{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_69859/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_69859","id":"gutenberg_69859","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69859","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Cooking & Drinking","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Gastronomy"],"text":"TABLE TRAITS,\n\n  WITH\n\n  SOMETHING ON THEM.\n\n  BY\n\n  DR. DORAN.\n\n  \u201cJe suis aujourd\u2019hui en train de conter; plaise \u00e0 Dieu que cela ne\n  soit pas une calamit\u00e9 publique.\u201d--BRILLAT SAVARIN.\n\n  LONDON:\n\n  RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET;\n\n  OLIVER & BOYD, EDINBURGH; HODGES & SMITH, DUBLIN;\n\n  AND TO BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS, AND AT THE RAILWAY STATIONS.\n\n  1854.\n\n\n\n\n  LONDON:\n\n  R. CLAY, PRINTER, BREAD STREET HILL.\n\n\n\n\n  TO\n\n  THE RIGHT HONOURABLE\n\n  HENRY, EARL OF HAREWOOD,\n\n  IN GRATEFUL MEMORY OF BY-GONE\n\n  HAPPY YEARS,\n\n  THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED\n\n  BY\n\n  THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nBILL OF FARE.\n\n\n                                                                    PAGE\n\n  The Legend of Amphitryon--a Prologue                                 1\n\n  Diet and Digestion                                                   9\n\n  Water                                                               14\n\n  Breakfast                                                           26\n\n      Materials for Breakfast                                         31\n\n      Corn, Bread, &c.                                                36\n\n      Tea                                                             48\n\n      Coffee                                                          57\n\n      Chocolate                                                       64\n\n  The Old Coffee Houses                                               67\n\n  The French Caf\u00e9s                                                    80\n\n  The Ancient Cook and his Art                                        86\n\n  The Modern Cook and his Science                                     99\n\n  Pen and Ink Sketch of Car\u00eame                                       114\n\n  Dinner Traits                                                      123\n\n  The Materials for Dining                                           136\n\n  A Light Dinner for two                                             169\n\n  Sauces                                                             190\n\n  The Parasite                                                       219\n\n  Table Traits of Utopia and the Golden Age                          230\n\n  Table Traits of England in the Early Times                         244\n\n  Table Traits of the Last Century                                   260\n\n  Wine and Water                                                     282\n\n  The Birth of the Vine, and what has come of it                     287\n\n  The Making and Marring of Wine                                     303\n\n  Imperial Drinkers and Incidents in Germany                         312\n\n      An Incident of Travel                                          313\n\n  A few odd Glasses of Wine                                          324\n\n  The Tables of the Ancient and Modern Egyptians                     341\n\n  The Diet of Saints of Old                                          353\n\n      The Bridal and Banquet of Ferques                              372\n\n  The Support of Modern Saints                                       377\n\n  The C\u00e6sars at Table                                                394\n\n  Their Majesties at Meat                                            412\n\n  English Kings at their Tables                                      442\n\n  Strange Banquets                                                   467\n\n      The Castellan Von Coucy                                        473\n\n  Authors and their Dietetics                                        487\n\n      The Liquor-loving Laureates                                    508\n\n  Supper                                                             513\n\n\n\n\nTABLE TRAITS,\n\nWITH SOMETHING ON THEM.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF AMPHITRYON.\n\nA PROLOGUE.\n\n\u201c_Le v\u00e9ritable Amphitryon est l\u2019Amphitryon o\u00f9 l\u2019on d\u00eene._\u201d--MOLI\u00c8RE.\n\n\nAmong well-worn illustrations and similes, there are few that have\nbeen more hardly worked than the above line of Poquelin-Moli\u00e8re. It is\na line which tells us pleasantly enough, that he who sits at the head\nof a table is among those \u201crespectable\u201d powers who find an alacrity\nof worship at the hands of man. I say, \u201cat the hands;\u201d for what is\n\u201cadoration\u201d but the act of putting the hand to the mouth (as expressed\nby its components _ad_ and _os_, _oris_)? and what worship is so common\nas that which takes this form, especially when the Amphitryon is\namiable, and his altar well supplied?\n\nBut such a solution of the question affords us, after all, no\nenlightenment as to the mystery of the reality of Amphitryon himself,\nwhose name is now worn, and sometimes usurped, by those who preside\nat modern banquets. Was he real? is he a myth? was he ever in the\nbody? or is his name that of a shadow only, employed for purposes of\nsignificance? If real, whence came he? What does classic story say of\nthe abused husband of Alcmena?\n\nAmphitryon was a Theban gentleman, who had two nephews, fast young\nmen, who were slain by the Teleboans. This is a myth. They were\nextravagant individuals, of the class of those who count the chimes\nat midnight. Their father could not help them; and so the uncle, a\nbachelor, was expected to do his avuncular office, spend his substance\nfor the benefit of his brother\u2019s children, and get small thanks for\nhis trouble. His brother, however, had an article of small value,--a\ndaughter, named Alcmena; and this lady was given in marriage to her\nuncle, without any scruple about the laws of affinity. As soon as the\nceremony of the betrothal was over, Amphitryon departed to punish the\nTeleboans; and he had not been long absent, when Jupiter presented\nhimself in the likeness of the absent husband, set up a household with\nthe readily-convinced Alcmena, and became the father of Hercules. When\nAmphitryon returned, his surprise was natural, and his ill-temper\nnot to be wondered at. But Jupiter explained the imbroglio in a very\ncavalier way, as was his custom, and which they who are curious may see\nin the liveliest of the lively comedies of the miller\u2019s man, Plautus.\n\nAn incident connected with the story shows us that Amphitryon, fond of\ngood living generally, and of beef in particular, made a razzia among\nthe Teleboan herds, and brought back all the cows and oxen he found\namongst them. He was exhibiting the cattle to his brother Electryon,\nwhen one of the animals strayed from the herd; and Amphitryon, in\norder to bring it back, flung a stick at it, but with such violence,\nthat the weapon, falling on the horns, rebounded as violently upon\nElectryon, who died upon the spot. But this, too, is a myth; and I have\nno doubt but that Electryon died of indigestion; for the Teleboan beef\nwas famous for its toughness. Indeed, many of the Telebo\u00ebs themselves\nwere so disgusted with it, that they abandoned their \u00c6tolian homes, and\nsettled in the island of Capre\u00e6.\n\nThe Egyptians claim Amphitryon for their own. They boast that his\ndinners at Memphis were divine, and that Hercules, his son, was among\nthe last-born of the gods; for Hercules was more than a hero among\nthe leek-worshippers of Egypt. But the truth is, that the story of\nAmphitryon, his strength, his good fare, and his hard fate, belongs\nto a more distant period and land. It is a Hindoo story, the actors\nare children of the sun, and Voltaire declares that the tale is to\nbe found in Dow\u2019s \u201cHindostan;\u201d but that is as much of a fable as the\nlegend itself of Amphitryon, whose name, by the way, may be as easily\n\u201cIndicized\u201d as that of Pythagoras.\n\nIn Scotland, the crime of child-stealing is distinguished by the title\nof \u201cplagiary;\u201d and an instance of the latter is here before us. When\nPlautus sat in his master\u2019s mill, and thought over the subject of his\nlively comedy, founded on the story of Amphitryon, he took for granted\nall that he had been told of his hero\u2019s birth and parentage. But the\nclassical Amphitryon is, as I have said, but a stolen child. His home\nis in the far East; and his history was calling up smiles upon the\nfaces of listeners by the Indus long before the twin founders of Rome\nhad been intrusted, by their nurse Lupa, to walk alone. The Hindoo\nAmphitryon was a fellow of some renown, and here is his story.\n\nA Hindoo, whose name, indeed, has not descended to us,--but he was the\nindividual whom the Greeks stole, and called Amphitryon,--lived many\nyears ago. He was remarkable for his gigantic strength and stature; and\nhe not only found the former a good thing to possess, but he used it\n_like_ a giant. He had for the wife of his bosom a fair, but fragile,\ngirl, who lay in his embrace, as she sang to him at sunset, \u201clike Hebe\nin Hercules\u2019 arms.\u201d It was not often, however, that such passages\nof peace embellished the course of their daily life. The Hindoo was\njealous, and his little wife was coquettish. The lady had smiles for\nflatterers; and her monster of a husband had a stick, which showered\nblows upon her when he detected her neglecting her household work.\nCudgelling took its turn with caressing, as it did in the more modern,\nand consequently more vulgar, case of Captain Wattle and Miss Roe; and\nfinally there was much more of the first than there was of the last.\nOne summer eve, the husband, in a fit of frantic jealousy, assaulted\nhis wife so ferociously, that he left her insensible on the threshold\nof their house, and threatened never again to keep up a _m\u00e9nage_ with\nso incorrigible a partner.\n\nA Hindoo deity, of an inferior order,--not the King of gods and men,\nas in the Grecian legend,--had witnessed the whole proceeding from\nhis abiding place in a neighbouring cloud. He smiled as the husband\ndisappeared; and, gradually descending in his little palace to the\nground, he lightly leaped on to the firm set earth, gave a hurried\nglance at the unconscious and thickly-bruised beauty, and then, in\ntestimony of his ecstatic delight, he clapped his hands, and commenced\nrevolving on one leg, as D\u2019Egville used to do, when Venua\u2019s violin led\nthe orchestra, and gave him strength.\n\nThe spirit, having subsided into repose, thought for a while, and\nspeedily arrived at a resolution. It infused itself into a human\nbody, which was found without difficulty, and it clothed the whole\nunder the counterfeit presentment of the errant husband. These feats\nof transmutation were common among the eastern deities; and I take\nfor granted that my readers are aware that Pythagoras himself--who is\nconnected with Table Traits, on the subject of beans--was no other\nthan Buddha Goroos, who slipped into a vacant body, and taught the\nmetempsychosis to wondering Europe.\n\nThe wife of the Hindoo giant was something astonished, on recovering\nherself, to find that she was seated, without any sense of pain, on\na bench in the little garden, with her apparent husband at her feet,\npouring out protestations of love and assurances of fidelity. She\naccepted all, without questioning; for it was all too pleasant to be\nrefused. A new life commenced. The married pair became the admiring\ntheme of the village; and when a son was born to them, there ensued\nsuch showers of felicitations and flowers as had never fallen upon\nmarried lovers since the Hindoo world first started on its career, on\nthe back of the self-supporting elephant. Their moon never ceased to\nshed honey; and this was flowing, sweetly and copiously as ever, when,\none sultry noon, the vagrant husband returned home, and, confronting\nthe counterfeit at an inner door, bitterly satirized the vanity of\nwomen who indulged in capricious tempers and Psyche glasses. In\nan instant, however, he was conscious that his other self was not\na reflection, but only the cause of many that began crowding into\nthe brain of the true man. The cool complacency of the counterfeit\nirritated the bewildered and legitimate husband, and an affray ensued,\nin which the mortal got all the blows, and his rival all the advantage.\nThe wife was herself perplexed, but manifested a leaning towards the\nirresistible divinity. In vain did the gigantic original roar forth the\ntale of his wrongs, and claim his undoubted rights; and it was only\nduring a lull in the storm that he heeded a suggestion made, to the\neffect, that all the parties should submit their case to the judgment\nof an inspired Brahmin.\n\nThis eminent individual speedily perceived that, of the double-man that\nstood before him, one was a dupe, and the other a deity,--something,\nat all events, above humanity. The question was, how to discover the\ndivinity. After much cogitation, this was the judgment pronounced\nby the dusky Solomon: \u201cMadam,\u201d said he to the perplexed lady, \u201cyour\nhusband was known as being the most robust man ever made out of the\nred earth, of which was composed the father of us all. Now, let these\ntwo litigants salute you on the lips; and we pronounce him to be the\ntrue man who comes off with the loudest report.\u201d The trial took place\nforthwith in presence of the assembled multitude. The Indian mortal\nfirst approached the up-raised lips of his wife; and he performed\nthe required feat with an echo that was as half a hundred culverins\nto the \u201cpistol-shot\u201d kiss recorded of Petruchio. The Judge and the\npeople looked curiously to the defendant, as wondering how, on the\npretty instrument before him, he could strike a note higher than his\nrival. The Indian god addressed him to what seemed a rose-bud wet with\ndew; and therewith ensued a sound as though all the artillery of the\nskies were saluting, too, in honour of the achievement. The multitude\nand the Brahmin looked, for all the world, as if they had lost their\nhearing; and it was calculated that the astounding din might have\nbeen heard by the slumbering tortoise below the antipodes. At length,\nthe assembly hailed the deity as the undoubted Simon Pure, and looked\ntowards the Brahmin for confirmation of their award; but the Brahmin\nmerely remarked to them, with urbanity, that they were the sons and\nfathers of asses, and were unable to distinguish between the almost\ninvisible seed which diets the bird of Paradise, and the gigantic palm\nof the garden of the gods, each leaf of which is of such extent that an\nearthly courser, at his utmost speed, could not traverse it in fifty\nmillions of mortal-measured years. \u201cHere is the true husband,\u201d added\nthe Judge, putting his hand upon the shoulder of the Indian, \u201cwho has\ndone all that human being, in the particular vocation required, could\ndo; and here,\u201d added he, turning reverentially to the other, \u201cis some\nsupreme being, who has been pleased to amuse himself at the expense of\nhis servants.\u201d\n\nThe god smiled, and confessed to the excellence of the Judge\u2019s\nperspicuity by revealing himself in his true, and somewhat operatic,\nform. He ascended the cloud, which appeared in waiting for him like\nan a\u00ebrial cab, and, looking from over its side, laughingly bade the\nedified multitude farewell, adding, that he was the deity appointed to\npreside at tables that were not ungraced by the fair;--and, \u201cif these\nhave a cause for complaint, it is my privilege to avenge them according\nto my good pleasure.\u201d The ladies thereupon flung flowers to him as he\nrose, and the husbands saluted his departure with rather faint cheers;\nbut throughout India, while orthodoxy lasted, there never was a table\nspread, but the master thereat, prince or peasant, invoked the Hindoo\ndeity to cast the beams of the sun of his gaiety upon the board.\nHeresy, however, in this matter, has crept in; and, if Hindoo feasts\nlack real brilliancy, it is because the sunlight of the god no longer\nbeams from the eyes of the fair, who are no longer present sharers\nin the banquet. It is otherwise in Europe, whither, perhaps, the god\ncame, and aped Jupiter, as well as Amphitryon, when he perplexed the\nhousehold of Alcmena. He sits presiding at our feast, ensconced within\na rose; from thence his smiles urge to enjoyment, and the finger on his\nlip to discretion; and every docile guest whispers _sub ros\u00e2_, and\nacknowledges the present god.\n\nIt is said, in India, that this divinity was the one who gave men diet,\nbut forgot digestion. It was like giving them philosophical lectures,\nwithout power to understand them; and the case is still common enough\nupon earth. These subjects demand brief notice, were it only by way of\nappendix to this prolegomenical chapter.\n\n\n\n\nDIET AND DIGESTION.\n\n\u201cNo digest of law\u2019s like the law of digestion.\u201d--MOORE.\n\n\nOur good neighbours the French, or rather, the philosophers among them,\nhave asserted that the perfecting of man and his species depends upon\nattention to diet and digestion; and, in a material point of view, they\nare not far wrong; and, indeed, in a non-material point of view, it may\nbe said that the spirit, without judgment, is very likely to be exposed\nto indigestion; and perhaps ignorance complete is to be preferred to an\nill-digested erudition. With diet and patience, Walpole thought all the\ndiseases of man might be easily cured. Montesquieu, on the other hand,\nheld that health purchased by rigorously watching over diet, was but a\ntedious disease. But Walpole was nearly correct, while Montesquieu was\nnot very distant from the truth. Dieting, like other things, must be\nundertaken on common-sense principles; for, though there be multitudes\nof mad people in the world, society generally is not to be put upon the\n_r\u00e9gime_ of \u201cBedlam.\u201d\n\nWe live, not by what we eat, but by what we digest; and what one man\nmay digest, another would die of attempting. Rules on this subject are\nalmost useless. Each man may soon learn the powers of his stomach, in\nhealth or disease, in this respect; and this ascertained, he has no\nmore business to bring on indigestion than he has to get intoxicated\nor fall into debt. He who offends on these three points, deserves to\nforfeit stomach, head, and his electoral franchise!\n\nGenerally speaking, fat and spices resist the digestive power; and too\nmuch nutritious food is the next evil to too little. Good cookery, by\ndeveloping flavour, increases the nutritiousness of food, which bad\ncookery would perhaps render indigestible. Hence a good cook rises to\nthe dignity of \u201cartist.\u201d He may rank with the chemists, if not with the\nphysicians.\n\nAnimal food, of mild quality, is more digestible than vegetable, and\nfresh meats are preferable to salted. In the latter the salt is a\ndifferent composition from that which is taken at meals, and which\nis indispensable to health. Fish fills rather than feeds; but there\nare exceptions to this. Vegetables are accounted as doing little to\nmaintain stamina; but there have been races and classes of men who\nhave been heroes upon bread, fruit, and vegetables. The poor cannot\nlive upon \u201ccurry,\u201d it is true; but in England, with less drink and\nmore vegetable food, they would be an improved race. Not that they\ncould live like a Lazzaroni on maccaroni and the open air. Layard says\nthe Bedouin owes his health and strength to his spare diet. But even\na Bedouin swallows lumps of butter till he becomes bilious; and were\nhe to live in England instead of the desert, he would not keep up his\nstrength by living on the dishes which support him in Arabia Felix.\nThe golden rule is \u201cmoderation and regularity.\u201d He who transgresses\nthe rule, will pay for it by present suffering and a \u201ccheck\u201d after\nChristmas.\n\nA false hunger ought not to be soothed, nor a false thirst to be\nsatisfied; for satisfaction here is only adding fuel to a fire that\nwould otherwise go out. On the other hand, the bilious and sedentary\nman need not be afraid of beer; it is a better stomachic than wine.\nFor him, and for all lords of that heritage of woe, a weak stomach,\nthe common-sense system of cookery, as it is called, is most required.\nIt is something between the hard crude system of the English, and the\njuice-extracting method of the French; with a leaning, however, towards\nthe latter, (with whom it is common to reduce food to a condition of\npulp,) but uniting with it so much of the English custom as allows the\ngelatinous matter to be retained, especially in the meats. \u201c_Festina\nlente_,\u201d is \u201c_Latin de cuisine_,\u201d for \u201cEat slowly,\u201d and it is of\nfirst-rate value. He who does so, gives best chance for healthy chyle;\nand that wanting, I should like to know where the _post-prandial_\nenjoyment would be. Without it, digestion is not; and when digestion is\naway, Death is always peering about to profit by his absence. \u201cSee to\nit!\u201d as the Chinese \u201cchop\u201d says.\n\nThere are upwards of seventeen hundred works extant on the subject of\ndiet and digestion. Sufferers may study the question till they are\ndriven mad by doubt and dyspepsia, and difference of opinions among the\ndoctors. Fordyce saw no use in the saliva, and Paris maintains that\nwithout it digestion is not. \u201c_Quot homines, tot sententi\u00e6_,\u201d is as\napplicable here as in every other vexed question. But Paris\u2019s book on\nDiet is the safest guide I know for a man who, being dyspeptic, wants\nto cure himself, or simply to discover the definement of his degree\nof suffering. On the other hand, every man may find comfort in the\nreflection, that with early hours, abundant exercise, generous diet,\nbut not too much of it, and occupation,--without which a worse devil\nthan the former enters on possession of the victim,--dyspepsia cannot\nassume a chronic form. It may be a casual visitor, but it will be the\neasiest thing possible to get rid of him. But philosophy has said as\nmuch from the beginning, and yet dyspepsia prevails and physicians ride\nin carriages. Exactly! and why? Because philosophers themselves, like\nthe Stoic gentleman in Marmontel, after praising simplicity of living,\nsink to sleep, on heavy suppers and beds of down, with the suicidal\nremark, that \u201c_Le Luxe est une jolie chose._\u201d\n\nWe must neither act unreservedly on the _dictum_ of books, nor copy\nslavishly the examples of others, if we would have the digestion\nin a healthy condition. There is a self-monitor that may safely be\nconsulted. Of his existence there can be no doubt; for every man who\nwakes with a headache most ungratefully blames that same monitory\n\u201cself.\u201d\n\nIf any class may fairly complain of others in this respect, rather\nthan of themselves, it is the \u201cbabies.\u201d The Rajpoots do not slay half\nso many of their infants out of pride, as we do by indiscreet dieting;\nor, to speak plainly, over-feeding. The New Zealand mother is not more\nfoolish, who thrusts stones down the throat of her babe, in order to\nmake him a stern and fearless warrior, and only mars him for a healthy\nman. And Christian matrons have been quite as savage without intending\nit. Brantome\u2019s uncle, Chastargnerage, was no sooner weaned than, by the\nadvice of a Neapolitan physician, he took gold, steel, and iron, (in\npowders,) mixed up with all he ate and drank. This regimen he followed\nuntil he was twelve years old, by which time (we are asked to believe)\nit had so strengthened him that he could stop a wild bull in full\ncourse. This diet, however, seems little likely to have produced such\nan effect. As soon might one expect that the Bolton ass, which chewed\ntobacco and took snuff, was made swift as a race-horse by so doing.\nI think that it is of Dean Nowell it is said, that he grew strong by\ndrinking ale. He was the accidental inventor of bottled ale. He was\nout fishing with a bottle of the freshly-drawn beverage at his side,\nwhen intelligence reached him touching the peril his life was in, under\nMary, which made him fly, after flinging away his rod, and thrusting\nhis bottle of ale under the grass. When he could again safely resort\nto the same spot, he looked for his bottle, which, on being disturbed,\ndrove out the cork like a pellet from a gun, and contained so creamy a\nfluid, that the Dean, noting the fact, and rejoicing therein, took care\nto be well provided with the same thenceforward. As Henry II. was the\nfirst King who acted as sewer, and placed the boar\u2019s head on the table\nof his young son, just crowned, so Dean Nowell was the first church\ndignitary who laid the foundation of red noses, by bringing bottled ale\nto the notice of the clergy. There is an old tradition, that what this\nale used to do for churchmen, cider used to effect for Africans.\n\nAs we have said, \u201cmoderation\u201d is the first principle of digestion;\nand as, according to the Latin proverb, \u201cwater gives moderation,\u201d it\nbehoves us to look for a few minutes into the much praised, and little\nappreciated, _aqua pura_.\n\n\n\n\nWATER.\n\n\nA Kentucky man, who was lately at one of the great tables in an hotel\nin the States, where the bill of fare was in French, after sorely\npuzzling himself with descriptions which he could not comprehend,\n\u201c_cotelettes \u00e0 la Maintenon_\u201d and \u201c_\u0153ufs \u00e0 la braise_;\u201d exclaimed, \u201cI\nshall go back to first principles: give me some roast beef!\u201d So, after\nspeaking of the birth of him, whose putative father has lent a name\nto liberal hosts, let us also fall back upon first principles, and\ncontemplate the uses of water.\n\nThere is nothing in nature _more_ useful; but, commonly speaking,\nyou can neither buy any thing with it, nor get any article for it in\nexchange. Adam Smith strikingly compares with it the uselessness and\nthe value of a diamond: the latter has scarcely any value in use, but\nmuch that is valuable may be had in exchange for it. In the desert a\ncup full of water is worth one full of diamonds; that is, in certain\nemergencies. The diamond and the water illustrate the difference\nbetween value in use and value in exchange.\n\nIf water be not, according to Pindar and the legend over the Bath\nPump-Room, the best of things, few things would attain to excellence\nwithout it. Greek philosophy was not wrong which made it the principle\nof life, and the popular belief scarcely erred in seeing in every\nstream, spring, and fountain a resident deity. Water was so reverenced\nby certain ancient nations, that they would never desecrate it by\npurifying themselves therewith! The ancient Persians and Cappadocians\nexemplified their devotion by personal dirtiness. In presence of\nthe visible power of the stream, altars were raised, and adoration\npaid to the god whose existence was evidenced by such power. The\nEgyptians gave their divine river more than prayers, because their\ndependence on it was more absolute than that of other nations on their\nrespective streams. The Nile, swelling beneficently, bestowed food,\nhealth, and therewith content on the Egyptians; and they, in return,\nflung gratefully into the stream corn, sugar, and fruit. When human\nsacrifices were made to rivers, it was probably because the river was\nrecognised as giving life, and was worthy of being paid in kind. We may\nsmile superciliously at this old reverence for the \u201cliquid good,\u201d but\nthere was connected therewith much that we might profitably condescend\nto copy. Greece had her officers appointed to keep her streams pure.\nHad those officials exposed the people to drink such indescribable\nmatter as we draw from the Thames, they would have been thrown into it\nby popular indignation. In Rome, Ancus Martius was long remembered, not\nfor his victories, but for his care to supply the city with salubrious\nand sufficient water; and if people generally cursed Nero for his\ncrimes, they acknowledged that he had at least not damaged the public\naqueducts; and that in his reign ice-houses were first built, the\ncontents of which enabled thousands to quaff the cool beverage which is\nso commendably spoken of by Aristotle.\n\nThe fountains were the ornaments of the public places, as the crystal\n_ampulla_, with its slender neck and its globular body, was of the\nsideboards of private houses in Rome. The common people drank to\nexcess, both of hot water and cold: the former they drank in large\nmeasures;--this was in winter, and in taverns where they fed largely\nupon pork, and drank the water as a stimulant! The Emperor Claudius\nlooked upon this regimen as an immoral indulgence, and he closed the\ntaverns where proprietors injured the public stomach by such a diet.\nSome Romans were so particular as to boil the water they intended to\ndrink, in vessels at their own table. They were like the epicures who\nnever intrust the boiling of an egg to their own cooks. We may notice\nthat Augustus employed it lavishly, both as a bather and drinker. The\n\u201cfaculty\u201d were unanimous in recommending a similar use of it, and some\nof these gentlemen made considerable fortunes by the various methods\nof applying it. For instance, patients resorting to Charmis, to take\ncold baths in winter under his direction, were required to pay him a\nconsulting fee of \u00a3800! He was the first \u201cwater-cure\u201d Doctor that ever\npractised, and he realized a fortune such as his successors may aim at\nin vain.\n\nHorace Walpole, forgetting what he had once before said, namely, that\ndiet and patience formed the universal panacea, declared that his\n\u201cgreat nostrum was the use of cold water, inwardly and outwardly, on\nall occasions, and that with disregard of precaution against catching\ncold. I have often,\u201d he continues, \u201chad the gout in my face and eyes,\nand instantly dip my head in a pail of cold water, which always cures\nit, and does not send it any where else.\u201d And again, alluding to\nanother use of water, he says sneeringly, \u201cWhether Christianity will be\nlaid aside I cannot say. As nothing of the spirit is left, the forms,\nI think, signify very little. Surely, it is not an age of morality and\nprinciple; does it import whether profligacy is baptized or not?\u201d\n\nWith regard to the sanitary application of water, as noticed by\nWalpole, there can be no doubt but that diet and digestion proceed\nthe more perfectly, as the ablution of the body is general and daily,\nand made with cold water. But discretion must be used; for there\nare conditions of the body which cannot endure cold bathing without\npalpitation of the heart following. In such case, tepid water should\nbe used for a time, when the palpitations will soon cease, unless the\nheart be organically affected.\n\nThe same writer\u2019s remarks on the Christian uses of water, remind me\nof what is said of some such uses in Weever\u2019s \u201cFuneral Monuments.\u201d He\ncites the inscriptions that used to be placed over the holy water in\nancient churches. Some deposed that the sprinkling of it drove away\ndevils:--\n\n  \u201c_Hujus aqu\u00e6 tactus depellit d\u00e6monis actus._\u201d\n\nOthers promised a blessing, as, for example:--\n\n  \u201c_Asperget vos Deus cum omnibus sanctis suis ad vitam \u00e6ternam._\u201d\n\nAnother implied, that six benefits arose from its use; namely,--\n\n  ----\u201c_Sex operantur aqu\u00e2 benedict\u00e2:\n  Cor mundat, accidiam (?) fugat, venalia tollit,\n  Auget opem; removetque hostem, phantasmata pellit._\u201d\n\nHomer, too, it will be recollected, speaks of the sound of water\ninspiring consolatory thoughts, in the passage where he describes one\n\u201csuffering cruel wounds from a diseased heart, but he found a remedy;\nfor, sitting down beneath a lofty rock, looking down upon the sea, he\nbegan to sing.\u201d\n\nThe dormitories of many of the old convents were adorned with\ninscriptions recommendatory of personal cleanliness; but the inmates\ngenerally were more content with the theory than the practice: they\nwere, in some degree, like the man at Bishop-Middleham, who died with\nthe reputation of a water-drinker, but who really killed himself by\nsecret drunkenness. He praised water in public, but drank brandy in\nprivate, though it was not till after death that his delinquency was\ndiscovered.\n\nThe use of water against the spells of witchcraft lingered longer in\nScotland than elsewhere. The Strathdown Highlander even now, it is\nsaid, is not ashamed to drink \u201cthe water of the dead and living ford,\u201d\non New Year\u2019s Day, as a charm to secure him from sorcery until the\nensuing New Year.\n\nSt. Bernard, the Abbot, made application of water for another purpose.\nButler says of him, that he _once_ happened to fix his eyes on the face\nof a woman; but immediately reflecting that this was a temptation, he\nran to a pond, and leaped up to the neck into the water, which was then\nas cold as ice, to punish himself, and to vanquish the enemy!\n\nThere is a second incident connected with water, that will bear to be\ntold as an illustration, at least, of old times. When Patricius was\nBishop of Prusa, the Proconsul Julius resorted thither to the famous\nbaths, and was restored to such vigorous health thereby, that he not\nonly made sacrifice of thanksgiving to Esculapius and Health, but\nrequired the Bishop to follow his example. The Prelate declined, and\nthe Proconsul ordered him to be thrown into a caldron of boiling water,\nby which he was no more affected than if he had been enjoying a bath of\ntepid rose-water. Whereupon he was taken out and beheaded. The power\nthat kept the water cool did not interfere to blunt the axe.\n\nWe have seen the reverence paid by certain \u201cancients of old\u201d to the\nsupposed divinities whose crystal thrones were veiled beneath the\nwaves. Men under a better dispensation have shown, perhaps, a worse\nsuperstition. Bede makes mention of a Monk who thought he would purify\nhis sin-stained spirit by actual ablution. He had, the church-historian\ntells us, a solitary place of residence assigned him in the monastery,\nadjacent to a river: into the latter he was accustomed to plunge, by\nway of penance to his body. He went manfully to the bottom, and his\nmouth was no sooner again in upper air, than it was opened to give\nutterance to lusty prayer and praise. He would sometimes thus stand for\nhours, up to the neck, and uttering his orisons aloud. He was in full\ndress when this penance was performed, and, on coming from the stream,\nhe let his wet, and sometimes frozen, garments dry upon his person. A\nFriar, once seeing him break the ice, in order that he might make his\npenitential plunge, expressed shiveringly his wonder at the feat: \u201cIt\nmust be so _very_ cold,\u201d said the Friar. \u201cI have seen greater cold,\u201d\nwas the sole remark of the devotional diver. \u201cSuch austerity _I_ never\nbeheld,\u201d exclaimed another spectator. \u201c_I_ have beheld far greater,\u201d\nreplied the Monk. \u201cAnd thus,\u201d adds the historian, as simply as any\nof them, \u201cthus he forwarded the salvation of many by his words and\nexample.\u201d\n\nConnected with a pious man of our own time, I may mention an incident\ntouching water, which is rather remarkable:--the person to whom I\nallude is Bishop Gobat, of Jerusalem. He states, in his last Annual\nLetter, that he is building a school which will cost him about \u00a3600:\nthe school is not yet finished; but the water used for mixing the\nmortar has already cost the enormous sum of \u00a360. It is, in fact, a\nluxury which must be paid for. Where it is so dear, it were well if the\npeople never were thirsty; and there were such people of old.\n\nThe late Vice-Chancellor of England, Sir Lancelot Shadwell, was as\nindefatigable a bather as the Monk noticed by Bede. Every morning\nthroughout the year, during his residence at Barnes Elms, he might\nbe seen wrestling joyously with the Thames. It is said that, on one\noccasion, a party, in urgent need of an injunction, after looking\nfor the Judge in a hundred places where he was not to be found, at\nlength took boat, and encountered him as he was swimming in the river.\nThere he is said to have heard the case, listening to the details as\nthe astonished applicants made them, and now and then performing a\nfrolicsome \u201csummersault,\u201d when they paused for want of breath. The\ninjunction was granted, it is said; after which the applicants left the\nJudge to continue his favourite aquatic sport by himself.\n\nIf the late amiable and able Vice-Chancellor was a water-lawyer, so\nwas the late Archdeacon Singleton a water-divine. When tutor to the\nyoung Lords Percy, he, and the eldest of the sons of the then Duke\nof Northumberland,--Hugh, Earl Percy,--were expert swimmers, and\noften, by their achievements, excited the admiration of less daring\nventurers. The Archdeacon was accustomed to float away for miles from\nSion, depending upon the tide to float him back again. At first, many a\nboatman looked inquiringly at the motionless body carrying on with the\nstream; but, when he was better known, his appearance thus excited no\nmore surprise than if he had been in an outrigger, calmly taking a pull\nbefore the hour of dinner.\n\nWith respect to water-drinkers, they seem to have abounded among the\ngood old Heathens, of whom so many stories are told that we are not\ncalled upon to believe.\n\nAristotle, who, like Dr. Macnish, wrote an \u201cAnatomy of Drunkenness,\u201d\n(\u03a0\u03b5\u03c1\u1f76 M\u03ad\u03b8\u03b7\u03c2,) states therein, that he knew, or had heard, of many\npeople who never experienced what it was to be thirsty. Archonides,\nof Argos, is cited by him as a man who could eat salt beef for a\nweek without caring to drink, therewith or thereafter. Mago, the\nCarthaginian, is famous for having twice crossed the Desert without\nhaving once tasted water, or any other beverage. The Iberians,\nwealthy and showy people as they were, were water-drinkers; and it\nwas peculiar to some of the Sophists of Elis, that they lived upon\nnothing but water and dried figs. Their bodily strength, which was\ngreat, is said to have been the result of such diet; but, it is added,\nthat the pores of their skin exuded any thing but a celestial ichor,\nand that, whenever they went to the baths, all the other bathers\nfled, holding their offended noses between their fingers! Matris,\nof Athens, lived all his life upon myrtle-berries and water; but,\nas nobody knows how long he _did_ live, it would be rather rash to\nimitate him in hopes of obtaining extension of existence. Lamprus, the\nmusician, was a water-drinker, as were Polemon, the Academician, and\nDiocles, of Peparethus; but, as they were never famous for any thing\nelse, they are hardly worth citing. It is different when we contrast\nDemosthenes with Demades. Demosthenes states, in his second Philippic,\nthat he was a water-drinker; and Pytheas was right, when he bade the\nAthenians remark, that the sober demagogue was, like Dr. Young, in\nfact, constantly engaged in solemn Night Thoughts. \u201cNot so your other\ndemagogue, Demades,\u201d said Pytheas; \u201c_he_ is an unclean fellow, who is\ndaily drunk, and who never comes into your assemblies but to exhibit\nhis enormous paunch.\u201d Such was the style of election speeches in\nGreece; and it has a smack of the hustings, and, indeed, of the market,\ntoo, in Covent Garden.\n\nTo turn from old to modern mythology, I may notice that water entered\ninto the old sports of St. Distaff\u2019s Day, or the morrow after Twelfth\nDay. It is thus alluded to by one whose \u201cmind was jocund, but his life\nwas chaste,\u201d--the lyric Parson of Dean Priors:--\n\n  \u201cPartly work and partly play\n  Ye must, on St. Distaff\u2019s Day.\n  From the plough soon free your team,\n  Then come home and fother them.\n  If the maids a-spinning go,\n  Burn the flax, and fire the tow,\n  Scorch their plackets, but beware\n  That ye singe no maiden-hair.\n  Bring in pails of water then,\n  Let the maids bewash the men.\n  Give St. Distaff all the right,\n  Then bid Christmas sport \u2018Good-night;\u2019\n  And next morrow ev\u2019ry one\n  To his own vocation.\u201d\n\nWhen Herrick wrote these lines, I do not know how it may have been at\nDean Priors, but London was but indifferently supplied with water.\nBut _now_ London is supplied with water from eight different sources.\nFive of them are on the north, or Middlesex, side of London, three\non the Southwark and Surrey side. The first comprise the New River,\nat Islington; the East London, at Old Ford, on the Lea; the West\nMiddlesex, on the Thames, at Brentford and Hammersmith; and the Chelsea\nand Grand Junction, on the same river, at Chelsea. The south side is\nentirely supplied from the Thames, by the Southwark, Lambeth, and\nVauxhall Waterworks, whose names are descriptive of their locality.\n\nThe daily supply amounts to about 35,000,000 of gallons, of which\nmore than a third is supplied by the New River Company. The original\nprojector of this Company was Sir Hugh Myddelton, who proposed to\nsupply the London conduits from the wells about Amwell and Ware. The\nproject was completed in 1613, to the benefit of posterity and the ruin\nof the projector. The old hundred-pound shares are now worth ten times\ntheir original cost.\n\nIn 1682 the private houses of the metropolis were only supplied with\nfresh water twice a week. Mr. Cunningham, in his \u201cHandbook of London,\u201d\ninforms us that the old sources of supply were the Wells, or Fleet\nRiver, Wallbrook and Langbourne Waters, Clement\u2019s, Clerk\u2019s, and Holy\nWell, Tyburn, and the River Lea. Tyburn first supplied the City in the\nyear 1285, the Thames not being pressed into the service of the City\nconduits till 1568, when it supplied the conduit at Dowgate. There were\npeople who stole water from the pipes then, as there are who steal gas\nnow. \u201cThis yere,\u201d (1479,) writes an old chronicler of London, quoted\nby Mr. Cunningham, \u201ca wax-charndler in Flete Strete had bi craft\nperced a pipe of the condite withynne the ground, and so conveied the\nwater into his selar; wherefore he was judged to ride thurgh the Citee\nwith a condite upon his hedde.\u201d The first engine which conveyed water\ninto private houses, by leaden pipes, was erected at London Bridge,\nin 1582. The pipes were laid over the steeple of St. Magnus; and the\nengineer was Maurice, a Dutchman. Bulmer, an Englishman, erected a\nsecond engine, at Broken Wharf. Previous to 1656, the Strand and\nCovent Garden, though so near to the river, were only supplied by\nwater-tankards, which were carried by those who sold the water, or by\nthe apprentice, if there were one in the house, whose duty it was to\nfill the house-tankard at the conduit, or in the river. In the middle\nof the seventeenth century, Ford erected water-works on the Thames,\nin front of Somerset House; but the Queen of Charles II.--like the\nPrincess Borghese, who pulled down a church next to her palace, because\nthe incense turned her sick, and the organ made her head ache--ordered\nthe works to be demolished, because they obstructed a clear view\non the river. The inhabitants of the district depended upon their\ntankards and water-carriers, until the reign of William III., when the\nYork-buildings Waterworks were erected. The frequently-occurring name\nof Conduit-street, or Conduit-court, indicates the whereabout of many\nof the old sources whence our forefathers drew their scanty supplies.\n\nWater is not necessarily unhealthy, because of a little earthy matter\nin it; mineral, or animal, or vegetable matter held in it, by solution,\nor otherwise, renders it decidedly unwholesome. Rain water is the\npurest water, when it is to be had by its natural distillation in the\nopen fields. When collected near towns, it should never be used without\nbeing previously boiled and strained.\n\nThe hardness of water is generally caused by the presence of sulphate\nof lime. Horses commonly refuse to drink hard water,--a water that can\nmake neither good tea, nor good beer, and which frequently contains\nmany salts. Soft water, which is a powerful solvent of all vegetable\nmatters, is to be preferred for all domestic purposes. River water is\nseldom pure enough for drinking. Where purest, it has lost its carbonic\nacid from long exposure; and in the neighbourhood of cities it is\noften a slow poison, and nothing more, scarcely to be rescued from the\nname by the process of filtration. London is still supplied, at a very\ncostly price, with water which is \u201coffensive to the sight, disgusting\nto the imagination, and destructive to the health.\u201d Thames water, as at\npresent flowing into our houses, is at once the jackal and aide-de-camp\nof cholera. People are apt to praise it, as being the water from which\nis made the purest porter in the world; but it is a well-known fact,\nthat the great London brewers never employ it for that purpose.\n\nThe more a spring is drawn from, the softer the water will become;\nhence old wells furnish a purer water than those which are more recent;\nbut a well of soft water is sensibly hardened by a coating of bricks.\nTo obviate this, the bricks should be coated with cement. Snow water\ndeserves a better reputation than it has acquired. Lake water is\nfitted only for the commonest household detergent purposes. But the\nsalubrity of water is converted into poison by the conveyances which\nbring it almost to our lips; and we have not yet adopted in full the\nrecommendation of Vitruvius and Columella to use pipes of earthenware,\nas being not only cheaper, but more durable and more wholesome, than\nlead. We still convey away refuse water in earthenware, and bring fresh\nwater into our houses in lead! The noted choleraic colic of Amsterdam,\nin the last century, was entirely caused by the action of vegetable\nmatter in the water-pipes.\n\nFiltration produces no good effect upon hard water. The sulphate of\nlime, and still more the super-carbonate of lime, are only to be\ndestroyed by boiling. Boiled water, cooled, and agitated in contact\nwith the atmosphere, before use, is a safe and not an unpleasant\nbeverage. It is essential that the water be boiling when \u201ctoast and\nwater\u201d is the beverage to be taken.\n\nWater, doubtless, is the natural drink of man--in a natural state. It\nis the only liquid which truly appeases thirst; and a small quantity is\nsufficient for that effect. The other liquids are, for the most part,\npalliatives merely. If man had kept to water, the saying would not be\napplicable to him, that \u201che is the only animal privileged to drink\nwithout being thirsty.\u201d But, then, where would the medical profession\nhave been?\n\nBut he does well who, at all events, commences the day with water and\nprayer. With such an one we go hand in hand, not only in that service,\nbut, as now, to Breakfast.\n\n\n\n\nBREAKFAST.\n\n\nSwift lent dignity to this repast, and to laundresses partaking of it,\nwhen he said, in illustration of modern Epicureanism, that \u201cthe world\nmust be encompassed before a washerwoman can sit down to breakfast.\u201d\n\nFranklin, who made a \u201cmorality\u201d of every sentiment, and put opinions\ninto dramatical action, has a passage in some one of his Essays, in\nwhich he says, that \u201cDisorder breakfasts with Plenty, dines with\nPoverty, sups with Misery, and sleeps with Death.\u201d It is an unpleasant\ndivision of the day, but it is truly described, as far as it goes.\nOn the other hand, it is not to be concluded that Disorder is the\nfavourite guest of Abundance; and I do not know any one who has\ndescribed a plentiful breakfast, with regularity presiding, better\nthan another essayist, though one of a less matter-of-fact quality\nthan Franklin,--I mean Leigh Hunt. In the \u201cIndicator\u201d he invites us\nto a \u201cBreakfast in Cold Weather.\u201d \u201cHere it is,\u201d he says, \u201cready laid.\n_Imprimis_, tea and coffee; secondly, dry toast; thirdly, butter;\nfourthly, eggs; fifthly, ham; sixthly, something potted; seventhly,\nbread, salt, mustard, knives, forks, &c. One of the first things that\nbelong to a breakfast, is a good fire. There is a delightful mixture of\nthe lively and the snug, in coming down to one\u2019s breakfast-room of a\ncold morning, and seeing every thing prepared for us,--a blazing grate,\na clean table-cloth and tea-things; the newly-washed faces and combed\nheads of a set of good-humoured urchins; and the sole empty chair,\nat its accustomed corner, ready for occupation. When we lived alone,\u201d\nhe adds, \u201cwe could not help reading at meals; and it is certainly a\ndelicious thing to resume an entertaining book, at a particularly\ninteresting passage, with a hot cup of tea at one\u2019s elbow, and a\npiece of buttered toast in one\u2019s hand. The first look at the page,\naccompanied by a co-existent bite of the toast, comes under the head\nof \u2018intensities.\u2019\u201d Under the head of \u201c&c.\u201d in the above list, I should\nbe disposed to include \u201csunshine;\u201d for sunshine in a breakfast-room\nin winter, is almost as glorious a thing as the fire itself. It is\na positive tonic; it cheers the spirits, strengthens the body, and\npromotes digestion. As for breakfast in hot weather, all well-disposed\npersons who have gardens take that meal, of course, in \u201cthe arbour,\u201d\nand amid flowers. Breakfasts _al-fresco_ are all the more intensely\nenjoyed, because so few may be discussed in the open air in a country\nwhose summer consists of \u201cthree hot days and a thunder-storm;\u201d and in\na climate wherein, according to Boerhaave, people should not leave off\ntheir winter clothing till Midsummer-Day, resuming the same the next\nmorning when they are dressing for breakfast! Walpole and Boerhaave are\nright; our summers do sometimes set in with extraordinary severity.\n\nThe breakfast of a Greek soldier, taken at dawn of day, required a\nstrong head to bear it. It consisted of bread soaked in wine. If\nPrinces were in the habit of so breaking their fast, we hardly need\nwonder at the denunciation in Ecclesiastes against those who eat in\nthe morning. The Greek patricians sat daily down to but one solid\nmeal. Soldiers and plebeians had less controllable appetites, and\nthese could not be appeased with less than two meals a day. They were\naccounted peculiarly coarse people who consumed three. The Romans were,\nin this respect, similar to the Greeks. Fashionable people ate little\nor nothing before the hour when they compensated for a long fast by\na daily meal, where they fed hugely. A simple breakfast, as soon as\nthey awoke, of \u201cbread and cheese,\u201d has a very unclassical sound; but\ngood authority assures us, that it was a custom duly honoured with\nmuch observance. Not of such light fare, however, was the breakfast of\nGalba. Suetonius says that the old Emperor used to cry for his morning\nrepast long before day-break. This was in winter time. He took the\nmeal in bed, and was probably induced to do so by indisposition; for\nhe was a huge, ogre-like supper-eater,--eating much, leaving more, and\nordering the remains to be divided among the attendants, who duly,\nrather than dignifiedly, scrambled for the same.\n\nModern epicures would hardly approve of some of the dishes\nhalf-consumed by the hungry Galba at breakfast; but potentates of our\nown days have made their first meal upon very questionable matter.\n\nWhen Clapperton, the African traveller, breakfasted with the Sultan\nof Baussa, which is a collection of straggling villages on the banks\nof the Quorra, among the delicacies presented were a large grilled\nwater-rat, and alligators\u2019 eggs, fried or stewed. The company were\nmuch amazed at the singularity of taste which prompted the stranger to\nchoose fish and rice in preference to those savoury viands. The Prince,\nwho gave this public breakfast in honour of a foreign commoner, was\ndisgusted at the fastidious super-delicacy of his guest. In the last\ncentury, our commoners used to give similar entertainments in honour of\nPrinces.\n\n\u201c\u00c6lia L\u00e6lia\u201d Chudleigh, as Walpole calls the famous lady who was\nstill more famous as Duchess of Kingston, gave splendidly untidy\nentertainments of this sort in a splendidly untidy mansion. Her suppers\nwill be found noticed in another page. In 1763, she gave a concert\nand vast cold collation, or \u201cbreakfast,\u201d in honour of Prince Edward\u2019s\nbirthday. The _scene_ is admirably painted by Walpole. \u201cThe house\nis not fine, nor in good taste, but loaded with finery. Execrable\nvarnished pictures, chests, cabinets, commodes, tables, stands, boxes,\nriding on one another\u2019s backs, and loaded with terrenes, figures,\nfilligrees, and every thing upon earth! Every favour she has bestowed\nis registered by a bit of Dresden China. There is a large case full\nof enamels, eggs, ambers, lapis-lazuli, cameos, tooth-pick cases, and\nall kinds of trinkets, things that she told me were her playthings.\nAnother cupboard full of the finest japan, and candlesticks, and vases\nof rock-crystal, ready to be thrown down in every corner. But of all\ncuriosities are the conveniencies in every bed-chamber; great mahogany\nprojections, with brass handles, cocks, &c. I could not help saying it\nwas the loosest family I ever saw.\u201d\n\nThere was a philosopher of the same century, at whom even Walpole\ndared not have sneered. I allude to Dr. Black, whom Lavoisier called\n\u201cthe Nestor of the Chemical Revolution.\u201d Dr. Black was famous for the\nfrugality of his breakfasts, and for the singularity of his death,\nwhen seated at that repast. His usual fare was a little bread, a few\nprunes, and a measured quantity of milk and water. One morning in\nNovember, 1799, he was seated at this modest meal. His cup was in his\nhand, when the Inevitable Angel beckoned to him, and the Christian\nphilosopher calmly obeyed. He placed the cup on his knees, \u201cwhich were\njoined together, and kept it steady with his hand, in the manner of a\nperson perfectly at his ease; and in this attitude he expired, without\na drop being spilt, or a feature in his countenance changed, as if\nan experiment had been required, to show to his friends the facility\nwith which he departed.\u201d There was neither convulsion, shock, nor\nstupor, we are told, to announce or retard the approach of death. This\nwas a more becoming end than that of another chemist, the younger\nBerthollet,--although in the latter there was something heroical,\ntoo. He had taken his last breakfast, when he calmly proceeded to a\nsacrifice which he made to the interests of science. He destroyed his\nlife by enclosing himself in an atmosphere of carbonic acid. There he\nbegan registering all the successive feelings he experienced, which\nwere such as would have been occasioned by a narcotic;--\u201ca pause, and\nthen an almost illegible word occurred. It is presumed that the pen\ndropped from his hand, and he was no more.\u201d\n\nI have spoken of winter and of summer breakfasts. I must have recourse\nto Mr. Forrester\u2019s \u201cNorway in 1848 and 1849,\u201d to show what a breakfast\nfor a traveller should be; namely, oatmeal porridge, or stir-about,\nwith a slice of rye or wheaten bread. Such a breakfast, he says, will\nnot only fortify the traveller for a lengthened period, but to the\nsedentary, the bilious, and the dyspeptic, its adoption will afford\nmore relief than the best prescription of a physician. But this\nbreakfast must be prepared with due care, and this is the fashion of\nit: \u201cTake two or three handsfull of oatmeal; I prefer it of mixed\ncoarse and fine meal, in the proportion of one third of the latter\nto two of the former. Mingle the meal in a basin of cold water, and\npour it into a saucepan containing about a quart of boiling water;\nadd a small portion of salt. Set the saucepan over the fire, and\nkeep stirring it, sprinkling, from time to time, small quantities of\nthe meal, till the composition boils, and has acquired the proper\nconsistency. That may be known by its glutinous state as it drops from\nthe spoon. Let it simmer for ten minutes, and then pour it, not into\na deep dish, but into common dinner plates, and it will form a soft,\nthin, jellied cake; spoon out portions of this, and float it in new\nmilk, adding moist sugar, to your taste.\u201d For the benefit of others, I\nmay add my testimony touching this recipe. I have strictly followed the\ninstruction given, and I certainly never tasted any thing to equal the\ndish. It was execrable! But it has the double recommendation of being\neasy to digest, and of keeping off the sensation of hunger for a very\nlong time. Use alone is needed to make it a popular breakfast, and he\nis a hero who uses it till he likes it. But it is time to consider the\nvarious\n\n\nMATERIALS FOR BREAKFAST.\n\nAnd first of milk. If Britons really have, what they so much boast\nof,--a birth-right,--the least disputable article of that class, is\ntheir undoubted right to that lacteal treasure which their mother holds\nfrom Nature, on trust, for their use and advantage.\n\nIt is a curious fact, that aristocratic infants are those who are most\nordinarily deprived of this first right of their citizenship, and\nare sent to slake their thirst and fortify their thews and sinews at\nochlocratic breasts. Jean Jacques Rousseau was not often right, but he\nwas triumphantly so when he denounced the young and healthy mother,\nlet her rank be what it might, who made surrender of what should be\none of the purest of a young mother\u2019s pleasures, and flung her child\nto the bosom of a stranger. Who can say what bad principles may not\nhave been drawn in with these \u201cearly breakfasts?\u201d Certainly this\nvicarious exercise of the office of maternity is an abomination; and\nthe abomination of having one\u2019s child suckled by a mercenary stranger\ncan only be next in intensity to that of having him----but let us keep\nto \u201cTable Traits.\u201d\n\nMilk is too popularly known to need description; but it is not all that\nis sold under that name that comes from the cow. The cow with one arm,\nthat produces what fresh medical students call the _aqua pumpaginis_,\nhas very much to do with the dairies of London. Metropolitan milk-maids\nare not as unsophisticated as the milk-maids of the olden time; if,\nindeed, maids or milk were particularly pure even then; for milk was\na propitiatory offering to Mercury, and if ever there was a deity who\nloved mischief, why, Dan Mercury was the one.\n\nIn Rome milk was used as a cosmetic, and for baths as well as beverage.\nFive hundred asses supplied the bath and toilette-vases of the Empress\nPopp\u00e6a; and some dozen or two were kept to maintain the decaying\nstrength of Francis I. Of course, asses\u2019 milk became fashionable in\nParis immediately, just as bolster cravats did with us, when the Regent\ntook to them in order to conceal a temporary disease in the neck.\n\n\u201cOil of milk\u201d and \u201ccow-cheese\u201d were classical names for butter,--a\nsubstance which was not known in either Greece or Rome until\ncomparatively late periods. Greece received it from Asia, and Rome knew\nit not as an article of food until the legionaries saw the use to which\nit was applied by the German matrons. The Scythians, like the modern\nBedouins, were great butter-consumers. Their churners were slaves,\ncaptured in war, and blinded before they were chained to the sticks\nbeside the tub, at which, with sightless orbs, they were set to work.\n\nThere have been seasons when, as now in Abyssinia, butter has been\nburned in the lamps in churches, instead of oil. The \u201cbutter-tower\u201d of\nthe cathedral at Rouen owes its distinctive appellation to its having\nbeen built from the proceeds of a tax levied in return for permissions\nto eat butter at uncanonical times; so that the tower is a monument of\nthe violation of the ecclesiastical canons. But there is great licence\nin these matters; and chapels in Ireland have been constructed with\nmoney raised by putting up Moore\u2019s erotic works to be raffled for, at\nhalf-a-crown a ticket!\n\nGoats, cows, sheep, asses, and mares have all contributed their milk\ntowards the making of cheese; and national prejudice has run so high\non the question of superiority, that as many broken heads have been\nthe result, as there have been rivulets of blood spilt at Dinant on\nthe question of copper kettles. The Phrygian cheese is said to have\nowed its excellence to the fact, that it was made of asses\u2019 and mares\u2019\nmilk mixed together. I doubt, however, if the strong-smelling Phrygian\ncheese was equal to our Stilton,--which, by the way, is not made _at_\nStilton,--and whose ripeness has been judiciously assisted by the\naddition of a pint of Madeira. Delicate persons at Rome breakfasted on\nbread and cheese,--principally goat cheese. It was administered, on the\nsame principle that we prescribe rump-steak, as strengthening. People\nin rude health flourished in spite of it, and therefore ailing people\n_must_, it was thought, be invigorated because of it. However, our own\nsystem is less open to objection than that of the ancient faculty.\n\nI do not know whether mothers will consider it complimentary or not;\nbut it is a fact, that the milk of asses more nearly resembles human\nmilk than any other. Like the human milk, it contains more saccharine\nmatter than that of the cow, and deposits a large proportion of curd by\nmere repose.\n\nMilk is easily assimilated, nourishes quickly, and but slightly excites\nto vascular action. It is stringent, however, and has a tendency to\ncreate acidity; but an addition of oatmeal gruel will correct both\nthese matters. Suet, inserted in a muslin bag, and simmered with the\nmilk, is of highly nourishing quality; but it is sometimes more\nthan weak stomachs can bear. Lime-water with milk is recommended as\nsovereign against the acidity which milk alone is apt to create in\nfeeble stomachs.\n\nEggs have been as violently eulogized as they have been condemned, and\nboth in extremes. In some parts of Africa, where they are very scarce,\nand the Priests are very fond of them, it has been revealed to the\npeople, that it is sacrilege for any but clerical gentlemen to eat\neggs! The lay scruple, if I may so speak, is quieted by the assurance,\nthat, though the sacred hens produce only for the servants at the\naltar, the latter never address themselves to the food in question,\nwithout the whole body of the laity profiting thereby! I suppose that\nDissenters naturally abound in this part of Africa. There is nothing so\nunsatisfactory as vicarious feeding. Feeding is a duty which every man\nis disposed to perform for himself, whether it be expected of him or\nnot. All the eggs in Africa, passing the \u0153sophagus of a Priest, could\nhardly nourish a layman, even though the eggs were as gigantic as those\nwhich an old author says are presented by ladies in the moon to their\nprofoundly delighted husbands, and from which spring young babies, six\nfeet high, and men at all points.\n\nIf the matrons in the moon were thus remarkable in this respect, the\nEgyptian shepherds on earth were not less so in another: they had a\nsingular method of cooking eggs, without the aid of fire. They laid\nthem in a sling, and then applied so violent a rotatory motion thereto,\nthat they were heated and cooked by the very friction of the air\nthrough which they passed!\n\nDiviners and dreamers dealt largely in eggs. Livia was told, just\nbefore the birth of Tiberius, to hatch one in her bosom, and that the\nsex of the chick would foretell that of the expected little stranger.\nIn Rome and Greece eggs were among the introductory portions of every\nbanquet. But Rome knew only of twenty different manners of cooking\nthem. What an advance in civilization has been made in Paris, which,\naccording to Mr. Robert Fudge, boasts of six hundred and eighty-five\nways to dress eggs!\n\nEggs, filled with salt, used to be eaten by curious maidens, after a\nwhole day\u2019s fasting, on St. Agnes\u2019 Eve: the profit of such a meal was,\nthat she who partook of it had information, in her after-dreams, of\nthat very interesting personage, her future husband!\n\nThere is a story narrated of a Welsh weaver, that he could tell, by\nthe look of the egg, whether the bird would be worth any thing or not.\nHe reminds me of an old Monk I heard of, when in Prague, who, on a man\npassing him, could tell whether he were an honest man, or a knave, by\nthe smell! But the Welsh weaver was even more clever than this. He\ncould not only judge of eggs, but hatch them. A badger once carried\noff his sitting-hen, and no plumed nurse was near to supply her place.\nThe weaver, thereupon, took the eggs (there were six of them) to bed\nwith him, and in about two days hatched them all! Of this brood he only\nreared a cock and a hen. The cock was a gallant bird, that used to\nwin flitches of bacon for his master at cock-fights; and the hen was\nas prolific as Mrs. Partlett could have desired. The result was, that\nthey kept their step-mother, the weaver, in bacon and eggs for many a\nmonth; and the two days spent in bed were not so entirely thrown away\nas might, at first sight, appear.\n\nLet it be understood that eggs may lose their nourishment by cooking.\nThe yolk, raw or very slightly boiled, is exceedingly nutritious.\nIt is, moreover, the only food for those afflicted with jaundice.\nWhen an egg has been exposed to a long continuance of culinary heat,\nits nature is entirely changed. A slightly-boiled egg, however, is\nmore easy of digestion than a raw one. The best accompaniment for a\nhard egg is vinegar. Raw eggs have a laxative effect; hard-boiled,\nthe contrary. There is an idiosyncrasy in some persons, which shows\nitself in the utter disgust which they experience, not only against\nthe egg itself, but also against any preparation of which it forms an\ningredient, however slight. Eggs should always be liberally accompanied\nby bread;--of which I will now say a few words, and first of\n\n\nCORN.\n\nOur first parents received the mission to cultivate the garden which\nwas given them for a home. Their Hebrew descendants looked upon tillage\nof all descriptions with a reverence worthy of the authority which\nthey professed to obey. The sons of the tribes stood proudly by the\nplough, the daughters of the patriarchs were gleaners, warriors lent\ntheir strength in the threshing barn, Kings guided oxen, and Prophets\nwere summoned from the furrows to put on their mantles, and go forth\nand tell of things that were to come. What Heaven had enjoined, the law\nenforced. The people were taught to love and hold by the land which\nwas in their own possession. To alienate it was to commit a crime. And\nit is from this ancient rule, probably, that has descended to us the\nfeeling which universally prevails,--that he alone is aristocratic, has\nthe best of power, who is lord of the land upon which he has built his\nearthly tabernacle.\n\nThe fields of Palestine were fertile beyond what was known elsewhere;\nher cattle produced more abundantly, and the very appellations of\nmany of her localities have reference to the beauty and the blessings\nshowered down upon them by the Lord.\n\nNext to it, perhaps, in richness and productiveness, was Egypt, the\nhome of fugitives from other homes where temporary famine reigned.\nEgypt was long the granary of the Roman empire, and twenty million\nbushels of corn was the life-sustaining tribute which she annually\npoured into the store-houses of Imperial Rome. That territory could\nhardly be more productive, of which an old Latin author speaks, and\ntouching which he says, that a rod thrust into the soil at night would\nbe found budding before morning. And this ancient story, I may notice,\nhas been the venerable father of a large family of similar jokes among\nour Transatlantic cousins.\n\nThe Egyptians recognised Osiris as their instructor how to subdue and\nuse the earth. The Greeks took the teaching from Ceres. Romulus, too,\nacknowledged the divine influence; and his first public act, as King,\nwas to raise the twelve sons of his nurse into a priesthood, charged\nwith watching over the fields, and paying sacrifice and prayer to Jove\nfor yearly increase of harvests.\n\nIt was a selfish wish; but not more so than that of the Italian\npeasants, who, when one who was a native of their district had been\nraised to the tiara, sent a delegation to request an especial favour at\nhis hands. The new Pope looked on his old acquaintances benevolently,\nand bade them express their wish. \u201cThey wanted but a modest boon,\u201d\nthey replied: \u201cnothing more than a declaration from the Pontiff that\ntheir district should be henceforth distinguished by its having _two_\nharvests every year!\u201d And the obliging \u201csuccessor of the Fisherman\u201d\nsmiled, and not only granted their request, but promised more than he\nwas petitioned for. \u201cTo do honour to my old friends,\u201d said he, \u201cnot\nalone shall they have two harvests every year, but henceforth the year\nin their district shall be twice as long as it is in any other!\u201d And\ntherewith the simple people departed joyously.\n\nThe older Romans honoured agriculture, as did the Jews. Their language\nbore reference to this, their coin was stamped with symbols in\nconnexion therewith, and their public treasury \u201c_pascua_\u201d showed,\nby its name, that \u201cpasturage\u201d was wealth. So he who was rich in\nminted coin enjoyed the _pecunia_, or \u201cmoney,\u201d for which \u201cflocks\u201d\n(_pecus_) were bought and sold. The owner of an \u201cestate\u201d (_locus_) was\n_locuples_, a term for a man well endowed with worldly goods; and he\nwas in possession of a \u201csalary,\u201d who had his _salarium_, his allowance\nof salt-money, or of salt, wherewith to savour the food by which he\nlived.\n\nThe Greeks refreshed the mouths of their ploughing oxen with wine. The\nlabour was considerable; for, although the plough was light, it lacked\nthe conveniencies of the more modern implement. Like the Anglo-Norman\nplough, it had no wheels: the wheeled plough is the work of the\ninventive Gauls.\n\nThe French Republicans made a show of paying honour to agriculture by\npublic demonstrations, the chief actors in which were the foremost men\nin the Land of Equality. They, absurdly enough, took their idea from\nthe example presented them by a Monarch, all of whom they pronounced\nexecrable; and by one, too, who was the most despotic upon earth,--the\nEmperor of China.\n\nAnd, in the case of the Emperor, there probably was more ostentation\nthan any better motive for the act. Grimm, in his \u201cCorrespondence,\u201d\nsays, truly enough, that the ceremony is a fine one, which places\nthe Emperor of China, every year, at the tail of the plough; but, as\nhe adds, it is possible that, like much of the etiquette of European\nCourts, such a custom may have sunk into a mere observance, exercising\nno influence on the public mind. \u201cI defy you,\u201d he says, \u201cto find a\nmore impressive ceremony than that by which the Doge of Venice yearly\ndeclares himself the husband of the Adriatic Sea. How exalting!--how\nstimulating!--how proudly inspiring for the Venetians, when their\nnation was, in reality, sovereign of the seas! But now it is little\nmore than a ridiculous sport, and without any other effect than that of\nattracting a multitude of people to the Fair of the Ascension.\u201d\n\nCharles IX., infamous as he was in most respects, was honourable in\none; namely, in exempting from arrest for debt all persons engaged\nin the cultivation of land, \u201cwith intent to raise grain and fruit\nnecessary for the sustenance of men and beasts.\u201d All the property of\nsuch husbandmen was alike exempted from seizure; and it strikes us,\nthat this was a much more reasonably-founded exemption than that with\nwhich we endow _rou\u00e9_ Members of Parliament, who have no excuse for\nexceeding their income. They are free from arrest for six weeks from\nthe prorogation of Parliament; and this is the cause of the farce\nwhich is so often played in the autumn and winter, when Parliament is\n\u201cfurther prorogued.\u201d The Great Council would be all the better for the\nabsence of men who so far forget their duty as to cheat her Majesty\u2019s\nlieges by exceeding their own income. The Senate could better spare\nthe spendthrifts, than the land could spare the presence of him whose\nmission it is to render it productive.\n\nWheat is a native of Asia,--some say, of Siberia; others, of Tartary;\nbut it is a matter of doubt, whether it can now be found there growing\nin a wild state. The Romans created a corn-god, and then asked its\nprotection. The powerful deity was called Robigus, and he was solemnly\ninvoked, on every 25th of April, to keep mildew from the grain. The\nRomans had a reverence for corn, but barley was excepted from this\nhomage; and to threaten to put an offending soldier on rations of\nbarley, was to menace him with disgrace. The Italian antipathy still\nexists, if we may believe the Italian Professor, who, being offered\na basin of gruel, (made from barley,) declared its proper appellation\nto be \u201c_acqua crudele_.\u201d He accounted of it, as Pliny did of rye, that\nit was detestable, and could only be swallowed by an extremely hungry\nman. Oats were only esteemed a degree higher by Virgil. The poet speaks\nof them almost as disparagingly as Johnson did, when he described them\nas \u201cfood for horses in England, and for men in Scotland.\u201d The grain,\nhowever, found a good advocate in him who asked, \u201c----where did you\never see such horses and such men?\u201d The meal is, nevertheless, of a\nheating quality, and certain cutaneous diseases are traced to a too\nexclusive use of it. But oatmeal cakes are not bad eating,--where\nbetter is not to be procured,--though they are less attractive to the\npalate than those sweet buns made from sesame grain, and which the\nRomans not only swallowed with delight, but used the name proverbially.\nThe lover who was treating his mistress to sugared phrases, was said to\nbe regaling her with \u201csesame cakes.\u201d This sort of provision was very\nlargely dealt in by Latin lovers. It was to be had cheaply; and nymphs\nconsumed as fast as swains presented.\n\nIf lovers gave the light bread of persuasion to win a maiden\u2019s\naffection, the Government distributed solid loaves, or corn to make\nthem with, to the people, in order to gain the popular esteem, and\nsuppress sedition. In some cases, it was as a \u201cpoor\u2019s rate\u201d paid by\nthe Emperors, and costing them nothing. In too many cases, it was ill\napplied; and if Adrian daily fed all the children of the poor, other\nimperial rulers showered their tens of thousands of bushels daily on\nan idle populace and a half-dressed soldiery. It was easily procured.\nSixty millions of bushels--twenty times that number of pounds\u2019\nweight--were supplied by Africa; and those \u201csweet nurses of Rome,\u201d the\nislands of the Mediterranean, also poured into the imperial granaries\nan abundant tribute of the golden seed. It is a fact, however, that\nneither Romans nor Gauls were, till a late period, acquainted with the\nmethod of making fermented bread.\n\nAmbrosia, nine times sweeter than honey, was the food of the gods; the\nfirst men existed on more bitter fare,--bread made from acorns. Ceres\nhas the honour of having introduced a better fare. Men worshipped her\naccordingly; and, abandoning acorns, took also to eating the pig,\nnow allowed to fatten on them at his leisure. Ceres and King Miletus\ndispute the renown of having invented grinding-stones. The hand-mill\nwas one of the trophies which the Roman eagles bore back with them from\nAsia. Mola, the goddess charged therewith, looked to the well-being\nof mills, millers, and bread. In Greece, Mercury had something to do\nwith this. It was he, at least, who sent to the Athenian market-women,\nselling bread, their customers; and, as he was the God of Eloquence,\nit is, doubtless, from this ancient source that all market-women are\nendowed with shrewdness and loquacity.\n\nThe Athenian bread-sellers are said to have possessed both. Our ladies\nof the Gate, in Billing\u2019s Ward, are, probably, not behind them; and I\nam inclined to think that a true old-fashioned Bristol market-woman\nwould surpass both. Let me cite an instance.\n\nSome years ago, an old member of this ancient sisterhood was standing\nat her stall, in front of one of the Bristol banks. She had a \u00a310\nBank-of-England note in her hand; and as, in her younger days, she had\nbeen nurse-maid in the family of one of the partners, she thought she\nmight venture to enter, and ask for gold for her note. She did so; but\nit was at a time when guineas were worth five-and-twenty shillings\na-piece, and gold was scarce, and----in short, she met with a refusal.\nThe quick-witted market-woman, without exhibiting any disappointment,\nthereupon asked the cashier to let her have ten of the bank\u2019s \u00a31 notes\nin exchange for her \u201cBank-of-Englander.\u201d The cashier was delighted to\naccommodate her in this fashion. The exchange being completed, the old\nlady, taking up one of the provincial notes, read aloud the promise\nengraved upon it, to pay the bearer in cash. \u201cVery good!\u201d said she,\nwith a gleesome chuckle, \u201cnow gi\u2019 me goold for _your_ notes, or I\u2019ll\nrun to the door, and call out, \u2018Bank\u2019s broke!\u2019\u201d There was no resisting\nthis, and the market-woman departed triumphantly with her gold.\nLight-heeled Mercury could not have helped her better than she helped\nherself, by means of her own sharp wit.\n\nDespite what Virgil says of oats, the Roman soldiery, for many years,\nhad no better food than gruel made from oatmeal, and sharpened for the\nappetite by a little vinegar. The vinegar was an addition suggested by\nNuma, who also not only improved the very rude ideas which previously\nprevailed with regard to the making of bread, but turned baker himself,\nand sent his loaves to the ovens which he had erected, and to the\nbakers whom he had raised into a \u201cguild,\u201d placed under the protection\nof the goddess Fornax;--and a very indifferent, nay, disreputable,\ndeity she was! The public ovens were to the people of Rome what a\nbarber\u2019s shop is to a village in war time,--the temple of gossip. It\nhad been well had they never been any thing worse! The vocation of\nbaker was hereditary in a family; the son was compelled to follow his\nfather\u2019s calling. Occasionally, a member of the fraternity was offered\na senatorship; but then he was required to make over his property,\nrealized by baking, to his successors; and, consequently, the honour\nwas as deeply declined as the London mayoralty would be by the Governor\nof the Bank of England.\n\nIf Fornax was the goddess to whose patronage the bakers were consigned\nby the State, she suffered by the religious liberty exercised by the\nbakers themselves, who chose to pay adoration to Vesta. Vesta was the\nvery antipodes in character and attributes to Fornax; and the selection\nof the former would seem to show, that the generally reviled bakers\ncould not only praise virtue, but practise it.\n\nEndless were the varieties of bread sold in the markets at Rome. There\nwas Cappadocian bread for the wealthy; pugilistic loaves for the\nathlet\u00e6; batter-bread for the strong, and Greek rolls for the weak, of\nstomach: and there were the prepared bread poultices, which people who,\nlike Pompey\u2019s young soldiers, were afraid of injuring their complexion,\nwere wont to keep applied to their cheeks during the hours of sleep.\nAnadyomene so slumbering, with Adonis at her side similarly poulticed,\ncan hardly be said to be a subject for a painter; and yet many a\nblooming Caia slept on the bosom of her Caius, and more _panis madidus_\nthan blushes on the cheeks of either.\n\nPliny ventures on a strange statement with regard to oats. He says that\noats and barley are so nearly allied, that when a man sows the one,\nhe is not sure that he may not reap the other! He also illustrates\nthe prolificness of millet, by asserting that a single grain produced\n\u201cinnumerable ears of corn; and that a bushel (twenty pounds\u2019 weight)\nof millet would make more than sixty pounds of wholesome bread!