; but what could she do, since he had followed the pre- scription to the letter. The egg was brought* in, in grand style; the cloth spread upon his bed, and he got ready to dine, as one truly convalescent: but in sucking the white of the egg, he inhaled so strongly, that he swallowed the yolk at the same time !—an unfortunate accident—most deplorable precipitation ! which rendered his sop entirely useless! so much so, that Madame de L. B. very gravely caused it to be taken away, with the shell of the egg ; at the thought of which, our gourmand had nearly fallen sick again with despair. 5 258 GOURMAND ANECDOTES. THE GUINEA-HEN. It is the same person alluded to in the pre- ceding anecdote, to whom, on a similar occasion, his physician having given him leave, and always in writing, to take the thigh of a fowl, added to the end of the word fowl, ‘ of the Indies,’ which is in fact, a guinea-hen, (Le poule dInde,) which, as may be perceived, solidly changed the state of things. | THE CUNNING CURATE. The ladies who lived in the Castle of * * * wishing to take some little innocent revenge of the curate of the place, (a man renowned in the whole country for his gormandizing qualities), to amuse themselves at his expense, thought to play him the following trick. This curate, rather peculiar in his taste, was fond of fine and delicate cheer, in preference to gross materials of any kind. Nevertheless, as he was a great eater, the only difficulty that ever occurred with him, was when there was nothing to choose ; and on this circumstance the ladies planned their joke. The curate being invited to the castle, found the table loaded with gross and common viands, and nothing more. He gave full scope GOURMAND ANECDOTES. 259 to his appetite, taking every thing, just as it came, and consoling himself in the absence of ortolans with the presence of rounds of beef. The ladies scarcely ate any thing, and that did not give him much trouble; but what was his surprise, when instead of a dessert, he saw a second dinner placed upon the table, composed of the most delicate entrées, beautiful game, with every accompaniment, accommodated according to the grand principles of the art. Our curate, who was nearly as full as he could well hold, becomes furious at the sight, severely apostro- phises the lady, rises from the table, and goes out in a rage, without listening to any thing. The ladies now began to think that they had pushed the joke a little too far, when the curate all at once made his appearance again, feigns to be appeased, satisfies himself, and eats as much as would satisfy four. They guessed what he had been about during his absence ; but what is equally sure, is, that the mystifiers, mystified in their turn, learnt by their joke that a real gourmand is never to be attacked on the score of good cheer. THE DIFFICULT POINT. M. Leblanc, whose ham pies (pdfés de jam- a2 260 GOURMAND / ANECDOTES: bon), are. so much extolled in the Almanach des Gourmands, and who formerly lived in the Rue de la Harpe, where he kept one of the best ovens in Paris, had been head cook to the — Count de Flavigny, the French minister at Parma. This noble, being on leave of absence, often ate des garbures, and found them much better at the Hotel de Noailles than at home ; he complained to M. Leblanc, and sent him to the marshal’s cook, to learn what constituted the superiority of his garbwres. This cook acknow- ledged to his brother of the kitchen, that on the | Thursday evening he collected the gravies of the | week to make his garbures of them on Friday ; it was not then very surprising that they were much more succulent than those made by the scrupulous M. Leblanc according to the com- mands of the church. He nevertheless followed the recipe thus set down, and M. de Flavigny now found his garbures as good as those of the Hotel de Noailles. Some time afterwards he went to his estate m the country, where M. Leblanc continued to make his garbures for him, which the curate of the place found so excellent, that he begged Leblanc to. give his housekeeper the receipt for making them; he depended so much the more on the complaisance of ‘this cook, from GOURMAND’ ANECDOTES. 261 his’ having already given him the secret for making several ragouts. Judge then of the embarrassment of Leblanc,. who would neither compromise his talent nor his conscience. He made at first several excuses, which our pastor would not accept ; pressed at last to grant. his request—** Mister Curate, (said Leblanc to him), I will give you the receipt for: making my garbures when you are a bishop.” THE CUNNING CAPUCHIN. Some rather waggish young men wished one day to amuse themselves at the expense of an old Capuchin friar. A nice roasted sucking pig was served up, which they begged the friar to carve; and just as he was about to commence, the most robust of .the company spoke to the following effect, and said to him: << My very reverend father, take care what you are going to do! for we have made up our minds to treat you absolutely in the same manner as you do the animal; and you may depend upon it, that if you cut one limb of the sucking pig, that moment will you be deprived of one yourself.” The friar, without betraying the smallest symptom of fear, did to the pig, what people usually do when they try the 262 GOURMAND ANECDOTES. sweetness of poultry, and to see it is not turned, or tainted ; then addressing his young messmates, he said, ‘‘ Gentlemen, I beg you will now all do the same to me, in the terms of your threat; you see it does not frighten me.” Who was the greatest fool now? The knowing ones, no doubt; and thus will be treated every — one who attempts to make fun at the expense of a gourmand. IMPERIAL GOURMANDS. 263 CHAPTER XIII. IMPERIAL GOURMANDS. THE EMPEROR CLAUDIUS AND OTHERS. Tuis emperor had a strong predilection for mushrooms ; he was poisoned with them by Agrippina, his niece and fourth wife; but as the poison only made him sick, he sent for w. Xenophon, his physician, who, pretending to give him one of the emetics he commonly used after his debauches, caused a poisoned pen to be passed into his throat. Nero used to call mushrooms the relish of the gods; because Claudius, his predecessor, having. been, as was supposed, poisoned by them, was, after his death, ranked among the gods. Domitian one day convoked the senate to know in what fish-kettle they should cook a monstrous turbot which had been presented tohim. The 264 IMPERIAL GOURMANDS. senators gravely weighed the matter. (see plate.) But as there was no utensil of this kind big enough, it was proposed to cut the fish in pieces: this advice was rejected. After much argument and deliberation, it was resolved that a proper utensil should be made for the purpose ; and it was decided that, whenever the emperor went to war, a great number of potters should accompany him. The most pleasing part of the story is that a blind senator appeared to be in ecstasy at the sight of the turbot, by continually praising it, at the same time, looking in the very opposite direction. Julius Czesar sometimes eat at a meal the revenue of several provinces. Vitellius made four meals a day ; and, at all those he took with his friends, they never cost less than ten thousand crowns. That which was given to him by his brother was most magnifi- cent. 'Two thousand select fishes were served up, seven thousand fat birds, and every delicacy which the ocean and Mediterranean Sea could furnish. | Nero sat at table from mid-day till midnight, amidst the most monstrous profusion. Geta had all sorts of meat served up to him in alphabetical order. Heliogabalus regaled twelve of his friends in the IMPERIAL GOURMANDS. 265 most incredible manner. He gave to each guest animals of the same species with those he served them up to eat. He insisted upon their carrying away all the vases or cups of gold, silver, and precious stones, out of which they had drank ; and it is remarkable that he supplied each with new ones every time they asked to drink. He placed on the head of each a crown interwoven with foliage of gold, and gave them each a superbly ornamented and well-yolked car to return home with. He never eat fish but when he was near the sea; and when he was at a dis- tance from it, he had them served up to him in sea water. Towards the latter time of the republic, people were not satisfied if, in the midst of . winter, roses were not seen floating on the Falernian wine; and if, in summer, it was not cooled in golden vases. It was necessary, amidst the dangers of the sea, to go and find the rarest birds. After the conquest of Asia, female singers and baladines were introduced. In point of profusion, nothing was equal to that which reigned at the banquet of Ahasuerus, who regaled, during sixteen months, all the princes and governors of his state, and kept open house, for seven entire days, for all the people of the great town of Suza. 266 GOURMAND ORATOR. Excesses of this kind are of more modern date. According to Pius III., Sindrigile, Duke of Lithuania, never made a meal at. which less than thirty different kinds of meat were present ; and he sat six hours at his table. Cardinal S. Sixtus entertained, at a most incredible expense, the daughter of Ferdinand, King of Naples. Precious odours were given to wash in at the change of every course; and, by means of the diversity and the arrangement of the meats, the Labours of Hercules, and part of Ovid’s Meta- morphoses were seen represented on the table. “‘] have seen,” says Montaigne, ‘one of those great artists who had served the Cardinal Caraffe. He gave the discourse upon the science of the mouth, with a gravity of countenance quite magisterial, as if he had been discussing some great and important point of theology. He deciphered the differences of appetite. But when fasting, that after the second and third courses; the means of pleasing it, some- times to rouse, at others to excite it; the police of sauces, first in general, and then in particular, and afterwards particularizing the qualities of the ingredients, and their effects; the difference -of salads, according as they are wanted, the means of ornamenting and embellishing them to PRICE OF A BARBEL. 267 render them still more pleasing to the sight. He afterwards broached the order of serving the courses, full of fine and important considerations, and the whole inflated with rich and magnificent words; and even with those which are diploma- tically used in treating for the government of a country.” Such a man, in fine, may be recog- nized in the following couplet :— Hoc salsum est, hoc adustum est, hoc lautum est parum ; Illud recte, iterum sic memento. TERENCE. Adelph. ONE REASON FOR EPICURISM, This one reason for epicurism, and the so- phistication of food, is the facility with which the most wholesome aliment is procured—from the erroneous notion, that that which is dearest and scarcest must assuredly be the best ; and there are instances of enormous sums being spent in the purchase of a single dish, which, if economically expended, would supply several families for a year. __—._---~ 4 lavish slave, Six thousand pieces for a barbel gave ; For his own gut he bought the stately tish, And spent his fortune on a single dish.’’* * This enormous expense caused Cato to say that he doubted much of the safety of » town, when a fish was sold for more than an ox. 268 APPETITE THE BEST SAUCE. Even at the ‘present day, every thing that is cheap is scorned ; and, as observed by Seneca, *“ the glorious light of Nature is loathed at our meals, and banished: from our presence, only because it comes free, and at no expense.” The merit, in truth, of modern times, directs all its rays, ad gulam; and the only inducement to study is to please the palate, and to satisfy the stomach. _ “ Invite a lord to dine, and let him have The nicest dish his appetite can crave ; Still if it be on oaken table set, His lordship will grow sick, and cannot eat. Something’s amiss—he knows not what to think ; Either your ven’son’s rank, or sauces stink. Order some other table to be brought, Something at great expense, and latest wrought ; Beneath whose orb large yawning panthers lie, Carv’d in rich pedestals of ivory ! He finds no more of that offensive smell ; The meat recovers, and my lord grows well.” Burton. A GOOD APPETITE THE BEST SAUCE. This proverb is incontestible in the annals of eating and drinking. The artificial palate of the gourmand, how keen soever it may be, stands far aloof from the nice sensation of the natural stimulus. | The black broth of Lacedemon has long con- STOMACHIC INSANITY. 269 tinued to excite the wonder of the philosopher, and the disgust of the epicure. What the in- gredients of this sable composition were, have never been exactly ascertained. Julius Pollux says it was blood, thickened in a certain way. Dr. Lister supposes it to have been hog’s blood : if so, this celebrated Spartan diet bore no very distant resemblance to the black puddings of our day. At all events it does not appear to have been a very tempting dish, since a citizen of Sybaris, who tasted it, declared it was no longer a matter of astonishment with him why the Spartans were so fearless of death, since any one in his senses would much rather die, than exist on such execrable food.