\u201d The\nRomans and the Greeks also appear to have been acquainted with Indian\ncorn.\n\nJean Jacques Rousseau, much as he affected to love nature,--and he was\nhimself one of the most artificial of characters,--knew very little\nabout her, or her productions. Some of our great men are described as\nbeing in much the same condition of ignorance. Three poets of the last\ncentury were one day walking through a field, promising a glorious\nharvest of grain. One of them extolled the beauty of the wheat. \u201cNay,\u201d\nsaid the second, \u201cit is rye.\u201d \u201cNot so,\u201d remarked the third, \u201cit is a\nfield of barley.\u201d A clown, standing by, heard and marvelled at the\ntriple ignorance. \u201cYou are all wrong, gentlemen,\u201d said he; \u201cthose be\noats.\u201d The poets were town-bred; or were of that class of people who go\nthrough a country with their eyes open, and are unable to distinguish\nbetween its productions. I have seen Londoners contemplating, with a\nvery puzzled look, the \u201ccanary\u201d crops growing in the vicinity of Herne\nBay; and I was once gravely asked if it was \u201cteazle!\u201d\n\nThese crops are, as I was told by a grower, \u201ccapricious.\u201d They will\ngrow abundantly upon certain land having certain aspects; but where the\naspect is changed, although the land be chemically the same, the canary\nwill scarcely grow at all. It is shipped in large quantities from Herne\nBay for London, where it is used for many purposes. None of its uses\nare so singular as one to which corn was applied, some thirty years\nago, in the western settlements of America, namely, for stretching\nboots and shoes. The boot or shoe was well filled with corn, and made\nsecure by such tight tying that none could escape. It was then immersed\nfor several hours in water; during which the leather was distended by\nthe gradual swelling of the grain. After being taken from the water, a\ncoating of neat\u2019s-foot oil, laid on and left to dry, rendered the boot\nor shoe fit for wear.\n\nA more interesting anecdote in connexion with corn, and illustrative\nof character, is afforded us by Dr. Chalmers in his Diary. The\nDoctor, as is well known,--and he was ever ready to confess his\nweakness,--occasionally let his warm temper get the better of his\nexcellent judgment. Here is an instance, which shows, moreover, how\nChristian judgment recovered itself from the influence of human nature:\n\u201cNov. 20th, 1812.--Was provoked with Thomas taking it upon him to ask\nmore corn for my horse. It has got feeble under his administration of\ncorn, and I am not without suspicion that he appropriates it; and his\neagerness to have it strengthens the suspicion. Erred in betraying\nanger to my servant and wife; and, though I afterwards got my feelings\ninto a state of placidity and forbearance, upon Christian principles,\nwas moved and agitated when I came to talk of it to himself. Let\nme take the corn into my own hand, but carry it to him with entire\ncharity. O, my God, support me!\u201d Was it not to Socrates that some one\nsaid?--\u201cTo judge from your looks, you are the best-tempered man in the\nworld.\u201d \u201cThen my looks belie me,\u201d replied the philosopher; \u201cI have the\nworst possible temper, by nature; with the strongest possible control\nover it, by philosophy.\u201d Chalmers was, in one sense, like Socrates; but\nthe control over his stubborn infirmity had something better \u201cthan your\nphilosophy\u201d for its support.\n\nReverting to the feeding of horses, I may notice, that, according to\nthe Earl of Northumberland\u2019s \u201cHousehold-Book,\u201d the corn was not thrown\nloose into the manger, but made into loaves. It has been conjectured,\nthat the English poor formerly ate the same bread. There can be no\nquestion about it; and even at the present time it is no uncommon\nsight, in some towns of the Continent, to see a driver feeding his\nhorse from a loaf, and occasionally taking a slice therefrom for\nhimself.\n\nThere is no greater consumer of corn in England than the pigeon.\nVancouver, in laudable zeal for the hungry poor, calls pigeons\n\u201cvoracious and insatiate vermin.\u201d He calculates the pigeons of England\nand Wales at nearly a million and a quarter; \u201cconsuming 159,500,000\npints of corn annually, to the value of \u00a31,476,562. 10_s._\u201d It is\nimpossible for calculation to be made closer. Darwin says of pigeons,\nthat they have an organ in the stomach for secreting milk. And it is\nnot alone in the way of devouring corn that they are destructive. In\nthe \u201cPhilosophical Transactions,\u201d it is mentioned that pigeons for\nmany ages built under the roof of the great church of Pisa. Their dung\nspontaneously took fire, at last, and the church was consumed.\n\nI have said that the Roman soldiers marched to victory under the\ninfluence of no more exciting stimulant than gruel and vinegar. A\nlittle oatmeal has often sustained the strength of our own legions in\nthe hour of struggle. The Germans, brave as they are, sometimes require\na more substantial support. Thus, after a defeat endured by the Great\nFrederick, hundreds of respectable burgesses of the province of Mark\nset out as volunteers for the royal army,--the Hellengers in white, the\nSauerlanders in blue jackets,--each man with a stout staff in his hand,\nand a rye loaf and a ham on his back. \u201cFritz\u201d glared with astonishment\nwhen they presented themselves at his head-quarters. \u201cWhere do you\nfellows come from?\u201d said he. \u201cFrom Mark, to help our King.\u201d \u201cWho\ndoesn\u2019t want you,\u201d interrupted Fritz. \u201cSo much the better; we are here\nof our own accord.\u201d \u201cWhere are your officers?\u201d \u201cWe have none.\u201d \u201cAnd\nhow many of you deserted by the way?\u201d \u201cDeserted!\u201d cried the Markers\nindignantly: \u201cif any of us had been capable of _that_, we should not\nbe what we are,--volunteers.\u201d \u201cTrue!\u201d said the King, \u201cand I can depend\nupon you. You shall have fire enough soon to toast your bread and cook\nyour hams by.\u201d\n\nWhen Henri IV. was besieging Paris, held by the Leaguers, the want\nmost severely felt by the famished inhabitants was that of bread.\nThe Guise party, who held the city,--and the most active agent of\nthat party was the Duchess of Montpensier, the sister of Duke Henri\nof Guise,--endeavoured to keep life in the people by means that\nnature revolts at. When every other sort of food had disappeared, the\nGovernment within the walls distributed very diminutive rolls made of a\npaste, the chief ingredient in which was human bones ground to powder.\nThe people devoured them under the name of \u201cMadame de Montpensier\u2019s\ncakes;\u201d--no wonder that they soon after exultingly welcomed the entry\nof a King, who declared that his first desire was to secure to every\nman in France his \u201c_poule au pot!_\u201d But enough of bread. Let us examine\nbriefly the subject of\n\n\nBUTTER.\n\nThe illustrious Ude, or some one constituting him the authority for\nthe nonce, has sneered at the English as being a nation having twenty\nreligions, and only one sauce,--melted butter. A French commentator\nhas added, that we have nothing polished about us but our steel, and\nthat our only ripe fruit is baked apples. Guy Pantin traces the alleged\ndislike of the French of his day for the English, to the circumstance\nthat the latter poured melted butter over their roast veal. The French\nexecration is amusingly said to have been further directed against\nus, on account of the declared barbarism of eating oyster-sauce with\nrump-steak, and \u201cpoultice,\u201d as they cruelly characterize \u201cbread sauce,\u201d\nwith pheasant. But, to return to butter:--the spilling of it has more\nthan once been elucidative of character. When, in the days of the old\n_r\u00e9gime_, an English servant accidentally let a drop or two of melted\nbutter fall upon the silken suit of a French _petit-ma\u00eetre_, the latter\nindignantly declared that \u201cblood and butter were an Englishman\u2019s food.\u201d\nThe conclusion was illogical, but the arguer was excited. Lord John\nTownshend manifested better temper and wit, when a similar accident\nbefell him, as he was dining at a friend\u2019s table, where the coachman\nwas the only servant in waiting. \u201cJohn,\u201d said my Lord, \u201cyou should\nnever grease anything but your coach-wheels.\u201d\n\nIt was an old popular error that a pound of butter might consist\nof any number of ounces. It is an equally popular error, that a\nbreakfast cannot be, unless bread and butter be of it. Marcus Antoninus\nbreakfasted on dry biscuits; and many a person of less rank, and higher\nworth, is equally incapable of digesting any thing stronger. Solid\nbreakfasts are only fit for those who have much solid exercise to take\nafter it; otherwise heartburn may be looked for. Avoid new bread and\nspongy rolls; look on muffins and crumpets as inventions of men of\nworse than sanguinary principles, and hot buttered toast as of equally\nwicked origin. Dry toast is the safest morning food, perhaps, for\npersons of indifferent powers of digestion; or they may substitute for\nit the imperial fashion set by Marcus Antoninus. Of liquids I may next\nspeak; and in this our ancient friend, Tea, takes the precedence.\n\n\nTEA.\n\nThe origin of tea is very satisfactorily accounted for by the Indian\nmythologists. Darma, a Hindoo Prince, went on a pilgrimage to China,\nvowing he would never take rest by the way; but he once fell asleep,\nand he was so angry with himself, on awaking, that he cut off his\neye-lids, and flung them on the ground. They sprang up in the form of\ntea shrubs; and he who drinks of the infusion thereof, imbibes the\njuice of the eye-lids of Darma. Tea, however, is said to have been\nfirst used in China as a corrective for bad water; and _that_ not at a\nremote date.\n\nIn the seventeenth century, half the physicians of Holland published\ntreatises in favour of tea. It was hailed as a panacea, and the most\nmoderate eulogizers affirmed that two hundred cups a day might be\ndrunk without injury to the stomach of the drinker. In the ninth\ncentury, tea was taken in China simply as a medicine; and it then\nhad the repute of being a panacea. The early Dutch physicians who so\nearnestly recommended its use as a common beverage, met with strenuous\nopposition. France, Germany, and Scotland, in the persons of Patin,\nHahnemann, and Duncan, decried tea as an impertinent novelty, and\nthe vendors of it as immoral and mercenary. Nor was Holland itself\nunanimous in panegyrizing the refreshing herb. Some, indeed, eulogized\nthe infusion as the fountain of health, if not of youth; but others\nagain, and those of the Dutch faculty, indignantly derided it as filthy\n\u201chay-water.\u201d Olearius, the German, on the other hand, recognised its\ndietetic virtues as early as 1133; while a Russian Ambassador, at about\nthe same period, refused a pound or two of it, offered him by the Mogul\nas a present to the Czar, on the ground that the gift was neither\nuseful nor agreeable.\n\nThe Dutch appear to have been the first who discovered the value of\nthe shrub, in a double sense. They not only procured it for the sake\nof its virtues, but contrived to do so by a very profitable species of\nbarter. They exchanged with the Chinese a pound of sago for three or\nfour pounds of tea; and it is very possible that each party, preferring\nits own acquisition, looked on the opposite party as duped.\n\nTea is supposed to have been first imported into England, from Holland,\nin 1666, by Lords Arundel and Ossory. We cannot be surprised that it\nwas slow in acquiring the popular favour, if its original cost was,\nas it is said to have been, 60s. per pound. But great uncertainty\nrests as well upon the period of introduction, as upon the original\nimporters, and the value of the merchandise. One fact connected with it\nis well ascertained; namely, that European Companies had long traded\nwith China before they discovered the value and uses of tea.\n\nIt is said to have been in favour at the Court of Charles II., owing to\nthe example of Catherine, his Queen, who had been used to drink it in\nPortugal. Medical men thought, at that time, that health could not be\nmore effectually promoted than by increasing the fluidity of the blood;\nand that the infusion of Indian tea was the best means of attaining\nthat object. In 1678, Bontekoe, a Dutch physician, published a\ncelebrated treatise in favour of tea, and to his authority its general\nuse in so many parts of Europe is to be attributed.\n\nThe first tea-dealer was also a tobacconist, and sold the two weeds of\nnovelty together, or separately. His name was Garway, (\u201cGarraway\u2019s,\u201d)\nand his _locale_, Exchange-alley. It was looked upon chiefly as a\nmedicinal herb; and Garway, in the seventeenth century, not only \u201cmade\nup prescriptions,\u201d in which tea was the sole ingredient, but parcels\nfor presents, and cups of the infusion for those who resorted to his\nhouse to drink it over his counter. Its price then varied from 11_s._\nto 50_s._ per pound. The taking tea with a visitor was soon a domestic\ncircumstance; and, towards the end of the century, Lord Clarendon and\nP\u00e8re Couplet supped together, and had a cup of tea after supper, an\noccurrence which is journalized by his Lordship without any remark to\nlead us to suppose that it was an extraordinary event.\n\nDr. Lettsom has written largely, and plagiarized unreservedly, on\nthe subject of tea; adding, as Mr. Disraeli remarks, his own dry\nmedical reflections to the sparkling facts of others; but he was the\nfirst, perhaps, who established the unwholesomeness of green tea. He\n\u201cdistilled some green tea, injected three drachms of the very odorous\nand pellucid water which he obtained, into the cavity of the abdomen\nand cellular membrane of a frog, by which he paralysed the animal.\nHe applied it to the cavity of the abdomen and ischiatic nerves of\nanother, and the frog died; and this he thought proved green tea to be\nunwholesome\u201d--to the frogs, and so applied, as it undoubtedly was. Such\nexperiments, however, are unsatisfactory. _Nux vomica_, for instance,\ndeadly poison to man, may be taken, almost with impunity, by many\nanimals.\n\nThe first brewers of tea were often sorely perplexed with the\npreparation of the new mystery. \u201cMrs. Hutchinson\u2019s great grandmother\nwas one of a party who sat down to the first pound of tea that ever\ncame into Penrith. It was sent as a present, and without directions how\nto use it. They boiled the whole at once in a bottle, and sat down to\neat the leaves with butter and salt, and they wondered how any person\ncould like such a diet.\u201d\n\nSteele, in \u201cThe Funeral,\u201d laughs at the \u201ccups which cheer, but not\ninebriate.\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t you see,\u201d says he, \u201chow they swallow gallons of the\njuice of tea, while their own dock-leaves are trodden under foot?\u201d\n\nWhat Bishop Berkeley did with \u201cTar Water,\u201d when he made his Essay\nthereupon a ground for a Dissertation on the Trinity, Joseph\nWilliams--\u201cthe Christian merchant\u201d of the early and middle part of last\ncentury, whose biography is well known to serious readers--did, when\nhe wrote to his friend Green upon the necessity of \u201csetting the Lord\nalways before us.\u201d When treating of this subject, the pious layman\nadverts to a present of that new thing called \u201ctea,\u201d which Green had\nsent him, and which had lost some of its flavour in the transit. There\nis something amusing in the half sensual, half spiritual way in which\nworthy Joseph Williams mixes his Jeremiad upon tea with one upon\nhuman morals. \u201cThe tea,\u201d he says, \u201ccame safe to hand, but it hath lost\nthe elegant flavour it had when we drank of it at Sherborne, owing, I\nsuppose, to its conveyance in paper, which, being very porous, easily\nadmits effluvia from other goods packed up with it, and emits effluvia\nfrom the tea. Such are the moral tendencies of evil communications\namong men, which nothing will prevent, (like canisters for tea,) but\ntaking to us the whole armour of God. Had the tea been packed up with\ncloves, mace, and cinnamon, it would have been tinctured with these\nsweet spices; so \u2018he that walks with wise men shall be wise.\u2019 He that\nconverses with heaven-born souls, whose conversation is in heaven,\nwhose treasure and whose hearts are there, will catch some sparks from\ntheir holy fire; but \u2018evil communications corrupt good manners.\u2019 I have\nput the tea into a canister, and am told it will recover its original\nflavour, as the pious soul which hath received some ill impressions\nfrom vicious or vain conversation will, by retiring from the world,\nby communing with his own heart, by heavenly meditation, and fervent\nprayer, recover his spiritual ardour.\u201d The simile, however, limps\na little; for if every man canistered himself, and a good example,\nfrom the world, the wide-spreading aroma of that example would never\nseductively insinuate itself into the souls of men. It is by contact\nwe brighten, and sometimes suffer. We must not canister our virtue\nas Mr. Williams did his tea: the latter was for selfish enjoyment. A\nguinea may be kept for ever unstained by the commerce of the world,\nin the very centre of the chest of avarice; but what good does it do\nthere? Let it circulate merrily through the hundred hands of the giant\nIndustry, and there will be more profit than evil effected by the\nprocess. But good Joseph Williams would not have agreed with us, and he\n_would_ take his saintly similes from traits of the table. \u201cO that I\nmay walk humbly,\u201d he says, \u201cand look on myself, when fullest of divine\ncommunications, but as a drinking-glass without a foot, and which,\nconsequently, cannot stand of itself, nor retain what may be put into\nit.\u201d A very tipsy-like simile!\n\nI may be permitted to add that, after all, religion happily proved\nstronger than tea, but not without still stronger opposition; and we\nare told by the disgusted _Connoisseur_, that \u201cpersons of fashion\ncannot but lament that the Sunday evening tea-drinkings in Ranelagh\nwere laid aside, from a superstitious regard to religion.\u201d A remark\nwhich shows how very poor a _connoisseur_ this writer was in matters of\npropriety. Not, indeed, that diet and divinity could not be seated at\nthe same table. On Easter-day, for instance, the first dish that used\nto be placed before the jubilant guests was a red-herring on horseback,\nset in a corn salad. Some hundred and fifty years ago, too, there was\na semi-religious, semi-roystering club held at the \u201cNorthern Ale-house\nin St. Paul\u2019s Alley,\u201d every member of which was of the name of Adam. It\nwas formed in honour and remembrance of the first man. The honour was\nmore than Adam deserved; for the first created man not only betrayed\nhis trust, but he shabbily sought to lay the responsibility upon the\nfirst woman. And as for \u201cremembrance,\u201d he has managed to survive\neven the memory of the club founded by his namesakes, and long since\ndefunct. The members were hard drinkers, but not of saffron posset,\nwhich Arabella, in \u201cThe Committee,\u201d recommends as \u201ca very good drink\nagainst the heaviness of the spirits.\u201d The Adamites mostly died, as the\nlegend says Adam himself did, of hereditary gout,--an assertion which\nwould seem to indicate that the author of it was of Hibernian origin!\n\nThere are various passages of our poets which tend to show that \u201ctea\u201d\nand \u201ccoffee\u201d became, very early, fixed social observances. Pope,\nwriting, in 1715, of a lady who left town after the coronation of\nGeorge I., says that she went to the country--\n\n  \u201cTo part her time \u2019twixt reading and Bohea,\n  To muse, and spill her solitary tea;\n  Or o\u2019er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,\n  Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon.\u201d\n\nAt the same period, the more fortunate belles who remained in town made\nof tea a means for other ends than shortening time. Dr. Young, in his\n\u201cSatires,\u201d says of Memmia, that--\n\n  \u201cHer two red lips affected zephyrs blow,\n  To cool the Bohea and inflame the beau;\n  While one white finger and a thumb conspire\n  To lift the cup and make the world admire.\u201d\n\nDr. Parr\u2019s delicate compliment is well known; but I may be pardoned,\nperhaps, for introducing it here. He was not very partial to the _Thea\nSinensis_, though lauded so warmly by a French writer, as \u201c_nostris\ngratissima Musis_;\u201d but once being invited to take tea by a lady, he,\nwith a mixture of wit and gallantry, exclaimed, \u201c_Nec teacum possum\nvivere, nec sine te!_\u201d The Christchurch men at Oxford were remarkable,\nat an early period, for their love of tea; and, in reference to it,\nthey were pleasantly recommended to adopt as their motto: \u201c_Te veniente\ndie, te decedente notamus._\u201d In 1718, Pope draws an illustration\nfrom tea, when writing to Mr. Digby: \u201cMy Lady Scudamore,\u201d he remarks\njocosely, \u201cfrom having rusticated in your company too long, really\nbehaves herself scandalously among us. She pretends to open her eyes\nfor the sake of seeing the sun, and to sleep because it is night;\ndrinks tea at nine in the morning, and is thought to have said her\nprayers before; talks, without any manner of shame, of good books, and\nhas not seen Cibber\u2019s play of \u2018The Nonjuror.\u2019\u201d This is a pleasant\npicture of the \u201cgood woman\u201d of the last century. She drank tea at nine\nin the morning, not sleeping on till noon, to be aroused at last, like\nBelinda, by--\n\n  \u201cShock, who thought she slept too long,\n  Leap\u2019d up and waked his mistress with his tongue.\u201d\n\nTea is little nutritious; it is often injurious from being drunk at\ntoo high a temperature, when the same quantity of the fluid at a lower\ntemperature would be beneficial. It is astringent and narcotic; but its\neffects are various on various individuals, and the cup which refreshes\nand invigorates one, depresses or unnaturally excites and damages\nthe digestive powers of others. Green tea can in no case be useful,\nexcept medicinally, in cases where there has been excessive fatigue of\nthe mind or body; and even then the dose should be small. Tea, as a\npromoter of digestion, or rather, as a comforter of the stomach when\nthe digestive process has been completed, should not be taken earlier\nthan from three to four hours after the principal meal. Taken too\nearly, it disturbs digestion by arresting chymification, and by causing\ndistension. The astringency of tea is diminished by adding milk, and\nits true taste more than its virtue is spoiled by the addition of sugar.\n\nThese remarks are applicable to tea in its pure state, and not to the\nadulterated messes which come from China, or are made up in England.\nIf sloe leaves here are made to pass for Souchong, so also is many an\nunbroken chest of \u201ctea\u201d landed, which is largely composed of leaves\nthat are not the least akin to the genuine shrub. Black teas are\nconverted into green, some say by means of a poisonous dye, others by\nroasting on copper; but I do not think this process is extensively\nadopted. At one time the chests were rendered heavy by an adulterated\nmixture of a considerable quantity of tea, and a not inconsiderable\nquantity of earthy _detritus_, strongly impregnated with iron. But our\nsearchers soon put a stop to this knavery. They just dipped a powerful\nmagnet into the chest, stirred it about, and, when drawn out, the iron\nparticles, if any, were sure to be found adhering to the irresistible\n\u201cdetective.\u201d I have heard that Lady Morgan\u2019s tea-parties, in Dublin,\nwere remarkable for the excellent qualities both of the beverage and\nthe company; and also for her Ladyship\u2019s stereotyped joke, of \u201cSugar\nyourselves, gentlemen, and I\u2019ll milk you all.\u201d\n\nTea-parties, I may observe in conclusion, are not confined in China\nto festive occasions. Tea is solemnly drunk on serious celebrations,\nwith squibs to follow. Thus, for instance, at the funeral of a Buddhist\nPriest, there is thought taken for the living as well as for the dead,\nfor the appetites of mortals as well as for the gratification of\nthe gods. The latter are presented with various sorts of food, save\nanimal. It is placed on the altar, and it is eaten at night by the\ndeities, of course. While the ceremonies preliminary to the interment\nare proceeding, a servant enters the temple, and hands tea round to\nthe reverend gentlemen who are officiating! The interment usually\ntakes place in the morning, and it is numerously attended; but if,\nas the long procession is advancing, the hour of breakfast should\nhappen to arrive, the corpse is suddenly dropped in the highway, the\nentire assembly rush to their respective homes, and not till they\nhave consumed their tea and toast, or whatever materials go to the\nconstituting of a Chinese _d\u00e9je\u00fbner_, do they return to carry the corse\nto its final resting-place, and fire no end of squibs over it, in\ntestimony of their affliction. Which done, more refreshment follows;\nand perhaps some of the mourners retire to Chinese taverns, where\ninviting placards promise them \u201cA cup of tea and a bird\u2019s nest for\n4_d._!\u201d\n\n\nCOFFEE.\n\nThe English and French dispute the honour of being the first\nintroducers of coffee into Western Europe. The Dutch assert that they\n_assisted_ in this introduction; and, although coffee was not drunk at\nRome, until long after it had been known to, and tasted by, Italian\ntravellers at Constantinople, the Church looked with pleasure on a\nbeverage, one effect of which was to keep both Priests and people awake.\n\nAn Arab author of the fifteenth century--Sherbaddin--asserts, that the\nfirst man who drank coffee was a certain Muphti of Aden, who lived in\nthe ninth century of the Hegira, about A.D. 1500. The popular tradition\nis, that the Superior of a Dervish community, observing the effects\nof coffee-berries when eaten by some goats, rendering them much more\nlively and skittish than before, prescribed it for the brotherhood, in\norder to cure them of drowsiness and indolence.\n\nIt was originally known by the name of _cahui_ or _kauhi_,--an\northography which comes near to that of the ingenious Town-Councillor\nof Leeds, who, writing out a bill of fare for a public breakfast,\ncontrived to spell \u201ccoffee\u201d without employing a single letter that\noccurs in that word,--to wit, _kawphy_!\n\nSandys, a traveller of the seventeenth century, gives it no very\nattractive character. Good for digestion and mirth, he allows it to be;\nbut he says that in taste as in colour it is nearly as black as soot.\n\nThe coffee-houses of England take precedence of those of France, though\nthe latter have more enduringly flourished. In 1652, a Greek, in the\nservice of an English Turkey merchant, opened a house in London. \u201cI\nhave discovered his hand-bill,\u201d says Mr. Disraeli, \u201cin which he sets\nforth the virtue of the coffee drink, first publiquely made and sold\nin England, by Pasqua Rosee, of St. Michael\u2019s Alley, Cornhill, at the\nsign of his own head.\u201d Mr. Peter Cunningham cites a MS. of Oldys in his\npossession, in which some fuller details of much interest are given.\nOldys says, \u201cThe first use of coffee in England was known in 1657,\nwhen Mr. Daniel Edwards, a Turkey merchant, brought from Smyrna to\nLondon one Pasqua Rosee, a Ragusan youth, who prepared this drink for\nhim every morning. But the novelty thereof drawing too much company to\nhim, he allowed his said servant, with another of his son-in-law\u2019s, to\nsell it publicly; and they set up the first coffee-house in London,\nin St. Michael\u2019s Alley, Cornhill. But they separating, Pasqua kept in\nthe house; and he who had been his partner obtained leave to pitch a\ntent, and sell the liquor, in St. Michael\u2019s churchyard.\u201d Aubrey, in\nhis Anecdotes, states that the first vendor of coffee in London was\none Bowman, coachman to a Turkey merchant, named Hodges, who was the\nfather-in-law of Edwards, and the partner of Pasqua, who got into\ndifficulties, partly by his not being a freeman, and who left the\ncountry. Bowman was not only patronized, but a magnificent contribution\nof one thousand sixpences was presented to him, wherewith he made great\nimprovements in his coffee-house. Bowman took an apprentice, (Paynter,)\nwho soon learnt the mystery, and in four years set up for himself. The\ncoffee-houses soon became numerous: the principal were Farres\u2019, the\nRainbow, at the Inner-Temple Gate, and John\u2019s, in Fuller\u2019s Rents. \u201cSir\nHenry Blount,\u201d says Aubrey, \u201cwas a great upholder of coffee, and a\nconstant frequenter of coffee-houses.\u201d\n\nThe frequenters of these places, however, were considered as\nbelonging to the idle and dissipated classes; and the reputation\nwas not altogether undeserved. Respectable people denounced the\ncoffee-drinking evils, illustriously obscure and loyal people dreaded\nthe politics that were discussed at the drinking, and tipsy satirists\nhurled strong contempt and weak verse at the new-fangled fashion of\nabandoning Canary wine for the Arabian infusion. The fashion, however,\nextended rapidly; the more so, that cups were soon to be had at so low\na price, that the shops where they were sold went by the name of \u201cPenny\nUniversities.\u201d The ladies, who were excluded from public participation\nin the bitter enjoyment, made some characteristic complaints against\nthe male drinkers, and intimated that the indulgence of coffee-drinking\nwould in time deteriorate, if not destroy, the human race; but the\nimbibers heeded not the complaint, their answer to which was that of\nB\u00e9ranger\u2019s gay marital philosopher:--\n\n  \u201c_Nous laisserions finir le monde,\n  Si nos femmes le voulaient bien._\u201d\n\nWhile the ladies, through their poetical representatives, were\ncomplaining, male philanthropists quickly discerned the social uses of\nthe cup; and Sir Henry Blount acknowledges, with grateful pleasure,\nthat the custom, on the part of labouring men and apprentices, of\ndrinking a cup of coffee in the morning, instead of their ordinary\nmatinal draught of beer or wine, was chiefly owing to Sir James\nMuddiford, \u201cwho introduced the practice hereof first in London.\u201d\n\nThe Government of the Stuarts, hating free discussion, and not\nparticularly caring for wit, watched the coffee-houses with much\njealousy, and placed as much restriction upon them as they possibly\ncould strain the law to. The vexatious proceeding did not secure the\ndesired result; and the coffee-house wits laughed at the Government.\nThe wits, however, were not always successful either in their praise\nof, or satire against, coffee. Pepys, on the 15th of October, 1667,\nwent to the Duke\u2019s House, to see the comedy of \u201cTaruga\u2019s Wiles; or,\nthe Coffee-House,\u201d of which he says, \u201cThe most ridiculous, insipid\nplay that ever I saw in my life; and glad we were that Betterton had\nno part in it.\u201d But Pepys was probably not in the true vein to decide\ncritically that night; for his pretty maid Willett was sitting at his\nside; and his wife, who was on the other, spoiled the effect of the\nplay by her remarks on the girl\u2019s \u201cconfidence.\u201d Perhaps one of the most\ncurious apologies for coffee-houses was that of Aubrey, who declared\nthat he should never have acquired so extensive an acquaintance but\nfor \u201cthe modern advantages of coffee-houses in this great city, before\nwhich men knew not how to be acquainted but with their own relations\n_and societies_.\u201d And Aubrey, who has been called the small Boswell of\nhis day, \u201cwas a man who had more acquaintances than friends.\u201d\n\nYemen is the accepted birth-place, if we may so speak, of the\ncoffee-tree. Pietro de la Vall\u00e9 introduced it into Italy, La Royne\ninto Marseilles, and Thevenot brought it with him to Paris. In 1643,\na Levantine opened a coffee-house in Paris, in the Place du Petit\nChatelet; but it was Soleiman Aga, Turkish Ambassador in Paris, in\n1689, who was the medium through which coffee found its way into the\nrealm of fashion. Had it been really what some have supposed it to\nhave been,--the black broth of the Laced\u00e6monians,--he could have made\nit modish by his method of service. This was marked by all the minute\ndetails of oriental fashion,--small cups and foot-boys, gold-fringed\nnapkins and pages, coffee wreathing with smoke, and Ganymedes wreathed\nwith garlands, the first all aroma, and the hand-bearers all otto\nof roses: the whole thing was too dazzling and dramatic to escape\nadoption. But the intolerable vulgar would imitate their betters, and\ncoffee became as common at taverns as wine, beer, and smoking. It\nwould have inevitably been abandoned to coarse appetites only, but for\nFran\u00e7ois Procope, a Sicilian, who, in the Rue de l\u2019Ancienne Com\u00e9die,\nexactly opposite to the old play-house in the Faubourg St. Germain,\nopened an establishment expressly for the sale of coffee, but with such\ninnocent additional articles as ices, lemonade, and the like harmless\nappliances, to make pleasant the seasons in their change. The _Caf\u00e9\nProcope_ became the immediate resort of all the wits, philosophers, and\nrefined _rou\u00e9s_ of Paris. There Rousseau wrote or repeated the lines\nwhich brought him into such frequent trouble. There Piron muttered\nthe verses with which the incitement of devils inspired him. There\nVoltaire tried to rule supreme, but found himself in frequent bitter\ncontest with Palissot and Freron. The _Caf\u00e9 Procope_ was the morning\njournal, the foreign news-mart, the exchange,--literary, witty, and\nemphatically charming. There Lamothe renewed the contest between the\nancient and modern, the classical and the romantic, drama. There the\nbrilliant Chevalier de St. Georges gave lessons in fencing to the\nmen of letters; and thence Dorat addressed his amorous missives to\nMademoiselle Saunier. There Marmontel praised Clairon, and the Marquis\nde Bi\u00e8vre tried his calembourgs; and there Duclos and Mercier made\ntheir sketches of society, at once serious and sarcastic. The universal\nfavour in which coffee is still held in Paris, and the crowds which\nstill wait on \u201cAndromaque,\u201d sufficiently belie the famous prophecy of\nMadame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, that \u201ccoffee and Racine would have their day.\u201d The\ndark infusion reigns without a rival, the _demi-tasse_ follows dinner\noftener than \u201cgrace,\u201d Rachel helps to keep Racine alive, and _caf\u00e9_, in\nits turn, has the reputation of being _one_ of the favourite stimulants\nof the great _trag\u00e9dienne_.\n\nWith regard to the making of coffee, there is no doubt that the\nTurkish method of pounding the coffee in a mortar is infinitely\nsuperior to grinding it in a mill, as with us. But after either method\nthe process recommended by M. Soyer may be advantageously adopted;\nnamely, \u201cPut two ounces of ground coffee into a stew-pan, which set\nupon the fire, stirring the coffee round with a spoon until quite hot,\nthen pour over a pint of boiling water; cover over closely for five\nminutes, pass it through a cloth, warm again, and serve.\u201d\n\nThe chemist Laplace explained to Napoleon the results of various\nmethods of manipulation. \u201cHow is it, Sir,\u201d said the Emperor, \u201cthat a\nglass of water in which I melt a lump of sugar, always appears to me\nto be superior in taste to one in which I put the same quantity of\npowdered sugar?\u201d \u201cSire,\u201d said the sage, \u201cthere exist three substances,\nwhose elements are precisely the same; namely, sugar, gum, and starch.\nThey only differ under certain conditions, the secret of which Nature\nhas reserved to herself; and I believe that it is possible, that, by\nthe collision caused by the pestle, some of the portions of the sugar\npass into the condition of gum or starch, and thence arises the result\nwhich has been observed.\u201d\n\nMedical men are widely at issue as to the merits of coffee. All,\nhowever, are agreed that it stimulates the brain, and banishes\nsomnolency. Voltaire and Buffon were great coffee-drinkers; but I do\nnot know that we are authorized to attribute the lucidity of the one\nor the harmony of the other to the habit in question. Ability would be\ncheaply purchased if that were the case; and the \u201croyal road\u201d would\nhave been discovered where it had never been looked for.\n\nThe sleeplessness produced by coffee is not one of an unpleasant\ncharacter. It is simply a painless vigilance; but, if often repeated,\nit may be exceedingly prejudicial. Brillat de Savarin illustrates the\npower of coffee by remarking, that a man may live many years who takes\ntwo bottles of wine daily; but the same quantity of strong coffee would\nsoon make him imbecile, or drive him into a consumption.\n\nTaken immediately after dinner, coffee aids the dyspeptic, especially\nto digest fat and oily aliment, which, without such stimulant, would\nundoubtedly create much disturbance. The Turks drink it to modify the\neffects of opium. _Caf\u00e9 au lait_, that is, three parts milk to one of\ncoffee, is the proper thing for breakfast; but the addition of milk\nto that taken after dinner is a cruelty to the stomach. A Dutchman,\nnamed Nieudorff, is said to have been the first who ventured on the\nexperiment of mixing milk with coffee. When he had the courage to do\nthis, the two liquids together were considered something of such an\nabomination as we should now consider brown sugar with oysters.\n\nI must not omit to mention, that the favourite beverage of Voltaire,\nat the _Caf\u00e9 Procope_, was \u201c_choca_,\u201d--a mixture of coffee (with milk)\nand chocolate. The Emperor Napoleon was as fond of the same mixture as\nhe was of Chambertin; and, in truth, I do not know a draught which so\nperfectly soothes and revives as that of hot, well-frothed \u201c_choca_.\u201d\n\nSubstances mixed with coffee, or substitutes for the berry altogether,\nhave been tried with various degrees of success. Roasted acorns have\nbeen made to pass for it when ground. There is more chicory than coffee\nconsumed at the present time in France; and the infusion of the lupin\ndoes duty for it at poor hearths in Flanders; as that of roasted rye\n(the nearest resemblance to coffee) does in America. Experimentalists\nsay, that an excellent substitute for coffee may be made from\nasparagus; and Frankfort, alarmed lest the complications of the\n\u201cEastern Question\u201d should deprive it of the facilities for procuring\nthe berry as heretofore, is gravely consulting as to whether asparagus\ncoffee may be a beverage likely to be acceptable as a substitute for\nthe much prized \u201c_demi-tasse_.\u201d\n\n\nCHOCOLATE.\n\nFerdinand Cortez went to Mexico in search of gold; but the first\ndiscovery he made was of chocolate. The discovery was not welcomed\necclesiastically, as coffee was. This new substance was considered a\nsort of wicked luxury, at least for Monks, who were among the earliest\nto adopt it, but who were solemnly warned against its supposed peculiar\neffects. The moralists quite as eagerly condemned it; and in England\nRoger North angrily asserted, that \u201cthe use of coffee-houses seems\nmuch improved by a new invention, called \u2018chocolate-houses,\u2019 for the\nbenefit of rooks and cullies of quality, where gambling is added to\nall the rest, and the summons of W---- seldom fails; as if the devil\nhad erected a new university, and these were the colleges of its\nProfessors, as well as his schools of discipline.\u201d The Stuart jealousy\nof these localities, where free discussion was amply enjoyed, seems\nto have influenced the Attorney-General of James II.; for, although\nthey may not have been frequented, he says, by \u201cthe factious gentry\nhe so much dreaded,\u201d he adds, \u201cThis way of passing time might have\nbeen stopped at first, before people had possessed themselves of some\nconvenience from them of meeting for short dispatches, and passing\nevenings with small expenses.\u201d Of what chiefly recommended these\nplaces, the stern official thus made a grievance.\n\nChocolate (or, as the Mexicans term it, _chocolalt_) is the popular\nname for the seeds of the cocoa, or, more correctly, the _cacao_,\nplant, in a prepared state, generally with sugar and cinnamon. The\nMexicans improve the flavour of the inferior sorts of cacao seeds by\nburying them in the earth for a month, and allowing them to ferment.\nThe nutritious quality of either cacao or chocolate is entirely owing\nto the oil or butter of cacao which it contains. Cacao-nibs, the best\nform of taking this production, are the seeds roughly crushed. When\nthe seed is crushed between rollers, the result is flake cacao. Common\ncacao is the seed reduced to a paste, and pressed into cakes. The cheap\nkinds of chocolate are said to be largely adulterated with lard, sago,\nand red-lead,--a pernicious mixture for healthy stomachs; but what must\nit be for weak stomachs craving for food at once nutritious and easy of\ndigestion? The \u201cpatent\u201d chocolates of the shops are nothing more than\nvarious modes of preparing the cacao seeds.\n\nThe ladies of Mexico are so excessively fond of chocolate, that they\nnot only take it several times during the day, but they occasionally\nhave it brought to them in church, and during the service. A cup of\ngood chocolate may, indeed, afford the drinker strength and patience\nto undergo a bad sermon. The Bishops opposed it for a time, but they\nat length closed their eyes to the practice. I am afraid there is no\nchance of the fashion being introduced into England. The advantages\nwould be acknowledged; but then there would be a savour of Popery\ndetected about it, that would inevitably cause its rejection. The\nChurch herself found a boon in this exquisite supporter of strength.\nThe Monks took it of a morning before celebrating Mass, even in Lent.\nThe orthodox and strong-stomached raised a dreadful cry at the scandal;\nbut Escobar metaphysically proved, that chocolate made with water did\nnot break a fast; thus establishing the ancient maxim, \u201c_Liquidum non\nfrangit jejunium._\u201d\n\nSpain welcomed the gift of chocolate made her by Mexico with as\nmuch enthusiasm as she did that of gold by Peru; the metal she soon\nsquandered, but chocolate is still to be found in abundance in the\nPeninsula: it is an especial favourite with ladies and Monks, and it\nalways appears on occasions when courtesy requires that refreshments\nbe offered. The Spanish Monks sent presents of it to their brethren\nin French monasteries; and Anne of Austria, daughter of Philip II.\nof Spain, when she brought across the Pyrenees her hand, but not her\nheart, to the unenergetic Louis XIII., brought a supply of chocolate\ntherewith; and henceforth it became an established fact. In the days\nof the Regency it was far more commonly consumed than coffee; for it\nwas then taken as an agreeable aliment, while coffee was still looked\nupon as a somewhat strange beverage, but certainly akin to luxury. In\nthe opinion of Linn\u00e6us it must have surpassed all other nutritious\npreparations, or that naturalist would hardly have conferred upon it,\nas he did, the proud name of _Theobroma_, \u201cfood for the gods!\u201d\n\nInvalids will do well to remember, that chocolate made with vanilla\nis indigestible, and injurious to the nerves. Indeed, there are few\nstomachs at all that can bear chocolate as a daily meal. It is a highly\nconcentrated aliment; and all such cease to act nutritiously if taken\ninto constant use.\n\nWe will now look into some of those famous resorts of by-gone days,\nwhere coffee and chocolate were prepared, and wit was bright and\nspontaneous.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD COFFEE-HOUSES.\n\n\nThe \u201cGrecian\u201d appears to have been the oldest of the better-known\ncoffee-houses, and to have lasted the longest. It was opened by\nConstantine, a Grecian, \u201cliving in Threadneedle-street, over against\nSt. Christopher\u2019s Church,\u201d in the early part of the last half of the\nseventeenth century. Its career came to a close towards the middle of\nthe nineteenth century; namely, in 1843, when the Grecian Coffee-house,\nthen in Devereux-court, Strand, where it had existed for very many\nyears, was converted into the \u201cGrecian Chambers,\u201d or lodgings for\nbachelors.\n\nConstantine not only sold \u201cthe right Turkey coffee berry, or\nchocolate,\u201d but gave instructions how to \u201cprepare the said liquors\ngratis.\u201d The \u201cGrecian\u201d was the resort rather of the learned than the\ndissipated. The antiquarians sat at its tables; and, despising the\nnews of the day, discussed the events of the Trojan war, and similar\nlively, but remote, matters. The laborious trifling was ridiculed by\nthe satirists; and it is clear that there were some pedants as well\nas philosophers there. It was a time when both sages and sciolists\nwore swords; and it is on record that two friendly scholars, sipping\ntheir coffee at the \u201cGrecian,\u201d became enemies in argument, the subject\nof which was the accent of a Greek word. Whatever the accent ought\nto have been, the quarrel was acute, and its conclusion grave. The\nscholars rushed into Devereux-court, drew their swords, and, as one\nwas run through the body and killed on the spot, it is to be supposed\nthat he was necessarily wrong. But the duel was the strangest method\nof settling a question in grammar that I ever heard of. Still it was\nrather the scholars than the rakes who patronized the \u201cGrecian;\u201d and\nthere were to be found the Committee of the Royal Society, and Oxford\nProfessors, enjoying their leisure and hot cups, after philosophical\ndiscussion and scientific lecturing; and even the Privy Council Board\nsometimes assembled there to take coffee after Council.\n\nThe \u201ccoffee-houses,\u201d which were resorted to for mere conversation as\nwell as coffee, began on a first floor; they were the seed, as it\nwere, whence has arisen the political and exclusive \u201cclub\u201d of the\npresent day. The advantages of association were first experienced in\ncoffee-houses; but at the same time was felt the annoyance caused by\nintrusive and unwelcome strangers. The club, with its ballot-box to\nsettle elections of members, was the natural result.\n\nWilliam Urwin\u2019s Coffee-house, known as \u201cWill\u2019s,\u201d from its owner\u2019s name,\nand recognised as the \u201cWits\u2019,\u201d from its company, was on the first floor\nof the house at the west corner of Bow-street and Russell-street,\nCovent Garden. In the last half of the seventeenth century, it was at\nthe height of its good fortune and reputation. The shop beneath it was\nkept by a woollen-draper.\n\nTom Brown says that a wit was set up at a small cost; he was made\nby \u201cpeeping once a day in at Will\u2019s,\u201d and by relating \u201ctwo or three\nsecond-hand sayings.\u201d It was at Will\u2019s that Dryden \u201cpedagogued\u201d\nwithout restraint, accepted flattery without a blush, and praised with\nhappy complacency the perfection of his own works. He was the great\nattraction of the place, and his presence there of an evening filled\nthe room with admiring listeners, or indiscreet adulators. Dryden\nhad the good sense to retire early, when the tables were full, and\nhe knew he had made a favourable impression, which the company might\nimprove in his absence. Addison, more given to jolly fellowship, sat\nlate with those who tarried to drink. Pepys, recording his first visit,\nin February, 1663-4, says that he stepped in on his way to fetch his\nwife, \u201cwhere Dryden the poet, (I knew at Cambridge,) and all the wits\nof the town, and Harris the player, and Mr. Hoole of our College. And\nhad I had time then, as I could at other times, it will be good coming\nthither; for there I perceive is very witty and pleasant discourse. But\nI could not tarry; and, as it was late, they were all ready to go away.\u201d\n\nThe reign of Dryden at Will\u2019s was not, however, without its pains.\nOccasionally, a daring stranger, like young Lockier, raw from the\ncountry, would object to the _dicta_ of the despot. Thus, when Dryden\npraised his \u201cMac Flecknoe,\u201d as the first satire \u201cwritten in heroics,\u201d\nthe future Dean timidly suggested that the \u201cLutrin\u201d and the \u201c_Secchia\nRapita_\u201d were so written; and Dryden acknowledged that his corrector\nwas right. The London beaux would have been afraid, or incapable,\nof setting Dryden right; they were sufficiently happy if they were\nbut permitted to dip their fingers into the poet\u2019s snuff-box, and,\nat a separate table, listen to the criticisms uttered by the graver\nauthorities who were seated round another, at the upper end of the\nroom. Of the disputes that there arose, \u201cglorious John\u201d was arbiter;\nfor his particular use a chair was especially reserved; therein\nenthroned, he sat by the hearth or the balcony, according to the\nseason, and delivered judgments which were not always final.\n\nNo man was better qualified to do so, for the \u201cspecialty\u201d of Will\u2019s\nCoffee-house was poetry. Songs, epigrams, and satires, circulated from\ntable to table; and the wits judged plays, even Dryden\u2019s, until the\nplaywrights began to satirize the wits. With Dryden, \u201cWill\u2019s\u201d lost\nsome of its dignity. Late hours, card-playing, and politics; poets\nmore didactic in their verse, and essayists more instructive in their\nprose, than in their daily practice; \u201cdissipateurs\u201d like Addison, and\npeers who shared in Addison\u2019s lower tastes, without either his talent\nor occasional refinement,--spoiled the character of \u201cWill\u2019s,\u201d where, by\nthe way, Pope had been introduced by Sir Charles Wogan, though, years\nbefore, in his youth, he had been proud to follow old Wycherley about\nfrom coffee-house to coffee-house; and then \u201cButton\u2019s\u201d attracted the\nbetter portion of the company, and left Will\u2019s to the vulgar and the\nwitless.\n\n\u201cButton\u2019s\u201d Coffee-house was so named from its original proprietor, who\nhad been a servant of the Countess of Warwick, the wife of Addison.\nIt was situated in Great Russell-street, on the south side, about two\ndoors from Covent Garden. What Dryden had been at \u201cWill\u2019s,\u201d Addison was\nat \u201cButton\u2019s.\u201d There,--after writing during the morning at his house\nin St. James\u2019s Place, where his breakfast-table was attended by such\nmen as Steele, Budgell, Philips, Carey, Davenant, and Colonel Brett,\nwith some of whom he generally dined at a tavern,--he was to be found\nof an evening, until the supper hour called him and his companions to\nsome other tavern, where, if not at Button\u2019s, they made a night of\nit. Pope was of the company for almost a year, but left it because\nthe late hours injured his health; and furthermore, perhaps, for the\nreason, that his irritable temper had rendered him unpopular, and\nthat he had so provoked Ambrose Philips, that the latter suspended a\nbirchen rod over Pope\u2019s usual seat, in intimation of what the ordinary\noccupant would get if he ventured into it. The Buttonians were famous\nfor the fierceness of their criticism, but it appears to have been\naltogether a better organized establishment than Will\u2019s; for while\nthe parish registers show that the landlord of the latter was fined\nfor misdemeanour, the vestry-books of St. Paul (Covent Garden), prove\nthat Button paid \u201cfor two places in the pew No. 18, on the south side\nof the north aisle, \u00a32. 2_s._;\u201d and charity leads us to conclude that\nDaniel and his wife occupied the places so paid for, and were orthodox\nas well as loyal. The \u201cLion\u2019s Head\u201d of the \u201cGuardian,\u201d which was put\nup at Button\u2019s, over the box destined to receive contributions for the\neditor, is now at Woburn, in the possession of the Duke of Bedford.\n\nOf coffee-houses that went by the name of \u201cTom\u2019s\u201d there were three. At\nthe one in Birchin-lane, Garrick occasionally appeared among the young\nmerchants; and Chatterton, before despair slew even ambition, more than\nonce dined. At the second house so called, in Devereux-court, many of\nthe scholars, critics, and scientific men of the last century used to\ncongregate. There Akenside essayed to rule over the tables as Dryden\nhad done at \u201cWill\u2019s,\u201d and Addison at \u201cButton\u2019s;\u201d but his imperious rule\nwas often overthrown by \u201cflat rebellion.\u201d _The_ \u201cTom\u2019s\u201d was opposite\n\u201cButton\u2019s,\u201d and stood on the north side of Great Russell-street, No.\n17. It received its name from the Christian appellation of its master,\nThomas West, who committed suicide in 1722. If guests gained celebrity\nin the latter days at \u201cWill\u2019s\u201d for writing a \u201cposie for a ring,\u201d so at\n\u201cTom\u2019s\u201d Mr. Ince was held in due respect, for the reason that he had\ncomposed a solitary paper for the \u201cSpectator.\u201d It was a place where the\ntables were generally crowded from the time of Queen Anne to that of\nGeorge III. Seven hundred of the nobility, foreign Ministers, gentry,\nand geniuses of the age, subscribed a guinea each, in 1714, for the\nerection of a card-room; and this fact, with the additional one that,\nonly four years later, an enlarged room for cards and conversation was\nconstructed, may serve to show by what sort of people, and for what\nparticular purposes, \u201cTom\u2019s\u201d was patronized.\n\nAt the time that White\u2019s Chocolate-house was opened at the bottom of\nSt. James\u2019s-street,--the close of the last century,--it was probably\nthought vulgar; for there was a garden attached, and it had a suburban\nair. At the tables in the house or garden more than one highwayman\ntook his chocolate, or threw his main, before he quietly mounted his\nhorse and rode slowly down Piccadilly towards Bagshot. Before the\nestablishment was burned down, in 1733, it was famous rather for\nintensity of gaming than excellence of chocolate. It arose from its\nashes, and settled, at the top of the street, into a fixedness of\nfashion that has never swerved. Gallantry, pleasure, and entertainment\nwere the characteristics of the place. The celebrated Lord Chesterfield\nthere \u201cgamed, and pronounced witticisms among the boys of quality.\u201d\nSteele dated all his love-news in the \u201cTatler\u201d from White\u2019s. It was\nstigmatized as \u201cthe common rendezvous of infamous sharpers and noble\ncullies;\u201d and bets were laid to the effect that Sir William Burdett,\none of its members, would be the first Baronet who would be hanged. The\ngambling went on till dawn of day; and Pelham, when Prime Minister,\nwas not ashamed to divide his time between his official table and the\npicquet-table at White\u2019s. Selwyn, like Chesterfield, enlivened the room\nwith his wit. As a sample of the spirit of betting which prevailed,\nWalpole quotes \u201ca good story made at White\u2019s.\u201d A man dropped down\ndead at the door, and was carried in; the Club immediately made bets\nwhether he was dead or not, and, when they were going to bleed him,\nthe wagerers for his death interposed, and said it would affect the\nfairness of the bet!\n\nSome of the old rules of the houses are rich in \u201ctable traits.\u201d Thus,\nin 1736, every member was required to pay an extra guinea a year\n\u201ctowards having a good cook.\u201d The supper was on table at ten o\u2019clock;\nthe bill at twelve. In 1758, it was agreed that he who transgressed\nthe rules for balloting should pay the supper reckoning. In 1797\nwe find, \u201cDinner at 10_s._ 6_d._ per head, (malt liquor, biscuits,\noranges, apples, and olives included,) to be on table at six o\u2019clock;\nthe bill to be brought at nine.\u201d \u201cThat no hot suppers be provided,\nunless particularly ordered; and then be paid for at the rate of 8_s._\nper head. That in one of the rooms there be laid every night (from the\nQueen\u2019s to the King\u2019s birthday) a table, with cold meat, oysters, &c.\nEach person partaking thereof to pay 4_s._, malt liquors only included.\u201d\n\nColley Cibber was a member, but, as it would seem, an honorary one\nonly, who dined with the Manager of the Club, and was tolerated\nafterwards by the company for the sake of his wit. Mr. Cunningham\nstates, that at the supper given by the Club in 1814, at Burlington\nHouse, to the Allied Sovereigns, there were covers laid for 2,400\npeople, and that the cost was \u201c\u00a39,849. 2_s._ 6_d._\u201d \u201cThree weeks after\nthis, (July 6, 1814,) the Club gave a dinner to the Duke of Wellington,\nwhich cost \u00a32,840. 10_s._ 9_d._\u201d The dinner given, in the month of\nFebruary of the present year, to Prince George of Cambridge, was one\nnot to welcome a victorious warrior, but to cheer an untried, about to\ngo forth to show himself worthy of his spurs. White\u2019s ceased to be an\nopen Chocolate-house in 1736, from which period it has been as private\nan establishment as a Club can be said to be.\n\nThe politicians had their coffee-houses as well as the wits. The \u201cCocoa\nTree,\u201d in St. James\u2019s-street, was the Tory house in the reign of Queen\nAnne. The \u201cSt. James\u2019s\u201d was the Whig house. It was a well-frequented\nhouse in the latter days of George II., when Gibbon recorded his\nsurprise at seeing a score or two of the noblest and wealthiest in the\nland, seated in a noisy coffee-room, at little tables covered by small\nnapkins, supping off cold meat or sandwiches, and finishing with strong\npunch and confused politics.\n\nThe St. James\u2019s Coffee-house ranked Addison, Swift, Steele, and,\nsubsequently, Goldsmith and Garrick, among its _habitu\u00e9s_. It had a\nmore solid practical reputation than any of the other coffee-houses;\nfor within its walls Goldsmith\u2019s poem of \u201cRetaliation\u201d originated.\nBut politics was its \u201cstaple;\u201d and poor politicians seem to have been\namong its members, seeing that many of them were in arrears with their\nsubscriptions: but these were probably the outer-room men; for the\nmagnates, who were accustomed to sit and watch the line of Bourbon,\nwithin the steam of the great coffee-pot, were doubtless punctual\nin their payments ere they could have earned the privilege. And yet\ntheir poetical acumen was often more correct than their political\ndiscernment; for while the company at Button\u2019s ascribed the \u201cTown\nEclogues\u201d to Gay, the coffee-drinkers at St. James\u2019s were unanimous in\ngiving them to a lady of quality.\n\nOf the coffee-houses of a second order, the \u201cBedford,\u201d in Covent\nGarden, was probably the first; but, for good-fellowship, it equalled\nany of the more exclusive houses; for Garrick, and Quin, and Murphy,\nand Foote, were of the company. Wit was the serious occupation of all\nits members; and it never gave any of them serious trouble to produce\nin abundance. Quin, above all, was brilliant in the double achievements\nof Epicureanism and sparkling repartee. Garrick, in allusion to the\nsentiments often expressed here by his brother actor, wrote the\nepigrammatic lines, supposed to be uttered by Quin, in reference\nto a discussion on embalming the dead, and which will be found in\na subsequent chapter, under the head of \u201cTable Traits of the last\nCentury.\u201d\n\n\u00c6sopus, the actor, who was to Cicero what Quin was to George the\nThird,--he \u201ctaught the boy to speak,\u201d--\u00c6sopus was as great an epicure,\nin his way, as Quin himself. It is related of him, that one day he\ndined off a costly dish of birds, the whole of which, when living, had\nbeen taught either to sing or speak. \u00c6sopus was as fond of such a dish\nas his fellow-comedian, Quin, was of mullet; for which, and for some\nother of his favourite _morceaux_, he used to say that a man ought to\nhave a swallow as long as from London to Botany Bay, and palate all the\nway! When the fish in question was in season, his first inquiry of the\nservant who used to awaken him was, \u201cIs there any mullet in the market\nthis morning, John?\u201d and if John replied in the negative, his master\u2019s\nreported rejoinder was, \u201cThen call me at nine to-morrow, John.\u201d\n\nThe Bedford Coffee-house had its disadvantages, as when bullies, like\nTiger Roach, endeavoured to hold sovereignty over the members. But\nusurpers like the Tiger were deposed as easily by the cane as by the\nsword; but such occurrences marred the peace of the coffee-house,\nnevertheless. It was, indeed, a strange company that sometimes was to\nbe found within these houses. At Batem\u2019s, the City House, patronized\nby Blackmore, the brother of Lord Southwell was to be found enacting\nthe parasite, and existing by the aid of men who thought his wit\nworth paying for. Child\u2019s Coffee-house, St. Paul\u2019s Church-yard,\nwas patronized by the Clergy, who assembled there, especially the\nyounger Clergy, in gowns, cassocks, and scarfs, smoked till they were\ninvisible, and obtained the honorary appellation of \u201cDoctor\u201d from the\nwaiters. Clerical visitants were also to be found at the \u201cSmyrna,\u201d in\nPall Mall. Swift was often there with Prior; and the politics of the\nday were so loudly discussed, that the chairmen and porters in waiting\noutside used to derive that sort of edification therefrom which is now\nto be had in the cheap weekly periodicals. \u201cGarraway\u2019s\u201d takes us once\nmore into the City. Garway, as the original proprietor was called,\nwas one of the earliest sellers of tea in London; and his house was\nfrequented by nobles who had business in the City, who attended the\nlotteries at his house, or who wished to partake of his tea and coffee.\nForeign Bankers and Ministers patronized \u201cRobin\u2019s;\u201d the buyers and\nsellers of Stock collected at \u201cJonathan\u2019s;\u201d and the shipping interest\nwent, as now, to \u201cLloyd\u2019s.\u201d All these places were in full activity of\nbusiness and coffee-drinking in the reign of Queen Anne. Finally, the\nlawyers crowded \u201cSquire\u2019s,\u201d in Fulwood\u2019s Rents; and there, it will be\nremembered, Sir Roger de Coverley smoked a pipe, over a dish of coffee,\nwith the Spectator. But enough of these places, whose names are more\nfamiliar to many of us than their whereabout, but whose connexion\nwith what may be called the table life of past times gives me warrant\nfor the notice of them, with which, perhaps, I have only troubled the\nreader. I will only add, that the ceremony of serving chocolate was\nnever such a solemnity in England as in France. In the latter country,\nas late as the days of Louis XVI., a \u201cman of condition\u201d required no\nless than four footmen, each with two watches in his fob, according to\nthe fashion, to help him to take a single cup of chocolate. One bore\nthe tray, and one the chocolate-pot, a third presented the cup, and a\nfourth stood in waiting with a napkin!--and all this coil to carry a\nmorning draught to a poor wretch, whose red heels to his shoes were\nsymbols of the rank which gave him the privilege of being helpless.\n\nThe old coffee-houses were not simply resorts for the critics, the\npoliticians, and the fine gentlemen. Gay, writing to Congreve, in\n1715, says, \u201cAmidst clouds of tobacco, at a coffee-house, I write\nthis letter. There is a grand revolution at Will\u2019s. Moira has quitted\nfor a coffee-house in the City; and Titcomb is restored, to the great\njoy of Cromwell, who was at a great loss for a person to converse\nwith upon the Fathers and church history. The knowledge I gain from\nhim is entirely in painting and poetry; and Mr. Pope owes all his\nskill in astronomy to him and Mr. Whiston.\u201d Pope learnt his astronomy\nby the assistance of what Moore calls, \u201cthe sun of the table;\u201d for,\nadding a postscript to Gay\u2019s letter to Congreve, he says, \u201cI sit up\ntill two o\u2019clock, over Burgundy and Champagne.\u201d Ten years before, the\ncoffee-house and London life had less charms for him. Witness the\nparagraph in the letter to Wycherley, in 1705, to this effect: \u201cI have\nnow changed the scene from town to country,--from Will\u2019s Coffee-house\nto Windsor Forest. I found no other difference than this betwixt the\ncommon town wits and the downright country fools,--that the first are\npartly in the wrong, with a little more flourish and gaiety; and the\nlast, neither in the right nor the wrong, but confirmed in a stupid\nsettled medium, betwixt both.\u201d But, ten years later than the period of\nPope\u2019s postscript to Congreve, in which he boasted of sitting over wine\nduring the \u201cwee short hours ayont the twal\u2019,\u201d as Burns calls them, we\nfind the boaster stricken. Swift, writing to him, in 1726, remarks,\n\u201cI always apprehend most for you after a great dinner; for the least\ntransgression of yours, if it be only two bits and one sup more than\nyour stint, is a great debauch, for which you certainly pay more than\nthose sots who are carried drunk to bed.\u201d\n\nIn England, the chocolate and coffee-houses were not confined to the\nmetropolis and its rather rakish inhabitants. The Universities had\ntheir coffee-houses, as London had; and the company there, albeit\n_alumni_ of the various Colleges, do not appear to have been remarkable\nfor refinement. Dr. Ewins, at Cambridge, in the last century, acquired\nthe ill-will both of Town and Gown for exercising a sort of censorship\nover their conduct. According to Cole, the Antiquary, they needed\nit; for he says, with especial allusion to the Undergraduates, that\n\u201cthey never were more licentious, riotous, and debauched. They often\nbroke the Doctor\u2019s windows,\u201d he adds, \u201cas they said he had been caught\nlistening on their staircases and (at their) doors.\u201d The Doctor, like\nhis adversaries, was in the habit of visiting the Union Coffee-house,\nopposite St. Radigund\u2019s (or Jesus) lane,--a fashionable rendezvous. He\nwas there one night about Christmas, 1771, or January, 1772, \u201cwhen some\nFellow-Commoners, who owed him a grudge, sitting in the box near him,\nin order to affront him, pretended to call their dog \u2018Squintum,\u2019 and\nfrequently repeated the name very loudly in the coffee-house; and, in\ntheir joviality, swore many oaths, and caressed their dog. Dr. Ewin, as\ndid his father, squinted very much, as did Whitefield, the Methodist\nteacher, who was vulgarly called Dr. Squintum, from the blemish in\nhis eyes. Dr. Ewin was sufficiently mortified to be so affronted in\npublic. However, he carefully marked down the number of oaths sworn\nby these gentlemen, whom he made to pay severely the penalty of five\nshillings for each oath, which amounted to a good round sum.\u201d The next\nweek, ballad-singers sang, in the streets of Cambridge, a ballad, which\nthey gave away to all who would accept a copy, and from which the\nfollowing verses are extracted. They will show--if nothing else--that\nthe University coffee-house poet was less elegant than Horace, and\nthat the \u201cwell of English\u201d into which he had dipped was not altogether\n\u201cundefiled:\u201d--\n\n  \u201cOf all the blockheads in the Town,\n  That strut and bully up and down,\n  And bring complaints against the Gown,\n                  There\u2019s none like Dr. Squintum.\n\n  \u201cWith gimlet eyes and dapper wig,\n  This Justice thinks he looks so big:\n  A most infernal stupid gig\n                    Is this same Dr. Squintum.\n\n  \u201cWhat pedlar can forbear to grin,\n  Before his Worship that has been,\n  To think what folly lurks within\n                    This Just Ass Dr. Squintum?\u201d\n\nOld Ren\u00e9 d\u2019Anjou used to say, that, as soon as a man had breakfasted,\nit was his bounden duty to devote himself to the great business of the\nday,--think of dinner. We will in some wise follow the instructions\ngiven,--first, however, saying a word or two upon French coffee-houses,\nand then upon those who naturally take precedence of \u201cdinners,\u201d--the\ncooks by whom dinners are prepared.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FRENCH CAF\u00c9S.\n\n\nIn the reign of Louis XV. there were not less than six hundred _caf\u00e9s_\nin Paris. London, at the same period, could not count as many dozens.\nUnder Louis Napoleon, the _caf\u00e9s_ have reached to the amazing number of\nbetween three and four thousand. All these establishments acknowledge\nthe _Caf\u00e9 Procope_ as the founder of the dynasty, although, indeed,\nthere were coffee-vendors in Paris before the time of the accomplished\nSicilian. \u201c_Vixerunt fortes ante Agamemnona._\u201d\n\nThe consumption of coffee in Paris, at the period of the breaking out\nof the Revolution, was something enormous. The French West-Indian\nIslands furnished eighty millions of pounds annually, and this\nwas irrespective of what was derived from the East. The two\nsources together were not sufficient to supply the kingdom. Thence\nadulterations, fortunes to the adulterators, and that supremacy of\nchicory, which has destroyed the well-earned reputation of French\ncoffee.\n\nI have already spoken of the _Caf\u00e9 Procope_, and here I will only add\nan anecdote illustrative of the scenes that sometimes occurred there,\nand of the national character generally in the reign of Louis XV. One\nafternoon that M. de Saint Foix was seated at his usual table, an\nofficer of the King\u2019s Body-Guard entered, sat down, and ordered \u201ca\ncup of coffee, with milk, and a roll,\u201d adding, \u201cIt will serve me for\na dinner!\u201d At this Saint Foix remarked aloud, that \u201ca cup of coffee,\nwith milk, and a roll, was a confoundedly poor dinner.\u201d The officer\nremonstrated; Saint Foix reiterated his remark, and again and again\ndeclared, that nothing the gallant officer could say to the contrary,\nwould convince him that a cup of coffee, with milk, and a roll, was\n_not_ a confoundedly poor dinner. Thereupon a challenge was given and\naccepted, and the whole of the persons present adjourned as spectators\nof a fight, which ended by Saint Foix receiving a wound in the arm.\n\u201cThat is all very well,\u201d said the wounded combatant; \u201cbut I call you\nto witness, gentlemen, that I am still profoundly convinced, that a\ncup of coffee, with milk, and a roll, is a confoundedly poor dinner!\u201d\nAt this moment, the principals were arrested, and carried before the\nDuke de Noailles, in whose presence Saint Foix, without waiting to\nbe questioned, said, \u201cMonseigneur, I had not the slightest intention\nof offending the gallant officer, who, I doubt not, is an honourable\nman; but Your Excellency can never prevent my asserting, that a cup\nof coffee, with milk, and a roll, is a confoundedly poor dinner.\u201d\n\u201cWhy, so it is,\u201d said the Duke. \u201cThen I am not in the wrong,\u201d remarked\nSaint Foix; \u201cand a cup of coffee,\u201d----at these words Magistrates,\ndelinquents, and auditory, burst into a roar of laughter, and the\nantagonists became friends. It was a more bloodless issue than that\nwhich occurred to Michel Lepelletier, in later years, at the _Caf\u00e9\nF\u00e9vrier_. He was seated at dinner there, when an _ex-garde-du-corps_,\nnamed Paris, approached him, inquired if he were the Lepelletier who\nhad voted for the death of Louis XVI., and, receiving an affirmative\nreply, drew forth a dagger, and swiftly slew him on the spot.\n\nBefore Procope, the Armenian, Pascal, sold coffee at the Fair of\nSt. Germain, at three-halfpence a cup; and the beverage was sung by\nthe poet Thomas in terms not exactly like those with which Delille\nsubsequently sang the virtues of the tree. The French coffee-houses at\nonce gained the popularity to which they aspired. To Pascal succeeded\nMaliban, and then Gregoire opened his establishment in the Rue Mazarin,\nin the vicinity of players and play-goers. At the same time, there\nwas a man in Paris, called \u201cthe lame Candiot,\u201d who carried ready-made\ncoffee about from door to door, and sold it for a penny per cup,\nsugar included. The _caf\u00e9_ at the foot of the bridge of Notre-Dame\nwas founded by Joseph; that at the foot of the bridge of St. Michel,\nby Etienne; and both of these are more ancient than that of Procope,\nwho was the first, however, who made a fortune by his speculation. The\n_Quai de l\u2019Ecole_ had its establishment, (the _Caf\u00e9 Manoury_,) which\nI believe still exists, as does the _Caf\u00e9 de la R\u00e9gence_, which dates\nfrom the time of the Regent Duke of Orleans, and where Rousseau used\nto play at chess, and appear in his Armenian costume. It was also\nfrequented, _incog._, by the Emperor Joseph. The oldest _caf\u00e9_ in the\nPalais Royal is the celebrated _Caf\u00e9 de Foy_, so called from the name\nof its founder. Carl Vernet was one of its most constant patrons. He\nwas there on one occasion, when some repairs were going on, and, in\nhis impatience, he flung a wet colouring brush from him, which struck\nthe ceiling and left a spot. He immediately ascended the ladder, and\nwith a touch of his finger converted the stain into a swallow; and\nhis handywork was still to be seen on the ceiling, when I was last\nin Paris. It was before the _Caf\u00e9 de Foy_ that Camille Desmoulins\nharangued the mob, in July, 1789, with such effect, that they took up\narms, destroyed the Bastille, and inaugurated the Revolution.\n\nThe _Caf\u00e9 de Valois_ will long be remembered for its aristocratic\ncharacter; that of Montansier, on the other hand, was remarkable for\nthe coarseness of its frequenters, and the violence with which they\ndiscussed politics, especially at the period of the Restoration. The\n_Caf\u00e9 du Caveau_ was more joyously noisy with its gay artists and broad\nsongs. The Empire brought two establishments into popular favour, both\nof which appealed to the lovers of beauty as well as of coffee. The\nfirst was the _Caf\u00e9 du Bosquet_, and the second the _Caf\u00e9 des Mille\nColonnes_. Each was celebrated for the magnificent attractions of the\npresiding lady,--the _belle limonadi\u00e8re_, as she was at first called,\nor the _dame du comptoir_, as refinement chose to name her. Madame\nRomain, at the _Mille Colonnes_, had a longer reign than her rival;\nand the lady was altogether a more remarkable person. In the reign\nof Louis XVIII., her seat was composed of the throne of Jerome, King\nof Westphalia,--which was sold by auction on the bankruptcy of his\nMajesty. Madame Romain descended from it, like a weary Queen, to take\nrefuge in a nunnery; and, curiously enough, the ex-King has recovered\nhis \u201cthrone,\u201d which now figures, in the reduced aspect of a simple\narm-chair, in the _salon_ of his residence at the Palais Royal. After\nthe abdication of Madame Romain, the _Mille Colonnes_ endeavoured to\nsecure success by very meretricious means. Girls of a brazen quality\nof beauty bore through the apartments flaming bowls of punch, usually\ntaken after the coffee; and the beverage and the bearers were equally\nbad.\n\nAs the _Caf\u00e9 Chr\u00eatien_ was once thoroughly Jacobin, so the _Caf\u00e9\nLemblin_ became entirely Imperial, and was the focus of the Opposition\nafter the return of the Bourbons. It was famous for its chocolate,\nas well as for its coffee. When the Allies were at Paris, it was\nhardly safe for the officers to enter the _Caf\u00e9 Lemblin_, and many\nscenes of violence are described as having occurred there, and many\na duel was fought with fatal effect, after a _caf\u00e9_ dispute between\nFrench and foreign officers,--and all for national honour. The Bourbon\nofficers were far more insulting in the _caf\u00e9s_ to the ex-imperial\n\u201cbraves,\u201d than the latter were to the invading Captains,--and they\ngenerally paid dearly for their temerity. Finally,--for to name all\nthe _caf\u00e9s_ in Paris, would require an encyclop\u00e6dia,--it is worthy of\nnotice that Tortoni\u2019s, which is now a grave adjunct to the _Bourse_,\nfirst achieved success by the opposite process of billiard-playing.\nA broken-down provincial advocate, Spolar of Rennes, came to Paris\nwith a bad character, and a capital cue; and the latter he handled so\nwonderfully at the _Caf\u00e9 Tortoni_, that all Paris went to witness his\nfeats. Talleyrand patronized him, backed his playing, and gained no\ninconsiderable sum by the cue-driving of Spolar, whose star culminated\nwhen he was appointed \u201cProfessor of Billiards to Queen Hortense,\u201d--an\nappointment which sounds strange, but which was thought natural enough\nat the time; and, considering all things, so it was.\n\nThere is one feature in the French _caf\u00e9s_ which strikes an observer\nas he first contemplates it. I allude to the intensity, gravity, and\nextent of the domino-playing. A quartett party will spend half the\nevening at this mystery, with nothing to enliven it but the gentlest\nof conversation, and the lightest of beer, or a simple _petit verre_.\nThe Government wisely thinks that a grave domino-player can be given to\nneither immorality nor conspiracies. But a British Government proudly\nscorns to tolerate such insipidities in Britons. British tradesmen,\nat the end of the day, may be perfectly idle, spout blasphemy, and\nget as drunk as they please, in any London tavern, provided they\ndo not therewith break the peace; _but_, let the reprobates only\nremain obstinately sober, and play at dominoes, then they offend the\nimmaculate justice of Justices, and landlords and players are liable\nto be fined. So, on Sabbath nights, the working-classes have thrown\nopen to their edification the gin-palaces, which invite not in vain;\nbut if one of these same classes should, on the same Sunday evening,\nknock at the religiously-closed door of a so-called free library, the\nsecretary\u2019s maid who answers the appeal would be pale with horror at\nthe atrocity of the applicant. And what is the bewildered Briton to do?\nHe looks in at church, where, if there be a few free seats, they have a\nlook about them so as to make him understand that he is in his fustian,\nand that he and the miserable sinners in their fine cloth are not on an\nequality in the house of God; and so he turns sighingly away, and goes\nwhere the law allows him,--to the house of gin.\n\nBut, leaving the further consideration of these matters to my readers,\nlet us now address ourselves to the sketching of a class whose most\nillustrious members have borne witness to their own excellency, not\nexactly according to the fashion spoken of by Shakspeare; namely, by\nputting a strange face on their own perfection.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANCIENT COOK, AND HIS ART.\n\n\nIt is an incontestable fact, that he who lives soberly does not depend\nupon his cook for the pleasure which he derives from his repast.\nNevertheless, the cook is one of the most important of personages;\nand even appetite, without him, would not be of the value that it is\nat present. A great _artiste_ knows his vocation. When the cook of\nLouis XVIII. was reproached, by His Majesty\u2019s Physician, with ruining\nthe royal health by savoury juices, the dignitary of the kitchen\nsententiously remarked, that it was the office of the cook to supply\nHis Majesty with pleasant dishes, and that it was the duty of the\ndoctor to enable the King to digest them. The division of labour, and\nthe responsibilities of office, could not have been better defined.\n\nFrom old times the cook has had a proper sense of the solemn importance\nof his wonderful art. The _Coquus Gloriosus_, in a fragment of\nPhilemon, shows us what these artists were in the very olden time.\nHe swears by Minerva that he is delighted at his success, and that\nhe cooked a fish so exquisitely, that it returned him admiring and\ngrateful looks from the frying-pan! He had not covered it with grated\ncheese, not disguised it with sauce; but he had treated it with such\ndaintiness and delicacy, that, even when fully cooked, it lay on the\ndish as fresh-looking as if it had just been taken from the lake. This\nresult seems to have been a rarity; for, when the fish was served\nup at table, the delighted guests tore it from one another, and a\nrunning struggle was kept up around the board to get possession of\nthis exquisitely prepared _morceau_. \u201cAnd yet,\u201d says the cook, \u201cI\nhad nothing better to exhibit my talent upon than a wretched river\nfish, nourished in mud. But, O Jupiter Saviour! if I had only had at\nmy disposal some of the fish of Attica or Argos, or a conger from\npleasant Sicyon, like those which Neptune serves to the gods in\nOlympus, why, the guests would have thought they had become divinities\nthemselves. Yes,\u201d adds the culinary boaster, \u201cI think I may say that\nI have discovered the principle of immortality, and that the odour of\nmy dishes would recall life into the nostrils of the very dead.\u201d The\nresonant vaunt is not unlike that of B\u00e9chamel, who said that, with the\nsauce that he had invented, a man would experience nothing but delight\nin eating his own grandfather!\n\nHegesippus further illustrates the vanity of the _genus coquorum_\nof _his_ days. In a dialogue between Syrus and his chef, the master\ndeclares that the culinary art appears to have reached its limit, and\nthat he would fain hear something novel upon the subject. The cook\u2019s\nreply admits us to an insight into ancient manners. \u201cI am not one of\nthose fellows,\u201d says the personage in question, \u201cwho are content to\nsuppose that they learn their art by wearing an apron for a couple\nof years. My study of the art has not been superficial: it has been\nthe work of my life; and I have learned the use and appliances of\nevery herb that grows--for kitchen purposes. But I especially shine\nin getting up funeral dinners. When the mourners have returned from\nthe doleful ceremony, it is I who introduce them to the mitigated\naffliction department. While they are yet in their mourning attire,\nI lift the lids of my kettles, and straightway the weepers begin to\nlaugh. They sit down with their senses so enchanted, that every guest\nfancies himself at a wedding. If I can only have all I require,\nSyrus,\u201d adds the artist, \u201cif my kitchen be only properly furnished,\nyou will see renewed the scenes which used to take place on the coasts\nfrequented by the Syrens. It will be impossible for any one to pass the\ndoor; all who scent the process will be compelled, despite themselves,\nto stop. There they will stand, mute, open-mouthed, and nostrils\nextended; nor will it be possible to make them \u2018move on,\u2019 unless\nthe police, coming to their aid, shut out the irresistible scent by\nplugging their noses.\u201d\n\nPosidippus shows us a classical master-cook instructing his pupils.\nLeucon is the name of the teacher; and the first truth he impresses on\nhis young friend is, that the most precious sauce for the purpose of a\ncook is impudence. \u201cBoast away,\u201d he says, \u201cand never be tired of it.\u201d\nFor, as he logically remarks, \u201cif there be many a Captain under whose\ndragon-embossed cuirass lies a poor hare, why should not we, who kill\nhares, pass for better than we are, like the Captains?\u201d \u201cA modest cook\nmust be looked on,\u201d he says, \u201cas a contradiction in nature. If he be\nhired out to cook a dinner in another man\u2019s house, he will only get\nconsidered in proportion to his impudence and overbearing conduct. If\nhe be quiet and modest, he will be held as a pitiful cook.\u201d\n\nAlexis, another artist, takes other and higher ground. He says, that\nin all the arts the resulting pleasure does not depend solely on those\nwho exercise the art; there must be others who possess the science of\nenjoyment. This is true; and Alexis further adds, that the guest who\nkeeps a dinner waiting, or a master who suddenly demands it before its\ntime, are alike enemies to the art which Alexis professes.\n\nThe earthly paradise of the early cooks was, unquestionably, among the\nSybarites,--the people to whom the crumpling of a rose under the side\non which they lay, gave exquisite pain. They were as self-luxurious\nas though the world was made for them alone, and they and the world\nwere intended to last for ever. They would not admit into their city\nany persons whose professions entailed noise in the practice of them:\nthe trunkmaker at the corner of St. Paul\u2019s would have been flogged to\ndeath with thistle-down, if he had carried on his trade in Sybaris for\nan hour, and if a Sybarite could have been found with energy enough to\nwield the instrument of execution! The crowing of one of the proscribed\nrace of cocks once put all the gentlemen of the city into fits; and, on\nanother occasion, a Sybarite telling a friend how his nerves had been\nshaken by hearing the tools of some labouring men in another country\nstrike against each other, at their work, the friend was so overcome,\nthat he merely exclaimed, \u201cGood gracious!\u201d and fainted away.\n\nAthen\u00e6us, borrowing, if I remember rightly, from one of the authors\nwhose works were in that Alexandrian library, the destruction of which\nby the Caliph Omar, Dr. Cumming tells us in his \u201cFinger of God,\u201d is a\ncircumstance at which he is rather glad than sorry,--Athen\u00e6us mentions\nthe visit of a Sybarite to Sparta, where he was invited to one of\nthe public dinners, at which the citizens ate very black broth, in\ncommon, out of wooden bowls. Having tasted the national diet, he feebly\nuttered the Sybaritic expression for \u201cStap my vitals!\u201d and convulsively\nremarked, that \u201che no longer wondered why the Laced\u00e6monians sought\ndeath in battle, seeing that such a fate was preferable to life with\nsuch broth!\u201d\n\nCertainly the public repasts of the Sybarites were of another quality.\nThe giver of such repasts was enrolled among the benefactors of their\ncountry, and the cook who had distinguished himself was invested with\na golden crown, and an opera ticket; that is, free admission to those\npublic games where hired dancers voluptuously perverted time and the\nhuman form divine.\n\nI am afraid that all cooks in remote ages enjoyed but an indifferent\nreputation, and thoroughly deserved what they enjoyed. The comic\nDionysius introduces one of the succulent brotherhood, impressing upon\na young apprentice the propriety of stealing in houses where they were\nhired to cook dinners. The instruction is worthy of Professor Fagan of\nthe Saffron-Hill University. \u201cWhatever you can prig,\u201d says the elder\nrogue, \u201cbelongs to yourself, as long as you are in the house. When you\nget past the porter into the street, it then becomes _my_ property. So\nfake away! (\u0392\u03ac\u03b4\u03b9\u03b6\u03b5 \u03b4\u03b5\u1fe6\u03c1\u2019 \u1f05\u03bc\u03b1,) and look out for unconnected trifles.\u201d\n\nAnd yet Athen\u00e6us asserts that nothing has so powerfully contributed\nto instil piety into the souls of men, as good cookery! His proof\nis, that when men devoured each other, they were beasts,--which is a\nself-evident proposition; but that when they took to cooked meats, and\nwere particular with regard to these, why, then alone they began to\nlive cleanly,--which is a proposition by no means so self-evident. In\nhis opinion, a man to be supremely happy only needed the gift of Ceres\nto Pandora,--a good appetite, and an irreproachable indigestion. These\nare, doubtless, great portions of happiness; and if felicity can do\nwithout them,--which is questionable,--where they are not, comfort is\nabsent, and a good conscience is hardly a sufficient compensation.\n\nIf Sybaris was the paradise of cooks, Laced\u00e6mon was their purgatory.\nThey were blamed if men grew fat on their diet, and plump children\nwere legally condemned to get spare again upon their gruel. The\nRomans, again, restored the cook to his proper place in society. He\nmight be still a slave, and so were greater men than he; but he was\nthe confidant of his master, and there were not a few who would have\nexchanged their liberty for such a post and chains. And who dare affirm\nthat the _coquus_ was not an officer of distinction? He who knows how\nto prepare food for digestion and delight, is a greater man, in one\nparticular at least, than Achilles, who could go no farther in culinary\nscience than turning the spit; than Ulysses, who could light fires and\nlay cloths with the dexterity of a Frankfort waiter; or than Patroclus,\nwho could draw wine and drink it, but who knew no more how to make a\nstew, than he did how to solve the logarithms of Napier.\n\nWhen it is asserted that it was Cadmus, the grandfather of Bacchus, who\nfirst taught men how to eat as civilized beings should, it is thereby\nfurther intimated that good eating should be followed by good drinking.\n\nWe have heard of cooks in monasteries who made dissertations on eternal\nflames by the heat of their own fires: so Timachidas, of Rhodes,\nmade patties and poetry at the same stove, and both after a fashion\nto please their several admirers. Artemidorus was the Dr. Johnson of\nhis own art, and wrote a Kitchen Lexicon for the benefit of students.\nSicily especially was celebrated for its literary cooks, and Mith\u0153cus\nwrote a treatise on the art; while Archestratus, the Syracusan, looking\ninto causes and effects, meditated on stomachs as well as sauces,\nand first showed how digestion might be taught to wait on appetite.\nThen theoretical laymen came in to the aid of the practical cook, and\ngastronomists hit upon all sorts of strange ideas to help them to\nrenewed enjoyments. Pithyllus, for instance, invented a sheath for the\ntongue, in order that he might swallow the hottest viands faster than\nother guests, who wisely preferred rather to slowly please the palate\nthan suddenly satisfy the stomach. It is of Pithyllus the Dainty, that\nit is related how, after meals, he used to clean his tongue by rubbing\nit with a piece of rough fish-skin; and his taking up hot viands with\nhis hand, like that of G\u00f6tz von Berlichingen, encased in a glove, is\ncited as proof that the Greeks used no forks. The spoons of the Romans\nhad a pointed end, at the extremity of the handle, for the purpose of\npicking fish from the shell.\n\nThen came the age when, if men had not appetites of nature\u2019s making,\nthey were made for them by the cooks; and the latter, in return, were\ncrowned with flowers by the guests who had eaten largely, and had no\nfears of indigestion. The inventor of a new dish had a patent for its\nexclusive preparation for a year. But ere that time it had probably\nbeen forgotten in something more novel discovered by a Sicilian\nrival; for the Greeks looked on Sicily as the Parisians of the last\ncentury used to look on Languedoc,--as the only place on earth where\ncooks were born and bred, and were worth the paying. The artists of\nboth countries, and of the opposite ages mentioned, were especially\nskilled in the preparation of materials which were made to appear the\nthings they were not; and a seemingly grand dinner of fish, flesh,\nand fowl, was really fashioned out of the supplies furnished by the\nkitchen-garden. The Greeks, however, never descended to the bad taste\nof which the diarists of the last century show the French to have been\nguilty; namely, in having wooden joints, carved and painted, placed\nupon their tables for show. Artificial flowers may be tolerated, but an\nartificial sirloin, made of a block of deal, would be very intolerable\nboard indeed, particularly to the hungry guests, who saw the seemingly\nliberal fare, but who could make very little of the deal before them.\n\nIn Sicily, the goddess of good cheer, Adephagia, had her especial\naltars, and thence, perhaps, the estimation in which the Sicilian cooks\nwere held, who prayed to her for inspiration. Her ministers were paid\nsalaries as rich as the sauces they invented. Something like \u00a3800 _per\nannum_ formed the _honorarium_ of the learned and juicy gentleman. But\nhe was not always to be had, even at that price; and the disgusted\nLanguedocien who would not remain in the _cuisine_ of the Duke of\nRichmond, when Governor of Ireland, for the sufficient reason that\nthere was no Opera in Dublin, had his prototype among his Sicilian\npredecessors. The jealousy of the culinary bondsman in Greek households\nagainst the free cook from Sicily, must have been sometimes deadly in\nits results.\n\nThe best-feed cook on record is the happy mortal to whom his master\nAntony gave a city, because he had cooked a repast which had called\nforth encomium from that dreadful jade, Cleopatra.\n\nBut money was the last thing thought of by the wearied epicures of\nRome, especially when what they gave belonged to somebody else. When\nLucullus spent \u00a31,000 sterling on a snug dinner for three,--himself,\nC\u00e6sar, and Pompey,--he doubtless spent his creditors\u2019 money; at least,\nextravagant people generally do. Claudius dined often with six hundred\nguests, and the Roman people paid the cooks. The dinners of Vitellius\ncost that sacrilegious feeder upwards of \u00a33,000 each, but the bills\nwere discharged by a levy on the public pocket. When Tiberius ordered\nseveral thousands sterling to be bestowed on the author of a piece\nwherein every thing eatable was made to speak wittily, the author was\nreally paid out of the popular pocket; and when Geta insisted on having\nas many courses at each repast as there were letters in the alphabet,\nand all the viands at each course so named that their initials should\nbe the same as that of the course itself, he was the last person who\ntroubled himself about the payment for such extravagance.\n\nThe cooks of such epicures must necessarily, however, have been as\ndespotic in the kitchen as their lord was in the saloon. The slaves\nthere, who hurried to and fro, bearing their tributes of good things\nfrom the market-place, or distributing them according to his bidding,\nobeyed the cook\u2019s very nod, nay, anticipated his very wishes. They\nwere, in fact, the ministers of an awful Sovereign. The cook was their\nLord paramount. The stewards possessed no little power; but when the\nfires were lighted, and the dinner had to be thought of, the head cook\nwas the kitchen Jupiter; and when he spoke, obedience, silence, and\ntrembling followed upon his word.\n\nFrom his raised platform, the _Archimagirus_, as he was called, could\noverlook all the preparations, and with his tremendous spoon of office\nhe could break the heads of his least skilful disciples, and taste the\nsauces seething in the remotest saucepans. The effect must have been\nquite pantomimic; and to complete it, there was only wanted a crash\nof discordant music to accompany the rapid descent of the gigantic\nspoon upon the skull or ribs of an offender. The work was done in\npresence of the gods, and scullions blew the fires under the gaze of\nthe _Lares_,--sooty divinities to whom, the legend says, inferior cooks\nwere sometimes sacrificed in the month of December. \u201cBut,\u201d as Othello\nsays, \u201cthat\u2019s a fable!\u201d\n\nGreat Roman kitchens were as well worth seeing, and perhaps were as\noften inspected by the curious and privileged, as that of the Reform\nClub. \u201cOrder reigned\u201d there quite as much as it did, according to\nMarshal Sebastiani, at Warsaw, amid the most abject slavery. Art and\ncostliness were lavished upon the vessels, but the human beings there\nwere exactly the things that were made the least account of.\n\nNo doubt that the triumph of the art of the cook consisted in serving\nup an entire pig at once roasted and boiled. The elder Disraeli has\nshown from Archestratus how this was done. \u201cThe animal had been bled\nto death by a wound under the shoulder, whence, after copious effusion,\nthe master-cook extracted the entrails, washed them with wine, and\nhanged the animal by the feet. He crammed down the throat the stuffings\nalready prepared. Then, covering the half of the pig with a paste of\nbarley thickened with wine and oil, he put it in a small oven, or on\na heated table of brass, where it was gently roasted with all due\ncare. When the skin was browned, he boiled the other side, and then,\ntaking away the barley paste, the pig was served up, at once boiled and\nroasted.\u201d And such was the way by which the best of cooks spoiled the\nbest of pigs.\n\nAccording to Plautus, cooks alone were privileged in the old days to\ncarry knives in their girdles. In the \u201c_Aulularia_,\u201d old Euclio says to\nCongrio, the cook, \u201c_Ad tres viros jam ego deferam tuum nomen_,\u201d--\u201cI\u2019ll\ngo and inform against you to the Magistrates.\u201d \u201cWhy so?\u201d asks Congrio.\n\u201cBecause you carry a knife,\u201d--\u201c_Quia cultrum habes._\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d says the\nartist, standing on his rights, \u201c_cocum decet_,\u201d \u201cit is the sign of my\nprofession.\u201d From another of the many cooks of Plautus we learn, in the\n\u201c_Men\u00e6chmei_,\u201d that, when a parasite was at table, his appetite was\nreckoned as equivalent to that of eight guests; and when Cylindrus is\nordered to prepare a dinner for Men\u00e6chmus, his \u201clady,\u201d and the official\nparasite, \u201cThen,\u201d says the cook, \u201cthat\u2019s as good as ten; for your\nparasite does the work of eight:\u201d--\n\n              \u201c_Jam isti sunt decem,\n  Nam parasitus octo hominum munus facile fungitur._\u201d\n\nThe musicians would appear to have lived as pleasantly as the\nparasites. Simo remarks to Tranio, in the \u201c_Mostellaria_,\u201d that he\nlives on the best the cooks and vintners can procure for him,--a real\nfiddler\u2019s destiny:--\n\n  \u201c_Musice hercle agitis \u00e6tatem: ita ut vos decet.\n  Vino et victu, piscatu probe electili,\n  Vitam colitis._\u201d\n\nStalino complains in the \u201c_Casina_,\u201d that, clever as cooks are, they\ncannot put a little essence of love into all their dishes,--a sauce,\nhe says, that would please everybody. Their reputation in Rome for\nstealing was much the same as that enjoyed by their Grecian brethren.\nThe scene of the \u201c_Casina_,\u201d indeed, is in Athens; but Olympio utters\na Roman sentiment when he says, that cooks use their hands as much\nfor larceny as cookery, and that wherever they are they bring double\nruin, through extravagance and robbery, upon their masters: \u201c_Ubi sunt,\nduplici damno dominos multant._\u201d This is further proved by the speech\nof _Epidicus_, in the comedy so called, where that slave-cook speaks of\nhis master\u2019s purse as if it were game, to disembowel which, he says, he\nwill use his professional knife:--\n\n  \u201c_Acutum cultrum habeo, senis qui exenterem\n  Marsupium._\u201d\n\nWe learn something of the pay of a cook from a speech of one of the\ncraft, in the \u201c_Pseudolus_.\u201d Ballio, seeing a single practitioner\nremaining in the square to be hired, asks how it is that he has not\nbeen engaged. \u201c_Eloquar_,\u201d says the cook, \u201chere is the reason:--\n\n  \u201cHe who, now-a-days, comes here to hire cooks,\n  No longer seeks the best, that is, the dearest,\n  But some poor spoil-sauce who for nothing works.\n  Therefore you see me here alone to-day.\n  A poor drachma hath my brethren purchased;\n  But under a crown I cook a dish for no man.\n  For \u2019twixt the common herd and me, you see,\n  There is a diff\u2019rence: they into a dish\n  Fling whole meadows, and the guests they treat, Sir,\n  As though they were but oxen out at grass.\n  Herbs season they with herbs, and grass with grass;\n  And in the mess, garlic, coriander, fennel,\n  Sorrel, rochet, beet-root, leeks, and greens,\n  All go together, with a pound of benzoin,\n  And mustard ditto, that compels the tears\n  From out the eyes of those that have to mix it.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \u201cIf men are short-lived now, the reason\u2019s plain:\n  They put death into their stomachs, and so\n  Of indigestion and bad cookery die.\n  Their sauces but to think of, makes me shudder;\n  Yet men will eat what asses would not bend to.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \u201cWho of _my_ dishes eats, obtains at least\n  Two hundred happy years of life renew\u2019d.\n  I season Neptune\u2019s fishes with a juice\n  Made up of Cicilindrum, Muscadel,\n  Sipolindrum, and Sancapatides.\n  The odour of my mutton, nicely stuffed\n  With Cicimandrum, Nappalopsides,\n  And of Cataractaria a pinch,\n  Feeds Jupiter himself, who, when I rest,\n  Sleeps on Olympus, sad and supperless.\n  As for my potions, he who deeply drinks,\n  Gulps with the draught the gift of endless youth.\u201d\n\nFinally, after inventing the above names unpronounceable of sauces that\ndo not exist, the boaster adds, that his fee is a crown, provided he is\nnot overlooked; but that if there be supervision to check him in his\nperquisites, he is not to be hired under a mina:--\n\n  \u201c_Si credis, nummos; si non, ne mina quidem!_\u201d\n\nI do not know if cooks more especially used different fingers in\nmingling their sauces, according as they were employed on wedding\nbanquets, martial feasts, senatorial entertainments, _al-fresco\nd\u00e9jeuners_, or commercial suppers; but certain it is, that the fingers\nwere sacred to diverse deities. The thumb was devoted to Venus, the\nindex finger to Mars, the longest finger to Saturn, the next to the\nSun, and the little finger to Mercury.\n\nI conclude with a remark that I hope will be gratifying to all\nculinary artists who respect themselves and their calling, and who\nare anxious to prove that their vocation is of ancient and honourable\ndescent. Cadmus, who introduced letters into Greece, had formerly\nbeen cook to the King of Sidon. Thus learning ascended to us from\nthe kitchen; and to the ex-cook of the King of Sidon we perhaps owe\nall the epics that have ever been written. By this genealogy, even\n\u201cParadise Lost\u201d may be traced to the patties of Cadmus. But cooks in\nEngland may boast of a _noblesse de cuisine_, which dates from the\nNorman Conquest. When William, who wooed his wife Matilda by knocking\nher down, had established himself in England, he gave a banquet, at\nwhich his cook, Tezelin, served a new white soup of such exquisite\nflavour, that William sent for the artist, and inquired its name. \u201cI\ncall it _Dillegrout_,\u201d said Tezelin. \u201cA scurvy name for so good a\nsoup,\u201d said the Conqueror; \u201cbut let that pass. We make you Lord of the\nManor of Addington!\u201d Thus modern cooks may boast of a descent from the\nlanded aristocracy of the Conquest! Some of their masters cannot do as\nmuch; and this, perhaps, accounts for the pride of the one, and the\nsimplicity of the other.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MODERN COOK, AND HIS SCIENCE.\n\n\nIf it were necessary that the cook of the ancient world should be a\nSicilian, and that the _cuisinier_ of the ancient r\u00e9gime should be of\nLanguedoc, (the native place of \u201c_blanc manger_,\u201d) so in these modern\ntimes he alone is considered a true graduate in the noble science _de\nla gueule_ who is a Gaul by birth, or who has gone through his studies\nin the University of French Kitchens. In England, it must be confessed\nthat great cooks have formed the exception rather than the rule; and\nthat our native culinary literature, however interesting in certain\nnational details, is chiefly based upon a French foundation. And yet we\nmay boast of some native professors who were illustrious in their way.\nMaster John Murrel, for instance, wrote a cookery book in 1630, and\ndedicated it to the daughter of the Lord Mayor. He starts by asserting\nthat cookery books generally mar rather than make good meats; and then\nshows what good meats were in his estimation, by teaching how to dress\n\u201cminced bullock\u2019s kidney, a rack of veal, a farced leg of mutton, an\numble pie, and a chewit of stockfish.\u201d He is succulently eloquent on a\ncompound production, consisting of marrow bones, a leg of mutton, fowls\nand pullets, and a dozen larks, all in one dish.\n\nThe Duke of Newcastle, in the last century, had a female cook of some\nrenown, named \u201cChloe.\u201d General Guise, at the siege of Carthagena, saw\nsome wild fowl on the wing, and, amid the din of war, he thought of\n\u201cChloe\u201d and her sauces. She was famous for her stewed mushrooms, and\nthere is an anecdote connected therewith that will bear repeating.\n\u201cPoor Dr. Shaw,\u201d writes Horace Walpole, \u201cbeing sent for in great haste\nto Claremont, (it seems the Duchess had caught a violent cold by a hair\nof her own whisker getting up her nose, and making her sneeze,) the\npoor Doctor, I say, having eaten a few mushrooms before he set out,\nwas taken so ill that he was forced to stop at Kingston; and, being\ncarried to the first apothecary\u2019s, prescribed a medicine for himself\nwhich immediately cured him. This catastrophe so alarmed the Duke of\nNewcastle, that he immediately ordered all the mushroom-beds to be\ndestroyed; and even the toadstools in the park did not escape scalping\nin this general measure. And a voice of lamentation was heard at Ramah\nin Claremont, \u2018_Chloe_\u2019 weeping for _her_ mushrooms, and they are not!\u201d\nBut, let us turn to trace lightly the genealogy of the cooks of modern\ntimes.\n\nThe descent of the barbarians from the north was the ruin of cooks as\nwell as of Kings, of kitchens as well as constitutions. Many of the\ncooks of the classic period were slain like the Druid Priests at the\nfire of their own altars. A patriotic few fled rather than feed the\ninvader; and the servile souls who tremblingly offered to prepare a\n_fricass\u00e9e_ of ostrich brains for the Northmen, were dismissed with\ncontempt by warrior princes, who lived on under-done beef, and very\nmuch of it!\n\nBut as sure as the Saxon blood beats out the Norman, so does good\ncookery prevail over barbarous appetites. The old cooks were a sacred\nrace, whose heirs took up the mission of their sires. This mission was\nso far triumphant, that, at the period of Charlemagne, the imperial\nkitchen recognised in its _chef_ the representative of the Emperor. The\noriental pheasant and the peacock, in all the glories of expanded tail,\ntook the place, or appeared at the side, of coarser viands. The dignity\nand the mirth of Charlemagne\u2019s table were heightened by the presence\nof ladies. Brillat de Savarin states, that since that period the\npresence of the fair sex has ever been a law of society. But in this he\nerrs; for the Marquis de Bouill\u00e9, in his admirable work on the Dukes of\nGuise, affirms that the good civilizing custom had fallen into disuse,\nbut that a permanent improvement was commenced in the reign of Francis\nI., when the Cardinal of Lorraine induced that Monarch to invite ladies\nto be present at all entertainments given at Court. Society followed\nthe fashion of the Sovereign; and as it used to be said, \u201cNo feast, no\nLevite,\u201d so now it was felt that where there was no lady, there was no\nrefined enjoyment.\n\nAt whatever period the emancipation of the ladies from their forced\nseclusion took place, from that period the tone of social life was\nelevated. They went about, like Eve, \u201con hospitable thoughts intent.\u201d\nThe highest in rank did not disdain to supervise the kitchen; they\ndisplayed their talents in the invention of new dishes, as well as in\nthe preparation of the old; and they occasionally well-nigh ruined\ntheir lords by the magnificence of their tastes, and their sublime\ndisregard of expense. All the sumptuary laws of Kings to restrain this\nhousehold extravagance were joyously evaded, and banquets became deadly\ndestructive to men\u2019s estates.\n\nThe French Kings granted corporate rights to the different trades\nconnected with the kitchen and the table; and perhaps the most valued\nprivilege was that conceded by Charles IX. to the pastrycooks, who\nalone were permitted to make bread for the service of the Mass.\n\nMontaigne, in his pleasant way, recounts a conversation he had with an\nItalian _chef_ who had served in the kitchen of Cardinal Caraffa, up\nto the period of the death of his gastronomic Eminence. \u201cI made him,\u201d\nsays the great Essayist, \u201ctell me something about his post. He gave\nme a lecture on the science of eating, with a gravity and magisterial\ncountenance as if he had been determining some vexed question in\ntheology. He deciphered to me, as it were, the distinction that exists\nbetween appetites:--the appetite at fasting; that which people have\nat the end of the second or third service; the means of awaking and\nexciting it; the general \u2018police,\u2019 so to speak, of his sauces; and\nthen particularized their ingredients and effects. The differences of\nsalads, according to the seasons, he next discoursed upon. He explained\nwhat sorts ought to be prepared warm, and those which should always be\nserved cold; the way of adorning and embellishing them, in order to\nrender them seductive to the eye. After this he entered on the order of\ntable-services,--a subject full of fine and important considerations;\nand all this was puffed up with rich and magnificent terms; phrases,\nindeed, such as are employed by statesmen and diplomatists, when they\nare discoursing on the government of an empire.\u201d We see by this what\nthe \u201c_art de la gueule_\u201d was in the days of Charles IX., whose mother,\nCatherine de Medicis, had introduced it into France, as a science\nwhereby men should enjoy life. The same lady introduced also poisoning,\nas a science whereby men might be deprived of life. Her own career was\nfull of opposing facts like these,--facts which caused a poetic cook to\nwrite the epitaph upon her, which says:--\n\n  \u201cHere lieth a Queen, who was angel and devil,\n  Admirer of good, and a doer of evil;\n  She supported the State, and the State she destroyed;\n  She reconciled friends, and she friendships alloyed;\n  She brought forth three Kings, thrice endanger\u2019d the Crown,\n  Built palaces up, and threw whole cities down;\n  Made many good laws, many bad ones as well,\n  And merited richly both heaven and hell.\u201d\n\nThe mention of Cardinal de Caraffa, by Montaigne, reminds me that, for\na gastronome, the Cardinal was singularly sanguinary in spirit. I know\nno one to compare with him, except Dr. Cahill, who is not averse to\ngood living, and who has earned so gloomy a notoriety by his terrible\nsentiment of the massacre of Protestants being \u201ca glorious idea.\u201d\nCaraffa was enabled to enjoy both his propensities, of swallowing good\nthings and slaughtering heretics. \u201cHaving obtained leave from the Pope\nto establish the Inquisition at Rome, at a time when the resources of\nthe State ran low, he turned his private property to the use of his\nzeal, and set up a small Inquisition at his own expense.\u201d Thus he could\ndine within hearing of the groans of his victims; his cook could inform\nhim that the hares and heretics had both been roasted; and he _may_\nhave been occasionally puzzled to know whether that smell of burning\ncame from the patties or the Protestants.\n\nThe Italian cooks were, for a season, fashionable in France; but they\nhad a passion for poetry as well as for pies, and were given to let\ntheir sauces burn while they recited whole pages of \u201cOrlando Furioso.\u201d\nThey were critics as well as cooks, and the kitchens resounded with\ntheir denunciations of all who objected to the merits of the divine\nAriosto. But even the Papal ennobling of a cook could not compensate\nfor an indifferent dinner; and though Leo X., in a fit of modest\ndelight at a sauce made by his cook during Lent, named him from\nthat circumstance \u201cJack o\u2019 Lent,\u201d or \u201c_Jean de Car\u00eame_,\u201d the French\nwould not allow that such an event authorized the _artiste_ to be\ndreaming over epics, when he should be wide awake to the working of\nhis proper mystery. But the mystery itself was much obstructed by\nthe political events of the times. There were the bloody wars of the\nGuises, the troubles of the League, the despotic reign of Richelieu,\nthe cacochymical temperament (as the editor of the \u201c_Almanach des\nGourmands_\u201d would call it) of Louis XIII., and the ridiculous war of\nthe Fronde. The glory of the French kitchen rose with that of the\n_Grand Monarque_, and Vatel and Louis XIV. were contemporaries. Vatel\nslew himself to save his honour! The King had come to dine with Cond\u00e9;\nbut the cod had not arrived in time to be dressed for the King, and\nthereupon the heroic artist fell upon his sword, like an ancient Roman,\nand is immortalized for ever by his glorious folly!\n\nBut there was nothing really heroic in the death of Vatel, whose sword\nwas pointed at his breast by wounded vanity. Far more heroic was the\ndeath of the cook of the Austrian Consul, in the late cruel massacre,\nby the cowardly Russian fleet, at Sinope. The Consul\u2019s cook was a young\nwoman of thirty years of age. The Muscovite murderers were at the very\nheight of their bloody enjoyment, and sending shots into the town,\nwhen the cook attempted to cross a garden, to procure some herbs; for\nConsuls _must_ dine, though half the world be dying. She had performed\nher mission, and was returning, when a thirty-six pounder shot cut her\ncompletely in two. Rather than give up the parsley for her master\u2019s\nsoup, she thus encountered death. What was Vatel and his bodkin, to\nthis more modern cook and the thirty-six pounder, loaded by the Czar\nfor her destruction?\n\nThe cooks \u201clooked up\u201d in the nights and suppers of the Regency,\nand the days and dinners of Louis XV. It would be difficult to say\nwhether under the Regent, or under the King, the culinary art and its\nprofessors most flourished. I am inclined, however, to think, that,\nduring the tranquil and voluptuous period of the reign of Louis XV.,\nthe cooks of France rose to that importance from which they have never\ndescended. They became a recognised and esteemed class in society,\nwhose spoiled children they were; and, in return, it was very like\nspoiled children that they behaved. But how could it be otherwise,\nwhen the noble, the brave, and the fair girded aprons to their loins,\nand stood over stew-pans, with the air of alchymists over alembics? It\nis to the nobility and other distinguished persons in high life, yet\nnot noble, in France, that gastronomy owes many a dish, whose very name\nbetrays to ecstasy. And here are a few of these droll benefactors of\nmankind.\n\nThe Marquis de B\u00e9chamel immortalized his name, in the reign of Louis\nXIV., by his invention of cream-sauce, for turbot and cod. Madame de\nMaintenon imagined the \u201ccutlets in curl-papers\u201d which go by her name,\nand which her ingenuity created in order to guard the sacred stomach\nof the Grand Monarque from the grease which he could not digest. The\n\u201c_Chartreuse \u00e0 la Mauconseil_\u201d is the work, and the most innocent\none, of the free and easy Marchioness of that name. A woman more free\nand easy still, the Duchess of Villeroy, (Mar\u00e9chale de Luxembourg,)\nproduced, in her hours of reflection, the dish known as the _poulets\n\u00e0 la Villeroy_. They were eaten with bread _\u00e0 la R\u00e9gent_, of which\nthe author was the _rou\u00e9_ Duke of Orleans. His too \u201cwell-beloved\u201d\ndaughter, the Duchess of Berry, had a gastronomic turn of mind, like\nher illustrious father. She was an epicurean lady, who tasted of all\nthe pleasures of life without moderation, whose device was, \u201cShort\nand sweet,\u201d and who was contented to die young, seeing that she had\nexhausted all enjoyment, and had achieved a renown, that should embalm\nher name for ever, as the inventor of the _filets de lapereau_. The\n_gigot \u00e0 la Mailly_ was the result of much study, on the part of\nthe first mistress of Louis XV., to rid herself of a sister who was\na rival. Madame de Pompadour, another of the same King\u2019s \u201cladies,\u201d\ntestified her gratitude for the present which the Monarch made her\nof the Ch\u00e2teau de Bellevue, by the production of the _filets de\nvolaille \u00e0 la Bellevue_. The Queen of Louis was more devout, but\nnot less epicurean, than his mistresses; and the _petites bouch\u00e9es \u00e0\nla Reine_, if they were not of her creating, were named in honour of\nMaria Leczinzka. Louis himself had a contempt for female cooks; but\nMadame Du Barry had one so well-trained, that with a charming dinner\nof _coulis de faisans_, _croustades de la foie de lottes_, _salmis de\nb\u00e9cassine_, _pain de volaille \u00e0 la supr\u00eame_, _poularde au cresson_,\n_\u00e9crevisses au vin de Sauterne_, _bisquets de p\u00eaches au Noyau_, and\n_cr\u00e8me de cerneaux_, the King was so overcome with ecstasy, that, after\nrecovering from the temporary disgust he experienced at hearing that it\nwas the handywork of a woman, he consented to ennoble her by conferring\nupon her the _cordon bleu_,--which phrase, from that time, has been\naccepted as signifying a skilled female cook.\n\nWith respect to other dishes and their authors, the _vol au vent\n\u00e0 la N\u00e8sle_ owns a Marquis for its father; and the _poularde \u00e0 la\nMontmorency_ is the offspring of a Duke. The _Bayonnoise_, or the\n_Mabonnoise_ rather, recalls one of the victories of the Duke de\nRichelieu; and _veau \u00e0 la Montgolfier_, well inflated, was the tribute\nof a culinary artist to the hero who first rode the air at the tail\nof a balloon. The _sorbet \u00e0 la Donizetti_ was the masterpiece of the\nItalian confectioner of the late Duke of Beaufort. He had been to\nthe Opera; and one of the composer\u2019s charming airs having given him\nan idea, he brooded over it, till, an hour or so before dawn, it was\nhatched into reality, when he rushed to the Duke\u2019s bed-chamber, and,\n\u201cdrawing Priam\u2019s bed-curtains in the night,\u201d announced to his startled\nGrace the achievement of a new _sorbet_.\n\nThe _tendrons d\u2019agneaux au soleil_, and the _filets de poulets \u00e0 la\nPompadour_, were two of the dishes invented by the famous lady of\nthat name. The _carbonnade \u00e0 la Soubise_, and the _carr\u00e9 de veau \u00e0\nla Guemen\u00e9e_, date--the first from the reign of Louis XV., the last\nfrom that of Louis XVI.,--periods when the people were famishing.\nThe Pompadour was a great patron of the arts, and especially of the\nculinary art; and the _cuisine des petits appartements_, during _her_\nreign, was at the very height of its savoury reputation. The Prince of\nSoubise was a poor General, but a rich glutton; and his son-in-law, the\nPrince de Guemen\u00e9e, was famous for his invention of various _rago\u00fbts_,\nhis inordinate extravagance, and his bankruptcy, with liabilities\nagainst him amounting to twenty-eight millions of francs. Madame la\nMar\u00e9chale de Mirepoix was the authoress of _cailles \u00e0 la Mirepoix_;\nand her descendants live on the reputation acquired thereby by their\nepicurean ancestress. The Bourbons vied with the aristocracy in taxing\ntheir genius, and cudgelling their brains, in order to produce new\ndishes. Thus, the _potage \u00e0 la Xavier_ was the production of Louis\nXVIII., in the days of his early manhood; while the _soupe \u00e0 la Cond\u00e9_\nwas a rival dish invented by his princely cousin,--a cousin, by the\nway, who, when a refugee in England, used to pass his evenings at\nAstley\u2019s, with his pockets full of apples, which he gallantly presented\nto ladies as highly, but not as naturally, coloured as the fruit.\nPerhaps the reputation of the Mar\u00e9chal de Richelieu rests more on his\n_boudins \u00e0 la carpe_, than on his battles and _billets-doux_. Finally,\na mysterious obscurity conceals from us the name of the inventor of\nthe _petites bouch\u00e9es de foie gras_. He is the Junius of gastronomic\nliterature; but if he be guessed at in vain, he is blessed abundantly,\nas one who has concentrated paradise, (an Epicurean\u2019s paradise,) and\ngiven an antepast thereof, in a single mouthful.\n\nThe Prince de Soubise was famous in the reign of Louis XV. for giving\ngreat dinners, and paying nobody but his cooks, and the young ladies of\nthe opera. He once varied his extravagance by a splendid f\u00eate, which\nwas to terminate by a supper. His _chef_ waited on him with the bill\nof fare for the banquet, and the first article which attracted his\nattention was \u201cfifty hams.\u201d \u201cHalf a hundred hams!\u201d said the Prince,\n\u201cthat\u2019s a coarse idea, Bertrand. You have not got to feed my regiment\nof cavalry.\u201d \u201cTruly, Prince! and only one ham will appear on the table;\nI want the remaining forty-nine for adjuncts, seasonings, flavourings,\nand a dozen other purposes.\u201d \u201cBertrand,\u201d replied the Prince, \u201cyou are\nrobbing me, and I cannot allow this article to pass.\u201d \u201cMonseigneur!\u201d\nexclaimed the offended _artiste_, \u201cyou doubt my morals, and libel my\nmerit. You do not know what a treasure you possess in me; you have only\nto order it, and those fifty hams which so terribly offend you, why, I\nwill put them all into a phial not bigger than my thumb!\u201d The Prince\nsmiled, and Bertrand triumphed.\n\nThe cooks of the young King Louis XVI. remarked, with mingled terror\nand disgust, that his appetite was rather voracious than delicate.\nHe cared little what he ate, provided there was enough of it; and he\nlooked to nutrition rather than niceness. A succulent joint with him\nhad more merit than the most singular of dishes, the invention of which\nhad perhaps caused three nights of wakefulness to its author. But the\naristocracy, the law, and finance, maintained tables which ought to\nhave been the pride of Versailles. Late dinners, or gorgeous suppers,\nwere indulged in to such a degree by the moneyed classes, that it\nwas familiarly said, that of an evening the chimneys of the Faubourg\nSaint Honor\u00e9 made fragrant with their incense the entire capital. It\nwas reckoned that, at this period, twenty thousand men had no other\nprofession than that of \u201cdiner-out,\u201d which they carried on, like the\nparasites of old, by retailing anecdotes and news in return for the\nrepast. It was a time when \u201cMonseigneur\u201d thought nothing of dispatching\nhis cook to London to procure a turtle; which, after all, was less\nextravagant than the process of Cambac\u00e8res, who had his P\u00e9rigord\npies sent to him through the post, \u201cOn His Majesty\u2019s Service.\u201d The\nLanguedocien cooks in France were paid the quadruple of the salary of\nthe family tutor, good eating being so much more essential to life\nthan mere instruction; and, besides, could the family tutor have\naccomplished any thing that could equal the achievement of the family\ncook who could bring to table _entire_ a \u201c_sanglier \u00e0 la crapaudine_?\u201d\nThe cooks of the age of Louis XVI. invented the \u201c_bouillie_\u201d and the\n\u201c_consomm\u00e9_,\u201d because mastication was considered by them a vulgar\nprocess; and the royal cooks, during Passion Week, manipulated the\nvegetables placed before the King into the forms of ocean-dwelling\nfish, and gave to the semblance the taste of the reality for which it\npassed to the eye.\n\nThe glory of gastronomy was again rising when it was suddenly quenched\nby the revolutionary torrent, and the nation was put on a three years\u2019\nmeagre dietary by the Jacobins and the Directory. But the Revolution,\nwhich affected to hate cooks as aristocratic appendages that ought to\nbe suppressed, sometimes made, where it hoped to mar. The case of Ude\nis one in point.\n\nMonsieur Ude, like Prince Eugene, was originally intended for the\nChurch. At the breaking out of the French Revolution, he was residing,\nfor instruction, with an Abb\u00e9, and master and pupil had to fly before\nthe popular indignation, which, for a time, assailed the Church, and\nall therewith connected. Ude\u2019s life was in peril in the public streets,\nand he just saved it, by rushing into the shop of a pastrycook, where\nhe found a permanent asylum. The \u201chouse of Ude,\u201d like other great\nhouses, nearly perished in the great political shipwreck of the day,\nand this particular scion thereof took to the study of practical\ngastronomy, and became chief supreme in various great kitchens, from\nthat of royalty down to that of Crockford.\n\nWhen the sluices of the French Revolution were opened, how diverse were\nthe fortunes of those who fled from before it! It was the same with\nthe gentlemen who had followed the fortunes of Napoleon. They were\nscattered, like the Generals of Alexander, without being able, like\nthem, to retire upon independent sovereignties, and rear dynasties of\nbarbaric splendour. Some went to Greece to crush despotism, some went\nto Lahore to aid it. A few, like Latour d\u2019Auvergne, took to the Church;\nbut, saving that portly person himself, none had the good luck to reach\nthe archiepiscopate. Those who failed to procure employment in foreign\narmies, and yet could not lay aside their propensity for killing, went\nto the East, and prescribed as Physicians. Such of the rest as were\nabsolutely fit for nothing, and willing to do it, inundated England,\nand undertook the light and irresponsible office of Private Tutors!\n\nBut it was the earlier Revolution that afforded examples of the\ngreatest contrasts. Many young men, intended for the Church, changed\ntheir profession, and became popular, useful, and rich, in the\nhouseholds of European royalty, as civilizers of the kitchen, who\nraised cookery from its barbarous condition to a matter of science\nand taste. Perhaps the most curious of the waifs and strays of the\nRevolution flung upon our shores, was the Chevalier D\u2019Aubign\u00e9, who\ncontrived to live, as so many French gentlemen of that time did, in\nbitter poverty, without a sacrifice of dignity. He had one day been\ninvited by an English friend to dine with the latter at a tavern.\nIn the course of the repast, he took upon himself to mix the salad;\nand the way in which he did this, attracted the notice of all the\nother guests in the room. Previous to the period of which I am\nspeaking, lettuces were commonly eaten, by tavern frequenters at\nleast, _au naturel_, with no more dressing than Nebuchadnezzar had\nto his grass when he dieted daily among the beasts. Consequently,\nwhen D\u2019Aubign\u00e9 handled the preparation for which he had asked, like\na chymist concocting elixir in his laboratory, the guests were lost\nin admiration; for the refreshing aroma of a _Mayonnaise_ was warrant\nto their senses, that the French Knight had discovered for them a\nnew pleasure. One of them approached the foreign magician, and said,\n\u201cSir, it is universally known that your nation excels all others in\nthe making a salad. Would it be too great a liberty to ask you to do\nus the favour to mix one for the party at my table?\u201d The courteous\nFrenchman smiled, was flattered, performed the office asked of him,\nand put four gentlemen in a state of uncontrollable ecstasy. He had\ntalked cheerfully, as he mixed gracefully and scientifically, and, in\nthe few minutes required by him to complete his work of enchantment,\nhe contrived to explain his position as emigrant, and his dependence\non the pecuniary aid afforded by the English Government. The guests\ndid not let the poor Chevalier depart without slipping into his hand\na golden fee, which he received with as little embarrassment, and as\nmuch dignity, as though he had been the Physician De Portal taking an\n_honorarium_ from the hands of the Cardinal de Rohan.\n\nHe had communicated his address, and he, perhaps, was not very much\nsurprised when, a few days after, he received a letter in which he\nwas politely requested to repair to a house in Grosvenor Square, for\nthe purpose of mixing a salad for a dinner party there to be given.\nD\u2019Aubign\u00e9 obeyed the summons; and, after performing his mission,\nreturned home richer by a five-pound note than when he went out.\n\nHenceforth he became the recognised \u201cfashionable salad-maker;\u201d and\nladies \u201cdied\u201d for his salads, as they do now for Constantine\u2019s\nsimulative bouquets. The preparer was soon enabled to proceed to his\nresponsible duties in a carriage; and a servant attended him, carrying\na mahogany case, containing the necessary ingredients for concocting\nvarious salads, according to the respective tastes of his employers.\nAt a later period, he sold, by hundreds, similar mahogany cases, which\nhe had caused to be made, and which were furnished with all matters\nnecessary for the making an irreproachable salad, and with directions\nhow to administer them. The Chevalier, too, was, like old Carr\u00e9,--whose\nwill was so cleverly made by the very disinterested friends who had\nnever before spoken to him,--a prudent and a saving man; and by the\nperiod which re-opened France to the _\u00e9migr\u00e9s_, he had realized some\neighty thousand francs, upon which he enjoyed a dignified retirement in\na provincial town. He invested sixty thousand francs in the Funds; with\nthe other twenty thousand he purchased a little estate in the Limousin,\nand, if he lacked a \u201clegend\u201d to his device, I would have helped him to\none in \u201c_Sal adfert_.\u201d\n\nA Knight over a salad-bowl is not a chivalrous picture; but the stern\nnecessity of the case gave it dignity, and the resulting profits\nquieted the scruples of the gentleman. When Booth pounced upon Captain\nBath, sitting in a dirty flannel gown, and warming his sister\u2019s posset\nat the fire, the noble and gaunt Captain was taken something aback, and\nsaid, in a little confusion, \u201cI did not expect, Sir, to be seen by you\nin this situation.\u201d Booth told him \u201che thought it impossible he could\nappear in a situation more becoming his character.\u201d The compliment\nwas equivocal; but the Captain said, \u201cYou do not? By G-- I am very\nmuch obliged to you for that opinion; but I believe, Sir, however my\nweakness may prevail on me to descend from it, no man can be more\nconscious of his own dignity than myself.\u201d The apology of good Captain\nBath in Fielding\u2019s \u201cAmelia,\u201d would have served the Chevalier who made\nsalads, had he needed one.\n\nIf a salad made the fortune of a Chevalier, it on one occasion made\nthat of a female cook, with whose dexterity in this respect a learned\nEnglish Judge was so enchanted, that he raised the lucky maiden to\nthe quality of wife. If we discuss the traits of life at table, we\nhave nothing to do with the secrets of household; but an incident,\nillustrative of the consequences of this match, may be mentioned. The\nJudge ever after was famous for protracting the sittings in court\nbeyond all precedent and patience; and when weary Barristers were\naghast at hearing a new cause called on, when the night was half spent,\nand fairly remonstrated against the judicial cruelty, the learned\nhusband of his cook would remark with a sigh, \u201cGentlemen, we _must_ be\nsomewhere; we cannot be better any where than where we now are,\u201d--the\nhalf of which assertion was stoutly denied by his hearers.\n\nOur aristocracy are not quite so famous for their invention of dishes\nas that of France; but their love for good dinners, and their knowledge\nof what they ought to be, are not inferior to the affection and science\nof our neighbours. When Lord Marcus Hill officiated as whipper-in\nto the Whig Government, it was part of his office to order the fish\ndinner at which Ministers regale themselves when sessional cares no\nlonger molest them. The fish dinners of Lord Marcus are remembered with\nsatisfaction and gratitude; for they were first-rate in their way. The\nreputation of the Carlton _cuisine_ and cellar is said to be chiefly\nowing to Sir Alexander Grant, of whom a gastronomic critic says, \u201cNo\nliving Amphitryon has given better dinners in his time; and few can\nboast of having entertained more distinguished guests.\u201d His name, as a\npatron, reminds me of that of Car\u00eame, as a practitioner.\n\n\n\n\nPEN AND INK SKETCH OF CAR\u00c8ME.\n\n\nIt would be as easy to compile a Dictionary of Cooks, as of Musicians\nor Painters; but it would not be so amusing or so edifying, except\nperhaps to those who think more of their stomach than of their mind.\nBut it _would_ then be attractive and useful to the majority of\nreaders; for the sages themselves are not unmindful of their stomachs,\nand, according to a sage, they would be unworthy of the name if they\nneglected that vital matter. Johnson, you know, lived in an age when\nthings were called by their real names. \u201c_J\u2019appelle un chat un chat_,\u201d\nwas the device of the plain-spoken, when not only men, but ladies, bold\nas the Thalestris of Young\u2019s pungent satire, loudly dared to name what\nnature dared to give. Dr. Johnson, then, says, \u201cSome people have a\nfoolish way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat.\nFor my part, I mind my _belly_ very studiously; for I look upon it that\nhe who does not mind his _belly_, will hardly mind any thing else!\u201d\n\nTo the world, then, even a Biographical Dictionary of Cooks might be\ncaptivating; but as my present mission is not to write an Encyclop\u00e6dia,\nbut rather deferentially to offer my little sketches to gentle, and not\ntoo critical, readers, with leisure half-hours at their command, so do\nI offer them a sketch of Car\u00eame, as the knowledge of the individual may\nstand for that of the class.\n\nHe was illustrious by descent; for one of his ancestors had served in\nthe household of a Pope, who himself made more sauces than saints, Leo\nX. But Car\u00eame was one of so poor and so numerous a family, that when\nhe came into the world, he was no more welcome than Oliver Goldsmith\nwas: the respective parents of the little-cared-for babes did not know\nwhat future great men lay in naked helplessness before them. One wrote\nimmortal poetry, and starved: the other made delicious pastry, and\nrode in a chariot! We know how much Oliver received for his \u201cVicar;\u201d\nwhile Anthony Car\u00eame used to receive twice as much for merely writing\nout a recipe to make a \u201c_p\u00e2t\u00e9_.\u201d Nay, Car\u00eame\u2019s untouched patties,\nwhen they left royal tables, were bought up at a cost which would\nhave supported Goldsmith for a month; and a cold sugared _entremets_,\nat the making of which Car\u00eame had presided, readily fetched a higher\nprice than the public now pay for the \u201cComplete Works\u201d of the poet of\nGreen-Arbour-court!\n\nCar\u00eame studied under various great masters, but he perfected his\nstudies under Boucher, _chef des services_ of the Prince Talleyrand.\nThe glory of Car\u00eame was co-eval with that of Napoleon: those two\nindividuals were great men at the same period; but the glory of one\nwill, perhaps, be a little more enduring than that of the other. I will\nnot say _whose_ glory will thus last the longer; for as was remarked\ncourteously by the Oxford candidate for honours, who was more courteous\nthan \u201ccrammed,\u201d and who was asked which were the minor Prophets, \u201cI am\nnot willing to draw invidious distinctions!\u201d\n\nIn the days of the Empire,--the era of the greatness, of the\nachievements, and of the reflections of Car\u00eame,--the possession of him\nwas as eagerly contested by the rich as that of a nymph by the satyrs.\nHe was alternately the glory of Talleyrand, the boast of Lavalette,\nand the pride of the Saxon Ambassador. In their houses, too, his\nhand was as often on his pen as on the handle of his _casserole_;\nand inspiration never visited his brain without the call being\nduly registered in his note-book, with reflections thereon highly\nphilosophical and gastronomic.\n\nBut Car\u00eame was capricious. It was not that he was unfaithful, but he\nwas _volage_; and he passed from kitchen to kitchen, as the bee wings\nfrom flower to flower. The Emperor Alexander dined with Talleyrand,\nand forthwith he seduced Car\u00eame: the seduction-money was only \u00a3100\nsterling per month, and the culinary expenses. Car\u00eame did not yield\nwithout much coyness. He urged his love for study, his desire to refine\nthe race of which he made himself the model, his love for his country;\nand he even accompanied, for a brief moment, \u201cLord Stewart\u201d to Vienna;\nbut it was more in the way of policy than pastry: for Count Orloff was\nsent after him on a mission, and Car\u00eame, after flying, with the full\nintention of being followed, to London and Paris, yielded to the golden\nsolicitation, and did the Emperor Alexander the honour of becoming the\nhead of the imperial kitchen in whatever palace His Majesty presided.\nBut the delicate susceptibility of Car\u00eame was wounded by discovering\nthat his book of expenses was subjected to supervision. He flung up\nhis appointment in disgust, and hastened across Europe to England.\nThe jealous winds wished to detain him for France, and they blew him\nback on the coast between Calais and Boulogne, exactly as they did\nanother gentleman, who may not be so widely known as Car\u00eame, but who\nhas been heard of in England under the name of William Wordsworth.\nCar\u00eame accepted the omen, repaired to Paris, entered the service of\nthe Princess Bagration, and served the table of that capricious lady,\n_en ma\u00eetre d\u2019h\u00f4tel_. As the guests uttered ecstatic praises of the\nfare, the Princess would smile upon him as he stood before her, and\nexclaim, \u201cHe is the pearl of cooks!\u201d Is it a matter of surprise that\nhe was vain? Fancy being called a \u201cpearl\u201d by a Princess! On reading it\nwe think of the days when Lady Mary Wortley Montague put nasty footmen\ninto eclogues, and deified the dirty passions of Mrs. Mahony\u2019s lacquey.\n\nThe Princess, however, ate herself into a permanent indigestion, and\nCar\u00eame transferred his services to the English Ambassador at the Court\nof Vienna. There, every morning, seated in his magnificent kitchen,\nCar\u00eame received the visit of \u201cMilor Stewart,\u201d who seldom left him\nwithout presents and encouragements. Indeed, these rained upon the\nimmortal artist. The Emperor Alexander had consented to have Car\u00eame\u2019s\nprojects in culinary architecture dedicated to him, and, with notice of\nconsent, sent him a diamond ring. When Prince Walkouski placed it on\nhis finger, the cook forgot his dignity, and burst into tears. So did\nall the other cooks in the Austrian capital,--out of sheer jealousy.\n\nCar\u00eame, two years before George IV. was King, had been for a short\nperiod a member of the Regent\u2019s household. He left Vienna to be present\nat the Coronation; but he arrived too late; and he does not scruple to\nsay, very ungenerously, that the banquet was spoiled for want of his\npresence, nor to insinuate that the colleagues with whom he would have\nbeen associated were unworthy of such association,--an insinuation\nat once base and baseless. After being the object of a species of\nsemi-worship, and yielding to every new offer, yet affecting to despise\nthem all, Car\u00eame ultimately tabernacled with Baron Rothschild in Paris;\nand the super-human excellency of his dinners, is it not written in the\n\u201cBook without a Name\u201d of Lady Morgan? And was not his residence there\nthe object of envy, and cause of much melancholy, and opportunity for\nmuch eulogy, on the part of George IV.? Well, Anthony Car\u00eame would have\nus believe as much with respect to himself and the King; but we do\nnot believe a word of it; for the royal table was never better cared\nfor by the royal officers, whose duty lay in such care, than at this\nvery period. George IV. is said to have tempted him by offering triple\nsalaries; but all in vain; for London was too _triste_ an abiding\nplace for a man whose whole soul, out of kitchen hours, was given to\nstudy. And so Car\u00eame remained with his Jewish patron until infirmity\novertook his noble nature, and he retired to dictate his immortal works\n(like Milton, very!) to his accomplished daughter. _Les beaux restes_\nof Car\u00eame were eagerly sought after; but he would not heed what was\nno longer a temptation; for he was realizing twenty thousand francs a\nyear from the booksellers, besides the interest of the money he had\nsaved. Think of it, shade of Milton! Eight hundred pounds sterling\n_yearly_, for writing on kitchen-stuff! Who would compose epics\nafter that? But Car\u00eame\u2019s books were epics after their sort, and they\nare highly creditable to the scribe who wrote them from his notes.\nFinally, even Antony Car\u00eame died, like cooks of less degree; but he\nhad been the imperial despot of European kitchens, had been \u201cberinged\u201d\nby Monarchs, and been smiled on by Princesses; he had received Lords\nin his kitchen, and had encountered ladies who gave him a great deal\nfor a very little knowledge in return; and finally, as Fulke Greville\nhad inscribed on his tomb that he had been the friend of Sir Philip\nSidney, so the crowning joy of Car\u00eame\u2019s life might have been chiselled\non his monument, indicating that he had been the friend of one whom\nhe would have accounted a greater man than the knightly hero in\nquestion,--namely, _il Maestro Rossini_! Car\u00eame\u2019s cup was thereat full;\nand he died, perfectly convinced that paradise itself would be glad at\nhis coming.\n\nThe celebrated Damvers was _chef_ to the as celebrated financier\nGrimaud de la Reyni\u00e8re, in the last century. Grimaud died a martyr to\nhis epicurean tastes. He was dining on a _p\u00e2t\u00e9 de foies gras_, when he\nallowed his appetite to overpower his digestion, and he died of the\nexcess. Barthe, the author of \u201c_Les Fausses Infid\u00e9lit\u00e9s_,\u201d also fell on\nthe field of the dining-room. He was extremely short-sighted, and ate\nof every thing on the table. He did not consult his appetite, but his\nservant, asking him, \u201cHave I eaten of that?\u201d \u201cHave I had any of this?\u201d\nIt was after partaking too freely, both of \u201cthis\u201d _and_ \u201cthat,\u201d that\npoor M. Barthe let his temper get the better of him in an argument, and\na stroke of apoplexy sent him under the table. His cook deplored in him\nthe loss of a man of taste.\n\nThe cook of the Count de Tess\u00e9, Master of the Horse to Marie\nAntoinette, was famous for dressing artichokes. The great Morillian\nsurpassed him, however; but this feat did not save the artist from\nending his days in poverty. The elder Robert was, perhaps, equal to\neither of them, in this or in any other respect connected with his\nart. The great Car\u00eame, ignorant of every thing else, was at least an\naccomplished cook. There is, as I have said, a tradition that his\n_petits p\u00e2t\u00e9s_, when they left the Regent\u2019s table, were sold, like\nthe second-hand pies from the royal table at Versailles, for fabulous\nprices. As I have before intimated, it was for Leo X. that Car\u00eame the\nFirst invented those succulent, but orthodox, dishes, which pleased\nthe pontifical palate at a season when gratification by gravy would\nhave been scandalous! It was in the Baron Rothschild\u2019s household that\nCar\u00eame the Second invented his famous _sauce piquante_, the result of\nhis studies under Richaut, Asne, and the elder Robert. It was in and\nfor France that Car\u00eame published the learned and curious work of which\nhe is the reputed author, and which he may have dictated, but which\nhe could not have written. It is marked by philosophical inquiry,\ninstruction, and pleasant trifling; and neither book nor reputed author\nhas been excelled by any artist, or any sample of kitchen literature,\nthat has appeared since that period.\n\nBefore the age of Car\u00eame, the popular kitchen in France was not very\nsuperior to our own; and the patrons of _tavernes_ and _traiteurs_ were\nas coarsely fed as our frequenters of ordinaries. But as royalty fell,\nthe _restaurateurs_ rose; and when, in 1786, the cooks of Louis XVI.\nbegan to augur badly of their prospects, three provincial brothers,\nBarth\u00e9lemy, Mannielles, and Simon, opened their famous _restaurant_,\n\u201c_Les Trois Fr\u00e8res Proven\u00e7aux_,\u201d in the Palais Royal, and constituted\nthemselves the cooks of another King,--the sovereign people. The new\nestablishment created an era in the history of cookery, and men of\nall shades of politics, and Generals of all grades of reputation,\nresorted to the tables of the Brothers. General Bonaparte and Barras\nwere to be seen there daily, before they took their cheap pleasure at\nthe theatre of Mlle. Montansier. During the wars of the Empire it was\nthe chosen stage for the farewell banquets of brethren in arms, and at\nthis period the receipts amounted to not less than \u00a3500 sterling daily.\nThe triumvirate of proprietors endured longer than any such union in\nthe political world; and it was not till the reign of Louis Philippe\nthat the establishment of \u201c_Les Trois Fr\u00e8res_\u201d descended, under a new\nproprietary, into a more unpretending position than that which it\nhad proudly sustained during half a century. The _casseroles_ of the\nsavoury Brothers had remained unshaken, while Kings and constitutions\nhad fallen around them.\n\nThe fortune of the Provincial Brothers tempted another country cook\nfrom his obscurity; and some four years after the former had set up\ntheir tables in the Palais Royal, the immortal V\u00e9ry thrust his feet\ninto wooden clogs, and trudged from a village on the Meuse up to the\ncapital, to give it a taste of his quality. He enchanted Marshal Duroc\nwith some of his _plats_, and henceforth his fortune was secure.\nHe married a beautiful woman, whose pen kept his books, whose face\nattracted customers, and whose heart was devoted to her husband. A\nquarter of a century sufficed to enable V\u00e9ry to die immensely rich,\nafter working excessively hard, and to be magnificently entombed in the\n_Cimeti\u00e8re Montmartre_, under a marble column, which bore the engraved\nassurance that \u201chis whole life was devoted to the useful arts.\u201d\n\nBeauvilliers appeared in Paris about the same time as \u201cthe Three\nBrothers;\u201d he made and unmade his fortune three or four times, and died\npoor, three years after V\u00e9ry died so rich. Beauvilliers was the author\nof \u201c_L\u2019Art du Cuisinier_,\u201d a book almost as interesting as \u201cThe Art of\nDining;\u201d and one cannot name either without standing mentally _chapeau\nbas!_ before the author.\n\nBeauvilliers was famous for his splendid wines and heavy bill. The\n_Veau qui tette_ was renowned for its sheep-trotters. The reputation of\nothers was built upon kidneys; that of V\u00e9ry, on his _entr\u00e9es truff\u00e9es_.\nThe \u201cThree Provincial Brothers\u201d enjoyed a wide esteem for the way in\nwhich they dressed cod with garlic. Baleine kept a house that was\ncrowded by the admirers of fish; while that of Robert was distinguished\nfor the graceful attention with which previously ordered dinners were\nserved; and that of Henneveu for the splendid _boudoirs_ in which\nshy couples, too modest to encounter the public gaze, could dine in\nprivate, and cease to find their modesty oppressive. Beauvilliers\u2019,\nas I have intimated, was a costly house; but it was not _therefore_\nthe most excellent in Paris. The excellence of a dinner is not to be\ndetermined by its price. Four years ago an illustrious party dined at\nPhilippe\u2019s, in the Rue Montorgueil, at a far lower cost, and after a\nfar more exquisite fashion, than if they had joined the Epicureans of\nthe Clarendon, at \u00a35 per head. The party consisted of Lords Brougham\nand Dufferin, the Honourable W. Stuart, two other \u201cBritishers,\u201d and\nCount D\u2019Orsay and M. Alexandre Dumas. The dinner on this occasion was\na _recherch\u00e9e_ affair. It had been as anxiously meditated upon as an\nepic poem; and it was a far pleasanter thing. \u201cThe most successful\ndishes,\u201d says the author of \u201cThe Art of Dining,\u201d \u201cwere the _bisques_,\nthe _fritures \u00e0 l\u2019Italienne_, and the _gigot \u00e0 la Bretanne_. Out of\ncompliment to the world-wide fame of Lord Brougham and Alexandre Dumas,\nM. Philippe produced some _Clos de Vougeot_, which, (like his namesake\nin \u2018High Life Below Stairs,\u2019) he vowed, should never go down the throat\nof a man whom he did not esteem and admire; and it was voted first-rate\nby acclamation.\u201d\n\nThe French repasts are not always good, even when they are rather\ncostly. In 1807, a party of twenty-two sat down to a repast at the\nyounger \u201cRobert\u2019s,\u201d in Paris. The Amphitryon of the feast was M.\nDaolouis; and the bill, exclusive of wine, amounted to thirty louis.\nThere were but three or four great dishes, and two or three sauces.\nThe discontent of the guests was general, and the giver of the feast\nallowed that the dinner was not near so good as that of the \u201c_Soci\u00e9t\u00e9\ndes Mercredis_,\u201d at _Le Gacque\u2019s_, which cost only seven francs per\nhead, ordinary wine, liqueurs, and coffee included. \u201c_Mais, \u00e0 d\u00eener,\nMessieurs, \u00e0 d\u00eener!_\u201d\n\n\n\n\nDINNER TRAITS.\n\n\n\u201cFor these and all His mercies\u201d----once began Dr. Johnson, whose good\ncustom it was always to thank Heaven for the good things set before\nhim; but he almost as invariably found fault with the food given. And\nof this see-saw process Mrs. Johnson grew tired; and on the occasion\nalluded to, she stopped her husband by remarking that it was a farce\nto pretend to be grateful for dishes which, in two minutes, he\nwould pronounce to be as worthless as the worst of Jeremiah\u2019s figs!\nAnd so there was no blessing. Mrs. Johnson might have supplied the\none employed by merry old Lady Hobart at a dinner where she looked\ninquiringly, but vainly, for a grace-sayer. \u201cWell,\u201d remarked the good\nancient dame, \u201cI think I must say as one did in the like case, \u2018God\nbe thanked!--nobody will say grace!\u2019\u201d It is seldom that \u201cgrace\u201d is\nproperly said or sung. The last is a terribly melodious mockery at\npublic dinners; but then every man should silently and fervently make\nthanksgiving in his own heart. He is an ungracious knave who sits down\nto a meal without at least a silent acknowledgment of gratitude to Him,\nwithout whom there could have been no spreading of the banquet. Such a\ndefaulter deserves to be the bound slave of dyspepsia, until he learn\nbetter manners. \u201cCome, gentlemen,\u201d Beau Nash used to say, \u201ceat, and\nwelcome!\u201d It was all his grace; and had he said, \u201cCome, gentlemen,\nbe thankful and eat,\u201d it would have been more like the Christian\ngentleman, and less like the \u201cbeau.\u201d\n\nIt was a good old rule that prescribed as a law of numbers at the\ndinner-table, that the company should not be more than the Muses nor\nless than the Graces. There was not always unlimited freedom of action\nin the matter; for, by the _Lex Faunia_, a man was forbidden to invite\nmore than three strangers (not of his family) to dinner, except on\nmarket days, (three times a month,) when he might invite five. The host\nwas restricted to spending only two and a half _drachmas_; but he might\nconsume annually one hundred and twenty Roman pounds of meat for each\nperson in his house, and eat at discretion of all plants and herbs that\ngrew wild; and, indeed, little restriction was put upon vegetables at\nall. One consequence was, that this law against luxury begot a great\ndeal of it, and ruined men\u2019s stomachs in consequence. When the French\nMayor ordered all good citizens in his dark district to carry lanterns\nat night, he forgot to say a word about candles, and the wits walked\nabout with the lanterns unfurnished. The official rectified the mistake\nby ordering the candles; but as he omitted to say that these were to be\nlighted, the public did not profit by the decree. So the _Lex Faunia_,\nwhen it allowed unrestrained liberty in thistles, forgot to limit\nsauces; and vegetables generally were eaten with such luscious aids to\nwhich the name of \u201csauce\u201d was given, that even the grave Cicero yielded\nto the temptation, spoiled his digestion, and got a liver complaint!\nAfter all, it is said that only three Romans could be found who\nrigorously observed the _Faunia_ Law, according to their oaths. These\nwere men more easily satisfied than Apicius, who cried like a child,\nwhen, of all his vast fortune, he had only about \u00a3250,000 sterling that\nhe could devote to gluttony; or than Lucullus, who never supped in the\n\u201cApollo\u201d without its costing him at least ten thousand pounds.\n\nNotwithstanding this, the _Faunia_ Law was an absurd impertinence. It\nwas like the folly of Antigonus, who one day, seeing the poet Antagoras\nin the camp, cooking a dish of congers for his dinner, asked, \u201cO\nAntagoras, dost thou think that Homer sang the deeds of heroes while he\nboiled fish?\u201d \u201cAnd you, O King,\u201d returned the poet, \u201cthinkest thou that\nAgamemnon gained renown for his exploits, by trying to find out who had\nboiled fish for dinner in his camp?\u201d The moral is, that it is best to\nleave men at liberty to eat as they like. Society is strong enough to\nmake laws on these matters for itself; and no one now could commit the\ncrime of the greedy Demylos, who, to secure a superb dish of fish for\nhimself, \u1f10\u03bd\u03ad\u03c0\u03c4\u03c5\u03c3\u03b5\u03bd \u03b5\u1f30\u03c2 \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03ae\u03bd, \u201cspat in it;\u201d and if my readers refer to\nthe chapter illustrating \u201cTheir Majesties at Meat,\u201d they will find that\nso dirty a trick was not the reserved privilege of Heathenism.\n\nThe Pythagoreans were clean eaters, and dined daily on bread and honey.\nOn the smell of the latter Democritus did not indeed dine, but died.\nHe had determined to commit suicide, and had cut down his allowance\nto such small rations, that his death was expected daily. But the fun\nand the festival of Ceres was at hand; and the ladies of his house\nbegged him to be good enough not to spoil the frolic by dying at such\na mirthful moment. He consented, asked for a pot of honey, and kept\nhimself alive by smelling at it, till the festival was over, when his\nfamily hoped that he would die whenever he found it convenient. He\ntook one sniff more at the pot, and in the effort his breath passed\naway for ever. There was nothing reprehensible in the conduct of those\nladies. They did not outrage the spirit of their times. I think worse\nof Madam du Deffand, who went out to dine on the day her old lover\ndied, remarking, as she entered the room, how lucky it was that he had\nexpired before six o\u2019clock, as otherwise she would have been too late\nfor the gay party expecting her. The brilliant society who played cards\nby the side of the bed of the dying Mlle. de l\u2019Espinasse, and counted\ntheir tricks while they commented upon her \u201crattles,\u201d may be pronounced\nas being twice as Pagan as the ladies of the household of Democritus.\n\nA small portion of soup is a good preparative to excite the digestive\npowers generally for what is to follow. Oysters form a far less\ncommonly safe introduction to the more solid repast, their chill, which\neven Chablis cannot always rectify, paralysing rather than arousing the\nstomach. The French _bouilli_ after soup is a dangerous vulgarity; for\nit is simply, as a distinguished professor has styled it, \u201cmeat, all\nbut its nourishing juice.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoultry,\u201d says M. Brillat, \u201cis to the sick man who has been floating\nover an uncertain and uneasy sea, like the first odour or sight of land\nto the storm-beaten mariner.\u201d But a skilful cook can render almost any\ndish attractive to any and every quality of appetite. In this respect,\nthe French and Chinese cooks are really professional brethren; much\nmore so than a general practitioner and a veterinary surgeon!\n\nThe Chinese are exceedingly skilful cooks, and exhibit taste and\njudgment in the selection of their food. With a few beans, and the meal\nof rice and corn, they will make a palatable and nutritious dish. They\neat horse-flesh, rats, mice, and young dogs. Why not? All these are\nfar cleaner feeders than pigs and lobsters. A thorough-bred horse is\nso nice in his appetite, that he will refuse the corn which has been\nbreathed upon by another horse. The Tonquin birds\u2019 nests eaten in China\nmay be described as young Mr. Fudge describes the Paris _grisettes_:\n\u201cRather eatable things, those _grisettes_, by the bye!\u201d So are the\nbirds\u2019 nests, composed as they are of small shell-fish and a glutinous\nmatter, supplied by the plumed inhabitant of the edible houses. Bears\u2019\npaws, rolled in pepper and nutmeg, dried in the sun, and subsequently\nsoaked in rice-water, and boiled in the gravy of a kid, form a dish\nthat would make ecstatic the grave Confucius himself.\n\nThere are some men for whom cooks toil in vain. The Duke of\nWellington\u2019s cook had serious doubts as to his master being a great\nman,--he so loved simple fare. Suwarrow was another General who was the\ndespair of cooks. His biographer says of him, that he was at dinner\nwhen Col. Hamilton appeared before him to announce an Austrian victory\nover the French. The General had one huge plate before him, a sort of\nIrish stew, with every thing for sauce, from which he ate greedily,\nspitting out the bones, \u201cas was his custom.\u201d He was so delighted with\nthe message and the messenger, that he received him as Galba did\nIcelus, the announcer of Nero\u2019s death: with his unwiped mouth, he began\nkissing the latter, (as the half-shaven Duke of Newcastle once did the\nbearer of some welcome intelligence,) and insisted on his sitting down\nand eating from the General\u2019s plate, \u201cwithout ceremony.\u201d The great\nColigny was, like Suwarrow, a rapid eater; but he was more nice in his\ndiet. The characteristic of Coligny was, that he always used to eat his\ntooth-picks!\n\nAccording to ancient rule, an invitation not replied to within\nfour-and-twenty hours was deemed accepted; and from an invitation given\nand accepted, nothing releases the contracting parties but illness,\nimprisonment, or death! Nothing suffers so much by delay as dinner;\nand if punctuality be the politeness of Kings, it should also be the\npolicy both of guests and cooks. Lack of punctuality on the part of\nthe former has been illustrated in the cases of men, of whom it is said\nthat they never saw soup and fish but at their own tables. The late\nLord Dudley Ward used to cite two brothers as startling examples of\nwant of punctuality: \u201cIf you asked Robert for Wednesday, at seven, you\ngot Charles on Thursday, at eight!\u201d On the other hand, an unpunctual\ncook is scarcely to be accounted a cook; and an unpunctual master\nis not worthy of a cook whose dinner is ready to be served at the\nmoment it has been ordered. The great \u201c_artiste_\u201d who dismissed his\npatron because he never sat down to dinner until after he had kept it\nwaiting for an hour, was thoroughly acquainted with the dignity of his\nprofession.\n\nAt the beginning of the present century, it was the custom in France to\nserve the soup immediately before the company entered the dining-room.\nThe resulting advantage was a simultaneous operation on the part of\nthe guests. The innovation was introduced by Mlle. Emilie Contat, the\nactress; but it was tolerated only for a season. It was, at the same\nperiod, of rigorous necessity, when eggs were eaten at dinner, to crush\nthe empty shell. To allow the latter to leave the table whole was a\nbreach in good manners; but the reason of this prandial law I have\nnever been able to discover. Mlle. Contat was almost as famous for her\nlove of good cheer as our own Foote, and both were, equally often, \u201con\nhospitable thoughts intent.\u201d\n\nIt would appear that in Foote\u2019s time Scotland was not famous for a\nlavish hospitality. The old actor gave some glorious dinners to the\nfirst people in the city, and his preliminary proceedings thereto\nwere intended to be highly satirical upon what he considered Scottish\nparsimony. Every night, before retiring to bed, he used to paper the\ncurls of his wig with Scotch bank-notes,--promissory paper, as he\nsaid, of no value. When his cook waited on him at breakfast-time for\norders, \u201cSam\u201d gravely uncurled his locks, flung the papers to the\nattendant, as purchase-money for the necessary provisions, and sent\nher to market in a sedan-chair. But the old actor was as eccentric and\nostentatious at his own table in London, as he was any where. When the\nwines were placed on the board, he solemnly, and as it were with a\nshade of disgust, inquired, \u201cIf any body drank port?