* When Dionysius the tyrant had tasted the black broth, he exclaimed against it as miserable stuff. The cook replied, “it was no wonder, for the sauce was wanting.” ‘* What sauce ?” asked Dionysius: the answer was “ labour and exercise, hunger and thirst ; these are the sauces we Lacedemonians use, and they render the coarsest fare agreeable.” STOMACHIC INSANITY. The most insane stomach, or if the term please better, the greatest gourmand, of whom, * Vide Athenzum, lib. ix. c. 3. e 270 A DIPLOMATIC EPICURE. perhaps, we have any modern account, was Louis, Count Zinzendorf, who was no less dis- tinguished by all the modern memoir writers of the last century, from the solemn Marquis de Lamberti, down to the ingenious Baron de Pollnitz ; the latter of whom remarked, that he kept the noblest and most elegant table at Vienna. With all his shining talents, and pro- found abilities, which had rendered him admired in so many different courts, the count was less zealous of his reputation in the cabinet, than of his honour in displaying the most exquisite and most splendid table that perhaps was ever kept in that or any other capital. His magnificence in this point would have been truly wonderful if it had not been eclipsed by various excellences of a superior kind. His skill was so great, that he was equally acquainted with Asiatic and Indian luxury. His olios exceeded those of Spain; his pastry was much more delicate than that of Naples; his Perigord pies were truly brought from thence; his sausages were made at Bologna; his macaroni at the grand duke’s court; and as for his wines, no country that produced grapes of any repute—but a sample of it, for the honour of his vineyard, was to be found at his all-capacious side- board. His kitchen was an epitome of the rf A DIPLOMATIC EPICURE. 271 universe; for there were cooks in it of all na- tions; and in the adjacent numerous and spacious apartments were to be found rarities collected from every quarter of the globe. He had, in order to collect these, his agents for provisions in every country ; the carriages on which they were laden came quicker and more regular than the posts, and those who were well informed believed that the expenses of his entertainments — ran higher than that for secret correspondence, though very possibly they might be rendered subservient or useful to each other. In order to display his superior learning, he would discourse at large, and deliver the most curious as well as the most copious lectures on all his domestic and exotic delicacies. In these he shewed a true spirit of justice ; no man was ever less a plagiary. ‘“This pillau,” he would observe, *‘ he had from Prince Eugene, who had it from the Bashaw of Buda; the egg soup was made after the mode of the Marchioness de Prie; the roan ducks were stewed in the style of the Cardinal du Bois; and the lampreys came ready dressed from a great minister in Hngland.” His dishes furnished him with a kind of chro- nology; his water souchy was borrowed from Marshal D’Auvergne’s table when he was first 272 A DIPLOMATIC EPICURE. in Holland ; the pheasant towrte was a discovery , he made in Spain, where he was so lucky as to. pick up a man who as a purveyor, had been in the service of that prince of bons-vivans, the Duc de Vendéme; but he always allowed that the grand school of cookery was the Congress of Soissons, where the political conferences proved ineffectual, but the entertainments of the several ministers were splendid beyond descrip- tion. In a word, with a true Apician eloquence he generously instructed all the novices in good living; and, as Solomon discussed of every herb, from the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop on the wall, so he began with a champignon no bigger than a Dutchman’s waistcoat button, and ended with a wild boar, the glory of the German forest ! !! On his public days, there was half an Bran or nearly a whole one, when he was altogether inaccessible; and with respect to his employ- ment on these occasions, as is ever the case as regards the privacies of prime ministers, there was a great variety of diet, as well as different — speculations. An inquisitive foreigner, however, resolved to be at the bottom, cost what it would; and by a gratification to one of his pages, which might have procured a greater secret, he was DIPLOMATIC EPICURISM. 273 let into this, when he beheld from his recess the following scene. The count, seated in his elbow-chair, gave ‘the signal for being ready for the important business; when, preceded by a page, with a cloth on his arm, and a drinking glass, one of his principal domestics appeared, who presented a silver salver, with many little pieces of bread, elegantly disposed ; he was immediately followed by the first cook, who, on another salver, had a number of small vessels filled with so many different kinds of gravy; his excellency then, tucking up his napkin into his cravat, first washed and gargled his mouth, and having wiped it, dipped a piece of bread into each kind of sauce, and having tasted, with much deliberation, rinsing his palate, to avoid con- fusion, after every piece, at length, with in- expressible sagacity, decided as to the destina- tion of them all. ‘These grand instruments of luxury, with their attendants, were then dis- missed ; and the long expected minister having fully discussed this interesting affair, found him- self at liberty to discharge the next duties of his political functions. ‘This proves, that the science of eating, after all, is no liberal science, and that such formal nicety, and such studious deference to pamper the palate, is more noxious T Q74 FRAGMENT FROM PLUTARCH. than beneficial ; for, let us only draw a com- parison between the plainest livers, and the most refined bons vivants, and it will be found, upon an average, that the lives of the latter rarely number above half the years of the former. A FRAGMENT FROM PLUTARCH. “Thou askest me,” said Plutarch, “ why Pythagoras abstained from eating the flesh of beasts; but I, on the contrary, ask thee what kind of courage that man had, who first lifted to his mouth a piece of murdered flesh ? who broke with his teeth the bones of an expiring beast ? who caused to be served up before him dead bodies, carcasses, and swallowed into his stomach, limbs, which the moment before, bleat- ed, lowed, walked, saw, and licked his hand ? How could his hand strike the iron into the body of so sensible a being? how could his eyes sup- port a murder? how could he behold a poor defenceless animal lie bleeding, deprived of its skin, and: dismembered? how could he bear the sight of its palpitating flesh ? Why did not its smell turn his stomach? why was he not disgusted, repulsed, horror-struck, when he was handling the filth of its wounds, cleaning GOURMAND TRAITS. 275 the black and clotted blood with which it was covered ! !! ?” THE GREAT CONDE. During one of the military courses of this prince, (says Gourville in his Memoirs,) the whole stock of Condé’s provisions consisted of a few baskets-full of bread, to which I had caused some wine, hard eggs, nuts, and cheese, to be added. With these provisions we made considerable head-way during the night, and entered a village, where there was an inn. We remained there three or four hours ; and finding nothing but eggs, the great Condé took great credit to himself for being an excellent pancake- maker; the landlady wishing to direct him, told him to turn it, that it might be better done, and having shown him how to go about it, in making the attempt, he threw it slap into the fire the first time he tried. I begged the landlady to make another, and not to trust to this skilful cook. S GOURMAND TRAITS OF THE CELEBRATED M. MONTMAUR, Among modern gourmands, may also be 1 &) hee 276 GOURMAND TRAITS. quoted, M. Montmaur, who was well known to have been the most famous parasite* of his time. He was born at Limougin, in the department des Vosges, in 1576, and died at Paris, in 1648. He was a rich, but avaricious man; he used to say to his friends—“< You find the meats and wine, and I will find salt.” Indeed, he used to strew it by handfuls at the best tables where he went. His satirical humour acknowledged no bounds; he was Lucian every where; and he was particularly vindictive against bad poets. One day, at M. de Mesme’s, a poet of this cha- racter recited, in a loud voice, some verses he had composed in praise of rabbit. Montmaur, tired with his rhapsody, said to him, rather coarsely, ‘* T'his rabbit ts not from the warren, serve us up another.” On another occasion, being at table with a great number of friends, who were singing, speaking, and laughing, all at once—‘ Ah ! gentlemen,” said he, ‘* keep a-little quiet, one does not know of what one is eating.” Furetiere made the following epigram against him :— . “ Montmaur ne trouvoit dans la Bible Rien d’incroyable ou d’impossible, Sinon, quand il voit que cing pains Rassasierent tant d’humains, * See pp. 94 and 285. GOURMAND’s LIBRARY. 277 Et que, pour comble de merveilles, Tl en resta douze corbeilles. Bon Dieu! dit-iJ, pardonnez-moi, Le miracle excéde ma foi. Sans doute le texte en ajoute, Que n’étois-je 1a pour le voir ? Je ne crois pas que ton pouvoir En eut fait rester une croute.”’ Literal Translation, ** Montmaur found nothing in the Bible, either incredible or impossible, except where the _ five loaves are represented to have satisfied so many beings, and that twelve baskets full re- mained. ‘Good God!’ said he, ‘ forgive me ; the miracle exceeds my faith.’ The text, doubt- less adds, why was I not there to see it? I do not think, that, with all thy power, a single crumb would have been left !” Of all the pieces of humour which were directed against Montmaur, the following are the most pointed : A Catatocur of the Books belonging to M. Montmaur, Counsellor to the King, Gentle- man of his Kitchen, and Comptroller General of the Feasts of France. Panegyric of the Saint Martin and of Kings. 278 ‘GOURMAND’S LIBRARY. Examination and Refutation of the Book of St. Francois Xavier, Satis est, Domine, satis est. Physical Demonstration, or proofs that the people of the north are no stronger than those of the south; and that the reason for the former having so often conquered the latter, was, in consequence of eating more. A Treatise upon Four Meals a-Day, with _ their origin, or etymology; together with a ’ curious investigation of the manner of eating of the ancients, where it is proved that they eat lying in their beds, purely to shew that it is necessary to eat both night and day, and that those who eat, sleep,—or, that real rest is only to be found at table. A Commentary upon the Fifth Aphorism of Hippocrates, where it is said, that it is much . more dangerous to eat little than much; to- gether Tas a summary refutation of the passage which declares, that every kind of repletion is bad. A Non-Sceptical little Work, against that common way of speaking—The first morsels hurt the last. A Mathematical Demonstration, in which, the author shews, by the frequent experience of his own belly, that there is a vacuwm in Nature. GOURMAND’S LIBRARY. 279 An Invective against the man who first sug- gested the means of taking a town by famine. The Apology of Father Glutton. A Prayer to St. Lawrence for the tooth-ache. Apotheosis of Apicius. A Treatise upon every kind of merchandize which people taste before they buy. A Commentary upon the laws of the twelve tables. On the praiseworthy custom introduced into the Church, of eating meat from Christmas to Candlemas; with a very humble supplication to our lord and father (N.S. P.) the Pope, to transpose Candlemas after Master. A request to M. le Lieutenant-civil, that he ~ would be so kind, as to prohibit innkeepers from keeping plates with convex bottoms, which is evidently an imposition. Another request to the house of parliament, entreating them to forbid almanack-makers to predict a famine, which is enough of itself to make one die with fear. § Under the name of M. Montmaur the follow- ing pieces of advice were published :— Advice to ministers and other religious orders, to sham sick often, that they may be sent to 280 GOURMAND PROBLEMS. Infirmary, where they will be allowed to eat meat. Advice to Physicians, to give a dispensation from fasting to all who may ask them. Advice to rich and opulent People, al- ways to keep a good table, and rather to feed men than dogs. Advice to Members of Parliament, to take the name of cenators* (senators), because it is demonstrated that the Romans only triumphed _ , through the merit of those who bore ats -~ name. Advice to Curates, to be sk present. at christenings and weddings. Advice to those to whom any thing is given, never to choose, lest, through civility, they may be obliged to take the worst. | Advice to those who attend at table, to change often the plates of simpletons, which are carried away by civility, and particu- larly at the time when the dish is pretty well loaded. The following problems were also attributed x, to Montmaur :— . It is asked,— I. Ought physic to be taken or not ? * Supper-eaters, from cena: videp. 