\u201d As no one dared\nto answer in the affirmative at his table, (though the owner took it\n\u201cmedicinally,\u201d) he would direct the servant to \u201ctake away the ink!\u201d\n\nIf Foote disliked port, Bentley, on the other hand, had a contempt for\nclaret, \u201cwhich,\u201d said he, \u201cwould be port, if it could!\u201d The latter\nindividual was not like Flood, the Irishman, who used to raise his\nglass of claret aloft, with a cry, \u201cIf this be war, may we never have\npeace!\u201d\n\nComparatively speaking, claret is a very modern wine. Indeed, none\nof the Bourdeaux wines were fashionable, that is, consumed in large\nquantities out of the province, before the reign of Louis XV. That\nSovereign is said to have asked Richelieu if Bourdeaux wines were\n\u201cdrinkable.\u201d \u201cFrom father to son the Bourbon race,\u201d says Bungener, in\nhis incomparable work, \u201c_Trois Sermons sous Louis XIV._,\u201d ate and drank\nwith relish; and it was no jest that among the three talents attributed\nby the old song to Henri IV., (their ancestor,) was numbered that of\na \u201cgood drinker.\u201d \u201cNone of them, however, with the exception of the\nRegent, carried it to excess; but what was not excess for them, would\nhave been so for many others. Louis XIV., at the summit of his glory,\nand Louis XVI., surrounded by his jailers, submitted equally to the\nlaws of their imperious appetite.\u201d\n\nWhen Louis XV. asked Richelieu if Bourdeaux wines were drinkable,\nthe Duke answered him in terms which I may cite, because of their\ncorrectness. \u201cSire,\u201d he replied, \u201cthey have, what they call, \u2018white\nSauterne,\u2019 which, though far from being so good as that of Monrachet,\nor that of the little slopes in Burgundy, is still not to be despised.\nThere is also a certain wine from Grave, which smacks of the flint,\nlike an old carbine. It resembles Moselle wine, but keeps better. They\nhave besides, in Medoc and Bazadois, two or three sorts of red wine,\nof which they boast a great deal. It is nectar fit for the gods, if\none is to believe them. Yet it is certainly not comparable to the wine\nof Upper Burgundy. Its flavour is not bad, however, and it has an\nindescribable sort of dull, saturnine acid, which is not disagreeable.\nBesides, one can drink as much as one will. It puts people to sleep,\nand that is all!\u201d \u201cIt puts people to sleep,\u201d said the King: \u201csend for a\npipe of it!\u201d This is as just a description of good, healthy Bourdeaux,\nas was that given by Sheridan, I believe, of Champagne: \u201cIt does not\nenter,\u201d he said, \u201cand steal your reason; it simply makes a runaway\nknock at a man\u2019s head, and there\u2019s an end of it!\u201d\n\nBut we are indulging in too much wine at dinner. Let us return to the\nsolids. Of the self-important personages who daily cross our path,\nperhaps the most important circumstance of their life is, that they\nhave dined every day of it. But it is a necessity. All men must, or\nshould; and sorrow of the saddest sort is subdued before the anguish of\nappetite. As Jules Janin says, in his \u201c_Gaiet\u00e9s Champ\u00eatres_,\u201d \u201cNemorin\ntakes leave of Estelle, and returns home, overcome by hunger. Don Kyrie\nEleison de Montauban, after running, all day long, after Mademoiselle\nBlaisir de-ma-vie, goes and knocks at the door of the neighbouring\n_ch\u00e2teau_, and asks to be invited to supper. Niobe herself, in the\n\u2018Iliad,\u2019 as afflicted as woman can be, does not forget, when night\ncomes, to take a little refreshment.\u201d If Seneca derided such doings, it\nwas only after dinner, when appetite failed him. Human nature is made\nup of sentiment and hunger; and Hood\u2019s sentimentalist was not unnatural\nwith his epicurean reminiscences, when he said,--\n\n  \u201c\u2019Twas at Christmas, I think, that I met with Miss Chase,--\n    Yes, for Morris had ask\u2019d me to dine;\n  And I thought I had never beheld such a face,\n    Or so noble a turkey and chine.\u201d\n\nThis conglomeration of feeling and feeding is mixed up with all the\nacts of most importance in our lives; and though Bacchus, Cupid, Comus,\nand Diana be no longer the deities or the _beati_ of the earth, the\nsubstantial worship remains; and, as M. Brillat Savarin asserts, under\nthe most serious of all beliefs, we celebrate by repasts not only\nbirths, baptisms, and marriages, but even interments.\n\nThe last-named writer fixes the era of dinners from the time when\nmen, ceasing to live upon fruits, took to flesh; for then the family\nnecessarily assembled to devour what had been slain and cooked. They\nknow the pleasures of eating, which is the satisfaction of the animal\nappetite; but the true, refined pleasures of the table date only from\nthe time when Prometheus fired the soul with heavenly flame, from which\nsprang intellect, with a host of radiant followers in its train. A good\ndinner sharpens wit, while it softens the heart. A hungry man is as\nslow at a joke as he is at a favour.\n\nNelson never knew the sensation of \u201cfear,\u201d but when he was asked to\ndine with a Mayor. He had a horror of great dinners generally: and he\nwas right; for true intellectual enjoyment is seldom there. Horace,\nwith his modest repasts and fair wine, was something of the same\nopinion as Horatio. Where the wine is indifferent, the guests too\nnumerous and ill-assorted, the spirit heavy, the time short, and the\nrepast too eagerly consumed, there is no dinner, in the legitimate\nsense of the word. I never so much admired one of the most hospitable\nof Amphitryons, my friend M. Watier, as when he once prefaced one of\nhis exquisite dinners by saying, with a solemn smile, \u201c_Mes amis, ne\nnous pressons pas!_\u201d I thought of Talleyrand and his advice to a too\nwilling Secretary:--\u201c_Surtout, pas de z\u00e8le!_\u201d The most accomplished\nprofessor of his time has laid down, as rules for securing to their\nutmost degree the prandial pleasures of table, that the guests do\nnot exceed twelve, so that the conversation be general; that they\nbe of varied occupations, but analogous tastes; that the lighting,\ncheerful cleanliness, and temperature of the dining-room be carefully\nconsidered; that the viands be exquisite rather than numerous, and the\nwines of first quality, each in its degree; the progression of the\nformer from the more substantial to the more light; of the latter,\nfrom the more brilliant to the more perfumed. It is further enjoined\nthat there be no accelerated movement; all the guests are to consider\nthemselves as fellow-travellers, bound to reach one point at the same\ntime. The rules for the \u201cafter-dinner\u201d in the drawing-room are those\nmore commonly observed in this country, with the exception that \u201cpunch\u201d\nexpired when lemons ceased to be dear at the Peace; but the concluding\nrule is worth noticing:--\u201cThat no one withdraw before eleven, and that\nall be asleep by midnight.\u201d\n\nI have spoken of the aids which the French nobility have given to\ntable enjoyment. To them may be added the innovation introduced by\nTalleyrand, of offering Parmesan with soup, and presenting after it\na glass of dry Madeira. Talleyrand had one thing in common with St.\nPeter,--he was hungry at the hour of mid-day, the dinner-time of the\nJews; and he would have also come under the anathema in Ecclesiastes\nwhich is levelled against the Princes who eat in the morning.\n\nPlato was rather shocked at those people of Italy who made two\nsubstantial meals daily; and Seneca was satisfied with one meal,--a\ndinner of bread and figs. The Roman Priests of Mars dined jollily and\nsumptuously in a secret room of the temple, and they would not be\ndisturbed. They were like Baillie de Suffren, who, being waited on in\nIndia by a deputation, just as he was sitting down to dine, sent out\nword that his religion would not allow of his interrupting his repast;\nand the delegates retired, profoundly struck by the strictness of his\nconscience. The original dinner hour of the medi\u00e6val ages was, as I\nhave elsewhere stated, ten o\u2019clock, the _dixi\u00e8me heure_; hence the\nname. It was not till the reign of Louis XIV. that so late an hour as\nnoon was fixed for the repast. It is clear, however, that we have not\nso much changed the hours as changed the names of our meals. A French\nhistorian shows us how a Dauphin of France dined (at ten o\u2019clock) in\nthe fifteenth century:--\n\n\u201cAs an every-day fare, the Dauphin took for his dinner rice pottage,\nwith leeks or cabbage, a piece of beef, another of salt pork, a dish\nof six hens or twelve pullets, divided in two, a piece of roast\npork, cheese, and fruit.\u201d The supper was nearly as plentiful; but,\non particular days, the bill of fare was varied. It is added, that\nthe Barons of the Court had always the half of the quantity of the\nDauphin; the Knights, the quarter; and the Equerries and Chaplains, the\neighth. \u201cTake pride from Priests, and nothing remains,\u201d once remarked\nan Encyclop\u00e6dist to Voltaire. \u201cUmph!\u201d said Voltaire; \u201cdo you, then,\nreckon gluttony for nothing?\u201d Gluttony, at least, does not seem to have\ncharacterized the Dauphin\u2019s Chaplains, in the fifteenth century, seeing\nthat they took an eighth where a Baron had half.\n\nBut there was a late Prince of Bourbon, who dined after a more singular\nfashion than that of the Dauphins, his ancestors. I allude to the\nPrince mentioned by Maurepas, and whose imagination was so sick, that\nhe fancied himself a hare, and would not allow a bell to be rung,\nlest it should terrify him into the woods, where he might be shot by\nhis own game-keepers, and afterwards served up at his own table. At\nanother time, he had a fancy that he would look well dished up; and,\ndreaming himself a cauliflower, he stuck his feet in the mould of his\nkitchen-garden, and called upon his people to come and water him! At\nlength, he pronounced himself dead, and refused to dine at all, as an\ninsult to his spiritual entity. He would have died, had he not been\nvisited by two friends, who introduced themselves as his late father,\nand the deceased Mar\u00e9chal de Luxembourg; and who solemnly invited him\nto descend with them to the shades, and dine with the ghost of Mar\u00e9chal\nTurenne. The melancholy Prince accepted with alacrity, and went down\nwith them to a cellar already prepared for the banquet of the departed;\nand he not only made a hearty meal, but, as long as his fancy made of\nhimself a ghost, he insisted every day on dining with congenial shadows\nin the coal-cellar! In spite of this monomaniacal fantasy, he was\nexcessively shrewd in all matters of business, especially where his own\ninterests were concerned.\n\nThus much--briefly and imperfectly, I fear--for Dinner Traits. In the\nnext chapter we will put something on them. And as we have been drawing\nexamples from folly, let us end this section by adding a maxim full of\nwisdom. \u201cBe not made a beggar,\u201d says _Ecclesiasticus_, \u201cby banqueting\nupon borrowing, when thou hast nothing in thy purse.\u201d If this maxim\nwere generally adopted, there might be fewer dinners given, but there\nwould be more dinners paid for. But some people are like the ancient\nBelgians, who borrowed, and, indeed, lent, upon promises of repayment\nin the world to come! Many a dinner-giver belongs to the class of\nthe borrowing Belgians of antiquity. After all, there was, perhaps,\nmore intended honesty in the compact than _we_ can distinguish. A\ncompact far less honest was made some years ago by an Irish Baronet,\nwho had given so many dinners for which he had not paid, that he was\ncompelled to pledge his plate in order to raise means to satisfy the\nmost pressing of his creditors. Some time subsequently, he induced\nthe pawnbroker to lend him the plate for one evening, on hire; the\npawnbroker\u2019s men were to wait at the dinner in livery, and convey the\nsilver back as soon as the repast was concluded. The dinner was given\nand enjoyed, and the company made the attendants drunk, helped the\nBaronet to pack up his forks, spoons, ladles, and \u00e9pergnes, with which\nhe set off for Paris, where some of them afterwards visited him at the\nlittle dinners he used to give in the Rue de Bourbon, and laughed over\nthe matter as a very capital jest.\n\nI will only add here the record of the fact, that sitting at table to\ndrink, after dinner was over, was introduced by Margaret Atheling, the\nSaxon Queen of Scotland. She was shocked to see the Scottish gentlemen\nrise from table before _grace_ could be said by her Chaplain, Turgot;\nand she offered a cup of choice wine to all who would remain. Thence\nthe fashion of hard drinking following the \u201cthanksgiving.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE MATERIALS FOR DINING.\n\n\n\u201cAll flesh is grass;\u201d and grass has been the foundation of all feasts,\nin a double sense. It was not only a part of the early repast, in\nsome shape or another, by derivation rather than immediately, but\nit formed the most ancient seats occupied by primitive and pastoral\nguests in very remote times. Dr. Johnson approved of asparagus being\ncalled \u201cgrass.\u201d Romulus thought grass a sacred emblem, or he would\nnot have suddenly converted his twelve lay foster-brothers into a\npriesthood to look after it. When Baber had defeated the Afghans of\nKohat, they approached him in despair, and, according to their custom\nwhen in extremities, with grass between their teeth, to signify, as\nthe imperial autobiographer says, \u201cWe are your oxen.\u201d Baber treated\nthem worse than oxen; for the amiable savage says, \u201cAll that were taken\nalive were beheaded by my order, and at the next halting-place we\nerected a minaret of their skulls.\u201d And the conqueror dined pleasantly\nin front of the monument.\n\nMy friend, Captain Lionel da Costa, tells me, that on accompanying (_en\namateur_) a French force on a razzia against an Arab tribe in Algeria,\nhe witnessed the employment of grass as an emblem of defiance rather\nthan of submission. The French officers had assembled the Arab Chiefs,\nand, telling them that the foreigners had filled up their wells,\ncarried off their cattle, and burned their dwellings, exhorted them to\nsubmission, asking them what they would do further against a country\nso powerful as France? The Arabs, as if impelled simultaneously,\nstooped to the earth, plucked some scant blades of grass there growing,\nand began chewing the same in angry silence: this was all their reply,\nand by it they intimated that they would eat what the earth gave, like\nthe beasts that are upon it, rather than surrender. Their enemies could\nnot refrain from admiring and feeding such adversaries; their mute\neloquence was worth more than any thing uttered to tyrants by Power\u2019s\nstatue of the Greek Slave, which, according to Mrs. Elizabeth Browning,\n\u201cthunders white silence,\u201d--a silence that must have been akin to that\nin the French Tragedy, \u201c_silence qui se fit entendre_!\u201d\n\nSoup, as I have remarked, is not a bad preparation for the stomach.\nSome one calls it the \u201cpreface of a dinner,\u201d adding, however, that\na good work needs no preface. Soup is of very ancient date. Rebecca\nand Jacob ate of a pottage, in which the meat was cut into small bits\n_before_ the muscular fibres had cooled and become hardened, and stewed\nin milk, thickened with meal and herbs. The famous French gastronomist,\nthe Marquis de Cussy, was orthodox in his gastronomy, fed well, but\nheeded the church. His favourite soup in Lent was an onion soup,\ncomposed of a score of small bulbs, well cleaned, sliced, and put into\na stew-pan, with a lump of fresh butter and a little sugar. They were\nturned over the fire till they became of a fine golden colour, when\nthey were moistened with broth, and the necessary quantity of bread\nadded. Before the soup was served, its excellence was perfected by the\naddition of two small glasses of very old Cognac brandy. This Lent fare\nwas, however, only the preface to salmon and asparagus, with which the\northodox epicure mortified his appetite.\n\nThe famous Car\u00eame did with the soups he discovered, what the most\nfamous navigators have done with the new territories on which they were\nthe first to land; namely, give them the names of the most illustrious\ncontemporaries then existing. Royalty was honoured in the \u201c_Potage\nCond\u00e9_;\u201d music in that of \u201cBoieldieu;\u201d and the medical faculty, which\nCar\u00eame generally despised, in the \u201c_Soupes \u00e0 la Broussais_, _Roques_,\nand _Segalas_;\u201d poetry was illustrated in the \u201c_Lamartine_;\u201d history\nin the \u201c_Dumesnil_;\u201d and philosophy in the \u201c_Potage Buffon_.\u201d The\nlast name he thus bestowed, was to his last culinary inspiration just\nbefore death, when he conferred on a vegetable soup the name of \u201cVictor\nHugo.\u201d It was after reading the \u201c_Mess\u00e9niennes_,\u201d that he created the\n\u201c_Matelotte \u00e0 la Delavigne_;\u201d and he paid the doctor who had cured\nhim of an indigestion, by inventing the dish of fish which he called\n\u201c_Perche \u00e0 la Gaubert_.\u201d And with this record we will put the fish on\nour own table.\n\n\u201cIt is only the Arabs of the desert that affect to despise fish.\u201d This\neastern proverb is tantamount to the more homely one of, \u201cThe grapes\nare sour;\u201d for the Arabs only affect to despise that which they cannot\nreadily obtain. The Jews were prohibited from eating fishes without\nscales or fins. The Egyptian Priests cared not for fish of any sort,\nbut they generally allowed the people to eat with what appetite they\nchose, of what the priesthood declined to taste. It is said in the\nlegend, that St. Kevin lived by the fish he caught in the Lake of\nGlendaloch; and that when the celebrated beauty tempted him, she did it\nby flattery and suggestion:--\n\n  \u201c\u2018You\u2019re a rare hand at fishing,\u2019 says Kate,\n    \u2018It\u2019s yourself, dear, that knows how to hook them;\n  But, when you have caught them, agrah!\n    Don\u2019t you want a young woman to cook them?\u2019\u201d\n\nGatis, Queen of Spain, was something like Mr. Lover\u2019s \u201cKate;\u201d for, if\nher subjects caught fish well, she it was who first taught them how to\ncook what they caught, and how to enjoy what they cooked.\n\nWhen philosophers were occupied with inquiries touching the soul of\nan oyster, fish was probably not a popular diet. It certainly was not\nso in Greece, until a comparatively late period. Then fish became\nfashionable: the legislature secured their freshness by decreeing that\nno seller should sit down until he had sold his entire stock; sages\ndiscussed their qualities, and tragic writers introduced heroes holding\ndialogues on the qualities of fish-sauce. There was a Greek society at\nthat day \u201cagainst cruelty to fish,\u201d by devouring what also, allegedly,\nmade the devourer ferocious and inhuman; but general society did not\nallow its appetite to be influenced thereby.\n\nThe Romans were enthusiastic for the mullet. It was for them _the_\nfish, _par excellence_. It was sometimes served up six pounds in\nweight, and such a fish was worth \u00a360 sterling. It was cooked on the\ntable, for the benefit and pleasure of the guests. In a glass vessel\nfilled with brine made from water, the blood of the mackerel, and salt,\nthe live mullet, stripped of its scales, was enclosed; and as its\nfine pink colour passed through its dying gradations, until paleness\nand death ensued, the _convives_ looked on admiringly, and lauded the\nspectacle.\n\nThe turbot was next in estimation; but as, occasionally, offending\nslaves were flung into the turbot preserves for the fish to feed upon,\nsome gastronomists have affected to be horror-stricken at the idea of\neating a _turbot \u00e0 la Romaine_; quite forgetting that so many of our\nsea-fish, in their own domain, feed largely on the human bodies which\naccident, or what men call by that name, casts into the deep. Our own\nearly ancestors in Britain were said to have entirely abstained from\nfish. In later days, however, here as in France, the finny tribes were\nprotected by royal decrees; and certain fish were named--the sturgeon\nwas one--as to be caught for the royal table alone. In the same days\nporpoises and seals were devoured by the commonalty, and the latter\nknew not the art of the cooks of Louis XIV., who could so dress fish as\nto give it the taste of any flesh they pleased to fix on as an object\nof imitation. By this means, the King in Lent, while he obeyed the\nchurch, enjoyed the gratification of feeling as though he were cheating\nHeaven,--and with impunity, too!\n\nThe most curious fish of which I have ever read, were those of a lake\nattached to a Burgundian convent, and which were always of the same\nnumber as the monks. If one of these sickened and died, the same\ncircumstance occurred with the fish; and if a new brother appeared in\nthe refectory, there was also sure to be found a new denizen in the\npond. These fish were, of course, piously inclined; but they did not\ncome up, in that respect, to the parrot of Cardinal Ascanius, which\ncould not only repeat the Creed, but could maintain a thesis! I believe\nthat the Burgundian fish were principally perch; and they _are_ an\neccentric fish. Arthur Young says, that \u201cabout the year 1760, perch\nfirst appeared in all the lakes of Ireland and in the Shannon at the\nsame time.\u201d\n\nAs a singularity with respect to the cooking of fish, I may mention\nthat observed by the Romans with the _sepia_, or \u201ccuttle-fish.\u201d They\ninvariably took out the eyes before boiling it. It is in allusion to\nthis custom that Trachalion says, in the _Rudens_,--\n\n            \u201c_Age nunc jam,\n  Jube oculos elidere, itidem ut sepiis faciunt coqui._\u201d\n\nI think I have read somewhere, that the cuttle-fish was esteemed a\nfitting sacrifice to the gods; but I do not know if pious people had\ntheir pet _sepi\u00e6_, as they had their pet lambs and pigs, (\u201c_Sunt domi\nagni et porci sacres_,\u201d says the orthodox husband in the _Rudens_,)\nreared for the purpose of being offered at the altars.\n\nThe sturgeon is at this day, in China, reserved for the imperial\ntable. At those of Greece it was introduced by sound of trumpet, and\nit was almost as esteemed a subject at those of Rome, until Vespasian\ncondescended not to care for it, and to bring other fish into fashion.\n\u201cIt is _caviare_ to the general,\u201d is a proverb which Shakspeare has\npopularized. The _caviare_ is the roe of the sturgeon dried; that of\nthe larger sturgeon, which produces hundredweights of eggs, and tons\nof oil, is _caviare_ for the general, and is not worth eating. The\ndelicate white _caviare_ is the produce of the smaller sturgeon, and it\nis highly esteemed by gastronomists. It forms a great portion of the\nfood taken by the Greeks during their long Lent.\n\nWe have heard of an American who tried to tame an oyster. The Romans\nwere more successful with their sea-eels, which would come when called,\nand feed from the hands of men, who occasionally fattened them upon\nlive slaves. Vedius Pollio would have grown sick and disgusted, if he\nhad been asked to eat one of these slaves; but he was particularly fond\nof the fish that had been fed upon such fare; and so he only ate his\nslaves at second-hand; for _their_ flesh was declared by him to have\ngreatly improved the taste of the eel. Epicures with less ferocious\nappetites preferred the fish that had been fattened upon veal steeped\nin blood. Vitellius put the fish altogether out of fashion by only\neating the roes, which were procured for him at a great expense; and\nHeliogabalus caused even the roes to cease to be modish, by forcing\nthem upon the Mediterranean peasants, who got as sick of their\nrepasts as English servants in the Scottish Highlands grow weary of\nthe everlasting sameness of their dinners consisting of venison and\nsalmon. The Egyptians placed the sea-eel in their Pantheon; and even\nthe unorthodox cannot deny that he was as good a deity as any to be\nfound there; and we are told that among the Sybarites, the fishers\nand vendors of the eel were exempt from taxation! The origin of these\nhonours is, however, unknown. Nearly as great were offered, even in\nRome, to the fish known as the sea-wolf, which abounded in the most\nfilthy parts of the Tiber, and which some epicures distinguished by\nthe appellation of \u201cchild of the gods.\u201d The Romans paid high prices\nfor it, as they did for the regicide lamprey,--a fish which killed our\nfirst Henry, and which Italian cooks used to kill, as the murderers did\nmaudlin Clarence, in his Malmsey butt, by plunging the victim, decked\nfor the sacrifice with a nutmeg in his mouth, and a clove in either\ngill, into a pan of Candian wine; after which, covered with almonds,\nbread crumbs, and spices, he was exposed to a slow fire, and then to\nthe jaws that impatiently awaited him. It was once as popular as the\ntunny,--a fish, by the way, which once so enriched the city of Sinope,\nthat the coin minted there bore the figure of the fish. Where they are\nfound at all, it is generally in shoals; but these are never to the\nextent which Pliny speaks of, when he says that they so obstructed\nthe fleet of Alexander, that the pilots of the Macedonian madman were\ncompelled to shape a different course; and though they are to be found\nin something like abundance in the Mediterranean, yet tourists who\nresort thither must not expect to see realized the gay picture of\nVernet. It does not appear, however, that the tunny was ever in such\nfavour at ancient tables as the eel, which was greedily eaten where\nit was not devoutly worshipped, or where medical ordinances had not\nbeen directed against it, as unfavourable to the weak of digestion,\nand perilous to those affected by pulmonary diseases. The pike, emblem\nof fecundity and example of lengthened years, was still less popular.\nThe carp, which even surpasses the pike in fecundity, and is a long\nliver to boot, was, on the other hand, an especial favourite, but it\nwas served up with sauces that would certainly not tempt a modern\ngastronomist to eat a fish which is seldom worth eating, and which is\nalmost defiant of digestion. Carp, reduced to a pulp, and served up\nwith sows\u2019 paps, and yolk of egg, must have been as nasty as gold fish\nwith carrots and myrtle leaves,--the delight of the Roman loungers at\ntheir \u201cBlackwall,\u201d on the Tiber. So the Greeks spoiled good cod by\neating it with grated cheese and vinegar; and the Romans made perch\nmore indigestible than it was before, by swallowing Damascus plums\nwith it. But the ancients had strangely accommodating stomachs; a\nsauce of honey could induce them to eat cuttle-fish. Garlic and cheese\nmade the swordfish delicacies; the rhombus floated into Greek stomachs\non a sauce of wine and brine; the ladies of Rome ate onions with the\nmuzil, and pine-nuts with the pilchard. The more refined Greeks, on\nthe other hand, would not touch the pilchard; and the same difference\nof taste existed with regard to the loach; while, again, both Rome\nand Greece united in admiration of the gudgeon. To neither of these\ncountries was the herring known. The Scots found the fish, and the\nDutch bought, pickled, and sold, or ate them; and it is said that\nCharles V., in 1536, ate a herring upon the tomb of Beuckels, the first\nsalter of that fish, and therewith friend of the poor, and enricher of\nthe State. The profit realized by Holland exceeded two millions and\na half sterling, annually. But neither Greece nor Rome felt the want\nof the herring while there was an abundant supply of the favourite\noyster. This shell-fish was easily procured by the Greeks from Pelorus,\nAbydos, and Polarea; by the Romans, from Brind\u00e9s, the Lake of Lucrinus,\nArmorica, and even from Britain. The Romans were hardly worthy of the\ndelicacy, seeing that they abused it by mincing oysters, mussels, and\nsea hedgehogs together, stewed the whole with pine-almonds and hot\ncondiments, and devoured the mixture scalding! Others, however, ate\nthem raw, when they were opened at table by a slave; and the larger the\nfish, the more the Roman epicures liked them. They were not only eaten\nbefore a feast to stimulate the appetite, but during a banquet, when\nthe appetite began to be palled. They excited to fresh exertion, and it\nwas a cleaner custom (perhaps) than that imperial one of exonerating\nthe stomach by tickling the throat with a peacock\u2019s feather. The\nBourdeaux oyster was the favourite fish of most of the Emperors. It is\nvery inferior to the Whitstable oyster, however, and also to that which\ngoes by the name of \u201cColchester,\u201d and which is not caught there. The\npassion for the savoury fish is well illustrated in the epitaph which\nsays,--\n\n  \u201cTom ----\n  Lies buried in these cloisters;\n    If, at the last trump,\n    He does not quickly jump,\n  Only cry \u2018_Oysters_!\u2019\u201d\n\nIf the Emperors affected oysters, the gods themselves patronized\nmussels, a dish of which was contributed by Jupiter to the wedding\nbanquet of Hebe. The mythological sanction has, however, failed to\nrender the mussel popular, and for good reasons. It is often extremely\npoisonous, and in certain conditions of the stomach they who eat\nmussels may reckon upon being attacked by violent cutaneous disorders,\npainfully participated in by the oppressed intestines.\n\nIt was otherwise with the tortoise, the blood of which was reckoned\ngood in cases of ophthalmia, and the flesh of which was eagerly\ndevoured. The natural history of the products of those early times\nseems to have been written by philosophers with very poetical\nimaginations. We read of shells of tortoises being converted into roofs\nof cottages, as we are told by Pliny of crawfish measuring four cubits\nin length. It was then that men ate lobsters _au naturel_, and crabs\nconverted into sausages. But this latter dish was a more dainty one\nthan that afforded by the frog,--the abhorrence of early gastronomists,\nbut the delight of many French and German epicures, who first find\ndelight in angling for these unclean beasts with a bait of yellow soap,\nand then swallowing, with delight more intense, the hind-quarters of\nthe animal they have caught. But if the moderns swallow frogs, the\nancients ate the polypus,--and which were the nastiest even I could not\ntell! The Romans were especially fond of fish; and some \u201cfast\u201d epicures\namong them not only had preserve ponds of fish on the roofs of their\nhouses, but little rivulets stocked therewith around the dinner-table,\nwhence the guests selected their fish, and delivered them to be cooked.\n\nIt was once thought that the prawn, or shrimp, was somehow necessary to\nthe production of soles, acting, it was believed, as a sort of nurse,\nor foster-parent, to the spawn. But this I suppose to be about as true\nas that soles always swim in pairs, with three-pennyworth of shrimps\nbehind them, ready for sauce.\n\nI remember two anecdotes connected with fish at table, which a guest\nmay retail when he is next at that period of the repast. Talleyrand\nwas dining, in the year 1805, with the Minister of Finance, who did\nthe honours of his house in the very best style. A very fine carp was\non the table opposite to Talleyrand, but the fish was already cold.\n\u201cThat is a magnificent carp,\u201d said the financier: \u201chow do you like it?\nIt came from my estate of Vir-sur-Aisne.\u201d \u201cDid it?\u201d said Talleyrand,\n\u201cbut why did you not have it cooked _here_?\u201d This reply was not as\nfatal to the utterer of it, as a remark once made by Poodle Byng at\nBelvoir Castle. \u201cAh, ah!\u201d he exclaimed, as he saw the fish uncovered at\nthe Duke of Rutland\u2019s board, \u201cmy old friend Haddock! I have not seen a\nhaddock, at a gentleman\u2019s table, since I was a boy.\u201d The implication\nshut the gates of Belvoir on the unlucky Poodle from that day forward.\nHe was never again the Duke\u2019s guest.\n\nSome French writers have asserted, after tracing the \u201cvestiges of\ncreation\u201d according to a fashion of their own, that man originally\nsprang from the ocean; and that his present condition is one of\ndevelopment, the consequence of life ashore, and exposure to\natmospheric air! According to this theory, I suppose, Venus Anadyomene\nwas the Eve of our fishy generation, and mermaids show the transition\nstate, when our ancestors were of both land and sea, and yet properly\nof neither!\n\nAs judges of fish, the moderns are inferior to the ancients. A Greek\nor Roman epicure could, at first sight, tell in what waters the fish\nbefore him had been caught. This sort of wisdom is, however, not\nuncommon to oyster-eaters, who swallow so greedily what contains\nlittle nourishment, but what may be easily digested. It was not\nunusual, some years ago, in France, for a gourmand to prepare for\ndinner by swallowing a gross, or a dozen dozen, of oysters! Twelve of\nthem, including the liquor, will weigh four ounces; and the gross,\nfour pounds (Troy)!--a pretty amount of ballast whereupon to take in\nfreight. The skin of such a feeder had need be in a good condition; but\nso, indeed, ought that of every one who cares for his digestion. When\nwe remember that a person in health, who takes eight pounds of aliment\nduring twenty-four hours of his wakefulness, discharges five of the\neight pounds solely through the pores by perspiration, it will at once\nbe seen that to hold the skin clean, and keep the pores unobstructed,\nis of first-rate necessity for the sake of digestion and comfort.\n\nThere are sea-board populations who live almost exclusively on fish.\nThey feed their domestic animals upon it, and with it manure their\nground; so that the pork they may occasionally indulge in, acquires\na fish-like flavour, and their bread is but a consequence of the\nplentiful rottenness of sprats. Such populations are usually lean and\nsallow, but they are strong-muscled and active-limbed; and altogether\nthey afford good testimony in favour of the efficacy of a fish diet,\nwhen no better is to be had. As a diet, fish is only so far stimulating\nthat it augments the lymph rather than renews the blood. It is a puzzle\nto many gastronomic philosophers that fish was so constant a diet of\nthe monkish orders. Its heating quality hardly suited men who were\nrequired to be ever coolly contemplative. But this matter I leave to\nthe philosophers to determine. One of them,--that is, a gastronomic\nphilosopher,--M. Fayot, says, that \u201cif you would have a dinner composed\naltogether of fish,\u201d the meal should consist of \u201ca turbot, a large\nsalmon done in a _court-bouillon_, flanked with aromatic herbs, and\ncovered with a fresh winding-sheet of delicate seasoning. In such\ndinners, sea-fish have, undoubtedly, the first rank; and among them\nthe Cherbourg lobster, the shrimp of Honfleur, the cray-fish of the\nSeine, and the smelts of that river\u2019s mouth, and numerous fresh-water\nfish mingle agreeably. Salmon and turbot should be done briskly;\ndrink afterwards a glass of those old wines which give a digestive\naction to the stomach.\u201d With M. Fayot, the turbot is \u201cthe king of\nfish, especially in Lent, as it is then of most majestic size. You may\nserve up salmon with as much ornament as you will, but a turbot asks\nfor nothing but aristocratic simplicity. On the day after he makes\nhis first appearance, it is quite another affair. It may be then\ndisguised; and the best manner of effecting this is, to dress him _\u00e0\nla B\u00e9chamel_,--a preparation thus called from the Marquis de B\u00e9chamel,\nwho, in the reign of Louis XIV., for ever immortalized himself by this\none _rago\u00fbt_.\u201d\n\nThe _Almanach des Gourmands_ speaks of a Lorraine carp which was fed on\nbread and wine, and which was twice sent to the Paris market, in the\ncare of a courier who travelled by the mail. It returned to its native\nwaters in default of a purchaser willing to give thirty _louis-d\u2019ors_\nfor the monstrous delicacy. This was when fish dinners were much in\nvogue in Paris. There was then a _table d\u2019h\u00f4te_ for a fish repast only,\nheld at a house profanely called, \u201cThe Name of Jesus.\u201d This house\nstood in the \u201cClo\u00eetre St. Jacques de l\u2019H\u00f4pital,\u201d and every Wednesday\nand Friday it was crowded by the Clergy, who dined magnificently on\n_maigre_ fare, for about 2_s._ a head. It is of one of these that\nFayot recounts a pleasant story, the locality, however, of which was\nthe _Rocher de Cancale_. A certain Abb\u00e9 dined there so copiously off\nsalmon, that a fit of indigestion was the consequence. Some days\nafterwards, when celebrating Mass, the savoury memories of the fish\nflocked into his mind; and he was heard to murmur, not the _me\u00e2 culp\u00e2_\nof the \u201c_Confiteor_,\u201d but, as he quietly beat his breast, \u201cAh! that\ncapital salmon! that capital salmon!\u201d\n\nOf the more nutritive species of fish, turbot, cod, whiting, haddock,\nflounder, and sole, are the least heating. Of these, the cod is the\nleast easy of digestion, though turbot is quite as difficult of\ndigestion when much lobster sauce is taken with it. The crimping of\ncod facilitates the digesting of the fish. Sole and whiting are easily\ndigested. Salmon is nutritive, but it is oily, heating, and not very\ndigestible; far less so than salmon trout. The favourite parts of\nmost of these fish are the least fit for weak stomachs, and the most\ntrying to strong ones. Salmon, caught after the spawning season has\ncommenced, is almost poisonous; and eels are objectionable at all\nseasons, from their excessive oiliness. Shell-fish generally may be put\ndown as \u201cindigestible,\u201d particularly the under-boiled lobsters of the\nLondon market. The mussel is especially so; and these are not rendered\ninnocuous by the removal of the beard, which is not more hurtful than\nany other part. Shell-fish, and, indeed, fish generally, affects the\nskin, by sympathy with the stomach. The effect is, sometimes, as if a\npoison had been generated: at others it very sensibly affects the odour\nof the cutaneous secretions. This effect was thoroughly understood when\nthe Levitical Priests, like those of Egypt, were prohibited from eating\nfish. The prohibition was based upon a just principle.\n\nThe Egyptian and Levitical Priests were more obedient to such\nprohibitions than St. Patrick, who once, overcome by hunger, helped\nhimself to pork chops on a fast-day. An angel met him with the\nforbidden cutlets in his hand; but the saint popped them into a pail\nof water, pattered an Ave-Mary over them, and our indulgent Lady\nheeded the appeal by turning them into a couple of respectable and\northodox-looking trout. The angel looked perplexed, and went away,\nwith his index finger on the side of his nose. And see what came of\nit! In Ireland, meat dipped into water, and christened by the name of\n\u201cSt. Patrick\u2019s Fish,\u201d is commonly eaten there even on fast-days, and\nto the great regret of all those who eat greedily enough to acquire an\nindigestion.\n\nSt. Patrick\u2019s fish ought to have fetched as high a price as the four\ncod which formed the sole supply in Billingsgate-market on one of the\ngreat frost-days in January, 1809; they were sold to one dealer for\nfourteen guineas. During the same month, salmon was sold at a guinea\na pound! When fish is so high-priced, it is time to have done with\nit. So, _enlevez_! and let us to the succeeding courses of viands more\nsubstantial. While the fish is being removed, I will merely relate\nthat it was the practice of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who gave plentiful\ndinners to admirable men, in his house in Leicester Square, always to\nchoose his own fish, of which he was a capital judge. He was, on those\noccasions, ever the first visitor to the fish-shop still existing, in\nits primitive simplicity, in Coventry-street. He selected the best;\nand later in the day, his niece, Miss Palmer, used to call, dispute\nthe price, and pay for the fish. Sir Joshua\u2019s table is said to have\nbeen too crowded, both as to guests and dishes, while there was scant\nattendance, and a difficulty of getting served; but the hilarity\ncompensated for all. The guests enjoyed themselves with a vulgar\ndelight that would have very much ruffled the dignity of such a pompous\npresident at repasts as the bewigged, bepatched, and bepowdered Sir\nPeter Lely.\n\nWith the introduction of animal food is dated the era of professional\ncooks; and that era itself is set down by M. Soyer, a competent\nauthority, as having commenced in the year of the world 1656. Other\nauthorities give 2412 as the proper date, when Prometheus, or\nForethought, as his name implies, taught men the use of fire, and\ncooked an ox. But I think that both dates and mythology are somewhat\nloose here, and that the period is easier of conjecture than of\ndetermination. Ceres killed the pig that devoured her corn, Bacchus\nthe goat that nibbled at the tendrils of the vine, and Jupiter the\nox that swallowed his sacred cakes; and the animals slain by deities\nwere roasted and eaten by men. Another tradition is, that roast meat\noriginally smoked only on the altars of the gods, and that the Priests\nlived on the pretended sacrifices, until some lean and greedy heretic,\nhaving wickedly pilfered the sacred viands, so improved under the diet,\nthat his example was promptly followed, and men took to animal food,\nin spite of the thunder of gods and the anathemas of Priests. I need\nnot say where there is better authority than all these pretty tales\nfor man\u2019s subduing to his use and service the beasts of the earth, the\nbirds of the air, and the fishes of the sea.\n\nA rearer of cattle was, in the olden time, an aristocrat in his way.\nThe gods looked after his herds, and the law gave its protection where\nOlympian divinity so often proved worthless. Bubona sat the watchful\ngoddess of their fattening; and it was she who blessed the cabbages\nsteeped in vinegar, the straw and wheat-bran, and the bruised barley,\nwherewith the oxen were prepared for the cattle-show or the market. In\nthe latter, the office of the Roman Prefect fixed the selling price:\nthe breeder could neither ask more nor take less than according to\nthe official tariff. There was a singular custom at one time in Rome,\nwhich proves, however, that the seller had a voice in declaring the\nvalue of his stock. Purchaser and vendor simultaneously closed, and\nthen suddenly opened, one of their hands, or some of the fingers. If\nthe number of fingers on both sides was even, the vendor obtained the\nprice which he had previously asked for his meat; but if the number was\nuneven, the buyer received the viands for the sum he had just before\ntendered. This was as singular a custom as, and a more honest one than,\nthat adopted by the first Dutch settlers in America. In their trading\nwith the Indians a Dutchman\u2019s fist was established as the standard of\nweight, with this understanding, that when a Dutchman was selling to an\nIndian his fist weighed a pound, but that it should only be half that\nweight when the Hollander was a purchaser!\n\nThe Roman markets were well supplied, and the pig seems to have been\nthe national favourite. The Emperors used to distribute thousands\nof pounds of pork to the poor, as on festive occasions we, less\nmagnificently, divide among the needy our time-honoured English roast\nbeef. There was even an edict against making sausages of any thing\n_but_ pork,--an edict which is much needed in some of our suburbs,\nwhere \u201cpork sausages\u201d are made of any thing but pig;--and, after all,\nthey could not be made of a dirtier animal. But the grave Romans\nstrangely reverenced this unclean beast. Pliny places him only one\ndegree below humanity; and certainly the porcine and human stomachs\nare very much alike! In the East, our ancient friend was a Pariah, and\nhis position among the unclean was fixed by a Jewish doctor, who said,\nthat if ten measures of leprosy were flung into the world, nine of them\nwould naturally fall to the execrated pig. There is no doubt that the\neating of the flesh of the pig in hot climates would bring on diseases\nin the human system akin to leprosy; and this fact may have tended to\nestablish the unpopularity of the animal throughout the East, and to\naccount also for the prohibition. Galen, however, prescribed it as good\nfood for people who worked hard; and there are modern practitioners\nwho maintain that it is the most easily digested of all meats. It is\ncertainly more easy of digestion than that respectable impostor, the\nboiled chicken, which used so cruelly to test, and defy, the feeble\npowers of invalids.\n\nPigs were fatted, both in Greece and Rome, until they had attained\nnearly the bulk of the elephant. These fetched prices of the most\n\u201cfancy\u201d description; and they were served up whole, with an entire\nNoah\u2019s-ark collection of smaller animals inside, by way of stuffing.\nA clever cook could so dress this meat as to make it have the flavour\nof any other viand; and the first culinary _artistes_ of the day\nprided themselves on the preparation of a _rago\u00fbt_ composed of young\npigs stifled before they were littered. The mother would have had no\ndifficulty in performing this feat herself for her own young, if sows\ngenerally had been as huge as the one mentioned by Varro, and which he\nsays was so fat as to be incapable of movement, and to be unconscious\nthat a mouse, with a young family, had settled in the folds of her fat,\nwhere they lived like mites in cheese.\n\nIn another page, I have spoken of what were called \u201cthe sacred pigs\nand lambs.\u201d Men\u00e6chmus, in Plautus, asks the price of the \u201c_porci\nsacres, sinceri_.\u201d \u201c_Sacres_\u201d was applied to all animals intended\nfor immolation. The _sinceri porci_ were the white and spotless pigs\noffered to the Lares on behalf of the insane. The merchant who gives\ninstruction, in the _Pseudolus_, to his servant, as to the splendid\nrepast that is to be served up on his birthday, is very particular\non the subject of pork; and he shows us what parts formed a dish\nthat might tempt princes,--the ham, and the head: \u201c_Pernam, callum,\nglandium, sumen, facito in aqu\u00e2 jaceant_.\u201d\n\nIf men were not, anciently, fonder of beef than of pork, the reason,\nperhaps, was, that the ox was religiously reverenced, because of his\nuse to man, whereas the pig was really of no value at all but for\nconsumption. The excellence of the ox as food was, nevertheless, very\nearly ascertained, and acted on by some primitive people. The Jews were\npermitted to eat of that of which Abraham had offered a portion to\nangels; and calf and ox were alike an enjoined food. The Greeks, too,\ndevoured both with much complacency, as they also did tripe, which was\ndeemed a dainty fit for heroes. Indeed, for tripe there was an ancient\nand long-standing propensity among the early nations. It formed the\nchief dish at the banquets of men who met to celebrate the victory of\nmortals and gods over the sacrilegious Titans.\n\nThe lamb and the kid have smoked upon divine altars and humble tables.\nThe Greeks were especially fond of both, and the Romans were like them\nin this respect; but the Egyptians religiously abstained from the kid;\nand more than one Eastern nation held, as of faith, that the lamb was\nmore fitting as an offering to the gods than as a dish for men. On\nthe other hand, there were people who preferred the flesh of the ass,\nwhich was not an uncommon dish at Roman tables, where dogs, too, were\nserved as a dainty; for Hippocrates had recommended them as a refined\nfood; and the Greeks swallowed the diet thus authoritatively described.\nThe Romans, however, are said to have eaten the dog out of vengeance.\nThe curs of the Capitol were sleeping, when the sacred and watchful\ngeese saved it by their cackling; and thence arose, it is believed, the\navenging appetite with which puppies, dressed like hares, were tossed\ninto the stomachs of the unforgiving Romans. They were also sacrificed\nto the Dog-star.\n\nIt is worthy of remark, that Mexico was partly conquered by aid of the\npig. Cortez was in need of supplies of fresh meat on his march, and he\ntook with him a large herd of swine,--sows as well as pigs,--\u201cthese\nanimals being very suitable for a long journey, on account of their\nendurance of fatigue, and because they multiply greatly.\u201d The Indians,\non most occasions, however, appear to have been able to have supplied\nhim plentifully: for we read, that at Campeche, for instance, in return\nfor his presents, they placed before him partridges, turtle-doves,\ngoslings, cocks, hares, stags, and other animals which were good to\neat, and bread made from Indian corn, and fruits. It was, for all the\nworld, like meeting a burglar at your dining-room door, and asking him\nto stay and take breakfast, before he went off with the plate!\n\nWhen the uncle of Job entertained his heavenly visitors, the dish he\nplaced before them was \u201croasted veal,\u201d of a freshly killed calf. It\nwas tender, because the muscular fibres had not had time to become\nstiff; and its pleasant accompaniments were melted butter, milk,\nand meal-cakes. Veal is the national dish of Germany, where mutton\nis scarce, and calves abundant. It is poor food at any time; but\nthe German veal is the most tasteless of meats. There, indeed, is\napplicable the smart saying of that ardent young experimentalist, who\ndeclared that eating veal was as insipid an enjoyment as kissing one\u2019s\nsister! Cardinal Zinzendorf used to denounce pork quite as strongly.\nHe deemed pigs to have been of no use but for their blood, of which\nhe himself used to make a bath for his legs, whenever he had the\ngout. Quixote Bowles, on the other hand, held pig, in any form, to\nbe the divinest of meats, and the animal the happiest of all created\nthings. With true Apician fervour, he would travel any distance to\nfeast on the sight of a fatted porker; and a view of that prize pig\nof Prince Albert\u2019s, which was so uniformly huge that, at first sight,\nit was difficult to distinguish the head from the tail, would have\nmade him swoon with gentle ecstasy. Bowles was an epicure in bacon;\nand, whenever he went out to dinner, he took a piece of it, of his\nown curing, in his pocket, and requested the cook to dress it. The\npeople of the Society Islands carry respect for pigs even beyond the\ncompass of Bowles. They believe that there is a distinct heaven for the\nporcine souls; and this paradise of pigs is called by them \u201cOfatuna.\u201d\nThe Polynesian pig is certainly a more highly favoured animal than his\ncousin in Ireland; for, in a Polynesian farm household, every pig has\nhis proper name, as regularly as every member of the family. Perhaps,\nthe strangest cross of pigs ever heard of, was that of Mr. Tinney\u2019s\nfamous breed for porkers,--Chinese, crossed by a half-African boar;\nthe meat was said to be delicious. Finally, with respect to pigs,\nthey are connected with a popular expletive, with which they have, in\nreality, nothing to do. \u201cPlease the pigs!\u201d is shown, I think by Southey\nin his \u201cEspriella,\u201d to be a corruption of \u201cPlease the pyx!\u201d The pyx is\nthe receptacle which contains the consecrated wafer on Romish altars;\nand the exclamation is equal to \u201cPlease God!\u201d The corruption is as\ncurious a one as that of \u201ctawdry,\u201d from \u201c\u2019t Audrey,\u201d or St. Audrey\u2019s\nfair, famous for the sale of frippery,--showy, cheap, and worthless.\n\nThey who are half as particular about mutton as Quixote Bowles was\nabout pork, would do well to remember, that sheep continue improving\nas long as their teeth remain sound, which is usually six years; and\nthat, at all events up to this time, the older the mutton, the finer\nthe flavour. A spayed ewe, kept five years before she is fattened, is\nsuperior to any wether mutton. Dr. Paris, however, states that wedder\nmutton is in perfection at five years old, and ewe mutton at two years\nold; but he acknowledges that the older is the more digestible. It is\nthe glory of one locality, famous for its sheep, that the rot was never\nknown to be caught upon the South Downs. It is further said, that a\nmarsh, occasionally overflowed with salt water, was never known to rot\nsheep. A curious fact is stated by Young, in his \u201cSurvey of Sussex;\u201d\nnamely, that Lord Egremont had, in his park, three large flocks of\nthe Hereford, South-Down, and Dishley breeds; and that these three\nflocks kept themselves perfectly distinct, although each had as much\nopportunity of mixing with the others as they had with themselves.\n\nI have alluded, in another page, to a circumstance first noticed, I\nbelieve, by Madame Dacier,--that there is no mention of boiled meat,\nas food, throughout Homer\u2019s Iliad. The fair commentator is right; but\n\u201cboiling\u201d is, nevertheless, used by the poet as a simile. When (in the\ntwenty-first book) Neptune applies his flames to check the swelling\nfury of Scamander,--\n\n  \u201cThe bubbling waters yield a hissing sound,\n  As when the flames beneath a caldron rise,\n  To melt the fat of some rich sacrifice.\n  Amid the fierce embrace of circling fires\n  The waters foam, the heavy smoke aspires:\n  So boils th\u2019 imprison\u2019d flood, forbid to flow,\n  And, choked with vapours, feels his bottom glow!\u201d\n\nThis is not a very elegant version of the original, it must be\nconfessed, albeit the translation is Pope\u2019s. It is, however, the only\nreference to boiling to be found in Homer, and here the fat of the\nsacrifice boiled down is that of a pig.\n\n  \u039a\u03bd\u03af\u03c3\u03c3\u1fc3 \u03ba\u03b5\u03bb\u03b4\u03cc\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f01\u03c0\u03b1\u03bb\u03bf\u03c4\u03c1\u03b5\u03c6\u03ad\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c3\u03b9\u03ac\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf.\n\nI do not know that I can take leave of mutton and the meats by doing\nthem greater honour than by mentioning that Napoleon ate hastily of\nmutton before he entered on the contest at Leipsic, and he lost the\ntriumph of the bloody day through a fit of indigestion.\n\nBefore the era of kitchen gardens, scurvy was one of the processes by\nwhich the English population was kept down. Cabbages were not known\nhere until the period of Henry VIII.; and turnips are so comparatively\nnew to some parts of England, that their introduction into the northern\ncounties is hardly a century old. A diet exclusively of animal food is\ntoo highly stimulant for such a climate as ours; and an exclusively\nvegetable diet is far less injurious in its effects. No meat is so\ndigestible as tender mutton. It has just that degree of consistency\nwhich the stomach requires. Beef is not less nutritious, but it is\nrather less easy of digestion, than mutton: much, however, depends\nupon the cooking, which process may, really not inaptly, be called\nthe first stage of digestion. The comparative indigestibility of lamb\nand veal arises from the meat being of a more stringy and indivisible\nnature. Old laws ordained that butchers should expose no beef for sale,\nbut of an animal that had been baited. The nature of the death rendered\nthe flesh more tender. A coursed hare is thus more delicious eating\nthan one that has been shot; and pigs whipped till they die, may be\neaten with relish, even by young ladies who pronounce life intolerable.\nA little vinegar, administered to animals about to be killed, is said,\nalso, to render the flesh less tough; and it is not unusual to give\na spoonful of this acid to poultry, whose life is required for the\nimmediate benefit of the consumer. Some carnivorous animals have been\nvery expert at furnishing their own larder. Thus we read, that the\neagles in Norway exhibit as much cunning in procuring their beef as can\nwell be imagined; and more, perhaps, than can well be believed. They\ndive into the sea, we are told, then roll in the sand, and afterwards\ndestroy an ox by shaking the sand in his eyes, while they attack him.\nI think the French eagle tried a similar plan with the English bull,\nduring the wars of the Empire, and very ineffectually. It dived into\nthe sea, and rolled itself in the sand at Boulogne, and shook abundance\nof it across the Channel; but the English bull more quietly shook it\noff again from his mane, and the eagle turned to an easier quarry in\nAustria. Animals not carnivorous have sometimes been as expert. There\nhave been horses, for instance, who have had their peculiar appetite\nalso for meat. Some twenty years ago, we heard of one at Brussels,\nwhich, fond of flesh generally, was particularly so of raw mutton,\nwhich it would greedily devour whenever it could get, as it sometimes\ndid, to a butcher\u2019s shop.\n\nThe Jews, it is said, never ate poultry under their old dispensation;\nand French gastronomists assert that this species of food was\nexpressly reserved to enrich the banquets of a more deserving people.\nAbout the merits of the people the poultry, and winged animals\ngenerally, would perhaps have an opinion of their own, were they\ncapable of entertaining one; for nowhere, as in France, have those\nunfortunate races been so tortured, and merely in order to extract\nout of their anguish a little more exquisite enjoyment for the palled\nappetites of epicures. The turkey has, perhaps, the least suffered\nat the hands of the Gallic experimentalists, though _he_ has not\naltogether escaped. The goose has been the most cruelly treated,\nespecially in the case of his being kept caged before a huge fire, and\nfed to repletion until he dies, the Daniel Lambert of his species,\nof a diseased liver, which is the most delicious thing possible in a\npie. But it is ignoble treatment for the only bird which is said to be\nprescient of approaching earthquakes. The goose saved Rome, and was\neaten in spite of his patriotism. He is skilled in natural philosophy,\nand his science does not save him from death and sage-and-onions. Nay,\neven a female Sovereign of England could not hear of the defeat of the\nSpanish Armada without decreeing \u201cdeath to the geese,\u201d until the time\ncomes when Mr. Macaulay\u2019s Huron friend shall be standing on a fragment\nof Blackfriars\u2019 Bridge, sketching the ruins of St. Paul\u2019s.\n\nIt must be allowed, however, that the scientific ladies of farm-yards\nhave improved upon the knowledge of their ancestresses. Formerly, of\nturkeys alone, full one-half that pierced the shell perished; but now\nwe rear more than fifteen out of twenty. I do not know, however, that\nthat fact is at all consolatory to the turkey destined to be dined upon.\n\nThemistocles ordered his victory over Xerxes to be yearly commemorated\nby a cock-fight; and the bird itself was eaten out of honour, as\ndogs in Rome were for reasons of vengeance. At Rome, the hen was\nthe favourite bird; but hens were consumed in such quantities, that\nFannius, the Consul, issued a decree, prohibiting their being slain\nfor food, during a certain period; and, in the mean time, the Romans\n\u201cinvented the capon.\u201d The duck was devoured medicinally, that is, on\nmedical assurance that it was good diet for weak stomachs; and there\nwere great sages who not only taught that duck, as a food, would\nmaintain men in health, but that, if they were ill, the ample feeding\nthereon would soon restore them again. Mithridates, it is alleged, ate\nit as a counter-poison; other people, of other times and places, simply\nbecause they liked it. The goose was in as much favour as the duck\nwith the digestion-gifted stomachs of the older races. It was _the_\nroyal diet in Egypt, where the Monarch did not, like Queen Elizabeth,\nrecommend it to the people, but selfishly decreed that it was only to\nbe served at his own table. Gigantic geese, with ultra-gigantic livers,\nwere as much the delight of epicures in Rome, as the livers, if not the\ngeese, are now the _voluptas suprema_ of the epicure of France, and\nof countries subject to the French code of diet. A liver weighing as\nmuch as the rest of the animal without it, was a _morceau_, in Rome,\nto make a philosopher\u2019s mouth water. This was not proof of a more\ndepraved taste than that exhibited by a Christian Queen of France, who\nspent sixteen hundred francs in fattening three geese, the delicate\nlivers of which alone Her Majesty intended to dine upon. The pigeon and\nguinea-hen never attained to such popularity as the goose and duck;\nwhile the turkey, and especially the truffled turkey-hen, has its value\nsufficiently pointed out by the saying of the gastronome, that there\nmust be two at the eating of a truffled turkey,--the eater and the\nturkey! The turkey, originally from the East, was slowly propagated\nin Europe, and the breed appears to have gradually passed away, like\nthe bustard in England. It was brought hither again from America, and\nits first re-appearance is said to have been at the wedding-dinner of\nCharles IX. of France.\n\nThe turkey was not protected, as the peacock was by Alexander, by a\ndecree denouncing death against whomsoever should kill this divine\nbird, with its devilish note. The decree did not affect Quintus\nHortensius, who had one served up at the dinner which celebrated his\naccession to the office of Augur. Tiberius, however, preserved the\npeacock with great jealousy, and it was only rich breeders that could\nexhibit this bird at their banquets.\n\nA man who passes through Essex may see whole \u201cherds\u201d of geese and\nducks in the fields there, fattening without thought of the future,\nand supremely happy in their want of reflection. These birds are\n\u201cforeigners;\u201d at least, nearly all of them are so. They are Irish by\nbirth, but they are brought over by steam, in order to be perfected by\nan English education; and when the due state of perfection has been\nattained, they are, like many other young people partaking of the\n\u201cduck\u201d or the \u201cgoose,\u201d transferred to London, and \u201cdone for.\u201d\n\nSome gastronomic enthusiasts, unable to wait for their favourite\nbirds, have gone in search of them. This was the case with the oily\nJesuit, Fabi, who so loved beccaficoes. \u201cAs soon as the cry of the\nbird was heard in the fields around Belley,\u201d says the author of the\n\u201c_Physiologie du Go\u00fbt_,\u201d \u201cthe general cry was, \u2018The beccaficoes are\ncome, we shall soon have Father Fabi among us.\u2019 And never did he fail\nto arrive, with a friend, on the 1st of September. They came for\nthe express purpose of regaling themselves on beccaficoes, during\nthe period of the passage of the bird across the district. To every\nhouse they were invited in town, and they took their departure again\nabout the 23rd.\u201d This good Father died in our \u201cglorious memory\u201d year\nof 1688; and one of his choice bits of delirium was, that he had\ndiscovered the circulation of the blood before Harvey!\n\nAnd now do I not hear that gentleman-like person at the lower end of\nthe table remark, that the circulation of the blood was a conceived\nidea long before Harvey? You are quite right, my dear Sir; and your\nremark is a very appropriate one, both as to time and theme, for\nthe circulation of the blood is one of the results of cooking. As\nfor preconception of the idea, it is sufficient for Harvey, that he\ndemonstrated the fact. The Doctors of ancient Roman days supposed that\nthe blood came from the liver; and that, in passing through the _vena\ncava_ and its branches, a considerable quantity of it turned about, and\nentered into the right cavity of the heart. What Harvey demonstrated\nwas, that the blood flows from the heart into all parts of the body,\nby the arteries, from whence it is brought back to the heart again, by\nthe veins. Well, Sir, I know what you are about to remark,--that Paolo\nSarpi, that pleasantest of table-companions, claimed to have made the\ndemonstration before Harvey. True, Sarpi used to say, that he did not\ndare publish his discovery, for dread of the Inquisition; but that he\nconfided it to brother Fabi da Aqua-pendente, who kept it close for\nthe same reason, but told it in confidence to Harvey, who published it\nas his own. Well, Sir, Sir George Ent exploded all that, by proving\nthat Sarpi himself had first learned the fact from Harvey\u2019s lips.\nThe Italians have the same right in this case, as they have to their\nboast of having produced what old Ritson used to style, \u201cthat thing\nyou choose to call a poem, \u2018Paradise Lost.\u2019\u201d It was an invention or\ndiscovery at second-hand.\n\nWhat conceits Cowley has in his verses on Harvey! He makes the\nphilosophical Doctor pursue coy Nature through sap, and catch her at\nlast in the human blood. He speaks, too, of the heart beating tuneful\nmarches to its vital heat; a conceit which Longfellow twisted into\nprettiness, when he said, that our \u201cmuffled hearts were beating funeral\nmarches to the grave.\u201d You will remember, Sir, that Shakspeare makes\nBrutus say, that Portia was to him \u201cdear as the drops that visit this\nsad heart.\u201d Brutus himself would, perhaps, have said \u201cliver;\u201d and, by\nthe way, how very much to the same tune is the line in Gray\u2019s \u201cBard,\u201d\nwherein we find,--\n\n  \u201cDear as the light that visits these sad eyes.\u201d\n\nBut there is in tuneful Edmund, in our ever-glorious friend Spenser,\na stanza which contains something that may pass for the circulation\ntheory. You remember, in the first canto of the Second Book, where the\nbleeding lady is found by the good Sir Guyon:--\n\n  \u201cOut of her gor\u00e9d wound the cruel steel\n    He lightly snatch\u2019d, and did the flood-gates stop\n  With his faire garment; then \u2019gan softly feel\n    Her feeble pulse, to prove if any drop\n    Of living blood yet in her veynes did hop;\n  Which when he felt to move, he hop\u00e9d faire\n    To call back life to her forsaken shop.\n  So well he did her deadly wounds repaire,\n  That at the last shee \u2019gan to breathe out living aire.\u201d\n\nAnd now, Sir, I shall be happy to take a glass of wine with you,\nobsolete as that once honoured custom has become. And allow me to send\nyou a slice of this venison. A little more of the fat? Certainly;\nbut, if you _will_ take currant jelly with it, the sin be upon your\nown head. It has always been the approved plan, you say. Ah, my dear\nSir! think what the approved plan was, for years, in the treatment of\nsmall-pox. That was not a gastronomic matter, you say? I am not so\nsure of that; for the patient, swathed in scarlet cloth, had to drink\nmulled port wine. But, on a question of diet, time and numbers, you\nthink, may be taken for authority. Alas, my dear Sir! did you ever\ntry the once popular receipt of Apicius for a thick sauce to roasted\nchicken? Never! of course you have not; for, in such case, your young\nwidow would already have touched that pretty life-assurance we wot\nof. English tastes, you urge? Ah! in that case, if old rule be good\nrule, you must camp in Kensington Gardens, and eat acorns. In Germany,\nwhere venison is a national dish, the idea of currant jelly would ruin\nthe digestion of a whole company. But I see you are incorrigible, and\nWilliam is at your elbow with the doubtful sauce.\n\nGalen could not appreciate venison as the early Patriarchs and the\nJewish people did, and as the Roman ladies did, who ate of it as a\npreserver of youth, as well as a lengthener of life. A roebuck of\nMelos would have brought tears of delight into the eyes of Diogenes.\nThe deer was preferred to the roebuck at Rome; but the wild boar was\nalso a favourite; and the Sicilian slave, _chef_ to Servilius Rullus,\ncooked not less than three of different sizes in one. The largest had\nbaskets of dates suspended to its tusks, and a litter of young ones in\npastry lying in the same dish. Within the first was a second, within\nthe second a third, and within the third some small birds. Cicero, who\nwas _the_ guest for whom the dinner was got up, was as delighted with\nthe culinary slave, as Lucullus had been a few days before, when he\nhad eaten a dish of sows\u2019 paps prepared by the same artist; and the\nenraptured gastronome thought that all Olympus was dissolving in his\nmouth!\n\nA wild boar was at marriage feasts what our wedding cakes are at those\ndreadful destroyers of time and digestion,--wedding breakfasts,--an\nindispensable accompaniment. Caranus, the Macedonian, has the\nreputation of having exceeded all others in his nuptial magnificence;\nfor, instead of one boar at his banquet, he had twenty. But I have seen\nmore than that at many a breakfast in Britain.\n\nThe ancient Britons abstained from the hare, like the Jews. Hippocrates\nheld that, as a food, it thickened the blood, and kept people from\nsleep; but Galen--and such instances among the faculty are not\nuncommon--differed from his professional brother. People followed the\nadvice of Galen; and though few, like Alexander Severus, could eat a\nwhole hare at every repast, yet many ate as plentifully as they well\ncould, accounting such diet profitable both to health and good looks.\n\nHares were nearly as injuriously abundant in Greece as rabbits were\nin Spain, where the latter animals are said to have once destroyed\nTarragona, by undermining it in burrowing! Nay, more: the Balearic\nIsles were so overrun with them, that the inhabitants, afraid of being\ndevoured, sent an embassy to Rome; and Augustus dispatched a military\nforce, which not only slaughtered the enemy, but ate the half of them!\nThe more refined gluttons of Rome did not dine on the rabbit after this\nfashion. They only picked a little of the young taken alive from the\nslaughtered mother, or killed soon after birth. They were preferable to\nthe rabbits of the Parisian _gargottes_, where _fricass\u00e9e de lapins_\nis invariably made of cats. And these, perhaps, are as dainty eating\nas the hunch of the camel, or the feet of the elephant,--pettitoes for\nBrobdignagian lovers to sup upon.\n\nBut we _almost_ as villanously disguise our poultry. The latter, if not\n_now_, used--according to Darwin--to be fed for the London market, by\nmixing gin, and even opium, with their food, and keeping them in the\ndark; but \u201cthey must be killed as soon as they are fattened, or they\nbecome weak and emaciated, like human drunkards.\u201d\n\nGame was almost as sacred to the Egyptian Priests, as eggs to the\nsacerdotal gentlemen of some of the modern tribes of Africa. Under the\nhead of \u201cgame,\u201d we no longer admit the birds which, according to Belon,\nfigured at the gastronomic tables of France in the sixteenth century.\nThese were the crane, the crow, and the cormorant, the heron, the swan,\nthe stork, and the bittern. The last-named bird was in high estimation,\nalthough the taste for it was confessedly an \u201cacquired\u201d one. The larger\nbirds of prey were not then altogether despised by epicures, some of\nwhom could sit down with an appetite to roast vulture, while they\nturned with loathing from the plump pheasant.\n\nThis eastern bird, however, has, with this exception, enjoyed a\ndeserved reputation from the earliest ages. The Egyptian Kings kept\nlarge numbers of them to grace their aviaries and their triumphs.\nThe Greeks reared them for the less sentimental gratification of the\nstomach; and a simple Athenian republican, when giving a banquet,\nprided himself on having on his board as many pheasants as there were\nguests invited.\n\nPheasants\u2019 brains were among the ingredients of the dish that Vitellius\ninvented, and which he designated by the name of \u201cShield of Minerva.\u201d\nThey were greedily eaten by many other of the C\u00e6sars; and an offering\nof them to the statue of Caligula was deemed to be propitiatory of\nthat very equivocal deity. The Emperors generally esteemed them above\npartridges, which were trained for fighting, as well as fattened for\neating. Roman epicures fixed on the breast as the most \u201ceatable\u201d\nportion of the gallant bird. The Greeks thought of it as we do of the\nwoodcock; and with them the leg of the partridge was the part the most\nhighly esteemed. At a Greek table would not have occurred the smart\ndialogue which is said to have taken place at an English dinner. \u201cShall\nI send you a leg or a wing?\u201d said a carver to a guest he was about to\nhelp. \u201cIt is a matter of perfect indifference to me,\u201d was the reply;\nand it is _not_ a courteous one. \u201cIt is a matter of equal indifference\nto me,\u201d said the first speaker, at the same time resuming his own knife\nand fork, and going on with his dinner.\n\nQuails are variously said either to have recalled Hercules to life, or\nto have cured him of epilepsy. The Romans, however, rather feared them,\nas tending to cause epileptic fits. Galen thought so; Aristotle took a\ndifferent view, and the Greeks devoured them as readily as though they\nhad Aristotle\u2019s especial authorization; and the Romans were only slowly\nconverted to the same way of thinking. Quails, like partridges and the\ngame-cock, were long reared for the arena; and legislators thought that\nyouth might learn courage from contemplating the contests of quails!\n\nThe thrush was perhaps the most popular bird at delicate tables in\nGreece. They were kept from the young, lest the taste should give\nbirth to permanent greediness; but when a girl married, she was sure\nof a brace of thrushes, for her especial eating at the wedding-feast.\nThey were still more popular in Rome, where patrician ladies reared\nthousands yearly for the market, and made a further profit by selling\nthe manure for the land. The thrush aviary of Varro\u2019s aunt was one of\nthe sights of Rome, where men ruined themselves in procuring dishes\ncomposed of these birds for their guests. Greatly, however, as they\nabounded, there was occasionally a scarcity of them; for when the\nphysician of Pompey prescribed a thrush, by way of exciting the wayward\nstomach of the wayward soldier to enjoyment, there was not one to be\nfound for sale in all Rome. Lucullus, indeed, had scores of them; but\nPompey, like many other obstinate people, chose rather to suffer than\nput himself under an obligation; and he contrived to get well on other\ndiet.\n\nThe diet was, nevertheless, held to be exceedingly strengthening; and\nblackbirds, also, were prescribed as fitting food for weak digestions.\nIt was perhaps for this reason that the celebrated\n\n  \u201cFour-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie,\u201d\n\nwere the dainty dish set before the legendary and, presumedly,\ndyspeptic King! In later times, we have had as foolish ideas connected\nwith them. The oil in which they were cooked was said to be good\nfor sciatica, or hip-gout; and Vieillot says that freckles might be\ninstantaneously removed from the skin, if----but ladies would never try\nwhat Vieillot recommends.\n\nThe blackbird was not imperially patronized. The stomachs of the\ngastronomic C\u00e6sars gave more greedy welcome to the flamingo. Caligula,\nVitellius, and Heliogabalus ruined their digestions by _rago\u00fbts_ of\nthis bird, the tongues of which were converted into a stimulating\nsauce. Dampier ate the bird, when he could get nothing else; and\nthought the C\u00e6sars fools for doing so when they could get any thing\nbeside. The ancients, whether Greeks or Romans, showed more taste\nin eating beccaficoes,--that delicate little bird, all tender and\nsucculent, the essence of the juice of the fruits (especially the\nfig) on which it feeds. The only thing to be compared with it is the\nortolan. Had Heliogabalus confined himself to these more savoury birds,\ninstead of acquiring indigestion on ostrich brains and flamingoes,\nhis name would have held a more respectable place in the annals of\ngastronomy. But master and people were alike barbarous in many of\ntheir tastes. Who now would think of killing turtle-doves for the\nsake of eating their legs \u201cdevilled?\u201d And yet _we_ eat the lark, that\nherald of the skies, and earliest chorister of the morn. We eat this\nethereal bird with as little compunction as we do the savoury, yet\nunclean, of the earth, earthy, duck. And this thought reminds me of a\nstory, for which I am indebted to a friend, himself the most amiable\nof Amphitryons, the good things at whose table have ever wit, wisdom,\nmirth, and good-fellowship attendant, as aids to digestion.[1]\n\n\nA LIGHT DINNER FOR TWO.\n\nMany years ago, when railways were things undreamt of, and when the\njourneys from Oxford to the metropolis were inevitably performed on\nthat goodly and pleasant high road which is now dreary and forlorn, a\ngentleman and his son, the latter newly flushed with College fame and\nUniversity honours, rode forth over Magdalen Bridge and the Cherwell,\npurposing to reach London in a leisurely ride. A groom, their only\nattendant, carrying their scanty baggage with him on a good stout cob,\nhad been sent on in advance to order dinner at a well-known road-side\nhostelry, where Oxford nags baited, and where their more adventurous\nriders frequently caroused, out of reach of any supervision by\nPrincipals or Pro-Proctors.\n\nPleasant is the spot, well approved by past generations of Freshmen,\npicturesque and charming to an eye content with rich fields, luxuriant\nmeadows, and pretty streams, tributaries of the now adolescent Thames,\nwhose waters had not at that date been polluted by barge or lighter at\nthat point of its course. The neighbourhood is famous for its plump\nlarks; and whether in a savoury pudding, swimming with beefsteak gravy,\nor roasted, a round half-dozen together, on an iron skewer or a tiny\nspit, those little warblers furnished forth a pretty adjunct on a\nwell-spread table, tempting to an appetite somewhat appeased by heavier\nand more substantial viands. Mine host at our road-side quarters had a\ncook who dressed them to a nicety; contriving to produce or develope a\nsucculency and flavour which meaner practitioners would scarcely have\ndeemed practicable. Now Martin, pursuant to his master\u2019s instructions\nfor securing a repast of ducks and the dainty lark, finding the\nlandlord brought out from his shady porch by the clatter of the horse\u2019s\nhoofs on the well-beaten road, announced the approaching arrival, and\nordered dinner. \u201cMy master wishes to find a couple of larks, and a\ndozen of ducks, well roasted, on his arrival at four o\u2019clock.\u201d \u201cDid\nI understand you rightly, young man?\u201d said Boniface. \u201cO!\u201d said the\nvarlet, pettishly, \u201cin Oxford no landlord needs twice telling;\u201d--and\nbetook himself to the stables, looking forward to the enjoyment of a\ntankard of good house-brewed ale,--no brewer\u2019s iniquitous mixture,--and\nthe opportunity of shining with some lustre in the tap, or the kitchen,\nbefore country bumpkins, eager to listen to a man like himself, who\nhad seen racing at Newmarket and Doncaster, and high life at Bath and\nCheltenham. Meantime, his masters came leisurely along the road, nor\nthought of applying a spur, until the craving bowels of the younger\nhorseman, whose digestive organs were unimpaired by College theses and\nexaminations, suggested a lack of provender; and, their watches, when\nconsulted, indicating the near approach of the dinner hour, they broke\noff their chat, and soon drew rein at their place of temporary sojourn.\n\nFinding the cloth laid, and the busy waiter\u2019s preparations nearly\ncomplete, they glanced with satisfaction at a table of somewhat\nunnecessary dimensions, considering the limited extent of the party,\nwhich our young Hellenist would have described as a \u201cduality.\u201d Just as\nour travellers were growing impatient, the landlord, having previously\nsatisfied himself, by obsequious inquiry, that his guests were quite\nready, re-entered, bearing a dish with bright cover, and heading as\ngood a procession of domestics, each similarly laden, as the limited\nresources of his modest establishment admitted. The large number\nof dishes rather surprised the elder of the twain, whose mind was\nless absorbed by the suggestions of appetite; and, having dispatched\nthe sole attendant left for a bottle of the best Madeira the cellar\ncould supply, and a jug of that malt liquor for which the house had\nobtained some notoriety, he proceeded to look under the formidable\nrange of covers. Seeing under the first a couple of ducks, he said,\n\u201cCome, this is all right!