48. GOURMAND PROBLEMS. 281 - Yes, because it is swallowing. No, because physic empties the stomach. Il. Ought people to pick their teeth ? Yes, to prevent them from decaying. No, because it takes something out of the mouth. III. Ought people to chew their meat ? Yes, because by that means you enjoy longer the pleasure of eating. No, because during the process of mastica- tion one loses some other mouthfulls, which, during that time, might have been swallowed. IV. Ought one to marry or not ? Yes, because at that ceremony there is a feast. No, because you then take a woman who, for the remainder of her life, eats the half of the dinner. VY. Is it better to have a tongue, or to be without one ? Yes, because with the tongue you ask for meat and drink. No, because it fills the mouth, and causes you to lose time at table, in talking. VI. Ought sauces to be made or not ? _ Yes, because they savour the meat. No, because they make other people eat that which would be very well eaten without sauce. 282 GOURMAND APOTHEGMS. VII. Which is best, to dance or sing ? Ans. It is best to eat. VIII. Which is best, to dine or sup ? Neither one nor the other are good; you ought only to make one meal a day, and that should last from morning till night. The following collection of Apothegms, were also circulated under his name :— He said that an egg was better than a prune; a thrush worth both; a pigeon, the whole three; a chicken, the four; a capon, the entire five: and so on in proportion. One day, when he was thirsty, and no other vessel could be found for him to drink out of than a bucket, full of wine, he drank it off at a draught, e¢ negavit se unquam jucun- dius bibesse, alluding to that king, who said the same, when he was forced to drink out of the hollow of his hand, for the want of a better mug. | Speaking one day of a great mortality, “* So much the better,” cried he ; ** the more deaths the fewer eaters.” Heacknowledged noother enemies. Going one day to dine with a bishop—‘** Pas- toris est pascere,’ said he to him.—** Monseig- neur, I am come to dine with you.” He was, on one occasion, reproached for his GOURMAND APOTHEGMS. 283 eyes being larger than his stomach. ‘“ Not at all,” replied he, ‘‘ even though I had as many as Argus.” | He used to say that Easter and Christmas were the two best days in the year—Haster, because it is farthest from Lent; and Christ- mas, because you then breakfast at mid- night. 7 | He used often to say that it was consistent with the majesty of a king to eat at all his tables. He compared courtezans to the dishes which the master of a hotel placed upon his table, where some are sometimes first and sometimes last, and which are all in confusion when they are going to be washed. He called eructating (ructus) conveniences of the table. To one who reproached him with eating as much as two people, he replied, that ‘* at Sparta it was the mark of kings.” Being asked, one day, what was necessary to be done to preserve health, he replied, “ Kat well, eat hearty, and eat long.” One day, when he was eating hot broth, some one having observed that he doubtless must scald his throat—‘“‘ Yes, I do,” said he, “ but at the same time, mind ye, I am eating.” 284 GOURMAND APOTHEGMS. He was once told that he ought to sit at table without moving about, or taking any thing but what was set before him; he answered, that “If the Spaniards had never travelled, they would not have met with the gold of Peru.” He said, that in order to make the days of winter appear as long as those of summer, ‘‘ J¢ was only necessary to fast from morning till night.” Being asked why he was always hunting after dinners, he replied that it was “* Because din- ners did not hunt after him.” He added, that our fore-fathers called their feasts festins, from — the Latin verb festinare, (to make haste,) to demonstratethat one should always be in a hurry to get to them. He was once very sick, and like to die; and on being reprimanded for drinking too much at such a time, he answered, ‘* that he only drank so much pour faire jambes de vin.” One day his confessor was pointing out to him the great trouble the saints had to go fasting to Paradise; ‘* I can easily believe it,” replied he, ‘‘ i¢ is a great distance to go without eating.” A PARASITE. 985 DEFINITION OF THE WORD FPARASITE.* Before concluding these observations on M. Montmaur, it is important here to put you in mind of the different meanings which, in former times, were applied to the word parasite, as well as its signification at the present day. The title of parasite was, at one time, considered very honourable ; it had the same fate as that of philosopher: the bad use that was made of both brought them into disrepute. The Ro- mans called parasites epulones ; they were ap- pointed to receive the offerings of the first fruits in the Temple ; to distribute them among the people, and to preserve some of them for the feasts consecrated to the gods. Almost all the gods had their parasites, which, say the historians, made also certain sacrifices with the women who had only had one husband. Itis quite natural that men who eat at the table of the gods, and who were in such favour with the god Hymen, that the guests of Jupiter, Bac- chus, and Apollo should be held in the highest consideration among the people; but it was soon observed that these gentlemen had excellent appetites, and that they consumed the fruit of their divine hosts. They at length degraded * See also pp. 94 and 276. 286 A PARASITE. themselves, by appropriating, under pretext of the service of the gods, the entrance of the ———- great houses; they conducted themselves there — as in the temple; and, while praising the — master of the house, in the same manner as they would have done Jupiter or Hercules, . they devoured the food reserved for the family. It was then that the flatterers and fawners were styled parasites, who, to procure themselves a good dinner, shamelessly made a sacrifice there of both delicacy and probity. The Romans, when they received them at their table, used the privilege they had of laughing at them, — mocking them, and even beating them—a pri- vilege, however, which has not found its way down to the present time; for now-a-days a parasite is the friend of the house; and the praises he bestows are taken for good money. They are very amusing, and many people who eat their fortune without appetite, are much pleased with having such guests at their table, who sometimes dissipate that species of ennui which riches so often promote. More- over, parasites have been among us true me- diators between opposite parties. Some up- start, who had. been despised and disdained by the public, was at first visited by parasites, who invariably have a great fund of indulgence CURIUS DENTATUS. - 287 for every man at whose house they dine; and the wonders of the kitchen are so much buzzed about, by this means, that, now-a-days, people seem to think that dinner-hunters are very fashionable, that they have received a finished education, and that they even begin to speak English. Notwithstanding the encouragement which is given to the kitchen, we cannot refrain, in finishing this notice, from lamenting the decadence of this precious art; the kitchen, which is chemistry itself, par excellence, ought nevertheless to be cultivated with more suc- cess in an age where such important improve- ments and discoveries have been made by the chemists. In one winter, we have, God knows how many débutantes at the theatres; we have candidates of all kinds, from a county member down to a vestry clerk ; but few aspire to such real perfection as that which the culinary art is capable of. This, indeed, would seem to contradict the boasted march of intellect, so much talked of at the present day. CURIUS DENTATUS. It was not peas, as was supposed, which 288 THE ORCHIAN LAW. Dentatus cooked, but positively radishes. We have the following facts from history :— Curius Dentatus was three times consul, and twice enjoyed the honours of triumph. ‘The ambassadors of the senate having found him cooking peas in an earthen pot, in that part of the country to which he had retired after his victories, offered him vases made of gold to engage him to espouse their interests. The Roman refused them, by telling them haughtily, ‘‘] prefer my earthen ware to your golden vases—I will not be rich, contented in my poverty to command those who are so.” Here we find the truth happily re-established. History ought never to be altered, even though it should only be concerning boiled radishes. Macrobius says, that at the time the la famia existed, which had been published to‘ repress the debauchery of the people, several senators came to the senate drunk to give their vote for the safety of the republic. That law, among other things, permitted no one to spend more than an hundred asses at one meal, céntenos asses. The law orchia regulated the number of guests which might be invited. EXPLOITS OF GREAT EATERS. 289 Read, to improve your mind, and enable you to speak learnedly on matters of gastronomy, the description which Perron has given of the feasts of Trimalcion, that is, of Nero. Read the moral works of Plutarch, his Propos of the Table. Martial’s Epigrams Julius Cesar, Bullengerus, juliadimensis e soc. Jesus de Con- viviis, Guidoni Panciroli rerum perditarum, cum Commentariis Salmuhl, titulum de cibi Capiendi modo veteribus usitato. The small volume 12mo. which former writers of the lives of the popes dedicated to Cardinal Ro- verella under the following titles :—Bap. Pila- . tine cremonensis de honesta Voluptate. et Valetudine, libri decem. In this work Platina describes the art of preparing food in a man- ner which he calls agreeable and useful to health. EXPLOITS OF GREAT EATERS. Surtout si vous voulez charmer vos auditeurs, Racontez les exploits de quelques gros mangeurs. The following are some of the most striking examples that can possibly be quoted. Maximi- nus eat sixty pounds of meat per day ; Albinus swallowed in one morning three hundred figs, one hundred peaches, ten melons, twenty pounds U 290 ‘EXPLOITS OF GREAT EATERS. of muscat, one hundred becfigues, and forty oysters. Phagon devoured before Aurelius a wild boar, a hog, a sheep, and one hundred : loaves, and drank a pipe of wine. Domitius, an African, and Audebonte, King of England, died at table from eating too much. Roman history furnishes us with several ex- amples of extraordinary: drinkers, which it is amusing to quote at table. Women even ad- dicted themselves to wine ; and there have been those who, at every health they drank, drank as many draughts as there were letters in their names. Peson was made Pretor by Tiberius for having drank for three nights running. Flaccus obtained the province of Syria for a similar exploit. Novellus took down at one draught three large measures of wine, in pre- sence of the same emperor. Marshal Villiers had a Swiss soldier under him who was an enormous eater. ‘The Marshal one day had him brought before him, and asked him, how many rounds of beef he could eat? “Ah! Monica ae I can eat a great many, five or six at least.” ‘ And -how many legs of mutton ?” ‘ Legs of mutton ! not many, seven or eight.” “ And ducks?” ‘Oh! ducks, not many—a dozen.” ‘ And pigeons?” “Oh! as regards pigeons, Monseigneur, not many, EXIT OF A CELEBRATED GOURMAND. 291 forty, perhaps fifty, according to appetite.” «¢ And larks—how many of them can you eat ?” “* Larks, Monseigneur,” replied the Swiss, ‘< for ever.” RUSE DE GUERRE GOURMANDE. M. Bailli de Suffrein being at Achem, in India, a deputation from the town came to ask an audience of him at the very moment he had begun to dine. As he was a genuine gourmand and did not like to be troubled at his meals, he had recourse to the following pleasantry to get rid of the deputation. He sent a messenger to announce to it, that there was an article of the Christian religion which expressly prohibited all Christians, during the time they were at table, to do any thing but eat, that function itself being of the greatest importance. ‘The depu- tation, on receiving this intelligence, retired very respectfully, admiring, in very high sound- ing terms, the extreme devotion of the French general. TRAGIC DEATH OF A CELEBRATED GOURMAND. Ainsi finit Vatel, victime déplorable, . Dont parleront long-tems les fastes de la table. _ The following letter from Madame Sévigné u2 : 992 TRAGIC END OF A GOURMAND. to Madame Grignan gives an account of this event :— ‘The king arrived on Thursday evening. The promenade, the collation in a place stud- ded with jonquilles—every thing was as could be wished. They supped; there were some tables where roasted meats were absent, in consequence of several dinners being wanting which had not been attended to. This affected Vatel. He repeated several times, “ I have lost my honour; this I can never get over.” He said to Gourville, ‘‘ My head turns, I have not slept for the last twelve nights; assist me in giving orders.” Gourville comforted him as much as he could. The roast which had been wanting, not at the table of the king, but at the twenty-fifth, was always uppermost in his mind. Gourville told this to the prince. They even went into Vatel’s apartment, and said to him, “ Vatel, all’s right; nothing could be more magnificent than the king’s supper.” He replied, ‘“‘ Monseigneur, your kindness .over- ; comes me. I know that the ré¢i was wanting at two tables.” <‘‘ Not-at all,” said the prince ; ‘* don’t be uneasy, every thing goes on well.” Midnight arrives. The few d’artifice does not succeed ; it was covered with a cloud; it cost sixteen thousand francs. About four o'clock TRAGIC END OF A GOURMAND. 