\u201d but finding the next, and the next, and\nstill the next, but a repetition of the same, either with or without\nthe odour of seasoning, he fairly stood aghast, when six couple of\ngoodly ducks stood revealed before him. The young collegian\u2019s mirth\nwas great, his laugh hearty, at the climax of two pretty little chubby\nlarks which closed the line of dishes. Apple sauce and gravy, broccoli\nand potatoes, stood sentries, flanking the array. Upon his ringing\nthe bell with no gentle hand, the landlord himself stepped in from\nthe passage, where he appeared to have awaited a summons; and, in\nanswer to a question the reader may easily anticipate, replied that\nthe servant\u2019s order was precise, and that it was impatiently repeated\nupon his own hesitation in accepting it. The respectability of the\nlandlord, and the evident truthfulness of his manner, stayed all\nfurther questions. But the elder gentleman said firmly, that he should\nnot pay for what had been so absurdly provided; alleging, that no two,\nor even three, persons could be found who would do justice to such\nprovisions. The landlord, like Othello, \u201cupon that hint spake;\u201d for he\nsaw a faint chance of righting a somewhat difficult matter. \u201cO, Sir,\u201d\nsaid he, \u201cI think I could find a man hard by, who would not consider\nthe supplies too much for his own appetite.\u201d \u201cProduce him,\u201d said the\nguest, \u201cand settle the point; for, if you do, I will pay for the\nwhole.\u201d The anxious landlord said no more; but, bowing, left in search\nof a neighbouring cobbler, whose prowess with the knife and fork was\npre-eminent in the vicinity. Meantime, our hungry travellers sat down\nto dinner with such good will, that each of them disposed of one of\nthe regiment; and, in a joint attack, a third fell mutilated, leaving\nbut fragmentary relics. A lark a-piece was a mere practical joke; and\ncheese, with celery, left nothing farther wanting to appease those\ncravings which had prompted them to action. While these little matters\nwere in progress, the landlord had found the shoemaker, and told his\nstory. \u201cWell,\u201d said Lapstone, \u201cthis is plaguy unlucky, for I\u2019ve just\nhad a gallon of broth! Such a famous chance, too; for if there is any\nthing I am particularly fond of, certainly ducks is a weak point, Sir.\u201d\nBoniface, thinking it his only chance, urged him to try; and the man\nof bristles, nothing loth, consented. On being duly introduced, orders\nwere given for setting-to on the spot, to insure fair play, and defeat\nany supplementary aid, or a deposit in any other pocket, save that with\nwhich the savage in a nude state finds himself provided,--the stomach.\nWhile the travellers sipped their wine, and trifled with their dessert,\nthe voracious cobbler fell heartily to work on the row of eight ducks\nbefore him: one having been sent down for the undeserving groom, whose\nblunder had proved a godsend to the man of leather. Wisely eschewing\nvegetables, and eating scantily of bread, the _disjecta membra_ of the\ndoomed ducks rapidly yielded up their savoury integuments. But flesh\nis weak, and cobblers\u2019 appetites are not wholly unappeasable; so that\nwhile the fifth victim was under discussion, a stimulant, in the shape\nof \u201ca little brandy,\u201d was requested; and when the sixth was but slowly\nand more slowly disappearing, poor Lapstone, who began to think farther\nprogress impossible, was seen whispering to the landlord. The gentleman\nloudly demanded what the fellow was saying. \u201cSir,\u201d said the landlord,\npromptly and cunningly, \u201che says, he wishes there were half-a-dozen\nmore; for he is just beginning to enjoy them.\u201d \u201cConfound the rascal\u2019s\ngluttony,\u201d cried the travellers; \u201cnot a bit more shall he have. Put\nthe remaining couple by for our supper; for we shall not leave your\nhouse till to-morrow:\u201d--an arrangement affording much relief to the\nshoemaker, and entire satisfaction to the innkeeper.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTo return to the lark. It is worthy of notice, that London is annually\nsupplied, from the country about Dunstable alone, with not less\nthan four thousand dozen of these succulent songsters. At Leipsic,\nthe excise on larks, for that single city, amounts to nearly \u00a31,000\nsterling yearly. The larks of Dunstable and Leipsic are, I presume,\n\u201ccaught napping.\u201d They are not, then, like the nightingale, who is said\nto sing all night, to keep herself awake, lest the slow-worm should\ndevour her.\n\nAnd this reminds me of a remark which I once heard made by one who\ndisputed the fact, that every thing had its use. Mr. Jerdan could\nnot conjecture what use there could be in the _cimex_, that domestic\n\u201cB flat,\u201d which may be found in old beds and old parchments. So\nmy friend could not divine the utility of a slow-worm, or of that\nunclean parasite, the \u201clouse,\u201d which, by the way, infects birds as\nwell as dirty humanity, and even reaches these same aspiring larks.\nFor the use of the slow-worm I referred him to natural history; for\nthat of the _pediculus_, I could only state that it is swallowed by\nsome country-people as a cure for jaundice! At Hardenberg, in Sweden,\nit held a position of some importance. When a Burgomaster had to be\nchosen, the eligible candidates sat with their beards upon the table,\nin the centre of which was placed a louse; and the one in whose beard\nhe took cover was the Magistrate for the ensuing year. After the\nceremony, the company supped upon ducks, and sang like larks.\n\nThe household of Job was of a hospitable cast. \u201cHis sons went and\nfeasted in their houses, every one on his day;\u201d (which is explained as\nbeing the _birth_-day;) \u201cand sent and called for their three sisters\nto eat and drink with them.\u201d We know what materials the joyous family\nhad to make a superb feast; and doubtless he who presided thereat was\nas proud as the Knight who, by virtue of triumphing in the tournament,\nalone had the right to carve the peacock which was placed before\nhim--plumage, tail, and all--by the fairest \u201cshe\u201d to be found in the\nvicinity. After all, the peacock was inferior to the succulent and\nsweet-throated thrush. The proper time for eating thrushes, and,\nindeed, much other of the small game of the bird species, is towards\nthe end of November. The reason assigned by a French epicure is,\nthat, after they have been fattened in the fields and vineyards,\nthey then give a biting, bitter aroma to their flesh by feeding on\njuniper-berries. The Romans fed them on a paste made up of figs, wheat,\nand aromatic grains. The Roman epicures were as fond of them as the\nMarquis de Cussy was of red partridges, one of which he ate on the\nday of his death, and after a six months\u2019 illness. It was his last\nact; and, in gastronomic annals, it is recorded, as Nelson\u2019s calling\nfor sealing-wax amid the thunders of Copenhagen, or his writing to\nHoratia before he went to meet death at Trafalgar, is noticed by the\nbiographers of our naval heroes. Statistics, which are as pleasantly\nvoid of truth as poetry, generally speaking, set down the enormous\ntotal of nearly fifty-two millions of francs as the sum expended\nyearly in France for fowls of all species. Taking the amount of\npopulation into consideration, this would prove that France is a more\nfowl-consuming nation than any other on the face of the globe.\n\nIn a dietetic point of view, it would be well for weak stomachs to\nremember, that wild birds are more nutritious than their domesticated\ncousins, and more digestible. But the white breast or wing of a chicken\nis less heating than the flesh of winged game. Other game--such as\nvenison, which is dark-coloured, and contains a large proportion of\nfibrine--produces highly stimulating chyle; and, consequently, the\ndigestion is an easy and rapid affair for the stomach. But, though\nthe whiter meats be detained longer in the stomach, furnish less\nstimulating chyle, and be suffered to run into acetous fermentation,\ntheir lesser stimulating quality may recommend them when the general\nsystem is not in want of a spur. Meats are wholesome, or otherwise,\nless with reference to themselves than to the consumer. \u201cTo assert\na thing to be wholesome,\u201d says Van Swieten, \u201cwithout a knowledge of\nthe condition of the person for whom it is intended, is like a sailor\npronouncing the wind to be fair, without knowing to what port the\nvessel is bound.\u201d\n\nCardinal Fesch would have made an exception in the case of\n\u201cblackbirds.\u201d His dinners at Lyons were reverenced for the excellence\nand variety of these dishes. The birds were sent to him weekly from\nCorsica; and they were said to incense half the archiepiscopal city.\nThey were served with great form; and none who ate thereof ever forgot\nthe flavour which melted along his palate. The Cardinal used to say\nthat it was like swallowing paradise, and that the smell alone of his\nblackbirds was enough to revivify half the defunct in his diocese.\n\nQuite as rich a dish may be found in the pheasant which has been\nsuspended by the tail, and which detaches himself from his caudine\nappendage, by way of intimation that he is ready. It is thus, we are\ntold, that a pheasant hung up on Shrove Tuesday is susceptible of being\nspitted on Easter-day! It is popularly said in France of the pheasant,\nthat it only lacks something to be equal to the turkey! A wise saying,\nindeed! but, the truth is, the two cannot be compared. Our own popular\nadage regarding the partridge and woodcock has far better grounds for\nwhat they assert:--\n\n  \u201cIf the partridge had but the woodcock\u2019s thigh,\n  \u2019Twould be the best bird that ever did fly.\n  If the woodcock had but the partridge\u2019s breast,\n  \u2019Twould be the best bird that ever was dress\u2019d.\u201d\n\nThe partridge is much on the ground, the woodcock ever on the wing; and\nthese parts, and the immediate vicinity of them, acquire a muscular\ntoughness, not admired by epicures.\n\nThe vegetarians may boast of a descent as ancient as that claimed\nby the Freemasons. In ancient days, if, indeed, flesh-meat was not\ndenounced, unmeasured honour was paid to vegetables. Monarchs exchanged\nthem as gifts, wise men and warriors supped on them after study\nand battle, Chiefs of the noblest descent prepared them with their\nown hands for their own tables, agricultural chymists tended their\nplanting, and pious populations raised some of them to the rank of gods.\n\nThe Licinian Law enacted their use, while it restricted the consumption\nof meat; and the greatest families in Rome derived their names from\nthem. Fabius was but General _Bean_, Cicero was Vice-Chancellor _Pea_,\nand the house of Lentulus took its appellation from the slow-growing\n_Lentil_.\n\nThe kitchen-garden of Henry VIII. was worse supplied than that of\nCharlemagne, who not only raised vegetables, but, as Gustavus Vasa\u2019s\nQueen did with her eggs and milk, made money by them. He was a royal\nmarket-gardener, and found more profit in his salads than he did in\nhis sons. A salad, by the way, was so scarce an article during the\nearly part of the last century, that George I. was obliged to send to\nHolland to procure a lettuce for his Queen; and now lettuces are flung\nby cart-loads to the pigs. Asparagus and artichokes were strangers to\nus until a still later period.\n\nThe bean has, from remote times, held a distinguished place. Isidorus\nasserts that it was the first food used by man. Pythagoras held that\nhuman life was in it. By others the black spot was accounted typical\nof death; and the _Flamen_ of Jupiter would neither look upon it nor\npronounce its name. The Priests of Apollo, on the other hand, banqueted\non a dish of beans at one of the festivals of their god. Those of\n\u00c6sculapius taught that the smell of beans in blossom was prejudicial\nto health; and farmers\u2019 wives, in the days of Baucis and Philemon,\nmaintained that hens reared on beans would never lay eggs.\n\nThe \u201cbean\u201d was once the principal feature in the Twelfth-Night cake;\nand he to whose share fell the piece containing the vegetable was\nKing for the night. The last Twelfth Night observed, with ancient\nstrictness, at the Tuileries, was when Louis XVIII. was yet reigning.\nAmong his guests was Louis Philippe, Duke of Orleans, who was lucky\nenough to draw the bean, and thereby became Monarch for the nonce. \u201cMy\ncousin,\u201d said Louis XVIII., \u201cis King at last!\u201d \u201cI will never accept\nsuch title,\u201d answered the over-modest Duke; \u201cI acknowledge no other\nKing in France but your Majesty, and will not usurp the name even in\njest!\u201d Excellent man! he was at that very moment intriguing to tumble\nfrom his throne that very King, loyalty for whom he expressed with so\nmuch of unnecessary and enforced ceremony.\n\nThe _haricot blanc_, or white kidney bean, deserves to be introduced\nmore generally into our kitchens. There are various methods of\ndressing them; but the best is to have them softened in the gravy of\na leg of mutton; they are then a good substitute for potatoes. They\nare nearly as good, dressed with oil or butter; and Napoleon was\nexceedingly fond of them, dressed as a salad. Of course, we allude here\nto the bean which, in full maturity, is taken from the pod, and eaten\nin winter. In England we eat the pod itself, (in summer,) split, and\nserved with roast mutton and venison. The mature bean, however, makes\nan excellent dish.\n\nAnd, _\u00e0-propos_ to Monarchs, it is to Alexander that we are indebted\nfor the Indian \u201charicot;\u201d and the vegetable had a fashion in Greece\nand Rome worthy of its distinguished introducer. But this fashion was\nnot a mere consequence; for grey peas were as universally eaten. The\npeople were so fond of these, that political aspirants bought votes of\nelectors in exchange for them. They formed the principal refreshment of\nthe lower citizens at the circus and the theatre, where, instead of the\nmodern cry of \u201cOranges, biscuits, porter, and bill of the play!\u201d was to\nbe heard that of \u201cPeas! peas! ram peas! grey peas! and a programme of\nthe beasts and actors!\u201d\n\nGreen peas were not known in France until the middle of the sixteenth\ncentury. They were grown, but people no more thought of eating them\nthan we do the sweet pea. The gardener Michaux was born, and he it was\nwho first sent green peas to a Christian table.\n\nWhen Alexander, son of Pyrrhus, wished to keep all the beans that grew\nin the Thesprotian Marsh for his own eating, the gods dried up the\nmarsh, and beans could never be made to grow there again. So, when King\nAntigonus put a tax on the healing spring that flowed at Edessa, the\nwaters disappeared; and the people were not, in either case, benefited.\nWhat lumbering avengers were those heathen deities!\n\nThe cabbage has had a singular destiny,--in one country an object of\nworship; in another, of contempt. The Egyptians made of it a god; and\nit was the first dish they touched at their repasts. The Greeks and\nRomans took it as a remedy for the languor following inebriation.\nCato said that in the cabbage was a panacea for the ills of man.\nErasistratus recommended it as a specific in paralysis; Hippocrates\naccounted it a sovereign remedy, boiled with salt, for the colic; and\nAthenian medical men prescribed it to young nursing-mothers, who wished\nto see lusty babies lying in their arms. Diphilus preferred the beet to\nthe cabbage, both as food and as medicine,--in the latter case, as a\nvermifuge. The same physician extols mallows, not for fomentation, but\nas a good edible vegetable, appeasing hunger and curing the sore-throat\nat the same time. The asparagus, as we are accustomed to see it, has\nderogated from its ancient magnificence. The original \u201cgrass\u201d was from\ntwelve to twenty feet high; and a dish of them could only have been\nserved to the Brobdignagians. Under the Romans, stems of asparagus\nwere raised of three pounds\u2019 weight,--heavy enough to knock down a\nslave in waiting with. The Greeks ate them of more moderate dimensions,\nor would have eat them, but that the publishing doctors of their day\ndenounced asparagus as injurious to the sight. But then it was also\nsaid, that a slice or two of boiled pumpkin would re-invigorate the\nsight which had been deteriorated by asparagus. \u201cDo that as quickly as\nyou should asparagus!\u201d is a proverb descended to us from Augustus, and\nillustrative of the mode in which the vegetable was prepared for the\ntable.\n\nThe gourd does not figure at our repasts as commonly as it did in\nthe east of Europe in mythological times, when it was greedily\neaten, boiled hot, or preserved in pickle. The readers of Athen\u00e6us\nwill remember, how a party of philosophers lost their temper, in a\ndiscussion as to whether the gourd was round, square, or oblong,--how a\ncoarse-minded doctor interrupted the discussion by a very incongruous\nremark,--and how the venerable sage who was in the chair called the\nrude man to order, and then bade the disputants proceed with their\nargument.\n\nA still more favourite dish, at Athens, was turnips, from Thebes.\nCarrots, too, formed a distinguished dish at Greek and Roman tables.\nPurslain was rather honoured as a cure against poisons, whether in\nthe blood by wounds, or in the stomach from beverage. I have heard it\nasserted in France, that if you briskly rub a glass with fingers which\nhave been previously rubbed with purslain, or parsley, the glass will\ncertainly break. I have tried the experiment, but only to find that the\nglass resisted the pretended charm.\n\nBroccoli was the favourite vegetable food of Drusus. He ate greedily\nthereof; and, as his father, Tiberius, was as fond of it as he, the\nmaster of the Roman world and his illustrious heir were constantly\nquarrelling, like two clowns, when a dish of broccoli stood between\nthem. Artichokes grew less rapidly into aristocratic favour; the\n_dictum_ of Galen was against them; and, for a long time, they were\nonly used by drinkers, against headache, and by singers, to strengthen\ntheir voice. Pliny pronounced artichokes excellent food for poor people\nand donkeys! For nobler stomachs he preferred the cucumber,--the\nNemesis of vegetables. But people were at issue touching the merits of\nthe cucumber. Not so, regarding the lettuce, which has been universally\nhonoured. It was the most highly esteemed dish of the beautiful\nAdonis. It was prescribed as provocative to sleep; and it cured\nAugustus of the malady which sits so heavily on the soul of Leopold of\nBelgium,--_hypochondriasis_. Science and rank eulogized the lettuce,\nand philosophy sanctioned the eulogy in the person of Aristoxenus, who\nnot only grew lettuces as the pride of his garden, but irrigated them\nwith wine, in order to increase their flavour.\n\nBut we must not place too much trust in the stories either of sages or\napothecaries. These Pagans recommended the seductive, but indigestible,\nendive, as good against the headache, and young onions and honey as\nadmirable preservers of health, when taken fasting; but this was a\nprescription for rustic swains and nymphs,--the higher classes, in\ntown or country, would hardly venture on it. And yet the mother of\nApollo ate raw leeks, and loved them of gigantic dimensions. For this\nreason, perhaps, was the leek accounted, not only as salubrious, but\nas a beautifier. The love for melons was derived, in similar fashion,\nprobably, from Tiberius, who cared for them even more than he did\nfor broccoli. The German C\u00e6sars inherited the taste of their Roman\npredecessor, carrying it, indeed, to excess; for more than one of them,\nas may be seen in another page, submitted to die after eating melons,\nrather than live by renouncing them.\n\nI have spoken of gigantic asparagus: the Jews had radishes that could\nvie with them, if it be true that a fox and cubs could burrow in the\nhollow of one, and that it was not uncommon to grow them of a hundred\npounds in weight. It must have been such radishes as these that were\nemployed by seditious mobs of old, as weapons, in insurrections. In\nsuch case, a rebellious people were always well victualled, and had\npeculiar facilities, not only to beat their adversaries, but to eat\ntheir own arms. The horse-radish is, probably, a descendant of this\ngigantic ancestor. It had, at one period, a gigantic reputation. Dipped\nin poison, it rendered the draught innocuous, and, rubbed on the hands,\nit made an encounter with venomed serpents mere play. In short, it was\ncelebrated as being a cure for every evil in life,--the only exception\nbeing, that it destroyed the teeth. There was far more difference\nof opinion touching garlic, than there was touching the radish. The\nEgyptians deified it, as they did the leek and the cabbage; the Greeks\ndevoted it to Gehenna,--and to soldiers, sailors, and cocks that were\nnot \u201cgame.\u201d Medicinally, it was held to be useful in many diseases, if\nthe root used were originally sown when the moon was below the horizon.\nNo one who had eaten of it, however, could presume to enter the Temple\nof Cybele. Alphonso of Castile was as particular as this goddess; and\na Knight of Castile, \u201cdetected as being guilty of garlic,\u201d suffered\nbanishment from the royal presence during an entire month.\n\nParsley has fared better, both with gods and men. Hercules and Anacreon\ncrowned themselves with it. It was worn both at joyous banquets and\nfuneral feasts; and not only horses, but those who bestrode them, ate\nof the herb, in order to find the excitement to daring which otherwise\nlacked. In contrast with parsley stood the water-cress, a plant\nhonoured and eaten only by the Persians. It was, indeed, medically\nesteemed as curative of consumption, and, by placing it in the ears,\nof toothache. But the wits and Plutarch denounced its use in any case;\nand few cared to affect love for a plant which was popularly declared\nto have the power of twisting the noses of those who put it into their\nmouths!\n\nParsley was as popular in what may be called \u201cclassical\u201d times, as the\nasparagus has invariably been with a particular class in France. This\nvegetable has ever been, I know not wherefore, a favourite vegetable\nwith the officials of the Gallican Church. One day, Monseigneur\nCourtois de Quincy, Bishop of Belley, was informed that an asparagus\nhead had just pierced the soil in His Eminence\u2019s kitchen-garden, and\nthat it was worth looking at. Cardinal and _convives_ rose from table,\nvisited the spot, and were lost in admiration at what they saw. Day by\nday the Bishop watched the growth of the delicious giant. His mouth\nwatered as he looked at it, and happy was he when the day arrived in\nwhich he might with his own hands take it from the ground. When he did\nso, he found, to his disappointment, that he held a wooden counterfeit,\nadmirably turned and painted by the Canon Rosset, who was famous for\nhis artistic abilities, and also for his practical jokes. The joke on\nthis occasion was taken in good part, and the counterfeit asparagus was\nadmitted to the honour of lying on the Bishop\u2019s table.\n\nI have noticed, that asparagus has been suggested as one of the\nsubstitutes for coffee. In this case, the seeds are taken from the\nberries, by drying the latter in an oven, and rubbing them on a sieve.\nWhen ground, the seeds make a full-flavoured coffee, not inferior, it\nis said,--but that is doubtful,--to the best Mocha.\n\nIt was the opinion of Pliny, that nature intended asparagus to grow\nwild, in order that all might eat thereof. That was esteemed the\nbest which grew naturally on the mountain-sides. The famous Ravenna\nasparagus was cultivated with such perfection, that three of them\nweighed a pound. Lobster surrounded with asparagus was a favourite\ndish; and the rapidity with which the latter should be cooked, is\nillustrated, as I have said, by a proverb: \u201c_Velocius quam asparagi\ncoquuntur!_\u201d There is a story told of an intrusive traveller forcing\nhis company at supper on another wayfarer, before whom were placed\nan omelette and some asparagus. The intruder had not before seen any\n\u201cgrass,\u201d and inquired what it was. \u201cO, it is very well in its way,\u201d\nsaid the other, \u201cand we will divide both omelette and asparagus;\u201d and\ntherewith, after carving the first, he cut the bunch in two, and gave\nthe white ends to the importunate visitor. The greatest indignation\never experienced by Car\u00eame, was once at hearing that some guests had\neaten asparagus with one of his new _entremets_, and mixed it in their\nmouths with iced champagne.\n\nThere is an opinion current in some parts of England, that they who eat\nof old parsnips that have been long in the ground invariably go mad;\nand on this account the root is called \u201cmad-nip.\u201d On some such \u201cinsane\nroot,\u201d it is said, the Indians, named by Garcilasso, whetted their\nappetites before they ate their dead parents. Such form of entombment\nwas accounted most dignified and dutiful. If the defunct was lean,\nthe children boiled their parent; but obesity was always honoured by\nroasting. Fathers and mothers were religiously picked to the very\nbones, and the bones themselves were then consigned to the earth. This,\nhowever, is not an exclusively Indian custom. The Indians only devoured\ntheir deceased parents; but I have seen, in Christian England, many a\nson devouring father and mother, too, during their lives, swallowing\ntheir very substance, and _then_, like the Indians, committing their\nbones to the bosom of a tender mother,--earth.\n\nPerhaps there is nothing, in the vegetable way, more insipid than\nparsnips; but these are sometimes as mischievous as insipid persons.\nThis is the case, if the above-named tradition be worthy of credit,\nwherein we are told, that _old_ parsnips are called \u201cmad-nips,\u201d and\nthat the maids who eat of them invariably become more like Salmacis\nthan the youth she wooed, and are as much given to dancing as though\nthey had been bitten by a tarantula. I fear the \u201cmad-nip\u201d is too much\neaten in many of our rural districts, and perhaps by the _acerba virgo_\nof metropolitan towns and episcopal cities also. But let us look at our\nancient friend, the potato.\n\nIt has been well said, that the first art in boiling a potato, is to\nprevent the boiling of the potato. \u201cUpon the heat and flame of the\ndistemper sprinkle cool patience;\u201d for without patience, care, and\nattention,--extreme vigilance being implied by the latter, a potato\nwill never come out of the pot triumphantly well boiled.\n\nThe potato has been found in an indigenous state in Chili, on the\nmountains near Valparaiso and Mendoza; also near Monte Video, Lima,\nQuito, in Santa F\u00e9 da Bogota, and on the banks of the Orizaba, in\nMexico. Cobbett cursed the root as being that of the ruin of Ireland,\nwhere it is said to have been first planted by Raleigh, on his estate\nat Youghal, near Cork. Its introduction into England is described as\nthe effect of accident, in consequence of the wrecking of a vessel on\nthe coast of Lancashire, which had a quantity of this \u201cfruit\u201d on board.\n\nThe common potato (_solanum tuberosum_) was probably first brought\nto Spain from Quito by the Spaniards, in the early part of the\nsixteenth century. In both of those countries the _tubers_ are known\nby the designation of _papas_. In passing from Spain into Italy,\nit naturalized itself under the name of \u201cthe truffle.\u201d In 1598, we\nhear of its arrival at Vienna, and thence spreading over Europe.\nIt certainly was not known in North America in 1586, the period at\nwhich Raleigh\u2019s colonists in Virginia are said to have sent it to\nEngland; and in the latter country it was not known until long after\nits introduction, as noticed above, into Ireland. In Gerard\u2019s Herbal\n(1597) the _Batata Virginiana_, as it is called, to distinguish it\nfrom the _Batata Edulis_, or \u201csweet potato,\u201d is described; and the\nauthor recommends the root, not for common food, but as \u201ca delicate\ndish.\u201d The sweet potato was the \u201cdelicate dish\u201d at English tables long\nbefore the introduction of its honest cousin. We imported it from Spain\nand the Canaries, and in very considerable quantities. It enjoyed\nthe reputation of possessing power to restore decayed vigour. This\nreputation has not escaped Shakspeare, who makes Falstaff exultingly\nremark, in a fit of pleasant excitement, that \u201cit rains potatoes!\u201d The\nRoyal Society of England, in 1663, urgently recommended the extensive\ncultivation of the root as a resource against threatened famine; but as\nlate as the end of that century, a good hundred years after its first\nintroduction, the writers on gardening continued to treat its merits\nwith a contemptuous indifference; though one of them does \u201cdamn with\nfaint praise,\u201d by remarking, that \u201cthey are much used in Ireland and\nAmerica as bread, and may be propagated with advantage to poor people.\u201d\nAs late as 1719, the potato was not deemed worthy of being named in the\n\u201cComplete Gardener\u201d of Loudon and Wise, and it was not till the middle\nof the last century that it became generally used in Britain and North\nAmerica. The \u201cconservatives of gulosity\u201d of that day continued long to\ndisparagingly describe it as \u201ca root found in the New World, consisting\nof little knobs, held together by strings: if you boil it well, it\n_can_ be eaten; it _may_ become an article of food; it will certainly\ndo for hogs; and though it is rather flatulent and acid in the human\nstomach, perhaps, if you boil it with dates, it may serve to keep soul\nand body together, among those who can find nothing better.\u201d\n\nSome sixty years since, the Dutch introduced the potato into Bengal.\nThe produce was sold in Calcutta at 5_s._ a pound. The English tried\nto raise them, and all their plants grew like Jack\u2019s bean-stalk, but\nlacked its strength. The Hollanders continually cut the swiftly-growing\nplant, and so compelled it to produce its fruit beneath the ground.\nThe secret was as well worth knowing as that other touching potatoes\nduring frost. The only precaution necessary is, to retain the potato\nin a perfectly dark place, for some days after the thaw has commenced.\nIn America, where they are sometimes frozen as hard as stones, they\nrot if thawed in open day; but if thawed in darkness, they do not\nrot, and lose very little of their natural odour and properties. So,\nat least, they assert, who profess to have means of best knowing. The\npotato is said to have been first planted, in England, in the county\nof Lancashire, which was once as famous for the plant as Lithuania\nis for beet-root. It is not much more than a century since cabbages\nreached us from Holland. They were first planted in Dorsetshire, by the\nAshleys; and I may add here what I have omitted in speaking of it in\nearlier times, namely, that the Athenians administered the juice of it\nin cases of slow parturition. Let me farther add, that such terms as\n\u201ccow-cabbage,\u201d \u201chorse-radish,\u201d \u201cbull-rush,\u201d and the like, do not imply\nany connexion between the article and the animal. The animal prefix is\nsimply to signify unusual size. The prefix was commonly so applied by\nthe ancients: hence the name of Alexander\u2019s charger; and a not less\nfamiliar illustration is afforded us in the case of the \u201chorse-leech.\u201d\nCabbage used to have said of it what Lemery, physician of Louis XIV.,\nmore truly said of spinach; namely, that \u201cit stops coughing, allays\nthe sharp humours of the breast, and keeps the body open.\u201d Spinach,\nto be truly enjoyed, should never be eaten without liberal saturation\nof gravy; and French epicures say, \u201cDo not forget the nutmeg.\u201d This\nvegetable goes excellently with swine\u2019s flesh in every shape, but\nespecially ham, the stimulating flavour of which it strongly modifies.\n\nRice, as an article of food, has something remarkable in it. Its\ncultivation destroys life; and when the grain is eaten, its value as\na supporter of strength is very uncertain. The cultivation of this\nproduction, where it does not destroy life, does destroy comfort, and\nslaves may be compelled, but freemen will not go voluntarily, to raise\nthe \u201cpaddy crop.\u201d In India, where the people of many districts depend\nupon it entirely as a chief article of food, famine is often the\nresult, simply because the failure of one crop leaves the unenergetic\npeople without any other present resource.\n\nAnd now, by way of a concluding word to those who read medicinally, I\nwould say, on the best authority, first, that of the haricot-bean I\nhave nothing to add to what I have already stated. With regard to peas,\nthey are, like many other things, most pleasant and wholesome when\nyoung. Old, they are the fathers of gaseous colic; and, when swallowed\nwith the additional tenacity of texture derived from being made into\npudding,--why, then the unhappy consumer is a man to be pitied.\nPotatoes are best baked, or roasted lightly. In the latter case, they\nare scarcely less nutritious than bread; but the potato must be in\nfull health, and the cooking unexceptionable. There is many a cook\nwho could execute, to a charm, the _fricandeau_, invented by Leo X.,\nwho has not the remotest idea of cooking a potato. When the Flemings\nsent us the carrot, in the reign of Elizabeth, it is a pity they could\nnot have deprived it of its fibrine texture, the drawback to be set\nagainst its saccharine nutritiveness. As the Romans waxed strong upon\nthe turnip, we may allow that it has some virtues, and that Charles the\nFirst\u2019s Secretary, Lord Townshend, did good service by re-introducing\nit to his countrymen. Like the Jerusalem artichoke, it requires a\nstrong accompaniment of salt and pepper, to counteract its watery and\nflatulent influences. As for radishes, he who eats them is tormenting\nhis stomach with bad water, woody fibre, and acrid poison; and if his\nstomach resents such treatment, why, it most emphatically \u201cserves him\nright.\u201d As for cucumber, in the days of Evelyn, it was looked upon as\nonly one remove from poison, and it had better be eaten and enjoyed\nwith that opinion in memory. It is a pity that what is pleasant is\nnot always what is proper. Thus the cucumber is attractive, but not\nnutritive; while the onion, at whose very name every man stands with\nhis hand to his mouth, like a Persian in the act of _ad-oration_,\nis exceedingly nourishing and wholesome. But I can never think of\nit, without remembering the story of the man who, having breakfasted\nearly on bread and onions, entered an inn on a bitterly cold morning,\nwith the remark, that for the last two hours he had had the wind in\nhis teeth. \u201cHad you?\u201d said the unfortunate person who happened to be\nnearest to him: \u201cthen, by Jove, the wind had the worst of it!\u201d\n\nAn onion is all very well as an ingredient in a sauce, but to make\na meal of it! Well! it is on record that a dinner _has_ been made,\nat which nothing was served but sauces. A dinner of sauces must have\nbeen quickly prepared; but, for quick preparation, I know nothing that\ncan vie with a feat accomplished, on the 18th of March of the present\nyear, at the Freemasons\u2019 Tavern. The \u201cRound-Catch-and-Canon Club\u201d were\nto dine there at half-past five P.M. An hour previously, the active\nSecretary, Mr. Francis, Vicar-Choral of St. Paul\u2019s, arrived, to see\nthat \u201call was right.\u201d He found all wrong. Through some mistake, no\ncompany was expected; and, there being no other dinners ordered for\nthat day, the weary proprietors, and their chief \u201caids,\u201d were enjoying\na little relaxation. Not only were the high priestesses of the kitchen\n\u201cout,\u201d but the sacred fires of the altars had followed their example.\nGreat was the horror of the able counter-tenor Secretary; but the\ndifficulty was triumphantly met by the accomplished officers of the\nestablishment; and, at six o\u2019clock precisely, forty-two of us sat\ndown to so perfect a banquet, that the shade of Car\u00eame might have\ncontemplated it with a smile of unalloyed satisfaction. This house may\nboast of this _tour de force_ for ever!\n\n\n\n\nSAUCES.\n\n\nThe donor of the sauce dinner, mentioned in the last page, was an\neccentric old Major. He invited three persons to partake of this unique\nrepast. The soup consisted of gravy sauce, and oyster and lobster\nsauce were handed round instead of _filet de sole_. Then came the\nsirloin in guise of egg sauce, on the ground, I suppose, that an egg\nis proverbially \u201cfull of meat.\u201d There was no pheasant, but there was\nbread sauce, to put his guests in mind of the flavour; and if they had\nnot plum-pudding, they had as much towards it as could be implied by\nbrandy sauce; just as Heyne says, that Munich is the modern Athens in\nthis far,--that if it has not the philosophers, it has the hemlock,\nand has Alcibiades\u2019 dog, as a preparation towards getting Alcibiades.\nThe sauce-boats were emptied by the guests. The wine was well-resorted\nto after each boat, and a little brandy settled the viand that was\nrepresented by the egg sauce. Half the guests, between excess of\nlobster sauce and Cognac, were all the worse for the banquet; but that\nproved rather the weakness of their stomachs, than the non-excellence\nof the feast. It is said that the Major, when alone in the evening,\nwound up with a rump-steak supper,--a process rather characteristic of\nthe \u201cold soldier;\u201d but I have heard, in a provincial town, of large\nparties to \u201ctea,\u201d followed by a snug family party, when the guests were\nall departed, to a hot supper, with the usual _et c\u00e6teras_. But let\n_us_ get back from the supper to the matter of seasonings.\n\nSeasonings may be said to form an important item in the practice and\nresults of cookery. The first, and most useful and natural, is salt.\nThe ancients did not allow, at one time, of its use in sacrifices; but\nHomer called it \u201cdivine,\u201d and Plutarch speaks of it as acceptable to\nthe gods. Its value was not known to men until the Ph\u0153nicians, Selech\nand Misor,--so, at least, says an ancient legend,--taught mankind the\nreal worth of this production as a condiment, and thereby gave to\nmeat increased flavour, and to the eaters of it increased health and\nimproved digestions.\n\nThe Roman soldiers received their pay in _salarium_, or \u201csalt-money.\u201d\nThe Mexican rulers punished rebellious provinces by interdicting the\nuse of salt; and Holland, some years since, cruelly took vengeance\non the breakers of the law, by serving them with food, without salt,\nduring the term of their imprisonment. The poor wretches were almost\ndevoured by worms, in consequence of this inhuman proceeding.\n\nOf course, the salt-money of the soldiery was, like the pin-money of\na married lady, employed in other ways than those warranted by its\nappellation. For above three centuries, soldiers served _gratis_, and\nsupported themselves. Then came \u201csalt-money,\u201d or _salarium_, in the\nshape of a couple of _oboli_ daily to the foot, and a _drachma_ to\nthe cavalry. This was to the common men. The Tribunes were, however,\nexorbitantly paid, if Juvenal\u2019s allusion may be trusted, wherein he\nsays that,--\n\n  ----\u201c_alter enim, quantum in legione Tribuni\n  Accipiunt, donat Calvin\u00e6 vel Catien\u00e6_;\u201d\n\nor, as it may be translated,--\n\n  \u201cSuch sums as a full Colonel\u2019s coffers swell,\n  He flings to Lola, or to Laura Bell!\u201d\n\nBut this must have been in very late times, previous to which\nfrugality, modesty, and indifferent pay were ever the Tribune\u2019s share\nof the national virtues and their consequences, lauded by Livy. The\nfirst C\u00e6sar doubled the _salarium_ of the army, and decreed that\nit should never be reduced. His successors followed the example of\nincrease. Augustus fixed the salt-money at ten _asses_ a day, and by\nthe time of Domitian it was considerably more than double that amount.\nFrom that period, the soldiery fed better, and fought worse, than ever.\nUp to the time of the Empire they had been frugal livers, and were not\nabove preparing the rations of corn allowed them with their own hands:\nsome ground it in hand-mills, others pounded it between stones, and the\nhastily-baked cakes were eaten contentedly upon the turf, with nothing\nbetter to wash them down than pure water, or, at best, _posca_, which\nwas water mixed with vinegar,--and a very wholesome beverage, too, in\nhot weather.\n\nThe Jewish dispensation, unlike that of the early Olympian theology,\nenforced the use of salt in all sacrificial ceremonies. That of the\nDead Sea was abundant; and Galen pronounced it as the most favourable\nfor seasoning, and for promoting digestion. The Greeks learned to call\nit \u201cdivine,\u201d and at last consecrated it to their gods. Spilling salt\nwas accounted as unlucky in the days when \u201cyoung Time counted his\nbirthdays by the sun,\u201d as in these modern times when the schoolmaster\nis abroad,--sometimes too much abroad.\n\nAncus Martius was the first of the Roman Kings who levied a duty on\nsalt. He was not visited by the gods--as legends say other Kings were\nwho created such imposts--by some dire calamity. The bad example of\nAncus Martius has continued over nearly the whole of Europe; and a\nslave cannot eat salt to his bread without paying tribute to the King.\n\nThe word \u201csalt\u201d was often used for life itself. When Dordalus says\nto Toxilus, in the \u201c_Persa_,\u201d \u201c_Eodem mihi pretio sal pr\u00e6hibetur qu\u00e6\ntibi_,\u201d--\u201cI get my salt at the same price as you do,\u201d--he simply\nmeans that his manner of life is as good as that of Toxilus, and that\na slave-merchant is as respectable as the very best-fed of slaves\nthemselves. Catullus employs the word to denote beauty; other poets\nuse it to signify virtues of various kinds; and in Terence we find a\nman without salt to mean a man without sense. Plutarch was not wrong\nwhen he styled salt \u201cthe condiment of condiments.\u201d I do not know that\nit has ever been used to point a proverb with a contemptuous meaning,\nexcept in Greece, where he who had nothing to dine upon was called\na \u201csalt-licker.\u201d Rome, where it was of such commercial importance,\nhonoured it more by giving to the road along which it was conveyed the\nname of \u201cthe Salarian Way.\u201d\n\nThere were people who never knew its use, as in Epeiros; some who have\nsteadily rejected it, as the Bathurst tribe in Australia. The Peruvians\ndelighted in it, and ate it mixed with hot pepper and bitter herbs, as\na sort of \u201csweetmeat.\u201d How sacred it is in Arabia, we all know; and,\nin illustration of it, I have heard of an Arab burglar accidentally\nletting his tongue come in contact, as he was plundering a house by\nnight, with a piece of salt. He instantly deemed he had partaken of the\nowner\u2019s hospitality, and he departed without booty. Could Christian\nthieves be so influenced, we should salt our plate-baskets and\ncash-boxes nightly!\n\nIn Sicily a salt is spoken of that melts only in fire, and hardens in\nwater. At Utica, one of the great salt suppliers of the ancient world,\nit lay about in such huge mounds, hardened by the sun and moon, that\nthe pickaxe would scarcely penetrate it. In Arabia whole cities were\nonce built of it, the blocks of salt being cemented by water. It is\nstill procured with most difficulty in Abyssinia, where the clouds are\nsupposed to deposit the crystal in sandy plains, of heat so furious,\nthat it is only during one or two hours of the night that the seekers\nof it dare dash into the locality, and carry off, as hastily as\npossible, what they seek. It is procured far more pleasantly in those\nparts of Chili where it is found deposited on the leaves of plants.\nOff the warmer coasts of South America, and the still hotter shores of\nAfrica, blocks weighing from one to two hundred weight have been picked\nup. Some writers tell us that lakes are nothing more than salt plains\nin solution; and others, that salt plains are merely lakes congealed.\nHowever this may be, it is known that generally four gallons of water\nproduce one of salt; but there is great difference of result in various\nlocalities, some water yielding a sixth, other only a sixteenth. The\ndeep sea-water is the most highly productive. There are various strange\ningredients, too, used in different places to make the salt \u201cgrain\u201d\nproperly. White of egg, butter, ale, and even blood, are employed\nto produce the desired result. In its fossil or mineral state it is\nnowhere seen to such great advantage as in the mines of Williska, in\nPoland. I have seen those near Salzburg, in southern Austria; but these\nare mere salt-cellars, compared with the Polish mine, which forms a\nlarge subterranean city, has its streets, citizens, and coteries, and\nis an underground republic, many of the natives of which die without\nseeing a blade of grass, or a gleam of sunlight, upon the bosom of the\nupper earth.\n\nFinally, salt is the most natural stimulant for the digestive organs;\nbut it should be remembered that too much of it is _almost_ as bad\nas too little. The lowering of the price of salt, a consequence of\nthe abolition of the duty, was beneficial to the poor, and ruinous to\nthe worm-doctors. It is a singular production. In small quantities it\nis a stimulating manure; in large quantities it begets sterility. A\nlittle of it accelerates putrefaction, while a large quantity prevents\nit. Farther, it is to be remembered,--and I have mentioned the fact\nin another page,--that the salt in salted meat is not (whatever it\nmay once have been) the table salt, the use of which is so favourable\nto digestion. In the meat it undergoes a chymical change, by which\nit deteriorates itself as well as the object to which it is applied.\n\u201cSweet salt\u201d was the name once given to sugar; and in reference to this\nlatter production, it may be safely averred, that its introduction\nworked a considerable change in society. And it appears to have been\nearly added to that \u201csignificant luxury,\u201d wheat. In Isaiah xliii. 24\nthere is an allusion made to it in these words: \u201cThou hast bought me\nno sweet cane with money, neither hast thou filled me with the fat of\nsacrifices.\u201d And again, in Jeremiah vi. 20: \u201cTo what purpose cometh\nthere to me incense from Sheba, and sweet cane from a far country?\u201d It\nwould seem, however, that though the sweet cane may have been known,\nits uses were not very speedily appreciated, or, if they were, that\nthey were for a long time forgotten. Thus, as late as the thirteenth\ncentury of our era, a writer speaks of a novel sort of salt that has\nbeen discovered, the flavour of which was sweet, and, as he suggests,\nmight be found acceptable to sick persons, because of its soothing and\ncooling properties. \u201cHoney out of the rock,\u201d which was the sweetener\nmost early noticed in Scripture, fell into comparative disuse, after\nsugar had become a necessary of life, after being first a medicine,\nand then a luxury. The Spaniards received it from the Arabs, and\nfamiliarized it in Europe. Its first settlement beyond the Continent\nwas in Madeira, and at length it found a congenial soil in the islands\nof the Western Indies. God gave the gift, but man has discovered how\nto abuse it to his own destruction; and, from the sweet food offered\nby an angel, he has distilled the fire-water, which slays like the\npestilence. But to return, for a moment, from the sweets to the salts,\nand especially to the latter in the form of brine.\n\nThe Romans were fond of brine,--water in which bay-salt had been\ndissolved,--as a seasoning; and after dinner, those who could not guess\nthe riddles that were put to them, were punished, like the refractory\ngentlemen at the Nightingale Club, by being compelled to swallow a\ncupful, without drawing breath. Apicius invented a composition made up\nof salt, pepper, ginger, thyme, celery, rocket, and anise-seed, with\nlamoni, wild marjoram, holy thistle, spikenard, parsley, and hyssop, as\na specific to be taken, after heavy dinners, against indigestion. They\nwho could digest the remedy need not have been afraid of the dinner.\n\nThat universal seasoning of the classical world, the _garum_, was\noriginally a shrimp sauce; but it was subsequently made of the\nintestines of almost any fish, macerated in water, saturated with salt;\nand when symptoms of putrefaction began to appear, a little parsley\nand vinegar were added; and there was the famous _garum_, of which\nthe inventors were so proud,--and particularly of a _garum_ which was\nprepared in Spain. Flesh instead of fish was occasionally used, with no\ndifference in the process of preparation; and it would be difficult to\nsay which was the nastier. But, perhaps, if we could see the witchery\nof preparing any of our own flavouring sauces, we should be reluctant\never to allow a drop of the polluted mixture to pass our lips. There\n_is_ a bliss in ignorance.\n\nPythagoras showed better taste in the science of seasonings, when he\ntook to eating nothing but honey wherewith to flavour his bread.\nHybla sounds sweet, the very word smells sweet, from its association\nwith honey. Arist\u00e6us, who is said to have discovered its use, merited\nthe patent of nobility, whereby he was declared to have descended\nfrom the gods; and the placing the honeycomb and its makers under the\nprotection of Mellona, expressly made by men for this purpose, was a\nproof of the value in which they were held. Theophrastus placed sugar\namong the honeys,--the honey of reeds,--or the \u201csalt of India,\u201d as some\nstrangely called it. The Greek physicians recommended its use, both as\nfood and as flavourer. It was at one time as scarce as cinnamon,--that\nprecious bark of which the ph\u0153nix made its nest, and which the C\u00e6sars\nmonopolized. Cinnamon and cloves were not employed in seasoning until a\ncomparatively modern period. The good people of earlier days preferred\nverjuice, in certain cases prescribed by Galen. They seemed to have a\ntaste for acids: hence the admiration, both in Greece and Rome, for\nvinegar and pickles. Vinegar figured in the army statistics of Rome\nespecially; but it once, at least, figured in a still more remarkable\nway in the statistics of the French army, in the time of Louis XIII.,\nwhen the Duc de la Meilleraye, Grand Master of the Artillery of France,\nput down \u00a352,000 as the sum expended by him in cooling cannons. How hot\nthe war must have been, and at what a price the fever must have been\nmaintained, when the merely refrigerating process cost so much!\n\nFrench epicures maintain that the pig was born to be \u201cringed,\u201d and that\nhis mission was to rout at the foot of the yoke-elm trees, and turn up\ntruffles! Pliny gravely looked upon the truffle as a prodigy sown by\nthe thunderbolt in autumnal storms. However this may be, all lovers of\ngood things eat the truffle with a sort of devout ecstasy, in spite\nof the wide differences of opinion which exist among the faculty of\nguessers, as to whether the truffle be nutritious or poisonous, fit for\nfood, or monster sire of indigestion. The fact is, that they should be\ndelicately dealt with, like mushrooms; of which he who eats little is\nwise, and he who eats not of them at all is safe from blaming them for\nbringing on indigestion--as far as _he_ is concerned.\n\nThe truffle is thus elaborately, yet not verbosely, described by\nArchimagirus Soyer: \u201cThe truffle is a very remarkable vegetable,\nwhich, without stems, roots, or fibres, grows of itself, isolated in\nthe bosom of the earth, absorbing the nutritive juice. Its form is\nround, more or less regular; its surface is smooth, or tuberculous;\nthe colour, dark brown outside, brown, grey, or white within. Its\ntissue is formed of articulated filaments, between which are spheric\nvesicles, and in the interior are placed reproductive bodies, small\nbrown spheres, called \u2018_truffinelles_.\u2019 Truffles vegetate to the depth\nof five or six inches in the high sandy soils of the south-west of\nFrance, Piedmont, &c. Their mode of vegetation and reproduction is not\nknown. (?) Dogs are trained to find them, as well as pigs, and boars\nalso, who are very fond of them. They are eaten cooked under the ashes,\nor in wine and water. They are preserved when prepared in oil, which is\nsoon impregnated with their odour. Poultry is stuffed with them; also\ngeese\u2019s livers, pies, and cooked pork, besides numerous _rago\u00fbts_. They\npossess, as it is said, exciting virtues.\u201d The latter, we suppose, is\na paraphrase for the sentiment of \u201cFalstaff,\u201d before cited, \u201cIt rains\npotatoes!\u201d Shell-fish had the same reputation in the olden time. \u201c_Tene\nmarsupium_,\u201d says Italius to Olympio, in the _Rudens_:--\n\n  \u201c_Abi atque obsonia propera; sed lepid\u00e8 volo\n  Molliculas escas, ut ipsa mollicula est._\u201d\n\nAs for the mushroom, if it be not in itself deadly, it has been made\nthe vehicle of death. Agrippina poisoned Claudius in one, and Nero,\nhis successor, had a respect for this production ever after. Tiberius,\nin Pagan, and Clement VII., in Papal, Rome, as well as Charles VI.\nof France, are also said to have been \u201capproximately\u201d killed by\nmushrooms. Seneca calls them \u201cvoluptuous poison,\u201d and of this poison\nhis countrymen ate heartily, and suffered dreadfully. The mushroom was\nnot rendered harmless by the process of Nicander,--raising them under\nthe shadow of a well-irrigated and richly-manured fig-tree.\n\nOne of the most perfect illustrations of \u201csauce,\u201d in its popular sense,\nwith which I am acquainted, is conveyed in the reply once given by a\nFrench _Cur\u00e9_ to his Bishop. It is a regulation made by canonical law,\nthat a Priest cannot keep a female servant to manage his household,\nunless she be of the assigned age of, at least, forty years. It once\nhappened that a Bishop dined with a _Cur\u00e9_, at whose house the Prelate\nhad arrived in the course of a visitation tour. On that occasion he\nfound that they were waited on at dinner by two quietly pretty female\nattendants, of some twenty years each. When diocesan and subordinate\nwere once more alone, the former remarked on the uncanonical condition\nof the household, and asked the _Cur\u00e9_ if he were not aware that, by\nrule of church, he could maintain but one _menag\u00e8re_, who must have\nattained, at least, forty years of age? \u201cI am quite aware of it,\n_Monseigneur_,\u201d said the rubicund _Cur\u00e9_; \u201cbut, as you see, I prefer\nhaving my housekeeper in two volumes!\u201d\n\nWith respect to the use of spices, it may be safely said, that the\nless they are used, the better for the stomach. A _soup\u00e7on_ of them\nin certain preparations is not to be objected to; but it must be\nrecollected that in most cases, however pleasant they may be to the\npalate, the apparent vigour which they give to the stomach is at the\nexpense of the liver, and the reaction leaves the former in a worse\ncondition than it was in before.\n\nThe world probably never saw a second time such a trade in spices\nas that which was carried on of old between Canaan and Egypt. The\nDutch and Amboyna was a huckstering matter compared with it. Egypt\nsent Canaan her corn, wine, oil, and linen; and Canaan sent, in\nreturn, her spicery, balm, myrrh, precious woods, and minerals. The\nIshmaelites were the carrying merchants; and, while each class of them\nhad its especial article of commerce, they all dabbled a little in\nslave-dealing. Thus, the men of the tribe that purchased Joseph dealt\nin spicery only,--a term including balm and myrrh. The Egyptian demand\nfor the article was enormous. At the period of the sale of Joseph,\nspicery was most extensively used, not only for the embalming of men,\nbut of sacred animals. In after times, this practice ceased to a great\nextent, on account of a large failure in the supply.\n\nThere is something very characteristic of the \u201cancient nation\u201d in\nthe transaction of the brethren with respect to Joseph. The general\nproposal was to slay him; but it was Judah, first of his race, who,\nwith a strong eye to business, exclaimed, \u201cWhat _profit_ to slay\nour brother, and conceal his blood? Come, let us _sell him_ to the\nIshmaelites.\u201d The opposition to fratricide, on the part of Judah,\nwas not on the principle that it was a crime, but that it brought\nnothing. But, no sooner had he pointed out how they might get rid of\nthe troublesome brother, and put money in their purses to boot, than\nthe profligate kinsmen adopted the project with alacrity, preferring\nlucrative felony to downright profitless murder.--Do I hear you remark,\nSir, that it has ever been thus with this rebellious Jewish people?\nWell, let us not be rash in assertions. Judah was a very mercenary\nfellow, no doubt; but it was better to sell a live brother into a\nslavery which gave him the chance of sitting at the table of Pharaoh\nPhiops, than to murder one for the mere sake of making money by the\nsale of the body, as was done by a Christian gentleman of the name of\nBurke.\n\nThere are some plants used in seasoning which have been esteemed for\nother virtues besides lending a fillip to the appetite. Others of these\nseasoning plants have acquired an evil reputation. Thus orach was said\nto cause pallor and dropsy. Rocket had a double use: it not only was\nsaid to remove freckles, but an infusion of it in wine rendered the\nhide of a scourged convict insensible to the whip. Fennel was, unlike\nasparagus, held to be good for the sight. Dill, on the other hand,\ninjured the eyes, while it strengthened the stomach. Anise-seed was in\ngreat favour with the medical philosophers, who prescribed it to be\ntaken, fasting, in wine; and hyssop wine was a specific for cutaneous\neruptions, brought on by drinking wine of a stronger quality. Wild\nthyme cured the bite of serpents,--if the sufferer could only collect\nit in time; and pennyroyal was sovereign for indigestion. Rue cured the\near-ache, and nullified poisons; for which latter purpose it was much\nused by Mithridates. Mint was gaily eaten, with many a joke, because\nit was said to have been originally a pretty girl, metamorphosed by\nProserpine. The Romans, now and then, ate camomile at table, just as\nold country ladies, when tea was first introduced, and sent to them as\na present, used to boil the leaves, and serve them, at dinner, like\nspinach. Capers, in the olden time, were vulgar berries, and left for\ndemocratic digestion. \u201cI once saw growing in Italy,\u201d said an Irish\ntraveller, fit to be \u201cown correspondent\u201d to one of the morning papers,\n\u201cthe finest anchovies I ever beheld!\u201d A listener naturally doubted the\nalleged fact; and the offended Irishman not only called him out, but\nshattered his knee-cap by a pistol-shot. As he was leaping about with\nintensity of pain, the Irishman\u2019s second remarked to his principal,\nthat he had made his adversary cut capers, at any rate. \u201cCapers!\u201d\nexclaimed the Hibernian, \u201ccapers! \u2019faith, that\u2019s it. Sure, Sir,\u201d\nhe added, advancing to his antagonist, \u201cyou were right; it was not\nanchovies, but capers, that I saw growing. I beg pardon: don\u2019t think\nany more about it.\u201d Let us add, that, if the aristocratic ancients\ndeeply declined capers, they were exceedingly fond of assaf\u0153tida, as a\nseasoning ingredient. Green ginger was also a popular condiment; and it\nis commonly eaten in Madagascar at this day. I suppose that, in former\ntimes, Hull imported this production in large quantities, and that\ntherefore one of her streets is called \u201cthe Land of Green Ginger.\u201d The\nRomans gave wormwood wine to the charioteers, perhaps considering that\nthe stomachic beverage would secure them from dizziness.\n\nI have mentioned above that Mithridates patronized rue as a nullifier\nof poisons. He was in the habit of swallowing poisons, as people in\nthe summer swallow ices; and he was famous for inventing antidotes, to\nenable him to take them with impunity. One consequence is, that he has\ngained a sort of immortality in our pharmacop\u0153ia; and \u201cMithridate,\u201d\nin pharmacy, is a compound medicine, in form of an electuary, serving\nas either a remedy or a preservative against poisons, being also\naccounted a cordial, opiate, sudorific, and alexipharmic. \u201cMithridate\u201d\nis, or rather, I suppose, was, one of the capital medicines in the\napothecaries\u2019 shops. The preparation of it, according to the direction\nof the College, is as follows; and I request my readers to peruse it\nattentively, and to get it by heart, in case of necessity supervening.\nHere is the facile recipe: \u201cTake of cinnamon, fourteen drachms; of\nmyrrh, eleven drachms; agarick, spikenard, ginger, saffron, seeds of\ntreacle-mustard, frankincense, Chio turpentine, of each ten drachms;\ncamel\u2019s hay, costus, Indian leaf, French lavender, long pepper, seeds\nof hartwort, juice of the rape of cistus, strained storax, opopanax,\nstrained galbanum, balsam of Gilead, or, in its stead, expressed oil\nof nutmegs, Russian castor, of each an ounce; poly-mountain, water\ngermander, the fruit of the balsam tree, seeds of the carrot of Crete,\nbdellium strained, of each seven drachms; Celtic nard, gentian root,\nleaves of dittany of Crete, red roses, seed of Macedonian parsley, the\nlesser Cardanum seeds freed from their husks, sweet fennel seeds, gum\nArabic, opium strained, of each five drachms; root of the sweet flag,\nroot of wild valerian, anise-seed, sagapenum strained, of each three\ndrachms; spignel, St. John\u2019s wort, juice of acacia, the bellies of\nscinks, of each two drachms and a half; of clarified honey, thrice the\nweight of all the rest: dissolve the opium first in a little wine, and\nthen mix it with the honey made hot. In the mean time, melt together,\nin another vessel, the galbanum, storax, turpentine, and the balsam of\nGilead, or the expressed oil of nutmeg,\u201d (I have no doubt that one will\ndo quite as well as the other; and this must be highly satisfactory for\nsufferers to know,) \u201ccontinually stirring them round, that they may\nnot burn; and, as soon as these are melted, add to them the hot honey,\nfirst by spoonsful, and afterwards more freely. Lastly, when this\nmixture is nearly cold, add by degrees the rest of the spices reduced\nto powder,\u201d----_and_, as the French quack used to say of his specific\nfor the toothache, if it does you no harm, it will certainly do you no\ngood. For my own part, I think the remedy worse than the disease; but a\ngentleman just poisoned may be of another opinion; and I can only say,\nthat if, with prussic acid knocking at his pylorus, he has leisure to\nwait till the above prescription is made up for him,--till the bellies\nof scinks and the camel\u2019s hay are procured, and till the ingredients\nare amalgamated \u201cby degrees,\u201d--he will, _if_ he survive the poison, the\nwaiting, and the remedy, have deserved to be called, \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u2019 \u1f10\u03be\u03bf\u03c7\u1f74\u03bd, the\n\u201cpatient.\u201d But here are the pastry and the fruits; and there ARE people\nwho are given to believe that pastry and poison are not very wide\nasunder.\n\nWhen Murat wished to instigate the Italians to labour, he cut down\ntheir olive-trees. The Jews were forbidden to destroy fruit-trees, even\nin an enemy\u2019s country; and it used to be a law in France, and may be\nso still, that when an individual had received permission to cut down\none of his trees, it was on condition of his planting two. The planters\nof vineyards enjoyed many privileges under the Jewish dispensation,\nand heathen governments placed both vineyards and orchards under the\nprotection of the most graceful of their deities, and these deities\nwere supposed to have an especial affection for particular trees. The\nRomans were skilled in forcing their fruits, which were produced at the\nthird course, and not, as with the Greeks, at the second.\n\nMinerva is popularly said to have given birth to the olive, which was\nthe emblem of Peace, the latter being naturally born of Wisdom. But\nthe poisoned shafts of Hercules were made of the olive, perhaps to\nsymbolize those armed neutralities which are generally so fatal to\npowers with whom the neutrals affect to be at peace. The Autocrat of\nRussia, for instance, has been dealing very largely in olive shafts,\ntipped with death. But the olive was known to the world before Wisdom,\ntaking flesh, sprang in her bright panoply from the brain of her sire,\nand was called Minerva. From Judea the olive was taken into Greece;\nit was not planted within the territory of Rome until a later period;\nand, finally, in Spain it found a soil as favourable to cultivation as\nthat of Decapolis, on holy ground. The Ancona olives were the most\nhighly esteemed by the Roman Patricians, at whose tables they opened\nand closed the banquet. While the olives were greedily swallowed,\nthe expressed oil was distributed by way of largess to the people.\nIt was declared to possess, if not a vital principle, something\nthat stimulated and maintained vitality. Augustus, who was for ever\nwhiningly hoping that he might die easily, and for ever chanting the\nprayer, \u201cEuthanasia!\u201d asked Pollio how he might best maintain his\nhealth and strength in old age. \u201cYou have nothing in the world to\ndo,\u201d said Pollio, \u201cbut to drink abundance of wine, and lubricate your\nimperial carcase with plenty of oil!\u201d--a prescription which does not\nsay much for the medical instruction of Pollio. Olive oil was so scarce\nat one time, in Europe, that in 817 the Council of Aix-la-Chapelle\nauthorized the priests to manufacture anointing oil from bacon. With\nregard to the fruit itself, it has not even yet undisputed possession\nof the public approval; and I am very much of the opinion of the\nfarmer who, having taken some at his landlord\u2019s table, expressed his\nindignation on reaching home, that he had been served with gooseberries\nstewed in----brine.\n\nThe palm-tree wine of the Hebrews inspired song, and thence, perhaps,\ndid the palm itself pass into the possession of the mythological Muses.\nThe palm-tree deserved to be a popular tree: its wood furnished man\nwith a house, its branches with fuel; its leaves afforded him garments,\nand a bed; and from them he could manufacture baskets, wherein to\ncarry the fruit, bread, and cakes which he could make from its dates.\nI am only astonished that tradition has not made the palm, rather than\nthe beech or the oak, the original tree which first fed, clothed, and\nsheltered man.\n\nThe cherry, compared with the palm, is but as a rustic beauty,\ncompared with Cleopatra. Mithridates and Lucullus share the glory of\nmaking men acquainted with its fruit. From Cerasus, in Asia, Lucullus,\nno doubt, transplanted a cultivated fruit-tree, of a peculiarly fine\nsort; but the fruit itself was not unknown to the Romans long anterior\nto the time of Lucullus. It was slow in acquiring an esteem in Italy.\nThe most extraordinary species of cherry with which I am acquainted,\nis the Australian cherry, which grows with the stone on the outside.\nBut Nature, in Australia, is distinguished for her freaks. There the\npears are made of wood, and salt-water fish abound in the fresh-water\nrivers! The nastiest species I know of, grows in the vicinity of, and\nsome of them within, the cemetery of P\u00e8re-la-Chaise, at Paris. They are\nmagnificent to the eye, and are not ill-flavoured; but, at the heart of\neach there is a maggot, as fat as one of Rubens\u2019s Cupids, and, saving\na slight bitterness, with as much of the taste of the cherry in him as\na citizen of ripe Stilton has of the cheese of which he is so lively a\npart. There is not a bad story told of an old and poor Spanish Grandee,\nwho used to put on spectacles when he sat down to his modest dinner of\nbread and cherries, in order that the fruit might gain, apparently,\nin magnitude. There was philosophy in this pleasant conceit! If the\npoor nobleman had had a dish of our cherries, from Kent, Berks, or\nOxfordshire, he would not have stood in need of his merry delusion.\n\nHow grateful to the palate is the Armenian apricot, blushing, in its\nprecocity, like a young nymph; or the Persian peach, for a couple\nof which the Romans would give a score of pounds! The peach has an\nevil tradition with it. It is said to have been originally poisonous,\nbut to have lost its deadliness when it was transplanted. Perhaps\nthe peculiarly peachy odour of prussic acid may have contributed to\ngive currency to a very long-lived, but entirely foundationless,\ntradition,--except, indeed, that poison may be extracted from the\nkernel; but so may arsenic from a Turkey carpet, and, indeed, from\napple-pips also, as Sir Fitzroy Kelly told the jury, when endeavouring\nto save from the gallows a man who had murdered his mistress, in\norder that he might not put in peril his respectability! Perhaps the\nplum-tree, whether of Africa or Asia, from Egypt or Damascus, has\nbeen more fatal to health, if not to life, than any other of the\nstone-fruits. When Pliny complained of their superabundant propagation\nin Italy, he probably had in view the usual consequences of a very\nplentiful plum season.\n\nThe apricot was not known in France till the eleventh century, and\nthen they were accounted dear at a farthing each. In the same century\ncherries used to appear at the royal table in May. To effect this, lime\nwas laid at the roots of the tree, which was irrigated with warm water!\nLouis XIII. was fond of early fruit, and he had strawberries in March,\nand figs in June: this is more than the most expert fig-rearers in\nSussex ever accomplished! The fig used to be esteemed as only inferior\nto that compound of luscious savours, the pine,--a fruit which, in the\nseventeenth century, was religiously patronized by the Jesuits. The\nsame sort of sanction was given in the East to dates, though these were\nfashionable in Rome, after a basket of them had been sent from Jericho\nto Augustus. The Tunis dates are the best; but indulgence in them is\nsaid to loosen the teeth, and produce scurvy. The Tunisian ladies,\nhowever, were as fond of them as the French ladies were of sweet\ncitrons, before oranges were patronized by Louis XIV. The ladies used\nto carry them about, and occasionally suck them, the operation being\nconsidered excellent to produce ruby lips. The citron was hardly less\npopular than the Reine Claude plum, which received its pretty name from\nthe Queen of Francis I., and daughter of Louis XII. I have noticed\nthe Sussex fig: the white fig of the Channel Islands is also highly\nprized; and there is a tree at Hampton Court renowned for its fruit,\nbut they who eat had better not too curiously inquire as to where the\nroot of that productive tree penetrates, in order to accomplish its\nproductiveness. In Sicily, they acupuncture the tree, and drop into it\na little oil, and this is said to improve the flavour of the fruit.\nTo what I have previously said of the peach, I may add here what the\nChinese say of it; namely, that it produces eternity of life, and\nprevents corruption until the end of the world. This species would be a\npopular one in England.\n\nSome writers assert that the apple was originally an African; but a\nNegro with a red nose would be an anomaly; and the apple-tree does\nnot look as if it came from the country of the children of the sun.\nNevertheless, historians assert that it crossed the Mediterranean,\nand reached Normandy through Spain and France. The apple has been as\nproductive of similes as of cider; and perhaps the prettiest is that\nof Jeremy Taylor, who says, in his Sermon on the \u201cMarriage Ring,\u201d\nthat the \u201ccelibate, like the fly in the heart of an apple, dwells in\na perpetual sweetness; but sits alone, and is confined, and dies in\nsingularity:\u201d--a figure of speech, by the way, not highly calculated\nto frighten a bachelor. But, after all, the sentiment of Jeremy Taylor\nis preferable to that of Gregory of Nazianzum, who calls a wife \u201can\nacquired evil; and, what is worse, one that cannot be put away.\u201d\nHowever this may be, apples were once productive of matrimony in Wales.\nWhen the fruit-dealers there could not find a market, they proclaimed\na dance. The revellers paid entrance-money, and received apples in\nreturn. These meetings were called \u201capple lakings;\u201d and the fruit was\nsauce for many a consequent wedding-dinner. The finest used to be\nkept for accompaniment to the roast goose eaten on St. Crispin\u2019s Day.\nBrides, in remote times, used to carry a love-apple in their bosoms;\nas fond thereof as the pitman\u2019s wife of Northumberland was of the\ntwo lambs which she suckled, after their dams had been killed in a\nstorm. This was a more creditable affection than that of Marc Antony\u2019s\ndaughter for a lamprey, which she adorned with ear-rings, and which she\nexhibited at dinner; as Lord Erskine did the leeches which had cured\nhim of some complaint, and which, enclosed in a bottle, he sent round\nwith the wine. He called one \u201cCline\u201d and the other \u201cHome,\u201d from the\ngreat surgeons of those names; and noble guests, before filling their\nglasses, gravely inspected the leeches, and then duly passed on the\nreptiles and the wine.\n\nThis is what a Frenchman would have called a \u201c_triste plaisanterie,\n\u00e0 l\u2019Anglaise_;\u201d and, by the way, I may remark, that Th\u00e9ophile de\nGaranci\u00e8res imputes the alleged melancholic nature of Englishmen to the\ngreat use which we make of sugar. Our sires used to make one curious\nuse of sugar, undoubtedly; namely, when they put it into the mouth\nof the dying, in order that their souls might pass away with less\nbitterness!\n\nThere is a German proverb which says, that \u201cit is unadvisable to eat\ncherries with potentates.\u201d In English this might mean, \u201cDo not make too\nfree with your betters.\u201d Few royal families, however, have given their\ninferiors more frequent opportunities to \u201ceat cherries\u201d with them,\nthan that of Prussia. I am reminded of this while upon the subject of\npine-apple, a slice of which was once given by Frederick William III.\nto a lad employed in the gardens at Sans Souci. \u201cHere,\u201d said the King,\npleasantly, \u201ceat, enjoy, and reflect while thou art eating. Now, what\ndoes it taste like?\u201d The boy looked puzzled, as he munched the pine;\nthought of all the most delightful things that had ever passed over\nhis palate and clung to his memory, and, at last, with a satisfied\nexpression, exclaimed, \u201cI think,--yes, it does,--it tastes like\nsausage!\u201d The courtiers laughed aloud; and the King, philosophizing on\nthe boy\u2019s answer, said, \u201cWell, every one has his own standard of taste,\nguiding his feelings and judgment, and each one believes himself to be\nright. One fancies he discovers in the pine-apple the flavour of the\nmelon; another, of the pear; a third, the plum. Yon lad, in his sphere\nof tastes, finds therein his favourite food--the sausage.\u201d\n\nThe lad\u2019s answer was as much food for mirth at Sans Souci, as was that\nof the Eton boy who was invited by Queen Adelaide to dine at Windsor\nCastle, and who was honoured with a seat at Her Majesty\u2019s side. The boy\nwas bashful,--the Queen encouraging; and, when the sweets were on the\ntable, she kindly asked him what he would like to take. The Etonian\u2019s\neyes glanced hurriedly and nervously from dish to dish; pointing to\none of which, he, in some agitation, exclaimed, \u201cOne of those twopenny\ntarts!\u201d His young eye had recognised the favourite \u201c_tuck_\u201d he was in\nthe habit of indulging in at _the_ shop in Eton, and he asked for it\naccording to the local phrase in fashion. Reverting to the lad who\ncompared pine-apple to German sausage, I may remark, that pine-apple\nis most to be enjoyed when the weather is of that condition which made\nSydney Smith once express a wish, that he could \u201cslip out of his fat,\nand sit in his bones.\u201d\n\nThe quince is a native of Cydon, in Crete; and first Greece, and then\nRome, Gaul, and Spain, learned to love the fruit, and drink a quince\nwine, which was said to be excellent either as a stomachic or as a\ncounter-poison.\n\nGalen recommended the pear as an astringent, which is more than a\nmodern practitioner will do. St. Francis de Paul introduced one sort\ninto France when he paid a medical visit to Louis XI. The species was\nnamed from the saint, \u201c_le bon Chr\u00e9tien_.\u201d\n\nThe apple may lay fair claim to antiquity of birth. The fruit has\nbeen diversely estimated by divers nations; but the general favour\nhas usually awaited it. In ancient times, both in Greece and Persia,\nit was the custom for a bridegroom at his nuptial feast to partake\nof a single apple, and of nothing else. The origin of the custom is\nsaid to arise from a decree issued by Solon. It was the sight of an\napple that always put Vladislas, King of Poland, into fits. It is the\nbest fruit that can be taken as an accompaniment to wine; and the\nbest sorts for such a purpose are the Ribstone Pippin and the Coster\nPearmain. The golden apples stolen by Hercules were lemons; and they\nare suspected to have been the \u201cMedian apples\u201d of Theophrastus. The\nRomans, at first, employed this Asiatic fruit only as a means for\nkeeping moths out of garments; from this household use it passed into\nthe ancient pharmacop\u0153ia, and it took rank among the counter-poisons.\nIts acknowledged reputation in scurvy and punch, if I may so express\nmyself, was not made until a much later period of civilization. The\norange disputes with the lemon the honour of being the \u201cHesperides\napples,\u201d--which is a dispute of a very Hibernian character. China\nwas probably its native place; and the Portuguese oranges are merely\ndescendants of the original \u201cChinaman.\u201d It was not known in France\nuntil introduced there by the Constable de Bourbon. In England, an\norange, stuck full of cloves, was a fitting New Year\u2019s present from a\nlover,--being typical of warmth and sweetness.\n\nThe fig-tree appears to have been, like the vine, very early used as a\nsymbol of peace and plenty. It was a tree of Eden; yet the Athenians\nclaimed it as a native tree, asserting, by way of proof, that it had\nbeen given them by Ceres,--not reflecting that Ceres _may_ have brought\nit from a region farther east. If it be commonly employed in Scripture\nas a symbol, so an American poet has taken it, with its scriptural\nallusions, to illustrate worldly marriages, of which he says, that--\n\n  ----they are like unto\n    Jeremiah\u2019s figs:\n  The good are very good indeed;\n    The bad, not fit for pigs.\n\nThe authorities of Attica were so fond of _their_ figs, that they\npassed a law against the exportation of the fruit. The advocates of\nfree trade in figs broke the law when they could do so with profit;\nand the men who affected to be on friendly terms with them, in order\nto betray their proceedings to the Magistrates, were called by a\nname which is now given to all fawning traitors,--they were styled,\n_sycophants_, or \u201cfig-declarers.