293 in the morning Vatel goes all over the house, and finds every one asleep. He meets a little purveyor, who only brings him two loads of marée; he asks him, “Is that all?” =“ Yes, Sir,” was the reply. He was not aware that Vatel had sent to every seaport town. Vatel waits a little—the other pur- veyors do not arrive—he gets in a rage—he thought there was no other marée. He goes to Gourville, and says to him, “Sir, I shall never survive this affront.” Gourville laughed at him. Vatel goes up to his room, places his sword against the door, and passes it in that manner through his heart; but it was only on the third attempt that he succeeded, for he gave himself two wounds which were not mortal. He fell down dead. At length the marée ar- rives from all quarters, and Vatel is sought for every where to distribute it. They go to his room, knock, break in the door, and find him swimming in his blood. They run to the prince, who is in despair. The duke wept; it was upon Vatel that the journey to Bourgogne entirely depended. ‘The prince in tears informs the king. It was attributed to the force of his peculiar honour. He was much praised— and his courage was both lauded and blamed. 294 OLD CHEESE, &c. OLD CHEESE. “ On a senti de loin cet énorme fromage, Qui doit tout son mérite aux outrages du temps.” A German named Martin Schookins wrote a work on this kind of cheese, entitled De Aver- stone Casei. We have not been able to pro- curé this book, which to us would have been very acceptable. This brings to our memory another German of whom we have read, who had written a large book on citron zest. This, indeed, is the very essence of art and talent. “< Le fromage,” says the French proverb, “ est le biscuit des wrognes.” Rotten cheese toasted is the ne plus ultra of a refined taste—those who eat it are not without a maggot in their head. ‘Those who like it may use it. | FERSONAL VEXATIONS. 295 CHAPTER XIV. PERSONAL VEXATIONS ; OR, THE MISERIES OF DINING ABROAD, AS WELL AS AT HOME. O ye unfortunate eaters and drinkers, who neither breakfast nor dine every day regularly ! whoever, misérables diables, you may be, or what- - ever may be your sufferings; you who arrogate to yourselves a species of sovereignty of pain, because you have an ever craving appetite—do you imagine that all the throbs or palpitations of torture, and all the anguish of despair, belong exclusively to yourselves? It seems as if you were so fatigued with the unequal struggle that you have to sustain against the storms of life, and the grumblings of your stomach, that one even sees you shudder at the representation alone of those simulated outrages, which wring your hearts with sorrow, and cause you 296 PERSONAL VEXATIONS. to shed as many tears as would inundate a theatre from the pit to the gallery. Well— read the following lesson attentively, and you will see a spectacle still more afflicting ; or, rather, put on all your courage to view with a dry eye this imposing mass of calamities, which falls at once upon a class of individuals accus- tomed to make at least three regular meals a day. Forced, as it were, to renounce the monopoly of affliction which you had portioned out to yourselves for such a length of time, you will impartially put your misfortunes into the same balance with theirs. You will reproach them with those I am about to submit to your judg- ment, and by distilling from the comparison a healing balm to cauterize your deepest wounds, you will at last learn to know the mildness of your destiny, compared with the racking pains daily experienced by your adversaries, those martyrs of the industrious caprice of mis- fortunes of every kind. Read, reflect, and shudder. | I. You are a bachelor; you return home to dress to go to town to dine; you find out you have lost the key of the street door, and then are obliged to call in the aid of the locksmith, or to break in the porte. : DINNER MISERIES. 297 II. To wash and shave with cold water, when the thermometer stands at the freezing point. III. Dressing by candlelight—at the moment you are tying your cravat, out goes the last inch of candle in the house, and to be obliged to finish dressing in the dark. IV. To be obliged to pass by the servant at the moment she is sweeping the staircase, and to get all over dust, because you have not time to wait. V. To take a hackney-coach, that you may keep yourself clean, and on getting out of the coach, to place your foot in a heap of mud, which covers your shoes, and then to be reduced to the necessity of wiping them with your pocket handkerchief. VI. Having arrived in a hurry, although a little too late, and as hungry as a hunter, in the expectation of finding the guests already seated at table, to pass the dining-room, and see that the cloth is not even laid. VII. On arriving in the saloon, where all the guests are assembled, you salute the host, and, after paying a well-turned compliment to the mistress of the house, you sit down precipitately upon an arm chair, and almost kill the cat she but a few minutes before had been smothering with caresses. 298 MISERIES OF DINING ABROAD. VIII. To have forgotten your snuff-box, when one cannot do without it, and no one pre- sent takes snuff. IX. To come out without a pocket handker- chief, on a cold winter’s day, when you have a violent cold in the head. X. At table, to be placed at one end between two little boys, about the age of ten, whilst the most cheerful guests are sitting at the other end, among beautiful ladies. XI. To be regaled during the dinner with the agreeable and polite noise of the master and the mistress of the house alternately scolding their servants, calling them names, and being called upon to be the judge between them. XII. After having been as hungry as a hawk the whole morning, you perceive, as you are about to sit down to table, that your appe- tite has all at once disappeared. XIII. To be forced to eat potatoes, or pie- crust, when you are no longer hungry. XIV. To be suddenly informed, by your palate, instead of owing the discovery to the olfactory nerves, that the last oyster you swallowed was rather too far gone to recal it. XV. To eat too fast, and without thinking to use the knife instead of the fork (a@ [An- glaise), lose the road to your mouth, and MISERIES OF DINING ABROAD. 299 wound your cheek with a ee knife (a la Francaise ). XVI. To break a tumbler or wine glass, with the end of the bottle or decanter, while you are in the act of replacing the latter. XVII. In taking soup, to feel a hair in your mouth, which, in proportion as you draw it out, it lengthens, and tickles your lips. XVIII. Eating a poached egg, feel your bread meet with a certain resistance in the interior of the shell, in consequence of its con- taining a little half-formed and_ half-cooked chicken. XIX. To detect, in a mouthful of leg of mutton, a clove of garlic, when you loathe this vegetable. XX. A small pebble having got itself in- erusted in a piece of soft bread, and which you have not perceived, to cranch it between your teeth with so much violence, that it causes the most excruciating pain, and extorts from you, at the same time, some horrid oath. XXI. The small bone of a herring, or of a carp, sticking in your palate, you try all you can to get it up by coughing and spitting; at . length your stomach revolts, and you serve up your dinner again in rather an unusual way. 300 UNCOMFORTABLE THINGS. XXII. After having officiously offered to carve a fowl, to see yourself obliged to acknow- ledge that you don’t know how, and that before twenty witnesses, whose eyes, during your awkward efforts, are continually fixed upon you. XXIII. After having eaten, if not swallow- ed, a cherry, a black-heart, or a strawberry, to discover by the taste that you have unfor- tunately been unintentionally the death of some poor unhappy maggot that had been shut up in it. XXIV. A pear, which, after being peeled, seems as if it would melt in your mouth, de- ceives you, and breaks one of your teeth, be- cause you did not take the necessary precau- tion to prelude upon it with a knife, instead of biting it. XXV. Having discoursed during dinner with well-informed people, and to recollect, at tea-time, that you made two grammatical errors in combatting their assertions. XXVI. After having risen from table, to stoop with too much precipitancy to pick up a lady’s glove, you knock your head against the arm of the chair, on which she is seated ; and, on getting up again, you give another a blow on the stomach with your head, after having felt UNCOMFORTABLE THINGS. 301 your tight pantaloons give way, when you have no drawers on. XXVII. To point an epigram against a lady who dances, by addressing one’s self to a gentle- man whom we are, too late, informed is her bro- ther, her husband, or her lover. XXVIII. To dance a country-dance with shoes that hurt you, or with shoes too large, and to leave one in the middle of the saloon, and at the same time to discover that your stockings are full of holes. XXIX. During the first quadrille, or country dance, with a young and pretty dancer, (the mistress of the house, for instance,) to be taken with a severe and unyielding cholic, the tardy and unexpected effect of some purgative pills, which you now recollect to have taken in the morning. XXX. Being very hot, to wipe your face with your pocket handkerchief, without recol- lecting the accident in the hackney-coach, and to perceive, on approaching a glass, two abreast, that one of your eyes is full of dirt, which you wipe off with your kid gloves, and with which you soil those of your partner, when you take her by the hand. XXXI. To disturb your false collar in raising up your cravat; to be forced to do 302 =MISERIES OF STOPPING OUT LATE. penance at some innocent game, to take off your coat, and to expose a coarse dirty shirt, full of holes about the shoulders. XXXII. To excuse one’s self from taking the hand of another who plays at loo, and upon a re- iterated and pressing invitation, to see one’s self forced to acknowledge, quite loud, that you have left your purse at home upon the chimney- piece. XXXII. Wanting to go away, but cannot find your chapeau. XXXIV. Lastly, to return Kuss at two o'clock in the morning, wet and dirty, because you have not been able to procure a coach ; to find you have got the devil’s own appetite, in consequence of coming away before supper; to be obliged to wait a quarter of an hour at the street door, before you are let in; when you do get in, there is no light, and you break the wash-hand basin, with all its appurtenances, which are upset: you can’t find your night-shirt ; the bed is not made; the blankets are too short, and leave your shoulders uncovered ; being thus exposed to the cold, you pull up the clothes, and uncover your feet; you then knock and kick about, trying to put things to right, and, hooking in the curtains, pull down the top of the bed upon your head ; lose your MISERIES OF AN H. P. 303 equilibrium, and tumble out in the middle of the floor, with the mattrass, bed clothes, &c. and upset the table with your watch upon it; at length you succeed, by dint of groping, to lay your hand upon the tinder-box, you strike a light, but find no matches; get into bed again, as well as you can, in the dark, and during the remainder of the night, never once close your eyes for cold, anda violent head-ach ; at the same time, you are agreeably charmed with a neighbour in the adjoining room, ‘ driving his pigs to market,*” who has gone to sleep upon a hearty supper. XXXV. A half-pay officer, short of the mopusses, and expecting your agent to discount you a bill, or advance you a sum of money on Saturday, and no misake, you meet an old friend on the Friday, whom you invite to dine on the Sunday. Your agent, for reasons best known to himself, and not unknown probably to you, thinks proper to leave town on Friday evening, not to return till the beginning of the week. Your credit being exhausted, you are unable to raise the wind. Sunday comes—the hour appointed arrives—you have only a scrag of mutton, or a piece of musty bacon: a rat-tat announces your friend, wife, and probably a * Snoring. 304 MISERIES OF AN H. P son or daughter accompanying them, antici- pating the pleasures and comforts of your hos- pitality. You have told the servant, if you keep one, or the char-woman, should she have been retained for the purpose, to say that, late the preceding evening, both yourself and amiable consort were unexpectedly summoned to the country, at the earnest solicitation of a much beloved and dying relation. Surprised at this intelligence, not so much on account of the dis- appointment, as at the sorrowful tidings, your friend casts his eyes upwards, as if in sympathy with your materially distressed feelings, when, to the most mortifying chagrin it could be possible for you or any one else, under similar — circumstances, to experience, he twigs you full in the face, looking through the curtain at an angle of the window—while, at the very same moment, his little girl, about six or seven years of age, who happens to be coming in at the back door, sees you, and, as loud as her little lungs will allow her, she vociferates—“ O Ma! O Pa! here’s Mr. and Mrs. Thingummy come to see us !” COMPENSATIONS, &c. 305 CHAPTER XV. COMPENSATIONS.——CONSOLATIONS, AND OBLIGATIONS. Notwitustanpine the many miseries to which our convives are liable to be exposed, as may be seen by a brief enumeration of some of the principal ones laid down in our last and pre- ceeding chapters, there is always, thank our stars, some mode of being compensated. The fate of individuals who have sufficient wit and talent to get themselves daily invited to dinner is not quite so agreeable as at first sight may appear; since they are frequently forced to put up with the foolery and caprices of those with whom they dine without grumbling. But (as one of the most celebrated wits of the seventeenth century has said) they get accus- tomed to it at last. d,6 306 INSEPARABLES. Besides, people of middling circumstances become weary only for the most part, because they themselves habitually get tired. Ennui is a contagion; it is either caught, or commu- nicated like a pestilence. Amuse them then when you dine at their table: it is your pro- vince. Entertain them with fooleries ; put your- self on a level with them—you will give them neither wit nor understanding, because miracles have long ceased—but you will be able to per- suade them that they have both, and they will not have much trouble in believmg you. In short, should they not become friendly, you will see it in the long run; by the assistance of their dinners, which, if not agreeable, may at least be supportable. It is then, that, astonished at their own metamorphosis, they will perceive that they owe all their gaiety to their hosts, in consequence of the new charm of existence you have communicated to them. They will no longer be able to do without you; you will become as necessary to them as the air they breathe. Invitations will shower down upon you from all quarters, and the inviters will be obliged to say to the invited, ‘* you and us, we cannot do without each other—it is impossible for us to live apart.” 307 THE BOTTLE IMPS, A COLLECTION OF GOURMAND RECEIPTS. Epicurism is not confined to solids alone ; it is indeed more exquisitely mixed up for the palate in the fluid form: for in this shape how many choice products may not be chemically blended, to steep the senses in joyful oblivion, or to rouse the brow of care from its loathed me- lancholy ! Let us now mitre a BISHOP. Among the “Oxford night-caps,” bishop appears to be one of the oldest winter beverages on record, and to this very day is preferred to every other, not only by the youthful votary of Bacchus, at his evening revelry, but also by the grave Don by way of a night-cap. It is not improbable that this celebrated drink, equally known to our continental neighbours under the somewhat similar name of bischof, derived its name from the circumstance of ancient dignitaries of the church, when they honoured the university with a visit, being regaled with spiced wine. From a work published some years ago, and entitled ‘* Oxoniana, or Anecdotes of the Univer- sity of Oxford,” it appears that, in the rolls or accounts of some colleges of ancient foundation, GP 308 TO MAKE BISHOP. a sum of money is frequently met with charged “< mro speciebus,” that is, for spices used in their entertainments ; for in those days, as well as the present, spiced wine was a very fashionable beverage. , In the computus of Magstoke Priory, anno 1447, is the following curious entry :—‘ Item pro vino cretico cum speciebus et confectis datis diversis generosis in die sancti Domjsit quando le fole domini Montfordes erat hic, et facerat jocositates, suas in camera orioli.” “ Vinum creticum,” is supposed to be raisin wine, or wine made of dried grapes, and the meaning of the whole seems to be this :— _ Paid for raisin wine, with comfits and spices, when Sir S'. Monford’s fool was here and exhibited his merrements m the oriel chamber.” RECEIPT, OR RECIPE, TO MAKE BISHOP. Make several incisions into the rind of a lemon; stick cloyes in these incisions, and roast the said lemon by the fire. Put small but equal quantities of cinnamon, mace, cloves, and all- spice, and a race of ginger, into a saucepan, with half a pint of water; let it boil until it be reduced one half. Boil one bottle of port wine ; FLEETWOOD FLETCHER’S POSsET. 309. burn a portion of the spirit out of it, by applying a lighted paper to the saucepan which contains it. Put the roasted lemons and spice into the wine; stir it up well, and let it stand near the fire ten minutes. Rub a few nobs of sugar on the rind of a lemon; put the sugar into a bowl or jug, with the juice of half a lemon, (not roasted) pour the wine upon it, sweeten it to your taste, and serve it up with the lemon and spice floating in it. Oranges, although not used in bishop, at Oxford, are, as will appear by the following lines, written by Swift, sometimes introduced into that beverage :— “¢ Fine oranges, Well roasted, with sugar and wine in a cup, They’ll make a sweet bishop when gentlefolks sup.” When this is put upon the table, there are few, we imagine, who would be found to say, _ Nolo episcopari,” not even the Bishop. of London himself. SIR FLEETWOOD FLETCHER’S SACK POSSET. From fam’d Barbadoes, on the western main, Fetch sugar, ounces four ; fetch sack trom Spain, A pint ; and from the eastern coast, Nutmeg, the glory of our northern toast ; 310 PUNCH, SWIG. O’er flaming coals let them together heat, Till the all-conquering sack dissolve the sweet. O’er such another fire put eggs just ten, New born from tread of cock and rump of hen ; Stir them with steady hand, and conscience pricking, To see the untimely end of ten fine chicken ; From shining shelf take down the brazen skillet ; A quart of milk from gentle cow will fill it ; When boiled and cold, put milk and sack to eggs, Unite them firmly, like the triple leagues ; And on the fire let them together dwell, Till miss sing twice—you must not kiss and tell : Each lad and lass take up a silver spoon, And fall on fiercely like a starved dragoon. PUNCH. Of punch* we shall say nothing further, than, as the chaplain in Jonathan Wild observes, it is a much better orthodox liquor than wine, for there is not a word spoken against it in the Scriptures. SWIG. The wassail bowl, or swig, as it is termed at Jesus College, in the university of Oxford, is of considerable antiquity, and up to this time itis a great favourite with the sons of Cambria ; so much so, indeed, that a party seldom dines or sups in that college without its forming part * Dr. Cheyne was the only man cruel enough to anathema- tize it—quere—the reason ? WASSAIL-BOWL, OR CUP. 311 of their entertainment. On the festival of St. David’s, Cambria’s tutelary saint, an immense silver gilt bowl, containing ten gallons, and which was presented to Jesus College by Sir Watkin William Wynne, in 1732, is filled with swig, and handed round to those who are invited on that occasion to sit at their festive and hospit- able board. . It is mannfactured at that college as fol- lows :— Put half a pound of Lisbon sugar into a bowl; pour on it one pint of warm:beer; grate a nutmeg, and some ginger into it; add four glasses of sherry, and five additional pints of beer; stir it well; sweeten it to your taste; let it stand covered up two or three hours ; then put three or four slices of bread, cut thin and roasted brown, into it, and it is fit for use. Sometimes a couple or three slices of lemon, and afew lumps of loaf sugar, rubbed on the peeling of a lemon, are introduced. Bottle off this mixture, and in a few days it may be drank in a state of effervescence. THE WASSAIL-BOWL, OR CUP. This was formerly prepared in nearly the same manner as at present, excepting that 312 RUDSTONE’S POSSET. roasted apples, or crab-apples, were intro- duced, instead of toasted bread. And up to the present period, in some parts of this kingdom, _ there are persons who keep up the ancient custom of regaling their friends and neighbours on Christmas Eve and Twelfth Eve with a wassail-bowl, with roasted apples floating in it; and which is generally ushered in with great ceremony. Shakespeare alludes to the wassail- bowl, when he says, in his Midsummer Night's Dream,— *¢ Sometimes I lurk in a gossip’s bowl, In very likeness of a roasted crab ; And when she drinks, against her lips I bob, And on her wither’d dew-lap pour the ale.” MASTER RUDSTONE’S POSSET. We.can recommend this posset as a cheap and pleasant beverage, equally nutritious and light, and calculated to. sit well on delicate stomachs. Take sack (says the original, but we say brandy ) one pint, a quarter of a pint of ale, three quarters of a pound of sugar; boil all these well together. (If brandy be used instead of sack, act accordingly); take two yolks of eggs, and sixteen whites, very well beaten ; SACK POSSETS. 313 add these, and mix them well with the boiling liquor ; then take three pints of milk or cream, being boiled to a quart: let it now stand and cool, till the eggs thicken ; put it to your sack and eggs, and stir them well together; then cover it with a plate, and so serve it. SIR WALTER RALEIGH’S SACK POSSET. Boil a quart of cream, with a quantum sufficit of sugar, mace, and nutmeg; take half a pint of sack, and the same quantity of ale, and boil them well together, adding sugar; these being boiled separately, are now to be added. Heat a pewter dish very hot, and cover your bason with it, and let it stand by the fire for two or three hours.—Prob. est. LADY MALLET’S SACK POSSET, WITHOUT MILK OR CREAM. Take eighteen eggs, whites and all, remoy- ing the ¢reads ; let them be well beaten toge- ther; then take a pint of cold, and a quart of boiled sack, which, being skimmed, three quar- ters of a pound of sugar, and a little nutmeg ; boil them all together a little; then remove them from the fire, stirring them all the while; add the fluid to the eggs gradually, then mix 314 DUCHESS OF ST. ALBANS. all together; keep stirring it on the fire till it becomes sufficiently thick to serve.-—Ditto. LADY MALLET’S CORDIAL WATER. Take a pound of fine sugar, and beat it up with a quart of running water; strain it three or four times through a bag, then add to it a a pint of damask rose water, which must be passed through the strainer; then add clove water and rosa-solis water, of each half a pint ; one pint of cinnamon water, or three pints and a half of aqua-vitee (brandy), according to your taste; strain all thesethree or four times ; then take half an ounce of good muskallis, and cut them crossly, and put them into a glass, and fill them with water. THE ALE OF HEALTH AND STRENGTH, BY THE DUCHESS OF ST. ALBANS. Take Sagsaitas. 2.45 :s0s bc sues one ener 2 ounce Sarsaparilla <4. c'isceesaoe eee 3 ounces White: Saunders <20.0...00). 5). eam 1 ounce Chamapition (; .5.,isicpleals ace alee s 1 ounce Mace . 2 ons’ Wiest nips eee + ounce Cut the woods as thin as possible with a knife, and bruise them in a mortar; then add the following herbs :— Cowslip-flowers, Roman wormwood, of each KITCHENER’S PRACTICE. 315 a handful; sage, rosemary, betony, mugwort, balm, sweet marjoram, of each a handful; boil all these in six gallons of ale till reduced to four ; then put the wood and herbs into six gal- lons of ale of the second wort, and boil down to four ; let it run from the dregs, and put your ale all together, and turn it, as other ale that works. e.g. @. 