\u201d Even the philosophers in Greece\nbecame greedy in presence of figs; and with figs famished armies have\nbeen braced anew for the fight. The _athlet\u00e6_ ate of them before\nappearing in the arena; and more than one invasion has been traced to\nthe taste of the invader for figs. Medical men were divided in opinion\nas to the merits of this fruit. It was considered indigestible; but, to\nremedy that, almonds were recommended to be eaten with it! The Romans,\nperhaps, were wiser, who took pepper with them, as we do with melon;\nand Dr. Madden says that we should never eat figs at all, if we could\nonly spend half an hour in Smyrna, and see them packed. So, as I have\nbefore said, a sight of the kitchen, just before dinner, would take\naway appetite; but as people do not commonly go to Smyrna, or sit with\ntheir cooks, why, figs and dinners will continue to be eaten. Modern\nprofessors have resembled ancient philosophers in an uncontrollable\nappetite for figs. Who has not heard of the famous Oxford fig, which,\nin its progress to luscious maturity, was protected by an inscription\nappended to it, conveying information to the effect that \u201cthis is the\nPrincipal\u2019s fig!\u201d which a daring Undergraduate one day devoured, and\nadded insult to injury by changing the old placard for one on which\nwas written, \u201cA fig for the Principal?\u201d The felonious fig-stealer\nmust have been more rapid in his sacrilege, than the poet Thomson\nwas in his method of enjoying his own peaches in his garden at Kew.\nAttired in the loosest and dirtiest of morning-gowns, the author of the\n\u201cCastle of Indolence\u201d used to watch his peaches ripening in the sun.\nWhen he saw one bursting with liquid promise, he was too lazy to take\nhis unwashed hands from his well-worn pockets, and pluck the blushing\ntreasure. No; \u201cJamie\u201d simply sauntered up to it, contemplated it for a\nmoment with a yawn, and finished his yawn by biting a piece out of the\nfruit,--leaving the ghastly remains on the branch for wasps and birds\nto divide between them.\n\nAs the Athenian rulers kept their figs, so did the Persian Kings\ntheir walnuts,--and more selfishly; for no one but their most sacred\nMajesties dared eat any; but one would think that even they would find\nit hard to digest all the walnuts that the country could produce. It\nis averred, that walnuts entered largely into the Mithridatic recipe\nagainst poison. The modern recipe, called \u201cMithridate,\u201d I have given\nelsewhere; but that which Pompey is said to have found in the palace of\nthe King whom he had overthrown, was as follows: \u201cPound, with care, two\nwalnuts, two dried figs, twenty pounds of rue, and _a grain of salt_.\u201d\nYes, we should say it must be taken _cum grano_. Howbeit, the royal\nphysician goes on to say, \u201cSwallow this mixture,--precipitate it with a\nlittle wine,--and you have nothing to fear from the action of the most\nactive poison, for the space of four-and-twenty hours.\u201d There would,\nprobably, be less to fear after that time had elapsed than before.\n\nNuts have not had respectability conferred on them, even by Nero,\nwho was wont to go _incog._ to the upper gallery of the theatre, and\ntake delight in pelting them on the bald head of the Pr\u00e6tor, who\nsat below. That official knew the offender, and was rewarded for\nbearing the attack good-humouredly; and thence, perhaps, the proverb\nwhich characterizes something falling, at once sudden and pleasant,\nby the term, \u201cThat\u2019s nuts!\u201d Of course, nuts were in fashion; not so\nchestnuts,--these were as much disliked by the Patricians as the\nfilbert and hazel were said, in France, to be hated by the sun. When\nthey were ripening, the inhabitants used to issue forth at sunrise,\nand endeavour to frighten the luminary out of the firmament, by making\na horrid uproar, with pots, pans, and kitchen utensils generally. And\nthis was done under a Christian dispensation. The people were not\nheathen Chinese, trying to cure an eclipsed planet by attacking the\ndragon that was supposed to be swallowing it, with a _tintamarre_ of\ncaldron, kettle, tongs, and trivet.\n\nThe Athenians were great hands at dumplings, consisting of fruit,\ncovered with a light and perfumed paste; and Rhodes, verifying the\nproverb, that \u201cextremes meet,\u201d was as famous for its gingerbread as\nfor its Colossus. The Roman wedding-cake was a simple mixture of sweet\nwine and flour; and the _savilum_ pie, made of flour, cheese, honey,\nand eggs, was a dish to make all sorts of guests jubilant. It was,\nin short, the national pie; and if there were a dish that was more\npopular, it was the _artocreas_, a huge mince-pie, and the imperial\npie of Verus, compounded of sow\u2019s flank, pheasant, peacock, ham, and\nwild boar, all hashed together, and covered with crust. If Emperors\ninvented pies, so did philosophers create cakes; and the _libuna_ of\nCato was a real cheesecake, that gave as much delight as any of the\nsame author\u2019s works in literature. Cheese was a favourite foundation\nfor many of the Roman cakes; but he was a bold man who added chalk, and\nso invented the _placenta_. Yet the _placenta_ was eaten as readily\nas Charles XII. swallowed raspberry-tarts, Frederick II. Savoy cakes,\nor Marshal Saxe--who loved pastry, pastrycooks, and pastrycooks\u2019\ndaughters--macaroons.\n\nThe Church honoured pastry,--or would so pious a King as St. Louis have\nraised the pastrycooks to the dignity of a guild? The Abbey of St.\nDenis, long before this, stipulated with the tenant-farmers, that they\nshould deliver a certain quantity of flour, to make pastry with; and,\nin some cases, in France, portions of the rent for lands was to be paid\nin puff pastry. This was at a time when fennel-root tooth-picks used to\nappear at table, thrust into the preserved fruits, and every one was\nexpected to help himself. Certainly our refined neighbours had some\nquestionable customs. See what L\u2019Etoile says: (1596) \u201c_Les confitures\ns\u00e8ches et les massepains y \u00e9taient si peu \u00e9pargn\u00e9s que les dames et\ndemoiselles \u00e9taient contraintes de s\u2019en d\u00e9charger sur les pages et\nlaquais, auxquels on les baillait tout entiers._\u201d\n\nPrince George of Denmark, the consort of Queen Anne, was never\nsuspected of intermeddling with the foreign policy of the kingdom;\nbut he was something renowned for his appetite, and for the bent of\nit towards pastry. I think it is Archdeacon Coxe, in his \u201cLife of the\nDuke of Marlborough,\u201d who says of this illustrious Prince, that he\nwould leave the battle-field, in the very heat of action, and come into\ncamp, with the hungry inquiry, if it were not yet dinner-time. This\nwas something worse than drawing off the hounds, or unloading the\nfowling-pieces, because the \u201cCastle bell\u201d was peremptorily ringing to\nluncheon. Prince George was just the sort of man--fond of good living,\nand able to entertain others with the same predilection--who was\nlikely to be surrounded by parasites; and the remembrance of this fact\nsuggests that, while the wine is passing round, I may venture to give a\nsketch of that ancient and remarkable gentleman, \u201cthe Parasite.\u201d It is\nbetter than getting upon controversial subjects, which are productive\nof any thing but unanimity. I remember one of the very pleasantest\nof \u201cafter-dinners\u201d being marred by a guest, who, having slipped into\nthe assertion that the Jews were the earliest of created people, was\nindiscreet enough to try to maintain what he had asserted, and weak\nenough to be angry at finding it summarily rejected. Why, Father\nAbraham himself was but a foreign Heathen, from Ur of the Chaldees;\nand to claim primeval antiquity for the Jews is only as absurd as if\none were to say, that Yankees and mint julep were anterior to Alfred\u2019s\ncakes and the Anglo-Saxons.\n\nBut many a hasty assertion has been simply the effect of an antagonism\nbetween imperfect chymification and the oppressed intellect. Mind\nand matter have much influence on each other; and, for the guidance\nof those interested in such questions, I may, while on the subject\nof dinner, notice, that from Dr. Beaumont\u2019s \u201cTable,\u201d drawn out to\nshow the mean time of digestion in the stomach (or _chymification_)\nof various articles of food, we learn that boiled tripe ranks first\nin amiable facility, being disposed of in about one hour. Venison\nsteak requires some half-hour more. Boiled turkey and roast pig are\nclassed together, as requiring two hours and twenty-five minutes for\nthe process of digestion; while roast turkey and hashed meat demand\nfive minutes more. Fricass\u00e9ed chicken is not more facile of digestion\nthan boiled salt beef, both requiring two hours and three-quarters.\nBoiled mutton, broiled beefsteak, and soft-boiled eggs, take three\nhours; while roast beef and old strong cheese trouble the stomach for\nsome three hours and a half. Roast duck, and fowls, whether boiled or\nroasted, are alike slow of digestion: they require four hours as their\nmean time of chymification, and are only exceeded by boiled cabbage,\nwhich requires full half-an-hour more. I borrow these details from an\narticle in the \u201cJournal of Psychological Medicine,\u201d for January, 1851,\na periodical edited by Dr. Forbes Winslow. I believe I do not err in\nattributing the article in question (\u201cMental Dietetics\u201d) to the able\npen of the accomplished Editor himself, than whom no man has a better\nright to speak _ex cathedr\u00e2_ on the subject in question. It will be\nseen, by the following extract from this article, that diet influences\nthe mind as well as the body. \u201cThe nutritive particles of the food,\u201d\nsays Dr. Winslow, \u201cbeing in the form of chyle, mixed with the blood,\nand supplying it with the elements which enable it to repair the waste\nof the animal system, it is obvious that the health, both of the body\nand of the mind, must depend on the quality and quantity of the vital\nstream. According to Lecanu, the proportion of the red globules of the\nblood may be regarded as a measure of vital energy; for the action of\nthe serum and of the globules on the nervous system is very different.\nThe former scarcely excites it, the latter do so powerfully. Now those\ncauses which tend to increase the mass of blood, tend also to increase\nthe proportion of red globules; whilst those which tend to diminish the\nmass of blood, tend to diminish the proportion of the globules. The\nresult is obvious. A large quantity of stimulating animal food, without\na proper amount of exercise, augments the number of the red globules,\nand diminishes the aqueous part of the blood. Hence the nervous system\nbecomes oppressed, the brain frequently congested, and the intellectual\nfaculties no longer enjoy their wonted activity. In the mean time, the\nsystem endeavours to relieve itself by throwing a counter-stimulus upon\ncertain other organs, the functions of which are morbidly increased.\nThe blood, in such cases, becomes preternaturally thickened, and its\ncoagulum unusually firm. On the other hand, if the system be not\nsupplied with the requisite amount of nutrition, the blood becomes,\nby the loss of its red corpuscles, impoverished in quality, and, in\ncases of extreme abstinence, diminished in quantity. In these cases the\npowers of the mind soon become enfeebled.\u201d\n\nBut we will pass from these scientific matters, to seek the company of\none who, if ignorant of science, was, generally, a great man in the\nprofession of his peculiar art,--the ancient parasite.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PARASITE.\n\n  ----\u201cPity those whose flanks grow great,\n    Swell\u2019d by the lard of others\u2019 meat.\u201d--HERRICK.\n\n\nPara, \u201cnear,\u201d and _sitos_, \u201ccorn,\u201d pretty well explain what the Greeks\nunderstood by the word \u201cparasite.\u201d As the worthless weed among the\nwheat, so was this classical Skimpole in the field of society. As the\nweed hung for support to the substance that promised to yield it, so\ndid the parasite cling to the side of those who kept good tables, and\nlacked wit to enliven them.\n\nThe parasite was too delicate a fellow to allow of invidious\ndistinctions. He supped or dined wherever he was invited, and at\nmarriage feasts waited for no invitation at all. _There_ he was in his\nglory. He was the cracker of jokes, and of the heads of those who did\nnot agree with every word that fell from the lips of the Amphitryon of\nthe hour. He usually, however, got his own skull bruised by the watch,\nwhen staggering home through the dark, \u201cfull of the god,\u201d and without\na slave to direct his steps. But it was only with the morning that he\nbecame conscious at once of pain from the bruises, and the necessity of\nproviding, at the cost of others, for his own breakfast.\n\nThese professional \u201clivers out\u201d were, however, not always unattended.\nThe victims whom they flattered sometimes lent them a slave. Their\nwardrobe seldom extended beyond two suits, one for the public, and\none for wear at home. They looked abroad for dupes, just as our\nring-droppers used to do, and for the same purpose. The parasite\ngenerally attached himself to the first simple-looking personage he\nencountered, provided he bore with him proofs of being a man who could\nafford to live well. _Simplex_ usually swallowed with complacency all\nthe three-piled flattery with which the parasite troubled him; and if\nhe were expecting friends to dinner, the gastronome, who wanted one,\nwas probably invited. But there was always an understanding, that, in\nreturn for the invitation, he was to maintain, for the diversion of the\ncompany, a continual fire of jokes. If he proved but a sorry jester,\nhe was promptly scourged into the street, down which he ran, nothing\nabashed, to look for hearers whom indifferent jests could move to ready\nlaughter.\n\nThe parasite looked upon the fortune and table of others as a property\nwhich was properly to be held in common. Monsieur Prudhon really\nstarted a parasitical precept, when he tried to establish, that what\nbelonged to one man belonged to a great many others besides. But if, as\nregarded his own share in property that was _not_ his own, the parasite\nwas so far a Communist, he was the most charitable of fellows, his\nearnest prayer being, that none of his patrons might ever fall into\nsuch distress as to be unable to give good dinners. The dinner-table\nwas his arena. If he got but one meal a day, he consumed enough thereat\nto satisfy half-a-dozen appetites; and, as he ate, it was matter of\nperfect indifference to him whether he was called upon to find wit\nfor the guests, or to be the butt of their own. You might buffet him\ntill he were senseless, provided the blows were afterwards paid for in\nbrimming glasses.\n\nHe was always first at a feast; and as he was as common an object at\na feast as the sauce itself, so \u201csauce\u201d was the common name for a\nparasite. There he was not only wit, butt, and bully, but porter also;\nand his office was not merely to knock down the drunken, but to carry\nthem out when incapable of performing that office for themselves. The\nparasites had a dash, too, of the \u201cbravo\u201d in their character, and\nlet themselves out for a dozen other purposes besides dining. The\nstronger-bodied and the braver-souled let out their strength. \u201cDo you\nwant a wrestler?\u201d says the parasite, in Antiph\u00e6us, \u201chere I am, an\nAnt\u00e6us. If you want a door forced, I have a head like a ram to do it;\nand I can scale a wall like Capaneus. Telamon was not stronger than my\nwrist; and I can wreathe into the ear of beauty like smoke.\u201d Some of\nthese Bobadils are even said to have ventured into battle, and to have\nespecially distinguished themselves in the Commissariat department!\n\nOthers boasted of their powers of fasting,--always provided good pay\nassured them of compensating banquets at the end of their service. \u201cI\ncan live on as little as Tithymallus,\u201d says one; and the individual\nin question is said to have supported life on eight lupines a day,--a\nhint to Poor-Law Commissioners. Another makes a merit of being as\nthin as Philippides, who, like Hood\u2019s friend, was _so_ thin, that,\nwhen he stood side-ways, you could not see him! The merits of a third\nare summed up by him in saying, that he can live on water, like a\nfrog; on vegetables, like a caterpillar; can go without bathing, like\nDirtiness herself, if there be such a deity; can live in winter with\nno roof but the sky, like a bird; can support heat, and sing beneath a\nnoon-day sun, like a grasshopper; do without oil, like the dust; walk\nbare-footed from break of day, like the crane; and keep wide awake all\nnight, like the owl.\n\nOf such a profession the parasite was proud, and even declared that its\norigin was divine; and that Jupiter Amicalis (\u0396\u03b5\u1f7a\u03c2 \u1f41 \u03c6\u03af\u03bb\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2) was its\npatron saint! As Jove entered where he chose, ate and drank of what\nmost took his fancy, and, after creating an atmosphere of enjoyment,\nretired without having any thing to pay; just so, it was argued,\nwas it with the parasite. In Attica, parasites were admitted to the\ncommemorative banquets that followed the sacrifices to Hercules; proof\nenough that they were accounted as being of the same kidney as heroes.\nIn later times came degenerate men and manners; and then, instead of\nhonourable men sitting with gods and heroes, the office of parasite was\nso degraded, that none but the hungry wits exercised it. Flattery to\nmortals then took the place of praise to gods. The parasite was ready\nto laud every act of the master of the feast,--\n\n  \u201c----_laudare paratus\n  Si bene ructavit, si rectum minxit amicus_,\u201d\n\nand to eulogize a great number of other acts besides, as may be\nfound noted by those who are very curious, and not over-nice, in the\nfragments of Diodorus of Sinope.\n\nThe fellows were witty, too, however degraded. When Ch\u0153rephon had,\nuninvited, slipped into a vacant position at a wedding-dinner, the\ngyn\u00e6conomes, as inspectors of the feast, counting the guests, came upon\nhim last, and said, \u201cYou are the thirty-first: it is against the law;\nyou must withdraw.\u201d \u201cI do not dispute the law,\u201d said the parasite, \u201cbut\nI object to your manner of counting. Begin the numbering by me, and\nyour conclusions will be indisputable.\u201d\n\nThe parasite, Philoxenus, happened to be supping with a host who\ngave his guests nothing but black bread. \u201cThis is not a loaf, but a\nspectre,\u201d whispered the professional wit: \u201cif we eat any more of it, we\nshall soon be in the shades.\u201d\n\nThere was more wit in Bithys, the parasite of the avaricious King\nLysimachus, who one day, at dinner, flung a wooden scorpion at the\nflatterer. The latter affected great fright, but afterwards remarked,\n\u201cI will, in my turn, terrify you, O King; be good enough to give me a\ntalent.\u201d\n\nClisophus, another of this strange brotherhood, either fooled or\nflattered King Philip to the very top of his bent. The King having\nlost an eye, Clisophus always sat down to dinner in his presence with\na bandage over one of his own; and when the Monarch limped, from a\nwound in the leg, Clisophus went \u201chalting at his side;\u201d and if, by\nchance, an ill odour affected the royal nostrils, Clisophus wore,\nall day long, a grimace upon his features, as if he were sick with\ndisgust. However absurd this may appear, the parasites of Louis XIV.\nflattered him as grossly as the original practitioners did the early\nand heathen Kings. People shaved their heads and wore periwigs, because\nthe Monarch, having little hair of his own, wore long locks cropped\nfrom other heads. So, when once at dinner he complained of having lost\nhis teeth, a young flatterer who sat next him swore, with a broad smile\nwhich displayed his own incisors, that nobody had teeth now-a-days.\nAnd again, when the King, on his seventieth birthday, inquired the age\nof a person from whom he had received a petition, the reply was, that\nthe person was of everybody\u2019s age,--about threescore and ten. Nay,\nthe Court preachers flattered the Sovereign quite as coarsely as the\nmere courtiers, and would not have received invitations to dinner,\nif they had not done so. \u201cMy brethren,\u201d said one of these, \u201call men\nmust die;\u201d and at that very moment he perceived the eye of the King\nglaring uneasily upon him:--\u201cthat is to say, Sire, _almost all_ men!\u201d\nand the complaisant preacher was at the royal table that day. The same\nparasitical spirit prevailed at the English Court, especially when\nbolster neckcloths were worn, simply because the King was compelled to\nwear one, in consequence of a disease in the glands of the neck. But,\nto translate the sentiment of the French poet,--\n\n  \u201cFrom royal example slaves have never shrunk:\n  When Auguste tippled, Poland soon got drunk.\n  When the great Monarch breathed the air of love,\n  Hey, presto, pass! Paris was Venus\u2019 grove!\n  But turn\u2019d a Churchman and devout, alas!\n  The courtiers ran and beat their breasts at mass.\u201d\n\nIt is said by ancient writers that the species of flattery which\nClisophus paid Philip, was obligatory on all the guests and officials\nin the ancient royal Courts of Arabia. There, if the King suffered\nin any member, every courtier was bound to be in pain in the same\nlimb. This species of flattery was, in fact, a conclusion logically\narrived at; for the Arab lawgivers said that it would be absurd in\nthe courtiers to vie with one another for the honour of being buried\nalive with the King defunct, if they did not suffer with him in all his\nbodily pains when living.\n\nThe Celtic King of the Sotians maintained a body of men who were\ncalled the \u201cEucholimes,\u201d or the \u201cDeath Volunteers.\u201d They amounted to\nsix hundred men; they were lodged, clothed, and tended like the King,\nwith whom they daily sat at meat; but they were also bound to die with\ntheir master; and it is alleged that the chance was eagerly incurred,\nand that no man ever failed, when called upon by the King\u2019s decease, to\naccompany His Majesty on a visit to his royal cousin, Orcus.\n\nBut your regular parasite preferred to live and flatter living\nMonarchs. \u201cSee,\u201d said Niceas, when he saw Alexander troubled by a\nfly that stung him, \u201cthere is one that will be King over all flies;\nfor he has imbibed the blood of him who is King over all men.\u201d The\nflattery was not more delicate which Chirisophus once paid at dinner\nto Dionysius the Tyrant. Chirisophus, seeing the King smile at the\nother end of the table, burst into a roar of laughter. The King\nasked, \u201cWherefore?\u201d seeing that the parasite could not have heard the\njoke. \u201cTrue,\u201d said Chirisophus; \u201cbut I saw that Your Majesty had heard\nsomething worth laughing at, and I laughed in sympathy.\u201d This species\nof parasite is not uncommon in English houses; but perhaps they do\ntheir office more refinedly than Chirisophus.\n\nThe flatterers of the younger Dionysius were far more disgusting in\ntheir adulation. They were simply absurd, when they pretended to be\nshort-sighted, like him, and to be unable to see a dish, unless they\nthrust their noses into it. But they were filthy followers when they\noffered their faces for the King to \u201cvoid his rheum\u201d upon, and even\nwent to extremes of nastiness at which human nature shudders, but at\nwhich Dionysius smiled. And yet Dionysius was hailed by some of them as\na god. It was the custom, we are told, in Sicily, for every individual\nto make sacrifices, in his own house, before the figures of the nymphs,\nto get devoutly drunk before the altar, and to dance round it as long\nas the pious devotee could keep upon his legs. It was accounted as an\nexquisite piece of flattery in Damocles, the parasite, that he refused\nto perform such service before inanimate deities, while he went through\nthe whole duty before Dionysius as his god. The Athenians, it will be\nremembered, were horror-stricken at such impious laudation as this.\nThey fined Demades ten talents for having proposed to award divine\nhonours to Alexander; and Timagoras, whom they had sent as Ambassador\nto the King of Persia, they put to death for compromising the Athenian\ndignity by prostrating himself before that King. And, indeed, let us do\njustice to Alexander himself. He had more than misgiving touching his\nown alleged divinity. He had once--\u201chis custom in the afternoon\u201d--eaten\nand drunk so enormously, that in the evening he was forced to a\nnecessity which compels very mortal people,--take physic. He made\nas many contortions, on swallowing it, as a refractory child; and\nPhilarches, his parasite, remarked, with a rascally hypocritical smile,\n\u201cAh! what must be the sufferings of mortal man under such medicine, if\nyou, who are a divinity, feel it so much!\u201d The idea of a deity drawing\nhealth out of an apothecary\u2019s phial, was too much even for Alexander,\nwho declined to accept the apotheosis, and called Philarches an ass.\n\nBut Philarches was only giving the King a taste of the parasite\u2019s\nprofessional craft. The noble Nicostratus of Argos quite as impiously\nflattered the Sovereign of Persia, when, for the sake of currying\nfavour with that majestic barbarian, he every night, in his own house,\nprepared a solemn supper, richly provided, and offered to the genius of\nthe King, (\u03c4\u1ff6 \u03b4\u03b1\u03af\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u0392\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03bb\u03ad\u03c9\u03c2,) for no better reason than that he\nhad learned that such was the custom in Persia. Whether he profited or\nnot by this delicate attention, Theopompus does not inform us.\n\nThe Anactes or Princes of the royal family of Salamis maintained two\ndistinct families, in whom, if I understand Athen\u00e6us rightly, the\noffice of flatterer (and of spy, I may add) was hereditary. These were\nthe Gerginoi and the Promalangai. The former did the dirty work of\ncirculating among the people, worming themselves into their confidence,\ngetting invited to their tables, and then reporting to the Promalangai\nall they had heard. The last-named took such portions of the report as\nwere worth communicating to the Anactes, with whom they sat at table,\nwhere such a dish of scandal was daily served as would puzzle the\nsocial spies of Paris to set before their lord.\n\nBut the profession was not accounted vile; and the professors\nthemselves gloried in their vocation. They extolled the easiness of\ntheir life, compared, for instance, with that of the painter, or the\nlabourer, or, in fact, with that of any other individual but those\nof their own guild. \u201cTruly,\u201d says one, in a fragment of Antiphanes,\n\u201csince the most important business in life is to play, laugh, trifle,\nand drink, I should like to know where you would find a condition more\nagreeable than ours.\u201d\n\nOnce, and once only, a faction of parasites contrived to get possession\nof a kingdom; and the dinners they gave, and the government they\nmaintained, are matters to which description can hardly do justice.\nThe faction in question was headed by, and almost solely consisted\nof, three men in Erythra, who stood, in regard to Cnopus, the King,\nas \u201cadorers and flatterers\u201d (\u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c3\u03ba\u03c5\u03bd\u03b5\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03ba\u03cc\u03bb\u03b1\u03ba\u03b5\u03c2). They murdered\ntheir Sovereign, and, by a _coup-d\u2019\u00e9tat_, possessed themselves of\nhis authority. Their names were Ortyges, Irus, and Echarus; and they\nruled with a triple rod of iron, held in very effeminate fingers.\nThey silenced all opponents by slaying them; and, when no one dared\nutter a breath against them, they vaunted their universal popularity.\nThey administered a ferociously absurd sort of justice at the gates\nof Erythra, where they sat decked out in purple and gold. They were\nsandaled like women, wore ornaments only suitable to females, and sat\ndown to dinner in diadems that dazzled the company.\n\nThe guests were once free citizens, who were now compelled to bear the\nlitters of their _parvenu_ masters, to cleanse the streets, and then,\nby way of contrast, to attend the banquet of the Triumvirs, with their\nwives and daughters. If they objected to drag these latter to the scene\nof splendid infamy, the objection was only made at the price of death.\nThe unhappy women were nothing the safer from insult by the decease of\ntheir natural protectors; and the scenes at the palace were such as\nonly the uncleanest of demons could rejoice in. If the authorities had\nreason to be grave, the whole city was compelled to affect sorrow; and\nduly-appointed officers went round, with hard-thonged whips, to scourge\na sense of \u201cdecent horror\u201d into the countenances of the bewildered\ninhabitants. Things at last reached such a pitch of extravagant\natrocity, that the people took heart of grace, screwed up their courage\nby Chian wine, and swept their oppressors into Hades;--and, for years\nafterwards, commemorative banquets celebrated the restoration of the\npeople from the oppression of the parasites.\n\nI would recommend those who would see the parasite in action, to\nstudy the comedies of Plautus, wherein he figures as necessarily\nas the impertinent valet in a Spanish comedy. Plautus calls the\nparasites _poet\u00e6_, as being given to lying; and it is singular that\nthe Gauls called their poets \u201cparasites,\u201d as being fond of good\nliving, and not being always in a condition to procure it. They had\ntheir \u201cdull season:\u201d it was when the wealthy were at their villas;\nat which time the parasites dined upon nothing, in town, with good\n\u201cDuke Humphrey.\u201d When the city was again resorted to by the rich,\nthen the parasite might sometimes be seen purchasing, by order of his\npatron, the provisions for the evening feast. We find one of these\ngentry, in Plautus, boasting that he knows a story that will be worth\nthirty dinners to him. Before the era of printing, the parasite, with\nhis jests and histories, was a sort of living Circulating Library.\nSaturion (another of Plautus\u2019s pictures of the parasite) is at peace\nwith himself, because, as he says, he can provide for his daughter by\nbequeathing to her his rich collection of jokes and dinner-stories.\n\u201cThey are all sparkling Attic,\u201d he says; \u201cand there is not a dull\nSicilian anecdote among them.\u201d\n\nIf the race were, in some sense of the word, \u201cliterary,\u201d they were\nnot at all in love with science, or the improvements wrought by\nits application. Witness the bitterness with which Plautus makes\none denounce the sun-dial, then of recent introduction. Before that\ntell-tale appeared, dinners used to be served when people were hungry;\nbut _now_ even hungry people wait for the appointed hour. In short,\nthroughout life, they worked but for the sake of the banquet and\nwine-pot; and, even after death, they longed for libations, as appears\nin the epitaph on the parasite, Sergius of Pola, who is made to say,\nfrom the grave,--\n\n  \u201c_Si urbani perhiberi vultis\n        Arenti meo cineri,\n  Cantharo piaculum vinarium festinate._\u201d\n\n  \u201cIf you\u2019ve any regard for this corpse here of mine,\n  Be so good as to damp it with hogsheads of wine.\u201d\n\nFinally, these diners-out by profession were essentially selfish; and\nthe fire of their attachment blazed up, or died away, according to that\nin the kitchen of the Amphitryon by whom they were maintained.\n\nA good specimen of the parasite of the last century may be found in the\nCaptain Cormorant of Anstey\u2019s \u201cBath Guide;\u201d but the race is by no means\nextinct, though the individual be more rarely met with; and, be it said\nas their due, they execute their office with something more of decency\nthan did their ancient predecessors. Modern flattery, like modern oils,\nis \u201cdouble refined.\u201d Let us see if we can trace the course of this\nrefinement through the Table Traits of Utopia and the Golden Age.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TABLES OF UTOPIA AND THE GOLDEN AGE.\n\n\nThe good Archbishop F\u00e9nelon, in his \u201c_Voyage dans l\u2019Ile des Plaisirs_,\u201d\ncites some charming examples of the pleasant way in which people lived\nin the Utopian Land of Cocagne, which he describes from imagination,\nand where the laws were characterized by more good sense than\ndistinguishes the legislation of the Utopian authorities of More.\n\nThe \u201c_Voyage_\u201d of F\u00e9nelon was probably founded on a fragment of\nTeleclides, who has narrated, in rattling Greek metres, how the\ncitizens of the world lived and banqueted in the golden age of its\nlusty youth. The poet puts the description into the mouth of Saturn,\nwho says, \u201cI will tell you what sort of life I vouchsafed to men in the\nearly ages of creation. In the first place, peace reigned universally,\nand was as common as the water you wash your hands with. Fear and\ndisease were entirely unknown; and the earth provided spontaneously for\nevery human want. The rivers then poured cataracts of wine into the\nvalleys; and cakes disputed with loaves to get into the mouth of man,\nas he walked abroad, supplicating to be eaten, and giving assurances of\nexcellent flavour and quality. The tables were covered with fish which\nfloated into the kitchens, and courteously put themselves to roast.\nBy the sides of the couches rolled streams of sauces, bearing with\nthem joints of ready-roasted meat; while rivulets full of _rago\u00fbts_\nwere near the guests, who dipped in, and took therefrom, according to\ntheir fancy. Every one could eat of what he pleased; and all that he\nate was sweet and succulent. There were countless pomegranate seeds\nfor seasoning; little _p\u00e2t\u00e9s_ and _grives_, done to a turn, insinuated\nthemselves into the mouths of the banqueters; and tarts got smashed in\ntrying to force their way into the throat. The children played with\nsow-paps and other delicacies as they would with toys; and the men were\ngigantic in height, and obese in figure.\u201d\n\nThe above is a specimen of the classical idea of that delicious--\n\n  ----\u201cLand of Cocagne,\n    That Elysium of all that is friand and nice,\n  Where for hail they have bon-bons, and claret for rain,\n    And the skaters, in winter, show off on cream-ice.\u201d\n\nIt is a theme with which modern poets have been as fond of dealing as\nTeleclides and others of the tuneful children of song, in the early\nperiod when young Time counted his birthdays by the sun. It has been\nwell treated by B\u00e9ranger, who thus describes, through my imperfect\ntranslation, his own impressions of\n\n\nA JOURNEY TO THE LAND OF COCAGNE.\n\n  Ho, friends, every one!\n  Let us up, and be gone;--\n  To where care is not known,\n    Let us hasten away!\n  Yes; fired with champagne,\n  I reel o\u2019er the plain,\n  And see dear Cocagne\n    In its sunny array.\n\n  O! land full of glee,--\n  Here long may I be,\n  And laugh merrilie\n    At Fate\u2019s changeable way.\n  For here--what a treat!--\n  I may love, drink, and eat,\n  And--this makes it more sweet--\n    There is nothing to pay!\n\n  My appetite\u2019s great,\n  And I see the huge gate\n  Of a tower of state\n    At my elbow, handy:\n  The tower is a pie;--\n  And tall guards, standing by,\n  Carry spears ten feet high,\n    All in sugar-candy.\n\n  Ah! banquet of fun,\n  It will please ev\u2019ry one:\n  Look, there is not a gun\n    But of sugar is made!\n  See the paintings, how grand!\n  And the statues, they stand,\n  All wrought by the hand\n    Out of sweet marmalade.\n\n  Here the people repair\n  In gay crowds to the square,\n  Where the jests of a fair\n    With loud merriment shine;\n  Where the fountains so gay\n  Not with water do play,\n  But are sparkling away\n    With rich, rosy, old wine!\n\n  Here, the baking\u2019s begun;\n  There, the baking is done;--\n  See the folks how they run,\n    With beef, mutton, and veal.\n  And the eaters think fit,\n  That the man who lacks wit,\n  Shall be made a \u201cturnspit,\u201d\n    And be bound to the wheel.\n\n  To the palace I haste,\n  With two Falstaffs I feast,\n  (Twenty stone weighs the least,)\n    And with them hob and nob.\n  And here, too, I\u2019ve found,\n  Where such good things abound,\n  Shy Venus quite round,\n  And young Cupid a squab.\n\n  No sadness of brow,\n  No pedantic vain show,\n  No pompous state-bow,\n    Can be ever allow\u2019d:--\n  But with feasting and song\n  We carry night on,\n  Drink deep and drink long,\n    And toast beauty aloud.\n\n  Now, good-natured lasses,\n  To the music of glasses,\n  As the sweet dessert passes,\n    Let\u2019s laugh the time by.\n  Let fools sigh and snuffle,\n  And merriment muffle,\n  But you, dears, shall ruffle\n    Our pro--priety.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  So, in this joyous way,\n  With fresh loves ev\u2019ry day,\n  And with no debts to pay,\n    We scamper time o\u2019er;\n  While between drinking deep,\n  And light visions in sleep,\n  Our young years will creep\n    To a hundred or more.\n\n  Yes, dear old Cocagne,\n  It\u2019s with thee,--free from pain,--\n  But who checks my strain,\n    In an accent so shrill?\n  For, while singing, I thought,--\n  But, my friends, we are caught,--\n  \u2019Tis the waiter who\u2019s brought\n    His confounded long bill.\n\nThe fairy-land of Cocagne is said to derive its name from the Latin,\n_coquere_, \u201cto cook.\u201d Duchat says, that its flocks and herds present\nthemselves perfectly cooked, and that the larks descend from the skies\nready roasted. For it is there alone--\n\n  \u201cWhere so ready all nature its cookery yields,\n  _Maccaroni au parmesan_ grows in the fields;\n  Little birds fly about with the true pheasant taint,\n  And the geese are all born with a liver complaint.\u201d\n\nThe Utopian banquets, which are described by More, present an imaginary\nview of society in another extreme. The learned Chancellor, amid much\ninvented nonsense, pictures the manners of the citizens of Amaurat\nafter the fashion of those of Crete and Laced\u00e6monia, especially with\nregard to their common halls for their repasts,--a fashion, by the way,\nwhich was partially followed in the club-rooms of Attica. Others of the\nauthor\u2019s ideas have been realized since he wrote; and, in this respect,\nhis Utopia may be said to have done good service; but there is a woful\nresidue of nonsense, nevertheless, which is neither amusing nor useful.\n\nSir Thomas describes the citizens of Amaurat as possessing\nprovision markets abundantly supplied with herbs, fruits, bread,\nfowl, and cattle. The latter were previously slain in extra-mural\nslaughter-houses, well-furnished with running water, for washing away\nthe filth after killing. The butchers were slaves, (for serfdom \u201cwas a\npeculiar institution\u201d of this happy republic,) the free citizens not\nbeing permitted to kill animals, lest such pursuit should harden their\nsingularly tender characters. \u201cIn every street,\u201d we are told by the\nauthor, \u201cthere are great halls that lie at an equal distance from one\nanother, and are marked by peculiar names. The Syphogrants dwell in\nthose, that are set over thirty families, fifteen lying on one side of\nit, and as many on the other. In these they do all meet and eat. The\nstewards of every one of them come to the market-place at an appointed\nhour, and, according to the number of those that belong to their hall,\nthey carry home provisions. But they take more care of their sick than\nof any others.... After the steward of the hospitals has taken for them\nwhatever the physician does prescribe for them, at the market-place,\nthen the best things that remain are distributed equally among the\nhalls, in proportion to their numbers; only, in the first place, they\nserve the Prince, the Chief Priest, the Tranibors, and Ambassadors,\nand strangers, if there are any, which, indeed, falls out but seldom,\nand for whom there are houses well-furnished, particularly appointed,\nwhen they come among them. At the hours of dinner and supper, the\nSyphogranty, being called together by sound of trumpet, meets and\neats together, except only such as are in the hospitals, or lie sick\nat home. Yet, after the halls are served, no man is hindered to carry\nprovisions home from the market-place, for they know none does that\nbut for some good reason; for, though any that will may eat at home,\nyet none does it willingly, since it is both an indecent and foolish\nthing for any to give themselves the trouble to make ready an ill\ndinner at home, when there is a much more plentiful one made ready for\nhim so near at hand. All the uneasy and sordid services about these\nhalls are done by their slaves; but the dressing and cooking of their\nmeat, and ordering of their tables, belong only to the women, which\ngoes round all the women of every family by turns. They sit at three\nor more tables, according to their numbers; the men sit towards the\nwall, and the women sit on the other side, that if any of them fall\nsuddenly ill, which is ordinary to those expecting to be mothers, she\nmay, without disturbing the rest, rise and go to the nurses\u2019 room, who\nare there with the suckling children, where there is always fire and\nclean water at hand, and some cradles in which they may lay the young\nchildren,\u201d &c. But, to return from this public nursery to the public\ndining hall, \u201call the children under five years of age dined with the\nnurses: the rest of the younger sort of both sexes, till they are fit\nfor marriage, do either serve those that sit at table; or, if they are\nnot strong enough for that, they stand by them in great silence, and\neat that which is given them by those that sit at table, nor have they\nany other formality of dining.\u201d The whole formality was bad enough, and\nthat last-mentioned was a Doric custom prevailing in Crete. As to the\npersonal arrangements at these Utopian tables, the infelicitous guests\nstood much upon their order of precedence: the syphogrant and his\nwife, the _gn\u00e4dige Frau Syphograntinn_, presided at the centre of the\ncross-table, at the upper end of the hall. After the Magistrates and\ntheir mates, came the Priests and their ladies,--for More placed the\nChurch below the State, and hinted that celibacy in the Clergy was not\nto be commended. Below these, groups of the young and gay were placed,\nbetween flanking companies of the aged and grave, to spoil their mirth,\nand improve their manners; and this Spartan custom was occasionally\nimitated at Athenian feasts, albeit the Athenians looked with something\nlike contempt upon the institutions of old Laconia. The best dishes\nwere placed before the oldest men, and the latter gave of the dainty\nbits to the young, if these merited such favour by their behaviour; if\nnot, they took their chance of what the older gourmands might leave, or\nwere obliged to be content with the plainer fare allotted to them.\n\nDuring this delectable process, the young could not have offended by\ntheir gaiety, nor the old have improved them by conversation, seeing\nthat a reader was appointed, to assist digestion by reading aloud an\nEssay on Morality. The Romans had the same office performed at some of\ntheir meals by learned slaves. More expressly says that the Utopian\nlecture was so short, that it was neither tedious nor uneasy to those\nthat heard it; and that after it, the elders not only wagged their\nbeards by \u201cpleasant enlargements,\u201d but encouraged the young to follow\nthem in the same track. This must have been after the supper, when it\nwas the law of Utopia, not to \u201crun a mile,\u201d but to \u201crest awhile.\u201d The\ndinners were dispatched quickly, because work awaited the diners, while\nthe supper-eaters had nothing to do afterwards but sleep. This must\nhave been all terribly dreary, if it had ever been realized. The only\npleasant feature in More\u2019s Utopian banquets is, that wherein he says\nthat there was always music at supper, and fruit served up after meat,\n(which, by the way, was a cruel trial for the digestive powers,) and\nthat as the repast proceeded, \u201csome burn perfumes, and sprinkle about\nsweet ointments, and sweet waters; and they are wanting in nothing\nthat may cheer up their spirits; for they give themselves a large\nallowance in that way, and indulge themselves in all such pleasures as\nare attended with no inconvenience. Thus,\u201d he adds, \u201cdo they that are\nin towns eat together; but in the country, where they live at a greater\ndistance, every one eats at home, and no family wants any necessary\nsort of provision; for it is from them that provisions are sent in to\nthem that live in the towns.\u201d\n\nI have noticed above the slave-readers at Roman dinners. These were\nseldom born slaves; indeed, of born slaves, among the Greeks or Romans,\nthe numbers were fewer than might be reasonably imagined. Those who\nbecame authors or teachers, were the distinguished and illustrious of\ntheir class; and it was they who relieved the tedium of a Roman repast\nby reading livelier sallies than Essays on Morality, like the Utopians.\nIf their rank in humanity was low, their ability secured for them many\nprivileges which even freedmen did not enjoy. Of this rank of reading\nslaves was Andronicus, the inventor of dramatic poetry. Plautus, the\nwitty, but coarse, play-writer, miller, and Jack of all trades, was\na slave. Terence was also a dramatist, and not only a slave, but a\nNegro slave. \u00c6sop the fabulist, Ph\u00e6drus, his imitator, and the moral\nphilosopher Epictetus, were slaves. The latter, who was as low in\ncondition among bondsmen as he was exalted in his character of teacher\nof mankind, was the slave of one who had been a slave,--a depth of\ndegradation than which there can be none deeper. But his mission was\na great one; for he appears to me to have been an instrument employed\nto prepare men\u2019s minds for a change from the vices of Paganism to the\nvirtues of Christianity. His writings are as stepping-stones across the\ndark and rapid stream dividing error from truth. They are admirably\ncalculated to enable men to go forward; not only to induce them to\nmake the first step out of infidelity; but, having made it, rather to\nmake a second in advance towards Christ, than go backward again in the\ndirection of the dazzling unintelligibilities of the Capitoline Jove.\n\nFrom slavery, if we turn our eyes towards mere poverty, the next\ncondition to it, we shall see that the poor men characteristically\npaid their addresses to poetry;--and they were the \u201clions\u201d at the\ndinners and assemblies of Rome. Such was Horace, who, if he were not\nin want, was of inferior descent, his father having been a slave, and\nsubsequently, on being enfranchised, a tax-gatherer. Virgil was of\nequally mean descent on the paternal side; but he derived some portion\nof nobility from his mother. Juvenal, too, was not only poor and a\npoet,--a condition that could draw upon it only a serf\u2019s contempt,--but\nhe was, moreover, an exceedingly angry poet. In equal proportion as he\nwas poor, angry, and satirical in poetry, was Lucian poor, angry, and\nsatirical in prose.\n\nIf the dining-out poets were poor, it was much the same with the\nphilosophers. The proudest walks of philosophy were trodden by\nDemosthenes, the blacksmith. Socrates was the ill-featured, but\noriginal-minded, son of a mason and midwife. Epicurus was only rich in\na valueless boast of being descended from Ajax; and Isocrates, whose\nfather manufactured the musical ancestry from which are descended the\nmodern families of piano-forte and fiddle, was also one of the immortal\nrace of intellectual giants.... Of other writers we may remark, that\nQuintus Curtius, whose \u201cAlexander the Great\u201d is the first historical\nromance that ever was written, and contains the best description of a\nBabylonian banquet that ever was painted in words, was of an ignoble\nfamily. Celsus was, at least, not a Roman citizen, though resident at\nRome; and Plutarch was just \u201crespectable,\u201d and nothing more;--though\nto be worthy of respect, as the term implies, is as high rank as a man\nneed sigh for.\n\nBut though art and science, though the Nine Sisters who made\nParnassus vocal, were thus worshipped by the slave and his cousin the\nbeggar, wealth was by no means a synonymous term for either sloth\nor incapacity. The opulent Lucretius, who believed nothing; the two\nPlinies, the soul of one of whom, \u201cwith a difference,\u201d entered into\nHorace Walpole, and who wrote about his slave Zozimus, as Walpole does\nof his favourite servants; the tender and chivalrous Tibullus,--a\nLatin Sir Philip Sidney; the profligate Sophocles; \u00c6schylus, the\nbottle-drainer; and the lofty Euripides: all these mounted Pegasus\nwith golden spurs, and gave glorious dinners to guests with whom they\ncould contend in the battle of brains. Some, like Martial, got their\nmouths filled with the sugar-candy of imperial recompence. C\u00e6sar, the\nCommentator, was the descendant of the Sabine Kings, and the founder\nof an empire. In Plato we see the double condition of aristocrat and\nslave. From the latter condition he was rescued by his noble friends\nat the cost of three thousand _drachmas_; more fortunate in this than\nDiogenes, who, being friendless, was left to hug his irons, and teach\nhis master\u2019s sons to love virtue and liberty.\n\nAnd the mention of the name of Plato reminds me of a more modern\nphilosopher, who did not lack reverence for him,--I mean Bacon,--and\nBacon naturally brings me from my digression to the subject of\n\u201cTable Traits\u201d in imaginary Utopias. This philosopher, in his \u201cNew\nAtlantis,\u201d is even more infelicitous than More, both in the framing\nof his fiction, and the extracting from it of a moral. The table laws\nspoken of in Solomon\u2019s house, have more of a jolly aspect than those\ndrawn by Sir Thomas More. For instance, \u201cI will not hold you long with\nrecounting of our brewhouses, bakehouses, and kitchens, where are made\ndivers drinks, breads, and meats, rare and of special effects. Wines we\nhave of grapes, and drinks of other juice, of fruits, of grains, and of\nroots; and of mixtures with honey, sugar, manna, and fruits dried and\ndecocted; also of the tears and woundings of trees, and of the pulp of\ncanes: and these drinks are of several ages, some to the age at least\nof forty years. We have drinks also brewed of several herbs or roots,\nand spices, yea, with several fleshes and wine-meats, whereof some of\nthe drinks are such as they are in effect meat and drink both. So that\ndivers, especially in age, do desire to live with them, with little or\nno meat or bread; and, above all, we strive to have drinks of extreme\nthin parts, to insinuate into the body, and yet without all biting\nsharpness, or fretting; insomuch as some of them put upon the back of\nyour hand will, with a little stay, pass through to the palm, and yet\ntaste mild to the mouth. We have also waters which we ripen in that\nfashion as they become nourishing, so that they are, indeed, excellent\ndrink, and many will use no other. Breads we have of several grains,\nroots, and kernels, yea, and some of flesh and fish dried, with divers\nkinds of leavenings and seasonings, so that some do extremely move\nappetites; some do nourish so as divers do live of them without any\nother meat, who live very long. So, for meats, we have some of them so\nbeaten and made tender and mortified, yet without all corrupting, as a\nweak heat of the stomach will turn them into good chylus, as well as a\nstrong heat would meat otherwise prepared. We have some meats, also,\nand breads and drinks which, taken by some, enable them to fast long\nafter; and some other that will make the very flesh of men\u2019s bodies\nsensibly more hard and tough, and their strength far greater than\notherwise it would be.\u201d\n\nIn this way could philosophy disport itself, and not with much\nattendant profit, beyond amusement. Before I conclude this section, I\nmay notice a more graceful fiction touching banquets, than any thing\nto be met with among the philosophers. The inhabitants of the coast of\nMalabar believe that the double cocoas of the Moluccas, annually thrown\non their shore by the waves, and joyfully welcomed by the expecting\ninhabitants, are the produce of a palm-tree growing in the fathomless\nrecesses of the ocean; and that they arise from among coral-groves\nendowed with supernatural qualities and attributes. For a detailed\naccount of this supposed ph\u00e6nomenon, and a very pretty illustration\nof the theory of seeds transported by winds and currents, I refer all\ncurious inquirers to the \u201cAnnals of _My_ Village,\u201d by a Lady. In the\nmean time, I venture to put into verse, the supposed scene which occurs\nat the annual cocoa-banquet in Malabar:--\n\n  \u2019Neath the waves of Mincoy grows a magical tree,\n    In the sunless retreat of a dark coral-grove,\n  Where slumber young sprites,--the gay elves of a sea\n    Flinging back the bright blue of its heaven above.\n  There they sip the sweet fruit of that palm-tree, and leave\n    Of its best and its ripest for maidens who stray,\n  And laugh away time with their lovers at eve,\n    And sing to those elves of the deep by the way.\n\n  \u039f! to see them at sunset, when down by the shore\n    Of their own Malabar in gay clusters they stand,\n  Like spirits of light shedding softness all o\u2019er\n    The broad sea, and its tribute of fruit, from the land!\n  There troops of young girls, in their light-hearted mirth,\n  Are laughing at youths who, reclined on the earth,\n  Drink the white wine of Kishna;--while some are at play,\n    Flinging glances and handsfull of roses, in showers,\n  That their lovers can\u2019t tell, as they bend \u2019neath the fray,\n    Which are falling the fastest,--the glances, or flowers.\n\n  And then on the sands where these young people meet,\n    What hushing of songs and suppressing of glee,\n  As the waves bring in gently, and waft to their feet,\n    The ripe fruit of the palm that lives under the sea!\n  There, while, half in earnest, fair Malabar\u2019s daughters,\n  Half play, dip their white, sandal\u2019d feet in the waters,\n  To catch the ripe cocoas, and run back again,\n    As the wave washes over their small anklet bells,\n  There are some, youths and maidens, who, link\u2019d in a chain,\n    Like pearls strung, and mix\u2019d, here and there, with sea-shells,\n  Dash into the flood for the fruit of the palm,\n    Which they strive for, and, winning, bring joyously out;\n  Then lean on their lovers, all panting and warm\n    With laughter and splashing the waters about.\n\n  O, who would not like to pass summer away\n    Amid scenes such as this? O, who would not love\n  With Malabar\u2019s daughters, at twilight, to play,\n    And taste the ripe fruit of that dark coral-grove?\n\nThe Malabar palm was not the only tree of its kind that used to\nafford holidays and banquetings to the people of the East, that is,\naccording to the poets. The Talipot palm of Ceylon, or, as the natives\nsomewhat unmusically call it, \u201c_lanka dwipa_,\u201d _was_, in the olden\ntime of pleasant fiction, one of this gifted species. But the banquet\nit afforded was not of annual occurrence; for the tree never flowers\ntill it is fifty years old, and dies immediately after producing its\nfruit. The Kings of Candy used to bestow the rich gift of some of its\nblossoms on the favoured fair one whose head rested on the bosom of\nthe Sovereign at the feast, and who lifted the bowl to his painted\nlips. It was, however highly esteemed, not such a present as Demetrius\nPoliorcetes made to Lamia, after that accomplished courtezan had\nerected at Sicyon a portico so superb, that Polemo wrote a book to\ndescribe it; and poem and portico became the table-talk of all Greece.\nThe gift of Demetrius was a magnificent purse, containing two hundred\nand fifty talents, which, by the way, he had compelled the reluctant\nAthenians to contribute; and this he sent to Lamia, saying, that it was\nmerely \u201cfor soap.\u201d The extravagant lady spent it all in one single,\nbut consuming, feast! How pleasantly, by contrast, shines that other\ncourtezan, Le\u00e6na, whose wit made guests forget that the feast was\nfrugal; and to whom the Athenians erected a bronze lioness, without a\ntongue, in honour of the lady who heroically had bitten out her own,\nthat torture might not make her betray the accomplices of her protector\nHarmodius, in the murder of her tyrant Hipparchus!----\n\nWe have not found much of the refinement we looked for in these remote\nperiods and banquets. Let us see what may be discovered in the Table\nTraits of England in Early Times.\n\n\n\n\nTABLE TRAITS OF ENGLAND IN EARLY TIMES.\n\n\nWhen Diodorus Siculus wrote an account of the aboriginal inhabitants of\nBritain, some fifty years before the Christian era, he described the\nisland as being thickly inhabited, ruled by many Kings and Princes, and\nall living peaceably together,--though with war-chariots and strong\narms, to settle quarrels when they occurred. But if our ancestors\nlived peaceably among themselves, they can hardly be said to have\nlived comfortably. Their habitations were of reed, or of wood; and\nthey gathered in the harvest by cutting off the ears of corn. These\nears they garnered in subterranean repositories, wherefrom they daily\nculled the ripest grain; and, rudely dressing the same, had thence\ntheir sustenance. Diodorus says that our primitive sires were far\nremoved from the cunning and wickedness of the rest of the world; and\nother writers contrast them favourably with the Irish, who are said to\nhave fed on human flesh, to have had enormous appetites for such food,\nand to have been given to the nasty habit of devouring their deceased\nfathers; but it is not uncommon for others, as well as for Irish sons,\nto devour, at least, their parents\u2019 substance, even at the present day.\nThe food of an Irish child was certainly illustrative of character,--we\nshould rather say that the solemnity of offering the first food to a\nchild was characteristic. Caius Julius Solinus, a writer of the first\ncentury, says, that \u201cwhen a Hibernian mother gives birth to a male\nchild, she puts its first food on the point of her husband\u2019s sword, and\nlightly inserts this foretaste of meat into the mouth of the infant,\non its very tip; and, by family vows, desires that it may never die\nbut under arms.\u201d In other words, the relations wished that the little\nstranger might never be in want of a row, when disposed to distinguish\nthe family name!\n\nIn the days of Julius C\u00e6sar, our stalwart sires supported their thews\nand sinews on milk and flesh,--the diet of a pugilist. We see how much\nprogress was made by the time of Constantine,--the Constantine that was\ncrowned in Britain,--\u201cwhen,\u201d says a contemporary writer, \u201cthe harvests\nsufficed alike for the gifts of Ceres and Bacchus, and the pastures\nwere covered with innumerable multitudes of tame flocks, distended with\nmilk, or laden with fleeces.\u201d\n\nI very much fear, however, notwithstanding the rather poetical accounts\nof certain early writers, that our aboriginal ancestry were very little\nsuperior to the New Zealanders. They were, perhaps, more uncivilized,\nand quite as ignorant; and their abstinence from the flesh of hares and\npoultry, and, in the northern parts of the island, from fish, bespeaks\na race who lacked, at once, industry and knowledge. Indeed, it is by no\nmeans certain, that we do not wrong the New Zealanders by suggesting\ntheir possible inferiority to the Britons, seeing that the latter\nare very strongly suspected of being guilty of the most revolting\ncannibalism.\n\nThey were clever enough to brew mead and ale; but wine and civilization\nwere brought to them by their enemies, the Romans,--invaders whom, for\nsome reasons, they might have welcomed with a sentiment akin to the\nline in B\u00e9ranger:--\n\n  \u201c_Vivent nos amis! nos amis, les ennemis!_\u201d\n\nThey ate but twice a day. The last meal was the more important one.\nTheir seats were skins, or bundles of hay, flung on the ground. The\ntable was a low stool, around which British Chiefs sat, and, even in\nthe locality occupied by modern Belgravia, tore their food with teeth\nand nails, or hacked at it with a wretched knife, as bad as any thing\nof the sort now in common use in Gaul. In short, they committed a\nthousand solecisms, the very idea of which is sufficient to make the\nSybarites of Belgravia very much ashamed of their descent from the\nsavages of Britain.\n\nIt was characteristic of the sort of civilization which the\nAnglo-Saxons brought with them to England, that they introduced the\nrather vulgar custom of taking four meals a day. The custom was,\nhowever, one solemnly observed by the high-feeding nobility of the\nSaxons. They ate good solid joints of flesh-meat, boiled, baked, or\nbroiled. It would seem, that, in those days, cooks were not of such\nan illustrious guild as that which they subsequently formed. A cook\namong the Anglo-Saxons was little more accounted of than the calf\nhe cut up into collops. The cook, in fact, was a slave; and was as\nunceremoniously bequeathed by his owner, in the latter\u2019s last will\nand testament, as though the culinary artist had been a mere kitchen\nutensil. At Saxon tables, both sexes sat together,--a custom refined\nin itself, refining in its effects, and of such importance, that\nhalf-a-dozen nations claim the honour of being the inventors of that\nexcellent custom. In Europe, Turkey alone has obstinately refused to\nfollow this civilizing example; and Turkey is falling to pieces. It\nmay, therefore, be logically proved, that where table rights are not\nconceded to the ladies, nations slowly perish; and--\u201cserve them right.\u201d\n\nIt is a mark of Anglo-Saxon delicacy, that table-cloths were features\nat Anglo-Saxon feasts; but, as the long ends were used in place of\nnapkins, the delicacy would be of a somewhat dirty hue, if the cloth\nwere made to serve at a second feast. There was a rude sort of display\nupon the board; but the order of service was of a quality that would\nstrike the \u201cJeameses\u201d of the age of Victoria with inexpressible\ndisgust. The meat was never \u201cdished,\u201d and \u201ccovers\u201d were as yet unknown.\nThe attendants brought the viands into the dining hall on the spits,\nknelt to each guest, presented the spit to his consideration; and,\nthe guest having helped himself, the attendant went through the same\nceremony with the next guest. Hard drinking followed upon these same\nceremonies; and even the monasteries were not exempt from the sins\nof gluttony and drunkenness. Notwithstanding these bad habits, the\nAnglo-Saxons were a cleanly people. The warm bath was in general use.\nWater, for hands and feet, was brought to every stranger on entering a\nhouse wherein he was about to tarry and feed; and, it is said that one\nof the severest penances of the Church was the temporary denial of the\nbath, and of cutting the hair and nails.\n\nWith the Normans came greater grandeur and increased discomfort. They\nneither knew nor tolerated the use of table-cloths or plain steel\nforks; but their bill of fare showed more variety and costliness\nthan the Saxons cared for. Their cookery was such an improvement on\nthat of their predecessors in the island, that Norman French, and\nNorman dishes, flung the Saxon tongue and table into the annihilating\nposition of \u201cvulgarity.\u201d The art was so much esteemed, that Monarchs\neven granted estates, on condition that the holder thereof should,\nthrough his cook, prepare a certain dish at stated periods, and set\nit before the King. It was under the Normans that the boar\u2019s head\nhad regal honours paid it; and its progress from the kitchen to the\nbanquet was under escort of a guard, and behind the deafening salutes\nof puffy-cheeked trumpeters. The crane was then what the goose is\nnow,--highly esteemed; yet labouring under the shadow of a suspicion\nof being \u201ccommon.\u201d The peacock, on the other hand, was only seen, tail\nand all, at the tables of the wealthy. Their beverage was of a very\nbilious character,--spicy and cordialed; namely, hippocras, piment,\nmorat, and mead. The drink of the humbler classes partook of a more\ncholeraic quality. It consisted of cider, perry, and ale. The Norman\nmaxim for good living and plenty of it, was to \u201crise at five, dine at\nnine, sup at five, and bed at nine, if you\u2019d live to a hundred all\nbut one.\u201d _Dinner_ at nine is, however, a contradiction of terms; for\n_dinner_, as I have said, is the abbreviation of _dixi\u00e8me heure_, or\n\u201cten o\u2019clock,\u201d the time at which all people sat down to a solid repast\nin the days of the first Williams.\n\nIn the two following centuries, cooks and Kings launched into far\ngreater magnificence than had ever, hitherto, been seen in England.\nRichard II. entertained ten thousand guests daily at his numerous\ntables; and the exceedingly fast Earl of Leicester, grandson of the\nequally slow Henry III., is said to have spent twenty-two thousand\npounds of silver in one year, in eating, alone. His thirsty household\nretainers drank no less than three hundred and seventy-one pipes of\nwine, in the same space of time. At great banquets, the dishes were\nreckoned by thousands, and Kings in vain dictated decrees denouncing\nsuch dinners; for cooks and _convives_ considered them with contempt.\nAs a show of moderation, the old four meals a day were now reduced to\ntwo; but these two were connected by such a savoury chain of intermeats\nand refections, that the board was spread all day long, and guests were\nnever weary:--\n\n  \u201cTheir life like the life of the Germans would be,\n  _Du lit \u00e0 la table; de la table au lit_.\u201d\n\nTo have things \u201cbrennying like wildfire,\u201d was the characteristic of\nthe cookery of the period. Confectionery of the richest sorts were\nthe lighter materials of meals, which were abundantly irrigated by\nhippocras, piment, or _claret_, or the simpler and purer wines of\nFrance, Spain, Syria, and Greece. Thus might a host say:--\n\n  \u201cYe shall have rumney and malespine,\n  Both ypocrasse and vernage wine;\n  Mountrasse and wyne of Greke,\n  Both algrade and despice eke,\n  Antioche and bastarde,\n  Pyment also and garnarde,\n  Wyne of Greke and muscadell,\n  Both clary, pyment, and Rochelle.\u201d\n\nRicobaldi of Ferrara, writing, about the year 1300, of the Italian\nsocial condition in the age of Frederick II., illustrates the former\nrudeness of the Italian manners, by showing that in those days \u201ca man\nand his wife ate off the same plate. There were no wooden-handled\nknives, nor more than one or two drinking-cups in a house. Candles of\nwax or tallow were unknown; a servant held a torch during supper. The\nclothes of men were of leather unlined; scarcely any gold or silver\nwas seen on their dress. The common people ate flesh but three times a\nweek, and kept their cold meat for supper. Many did not drink wine in\nsummer. A small stock of corn seemed riches. The portions of women were\nsmall; their dress, even after marriage, was simple. The pride of men\nwas to be well provided with arms and horses; that of the nobility to\nhave lofty towers, of which all the cities in Italy were full. But now,\nfrugality has been changed for sumptuousness; every thing exquisite is\nsought after in dress,--gold, silver, pearls, silks, and rich furs.\u201d\n\nThe Household-Book of the Earl of Northumberland admirably illustrates\nthe interior and table life of the greater nobles of the period of\nHenry VII. In this well-known and well-kept record, the family is\ndescribed as consisting of one hundred and sixty-six persons, masters\nand servants; and hospitable reckoning is allowed for more than half\na hundred strangers who are expected daily to partake of the Earl\u2019s\ngood cheer. The cost for each individual, for board and fuel, is\nsettled at twopence halfpenny daily, about one and sixpence of our\npresent money, if we take into account the relative value of money,\nand the relative prices of provisions. The Earl allots for his annual\nexpenditure \u00a31178. 17_s._ 8_d._ More than two-thirds of this is\nconsumed in meat, drink, and firing; namely, \u00a3797. 11_s._ 2_d._ The\nbook carefully states the number of pieces which the carver is to cut\nout of each quarter of beef, mutton, veal, pork, nay, even stockfish\nand salmon; and supervising clerks were appointed to see that this\nwas carried into effect, and to make due entry of the same in their\nregisters. An absent servant\u2019s share is to be accounted for, and not\nto be divided among the rest. The absentee, if he be on \u201cmy Lord\u2019s\u201d\nbusiness, received 8_d._ per day, board wages, in winter, and 5_d._ in\nsummer; with 2_d._ additional daily for the keep of a horse. A little\nmore than a quarter of wheat, estimated at 5_s._ 8_d._ per quarter, is\nallowed for every month throughout the year; with this, 250 quarters\nof malt, at 4_s._, (two hogsheads to the quarter,) and producing about\na bottle and a third of intermediate beer to each person, does not say\nmuch for the liberality of the Lord, though it may for the temperance\nof his retainers. One hundred and nine fat beeves are to be bought at\nAll-Hallow\u2019s Tide, at 13_s._ 4_d._ each; a couple of dozen of lean\nkine, at 8_s._, are to be bought at St. Helen\u2019s, to be fattened for\nservice between Midsummer and Michaelmas. All the rest of the year,\nnine weary months, the family was on salted provisions, to aid the\ndigestion of which, the Earl, so chary of his liquor, allows the\nprofuse aid of one hundred and sixty-six gallons of mustard. 647 sheep\nat 1_s._ 8_d._, to be eaten salted between Lammas and Michaelmas;\n25 hogs at 2_s._, 28 calves at 1_s._ 8_d._, 40 lambs at 10_d._ or\n1_s._,--are other articles which seem to have been reserved rather for\nthe upper table than for the servants, whose chief fare was salted\nbeef, without vegetables, but with mustard _\u00e0 discretion_! There was\ngreat scarcity of linen, and the little there was, except that for the\nchapel, not often washed. No mention is made of sheets; and though\n\u201cmy Lord\u2019s\u201d table had eight \u201ctable-cloths\u201d for the year, that of the\nKnights had but one, and probably went uncovered while the cloth was\n\u201cat the wash.\u201d If the ale was limited, the wine appears to have been\nmore liberally dispensed; and ten tuns and two hogsheads of Gascony\nwine, at \u00a34. 13_s._ 4_d._ per tun, show the bent of the Earl\u2019s taste.\nNinety-one dozens of candles for the year, and no fires after Lady-Day,\nexcept half-fires in the great room and the nursery; twenty-four fires,\nwith a peck of coals daily for each, (for the offices,) and eighty\nchaldrons of coals, at 4_s._ 10_d._, with sixty-four loads of wood,\nat 1_s._ a load,--are the provisions made for lighting and firing.\nIt must have been cold work to live in the noble Earl\u2019s house in\nYorkshire, from Lady-Day till the warm summer came; which advent is\nsometimes put off till next year. The family rose at six, or before;\nfor Mass was especially ordered at that hour, in order to force the\nhousehold to rise early. The dinner hour was ten A.M.; four P.M. was\nthe hour for supper; and at nine the bell rang for bed. I have omitted\nthe breakfast, which took place at seven, after Mass; when my Lord and\nLady sat down to a repast of two pieces of salt fish, and half-a-dozen\nred herrings, with four fresh ones, or a dish of sprats, and a quart\nof beer, and the same measure of wine. This was on meagre days. At\nother seasons, half a chine of mutton, or of boiled beef, graced\nthe board of the delicate Earl and Countess, who sometimes forgot\nthat they had to dine at ten. Capons, at 2_d._ each, were only on the\nLord\u2019s table, and plovers, at a penny, (at Christmas,) were deemed too\ngood for any digestion that was not carried on in a \u201cnoble\u201d stomach.\nGame generally is specified, but without intimation as to limit of\nthe board. No doubt the fragments were not rejected at the servants\u2019\ntable; but much certainly went in doles at the gate. My Lord maintained\nbetween twenty and thirty horses for his own use. His mounted servants\nfound their own; but their keep was at the noble master\u2019s cost. Of\nmounted servants, not less than three dozen attended their Lord on\na journey; and when this journey was for change of residence from\none mansion to another, the illustrious Percy carried with him bed\nand bedding, household furniture, pots, pans, and kitchen utensils\ngenerally. The baggage waggon bore these _impedimenta_; and before and\nbehind them went chiefs and serving men, including in the array eleven\nPriests,--two hundred and twenty-three persons in all,--and only two\ncooks to look after their material happiness! No notice is taken of\nplate; but the \u201chiring of pewter vessels\u201d is mentioned; and with these\nrough elements did the Earl construct his imperfect social system, so\nfar taking care for his soul as well as his body, inasmuch as that he\ncontributed a groat a year to the shrine of our Lady of Walsingham, and\nthe same magnificent sum to the holy blood at Hales, on the express\ncondition of the interest of the Virgin for the promotion of the future\nwelfare of the Earl in heaven. Such is an outline of a nobleman\u2019s\nhousehold in the good old days of Henry VII.\n\nIn the reign of the same King, fish was a scarce article, and for a\nsingular reason; namely, people destroyed them at an unlawful season,\nfor the purpose of feeding their pigs or manuring the ground. The\nfavourite wine at table was Malmsey: it came from Candy; and there was\na legal restriction against its costing more than four pounds per butt.\nIn this reign our cooks wrought at fires made with wood imported from\nGascony and Languedoc, whence also much wine was brought, but, by law,\nonly in English bottoms. The richest man of this reign was Sir William\nStanley, into whose hands fell nearly all the spoil of Bosworth Field;\nand therewith he maintained a far more princely house and table than\nhis master.\n\nIn Pegge\u2019s \u201c_Cury_\u201d there is an account of the rolls of provisions,\nwith their prices, in the time of Henry VIII.; and we find that, at the\ndinner given at the marriage of Gervase Clifton and Mary Nevile, the\nprice of three hogsheads of wine (one white, one red, one claret) was\nset down at \u00a35. 5_s._\n\nThe dining-rooms--and, indeed, these were the common living rooms in\nthe greatest houses--were still uncomfortable places. The walls were\nof stone, partially concealed by tapestry hung upon timber hooks,\nand taken down whenever the family removed, (leaving bare the stone\nwalls,) lest the damp should rot it. It was a fashion that had lasted\nfor centuries; but it began to disappear when mansions ceased to be\nfortresses. The tapestry, it may be observed, was suspended on a\nwooden frame projecting from the wall, between which and the hangings\nthere was a passage wide enough to kill a man, as Hamlet did Polonius,\n\u201cbehind the arras.\u201d It was not till the reign of Charles I. that houses\nwere built with underground rooms; the pantry, cellars, kitchens, and\nstore-rooms were, previous to this reign, all on the ground floor; and\nthe officials presiding in each took there, respectively, their solemn\npost on great days of state-dinners. There were certain days when the\ncontents of these several offices, meat and drink, were bountifully\nsupplied to every applicant. To revert to tapestry: we see the time of\nits change, in the speech of Falstaff, who wishes his hostess to sell\nher tapestry, and adopt the cheaper painted canvas which came from\nHolland.\n\nAt this time, and, indeed, long after, our English yeomanry and\ntradesmen were more anxious to invigorate their bodies by a generous\ndiet, than to dwell in well-furnished houses, or to find comfort in\ncleanliness and elegance. \u201cThese English,\u201d said the Spaniards who came\nover with Philip II., \u201chave their houses made of sticks and dirt; but\nthey fare commonly as well as the King.\u201d\n\nPrevious to the age of Elizabeth, even the Monarch, well as he might\nfare, and gloriously as he shone in pageants, was but simply lodged.\nThe furniture of the bed-room of Henry VIII. was of the very simplest;\nand the magnificent Wolsey was content with deal for the material\nof most of the furniture of his palace. But the community generally\nwas, from this period, both boarded and bedded more comfortably and\nrefinedly than before. The hours for meals were eight, noon, and six;\nbut \u201cafter-meats,\u201d and \u201cafter-suppers,\u201d filled up the intervals. It was\nchiefly at the \u201cafter-supper\u201d that wine was used. The dinner, however,\nhad become the principal meal of the day. It was abundant; but the\njester and harper were no longer tolerated at it, with their lively\nsauce of mirth and music. It was the fashion to be sad, and ceremonious\ndinners were celebrated in stately silence, or a dignified _sotto\nvoce_. Each guest took his place according to a properly marshalled\norder of precedence; and, before sitting down to dinner, they washed\nwith rose-water and perfumes, like the parochial boards of half a\ncentury ago, who used also to deduct the expenses of both dinners and\nrose-water from the rates levied for the relief of the poor; this, too,\nat a time when men who were _not_ parish authorities were being hanged\nfor stealing to the amount of a few shillings.\n\nBy the reign of Elizabeth, napkins had been added to table-cloths. The\nwealthy ate the manchet, or fine wheaten bread; the middle classes\nwere content with a bread of coarser quality called \u201c_chete_;\u201d and the\nravelled, brown, or _maslin_ bread was consumed by those who could\nafford to procure no better. There was a passion for strong wines at\nthis time. Of this, France sent more than half a hundred different\nsorts, and thirty-six various kinds were imported from other parts of\nEurope. About 30,000 tuns were imported yearly, exclusive of what the\nnobility imported _free of duty_. The compound wines were in great\nrequest; and ladies did not disdain to put their lips to distilled\nliquors, such as _rosa-solis_ and _aqua-vit\u00e6_. Ale was brewed stronger\nthan these distillations; and our ancestors drank thereof to an extent\nthat is terrific only to think of. Camden ascribes the prevailing\ndrunkenness to the long wars in the Netherlands, previous to which, we\nhad been held, \u201cof all the northern nations, the most commended for\nsobriety.\u201d The barbarous terms formerly used in drinking matches, are\nall of Dutch, German, or Danish origin, and this serves to confirm\nCamden\u2019s assertion. The statutes passed to correct the evil were\ndisregarded. James I. was particularly desirous to enforce these\nstatutes; but his chief difficulty lay in the fact, that he was the\nfirst to infringe them.\n\nIn Elizabeth\u2019s reign the \u201cwatching candles\u201d of Alfred (to mark the\ntime) were in use in many houses. This is a curious trait of in-door\nlife. We have an \u201cexterior\u201d one, in the fact that the Vicar of Hurly,\nwho served Maidenhead, had an addition of stipend on account of the\ndanger he ran, in crossing the thicket, when he passed to or from the\nchurch--and his inn. It was not a delicate period, and if caraways\nalways appeared at dessert, every one knew that they were there for\nthe kind purpose of curing expected flatulence in the guests.\n\nIn James the First\u2019s reign, the fashion of Malmsey had passed away,\nand the Hungarian red wine (_Ofener_) had taken its place. It came by\nBreslau to Hamburg, where it was shipped to England. It is a strong\nwine, and bears some resemblance to port.\n\nIn country-houses in the seventeenth century, the Knight or Squire\nwas head of a host of retainers, three-fourths of whom consumed the\nsubstance of the master on whose estate they were born, without\nrendering him much other service than drinking his ale, eating his\nbeef, and wearing his livery. Brief family prayers, and heavy family\nbreakfasts, a run with the hounds, and an early dinner, followed by\nlong and heavy drinking, till supper-time, when more feeding and\nimbibing went on until each man finished his posset, or carried it\nwith him to bed,--such was the ordinary course: but it admitted of\nexceptions where the master was a man of intellect, and then the\ncountry-house was a temple of hospitality rather than of riot; and good\nsense and ripe wit took the place of the sensuality, obscurity, and\nignorance that distinguished the boards where the Squire was simply a\n\u201cbrute.