2%. DR. KITCHINER’S CORDIAL. It would be an injustice to the memory of one of the most ambitious Amphitrions of our own day, were we, in a work that treats upon and extols good living to the skies, not to say something of good Master Kitchiner and his warm heart (requiescat in pace ). Dr. Kitchiner’s practice, it is well known, never extended beyond the precincts of his dining-room and much vaunted kitchen ; he ransacked, en théorie, the Almanach des Gourmands from beginning to end, and back again. This was the oracle he consulted, and which gave some popularity to his shop works; but for his best productions, every- thing, in fact, either ingenious or witty in them, he owes to the metamorphosed pages of this French periodical. The Cook’s Oracle 316 ORIGIN OF THE ‘COOK’S ORACLE, &C. is the gleanings and revivifications of obsolete extravagant and burlesqued cookery, which, like Monsieur Udes olla-podrida translation of “La CuistntrrE Bovurcerotsz,” God knows how old ; there never was the least occasion to supersede. Yet his heart was warm enough ; he was a bon, though a short, vivant, a boon companion, and whose belly, to use the words of Persius,* appeared to be the fountain of his genius. Still it is surprising that a man of his long declining state of health, should have assumed so much punctilio on the order and variety of dishes, as he is said to have done, the plurality of which, it is well known, are owtré- seasoned and extremely piquants; as well as in his drinks, which are extravagant and capi- teux, if we may take, what he has ycleped his “ warm heart” as a specimen :—or rather as a fac-simile,—en gros :— 8. dy 9 Lemons.........+ ae kialats yee FAIR 1 6 4 Quarts of Milk ....... ihe a Kee ES ¢ 1 4 1 Pint. of Proof Spirit.c.. ...5 2-08 = 3.6 1 ‘Quart of Syrup sc. sis.e' eens siete 4 0 3 Bottles of Brandy’ ....0 0202. .0 6% 18 0 3 Bottles of Rum.........6: ie Cea! 9 0 2. Ditto Wine x «sch saseoee eee 9. 2 £2 6 6 * ¢ Tngenii largitor venter !” KITCHINER’S WARM HEART. 317 _ “¢ These ingredients should yield about fifteen common sized wine bottles, the cost of which is computed as above ; at which rate, it costs little more than three shillings a bottle: it is made in two days, after which it is ready to go down the ‘red lane, and will keep good for several months; but liquors impregnated with lemon-peel do not improve by age, as the fine taste given by lemon-peel, flies off, the flavour of them fades. We cannot, therefore, in justice recommend Kitchiner’s Ollapodrida, and would, therefore, with submission, to the ‘Committee of Taste,’ propose the following, as a substitute in prefer- ence, as a fit occasional ‘ cheerer 7° — TOMY itis ge bi Pack dy RES Ee ey - 135 quartern ee ee ee eeee 4 quartern MM OMOROT Se oe a ose sete ees 1 pint Juice of one lemon Se ee eee 2 ounces M.F. two glasses of punch, viz.—Dissolve the sugar in the water—to which add the lemon-juice, then the spirits. A wine-glassful of port, may not be an unpleasant addition—this will just keep long enough for use—and may be repeated on the spot, as often as necessary.” The preceding and such like recipes for cordials, are as numerous as they are heady, unsalutary, 318. GROG. and expensive. Their inventors have little post- humous merit for them. They are only disguised potions at best—delusive in the use, and expen- sive in procuring them. Simple mixtures are preferable, more pleasing, most salutary, and least expensive. Liquor that stands in need of so many auxiliaries or aides-de-camp, to make it go down the ‘main-hatchway, must, ‘ as it may be,’ have something very suspicious ‘or rotten at the bottom,—that is to say,—there is ‘a screw loose, ‘*in the state of Denmark;” or, to use a nautical phrase, ‘it is either out of its latitude,” or at best, wants ‘a pilot to carry it over the bar.” Give us then, plain grog,—made from the real stuff,—i.e. old Jamaica—ditto Cogniac—ditto Whiskey—ditto any thing else of the same sort o'thing that’s good: For grog is the liquor of life, The delight of each bold British tar , It banishes sorrow and strife, And softens the hardships of war. Old Song. MAXIMS FOR GOURMANDS. 319 CHAPTER XVI. THE GOURMAND MAXIMS AND MEDICINES. Tue best constructed machines, and even those that work the most regular, will occasion- ally become deranged: when this is the case, they must be put in immediate repair. We shall further premise this chapter, by the fol- lowing statical observations on diet, from which every gourmand may draw his own inference. 1. It has been discovered that the body per- spires but little, while the stomach is too full, or too empty ; that full diet is prejudicial to those who use little exercise, but indispensably necessary to those who labour much : that food, the weight of which is not felt in the stomach, nourishes best and most freely. 2. That he who goes to bed without being hungry, will perspire but little ; and, if he does so often, will be apt to fall into a fever.— Doubtful. 320 MAXIMS FOR GOURMANDS. 3. That the flesh of young animals, good mutton, and bread well baked, are the best food.— Where are they always to be had ? 4. That the body feels heavier after four ounces of strong food that nourishes much, such as pork, eels, salt-fish, or flesh, than after six ounces of food that nourishes little, such as " fresh fish, chickens, and small birds; for, where the digestion is difficult, the perspiration is slow.— Try mutton chops. 5. That unusual feasting, frequently repeat- ed, brings on a bad state of health. 6. That the body is more uneasy and heavy after siv pounds taken m at one meal, than after eight taken in at three.—Bon. 7. That he destroys himself slowly who eats but once a-day, let him eat much or little— Fudge ! 8. That he who eats more than he can digest, is nourished less than he ought to be, and so becomes emaciated.—Quere. 9. That to eat immediately after excessive exercise, either of body or mind, is bad; for a body fatigued, perspires but little.—N’importe. 10. People of gross habits and feverish con- stitutions should eat sparingly. 11. Food highly seasoned with pungent con- diments corrupts the humours. a APERIENT PROVOCATIVES. 321 12. Wine, moderately used, induces sleep, and increases perspiration ; when drunk to ex- cess, it lessens both. Provocatives, of the aperient kind, may rouse a dormant appetite, that has been lulled by re- pletion and a gross habit of body. By provo- eatives we would not be understood to mean excitants, but provocatives, as we have stated, of the aperient kind; such, for instance, may be termed those medicines, which unload the bowels from their contents, when too long re- tained. For this purpose any gentle purge will answer the purpose, provided the effect be pro- duced ; and it does not leave a tendency to cos- tiveness behind, which is usually the case when cathartics or over doses of aperient medicines are taken. ‘The following pills,* which are strongly recommended by an eminent physician, will answer this purpose effectually :— Take—Fine Turkey Rhubarb .......... 4 drachm Ginger in powder ..i+.......00- 6 grains MYLO MUSH es ce eee e sc eeetace 2 drops Make into six pills; take two upon an empty stomach—they will operate gently in the fore- noon, and leave you with an appetite fit to * See a valuable little work on Nervous Affections, &c. by Dr. Stevenson. Y 322 PRE-EMINENCE OF RHUBARB. do.justice to anything set before it :—one after a hearty, or gross meal, greatly assists digestion. One constantly restores the tone, and invigorates the tenor of the stomach and bowels. In these cases, rhubarb stands pre-eminent. Its praises have long been sung; and in justice to: its merits we will sing them over again, in the fol- lowing strains, long metre.* ‘¢ For two nights past I’ve prov’d the fate And various turns that oft affect a state. This moment all is calm, like Apri/ morn: The next with war intestine I am torn ; My belly’s pregnant with an armed force, And groans and labours like the Trojan horse. I rise, and call my legions to my aid ; They come—but lo! of some I am afraid : In General Jalap, I can put no hope ; He’s quick ’tis true, but ’tis to run like Cope ; Picra is staunch, but then he’s old and slow, May flag, perhaps, like Wade, intrenched in snow ; Or turn, like Bath’s good Earl, and wheel about, And add more force to what we went to rout. Senna, though Alexandria gave thee birth, Though we all own and reverence thy worth, Unless with thee some kind corrector goes, Thou’rt apt to wound thy friends as well as foes. RHUBARB ! of all my troops, I’ve chosen you, Go forth ! extirpate the rebellious crew ! See with what haste he hies him to the field ; When powerful, he descends, the rebels yield ; “* Supposed to have been written by Dr. Redman, in the year 1745. IMPERIAL MARINE TINCTURE. 323 Mark how they fly ! at what amazing rate They scour before him to the postern gate, Thence rushing headlong, like the herd of swine, Thy victims fall at Cloacina’s shrine ! Hail root of Turkey ! how my bowels yearn To vent their grateful thanks from stem to stern ! Victorious rhubarb ! thy exploits in colon, From age to age shall never fail to roll on, And to reward, and do thy business right-a, We'll vote a higher price durate vita.” Among the admirable medicinal inventions of the day, none, we apprehend, are more likely to stamp itself with more permanent fame than the following, which it would be an injustice not to notice in these pages; particularly after such decided proofs have been afforded us of its efficacy :—-we mean, Dr. Stevenson’s Imperial Marine Tincture and Pills; specifics for the prevention and cure of sea-sickness, intoxica- tion, vomiting, and morning sickness of pregnant ladies; morning retchings and sick head-ache, caused by the intemperate use of malt and spirituous liquors; bilious vomitings, indiges- tions, nervous complaints, &c. Such are the boasted properties of these medicines, though in a manner scatcely known to the public; still, ample, well-authenticated, and respectable tes- timony is afforded of the decided efficacy of the tincture in sea-sickness, intoxication, morning xy 2 324 SEA-SICKNESS. sickness of ladies, and sick head-ache ; because it produces its effect in a few minutes. To gourmands of the bottle, and those who like a drop on the sly, a preparation of this nature must possess considerable attractions, in various points of view ; since ‘*‘'The Imperial Marine Tincture,’ possesses the astonishing power of removing (sobering) the unpleasant and often dangerous effects of excessive intoxication, in the course of a few minutes, by utterly destroy- ing and rendering inert the inebriating qualities of spirituous liquors—the very smell of which, however large the quantity taken, it completely dissipates.” And it is the only immediate cure for sea-sickness, which has hitherto bafiled every attempt, even at palliation. Indeed, there is not, perhaps, in the whole catalogue of the diseases to which the ‘flesh is heir,” for the time it continues, a more distressing affection, and one less liable to commiseration, than sea- sickness ; how many fatal instances have occur- red from the violence with which both sexes have been attacked by it; and how many have been, and continue to be deterred from travell- ing on the water, either for business, health, or pleasure, under the just apprehension of being beset by this loathsome intruder ; who will now be enabled to participate in all the delights of SOBERING DRAUGHTS. 325 sailing on the water, without dread, fear, or in- convenience. And, should an extra cup or two, at the festive board, have insidiously seized either the head, stomach, or legs, and produce any of hose symptoms of uneasiness, that are usual on such occasions,—it is a pleasure that they may be relieved by the same elegant prepara- tion, and that, with impunity, they may begin de novo.—The following, which we copy verbatim from the instructions, will do the needful :— IMPERIAL SOBERING DRAUGHT. Take—Imperial Marine Tincture...... 2 tea-spoonfuls Spring Water .......-.....-+« 1 wine-glassful Mix and drink.—Repeat the dose every ten minutes. The same quantity of the Tincture with half- a bottle of soda water, in a state of efferves- cence. This is the usual way in which it is pre- scribed in intoxication and sea sickness. IMPERIAL MORNING DRAUGHT. Take—Cinnamon Water .......-..... 4 ounces Imperial Marine Tincture ..... 3 tea-spoonfuls ETL AU Aide el ro eng Lear 1 table-spoonful Pte BU Gal Wisc njs's aes shes eee size of a nutmeg Mix and drink. 326 CURE OF INDIGESTION. \ This draght is ordered to in sick head-ache, sickness and craving at the stomach, nervous tremors, vomiting, from any cause, and espe- cially that to which ladies are frequently subject in the early stages of pregnancy. Hark ye! gourmands, also, that ‘¢ One box of these pills, and one bottle of the tincture, are a cure for indigestion ; by re- scoring the tone of the stomach, and promoting a healthy secretion of bile.” All we can further say of these singular medicines, to use a hacknied phrase of the nostrum mongers of the day, is, that we are sure, “a single trial will convince the most sceptical” of their just pretensions to the attri- butes they assume. We speak feelingly,—nay, from actual experience; and, as far as our knowledge at present extends, these celebrated gourmand medicines, (tincture .and pills,) are sold by Messrs. Knaggs, druggists, Piccadilly ; at No. 6, Bartholomew Square, St. Luke's; No. 85, Goswell Road, near the Angel, Isling- ton; and, perhaps, if not already, by every respectable chemist and druggist, and patent medicine vender, all over the world: * Per totam terram videmus, Grandam vogam ubi sumus. IMPERIAL MARINE PILLS. 327 Et quod grandis et petiti, Sunt de nobis infatuti : Totus mundus currens ad nostros remedios Nos regardat sicut deos ; Et nostris ordinanciis Principes et regis soumissos videtis.”’ In costiveness, and nervous and sick head- ache, from intemperance, Dr. Stevenson’s Marine Pills, are the most speedy in removing unplea- sant symptoms, and regulating the bowels. _ They operate without griping, in proportion to the dose, either as an aperient, deobstruent, or alterative. For wind on the stomach, nausea or heart- burn :— Take—*‘ Imperial Marine Tincture,’* 60 drops, or one tea-spoon- ful, in a wine glassful of spring water—sweetened to the taste with a small piece of lump sugar. This will expel the wind and vapours from the head and stomach, and produce a pleasant sensation; as well as symptoms of returning appetite. * The ‘Imperial Marine Tincture,’ is sold with the above- mentioned pill. Notwithstanding our aversion to quacks and quack medicine, we cannot in justice withhold the due meed of praise to these preparations, whose effects we have had so many opportunities of witnessing.— Med. Review. See also Bucuan’s Domestic MEpIciInE, 22d Edit. p. 591, 592. ‘ House- Book,’ or Family Chronicle of Useful Knowledge, p. 578, &c. 328 APERIENT REGULATORS. A PILL IN HABITUAI. COSTIVENESS. Take—Comp. Extract of Bitter Apples .... 10 grains Calomel ...... PLT ee best. 4 isihiiee se. grains Make a pill:—To be taken in the morning or before breakfast, as an occasional purge. STOMACHIC AND GENTLY APERIENT PILLS. Take—Socotrine Aloes ...c-2++--+e+--eeeee- | drachm Morphs wevaccus fle eee ~ £ drachm Assafostida™, ... «2 5 Lx eles, See serene eoeee § drachm Make the mass into twenty pills.—Dose, two or three occasion- ally. ‘TONIC AND GENTLY APERIENT PILLS, TO CREATE AN APPETITE. Pake—Ammoniated Tron ....).0..6.00 620000. 1 drachm Extract of Gentian ........ 00.0.8 0 .» 3 drachm Bxtract ‘of Aloes i.) ars: 6 a eee .- 1 drachm Mix, and divide the mass inte thizty pills, ef which, take two, three times a day. As the food and drink which we daily con- sume for the support of our body, necessarily must deposit much useless matter, which might prove injurious were it not removed, a daily motion of the bowels is extremely salutary, particularly in persons subject to costiveness ; and the many unpleasant consequences arising from such a habit of body ;—such, for instance, STOMACHIC PILLS. 329 as head-aches — difficult breathing—wind — spasms, &c., which produce peevishness of temper, general lassitude, and ultimately, if not obviated, hypochondriasm ; the abdomen of such persons feels tumid; the circulation of the blood in the intestinal vessels is impeded, and consequently the general circulation is inter- rupted. These are the complaints that usually attend people of a costive habit of body. We would recommend, therefore, any of the pre- ceding or following prescriptions to remove this condition. STOMACHIC AND LAXATIVE PILLS.* fA 15 grains. re 15 grains. Extract of common Aloes............ 6 grains. Extract of Camomile .............. $ drachm. Oe 8 drops. Mix, and divide into twenty pills—two to be taken about an hour before dinner. These pills are well adapted to gourmands, whose bowels are inclined to be indolent, when, necessarily the appetite must sympathise. When taken moderately andregularly withthe necessary degree of exercise, they will always keep the digestive organs in condition, and fit them at all * See Dr. Stevenson, p. 143, before quoted. 330 TRAVELLING REGULATORS. times for the discharge of their duty, whether at home or abroad. | We would recommend our travelling convives to carry a box of regulators in their pocket ; and to use the ‘ Imperial Marine Pill’ in pre- ference to all others, as the cheapest, safest, and neatest, as well as the most numerous for the money, whenever they think they have occasion for an extra move on the board. CAUSES OF INDIGESTION. 331 CHAPTER XVII. OF INDIGESTIONS OCCASIONED BY INEBRIETY, AND OTHER CAUSES, &c. Like a young girl, who suffers herself to be seduced by some gay deceiver, a guest who suffers from indigestion, is more to be pitied than blamed. In short, those who are unfor- tunate enough, after having done homage to a respectable meal, tofind themselves, before having taken coffee, forced to leave the table, indepen- dent of the sorrow they ought to feel, and to experience the accidents, more or less serious, which result from intemperance, or rather from their want of method, in the manner of eating, are much to be pitied. A skilful guest never gets intoxicated, or suffers from indigestion, unless from some accidental cause, and inde- pendent of his will, such as a bad habit of body. 332 TO AVOID INDIGESTION. Among the means of avoiding indigestion, there is one, quite simple; namely, to eat very moderately of some dishes, and to know how to pay proper respect to others. But this prescription has nothing caustic in it. In pro- posing it, we assume the air of Doctor Sangrado, in his government of Baratraria, extending his long wand over each dish, which instantly dis- appears. Do not imagine, my good readers, that we wish to preach you a sermon on abstinence. On the contrary, this long lesson is imtended to always secure you an appetite, and to point out to you the means of never losing it; for we do ‘not write for those who, having no appetite, have it no less in their power to satisfy it, but for those who, having always hunger at their command, do not know where to appease it. We shall limit ourselves here to trace out in a summary manner the art of eating well, and of digesting well, whenever an opportunity pre- sents itself. The means of avoiding indigestion are the result both of theory and practice. The first consist in examining well the nature of the food, and the strength of the stomach destined to re- ceive it. It is in some measure the action of the LADIES AND LABOURERS FARE. 833 one, and the reaction of the other, which consti- tute a good or bad digestion. Besides, there are antipathies of the stomach, of which no account can be rendered ; but you must keep an exact account in order not to ex- pose this useful servant from receiving lodgers with which it cannot agree. It has been said that a man at forty is either a fool or a physician ; the meaning of which is, that the experience that he has acquired up to that time, ought to inform him whether or not the stomach stands in need of a heavy, a tena- cious, or a light kind of nourishment—one of an aromatic, a vegetable, or animal nature. There are stomachs which must be ballasted at the same time they are fed; and those, honest de- puties, sent yearly from Limoges to Paris, to build passages and palaces, will tell you that they prefer rye bread, because it sticks to the ribs. A young, delicate lady, on the contrary, lives only on wings of poultry, and other dainty mor- sels ; and the reason for this difference of regimen is founded on the different course of their lives. The one rises with the sun, fatigued by continual exercise, devours, at meal-time, which is impa- tiently expected, a coarse bread, watered by the sweat of his brow, and exhales a part of his 334 MEANS OF EXERCISE. digestion by means of the insensible perspiration: the other, sleeps till mid-day, and gets up weary with the very means of rest, and reposes her- self from her past state of inaction by a new spe- cies of indolence; she neither knows the plea- sures of fatigue, nor the delights of hunger ; and even digestion itself, every thing, with her, is the result of art. Do you wish then to prepare your digestion ? Take a walk in dry weather, when exercise is indispensable with you; do not fatigue your- self; the fresh air, combined with loco-motion, will furnish you with muscular energy, and for- tify the whole system, by giving it that oscilla- tory movement, which mixes and purifies the fluids, invigorates the solids, raises the appetite, and prepares it to be well satisfied. The cele- brated Tronchin prescribed to the young noble- men of his day, to scrub their apartment, and more than one incurable indigestion yielded to this active recipe. Such people have many means of taking exer- cise; tennis, billiards, riding, fencing, &c.; so have the poor, such as walking, running, dancing, skipping, and those connected with their trade or calling. Why then should not the rich and the poor make a temporary exchange, by which they would reciprocally be benefited? TO CURE INDIGESTION. 335 Let the rich man relieve the wants of the poor, who will teach him the value of exercise. Would the former blush, indeed, to dig the earth which supports him, or to cut down and saw the wood that warms him? And if, after having, for his health and amusement, executed a part of the task of the indigent, who would repose himself by his side, pouring out his blessings upon him, if he were not to quit him without slipping a piece of money into his hand; he would soon acknowledge that he sat down to his dinner with that loyal appetite which always results from useful fatigue; at the same time he would be actuated with the pleasing recollection of having done a good action. Such, then, are the only means of avoiding indigestion. We shall now say something on the means of curing this modern bugbear. Notwithstanding all the preceding precau- tions, it frequently happens, either from neg- lecting these rules, particular disposition, anti- pathy for certain meats, or, indeed, from excesses or the bad quality of the food, the stomach, too much distended, or tormented with cholic or remorse, can no longer re-act upon itself: a painful sense of oppression succeeds that hila- rity which animated the coloured face of a guest who has sufficiently satisfied himself; the 336 TREATMENT OF INTOXICATED GUESTS. fumes of the viands excite nausea; wine itself, by means of which one endeavours to promote digestion, only inspires disgust ; vapours arise from the over-heated stomach, and threaten a speedy eruption ; the lava runs: it is now time to throw water on the flames; but take care how you use tea; this fatal and favourite potion (with the English in particular) sets the nerves on edge, and irritates the whole animal economy. Here it is the remedy you employ which aggravates the disease. As regards intoxication, it would be a deli- cate subject indeed for us to handle, for the very simple reason that few people are really acquainted with its causes, effects, and results, which one is almost always disposed to confound with drunkenness.* If intoxication were to pro- duce no other effect than that of depriving one momentarily of their reason, of exciting a tempo- rary effervescence, and afterwards: of provoking sleep, the inconvenience would be trifling ; but serious accidents are the ordinary consequences of such a state. Not only does it absorb and attack all the intellectual faculties, but it paralyses the * We hope not to promote this: vice, by the information our readers have received. relative to the ‘* Imperial Marine Tinc- ture,’’ which. absolutely, in the course of a few minutes, dis- intoxicates any individual labouring under the excessive influence of spirits. SUGGESTIONS FOR A VOMITORY. 33] most solid physical qualities. The head be- comes heavy, memory flies, the sight is troubled, the legs totter, the hands shake; an internal fire lacerates and devours them; they are in- capacitated for any thing ; they are plunged, as it were, into the most uncomfortable condition that can be possibly imagined—they are, in short, completely paralysed both in body and mind: and God knows to what a pitiful plight such a condition may lead to after an excellent dinner, where many amiable ladies may be present. Guests never get fuddled ! We do not here mean to reprehend those little indulgences granted to the rosy god which, seldom permitted, reanimate the play of the system; but their re-action only suits those ° vigorous stomachs whose energies are, at least, equal to those df the healthly labourer. The ancients, who, in affairs of the kitchen, as in those of literature, in gluttony as in sobriety, have left us great examples and useful lessons, thought that the establishment of a vomitoriwm (or vomitory) entered into the plan of the places where they held their feasts, and it was not considered extraordinary, with this sensual people, to see a guest descend from his ¢ricli- nium (or bed, where he lay and ate) to lighten his stomach, to gargle his mouth with perfumed Z 338 TREATMENT OF INDIGESTION. water, and resume the sitting ab ovo. For us, cold parodists of these hot governors of nations, we are far from recommending any such culinary refinements. If indigestion be only felt some hours after a meal, it is then more dangerous, because the work of digestion is stopped. It is in propor- tion to the advance this process has made, that we ought to decide whether or not an emetic ought to be given. An emetic, injudiciously prescribed here, might be attended with dan- gerous consequences, as well as an useless con- vulsion of the whole system. The essential point in this case is to'accelerate the mechanical action of the stomach, and nothing adds more to its energy of dissolution than warm water— water alone; for if any other substance be added to this fluid, it loses, by acting upon it, a part of its property. After the first draught, second the dissolving action of the water by means of an aperient clyster, (we hope our readers will pardon the word, for the sake of its utility,) composed of a little common salt and linseed tea. On alittle chicken broth, seasoned ' with cinnamon, and a little orange-flower water, betake yourself to bed ; and a renovating sleep, may happily close thisdisagreeable scene, both by the commotion it impresses upon the organism, DISPARITY OF STOMACH. 