\u201d\n\nOf the table traits of this century, the best examples are to be found\nin Pepys and Evelyn. In the Diary of the former, may be seen what a\njolly tavern life could be led by a grave official, and no scandal\ngiven. Evelyn takes us into better company. We find him at the Spanish\nAmbassador\u2019s, when his Excellency, by way of dessert, endeavoured to\nconvert him to the Roman Catholic Church. We go with him to the feast\nwhere the Envoy from the Emperor of Morocco figured as so civilized a\ngentleman, while the representative of the Czar of Muscovy comported\nhimself like a rude clown; and we dine with him at Lady Sunderland\u2019s,\nwhere the noble hostess had engaged, for the amusement of the guests,\na man who swallowed stones, and who not only performed the feat in\npresence of the company, but convinced them there was no cheat, by\nmaking the stones rattle in his stomach. But, _nous avons chang\u00e9 tout\ncela_, and not only changed in taste, but improved in manners.\n\nPepys gives a curious account of a Lord Mayor\u2019s dinner in 1663. It was\nserved in the Guildhall, at one o\u2019clock in the day. A bill of fare\nwas placed with every salt-cellar, and at the end of each table was a\nlist of \u201cthe persons proper\u201d there to be seated. Here is a mixture of\nabundance and barbarism. \u201cMany were the tables, but none in the hall,\nbut the Mayor\u2019s and the Lords\u2019 of the Privy Council, _that had napkins\nor knives_, which was very strange. I sat at the merchant-strangers\u2019\ntable, where ten good dishes to a mess, with plenty of wine of all\nsorts; but it was very unpleasing that we had no napkins, nor change\nof trenchers, and drank out of earthen pitchers and wooden dishes.\nThe dinner, it seems, is made by the Mayor and two Sheriffs for the\ntime being, and the whole is reckoned to come to \u00a3700 or \u00a3800 at\nmost.\u201d Pepys took his spoon and fork with him, as was the custom\nof those days with guests invited to great entertainments. \u201cForks\u201d\ncame in with Tom Coryat, in the reign of James I.; but they were not\n\u201cfamiliar\u201d till after the Restoration. The \u201claying of napkins,\u201d as\nit was called, was a profession of itself. Pepys mentions, the _day\nbefore_ one of his dinner-parties, that he went home, and \u201cthere found\none laying of my napkins against to-morrow, in figures of all sorts,\nwhich is mighty pretty, and, it seems, is his trade, and he gets much\nmoney by it.\u201d The age of Pepys, we may further notice, was the great\n\u201csupping age.\u201d Pepys himself supped heartily on venison pasty; but his\noccasional \u201cnext morning\u201d remark was like that of Scrub: \u201cMy head\naches consumedly!\u201d The dashing Duchess of Cleveland supped off such\nsubstantials as roast chine of beef; much more solid fare than that of\nthe Squires in a succeeding reign, who were content, with Sir Roger de\nCoverley, to wind up the day with \u201cgood Cheshire cheese, best mustard,\na golden pippin, and a pipe of John Sly\u2019s best.\u201d\n\nA few years earlier, Laud had leisure to write anxiously to Strafford\non the subject of Ulster eels. \u201cYour Ulster eels are the fattest and\nfairest that ever I saw, and it\u2019s a thousand pities there should be\nany error in their salting, or any thing else about them; for how the\ncarriage should hurt them I do not see, considering that other salted\neels are brought as far, and retain their goodness; but the dried fish\nwas exceeding good.\u201d There was a good deal of error in the preserving\nof other things besides eels, if Laud had only known as much.\n\nIt may be mentioned as something of a \u201cTable Trait,\u201d illustrating the\npopular appetite in the reign of Charles II., that he sent sea stores\nto the people encamped in Moorfields; but they were so well provisioned\nby the liberality of the nation, that they turned up their noses at\nthe King\u2019s biscuits, and sent them back, \u201cnot having been used to the\nsame.\u201d There was some ungrateful impertinence in this; but there was\nless meanness in it than was shown by the great ladies of Queen Anne\u2019s\nreign, who were curious in old china, and who indulged their passion by\n\u201cswopping\u201d their old clothes for fragile cups and saucers, instead of\ngiving the former to the poor.\n\nDryden speaks, in the Preface to his \u201cLove Triumphant,\u201d of a remarkable\ntrait of the time of William III. \u201cIt is the usual practice,\u201d he says,\n\u201cof our decayed gentry, to look about them for some illustrious family,\nand then endeavour to fix their young darling, where he may be both\nwell educated and supported.\u201d\n\nShaftesbury reveals to us an illustration of George the First\u2019s reign.\n\u201cIn latter days,\u201d he says, \u201cit has become the fashion to eat with\nless ceremony and method. Every one chooses to carve for himself. The\nlearned manner of dissection is out of request; and a certain method\nof cookery has been introduced, by which the anatomical science of\nthe table is entirely set aside. _Rago\u00fbts_ and _fricass\u00e9es_ are the\nreigning dishes, in which every thing is so dismembered, and thrown out\nof all order and form, that no part of the mess can properly be divided\nor distinguished from another.\u201d But we have come to a period that\ndemands a chapter to itself; and even with that implied space, we can\nhardly do justice to the Table Traits of the Last Century.\n\n\n\n\nTABLE TRAITS OF THE LAST CENTURY.\n\n\nWhen Mr. Chute intimated to Horace Walpole that his \u201ctemperance diet\nand milk\u201d had rendered him stupid, Walpole protested pleasantly against\nsuch an idea. \u201cI have such lamentable proofs,\u201d he says, \u201cevery day, of\nthe stupifying qualities of beef, ale, and wine, that I have contracted\na most religious veneration for your spiritual nouriture. Only imagine\nthat I here, (Houghton,) every day, see men who are mountains of roast\nbeef, and only seem just roughly hewn out into the outlines of human\nform, like the giant rock at Pratolino! I shudder when I see them\nbrandish their knives, in act to carve, and look on them as savages\nthat devour one another. I should not stare at all more than I do, if\nyonder Alderman, at the end of the table, was to stick his fork into\nhis jolly neighbour\u2019s cheek, and cut a brave slice of brown and fat.\nWhy, I\u2019ll swear I see no difference between a country gentleman and a\nsirloin: whenever the first laughs, or the latter is cut, there run out\njust the same streams of gravy! Indeed, the sirloin does not ask quite\nso many questions. I have an aunt here, a family piece of goods, an old\nremnant of inquisitive hospitality and economy, who, to all intents and\npurposes, is as beefy as her neighbours.\u201d\n\nCertainly, I think it may be considered that, in diet and in\nprinciples, we have improved upon the fashion of one hundred and\nten years ago;--and, perhaps, the improvement in principles is a\nconsequence of that in diet. There was a profound meaning in the point\nof faith of some old religionists, that the stomach was the seat of\nthe soul. However this may be, the \u201cbeefy\u201d men of Walpole\u2019s time had,\noccasionally, strange ideas touching honour. Old Nourse, for instance,\nchallenged Lord Windsor, who refused to fight him, either with sword or\npistols, on the plea that Nourse was too aged a man. Thereupon Nourse,\nin a fit of vexation and indigestion, went home from the coffee-house\nand cut his throat! \u201cIt was strange, yet very English,\u201d says Walpole.\nOld Nourse must have had Japanese blood in him. At Jeddo, when a\nnobleman feels himself slighted, he walks home, takes the sharpest\nknife he can find, and rips himself open, from the _umbilicus_ to the\n_trachea_!\n\nQuite as certainly, strong diet and weak principles prevailed among\nour great-grandsires and their dames. Lady Townshend fell in love with\nthe rebel Lord Kilmarnock, from merely seeing him at his trial. She\nforthwith cast off her old lover, Sir Harry Nisbett, and became \u201cas\nyellow as a jonquil\u201d for the new object of her versatile affection.\nShe even took a French master, in order that she might forget the\nlanguage of \u201cthe bloody English!\u201d She was not so afflicted, but that\nshe could bear the company of gay George Selwyn to dine with her; and\nhe, believing that her passion was feigned, joked with her, on what\nwas always a favourite topic with himself,--the approaching execution.\nLady Townshend forthwith rushed from the table in rage and tears, and\nMr. Selwyn finished the bottle with \u201cMrs. Dorcas, her woman,\u201d who\nbegged of him to help her to a sight of the execution! Mrs. Dorcas had\na friend who had promised to protect her, and, added she, \u201cI can lie\nin the Tower the night before!\u201d This is a pretty dining-room interior\nof the last century. As for George Selwyn, that most celebrated of\nthe diners-out of a hundred years ago, he said the pleasantest thing\npossible at dessert, after the execution of Lord Lovat. Some ladies\nasked him how he could be such a barbarian as to see the head cut\noff. \u201cNay,\u201d said he, \u201cif that was such a crime, I am sure I have made\namends; for I went to see it sewed on again!\u201d \u201cGeorge,\u201d says Walpole,\n\u201cnever thinks but _\u00e0 la t\u00eate tranch\u00e9e_; he came to town t\u2019other\nday to have a tooth drawn, and told the man that he would drop his\nhandkerchief for the signal.\u201d\n\nSelwyn kept his powers bright by keeping good company; while Gray the\npoet was but indifferent society, from living reclusely, added to a\nnatural turn for melancholy, and \u201ca little too much dignity.\u201d Young,\na greater poet than Gray, was as brilliant in conversation as Selwyn\nhimself, as long as, like Selwyn, he polished his wit by contact with\nthe world. When he dined with Garrick, Quin, and George Anne Bellamy,\nhe was the sprightliest of the four; but when he took to realizing\nthe solitude he had epically praised, Young, too, became a proser.\nQuin loved good living as much as he did sparkling conversation; and\nGarrick, the other guest noticed above, has perfectly delineated Quin\nthe epicure in the following epigram, as he subsequently did Quin, the\nman and brother of men, in his epitaph in Bath Abbey:--\n\n  \u201cA plague on Egypt\u2019s art! I say;\n  Embalm the dead, on senseless clay\n    Rich wines and spices waste!\n  Like sturgeon, or like brawn, shall I,\n  Bound in a precious pickle, lie,\n    Which I shall never taste?\n\n  \u201cLet me embalm this flesh of mine\n  With turtle fat and Bordeaux wine,\n    And spoil th\u2019 Egyptian trade.\n  Than Humphrey\u2019s Duke more happy I;\n  Embalm\u2019d alive, old Quin shall die,\n    A mummy, ready-made.\u201d\n\nA good many female mummies were prepared during the last century after\na similar receipt. Witness Walpole\u2019s neighbour at Strawberry Hill, \u201can\nattorney\u2019s wife, and much given to the bottle. By the time she has\nfinished that and daylight, she grows afraid of thieves, and makes\nher servants fire minute-guns out of the garret windows. The divine\nAsheton,\u201d he proceeds, \u201cwill give you an account of the astonishment we\nwere in last night at hearing guns. I began to think that the Duke (of\nCumberland) had brought some of his defeats from Flanders.\u201d\n\nYoung denounces, in his \u201cSatires,\u201d both tea and wine, as abused by the\nfair sex of the last century. In Memmia he paints Lady Betty Germain,\nin the lines I have quoted under the head of \u201cTea;\u201d and then, hurling\nhis shafts of satire at that which another poet has described as \u201ccups\nwhich cheer, but not inebriate,\u201d he adds,--\n\n  \u201cTea! how I tremble at thy fatal stream!\n  As Lethe, dreadful to the love of fame.\n  What devastations on thy banks are seen!\n  What shades of mighty names which once have been!\n  A hecatomb of characters supplies\n  Thy painted altar\u2019s daily sacrifice.\n  Hervey, Pearce, Blount, aspersed by thee, decay,\n  As grains of finest sugars melt away,\n  And recommend thee more to mortal taste:\n  Scandal\u2019s the sweetener of a female feast.\u201d\n\nAnd then, adverting to the ladies who, like Walpole\u2019s \u201cattorney\u2019s\nwife,\u201d were much given to the bottle, the poet exclaims,--\n\n  \u201cBut this inhuman triumph shall decline,\n  And thy revolting Naiads call for wine;\n  Spirits no longer shall serve under thee,\n  But reign in thy own cup, exploded Tea!\n  Citronia\u2019s nose declares thy ruin nigh;\n  And who dares give Citronia\u2019s nose the lie?\n  The ladies long at men of drink exclaim\u2019d,\n  And what impair\u2019d both health and virtue blamed.\n  At length, to rescue man, the generous lass\n  Stole from her consort the pernicious glass.\n  As glorious as the British Queen renown\u2019d,\n  Who suck\u2019d the poison from her husband\u2019s wound.\u201d\n\nManners and morals generally go hand in hand; but those of the ladies\nsatirized by Young were not so bad as those of the French Princesses\nof a few years before, when they and Duchesses were so addicted to\ndrinking, that no one thought it a vice, since royalty and aristocracy\npractised it. The Dauphine of Burgundy is indeed praised by her\nbiographers as not drinking to any great excess during the three last\nyears of her life. But this was exceptional. The Duchess of Bourbon\nand her daughters drank like dragoons; but the latter were unruly\nin their cups, whereas the old lady carried her liquor discreetly.\nHenrietta, Madame de Montespan, and the Princess di Monaco, were all\naddicted, more or less, to tippling. The Duchess de Bourbon and Her\nGrace of Chartres added smoking to their other boon qualities; and the\nDauphin once surprised them with pipes which had been _cullot\u00e9s_ for\nthem by common soldiers of the Swiss Guard! In France, devotion even\nwas made a means towards drunkenness. Bungener tells us, in his \u201c_Trois\nSermons sous Louis XV._,\u201d that Monsieur Basquiat de la House owned a\nsmall estate in Gascony, which produced a wine which no one would buy.\nBeing at Rome, as Secretary of an Embassy, he procured a body from the\ncatacombs, which he christened by the name of a saint venerated in his\npart of the country. The people received it with great pomp. A _f\u00eate_\nwas appointed by the Pope, a fair by the Government, and the wine was\nsold by hogsheads! It was a wine as thin as the beverage which Mr.\nChute lived on when he had the gout, at which time, says Walpole, \u201che\nkeeps himself very low, and lives upon very thin ink.\u201d\n\nThere was a good deal of latitude of observation and conversation at\nthe dinner-tables of the last century; and the letter-writer I have\njust cited affords us ample evidence of the fact. John Stanhope, of the\nAdmiralty, he informs us, \u201cwas sitting by an old Mr. Curzon, a nasty\nwretch, and very covetous; his nose wanted blowing, and continued to\nwant it; at last Mr. Stanhope, with the greatest good breeding, said,\n\u2018Indeed, Sir, if you don\u2019t wipe your nose, you will lose that drop.\u2019\u201d\n\nA hundred years ago, Walpole remarked that Methodism, drinking, and\ngambling were all on the increase. Of the first he sneeringly says,\n\u201cIt increases as fast as any religious nonsense did.\u201d Of the second he\nremarks, \u201cDrinking is at the highest wine-mark;\u201d and he speaks of the\nthird as being so violent, that \u201cat the last Newmarket meeting, in the\nrapidity of both gaming and drinking, a bank bill was thrown down, and,\nnobody immediately claiming it, they agreed to give it to a man who was\nstanding by!\u201d\n\nThere was a love of good eating, as well as of deep drinking, even\namong the upper classes of the last century. What a picture of a\nDuchess is that of her Grace of Queensberry, posting down to Parson\u2019s\nGreen, to tell Lady Sophia Thomas \u201csomething of importance;\u201d namely,\n\u201cTake a couple of beefsteaks, clap them together as if they were for\na dumpling, and eat them with pepper and salt: it is the best thing\nyou ever tasted! I could not help coming to tell you this;\u201d--and then\nshe drove back to town. And what a picture of a Magistrate is that of\nFielding, seated at supper with a blind man, a Drury-Lane Chloris,\nand three Irishmen, all eating cold mutton and ham from one dish, on\na very dirty cloth, and \u201chis worship\u201d refusing to rise to attend to\nthe administration of Justices\u2019 justice! It is but fair, however, to\nFielding to add, that he might have had better fare had he been more\noppressive touching fees. And, besides, great dignitaries set him but\nan indifferent example. Gray, speaking of the Duke of Newcastle\u2019s\ninstallation at Oxford, remarks, that \u201cevery one was very gay and very\nbusy in the morning, and very owlish and very tipsy at night. I make\nno exceptions, from the Chancellor to Blewcoat.\u201d Lord Pembroke, truly,\nwas temperate enough to live upon vegetables; but the diet did not\nimprove either his temper or his morals. Ladies--and they were not over\ndelicate a century ago--as much dreaded sitting near him at dinner, as\ntheir daughters and grand-daughters dreaded to be near the late Duke\nof Cumberland, who was pretty sure to say something in the course of\ndinner expressly to embarrass them. The vegetarian Lord Pomfret was so\nblasphemous at tennis, that the Primate of Ireland, Dr. George Stone,\nwas compelled to leave off playing with him. For Primates handled the\nrackets then, as Pope and Cardinals do now the cue. Pio Nono and the\nexpertest of the Sacred College play _la poule_ at billiards, after\ndinner, with the view of keeping down the good Pontiff\u2019s obesity. This\nis almost as curious a trait as that of Taafe, the Irishman, who,\nconceiving himself to have been insulted at a dinner, and not being\nthen able, as a Roman Catholic, to wear a sword, changed his religion,\nand ran his adversary through the body. The confusion of ideas which\nprompted a man to follow a particular faith, in order that he might\ncommit murder, was something like that which influenced the poor woman\nwho, suddenly becoming pious, after hearing a sermon from Rowland Hill,\nwent to a book-stall, and stole a Bible.\n\nI have noticed the love of good eating, and the coarseness connected\nwith it. There was also a coarse economy attendant on it. The\nDuchess of Devonshire would call out to the Duke, when both were\npresiding at supper after one of their assemblies, \u201cGood God, Duke!\ndon\u2019t cut the ham; nobody will eat any;\u201d and then she would relate\nthe circumstances of her private _m\u00e9nage_ to her neighbour: \u201cWhen\nthere\u2019s only my Lord and I, besides a pudding, we have always a dish\nof roast,\u201d--no very dainty fare for a ducal pair. Indeed, there was\nmuch want of daintiness, and of dignity, too, in many of those with\nwhom both might have been looked for as a possession. Lord Coventry\nchased his Lady round the dinner-table, and scrubbed the paint off\nher cheeks with a napkin. The Duke and Duchess of Hamilton were more\ncontemptible in their pomposity than their Graces of Devonshire were\nin their plainness. At their own house they walked in to dinner before\ntheir company, sat together at the upper end of their own table, ate\ntogether off one plate, and drank to nobody beneath the rank of Earl.\nIt was, indeed, a wonder that they could get any one of any rank\nto dine with them at all. But, in point of dinners, people are not\n\u201cnice\u201d even now. Dukes very recently dined with a railway potentate,\nin hopes of profiting by the condescension; and Duchesses heard,\nwithout a smile, that potentate\u2019s lady superbly dismiss them with an\n\u201c_au reservoir_!\u201d--an expression, by the way, which is refined, when\ncompared with that taught by our nobility, a hundred years ago, to\nthe rich Bohemian Countess Chamfelt; namely, \u201cD--n you!\u201d and, \u201cKiss\nme!\u201d but it was apologetically said of her, that she never used the\nformer but upon the miscarriage of the latter. This was at a time when\nvast assemblies were followed by vast suppers, vast suppers by vast\ndrinking, and when nymphs and swains reached home at dawn with wigs,\nlike Ranger\u2019s in the comedy, vastly battered, and not very fit to be\nseen.\n\nPope, in the last century, moralized, with effect, on the deaths of\nthe dissolute Buckingham and the avaricious Cutler; and the avarice\nof Sir John was perhaps more detestable than any extravagance that\nis satirized by Pope, or witticized by Walpole. But Sir John Cutler\nwas ingenious in his thrift. This rich miser ordinarily travelled on\nhorseback and alone, in order to avoid expense. On reaching his inn at\nnight, he feigned indisposition, as an excuse for not taking supper.\nHe would simply order the hostler to bring a little straw to his room,\nto put in his boots. He then had his bed warmed, and got into it, but\nonly to get out of it again as soon as the servant had left the room.\nThen, with the straw in his boots and the candle at his bed-side, he\nkindled a little fire, at which he toasted a herring which he drew from\nhis pocket. This, with a bit of bread which he carried with him, and a\nlittle water from the jug, enabled the lord of countless thousands to\nsup at a very moderate cost.\n\nWell, this sordidness was less culpable perhaps than slightly\noverstepping income by giving assemblies and suppers. At the latter\nthere was, at least, wit, and as much of it as was ever to be found at\nMadame du Deffand\u2019s, where, by the way, the people did _not_ sup. \u201cLast\nnight, at my Lady Hervey\u2019s,\u201d says Walpole, \u201cMrs. Dives was expressing\ngreat panic about the French,\u201d who were said to be preparing to invade\nEngland. \u201cMy Lady Rochford, looking down on her fan, said, with great\nsoftness, \u2018I don\u2019t know; I don\u2019t think the French are a sort of people\nthat women need be afraid of.\u2019\u201d This was more commendable wit than that\nof Madame du Deffand herself, who, as I have previously remarked, made\na whole assembly laugh, at Madame de Marchais\u2019, when her old lover was\nknown to be dying, by saying as she entered, \u201cHe is gone; and wasn\u2019t it\nlucky? He died at six, or I could not possibly have shown myself here\nto-night.\u201d\n\nOur vain lady-wits, however, too often lacked refinement. \u201cIf I drink\nany more,\u201d said Lady Coventry at Lord Hertford\u2019s table, \u201cif I drink\nany more, I shall be \u2018muckibus.\u2019\u201d \u201cLord!\u201d said Lady Mary Coke, \u201cwhat\nis that?\u201d \u201cO,\u201d was the reply, \u201cit is Irish for _sentimental_!\u201d In\nthose days there were no wedding breakfasts: the nuptial banquet was\na dinner, and bride and bridegroom saw it out. Walpole congratulates\nhimself that, at the marriage of his niece Maria, \u201cthere was neither\nform nor indecency, both which generally meet on such occasions. They\nwere married,\u201d he adds, \u201cat my brother\u2019s in Pall Mall, just before\ndinner, by Mr. Keppel; the company, my brother, his son, Mrs. Keppel\nand Charlotte, Lady Elizabeth Keppel, Lady Betty Waldegrave, and I.\nWe dined there; the Earl and new Countess got into their post-chaise\nat eight o\u2019clock, and went to Navestock alone, where they stay till\nSaturday night.\u201d Walpole gives instances enough--and more than\nenough--where matters did not go off so becomingly. Lords and Ladies\nwere terribly coarse in sentiment and expression; and the women were\noften worse than the men. \u201cMiss Pett,\u201d says the writer whom I have so\noften quoted, \u201chas dismissed Lord Buckingham: _tant mieux pour lui_!\nShe damns her eyes that she will marry some Captain: _tant mieux pour\nelle_.\u201d This is a sample of Table Traits in 1760; and it was long\nbefore manners and morals improved. The example was not of the best\nsort even in high places. The mistress of Alfieri dined at Court, as\nwidow of the Pretender; and Madame du Barry was publicly feasted by our\npotential Lord Mayor.\n\nSome of the women were not only coarse in speech, but furies in act,\nand often sharpers to boot. Thus, when \u201cJemmy Lumley,\u201d in 1761, had\na party of ladies at his house, with whom, after dinner, he played\nwhist, from six at night till noon the next day, he lost two thousand\npounds, which, suspecting knavery, he refused to pay. His antagonist,\nMrs. Mackenzie, subsequently pounced upon him in the garden of an\ninn at Hampstead, where he was about to give a dinner to some other\nladies. The sturdy \u201cScotchwoman,\u201d as Gray calls her, demanded her\nmoney, and, on meeting with a refusal, she \u201chorsewhipped, trampled,\nbruised,\u201d and served him with worse indignities still, as may be seen\nby the curious, in Gray\u2019s Letter to Warton. Lumley\u2019s servants only with\ndifficulty rescued their master from the fury, who carried a horse-whip\nbeneath her hoop. The gentlemen do not appear to have been so generous,\nin their character of lovers, as their French brethren, who ruined\nthemselves for \u201c_les beaux yeux_\u201d of some temporary idol. Miss Ford\nlaughed consumedly at Lord Jersey, for sending her (\u201can odd first and\nonly present to a beloved mistress\u201d) a boar\u2019s head, which, she says, \u201cI\nhad often the honour to meet at your Lordship\u2019s table before ... and\nwould have eat it, had it been eatable.\u201d\n\nThe public are pretty familiar with the Household-Book of the Earl of\nNorthumberland; and have learned much therefrom touching the Table\nTraits of the early period in which it was written. A later Earl did\nnot inherit the spirit of organization which influenced his ancestor.\n\u201cI was to dine at Northumberland House,\u201d says Walpole, in 1765, \u201cand\nwent there a little after hour. There I found the Countess, Lady Betty\nMackinsy, Lady Strafford, my Lady Finlater,--who was never out of\nScotland before,--a tall lad of fifteen, her son, Lord Drogheda, and\nMr. Worseley. At five\u201d (which is conjectured to have been the hour of\nextreme fashion a century ago) \u201carrived Mr. Mitchell, who said the\nLords had commenced to read the Poor Bill, which would take, at least,\ntwo hours, and, perhaps, would debate it afterwards. We concluded\ndinner would be called for; it not being very precedented for ladies\nto wait for gentlemen. No such thing! Six o\u2019clock came,--seven o\u2019clock\ncame,--our coaches came! Well, we sent them away; and excuses were,\nwe were engaged. Still, the Countess\u2019s heart did not relent, nor\nuttered a syllable of apology. We wore out the wind and the weather,\nthe opera and the play, Mrs. Cornely\u2019s and Almack\u2019s, and every topic\nthat would do in a formal circle. We hinted, represented--in vain.\nThe clock struck eight. My Lady, at last, said she would go and order\ndinner; but it was a good half-hour before it appeared. We then sat\ndown to a table of fourteen covers; but, instead of substantials,\nthere was nothing but a profusion of plates, striped red, green, and\nyellow,--gilt plate, blacks, and uniforms. My Lady Finlater, who never\nsaw those embroidered dinners, nor dined after three, was famished.\nThe first course stayed as long as possible, in hopes of the Lords;\nso did the second. The dessert at last arrived, and the middle dish\nwas actually set on, when Lord Finlater and Mr. Mackay arrived! Would\nyou believe it?--the dessert was remanded, and the whole first course\nbrought back again! Stay--I have not done! Just as this second first\ncourse had done its duty, Lord Northumberland, Lord Strafford, and\nMackinsy came in; and the whole began a third time. Then the second\ncourse, and the dessert! I thought we should have dropped from our\nchairs with fatigue and fumes. When the clock struck eleven, we were\nasked to return to the drawing-room, and take tea and coffee; but I\nsaid I was engaged to supper, and came home to bed!\u201d This dinner may\nbe contrasted with another given, at a later period, by a member of\nthe same house. The Nobleman in question was an Earl Percy, who was\nin Ireland with his regiment,--the Fifth Infantry; and who, after\nmuch consideration, consented to give a dinner to the officers in\ngarrison at Limerick. The gallant, but cautious, Earl ordered the\nrepast at a tavern, specifying that it should be for fifty persons, at\neighteen-pence per head. The officers heard of the arrangement, and\nthey ordered the landlord to provide a banquet at a guinea _per_ head,\npromising to pay the difference, in the event of their entertainer\ndeclining to do so. When the banquet was served, there was but one\nastonished and uncomfortable individual at the board; and that was\nthe Earl himself, who beheld a feast for the gods, and heard himself\ngratefully complimented upon the excellence both of viands and wines.\nThe astonished Earl experienced an easily-understood difficulty in\nreturning thanks when his health was drunk with an enthusiasm that\nbewildered him; and, on retiring early, he sought out the landlord, in\norder to have a solution of an enigma that sorely puzzled him. Boniface\ntold the unadorned and unwelcome truth; and the inexperienced young\nEarl, acknowledging his mistake, discharged the bill with a sigh on\nhimself, and a cheque on his banker.\n\nA host, after all, _may_ appear parsimonious without intending to\nbe so. \u201cThis wine,\u201d said one of this sort to the late Mr. Pocock of\nBristol, who had been dining with him, \u201ccosts me six shillings a\nbottle!\u201d \u201cDoes it?\u201d asked the guest, with a quaint look of gay reproof,\n\u201cthen pass it round, and let me have another six-penn\u2019orth!\u201d\n\nBut, to return to our Table Traits of the Last Century. In 1753, on\nthe 4th of June, there was an installation of Knights of the Garter,\nat Windsor Castle, followed by a grand dinner, and a ball. It would\nseem as if the public claimed the right of seeing the _spectacle_\nfor which they had to pay; for we read that \u201cthe populace attempted\nseveral times to force their way into the hall where the Knights were\nat dinner, against the Guards, on which some were cut and wounded, and\nthe Guards fired several times on them, with powder, to deter them, but\nwithout effect, till they had orders to load with ball, which made them\ndesist.\u201d This is an ill-worded paragraph from the papers of the day;\nbut it is a graphic illustration of the manners of the period.\n\nThese few samples of what society was in the last century, would\nsuffice alone to show that it was sadly out of joint. What caused it?\nAny one who will take the trouble to go carefully through the columns\nof the ill-printed newspapers of the early part of the last century,\nwill find that drunkenness, dissoluteness, and the sword hanging on\nevery fool\u2019s thigh, ready to do his bidding, were the characteristics\nof the period. People got drunk at dinners, and then slew one another,\nor in some other way broke the law. Lord Mohun and Captain Hall dined\ntogether before they made their attempt to carry off Mrs. Bracegirdle;\nand when defeated in their Tarquin-like endeavour, they slaughtered\npoor Will Montford, the player, in the public streets, for no better\nreason than that Montford admired the lady, and Hall was jealous of the\nadmirer. But neither copious dining, nor copious drinking, could make\na brave man of Mohun. In proof of this, it is only necessary to state\nthat before he fought his butchering duel with the Duke of Hamilton,\nhe spent the previous night feasting and drinking at the Bagnio, which\nplace he left in the morning, with his second, Major-General M\u2019Carty,\nas the \u201cPost-boy\u201d remarks, \u201cseized with fear and trembling.\u201d \u201cThe dog\nMohun,\u201d as Swift styled him, was slain, and so was the Duke; but it is\nuncertain whether the latter fell by the hand of his adversary, or the\nsword of that adversary\u2019s second. A few years later we read of Fulwood,\nthe lawyer, going to the play after dinner, drawing upon Beau Fielding,\nrunning him through, rushing in triumph to another house, meeting\nanother antagonist, and getting slain by him, without any one caring to\ninterfere.\n\nIn one of the numbers of the \u201cDaily Post\u201d for 1726, I find it recorded\nthat a bevy of gallants, having joyously dined or supped together,\ndescended from a hackney-coach in Piccadilly, bilked the coachman,\nbeat him to a mummy, and stabbed his horses. Flushed with victory,\nthey rushed into a neighbouring public-house, drew upon the gallants,\nterrified the ladies, and laughed at the mistress of the establishment,\nwho declared that they would bring down ruin upon a place noted for\n\u201cits safety and secrecy.\u201d The succeeding paragraph in the paper\nannounces to the public that the Bishop of London will preach on the\nfollowing Sunday in Bow-church, Cheapside, on the necessity for a\nreformation of manners!\n\nThe Clubs, and especially the \u201cSword Clubs,\u201d with their feastings and\nfightings, were the chief causes that manners were as depraved as they\nwere. After supper, these Clubs took possession of the town, and held\ntheir sword against every man, and found every man\u2019s sword against\nthem. The \u201cBold Bucks,\u201d and the \u201cHell-Fires,\u201d divided the Metropolis\nbetween them. The latter, a comparatively innocent association, found\ntheir simple amusement in mutilating watchmen and citizens. The \u201cBold\nBucks\u201d took for their devilish device, \u201cBlind and Bold Love,\u201d and,\nunder it, committed atrocities, the very thought of which makes the\nheart of human nature palpitate with horror and disgust. No man could\nbecome a member who did not denounce the claims both of nature and God!\nThey used to assemble every Sunday at a tavern, close to the church\nof St. Mary-le-Strand. During divine service, they kept a noisy band\nof horns and drums continually at work; and, after service, they sat\ndown to dinner, the principal dish at which was a \u201cHoly-Ghost pie!\u201d\nAssuredly the sermon of the metropolitan Prelate was much needed; but,\nwhen preached, reformation did but very slowly follow, especially in\nhigh places. At the very end of the century we hear of the Prince of\nWales dining at the Duke of Queensberry\u2019s, at Richmond, with the last\nmistress of Louis XV.; and nobody appears to have been scandalized. And\nthis was the characteristic of the time: vice was not only general,\nbut it did not very seriously offend the few exceptional individuals.\nFor the first three quarters of the century the epitaph of that time\nmight have been taken from the eulogium passed by a May-Fair preacher\nin his Funeral Sermon upon Frederick, Prince of Wales: \u201cHe had no great\nparts, but he had great virtues; indeed, they degenerated into vices:\nhe was very generous; but I hear his generosity has ruined a great many\npeople; and then his condescension was such, that he kept very bad\ncompany.\u201d\n\nI have, elsewhere, spoken of some of the roystering Clubs of the last\ncentury; but I cannot refrain from adding two other instances here,\nas examples of the Table Traits of the same period. The Calves\u2019-Head\nClub established itself in Suffolk-Street, Charing Cross, on the\nanniversary of the martyrdom of King Charles, in the year 1735. The\ngentlemen members had an entertainment of calves\u2019 heads, some of which\nthey showed to the mob outside, whom they treated with strong beer.\nIn the evening, they caused a bonfire to be made before the door, and\nthrew into it, with loud huzzas, a calf\u2019s head, dressed up in a napkin.\nThey also dipped their napkins in red wine, and waved them from the\nwindows, at the same time drinking toasts publicly. The mob huzzaed, as\nwell as their fellow brutes of the Club; but, at length, to show their\nsuperior refinement, they broke the windows; and at length became so\nmischievous, that the Guards were called in to prevent further outrage.\n\nThe above was, no doubt, a demonstration on the part of gentlemen of\nrepublican principles. Some few years later, a different instance\noccurs. The \u201cMonthly Review,\u201d May, 1757, mentions, that \u201cseven\ngentlemen dined at a house of public entertainment in London, and\nwere supposed to have run as great lengths in luxury and expense, if\nnot greater, than the same number of persons were ever known to do\nbefore at a private regale. They afterwards played a game of cards, to\ndecide which of them should pay the bill. It amounted to \u00a381. 11_s._\n6_d._; besides a turtle, which was a present to the company.\u201d This was\ncertainly a heavy bill. A party of the same number at the Clarendon,\nand with turtle charged in the bill, would, in our days, find exceeding\ndifficulty in spending more than \u00a35 each. Their grandsires expended\nmore than twice as much for a dinner not half as good.\n\nIt is only with the present century that old customs disappeared;\nand, with regard to some of them, society is all the better for\ntheir disappearance. Even plum-porridge did not survive the first\nyear of this half century; when the more solid and stable dynasty\nof plum-pudding was finally established. Brand relates, that on\nChristmas-Day, 1801, he dined at the Chaplain\u2019s table, at St. James\u2019s,\n\u201cand partook of the first thing served and eaten on that festival, at\nthat table, namely, a tureen full of rich, luscious plum-porridge. I\ndo not know,\u201d he says, \u201cthat the custom is anywhere else retained.\u201d\nThe great innovation, after this, was in the days of the Regent, when\noysters were served as a prelude to dinner. This fashion was adopted\nby the Prince on the recommendation of a gentleman of his household,\nthe elder Mr. Watier, who brought it with him from France, and added\nan \u201c_experto crede_\u201d to his recommendation. This fashion, however,\nlike others, has passed away; and oysters and drams, as overtures to\ndinner, are things that have fallen into the domain of history.\n\nThere is a custom of these later days, much observed at Christmas time,\nwhich deserves a word of notice. I allude to the \u201cChristmas-tree.\u201d The\ncustom is one, however novel in England, of very ancient observance\nelsewhere. Its birth-place is Egypt. The tree there used was the\npalm; and the ceremony was in full force long before the days of\nAntony and Cleopatra. The palm puts forth a fresh shoot every month.\nIts periodical leaves appear as regularly as those of Mr. Bentley\u2019s\n\u201cMiscellany.\u201d In the time of the winter solstice, when parties were\ngiven in ancient Misraim, a spray of this tree, with twelve shoots,\nwas suspended, to symbolize the completion of another year. The custom\npassed into Italy, where the fir-tree was employed for the purposes\nof celebration; and its pyramidal tips were decorated with burning\ncandles, in honour of Saturn. This festival, the _Saturnalia_, was\nobserved at the winter solstice, from the 17th to the 21st of December,\nand, during its continuance, Davus was as good a man as Chremes. The\n_Sigillaria_, days for interchanging presents of figures in wax, like\nthose on the Christmas-tree, followed; and, finally, the _Juvenalia_,\nwhen men became \u201cboys with boys,\u201d matrons turned children once again,\nand young and old indulged in the solemn romps with which the festival\nclosed, and which _used_ to mark our own old-fashioned festivities at\nChristmas time. That the Egyptian tree passed into Germany, may be\nseen in the pyramids which sometimes there are substituted for the\ntree. But the antique northern mythology has supplied some of the\nobservances. The _Juel Fesi_ was the mid-winter \u201cWheel Feast;\u201d and the\nwheel represented the circling years which end but to begin again. The\nyule-log, as we call it, was the wheel-shaped log; in front of which\nwas roasted the great boar,--an animal hateful to the god of the sun,\nbut the flesh of which was religiously eaten by his worshippers. At\nthis festival presents were made, which were concealed in wrappers, and\nflung in at open windows, emblematical, we are told, of the good, but\nas yet hidden, things which the opening year had in store.\n\nThe Church generally made selection of the heathen festivals for its\nown holy-days. In the early days, this was done chiefly to enable\nChristians to be merry without danger to themselves. It would not\nhave been safe for them to eat, drink, and rejoice on days when Pagan\nGovernments put on mourning. They were glad, then, when these were\nglad, and feasted with them, but holding other celebrations in view.\nHence the German tree; only, for the sun which crowned the Roman tree,\nin honour of Apollo, the Germans place a figure of the Son of God; and,\nfor the Ph\u0153bus and his flocks at the foot, they substitute \u201cthe Good\nShepherd.\u201d The waxen figures are also the _sigillaria_, but with more\nholy impress. The _Saturnalia_ have a place in the table joys that\nattend the exhibition of the tree, in presence of which joy is supposed\nto wither.\n\nIn conclusion, I cannot but notice one other table custom, which is of\nTeutonic origin. I allude to the Cabinet dinners given by Ministers\nprevious to the opening of Parliament, and at which the Royal Speech\nis read, before it is declared in the presence of collective wisdom.\nThis, at all events, reminds us of the ancient German custom, mentioned\nby Tacitus, who tells us, that the Teutonic legislators and warriors\nconsulted twice touching every question of importance: once, by night,\nand over the bowl; and once, by day, when they were perfectly sober. Of\ncourse, I would not insinuate that Ministers could possibly indulge too\nfondly over their cups, like the Senators of the Hercynian forest; and\nyet Viscount Sidmouth\u2019s vice, as Lord Holland tells us, \u201cwas wine;\u201d\nand we have heard even of grave Lord-Stewards so drunk as to pull\ndown the Monarchs they held by the hand, and _should_ have supported.\nThe last unfortunate official who so offended, should have craftily\nqualified his wine with water; and the mention of that subject reminds\nme of the origin of wine and water, of which I will say a few words,\nafter adding one or two more traits of table manners.\n\nI have spoken, in another page, of the unlucky exclamation touching\nhaddock, which caused the perpetual exile of Poodle Byng from Belvoir.\nThere was, however, no offence meant. How different was the case with\nthat impudent coxcomb, Brummell, who managed to be the copper-Captain\nof fashion in London, when the true Captains were fighting their\ncountry\u2019s battles! When Brummell was living almost on the charity of\nMr. Marshall, he was one of a dinner party at that gentleman\u2019s house,\nwhither he took with him, according to his most impertinent custom, one\nof his favourite dogs. The \u201cBeau\u201d had, during dinner, helped himself\nto the wing of a roasted capon stuffed with truffles. He chose to\nfancy that the wing was tough, and, delicately seizing the end of it\nwith a napkin-covered finger and thumb, he passed it under the table\nto his dog, with the remark, \u201cHere, _Atout_! try if you can get your\nteeth through this; for I\u2019ll be d--d if I can.\u201d Not less ungratefully\nimpudent was this gentleman-beggar on another occasion. A French family\nhad given a dinner entirely on his account. It was perfect in its\nway. The ortolans came from Toulouse, the salmon was from the waters\nin the neighbourhood of Rouen, and the company most select. A friend,\nencountering him next day, asked how the dinner had gone off. Brummell\nlifted up his hands, shook his head in a deprecatory manner, and said,\n\u201cDon\u2019t ask me, my good fellow; but, poor man! he did his best.\u201d\n\nThe two most recent examples of Table Traits of the present century,\nthat I have met with, illustrate the two extremes of society; and as\nthey refer to a period of not above a month ago, they will serve, not\ninaptly, to close this section of my series. The first example is\nthat afforded by a dinner given at Boston, in Lincolnshire, to twenty\naged labourers. At this dinner, one of the gentlemen donors of the\nfeast, gave \u201cthe Ladies,\u201d and called on the octogenarian Chairman to\nreturn thanks. The old President, however, shook his head, with a\nmixed melancholy and cunning air, as if he too well knew there was\nnothing to return thanks for. The venerable \u201cVice\u201d was then appealed\nto; but his reply was, that the least said about the subject of the\ntoast would be the soonest mended. At length, a sprightly old man of\nthreescore and ten was requested to respond, he having a gay look about\nhim which seemed warranting gallantry; but he surprised the toast-giver\nby answering, that \u201cas for t\u2019leddies, he\u2019d nowt to say; for his part,\nhe\u2019d never liked \u2019em.\u201d This unchivalrous sentiment awoke, at last, the\nspirit of a strip of a lad who was only sixty-five; and he responded\nto the toast, with a touch of satire, however, in his remarks, that\nleft it uncertain whether he were so much a champion of the fair sex,\nas the company had expected to find in him. The second \u201cTrait\u201d of the\ncustoms of this country is presented by the dinner given in February\nof the present year, by Earl Granville, the guests at which were Lord\nAberdeen, the Bishop of Oxford, and Mr. Bright. There were not such\nstartling contrasts at the reconciliation dinner which brought Wilkes\nand Johnson together, as at Earl Granville\u2019s unique banquet. The host\nand the Premier represented--the first, smiling courtesy; the second,\nthe most frigid severity of a freezing civility. But the strongest\ncontrast was in the persons of the Bishop and the \u201cFriend:\u201d--Dr.\nWilberforce, highest of Churchmen, briefest of Preachers, and twice as\nmuch curled as the son of Clinias himself; while Mr. Bright, with every\nhair as if a plummet depended at the end of it, hating the Church, but\nnot indifferent to _petits p\u00e2t\u00e9s \u00e0 la braise_, must have looked like\nthe vinegar of voluntaryism that would _not_ mingle with the oil of\northodoxy. To have made this banquet complete, there should have been\ntwo more guests,--Dr. Cumming and Dr. Cahill, with appropriate dishes\nbefore each:--a plate of sweetbreads in front of the gentle apostle\nof the Kirk; and a bowl of blood-puddings opposite the surpliced\nPriest who has gained a gloomy notoriety by the \u201cglorious idea,\u201d to\nwhich I have referred, of a massacre of English heretic beef-eaters,\nby the light-dieted holders of Catholic and continental bayonets. But\nDr. Cahill, it may be hoped, is something insane, or would he have\ndeliberately recorded, as he did the other day in the \u201cTablet,\u201d that it\nwere much better for Romanists to read immoral works than the English\nBible? His excellent reason is, that \u201cthe Church\u201d easily forgives\nimmorality, but has no mercy for heresy. Well, well; we should not\nlike to catch a Confessor of this school sitting next our daughter\nat dinner, and intimating that Holywell-street literature was better\nreading than the English version of the Sermon on the Mount.--But let\nus sweeten our imagination with a little Wine and Water.\n\n\n\n\nWINE AND WATER.\n\n\nEarly ages, and the oldest poets, confessed, that wine was the gift\nof the gods to men. The latter would appear to have abused the gift,\nif we may believe Philonides the physician, who wrote a treatise \u201cOn\nPerfumes and Garlands\u201d (\u03a0\u03b5\u03c1\u1f76 \u039c\u03cd\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03a3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c6\u03ac\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd). In this treatise he\nasserts, that, when Bacchus brought the vine from the Red Sea into\nGreece, men drank to such excess, that they became as beasts, and\nincapable of performing manly duties. A party of these revellers were\nonce drinking by the sea-shore, when a sudden storm drove them into a\ncave for shelter. They do not seem, however, to have been inveterate\ntipplers; for, according to Philonides, they left their cups on the\nbeach. When the shower had passed, they found the wine in them mingled\nwith rain water; and, very much to their credit, they liked the mixture\nso well, that they solemnly thanked the \u201cgood genius\u201d who had sent it.\nHence, when wine was served at Grecian repasts, the guests invoked\nthis good genius; and when the turn came for wine mixed with water,\nthey acknowledged the benevolent inventor by the name of _Jupiter\nSaviour_. I may take this opportunity to state, that, at one period, it\nwas the fashion to attend these drinking entertainments in a pair of\n\u201cAlcibiades,\u201d or boots which had been rendered popular by being first\nworn by the curled son of Clinias. Thus we see, that in our fashion\nof conferring on boots the authorities of great names, we are doing\nnothing original; and that men used to call for their \u201cAlcibiades,\u201d as\nthey do now for their \u201cWellingtons,\u201d \u201cBluchers,\u201d or \u201cAlberts.\u201d\n\nTo revert, for a moment, to the question of wine and water, I would\nstate, that it has been discussed in its separate divisions by German\nwriters, the substance of whose opinions I will venture to give in\nverse, without desiring, however, to be considered as endorsing every\nsentiment in full. As French music-books say, it is an \u201c_Air \u00e0 faire_.\u201d\n\n      Do you ask what now glows\n      In this goblet of mine?\n        Wine! wine! wine! wine!\n      To the stream, do ye ask,\n      Shall my cup-bearer go?\n        No! no! no! no!\n\n  Let water its own frigid nature retain;\n  Since water it is, let it water remain!\n  Let it ripple and run in meandering rills,\n  And set the wheels going in brook-sided mills.\n  In the desert, where streams do but scantily run,\n  If so much they\u2019re allow\u2019d by the thirsty old sun,\n  There water _may_ be, as it\u2019s quaff\u2019d by each man,\n  Productive of fun to a whole caravan.\n                      But ask what now glows, &c.\n\n  Yes, water, and welcome, in billows may rise,\n  Till it shiver its feathery crest \u2019gainst the skies;\n  Or in dashing cascades it may joyously leap,\n  Or in silvery lakes lie entranced and asleep;--\n  Or, e\u2019en better still, in full showers of hope,\n  Let it gaily descend on some rich vineyard\u2019s slope,\n  That its sides may bear clusters of ripening bliss,\n  Which, in Autumn, shall melt into nectar like this,\n                      Like this that now glows, &c.\n\n  Let it bear up the vessel that bringeth us o\u2019er\n  Its freight of glad wine from some happier shore.\n  Let it run through each land that in ignorance lies:\n  It the Heathen will do very well to baptize.\n  Yes, water shall have ev\u2019ry due praise of mine,\n  Whether salt, like the ocean, or fresh, like the Rhine.\n  Yes, praised to the echo pure water shall be,\n  But wine, wine alone is the nectar for me!\n                    For \u2019tis that which now glows\n                    In this goblet of mine.\n                      Wine! wine! wine! wine!\n                    No attendant for me\n                    To the river need go.\n                      No! no! no! no!\n\nThe various merits and uses of the respective liquids are fairly\nallowed in the above lines; but I may observe, that wine apologists,\ngenerally, are sadly apt to forget, that there are such things as\nconscience and to-morrow morning. For their edification and use, I\nindite the following colloquy, to be kept in mind, rather than sung, at\nall festivities where the \u201c_Aqua Pumpaginis_\u201d is held in abhorrence:--\n\n  See the wine in the bowl,\n    How it sparkles to-night!\n  Tell us what can compete\n    With that red sea of light;\n  Which breathes forth a perfume\n    That deadens all sorrow,\n  And leaves us bless\u2019d now,\n      (Conscience _loquitur_,)\n  \u201cWith a headache to-morrow!\u201d\n\n  Where are spirits like those\n    That we find in the bowl,\n  Shedding joy round our brows,\n    Breathing peace to the soul?\n  Our tongues feel the magic,\n    There our strains, too, we borrow:\n  We\u2019re Apollos to-night,\n      (Conscience _loquitur_,)\n  \u201cTo be songless to-morrow!\u201d\n\n  O, this rare inspiration!\n    How gay are the dreams\n  Of the thrice triple blest\n    Who may quaff of thy streams!\n  It expels from the heart\n    Sulky care, that old horror,\n  And tells laughter to-night\n      (Conscience, ashamed of the rhyme)\n  \u201cTo wake sadness to-morrow!\u201d\n\n  Drink deep, though there be\n    Thirstless fools, who may preach\n  Of the sins of the bowl,--\n    Do they act as they teach?\n  If we\u2019re sinners, what then!\n    As we\u2019re not friends to sorrow,\n  We\u2019ll be glad ones to-night,\n      (Conscience _loquitur_,)\n  \u201cTo be sad ones to-morrow!\u201d\n\n  Ah! that was old Conscience:\n    _Him_ we\u2019ll drown in the wine!\n  Plunge him in! hold him down!\n    Ah! he dies!--now the Nine\n  May, to write in his praise,\n    From our Helicon borrow.\n  He\u2019s done talking to-night;\n      (Conscience, from the bowl,)\n  \u201cYou shall hear me to-morrow!\u201d\n\nFinally, being on Pegasus, and he ambling along through this chapter\nof Wine and Water, I will take the opportunity, as connected with my\nsubject, of doing justice to a flower whose \u201ccapability,\u201d as Mr. Browne\nused very properly to say, has been overlooked,--I mean the tulip:--\n\n  Praise they who will the saucy vine,\n  With her thousand rings and her curls so fine!\n              But I fill up\n              To the tulip-cup,\n  All looking as though it were bathed in wine.\n              Ah, show me the flower,\n              In vale or bower,\n  That looks half so well as this bowl of mine!\n    O, who this night will fail to fill up,\n    Or to sing in praise of the tulip-cup?\n\n  Praise they who will the willow-tree,\n  With her drooping neck and her tresses free,\n              That bend to the brink\n              Of the brook, and drink\n  Of a liquid that never will do for me!\n              While the tulip-cup\n              Is for ever held up,\n  As though she could drink for eternity.\n    And that is the very best bowl for me,\n    Who hate the sickly willow-tree!\n\n  The water-lily praise who will:\n  Of water we know that she loves her fill.\n              But what, pray, is she\n              To the tulip, that we\n  Have loved for so long, and love so well still?\n              Ah! who doth not think her\n              A mere water-drinker,\n  That quaffs but such wine she can get from the rill?\n    Then fill up to-night to the tulip tall,\n    Who holds forth her cups, and can drain them all!\n\nSee how naturally we drop out of the subject of \u201cWine and Water,\u201d into\nthat of \u201cWine,\u201d to which we now, reverently, yet joyously, address\nourselves.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BIRTH OF THE VINE, AND WHAT HAS COME OF IT.\n\n\nThe birth of the vine was in this wise. On the day of the creation,\nthe trees vied with each other in boasting; and each exulted in the\nenjoyment of his own existence. \u201cThe Lord himself,\u201d said the lofty\ncedar, \u201cplanted me, and in me has he united stability and fragrance,\nstrength and durability.\u201d \u201cMe,\u201d said the shade-spreading palm, \u201chath\nthe beneficence of Jehovah appointed for a blessing, joining together\nin me utility and beauty.\u201d Then the apple-tree spoke: \u201cAs a bridegroom\namong youths, so am I resplendent among the trees of the woods.\u201d \u201cAnd\nI,\u201d said the myrtle, \u201cstand among the lowly bushes, like a rose among\nthorns.\u201d In this manner boasted they all, the olive and the fig; yea,\nthe pine even, and the fir exulted.\n\nThe vine alone, in silence, stooped to the ground. \u201cIt seems,\u201d said\nshe to herself, \u201cas if every thing were denied me,--stem and branch,\nblossom and fruit; but, such as I am, I will hope and wait.\u201d Thus\nspeaking, she sank to the earth, and her branches wept.\n\nBut not long did she thus wait and weep; for, behold, cheerful man, the\nearthly god, drew nigh unto her. He saw a weak plant, the plaything of\nthe breeze, sinking under its own weight, and pining for assistance.\nTouched with compassionate feeling, he upheld it, and trained the\ndelicate tree over his own bower. More freely now sported the air\namong its branches. The warmth of the sun penetrated the hard green\nberries, preparing therein the delicious juice,--a drink for gods and\nmen. Laden with clustering grapes, the vine now bowed herself before\nher lord, and the latter tasted of her refreshing sweets, and named her\nhis friend, his own grateful favourite. It was now that the proud trees\nenvied her, but many of them lived on in sterility, while she rejoiced,\nfull of gratitude at her slender growth, and patient humility; and\ntherefore it is, that it is given to her to make glad the heart of\nsorrowing man, to elevate the cast-down spirit, and to cheer the\nafflicted.\n\n\u201cDespair not,\u201d says Herder, who thus tells the old traditionary story\nof the vine,--\u201cDespair not, O thou that art deserted, but endure\npatiently. Sweet streams issue from unlikely sources; and the feeble\nvine affords the most potent draught in the world.\u201d\n\nLet us, however, turn from poetical tradition to prosaic reality. The\nvine is, by birth, a Persian. Its cradle was on the sunny slopes of\nthe hilly regions on the south shores of the Caspian Sea. There, in\nthe Caucasus, and in Cashmere, the wild vine still climbs and clings\nto the very necks of the most towering trees. Its life-blood in those\nregions is seldom turned to evil purpose. In Caubul it is taken less\nin potions than in powder. The Caubulese dry and grind it to dust, and\neat thereof, finding it a pleasant acid. This is half matter of taste\nand half matter of medicine, just as over-wearied digestions in Germany\ndrive their wretched owners into vineyards, to abstain from meat, and\nlive, for a while, upon raisins. Indeed, the vine was never meant\nentirely for enjoyment. It is one of the most perfect of chymists; and\nif it offers grapes in clusters, its twigs afford carbonate of potash,\nserviceable for many purposes, and, among others, for correcting the\nacidity brought on by too free indulgence in the fruit, or in its\nexpressed liquid.\n\nIn the olden days, when the Patriarchs worshipped Heaven in the\n\u201ccathedral of immensity,\u201d Palestine was renowned for the glory of\nits grapes. There were none other to compare with them upon earth.\nWhen the desert-treaders were waiting the return of their emissaries,\nwhom they had sent from Kadesh-Barnea to spy the Promised Land, their\nthirsty impatience was exchanged for delight at beholding their agents\nre-appear, bearing between them, upon poles, gigantic clusters,--the\nnear fountains whence their dried up souls might draw new life and\nvigour. The grapes of Palestine are still remarkable for their great\nsize. Clusters are spoken of, each of which exceeds a stone in weight;\nand vines are mentioned, whose stems measured a foot and a half\nin diameter, and whose height reached to thirty feet; while their\nbranches afforded a tabernacle of shade, to the extent of thirty feet\nsquare. But it could not have been from such a vine that the men from\nKadesh-Barnea collected the grapes which they could scarcely carry.\nThe Welbeck grapes which the Duke of Portland sent to the Marquess\nof Rockingham, were of Syrian origin; and these--on a single bunch,\nweighing nineteen pounds, and measuring three-and-twenty inches long,\nwith a maximum diameter of nearly twenty inches--were borne upon a pole\na distance of twenty miles, by four labourers; two to carry, and two\nto relieve. So that the conveying grapes in this fashion may have been\nmore on account of their delicacy than of their weight. The Hampton\nCourt vine, too, produces clusters of great weight, and covers a space\nof not less than 2,200 feet.\n\nThe vine has been figuratively employed as an emblem of fruitfulness,\nof security, and peace; and no doubt can exist of its having been\ncultivated at a very early period. Noah planted the vine immediately\nafter the Deluge; and, from the first thing planted, sin came again\ninto the world, bringing with it widely-extending consequences. Bread\nand wine are mentioned in Genesis. Pharaoh\u2019s chief butler dreamed\nof a vine with three branches; and the Israelites (in Numbers)\ncomplained that Moses and Aaron had brought them out of Egypt into a\ndry and barren land, where there were neither figs nor vines. So, in\nafter-years, the companions of Columbus sailed tremblingly with their\ncalm Captain over trackless seas, and murmured at him for bringing them\nfrom the olives and vines of Spain, to the very confines of creation,\nwhere terror reigned, and death sat enthroned.\n\nJacopo di Bergamo gives a singular account of the reason which induced\nNoah to plant the vine. The Patriarch did so, he says, because he saw\na goat in Sicily eat some wild grapes, and afterwards fight with such\ncourage, that Noah inferred there must have been virtue in the fruit.\nHe planted a vine, therefore, and--wherefore is not told--manured it\nwith the blood of a lion, a lamb, a swine, and a monkey, or ape. But\nthis, perhaps, only signifies that, by drinking wine, men become bold,\nconfiding or meek, filthy or obscene.\n\nIt is stated by Theodoret, that Noah himself, after pressing the\ngrapes, became intoxicated through inexperience, as he had been\na water-drinker for six centuries! The sin of Lot is supposed to\nhave been committed, not merely under the influences of wine, but\nof a maddening and drugged draught. The evil power of wine is well\nillustrated by the story of the Monk, to whom Satan offered a choice of\nsins,--incest, murder, or drunkenness. The poor Monk chose the last, as\nthe least of the three; and, when he was drunk, he committed the other\ntwo.\n\nCommentators pronounce our rendering under the single word \u201cwine,\u201d\nthe thirteen distinct Hebrew terms used in the Bible to distinguish\nbetween wines of different sorts, ages, and condition, as a defect\nof great magnitude; and no doubt it is so. The knowledge of mixing\nwines appears to have been extensively applied by the ancient people;\nand it is said of the beautiful Helen, that she learned in Egypt the\ncomposition of the exhilarating, or rather, stupefying, ingredients\nwhich she mixed in the bowl, together with the wine, to raise the\nspirits of such of her guests as were oppressed with grief. I may\nnotice, too, here, that our word _shrub_, or _syrup_, is an Eastern\nword. In Turkey, a SHIRUB-JEE is simply a \u201cwine-seller.\u201d\n\nYes, despite the Prophet, the Turks drink wine more than occasionally,\nand under various names. Tavernier speaks of a particular preparation\nof the grape drunk by the Grand Seignior, in company with the ladies of\nthe seraglio; and a similar beverage, it is conjectured, was quaffed by\nBelshazzar and his concubines out of the holy vessels, and was offered\nin vain to the more scrupulous Daniel. It was a rich and royal drink,\nmade strong by the addition of drugs; and the object of drinking the\npotent mixture was the same as that which induced Conrad Scriblerus\nand the daughter of Gaspar Barthius to live for a whole year on goat\u2019s\nmilk and honey. Either mixture was better than that of the Persians,\nwho \u201cfortified\u201d their wines, or syrup of sweet wines, by adding to them\nthe very perilous seasoning of _nux vomica_. But none of these were\nso curious as the \u201cwine-cakes\u201d eaten by Mr. Buckingham: these were, I\nsuppose, made of wine preserves. But pure wine may be eaten, or rather,\nbe rendered harder than any of our common food. Thus we hear of Russian\ntroops being compelled, in very hard winters, to cut out their rations\nof wine from the cask with a hatchet.\n\nI think it is the renowned Dissenter, Toplady, who remarks, that the\nonly sarcastic passage in Scripture is to be found in the cutting\nspeech of Elisha to the Priests of Baal; \u201cIs not Baal a god, seeing\nthat he eateth much meat?\u201d There is, however, another ironical passage,\nin reference to wine. \u201cGive _Shechar_ unto him who is ready to\nperish,\u201d is the satirical speech of Lemuel\u2019s mother, who warns her\nroyal son against the deceitful influences of intoxicating beverages,\nrepresenting them as especially destructive to those who are charged\nwith the government of nations; and then ironically points to the man\nwho foolishly concludes, that in the sweet or strong drink he may bury\nall memory of the cares and anxieties brought upon him by his own\nprofligacy.\n\nThere is, however, a difference of opinion touching the spirit in which\nthe last words quoted from Scripture are used. The Rabbins interpret\nthe passage as a command to administer wine to the individual about to\nsuffer death. Thus wine mingled with myrrh was offered to One of whom\nthe Gospel records, that He refused what His enemies presented.\n\nThe custom of offering doomed criminals a last earthly draught of\nrefreshment is undoubtedly one of considerable antiquity. The right\nof offering wine to criminals on their passage to the scaffold was\noften a privilege granted to religious communities. In Paris, the\nprivilege was held by the convent of Filles-Dieu, the Nuns of which\nkept wine prepared for those who were condemned to suffer on the gibbet\nof Montfaucon. The gloomy procession halted before the gate of the\nmonastery, the criminal descended from the cart, and the Nuns, headed\nby the Lady Abbess, received him on the steps with as much, perhaps\nmore heartfelt ceremony than if he had been a King. The poor wretch\nwas led to a crucifix near the church door, the feet whereof he humbly\nkissed. He then received, from the hands of the Superior, three pieces\nof bread, (to remind him of the Trinity,) and _one_ glass of wine\n(emblem of Unity). The procession then resumed its dread way to the\nscaffold.\n\nElie Berthet tells us of a poor wretch, who, on being offered the\nusual refreshment, quietly swallowed the wine, and coolly put the\nbread in his pocket. When again in the cart, his observant Confessor\nasked him his reason for the act. \u201cI suppose, Father,\u201d answered the\nmoribund, \u201cthat the good sisters furnished me with the bread that it\nmay serve me in paradise; on earth, at all events, it can no longer\nbe of use to me.\u201d \u201cBe of good cheer,\u201d said another Confessor, who was\nencouraging a criminal on the _Gr\u00e8ve_; \u201cbe of good cheer. To-night you\nwill sup in paradise.\u201d \u201c_Tenez, mon P\u00e8re_,\u201d answered the poor fellow;\n\u201c_allez-y-vous \u00e0 ma place; car, pour moi, je n\u2019ai pas faim_.\u201d This\nincident has been made good use of by the \u201cballad\u201d writers both of\nEngland and France.\n\n\u201cBowl-yard,\u201d St. Giles\u2019s-in-the-Fields, preserves in its name the\nmemory of a similar custom in England. This yard, or alley, adjacent\nto the church, is a portion of the site of the old Hospital for\nLepers, the garden of which was a place of execution. Lord Cobham,\nunder Henry V., and Babington and his accomplices, for conspiring\nagainst Elizabeth, were executed here. Stow tells us that, \u201cat this\nhospital, the prisoners conveyed from the city of London toward Tyburn,\nthere to be executed for treason, felonies, or other trespasses,\nwere presented with a great _bowl_ of ale, thereof to drink at their\n_pleasure_, (?) as to be their last refreshment in this life.\u201d In\nlater days, the criminals were sometimes supplied by their friends\nfrom the public-houses on the line of road. In one case, a convict\nhappily tarried drinking for a longer space of time than usual. The\nrope was just round his neck, when the arrival of a reprieve saved him.\nHad he drunk a glass less, he would have been hanged a moment sooner;\nand society would thus have been deprived of his valuable services.\nHe was a luckier man than the saddler in Ireland, who, on his way to\nthe gibbet, refused the ale and wine offered him on the road, who was\naccordingly very rapidly dispatched, and for whom a reprieve arrived a\nminute too late for him to profit by it. Hence the proverb, applied\nby those who press reluctant people to drink, \u201cAh, now go away wid\nyou. Ye\u2019re like the obs\u2019inate saddler, who was hanged for refusing\nhis liquor.\u201d It certainly was not a custom with Irish convicts to\ndecline the \u201cthrink,\u201d before trial or after. \u201cThe night before Larry\nwas stretch\u2019d,\u201d is a slang lyric, graphically illustrative of the\ngrace with which Irish criminals took leave of life. The most singular\nthing, however, connected with the popular lay in question, is, that it\nwas written by a Clergyman. But, at the time of its production, such\nauthorship excited no surprise in the literary public. The \u201ccloth\u201d\nwas still of the quality of that in which Fielding\u2019s Newgate Chaplain\nwalked; and he, it will be remembered, was a pious gentleman, who\ncandidly avowed that he was the rather given to indulge in punch, as\nthat was a liquor nowhere spoken against in Scripture!\n\nBut it was not English or Irish Chaplains, of the olden time, who stood\nby themselves in their respect for good liquor. If that reverend and\nrubicund gentleman, Walter de Mapes, wrote the best Latin drinking-song\nthat Bacchanalian inspiration ever produced, so did a German Prelate\npreach the best sermon on the same text. I allude to the Bishop of\nTriers, or Tr\u00e8ves. Here is an odour, caught by the way, of the full\nbottle of counsel which he poured out to his hearers:--\n\n\u201cBrethren, to whom the high privilege of repentance and penance has\nbeen conceded, you feel the sin of abusing the gifts of Providence.\nBut, _abusum non tollit usum_. It is written, \u2018Wine maketh glad the\nheart of man.\u2019 It follows, then, that to use wine moderately is our\nduty. Now there is, doubtless, none of my male hearers who cannot drink\nhis four bottles without affecting his brain. Let him, however,--if\nby the fifth or sixth bottle he no longer knoweth his own wife,--if\nhe beat and kick his children, and look on his dearest friend as an\nenemy,--refrain from an excess displeasing to God and man, and which\nrenders him contemptible in the eyes of his fellows. But whoever, after\ndrinking his ten or twelve bottles, retains his senses sufficiently\nto support his tottering neighbour, or manage his household affairs,\nor execute the commands of his temporal and spiritual superiors, let\nhim take his share quietly, and be thankful for his talent. Still, let\nhim be cautious how he exceed this; for man is weak, and his powers\nlimited. It is but seldom that our kind Creator extends to any one the\ngrace to be able to drink safely sixteen bottles, of which privilege\nhe hath held me, the meanest of his servants, worthy. And since no\none can say of me that I ever broke out in causeless rage, or failed\nto recognise my household friends or relations, or neglected the\nperformance of my spiritual duties, I may, with thankfulness and a good\nconscience, use the gift which hath been intrusted to me. And you, my\npious hearers, each take modestly your allotted portion; and, to avoid\nall excess, follow the precept of St. Peter,--\u2018Try all, and stick by\nthe best!\u2019\u201d\n\nThe sermon is not a bad illustration of what was, and remains,\nhistorical fact. The first Archbishop of Mayence was the Englishman\nBoniface; and most of his successors might have been characterized by\nhis name. They were more powerful than the Emperors, and more stately\nthan Moguls. The Canons of the Cathedral, supported by its enormous\nrevenues, lived a jovial life. The Pope, indeed, reproved them for\ntheir worldly and luxurious habits; but they uproariously returned for\nanswer, \u201cWe have no more wine than is needed for the Mass; and not\nenough to turn our mills with!\u201d\n\n_Good_ living, as it was erroneously called, was certainly, at one\ntime, an universal observance in Germany, when the sole wish of man\nwas, that he might have short sermons and long puddings. When this\nwish prevailed, every dining-room had its _faulbett_, or sot\u2019s couch,\nin one corner, for the accommodation of the first couple of guests\nwho might chance to be too drunk to be removed. Indeed, in German\nvillage-inns, the most drunken guests were, in former days, by far\nthe best off; for, while they had the beds allotted them, as standing\nin most need of the same, the guests of every degree, whether rich\nor poor, the perfectly sober--wherever such phenomena were to be\nfound--and those not so intoxicated but they could stagger out of the\nroom, all lodged with the cows among the straw.\n\nProbably, no country on the earth presented such scenes, arising from\nexcessive drinking, as were witnessed in Saxony and Bohemia, a few\ngenerations back. These scenes were so commonly attended by murder,\nor followed by death, that it was said to be better for a man to fall\namong the thickest of his enemies fighting, than among his friends when\ndrinking. There were deadly brawls in taverns, deadly drunken feuds\nin the family circle, and not less deadly contentions in the streets.\nWhen the city-gates were closed at night, the crowds of drunkards,\nissuing to their homes in the suburbs, were met by as dense and drunken\na crowd, returning from their revels in the country. And then came the\ninsulting motion, the provoking word, the hard blow, and the harder\nstab. Then fell the wounded and the dead; then rose the shrieks of\nwomen and of children, and, loud above them, the imprecations and\nblasphemies born in the wine-sodden brains of men. Suddenly, a shot or\ntwo is fired from the walls, right into the heaving mass below. And\nthen ensue the flying of the people, and the venting of impotent rage\nfrom the rash and resolute. But, gradually, the two opposing streams\nglide through each other, the gates are at length closed; and, by the\nlight of the moon, on the almost deserted esplanade, may be observed,\nstretched on the ground, some half-dozen human forms. Some of these are\ndead, some are still drunken and helpless, and both equally uncared for.\n\nThis is no overdrawn picture of an ancient German period. It is on\nrecord that once, on the banks of the Bohemian Sazawa, a party of\nhusbandmen met for the purpose of drinking twelve casks of wine. There\nwere ten of them who addressed themselves to this feat; but one of the\nten attempting to retire from the contest before any of his fellows,\nthe remaining nine seized, bound him, and roasted him alive on a spit.\nThe murderers were subsequently carried to the palace for judgment; but\nthe Duke\u2019s funeral was taking place as they entered the hall, and the\nPrinces who administered justice were all so intoxicated, that they\nlooked upon the matter in the light of a joke that might be compensated\nfor by a slight fine.\n\nThere was a joyous revelry at that time in every direction. A father\nwould not receive a man for a son-in-law who could not drink; and\nin Universities the conferring of a degree was always followed by a\ncarouse, the length of which was fixed, by College rules, as not to\nexceed eight hours\u2019 duration. Yet, during this generally dissolute\nperiod, a strange custom was prevalent at the tables of Nuremberg. In\nall well-regulated households, there used to hang a little bell beneath\nthe dining-table; and this bell was struck by the master of the family,\nif he were sober enough, whenever any one uttered an unseemly phrase.\n\nEven so, in public, a voice of indignation was sometimes raised against\nthe profligacy of the period. The voice to the people at large was as\nthe bell to the guests at Nuremberg. Its effects who can tell? It may\nhave induced Luther to be content with dignified Virgil rather than\nwith unclean Plautus; it may have driven the Monk Schwartz from the\nrefectory to the alembic; and it may have called Gutenberg from the\nbrutalities of the camp to the wonders of the printing-press. In the\ntwo latter cases, the consequences bear a very tipsy appearance; for it\nwas a soldier who invented printing, and a Monk who first manufactured\ngunpowder!\n\nLet us not hasten to condemn our fellows of the olden time and distant\nland. Manners as fearfully outraging prevailed but very recently\namong young Englishmen. M. de Warenne, a French officer in our Indian\narmy, describes the manners and customs there prevalent as any thing\nbut edifying. In his \u201c_Inde-Anglaise_,\u201d he describes himself, on one\noccasion, as being disinclined for study, and consequently joining a\nparty of his comrades who were at the moment occupied in an unreserved\nenjoyment of the pleasures of the table. They were from fifteen to\ntwenty in number, married and single, but all young, full of hope, good\nprospects, and gaiety. Deep were the libations made by this riotous\ncompany, seated at a festive board in the open air, looked down upon by\na brilliant moon, and gently fanned by the evening breeze.\n\n\u201cWhile the attendant servant,\u201d says the author, \u201cpoured out, with\nIndian profusion, fresh supplies of tea, coffee, beer, punch, and grog,\na dense vapour rose from our cigars, and joyous shouts rang from every\nlip at the conclusion of songs, bacchanalian and anacreontic. Toasts\nsucceeded each other rapidly, alternately exciting the laughter or\napprobation of the carousers. One of them caused in me, at the time,\na singular impression. A young, wild-brained fellow, in pouring out\na bumper, called on us to fill our glasses, in order to sanction the\nstrange wish of a rash ambition,--\u2018A bloody war, and a sickly season!\u2019\u201d\n\nThe blasphemous sentiment, as M. de Warenne rightly terms it, was\ndrunk with enthusiasm; and the gay and thoughtless drinkers had yet\nthe cup to their lips, when one of them was stricken with the cholera,\nthe presence of which in camp was hardly known;--the next day the\nfuneral salute was fired over his grave. The author adds, that the\nmusic played on returning from the funeral was joyously and daily\nhummed by the daily diminishing survivors. He says that there was a\nmockery in the waltzes they continued to dance; for death was also\ndaily decreasing their orchestra. The stricken, we are told, felt\nthemselves relieved from further anxiety, recovered their temporarily\nshaken self-possession, and died with indifference. The strong who\nlived are described as, for the most part, diverting their thoughts,\noutraging decency, and defying God, by composing or chanting songs\nwhose inspiration certainly savours of hell. Here is a specimen of one\nof these devil\u2019s canticles, roared over wine, to frighten away the\ncholera:--\n\n\nI.\n\n  \u201cWe meet \u2019neath the sounding rafter,\n    And the walls around are bare;\n  As they shout back our peals of laughter,\n    It seems as the dead were there.\n  Then stand to your glasses!--steady!\n    We drink \u2019fore our comrades\u2019 eyes;\n  One cup to the dead already;\n    Hurrah for the next that dies!\n\n\nII.\n\n  \u201cNot here are the goblets glowing,\n    Not here is the vintage sweet;\n  \u2019Tis cold, as our hearts are growing,\n    And dark as the doom we meet.\n  But stand to your glasses!--steady!\n    And soon shall our pulses rise;\n  One cup to the dead already;\n    Hurrah for the next that dies!\n\n\nIII.\n\n  \u201cThere\u2019s many a hand that\u2019s shaking,\n    And many a cheek that\u2019s sunk;\n  But soon, though our hearts are breaking,\n    They\u2019ll burn with the wine we\u2019ve drunk.\n  Then stand to your glasses!--steady!\n    \u2019Tis here the revival lies;\n  Quaff a cup to the dead already;\n    Hurrah for the next that dies!\n\n\nIV.\n\n  \u201cTime was, when we laugh\u2019d at others,\n    We thought we were wiser then:\n  Ha! ha! let them think of their mothers,\n    Who hope to see them again.\n  No! stand to your glasses!--steady!\n    The thoughtless is here the wise;\n  One cup to the dead already;\n    Hurrah for the next that dies!\n\n\nV.\n\n  \u201cNot a sigh for the lot that darkles,\n    Not a tear for the friends that sink;\n  We\u2019ll fall \u2019mid the wine-cup\u2019s sparkles,\n    As mute as the wine we drink.\n  Come! stand to your glasses!--steady!\n    \u2019Tis this that the respite buys;\n  One cup to the dead already;\n    Hurrah for the next that dies!