339 and by the assumption of weakness and avidity which it leaves upon the unfortunate patient. The subsequent regimen ought to be regu- lated by the accident; if, for instance, it has been caused by taking too much fish, or game, the patient should abstain from these articles for some time, and he ought to use that kind of food which influences the digestion of the first. It is thus that milk soup is the appropriate digestive of oysters, as a piece of good Glouces- ter cheese is that of fish, which, en passant, always stands in need, in order to be easily digested, to be associated with some more solid aliment ; such, for example, as ham, in order that we may finish the quotation as we began it. It is very frequently less owing to excess than to the quality of the food, which produces in- digestion. One man shall eat ten times as much as another without any inconvenience ; and another shall be’ grievously incommoded for having used a single substance which does not agree with him. It is for a gourmand to study the nature of his stomach, and to see that it be supplied with only homogeneous articles. Milk pottage, hot pastry, &c. which agree pretty generally with women, do not always succeed with robust feeders, who would digest an ox, Zz 2 340 MEANS OF FAVOURING DIGESTION and probably turn pale at the sight of a little blanc-manger. But when, by repeated experience, you have a perfect knowledge of the caprices of your ‘stomach, one may then fearlessly give way to the appetite. There is one essential difference between a gourmand anda voracious man. The former chews his food more and better ; because the act of mastication is a real pleasure, and the longer the food remains on the palate the greater is the enjoyment. Again, mastication constitutes the first digestion ; in this manner the saturated food reaches the gullet, and is fitter to undergo the subsequent processes which ought to assimi- late a part of it with our proper substance. It is necessary then to chew long and well ; to divide the compact substances, such as tough meats, pie-crusts, &c. bymixing them frequently with good stale bread, to swallow only small mouthfuls, and quaff small draughts.* With these precautions one will rarely be incommoded, even after the largest and most solid dinner. Moderate exercise (or at least .a vertical posi- * King Hardicanute, midst Dane and Saxon stout, Caroused on nut-brown ale, and din’d on grout ; Which dish its pristine honour still retains, And when each prince is crown’d, in splendour reigns. THe ART oF COOKERY. MEANS OF FAVOURING DIGESTION. 341 tion after a meal) is a good means of favouring and even of hastening digestion. Nothing can be more contrary to this disposition, than loll- ing In an arm-chair, and, particularly after dinner, to sit in a bent position, which, by com- pressing the viscera, must necessarily stop the work of digestion. For this reason, people who are obliged to write after a meal, would do well to stand instead of sit. It is also most essential to favour the heat of the stomach at that time, by securing it from external cold, which, in people of delicate health, is often enough to suspend its functions. A flannel waistcoat, which ought not to be inconsiderately relin- quished when it has become habitual, is very beneficial to weak stomachs. By adopting these precautions, one will be enabled to eat more and longer without any in- convenience—precisely what, above all other things, a gourmand ought to have most at heart ; for a disease which requires several days of abstinence is, for him, more than any thing else, a truly sorrowful case ; it is so much, in fact, taken from his existence; and whose existence is that which can be compared with a gourmand’s? It is, upon earth, a true image of Mahomet’s paradise. 342 AN IMAGE OF PARADISE. The pleasures of the table, when the stomach is debilitated, should not be so freely indulged in. The gourmand connoisseur will know how to lay a judicious and well-timed embargo on his appetite, by early relinquishing his seat, and not prolonging his banquet beyond the possibility of enjoyment. This, however, is not at all times an easy sacrifice—good old customs are not either soon abolished or restrained—a specimen of which may be gathered from the following lines :— “ As wealth flow’d in, and plenty sprang from peace, Good humour reign’d, and pleasure found increase. ’T was usual, then, the banquet to prolong By music’s charms and some delightful song « When every youth in pleasing accents strove To tell the stratagems and cares of love ; How some successful were, how others crost ; Then to the sparkling glass would give his toast : Whose bloom did most in his opinion shine, To relish both the music and the wine !” A TRIO. 343 THE ULTIMATUM, OR CHAPTER LAST. A TRIO: The Cook, the Author, and the Bookseller. THE resemblance between cooks and authors has been started by several ingenious writers : and as there are continual variations in the culi- nary as well as the literary arts, new traits of similitude between them may be pointed out, from time to time, by means of a sagacious investi- gation, from the garret to the kitchen ; that is, from the author to the cook. Cooks are often inflamed ; so are authors. Cooks sometimes burn their fingers; so do authors, especially when they take it into their heads, engaged in a hot service, to roast a prime minister, and spit a courtier. Cooks live upon the fat of the land—here, indeed, the progress 344 COOKS AND AUTHORS. of resemblance is interrupted, as authors may think themselves very well off to get as much of the lean of the land as will just serve to support existence—Cooks, that is, cooks of condition, are perpetually employed in disguising nature ; and by how many authors in this merry, miser- able, and moping metropolis, is nature every day most absurdly and abominably disguised ? Cooks generally garnish their dishes with natural, and authors decorate their dramas with artificial flowers. And yet, with all the pains which our literary cooks take to please the public taste, they find it extremely difficult to make certain fastidious critics, with very nice palates, heartily relish the banquet of the night If all the ingredients, be they ever so well mixed wp, are, upon the whole, not highly seasoned, the composition is damned, and the poor garretteer, perhaps, is doomed to sup with the devil, in the shape of a bailiff, watching for the fate of his farce. Surely, of all the trades in which men are en- gaged to provide for themselves and their families a subsistence, undoubtedly that of a man of letters is the worst. His whole stock in trade is confined and huddled together within the narrow boundaries of his own head, and from thence he spins out his scanty materials, as AUTHORS AND COOKS. 345 spiders work their webs. ‘The market he carries his work to, is always overstocked; and, con- sequently, he is frequently obliged to place his dependence in the generosity and magnanimity of his bookseller. This is not the case of the present times only. It has always been so. Homer, poor and blind, used to wander up and down the streets and squares, and re- peat his verses to get bread. Plautus, the comic poet, got his livelihood by turning a mill; and it is within our recollection of a German count and a French baron being re- duced to the humble necessity of turning a spit for the same purpose. Aldus Manitius was so poor, that he became insolvent, and was obliged to borrow money to transport his valuable library to Rome, where it was sent for. Arch- bishop Usher, and a multitude of the literati, died poor. Agrippa breathed his last in a hospital; and Miguel Cervantes, the celebrated author of Don Quixote, is said to have died for want. ‘Tasso was reduced so low as to entreat his cat, in a pretty sonnet, to lend him the light of her eyes in the night for him to compose his verses by ; and the condition of our countryman, Dryden, is sufficiently well known. A scholar, therefore, who depends on his writings for his support, is the arrant slave of the public, whose 346 COMPLAINTS AGAINST BOOKSELLERS. understandings are enlightened, and, in the pre- sent instance, whose palates are roused, from the miserable wrecks of his brain, and the yearnings of his empty bowels. It must, never- theless, be confessed, that the poverty of scholars frequently arises from their attaching themselves solely to one particular branch of science, which, perhaps, few but themselves understand, and which still less they are inclined to read. Hence, a literary man should, in some measure, resemble a good cook, who, knowing the palates of his different masters, seasons their dishes ac- cordingly, cautiously avoiding either to pall the appetite or clog the stomach. Such a literary cook, perhaps, sotbhie succeed something hettex than many of his "rcdbedetanl , It is acommon complaint amongst the learned, that booksellers love to print trifling productions in preference to works of real value. They should not, however, complain of the booksellers, but of their readers; for, if the publishing of valuable books was as lucrative as that of those insignificant scrawls, no doubt the booksellers would perfer good works to bad ones. The greatest admirer of a great writer is hardly ever one whose admiration pleases most. He is generally some friend, of no extraordinary parts himself, whose zeal, and, sometimes, his A ‘TRADE’ PARADOX, 347 vanity, make him enthusiastic in admiring what he does not always taste or understand. But, indeed, the greatest admirer of a great writer is, commonly, himself. He has a greater interest than any other person in such admiration; to which interest is a powerful seducer. He sees, perhaps, better than the alert critic or connoisseur, his own defects, and failings ; but then he does not judge of them as they do; and to see and judge are, in every case, -widely different, more especially when one’s own faults are under consideration. In counting them right we wish them wrong; and thus it is that self-love is at once both en- lightened and indulgent. Too much wit, say the people of taste, is a fault in a work; and perhaps they are in the right; but it is remark- able that many of these people of taste have themselves but very little wit. De gustibus non est disputandum, to say the least. The arti- ficial reputation which some authors acquire, first with the < ¢rade’ (a cant phrase to denote the — booksellers), then with the public, in spite of his ignorance in the most essential sciences; the numerous errors and inconsistencies in their writings and character; and the loathsome turgidity and quaintness both of their temper and style, is one of those paradoxes which are e 348 BOOKS AND DISHES. exhibited as it were to puzzle us in every stage of history. The trade is not always deceived ; for it is common to hear the most sensible men (rare aves) among the booksellers exclaim, ‘« What, in the name of goodness, is there in such a one? he is a mere gatherer of other people’s stuff—a collector of shreds and patches ! but the book sells, certainly—that’s all we want.” Thus the cook may dress up his finest flavoured dishes, and thus they may go down ; but whose are the ingredients, whose the art that deceives the palate — and pleases the eye? They are not his own— they nevertheless swallow well, and better than if they had been of his pureinvention. Books, then, like dishes, are of various complexions and dimen- sions, suited to as various tastes and caprices. The imitation of the one is compatible with the resemblance of the other: and happy is the cook, happy the author, and most happy the bookseller, when they can mutually and sympa- thetically put their hands in their pockets, and calmly say OPUS CORONAT FINIE. LONDON : SHACKELL AND BAYLIS, JONNSON’S-COURT, FLEET STREFT. a