\n\n\nVI.\n\n  \u201cWho dreads to the dust returning?\n    Who shrinks from the sable shore,\n  Where the high and haughty yearning\n    Of the soul can sting no more?\n  No! stand to your glasses!--steady!\n    This world is a world of lies!\n  One cup to the dead already;\n    Hurrah for the next that dies!\n\n\nVII.\n\n  \u201cCut off from the land that bore us,\n    Betray\u2019d by the land we find,\n  When the brightest are gone before us,\n    And the dullest are most behind,--\n  Stand! stand! to your glasses!--steady!\n    \u2019Tis all we have left to prize!\n  One cup to the dead already;\n    Hurrah for the next that dies!\u201d\n\nAfter this, the most rigid examiner of public morals in all countries\nneed not exclusively frown on the old Germans, nor on _their_ profane\ncanticle, the burthen of which is:--\n\n      \u201c_Gaudeamus, igitur, juvenes dum sumus!\n      Post jucundam juventutem.\n      Post molestam senectutem.\n  Nos habebit, nos habebit, nos habebit tumulus!_\u201d\n\nThere is, however, more reason, and healthy sentiment, and pure\nprinciple, in such lines as the following,--extracted from Walter\nSavage Landor\u2019s \u201cLast Fruit off an Old Tree,\u201d--than in reams of such\nfiery invocations to quaff deeply as those cited above. Hear the old\nman:--\n\n  \u201cThe chrysolites and rubies Bacchus brings,\n    To crown the feast where swells the broad-vein\u2019d brow,\n  Where maidens blush at what the minstrel sings,\n    They who have courted, may court now.\n\n  \u201cBring me a cool alcove, the grape uncrush\u2019d,\n    The peach of pulpy cheek and down mature;\n  Where ev\u2019ry voice, but bird\u2019s or child\u2019s, is husht,\n    And ev\u2019ry thought, like the brook nigh, runs pure.\u201d\n\nThere was a Persian sage, whose philosophy was of a different\ncomplexion from that of the eloquent moralist of \u201cthe old garden\nnear Bath.\u201d \u201cIn what can I best assist thee?\u201d demanded the Minister,\nNizam-al-Mulk, as he warmly greeted his friend, Omar Keyoomee. \u201cPlace\nme,\u201d said Omar, enamoured of poetry and ease, \u201cwhere my life may pass\nwithout care or annoyance, and where wine, in abundance, may inspire my\nmuse.\u201d A pension was accordingly assigned him in the fertile district\nof Nishapour, where Omar lived and died. His tomb still exists, and\nMr. J. B. Fraser, in his \u201cPersia,\u201d informs us that he heard Omar\u2019s\nstory told over his grave by a brother rhymester, and a most congenial\nspirit. The system of Omar was explained by himself, in something after\nthis fashion:--\n\n\n  I ask not for much: let the miser seek wealth;\n    Let the proud sigh for titles and fame:--\n  All the riches I ask are a fair share of health,\n    And the hope of a true poet\u2019s name.\n  Let the flatterer talk of his worth to the Shah,--\n    Of his greatness, too, all the day long;--\n  I envy them not, for I love better far\n    To pay my poor tribute in song.\n\n  A kaftan of honour! a gem from the King!\n    To be gain\u2019d in the field or divan?\n  Ah! rather around me the bright mantle fling\n    Of the poets of gay Laristan.\n  Let the gems be for those of the glittering crowd,\n    Who would die, the Shah Inshah to please;\n  But _I\u2019m_ not ambitious, I never was proud,\n    I sigh but for sherbet and ease.\n\n  Do I wish for command in dark history\u2019s page,\n    Do I long in fond record to shine?\n  Yes, let me have sway, till the last sigh of age,\n    Over cohorts of old Shiraz wine.\n  And as for renown, it may be very well,\n    But Keyoomee the honour will wave;\n  Contented, if some brother rhymester will tell\n    Keyoomee\u2019s glad life, o\u2019er his grave.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAKING AND MARRING OF WINE.\n\n\nIt used to be said of the old learned and liquor-loving Germans, that\nthey did not care what Latin they spoke, so long as it _was_ Latin; nor\nwhat sort of wine they drank, so long as it _was_ wine. I have read\nsomewhere of a feudal German Baron becoming intoxicated upon pious\nprinciples. He was seated, with his wife at his side, at the centre\nof his own table, presiding at a banquet. He had drunk till he had\nscarcely power left to carry the goblet up to his ever thirsty lips.\nThe Frau Baroninn had repeatedly remonstrated, in whispers, with her\nlord; who replied, that he must needs drink when toasts were given,\nor his want of faith would be marked by his guests. He was about to\nraise a full goblet to his beard, when his lady, overturning, as if by\naccident, the cluster of lights which illuminated the board, begged of\nher consort to fling his wine away upon the floor; adding, \u201cIt is dark;\nnobody will see you.\u201d \u201cNay,\u201d said the orthodox Baron, solemnly, \u201cGod\nsees me!\u201d and therewith he finished his draught, and was soon after\nconveyed to his couch, under such benison as the Chaplain could give,\nwho congratulated his master upon the flavour of his wine, and the\nstrength of his principles!\n\nIn no country in the world has more wine been drunk than in Germany;\nand no where has adulteration thereof been practised so systematically.\n\u201c_Vaticana bibis, bibis venenum_,\u201d says Martial, in the sixth book of\nhis Epigrams. For \u201c_Vaticana_,\u201d read \u201c_Germanica_;\u201d and the line had,\nat one time, as fitting an application. The method pursued appears to\nhave been of classical derivation; and the Germans, like the Romans,\nadulterated their wine with lead. It has been a matter of vexation to\nTeutonic scholars, that they have never been able to discover the name\nof the ingenious person who first realized the deadly idea of employing\nlead in the adulteration of wine. All that they can say of him is, that\nhe was very wicked, but decidedly clever.\n\nThe Roman wine-merchants treated the matter in a business-like way.\nLead arrested the acetous fermentation of wine, did not alter its\ncolour, and did improve its taste. This was all that was desirable, as\nregarded _them_ as merchants. If the beverage gave death, by slow or\nspeedy means, to those who drank, that was an affair which concerned\nthe imbibers, their medical men, and their families. They were ignorant\nand godless Heathens, of course, who committed this crime; and as\nnothing like it has ever been known as a characteristic of some of the\nprofessors of a better dispensation,--why, our righteous indignation\nmay be intense. One excuse, indeed, may be offered for the old Romans.\n\u201cAt lover\u2019s perjuries,\u201d as they were told, \u201cJove himself condescended\nto laugh;\u201d and, if so, they might feel canonically certain, that\nMercury would not call them to account, but rather applaud their\nproficiency in cheating. But Galen was more just than the gods of\neither the Greek or Roman mythology, and sternly denounces the tricks\nat which the son of Maia would have smiled.\n\nThe same ancients were accustomed to boil new wine in metal vessels;\nand, when the quantity had been reduced by the process, to add\nsea-water and bad wine, and send the mixture to market as something\nthat would make the very eyes of Bacchus twinkle with delight. A\nprocess not less distasteful, if less deadly, was that of boiling\nlime and plaster of Paris in inferior wine. The former was supposed\nto add an intoxicating quality to the mixture, which must have\nbeen as detestable as \u201cMasdeu.\u201d To this day, certain wines of the\nMediterranean are subjected to a similar process; and, perhaps, if lime\nbe judiciously used, the results may not be very injurious. It corrects\nacidity; but too much of it would enable the drinker to find out, as\nFalstaff did, that there was \u201clime in the sack.\u201d We are wise in our\ngeneration, in employing carbonate of soda for this purpose, rather\nthan lime, slaked or unslaked; and we also do well to reject gypsum,--a\ncompound of sulphuric acid and lime, and which is seldom procurable\nin a sufficiently pure state to authorize its being employed. The\nrejection of plaster of Paris, for the purpose of improving wine, is,\nhowever, more general than universal. After all, it is not worse than\ncalcined shells, and is innocuous when compared with the use of sugar\nof lead.\n\nThe Roman law was not levelled against the adulteration of wine; it\nno more controlled the sale or manufacture, than, in Thevenot\u2019s days,\nthe Tunisian Government interfered with the sale of wine at Tunis,\nwhich was left to slaves, who did with it as they liked, for their own\nprofit, and the destruction of infidel stomachs. It was otherwise in\nGermany, where Diets were assembled to discuss what was, in truth, no\nunimportant matter; the members of which began to think, that if wine\nwas worth having, it was worth providing for its purity. For centuries\nGovernments made laws, but bad wine was drunk in spite of them.\n\nBeckmann gives it as his opinion, that wines cannot be poisoned by\ngypsum; but _that_ is more readily said than proved. The ancients\nclarified their wine with it; but they did so at the expense of\na portion of the spirituous part. Old ordinances against the\nadulteration of wine, in Brussels, by vitriol, quicksilver, and _lapis\ncalaminaris_,--and in France, by lead and litharge,--may still be read\nas curiosities, but they have no present application.\n\nA German Monk, named Martin Bayr, is damned to everlasting fame, as\nthe first who adulterated wines within the territory of the Kaiser.\nPickheimer, the friend of Albert Durer, is particularly inveterate\nagainst Bayr and his followers in evil. The indignation of the lover of\npure wine is carried to an incredible extent. He narrates, in a rapt\nfury, the consequences of drinking injurious wines; beginning with\nan assurance, that adulterated wine keeps the married childless, and\nadding, by a sort of bathos, that it causes certain inward pains, \u201cthan\nwhich none can be more excruciating.\u201d He mentions many ingredients\nemployed, and adverts to some, \u201cthe names of which I should be ashamed\nto mention;\u201d and then he calls for vengeance on the offenders, both in\nthis world and the next. \u201cYou hang the counterfeiters of the public\ncoin,\u201d says he; \u201cdo not these miscreants, whose misdeeds have caused\nindignant Nature to check the growth of our grapes, deserve something\nworse? Cast their accursed beverage, I say, into the sewers, and\nthemselves into the flames: and so may Martin Bayr and his disciples\nperish in this world, and inherit everlasting damnation in the next!\u201d\n\nAdulteration, however, still went on, until the penalty of death,\nand confiscation of property, was levelled against the employment of\nsulphur and bismuth,--used by the most noble of wine-makers to sweeten\ntheir spoiled and sour commodity. Offenders, however, again grew bold.\nThe tribunals treated them leniently. First, fines were levied; then\ncame confiscation of property, imprisonment, and hard labour; next,\nbanishment: and none of these courses meeting the evil, the Judges at\nlength cut off the head of an incorrigible criminal, Ehrni of Erlingen;\nand, for a while, terrified the whole brotherhood of wine-spoilers into\na temporary observance of honesty.\n\nThe next struggle which occurred in Germany, was between those who\napplied tests to detect the presence of metals, and those who invented\nprocesses to defy them. It was a scientific struggle between two\nspecies of assassins,--those who swiftly killed by brewing poisonous\nwine, and the physicians who racked their brains to invent detective\ntests, and save their patients for a slower process of extinction. This\nwas very rudely said by rude people, who looked upon themselves as the\nvictims sought for by two contending parties,--the distillers on one\nside, and the doctors on the other.\n\nThe use of milk by the Greeks was, probably, not for adulterating, but\nfor refining, their wines. Isinglass is at present generally employed\nfor the last-mentioned purpose.\n\nAs it is the tendency of the world to improve, so the not\ninconsiderable world of adulterators in England has profited, like\nphilosophers, by the discoveries of those who have preceded them. A\nmixture of strong port, rectified spirit, Cognac brandy, and rough\ncider, can be concocted into what is called \u201cfine old crusted port.\u201d It\ncosts the maker about sixteen shillings a gallon, and is sold retail\nat five shillings a bottle. Sloe-juice is another ingredient, and\npoisonous tinctures give it a seductive hue. Powder of catechu does\nfor it what hair-powder does for the individual,--gives a crust of\nantiquity to secure for it the veneration of the ignorant. A decoction\nof Brazil-wood, and a little alum, will impart to the corks the\nrequisite air of corresponding age; and these the credulous gaze at and\nbelieve.\n\n\u201cMadeira, neat as imported,\u201d is the definition of a beverage cleverly\nmanufactured much nearer Fenchurch-street than Funchal. Home-made\nMadeira is a compound of bad port, Vidonia, that African nastiness\ncalled \u201cCape,\u201d sugar-candy, and bitter almonds; and the Vidonia, which\nis an ingredient in itself, often adulterated with cider and rum; and a\nlittle carbonate of soda, \u201cto contumace the appetite\u2019s acidities.\u201d The\nlowest and cruellest insult to human taste and stomachs is, perhaps,\nthe adulteration of Cape. It is bad enough in itself; but Cape, with\nsomething worse in it, is only fit for the thirsty hounds of Pluto.\nGooseberry, passed off as Champagne, is an impostor, and even with\nstrawberries in it, to give it an aristocratic pinkness, it is still\na deception; but, compared with Cape, even in its best condition,\ngooseberry _may_ be imbibed without very much disgust.\n\nA _fracas_ between the waiters and their employers at the last Lord\nMayor\u2019s dinner, betrayed another pleasant process regarding wine. The\nattendants in question declared that, after many hours\u2019 toil, they\nhad not had a glass even out of a _dovered_ bottle. They were as much\nsurprised when the Magistrate asked the meaning of \u201c_dovering_,\u201d as\nthe sailor was, when he stood before a Lord High Chancellor ignorant\nof the signification of \u201c\u2019baft the binnacle.\u201d A complaisant Ganymede\nenlightened the darkened mind of the metropolitan Cadi: \u201c_Dovering_,\u201d\nsaid he, \u201cis the collecting of three-quarter emptied decanters from the\ndinner-table, and re-decantering the same, serving it up as freshly\nuncorked.\u201d Dover has the bad reputation of being the locality where\nthis process was first invented.\n\nOne of the most ingenious--perhaps we should say, one of the\nmost scientific--tricks that we have heard of, in connexion with\nwine-doctoring, proves that the modern chymical brewers of superior\nbeverages, which seem what they are not, are vastly superior to the\nmere experimentalists of former days. In the royal cellars of Carlton\nHouse, there was enshrined, if we may so speak, a small quantity of\nwine which, like the gems worn by the Irish lady, was both \u201crich and\nrare.\u201d It was only produced by George IV. when he had around him his\nmost select and wittiest friends. The precious deposit gradually\ndiminished; year by year, as in the case of the famous sha-green\nskin of the French novelist Balzac, it grew less; until, at last, a\ncouple of dozen bottles only were left, gleaming at the bottom of\ntheir bins like gems in a mine, and full of liquid promise to those\nwho needed the especial comfort which it was their duty to impart.\nThese, however, were left so long unasked for, that the gentlemen of\nthe King\u2019s suite who had the control of the grape department, deemed\nthem forgotten, and at their own mirthful table drank them all but\ntwo, with infinite delight to themselves, and to the better health of\ntheir master. They soon found, however, that there was \u201cgarlic in the\nflowers,\u201d as the Turkish proverb has it; and their embarrassment was\nnot small, when the King, giving his orders for a choice dinner on a\ncertain night, intimated his desire that a good supply of his favourite\nwine should grace the board. In Courts, \u201cto hear is to obey;\u201d and the\nofficials who had drunk the wine, at once resorted to an eminent firm,\nwell-skilled to give advice in such delicate wine-cases. The physician\nasked but for a sample bottle, and to be told the exact hour at which\nthe favourite draught would be asked for. This was complied with, and\nin due time a proper amount of the counterfeit wine was forwarded to\nCarlton House, and there broached and drunk with such encomiums, that\nthe officers who were in the secret had some difficulty in maintaining\nan official gravity of countenance. The brewer of the new wine was\ncertainly a first-rate artist; and if he ever achieved knighthood\nand a coat-of-arms, I would give him a \u201cBruin\u201d for his crest, and,\n\u201cThe drink! the drink! dear Hamlet!\u201d for his device. This anecdote,\nI may farther notice, has often been told, and nearly as often been\ndiscredited; but I am assured by an officer of the household, who\nspeaks \u201c_avec connaissance de fait_,\u201d that it is substantially true.\n\nOne of the merits of the wine above mentioned consisted in its great\nage. There has, indeed, always been a sort of mania for wine that\nbears the load of years. But this rage is pronounced by Cyrus Redding\nto be one of the most ridiculous errors of modern epicurism. The \u201cbee\u2019s\nwing,\u201d the \u201cthick crust on the bottle,\u201d the \u201closs of strength,\u201d and so\non,--all these are declared by the best judges to be nothing more than\nforbidding manifestations of decomposition, and the disappearance of\nthe very best qualities of the wine. Many years ago, I made a \u201cnote\u201d on\nthis subject, but am now unable to recollect from what work, nor can I\nsay whether the following remarks on the qualities of wine were made by\nthe author of an original work, or by a reviewer commenting thereon.\nSuch as they are, however, they are not without value.\n\n\u201cThe age of maturity,\u201d says the writer, \u201cfor exportation from Oporto,\nis said to be the second year after the vintage; probably sometimes\nnot quite so long. Our wine-merchants keep it in wood from two to six\nyears longer, according to its original strength, &c. Surely this\nmust be long enough to do all that can be done by keeping it. What\ncrude wine it must be to require even this time to ameliorate it! the\nnecessity for which must arise either from some error in the original\nmanufacture, or a false taste, which does not relish it till time has\nchanged its original characteristics.\n\n\u201cPort, like all other wines, ripens in a shorter, or longer, time,\naccording to its lightness, or its strength, the quality of the grapes,\naccording to the fermentation they have undergone, and the portion of\nbrandy that has been added to it. Also one cellar will forward wine\nmuch sooner than another. Sound good port is generally in perfection\nwhen it has been from three to five years in the wood, and from one to\nthree in bottle.\n\n\u201cOrdinary port is a very uncleansed fretful wine; and we have been\nassured by wine-merchants of good taste, accurate observation, and\nextensive experience, that the _best_ port is rather impoverished\nthan improved by being kept in bottle longer than two years; that is,\nsupposing it to have been previously from two to four years in the cask\nin this country; observing that all that the outrageous advocates for\n_vin pass\u00e9_ really know about it is that sherry is _yellow_, and port\nis _black_; and that if they drink (more than) enough of either of\nthem, according to the colours, it will make them drunk.\n\n\u201cWhite wines, especially sherry and Madeira, being more perfectly\nfermented and thoroughly fined before they are bottled, if kept in a\ncellar of uniform temperature, are not so rapidly deteriorated by age.\n\n\u201cThe temperature of a good cellar is nearly the same throughout the\nyear. Double doors help to preserve this. It must be dry, and be kept\nas clean as possible.\n\n\u201cThe art of preserving wines is to prevent them from fretting, which is\ndone by keeping them in the same degree of heat and careful working,\nin a cellar where they will not be agitated by the motion of carriages\npassing. If persons wish to preserve the fine flavour of their wines,\nthey ought on no account to permit any bacon, cheese, onions, potatoes,\nor cider, in the wine-cellars; for if there be any disagreeable stench\nin the cellar, the wine will indubitably imbibe it; consequently,\ninstead of being fragrant, and charming to the nose and palate, it will\nbe extremely disagreeable.\n\n\u201cIt must be well known that almost all our home-made wines, for public\nsale, are made, and suffered to cool, in leaden vats. Nothing can be\nmore injurious or detrimental to health. Every chymist is aware that\nany vegetable acid that comes in contact with lead, and is suffered\nto remain only a few hours, produces what we call \u2018sugar of lead,\u2019--a\nmost deadly poison. How many there are that complain that cider will\nnot agree with them! and several who cannot take even a wine-glass full\nwithout vomiting almost immediately. They know not the reason; and\nthus many are prevented from taking a most delightful beverage in warm\nweather; while others are labouring under its baneful influence. Often\ndo we see servants run for vinegar in a pewter or publican\u2019s pot; and\nthe answer we receive when correcting them for the same is,--they have\noften done the same without any serious consequence. May be so; but if\nvinegar, or any other vegetable acid, as before said, be suffered to\nremain in such vessels only a short time, the health and constitution\nmust suffer from the acid so taken; and we will venture to say that\nalmost all paralytic affections are caused by persons, predisposed to\nsuch attacks, drinking water impregnated with lead. For if there be\nany carbonic acid in the water, which there most assuredly is in every\nkind, a carbonate is thus formed, just as injurious as the acetate\n(sugar of lead); and where shall we find a cistern in London that is\nnot made of this pernicious, yet highly useful, material?\u201d\n\nThe consideration of these subjects, when drinking home-made wines,\n(if, indeed, there _be_ people bold enough to venture on such an\nexperiment,) or the other beverages mentioned above, might serve the\npurpose of the custom observed among the ancient Egyptians. It was one\nless barbarous than singular. A skeleton of beautiful workmanship, in\nivory, and enclosed in a small coffin, was carried round at a feast,\nby a slave, who, holding it up to each guest, remarked, \u201cAfter death\nyou will resemble this figure; drink, then, and be happy!\u201d It must have\nencouraged the mirth \u201cconsumedly.\u201d But there was a grave wisdom in the\ncustom, notwithstanding.\n\n\n\n\nIMPERIAL DRINKERS AND INCIDENTS IN GERMANY.\n\n\nThe stories of the gigantic drinkers of antiquity are startling; but I\nthink they may be accounted for. Natural philosophers inform us, that\nobjects seen through a mist are magnified to the senses; and so it is\nwith the feats which we are asked to contemplate through the mist of\nages: they are probably not so astounding as they appear. One may say\nof each story, so venerable and enlarged by age, as the good Dominican\ndid to the congregation whom he had affected to tears by the warmth of\none of his legendary sermons. \u201cDo not cry so, my brethren,\u201d said the\nPreacher; \u201cfor, after all, perhaps it\u2019s not true.\u201d\n\nIt must be allowed, however, that the stories of wine-bibbers of\nlater times than those when the son of Aristides gained his living by\nsinging ballads in the streets of Athens, or the heir of Cicero drank\ndraughts longer than his sire\u2019s orations, lack nothing whatever of the\nmarvellous. And this reminds me of an incident, _quod alibi narravi_,\nand which I will narrate here, by way of illustration of this portion\nof my subject.\n\n\nAN INCIDENT OF TRAVEL.\n\nIt is now some twelve years ago that I was, in company with two\nNorwegians, in Prague, loitering beneath the tower of that sacred\nedifice dedicated to the fearful dancer, St. Vitus. The tower was the\nsame which the drunken Emperor Wenceslaus had caused to be shortened,\nby some thirty or forty feet, because he took it into his head that\nit would one day fall, and crush him as he lay on his uneasy couch in\nthe Hradschin. I remarked to my companions, that the empire, in its\npalmy days, had often been well-nigh lost through the mad caprices of\ntippling Kaisers.\n\n\u201cThere was not a Kaiser of them all,\u201d said L\u00f6wenskiold, \u201cwho\npermanently injured either himself or his country by his devotion to\ndrinking.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d said I; \u201cnot even Maximilian?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot even Maximilian,\u201d remarked Knudtzen. \u201cThe people, indeed, were\noccasionally a trifle startled at seeing their ruler proceed, either\nto the camp or council, with as much white wine in him as might serve\nthe universe for sauces. They slightly objected, on hearing that he\nwalked rosy and reeling to confession; and they were not edified at\nunderstanding that his private Almoner stirred up his punch with a\nsilver crucifix. They even remonstrated with Maximilian when he had\nbeen once within an ace of destroying Ulm in a drunken frolic. And what\nwas his reply? He kept the deputation of remonstrants the whole night\nin his palace, and invited the citizens to assemble, at day-break, on\nwhatever spots commanded a view of the towers of the cathedral. The\nEmperor and the Committee of Moderates finished two hundred and ten\nbottles of Rhine wine while they waited for sunrise. This, among a\ntemperate party of one score and one, was a tolerable allowance for\neach individual. At dawn, all Ulm was up, and every eye directed to\nthe cathedral. The towers had scarcely flung back the first rays from\nheaven, when a joyous procession issued from the imperial residence.\nThe whole party, the Emperor excepted, were as drunk as \u00c6schylus. With\ndifficulty did they follow their Lord, who, at the very top of his\nspeed, and carrying a heavy waggon-wheel on his shoulder, ran to the\ncathedral, ascended the stairs leading to the summit of one of the\ntowers, and appeared on the rampart, before his straggling followers\nhad reached the low-arched door beneath. With a light bound, he sprang\non one of the highest parts of the castellated portion, where there\nwas scarcely footing for him. In that position, however, he poised\nthe wheel aloft with his right hand, let it gently descend on to the\nfoot which he extended above the heads of the multitude, and, holding\nit there for a moment or two, ended by hurling it into the air, and\ncatching it again, ere it fell on the astounded and admiring crowd\nbelow.\n\n\u201c\u2018There, you calves!\u2019 cried the Emperor, as he gazed tranquilly down\non the sea of heads below; \u2018do you dare complain that Niedersteiner\ntouches your master\u2019s nerves?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Never again!\u2019 exclaimed the delighted mass. \u2018What can we do to\ntestify our affection for Your Majesty?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Toss those gentlemen into a tub of Selzer-water,\u2019 said Maximilian,\n\u2018and send me half-a-dozen of Hochheimer, and half-a-dozen\nblood-puddings, for breakfast.\u2019\u201d\n\nI could _almost_ believe this tradition; for I had seen a nearly\nsimilar feat once performed by a woman on a projecting mass of rock\nin the Ahr Thal. The rock is, doubtless, well known to all who have\nascended that lovely Rhine-valley, at eve, to eat _Forellen_, and drink\nWallportzheimer. They who do so, generally return the next morning with\nan inclination for nothing but the cooling mineral waters to be had at\nHippingen.\n\n\u201cBesides,\u201d said Knudtzen, \u201c_\u00e0-propos_ to cathedrals, sober principles\nhave done them more injury than jolly Emperors. Do you forget that\nCaroline Bonaparte razed a cathedral in Italy to the ground?\u201d\n\n\u201cI remember hearing of the deed as connected with a church,\u201d said I;\n\u201cbut I have forgotten the reason alleged for it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was a very sufficient reason for a Bonaparte. Her Highness lived\nnext door to the church; and she had it destroyed, because the noise of\nthe organ kept her awake, and the smell of the incense made her head\nache.\u201d\n\n\u201cRoyal minds,\u201d I remarked, \u201ccannot condescend to the weaknesses of\ncommon people. According to our \u2018Philosophical Transactions,\u2019 the\npigeons at Pisa were as destructive as Caroline Bonaparte. Pigeons,\nfor many ages, built under the roof of the great church there. Their\ndung spontaneously took fire at last; and the church was consumed.\nBut, to return to the old, defunct King of Saxony. He was afflicted\nwith a super-delicate attack of virtue; and, during the prevalence\nof the disorder, he issued a decree for the expulsion, from his\npicture-gallery, of all those master-pieces, the merit of which lay\nin the glory of their flesh-colouring. He had grown as modest as the\nMonk who declared that he had never seen any portion of his body save\nhis face and hands. He is worthy of going down to posterity arm in arm\nwith that old Polish King, who was a cleaner, but not a less delicate,\nman than the Monk, and who boasted to his Confessor that his purity of\nmind was so excessive, that he had never touched his own skin with an\nungloved hand. In short, the old King of Saxony admirably illustrated\nthe saying of Dean Swift, that \u2018a nice man was a man of nasty ideas.\u2019\nHe had not been a sparer of the wine-flask. Indeed, he had rather\nsinned that way; and, in expiation thereof, he undertook to perform\na pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre on foot. A fever of expectation\nshook Dresden, all the china in it, and the whole line of road, at\nthe idea of again beholding a Christian King turning to the neglected\nshrine. The expectation was not altogether fulfilled; but the Monarch,\nnevertheless, performed the pilgrimage.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe never heard of it,\u201d exclaimed the travellers, looking at each other\nwith some manifestation of surprise.\n\n\u201cThat is to say,\u201d I resumed, \u201cthat his Majesty performed it after\na fashion. He inquired the distance from his own country-house at\nPilnitz, to the Armenian Convent at the Holy City; and, in spite of\nhis education, he was nothing less than astonished, to find that it\nwas something more serious than a promenade to T\u00f6plitz. I do not know\nif he had a vision of boiling his peas, as an English pilgrim did, of\nwhom I could tell you something; but he certainly experienced some\nunpleasant sensations at the idea that, the way being so long, he might\nchance to find himself without peas to boil. He wept at the reflection\nthat he might not only be a devout, but a hungry, King, while one-half\nof Dresden were solacing their appetites on the terrace of Bruhl, and\nthe other, at the Baths of Link, or at the Bastei. He thought of the\ndangers; but he _would_ be devout. The attendant pains were great; but\nthe resulting pleasures were not to be denied. In short, he would _not_\ngo to Jerusalem; but he _would_ perform the pilgrimage. Accordingly,\nthe exact distance having been ascertained, he started from his room,\nand walked the entire number of leagues by pacing up and down a long\ngallery, deducting from the distance the amount of water passage,\nwhich was but fair. If admiration had been great at the commencement,\nsurprising fun was excited during the performance. Every evening the\ncitizens of Dresden knew how far their religious Ruler had proceeded\non his way, or how far he would have proceeded, if he had but set out.\n_Now_, he was breakfasting, in imagination, at Breslau; sleeping (in\nfancy) at Olmutz; and passing, by a pleasant fiction, through Buda.\nDuring two days that his Majesty suffered from a real bilious attack,\nthe result, perhaps, of a Barmecidal repast at Essek on the Drave, the\nKing rested at Belgrade, while confined to his bed in Dresden. But his\nzeal soon re-invigorated his liver; and, as he glided to and fro by his\npalace windows, the mystified multitude below learned that the Monarch\nwas lodging in the house of the Saxon Legation at Istamboul. The\npilgrim-traveller suffered a little from the heat (of the room) as he\ndescended from the western coast of Asia Minor; but the inconveniencies\nof the route were things beneath the thoughts of him who--whether at\nBursa, Smyrna, or any other locality on his way--could ring his bell\nin the Desert, and order Champagne out of his own cellar. The King was\npuzzled one mid-day, (he had by calculation just reached Beyrout,)\nhis progress being checked by the unexpected arrival of a portion of\nthe imperial family from Vienna. Visitors of such condition must be\nattended to; nevertheless, his pilgrimage must be continued; and he,\nlike the clever and facetious palmer that he was, did both. He attended\nhis guests with much politeness, during their stay of two days; and he\nput down the time thus spent, as consumed in a sea voyage from Beyrout\nto Acre. The moment they left, the royal pilgrim went ashore again,\nand happily accomplished the remaining distance to Jerusalem, through\nNassara and Nablous, without any other hinderance or obstruction than\nhis going one night to see a French _vaudeville_, while supposed to\nbe enjoying his well-earned repose at Rama or Muddin. And thus was\naccomplished that royal pilgrimage that was never performed. The King\nreached Jerusalem without going there; and the people saw _him_ return\nwho had never departed.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Harold Knudtzen, \u201cthe Kings of Saxony are no longer such\nsimpletons. The present Monarch loves, indeed, good wine, \u2018craftily\nqualified;\u2019 but he also, like Uzziah, King of Judah, loves husbandry.\nJosephine herself had not half so frantic a passion for flowers as he;\nand not for flowers alone in their beauty,--not for botany, either,\nmerely for amusement\u2019s sake, but for phytology and pharmacy, as\nconnected with it.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe lisped Linn\u00e6us,\u201d said L\u00f6wenskiold, \u201cbefore he could speak plainly.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd, by reputation, he knew Tournefort better than he did Knecht\nRupert,\u201d added Harold.\n\n\u201cHe himself told us, when we met him in Dalmatia,\u201d continued the\nlatter, \u201cthat he could spell _Dodecandria_ and _Trigynia_ before\nhe could read Grimm\u2019s Story-Book; and that he knew the meanings of\n_monopetalous_ and _campaniform_ before he was acquainted with the\nlanguages from which the terms were derived. I never saw a man so\neager in pursuit of _apetalous amentaceous_ flowers; and as for\n_carryophylous_\u201d----\n\n\u201cLeave off your abominable phrases!\u201d said I, \u201cand begin by telling\nme how you two very modest fellows introduced yourselves to the\nacquaintance of the Sovereign of Saxony.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe introduction was effected through a very light-hearted and\nintelligent fellow-botanizer, whom we met on our way from Zara up to\nthe mountains. We had all three lost our way while endeavouring to find\nan _infundibuliform_\u201d----\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d interrupted I, \u201cI care not what you found, if you choose to tell\nit in pentameters.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d resumed Knudtzen, \u201cwe were in a wild part of the\ncountry,--weary, hungry, cold, and in the dark. Wanderers could not\nwell be in a worse plight. We were as _fl\u00fbt\u00e9_ as Juno\u2019s columns near\nthe church of St. Helia; and the skeleton doing duty there for that of\nSt. Simeon of Jud\u00e6a, the pride and palladium of the people of Zara,\nlooked in far better condition, and in, especially, better raiment,\nthan could be boasted of by us humble pedestrians. We had walked many\nleagues, when we reached a sorry inn kept by a Gipsy, where we hoped\nto find rest and refreshment, but were permitted to enjoy neither. Our\nswarthy host stood in his door-way, like Horatius Cocles at the head of\nthe bridge. Beds he did not even profess to find for travellers. He had\nnot slept in one himself for years, and was none the worse, he said,\nfor the privation. Leopold asked for wine.\n\n\u201c\u2018We have three sorts of wine,\u2019 said the Gipsy, \u2018which travellers like\nyourselves once tasted and paid for. I have the very wines which the\nseven Schwaben asked for in the Goldenes Kreutz at Ueberlingen.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018What! old Sauerampfer?\u2019 cried L\u00f6wenskiold.\n\n\u201c\u2018The same,\u2019 said our singular host. \u2018It is not quite so sour as\nvinegar, but it will pierce the marrow of your bones like a sword;\nand it will so twist your mouth, that you shall never get it straight\nagain.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018We will try something better than this acid water,\u2019 said I: \u2018we\nwill\u2019----\n\n\u201c\u2018Try the Dreim\u00e4nnerswein? I am sorry there are only women in the\nhouse!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018What, in the name of all your saints in Zara, have your women to do\nwith the refreshment we need?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Do! nothing in the world! that is precisely it! You will want three\nmen each of you. For Dreim\u00e4nnerswein is three times as rough and ten\ntimes as sour as vinegar; and he who drinks it must be held fast by two\nmen, while a third pours the liquid down his throat!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018And what of the third of these Olympic beverages?\u2019 said I.\n\n\u201c\u2018It is called _Rachenputzer_, and has peculiar qualities too. He who\nlies down to sleep with a flask of it in his body, must be aroused\nevery half-hour, and turned over. Otherwise a pint of Rachenputzer\nwould eat a hole right through his side!\u2019\n\n\u201cThe Gipsy laughed aloud as he uttered these words. We ourselves\nlaughed in despite of our vexation; and, somewhat startlingly, a fourth\nvoice took up the cachinnatory affection, and laughed even louder\nthan the original three. As the new-comer stood in the light of the\ndoor-way, the landlord touched his cap, withdrew hastily into the\npassage, and slammed the door in our faces, leaving us in Cimmerian\ndarkness, summer trousers, and a drizzling rain. The matter was no\nlonger risible, and we were beginning to be seriously annoyed, when the\nmysterious stranger, whom we could but indistinctly see, invited us to\naccompany him we knew not whither, and hospitably to partake of we knew\nnot what. We accepted the invitation most gratefully; and after a full\nhalf-hour\u2019s walk, we found ourselves on the skirts of a wood. In less\nthan half that time, we subsequently reached a neat little house within\nthe wood itself; and I do not think ten minutes had elapsed, ere we had\nmade such toilette as travellers may, and, with some doubts as to the\nreality of the circumstance, detected ourselves in the act of eating\nvermicelli soup, and wondering how it had reached us.\n\n\u201cBefore our repast was entirely dispatched, our host, in whom we saw a\nyoung, well-made, and exceedingly amiable personage, informed us that\nhe was on a botanizing expedition for the benefit of an establishment\nin Northern Germany; that he had been two months settled in the house\nin which we then were, and that he had already given temporary shelter\nto three plant-explorers, who had resorted, in their need, to the house\nof Djewitzki, the Gipsy, and who had found to their sorrow, that it had\nnothing of the quality of an inn about it, except the sign.\n\n\u201cWe talked of flowers that night,\u201d continued Knudtzen, \u201cas though they\nwere the foremost as well as the fairest things in all the world. But\nwe were sciolists in the science, and, contrasted with us, our host\nwas a sage. He knew that agrimony was under Jupiter, and angelica\nunder the Sun in Leo; that milfoil was under the influence of Venus,\nand that garden basil was a herb of Mars. If every new idea be worth\nthe knowing, why, we gained knowledge by the information, that all the\ndodders are under Saturn. We heard, for the first time, the virtues of\nthe plant enchusa.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d interrupted L\u00f6wenskiold, \u201cwe were enabled to remind our host of\nwhat Dioscorides says about it,--that if any who have newly eaten of it\ndo but spit in the mouth of a serpent, the reptile instantly dies.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue,\u201d said Knudtzen, \u201cwe have not been at Upsal for nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe may all aid each other by turns,\u201d I remarked to my two friends,\nas we arrived, after descending from the cathedral, on the old bridge\nover the Moldau. A large herd of cattle was crossing it at the time;\nand some of the foremost black oxen of this herd had bunches of _amara\ndulcis_ (or, \u201cwoody nightshade\u201d) hung round their necks; a common\ncustom in Germany, as I told the young travellers, and employed as a\nremedy against dizziness in the head.\n\n\u201cOf the owner or the ox?\u201d said Harold, with a laugh.\n\n\u201cOf him who wears it,\u201d I rejoined. \u201cBut I want to see the entry of your\nKing of Saxony,\u201d I continued, \u201cand not to listen to the description,\nuses, and property of herbs, plants, and flowers; maiden-hair,\nmoon-wort, and _ornithogalum spicatum_.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo much the worse!\u201d answered Knudtzen, \u201cor Leopold and I had told\nyou what we learned from our entertainer of celandine; and what he\ntold us, from Pliny, of the anemone: how he recommended us, should we\never visit Naples, never to retire to rest without strewing about our\nbed-chamber some chopped leaves of arse-smart, a herb most murderous\nto the numerous light troops cantoned in Neapolitan sleeping-rooms;\nhow balm was good for the bite of scorpions; how Pliny recommends\nendweed for the quinsy;--and a thousand other matters touching leaves,\nherbs, trees, flowers, roots, and barks. But I _will_ tell you that\nour Amphitryon was light as well as learned, and loved fun as he did\nflowers. He would discourse upon _ballets_ as well as battles; knew\nall about logarithms and the new opera; told anecdotes; remembered\nsermons; and, finally, lighted us to bed, with a Latin quotation, and\na brass candlestick. By day-break we were all out in the vicinity of\nthe house, looking for rare plants, with as much avidity as though they\nequalled diamonds in value. We returned together to a breakfast exactly\nadapted to our tastes and capacities; after which, our knapsacks were\nonce more on our shoulders, and, having made due acknowledgment for the\nhospitality received, we begged to be permitted to know the name of our\nentertainer.\n\n\u201c\u2018You might call me,\u2019 said he, \u2018the Dalmatian botanist, if I\nparticularly cared about maintaining my _incognito_. But I hope we\nshall meet again; and, if you ever visit Dresden, come to me, and you\nshall have better fare than I have been able to afford you here. Ask\nfor the King of Saxony,\u2019 he added, observing our inquiring looks; \u2018and\nin the mean time write your names on these tablets, and you shall find\nthat in Dresden I have not forgotten the night in Dalmatia.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd did you and the good Frederick Augustus ever meet again?\u201d\n\n\u201cTwice,\u201d said Harold. \u201cWe saw one another for a moment, a month\nafterwards, in Zara. He was accompanying the Emperor of Austria,\nfollowed by a brilliant staff, to a review, and he gave us a smile of\nrecognition as he passed.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe second time we met him,\u201d added Leopold, \u201cwas in the gardens of the\nNymphenberg, near Munich. He was alone, amusing himself with feeding\nthe beavers. We spent a very agreeable hour with him in exploring that\npleasant retreat of the Kings of Bavaria; and, on parting, he repeated\nhis wish that we might meet again in Dresden,--a circumstance not very\nunlikely, as we are now on our way to the S\u00e4chsische Schweitz.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nA FEW ODD GLASSES OF WINE.\n\n\nThe ancient people who loved the juice of the grape, kept in grateful\nremembrance the names of the first planters of vines. Bacchus came\nfrom India, through Egypt, into Europe; and he and his joyous company\nmade vineyards bloom amid many a desert. But the introduction of the\nvine was not unopposed. The Chians accepted gratefully the rosy gift\nfrom \u0152nopia; and the branch was hailed on its passage through Greece,\nSicily, and Italy. But in Greece the vines were destroyed wherever the\norder of Lycurgus had force; and it was in Athens that, under King\nCranaus, men first diluted the potent draught with water. The gods\nvisited Greece with an inundation in consequence; but the Sicilians,\nnothing daunted, adopted the temperance that was not sanctioned in\nOlympus. Domitian did for the vines carried into Gaul, from Tuscany,\nwhat Lycurgus did for those of Laced\u00e6monia; but Probus restored them to\nthe thirsty Gauls. Numa had taught his people to train the vine which\nJanus had given them; and, by placing the statue of Minerva by the side\nof that of Bacchus, he taught them a lesson which Domitian could not\ncomprehend. _He_ did _not_ know how to be merry and wise.\n\nIt was long before the Egyptians acknowledged, by grateful use, the\nexcellence of the vine. The Scythians, some of the Persians, and the\nCappadocians would not drink the delusive draught upon any account;\nbut then these were barbarians. The Cappadocians especially not only\nrefused wine, but liberty. When the latter was offered them by the\nRomans, the reply of the water-drinkers was, \u201cthat they would neither\naccept liberty nor tolerate it!\u201d It is to be remarked, however, that\nall these people tardily attained to a better taste, like the great\nHippocrates himself, who, after touching on the advisability of mixing\nwine with water, finally decides, like the enthusiastic Athenians,\nthat it is much better to take the beverage neat. He thinks that, when\ngrief is at the heart, pure wine is a specific; and no doubt Ariadne\nthought so too, or she would not have turned to Bacchus after Theseus\nhad abandoned her to a short-lived inconsolability. Rome long honoured\nBacchus even as Ariadne did; and he who stole a bunch of grapes from\na vineyard incurred the penalty of death. Italy was, indeed, proud of\nher vines and their produce. Of the two hundred varieties of wine then\nknown in the world, only fourscore were declared to be \u201cexcellent;\u201d and\nof these fourscore, nearly thirty were said to be natives of Italy. The\nChian wines, however, maintained for ages a marked pre-eminence. It\nwas a vase filled with wine of Chios that the poet Ion gave to every\nAthenian who was present at the representation of a tragedy, for which\nthe poet was publicly crowned. \u201c_Pauper es, ut solent poet\u00e6_,\u201d was\ntherefore, evidently, a line that could not be universally applied to the\npoets of Greece.\n\nThey loved old wine, too, did those old people. Wine, as old as the\nyears to which ravens are reported to attain,--a century, or even\ntwo,--was served up at Rome. It was in consistency something like\nthe clotted cream of Devonshire. But there was wine of a more solid\nconsistency than this. I have elsewhere spoken of wine chopped in\npieces by an axe, before it could be used. This was because of an\naccident which had happened to the wine; but the Romans had vinous\npreparations which were served up in lumps; and we hear of wines being\nkept in the chimney like modern bacon, and presented to the guests\n\u201cas hard as salt.\u201d The ancients are also reported to have been able to\nchange red wine into white, by means of white of egg and bean-flour,\nshaken together with the red wine in a flagon. It would require much\nshaking before a degenerate modern could effect the mutation in\nquestion. But if Cato could imitate the best Chian by means of his own\ngooseberries, the other feat may hardly be disputed. It is certain that\nthe ancients could boldly swallow some questionable mixtures. Thus they\ndrank their wine with sea-water, in order to stimulate and whip up\nenergies exhausted by being over-driven the night before. Myrtle wine,\non the other hand, was copiously drunk at dawn by those who could not\nsleep, but who could afford to remain in bed, and try to court Nature\u2019s\nsoft nurse.\n\nThere were Roman ladies who were not born before nerves were in\nfashion. These had their especial drinks, sovereign in their effects,\nto calm a nervous system too sorely excited. The most efficacious of\nthese was the \u201c_Adynamon_,\u201d or \u201cpowerless wine;\u201d that is, powerless\nto intoxicate, but excellent as an invigorator. It consisted simply\nof a mixture of water and white-wort; and when Julia or Lalage had\ntremblingly sipped thereof, her nerves were so braced, that she could\nstand by and look on while Geta was flogged for an hour.\n\nOn the point of secret drinking, the early Romans were quite as\nparticular and more merciless regarding their wives. When Micennius\ndetected his wife in the act of \u201csucking the monkey,\u201d that is,\nfeloniously imbibing his wine through a straw at the bung-hole, he\nthen and there slew her. Complaint was made by her friends to Romulus;\nbut that chief and sole magistrate confined himself to the remark,\nthat she had been justly served. The wine-casks at home were for years\nafterwards accounted sacred by the wives in the absence of their\nlords. It would appear, too, by this incident, that wine was commonly\nproduced long before Numa introduced the improvement of training the\nvine. There _were_ ladies who were rendered more cautious, but not\nless bold, by the judgment pronounced by Romulus. We hear of one\ncaught in the fact by some members of her own family, who were so\ndisgusted with her immorality, that to preserve the respectability\nof their house, they starved her to death. As years wore on, Judges\ngrew more good-natured, and only deprived tippling married women of\nall right in their marriage portions. The Empire could hardly have\nbeen inaugurated, before thirsty ladies adopted a custom that had been\ndenied them under the Commonwealth. Livia, the consort of Augustus, was\neighty-two when she died; and it was her boast that wine alone had made\nher an octogenarian. What wine she drank is not stated. She may have\nhad a head that could bear old Falernian undiluted; but that was not\nthe case with many of her sex. The Roman ladies\u2019 wine was, generally\nspeaking, little more than a sweet _tisane_, distilled from asparagus\nor marjoram; from parsley, mint, rue, wild thyme, or pennyroyal. These\nwere sipped at breakfast-time; and the hour and the ingredient would\nseem rather to point to \u00c6sculapius than to Bacchus. They were, in fact,\nmedicinal drinks. The strong wines were drunk at other hours, and these\nmore innocent draughts were swallowed in the morning, with reflections\nas bitter as the beverage. Wormwood wine, too, was a favourite morning\nstimulant with intoxication; and it cannot be denied, that if modern\nguests were condemned to a \u201cpint of salt and water\u201d with their wine,\nthe hilarity after dinner would not be of a very joyous aspect. Some of\nthe \u201csea-wines\u201d of the Greeks, however, owed their name and reputation\nchiefly to being immersed, in casks, in the ocean. Our Madeira may thus\nbe called a \u201csea-wine,\u201d when it has been to the East Indies and back\nfor the benefit of its health.\n\n\u201cChambertin\u201d was the favourite wine of Napoleon. The \u201c_vinum dulce_\u201d\nobtained after drying the grapes in the sun, during three days, and\ncrushing them beneath the feet, in the hottest hours of the fourth\nday, was the drink for which Commodus had a predilection. It was after\ndraughts of this beverage that he used to fight in the Circus as the\n\u201cRoman Hercules,\u201d as proud of his performance as Mr. Ducrow, when he\nused to ride round it in the same character. Commodus, too, like the\ngreat equestrian, was an artist in his way; but he ruined the managers\nby the exorbitant salaries which he wrung from them, whenever he\ncondescended to appear in the arena!\n\nFor the games of the Circus, and for bread after the sport was over,\nthe Romans have been reproachfully pointed at as alone caring.\nConsidering the plight into which they had been plunged by their Rulers\nand Priests, they seem to me to have been wise in their sentiment. One\ncircumstance is clear,--that they might dip their pennyworth of bread\ninto a deep cup of \u201csack\u201d at the same price. Wine cost but sixpence a\ngallon,--a sufficient quantity for half-a-dozen gentlemen just returned\nfrom the Circus; or for half-a-dozen ladies, who had learned to break\nthrough the total-abstinence principle of the women of the Republic.\nThere was much wine to be had for a trifling outlay of money. In\nGreece, it was cheaper still. In Athens, wine was dear at fourpence per\ngallon; and ordinarily, Davus, out on a holiday, might get drunk upon\nfour quarts of it, at a halfpenny per quart; but Chremes would nearly\nflay him alive, if he caught him before he was sober.\n\nI may add, that this was the price of wine, that is, of French wine, in\nEngland, under John. A tun of Rochelle wine cost twenty shillings, and\nit was retailed at fourpence per gallon. But taking the value of money\ninto consideration, this was rather a high price.\n\nWhen Probus restored the vine to the Gauls, he sent cuttings of\nthe precious plant into Britain; and many localities in the south\npart of the island produced a very respectable beverage, of which\nthe parent stock had no reason to be ashamed. \u201cAs sure as God is in\nGloucestershire!\u201d was a common phrase when that picturesque county was\ncovered with monasteries; and many of the monastic gardens were famous\nfor their grapes and the liquor distilled from them. The little village\nof Durweston, near Blandford, in Dorsetshire, was once as remarkable\nfor its peculiar grape and its product, as that restricted Rhenish\nlocality, whose grapes produce the Lieb Frauenmilch. Of the respective\nmerits of the English grapes, I will say nothing. The merits of French\nwines have, however, occupied the attention of rival medical colleges,\nwhose professors have shed much ink, and cracked whole legions of\nbottles, in order to discuss, rather than settle, the divers deserts\nof Burgundy and Champagne. The question is yet an undecided one, as is\nalso that respecting the devotion of the Gauls to the grapes. Arnaud\nde Villeneuve praises the medi\u00e6val people of France, who intoxicated\nthemselves monthly upon hygienic principles. While other writers\nassert, that \u201cin the middle ages, and in the sixteenth century,\nintoxication was severely punished in France.\u201d I am the more inclined\nto believe in the latter assertion, as the laws against drinking and\ndrinkers, from Charlemagne to Francis I., have often been cited; and\nthey are marked by a severity--which Rabelais did not care for, a\nbutton!\n\nOur own wine-trade with France began after the Norman Conquest, and\nwas very considerable when our English Kings were proprietors of the\nFrench wine districts. About the middle of the sixteenth century, the\n_maximum_ price of wine was fixed at twelve-pence per gallon; but at\nthis time no one was allowed to have in his house a measure that would\ncontain above ten gallons, unless, indeed, he were of noble birth, or\ncould expend a hundred marks annually.\n\nOf all French wines, that of Burgundy is the most difficult of\ncarriage. Some Burgundies cannot bear it at all; others are transported\nin bottles covered with a cottony paper, or bedded in salt. Pure\nBurgundy exhilarates without intoxicating; and there is not a liver\ncomplaint in a hogshead of it. It is the alcoholic wines that massacre\nthe _jecur_.\n\nThe Burgundy vineyards were originally in connexion with the Burgundian\nmonasteries, and there were no better _vignerons_ than the monks. The\nmodern quality of the wine is inferior to its ancient reputation,\nsimply because modern proprietors are not artistical monks, but mere\nmoney-makers. Napoleon adhered to the wine as long as he could; but at\nSt. Helena he took to Bordeaux,--Chambertin would have lost its best\nqualities in the voyage thither.\n\nThe Emperor was, perhaps, the best judge of his favourite Chambertin\nthat France ever could boast of, except, probably, in the case of\nthe good Lindsay, of Balcarras, Bishop of Kildare. This Prelate long\nresided at Tours, and was an excellent connoisseur in wine, though he\nmodestly used to say, \u201c_If_ I know any thing, it is the management\nof turnip crops and mangel-wurzel.\u201d It is no disparagement of the\nepiscopal bench to say, that many of its members could not justifiably\nmake a similar boast. Lord Brougham, I believe, used to say, that \u201cif\n_he_ knew any thing, it was, that claret should always be drunk after\ngame.\u201d There is an imperial authority in favour of Champagne. When\nthe Emperor Wenceslaus visited France in the fourteenth century, to\nnegotiate with Charles VI., it was impossible ever to get him sober\nto a conference. \u201cIt was no matter,\u201d he said; \u201cthey might decide as\nthey liked, and he would drink as _he_ liked; and thus both parties\nwould be on an equality.\u201d There is something curious in the caprices of\nChampagne; particularly of the _vin mousseux_, or effervescing wine. In\nthe same cellar, the same wine, all similarly placed, will _mousser_\nin some bottles, and not in others. It will even, when poured from the\nsame bottle, _mousser_ in some glasses into which it is poured, while\nin others it will fall as heavily placid as oil. In warm weather,\nhowever, a great Champagne cellar is a very lively place; so lively,\nthat it is unsafe to walk through the serried hosts of bottles, without\na wire mask over the face.\n\nThere are one or two sorts of French wine which are considered to be\nimproved by letting a small portion of the stalk be trodden in with\nthe grape. But, probably, in the selection of the grape, there is no\nwhere such care taken, as in the matter of imperial Tokay. The grapes\nare selected with the greatest care; sometimes a second selection\nis made from the first selected lot. No grape is chosen that is not\nperfectly sound. The resulting wine is of a highly delicious flavour;\nbut I need not add, that the general public know but very little about\nit. To them is vouchsafed the brewage from the damaged grape, or the\ndistillation of the refuse of the first grape. The product is an acid\none, resembling moderately good Rhine wine; but it is _not_ Tokay.\n\n\u201cOld Wortley Montague\u201d was a great drinker of Tokay. He lived to the\npatriarchal age of eighty-three. Gray, writing of him, says, that\nit was not mere avarice, and its companion, abstinence, that kept\nhim alive so long. He imported his own wine from Hungary, in greater\nquantity than he could use, and he sold the overplus,--drinking himself\na half-pint every day,--for any price he chose to set upon it. It was a\nfashionable wine with the drinkers of the last century. Walpole records\nits being offered at a supper given by Miss Chudleigh to the Duke of\nKingston, her then \u201cprotector.\u201d \u201cAt supper she offered him Tokay, and\ntold him she believed he would find it good.\u201d The entertainment was\nsplendid, and untidy. \u201cThe supper was in two rooms, and very fine; and\non all the sideboards, and _even on the chairs_, were pyramids and\ntroughs of strawberries and cherries; you would have thought she was\nkept by Vertumnus!\u201d\n\nOur ancient acquaintance, \u201cmustard,\u201d was originally raised to the\ncharacter of \u201cwine,\u201d in common with some other of the seeds used at\nancient tables. Our warm friend mustard was the _mustum ardens_, or\n\u201chot wine.\u201d It was held as good for persons of bilious temperament, and\nas being more beneficial in summer than in winter. Coriander was used\nin the same season. It was mixed with vinegar, and poured over meat\nto preserve its freshness. There are some men who faint at the smell\nof linseed. A bread made therefrom was once, however, readily eaten\nby various European and Asiatic people. Cakes made of it were placed\nbefore the altars of gods,--men making willing sacrifice of what they\naccounted as of small value. Similar sacrifices are made daily even\nnow; only they are not in the form of aniseed cakes.\n\nIt is said of the Arabs, that they manufactured an intoxicating wine\nfrom linseed. This beverage was worthy of being served with that\nstrange dish at dessert,--fried hempseed,--a dish that would have been\nappropriate enough at a highwayman\u2019s last supper, the night before he\nrode to Tyburn.\n\nIt used to be said of old, that wine was a sympathetic liquor; and\nthis is alluded to by more than one writer. Sir Kenelm Digby, in his\n\u201cDissertation on the Cure of Wounds,\u201d makes a singular remark with\nrespect to wine. \u201cThe wine-merchants observe every where, (where there\nis wine,) that during the season the vines are in the flower, the wines\nin the cellar make a kind of fermentation, and percolate forth a little\nwhite lee (which I think they call \u2018the mother of the wine\u2019) upon the\nsurface of the wine, which continues in a kind of disorder till the\nflower of the vines be fallen; and then, this agitation being ceased,\nall the wine returns to the same state as it was in before.\u201d\n\nIt was a custom with the ancients to swallow, to the health of their\nmistresses, as many cups or glasses as there were letters in her name.\nTo this custom Martial refers:--\n\n    \u201c_N\u00e6via sex cyathis, septem Justina bibatur, Quinque Lycas,\n    Lyde quatuor, Ida tribus: Omnis ab infuso numeretur amica\n    Falerno._\u201d\n\nIt became us, as a more mechanical people, to drink upon pegs rather\nthan letters: the peg-tankards were said to be the invention of King\nEdgar. The two-gallon measure had eight pegs; and the half-pint, from\npeg to peg, was deemed a fitting draught for an honest man; but as\nthe statute, or custom, did not define how often the toper might be\npermitted to indulge in this measure, people of thirsty propensities\ngot rather more inebriated than they had dared to be previously. As\nthe half-pint was roughly set down as the _maximum_ of their draught,\nit was a point of honour with them never to drink less,--and to drink\nto that extent as often as opportunity offered. The Council of London\n(Archbishop Anselm\u2019s \u201cCanons,\u201d A.D. 1102) expressly warned the Clergy\nagainst the perils of peg-drinking; but the same Council looked upon\nperukes as being quite as perilous as these pegged half-pints, and\ndenounced wigs with as much intensity as tankards,--and to about as\nmuch purpose. Karloman understood the Ecclesiastics better; at least,\nif traditionary history be worthy of any respect.\n\nAmong the legends of the Rhine connected with my present subject of\nwine, there is one which is worth mentioning. The great Karloman, who\nloved good liquor, bequeathed to the brotherhood of Monks at Rheinfeld\na marvellous and covetable butt of wine, which had not only the merit\nof being of first-rate quality, but which never decreased, though it\nwas continually running at the spigot! This wine was for the use of\nthe brethren; but the good Emperor also left a sum of money which he\ndesired should be spent in treating visitors to the monastery with good\nRhenish wine. When a weary traveller claimed the hospitality of the\nMonks, he was immediately conducted to an inner apartment. Here he was\ninvested with the collar of Karloman, and gravely informed that, it\nbeing necessary that he should be baptized, he had only to say whether\nhe preferred that the ceremony should be performed with wine or with\nwater. If, like an honest fellow, he selected wine, he was gently\nconstrained to swallow three monster bumpers of Muscatel. He was then\ncrowned with a parcel-gilt coronet, and so became installed one of\nthe jolly Knaves of St. Goar. There were some privileges attached to\nthis dignity; among others, was the right to fish on the summit of the\nLurley Berg, where there is no water; and of hunting on the sand-banks\nof the Rhine, where there is not safe footing for a sparrow. The poor\ntemperate wight, on the other hand, who preferred the modest medium of\nwater for the ceremony of his baptism, was proclaimed a blind Heathen,\nand was immediately drenched to the skin, from outpouring buckets of\nwater that were showered upon him in all directions. Such was the\nsolemnity of the H\u00e4nsel, as instituted by Karloman. This Emperor\u2019s\naffection for the Rhine and its vicinity was as strong as that of an\nold gastronomic English Bishop for his native island. The episcopal\nattachment is exemplified in the story of the Prelate\u2019s last moments,\nwhen his faithful servant John endeavoured to encourage him. \u201cBe\ncomforted, my Lord,\u201d said John: \u201cyour Lordship is going to a better\nplace.\u201d \u201cAh, John!\u201d said the Bishop, \u201cthere is no place like old\nEngland!\u201d\n\nThere was a practice among the Romans with regard to wine, which\nshould win the respect of all our Inns of Court. All law business was\nsuspended during vintage time. \u201c_San\u00e8_,\u201d says Minucius Felix, \u201c_et\nad vindemiam feri\u00e6 judiciorum curam relaxaverunt_;\u201d and this was no\npoor holiday: it was the Long Vacation of the Roman bar, extending,\nas the Rev. Hubert Ashton Holden remarks, in his admirable edition of\nthe \u201c_Octavius_,\u201d from August 22nd to October 15th. And here let me\nremark, parenthetically, how much preferable it would be to make a\nschool-book of the \u201c_Octavius_\u201d of Minucius Felix, so rich in early\nChristian information, and so pure in its Latinity, rather than pursue\nthe old course of letting boys read Ovid and similar authors. The Abb\u00e9\nGaume, in his \u201c_Ver Rongeur_,\u201d traces all the evils by which society\nis afflicted, to the study of erotic Latin and Greek authors. The\nAbb\u00e9 rushes from one extreme into its opposite, and wishes to confine\nour sons to the mawkish Latinity of the Lives of the Saints, and the\nPastorals (so unlike the Eclogues) of Bishops. The work of Minucius\nFelix just occupies the safe medium of the two remote points,--erotic\nHeathenism, and Monkish mendacity, told with much violation of grammar.\nIt is a book that ought to be on the list of works to be studied in\nevery locality devoted to the education of \u201cingenuous youth.\u201d\n\nIt is hardly necessary to write of the effects of wine on the bodily\neconomy. They are too familiarly known. There was an old adage that--\n\n  \u201cHe who goes to bed, and goes to bed sober,\n  Falls as the leaves do, and dies in October;\n  But he who goes to bed, and goes to bed mellow,\n  Lives as he ought to do, and dies a good fellow.\u201d\n\nThis is poor poetry, worse sentiment, and deadly counsel. Half the\nevils that torture men arise from intemperance; and, next to excess\nin alcohol, immoderation in wine is the most fatal practice to which\nhumanity can bind itself slave. An Arab says of his horse, that the\nhorse\u2019s belly is the measure of its corn. Men are too apt to allow a\nsimilar metage with respect to themselves in the matter of wine. It\nwere safer to remember that we cannot drink too little, and that we\nsoon may be drinking too much. Panard very justly says,--\n\n  \u201c_Se piquer d\u2019\u00eatre grand buveur,\n    Est un abus qui je d\u00e9plore.\n  Fuyons ce titre peu flatteur;\n    C\u2019est un honneur qui d\u00e9shonore.\n  Quand on bo\u00eet trop, on s\u2019assoupit,\n    Et l\u2019on tombe en d\u00e9lire:\n  Buvons pour avoir de l\u2019esprit,\n    Et non pour le d\u00e9truire._\u201d\n\nAs good advice, more eloquently delivered, is given by our own Herbert,\na poet next to Shakespeare for felicity of expression. Our reverend\nminstrel and monitor says,--\n\n  \u201cDrink not the third glass, which thou canst not tame\n    When once it is within thee, but before\n  May\u2019st rule it as thou list; and pour the shame,\n    Which it would pour on thee, upon the floor.\n  It is most just to throw that on the ground,\n  Which would throw _me_ there, if I keep the round.\u201d\n\nAnd again:--\n\n  \u201cIf reason move not, gallants, quit the room;\n    (All in a shipwreck shift their several way;)\n  Let not a common ruin thee entomb;\n    Be not a beast in courtesy, but stay,\n  Stay at the third cup, or forego the place:\n  Wine, above all things, does God\u2019s stamp deface.\u201d\n\nThis is admirable counsel, logic, and theology. The people who least\nstood in need of such a triad of excellent aids to good living were the\nEgyptians, at that particular period of their career when they confined\nthemselves to drinking\n\n  \u201cBeer small as comfort, dead as charity.\u201d\n\nAnd this may naturally lead us to look in, for a moment, on both the\nancient and the modern Egyptians, when seated at table. But, previous\nto doing so, there is a little philological matter I would fain settle,\nas far as so indifferent an authority may presume to do so, and which\nmay interest, not merely wine-bibbers, but etymologists, and zealous\ncorrespondents to \u201cNotes and Queries.\u201d It may be very briefly discussed.\n\nI have noticed, in another page, the fact that nearly all our\nold-fashioned drinking phrases are but corruptions of foreign terms.\nA \u201ccarouse,\u201d for instance, is derived from \u201c_gar aus_,\u201d \u201caltogether\nempty,\u201d sufficiently indicative of what a reveller was to do with\nhis full glass. There is one--a rather vulgar term--of the origin of\nwhich, however, I have never heard any account. But I think I may have\ndiscovered it in a little German poem, by Pfarrius, called \u201c_Der Trunk\naus dem Stiefel_,\u201d and which, thus roughly done into English, may serve\nto show\n\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF \u201cBOOSEY.\u201d\n\n  In the Rheingraf\u2019s hall were of Knights a score,\n  And they drained their goblets o\u2019er and o\u2019er,\n  And the torches they flung a lurid glow\n  On the Knights who were drinking there below.\n\n  \u201cHo, ho!\u201d said the Rheingraf, \u201cSir Knights, I find,\n  Our courier has left a boot behind;\n  He who can empty it off at a breath,--\n  The Hufflesheim village is his till death.\u201d\n\n  Then laughing, he filled the boot to the rim,\n  Till the bright red wine flowed over the brim;\n  And said, as he mark\u2019d their sparkling eyes,--\n  \u201cGood luck to you, Knights--you know the prize!\u201d\n\n  Then Johann von Sponheim sat silent by,\n  But pushed his neighbour to rise and try;\n  And Meinhart, his neighbour, could nothing do\n  But scowl at the boot, and sit silent too.\n\n  Old Florsheim, he nervously stroked his beard;\n  And Kunz von Stromberg spoke never a word;\n  And even the giant Chaplain stared\n  At the monster boot, as though he were scared.\n\n  Then Boos von Waldeck did loudly call,--\n  \u201cHere, hand me that thimble!\u201d and \u201cHealth to all!\u201d\n  And then, in one breath, to the very last drain,\n  He drank, and fell back on his seat again,\n\n  And said, \u201cO, Sir Rheingraf, it were my mind,\n  Had the fellow his other boot left behind,\n  To empty that, too, at a breath; and take\n  For my prize Norheim village, near the lake.\u201d\n\n  Then loud laughed they all at Waldeck\u2019s good jest,--\n  Of all landless tipplers, till then, the best;\n  But the Rheingraf, he kept his knightly word,--\n  And Boos of the Boot was Hufflesheim\u2019s lord!\n\nIf therein be not the origin of \u201cboosey,\u201d why, let the lexicographers\nlook to it. But my readers will have had enough of these uncouth names.\nI have now to introduce them to hosts with names equally unmusical;\nbut, luckily, we have now to do more with acts than appellations,\nand therewith pass we to golden Egypt, and her well-spread boards. I\nwill only first add another word respecting spirits, as a beverage.\nAll authorities are agreed, that reason has no more deadly foe than\nalcohol. The effects of the latter are well described by Dr. Winslow,\nwhom we have previously quoted in the matter of mental dietetics,--a\ngentleman who might, with justice, have given a plump denial to the\nremark of Macbeth, had it been addressed to Dr. Winslow, when the\nroyal patient uncivilly told his medical adviser, \u201cThou canst not\nminister to a mind diseased.\u201d Dr. Winslow says: \u201cThe alcoholic elements\nintroduced into the blood, and brought into immediate contact with\nthe tissues of different organs, will derange the functions which\nthey are severally destined to perform; and the amount and character\nof the mischief so produced will correspond with, and be modified by,\nthe peculiarities of their individual organic structure. With these\nfacts before us, when we consider the delicate structure of the brain,\nas revealed to us by the progress of microscopic anatomy, we must be\nprepared for the physical and mental derangement which must arise,\neither from the alcohol itself, or its elements, being brought into\ndirect contact with the vesicular neurine or granular matter entering\ninto the composition of its white and grey substance. According to our\nmost recent physiological views, the vesicular matter is the source\nof nervous power, and associated, as the material instrument of the\nmind, with all its manifestations, whether in the simple exercise\nof perception, or the more complicated operations of the thinking\nprinciple. We are then to conceive the simple or organic structure\ndedicated to this high function brought into contact with irritating\nand noxious elements. The result must obviously be a disturbance in the\nmanifestations of the mind proportioned to the organic derangements so\nproduced; and without, therefore, taking a materialistic view of the\nchanges which take place, the obliteration of some, and the derangement\nof other of the intellectual faculties, are hereby satisfactorily\naccounted for. It is certain, that when the circulation in the grey\nmatter of the convolutions is retarded by congestion, or accelerated\nby unwonted stimulation, there is a corresponding state of stupor or\nmental activity, amounting even to delirium, produced; and, indeed, it\nhas been suggested, by some of our most eminent physiologists, that\nevery idea of the mind is associated with a corresponding change in\nsome part, or parts, of the vesicular surface.\u201d And if they who sit\n\u201camid bumpers brightening,\u201d could only hold this truth in sober memory,\nthere would be less imbibed at night, and more sunshine in their souls\non the morrow. And now let us pass to the cradle of wisdom, the ancient\nMisraim, where, despite the national boast, folly was, perhaps, as much\ndeified as in any locality upon earth.\n\nYes, let us now to ancient Egypt, where, as good old Herbert so finely\nexpresses it,--\n\n                  \u201cMen did sow\n  Gardens of gods, which every year did grow\n  Fresh and fine deities. They were at great cost\n  Who for a god clearly a sallet lost!\n  O, what a thing is man devoid of grace,\n  Adoring garlic with a humble face!\n  Begging his food of that which he may eat,\n  Starving the while he worshippeth his meat!\n  Who makes a root a god, how low is he,\n  If God and man be severed infinitely!\n  What wretchedness can give him any room,\n  Whose house is foul, while he adores his broom?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE TABLE OF THE ANCIENT AND MODERN EGYPTIANS.\n\n\nIf neither the grave of the Pharaohs nor physiology will, nor Dr.\nHincke nor Chevalier Bunsen can, reveal to us the secret of the\norigin of the Egyptians, we, at all events, know that they were\nmajestically-minded with respect to the table. The science of living\nwas well understood by them; and the science of killing was splendidly\nrewarded; seeing that the soldiery, besides liberal pay, allowance of\nland, and exemption from tribute, received daily five pounds of bread,\ntwo of meat, and a quart of wine. With such rations they ought not to\nhave been beaten by the Persians, when the latter had so degenerated,\nthat their almost sole national boast was, that they could drink deeper\nthan any other men, without seeming half so drunk. The Egyptians, too,\nwere tolerably stout hands, and heads to boot, at the wine-pot; and\nthere were few among even their Kings who, like the King of Castile,\nwould have choked of thirst, because the grand butler was not by to\nhand the cup.\n\nThe pulse and fruits of Egypt, the fish of the Nile, the corn\nwaving in its fields, which needed neither sun nor rain to exhibit\nproductiveness,--all these were the envy, and partly the support, of\nsurrounding nations. The corn was especially prized; and a reported\nthreat of St. Athanasius to obstruct the importation of Egyptian corn\ninto Constantinople, threw the Emperor Constantine into a fit of\nmingled fright, fever, and fury.\n\nAn Egyptian Squire commonly possessed a hundred or two cows and oxen,\nthree hundred rams, four times that number of goats, and five times\nthat number of swine, for the supply of his own little household. The\napartments in the mansions of these gentlemen were beautifully painted,\nand were furnished with tables, chairs, and couches which have supplied\nmodels for the upholstery of modern times. They were lovers of music,\nand willingly suspended conversation at their feasts, in order to\nlisten to the \u201cconcord of sweet sounds.\u201d\n\nCleopatra was but a febrile creature; but she sat down with good\nappetite, and love in her eyes, to the banquet given by Antony, at\nwhich fifteen whole boars smoked upon the board. But Cleopatra, frail\nand fragile, like many thin people, ate heartily; and when she herself\ntreated C\u00e6sar, it was with such a banquet that slaves died to procure\nit, and the guests who were present wondered at the rarities of which\nthey partook. There was every thing there that gastronomy could think\nof, except mutton,--an exception in favour of the divine Ammon with the\nram-like head. I believe that even roast beef and plum-pudding were not\nlacking; for these delicacies were popular in Thebes, as was broiled\nand salted goose, with good brown stout, strong barley-wine, to cheer\nthe spirits and assist digestion.\n\nExcessively proud, too, were the old Egyptians of their culinary\nability. When the Egyptians, under their King, attacked Ochus,\nSovereign of Persia, the former were thoroughly beaten, and their\nMonarch was captured. Ochus treated him as courteously as the Black\nPrince did John of France, and invited him to his own table, at the\nsimplicity of which the Egyptian laughed outright. \u201cPrince,\u201d said\nthe uncourteous captive, \u201cif you would really like to know how happy\nKings should feed, just let my cooks--if you have caught the rascals,\nas you have me--prepare you a true Egyptian supper.\u201d Ochus consented,\nenjoyed himself amazingly at the banquet, and then, turning to his\nEgyptian prisoner, punished him by saying, \u201cWhy, what a sorry fool\nart thou, whose ambition has lost thee such repasts, and reduced thee\nto henceforth envy, as thou wilt, the moderate meals that suffice us\nhonest Persians!\u201d The implied threat was worse than the sentiment.\n\nThe dinner-table of the Egyptians was sometimes covered with a linen\ncloth imitating palm-leaves, sometimes left uncovered. Plates and\nknives, but not forks, were in common use. In place of the latter\nwere short-handled spoons of gold, silver, ivory, tortoise-shell, or\nalabaster. The dining-table was circular: ornamented rolls of wheaten\nbread were placed before each guest; and supplies of the same were\nheaped in gay-looking baskets on the side-board, where also were kept\nthe wine, the water, ewer, and napkins, which slaves, fair or swarthy,\nGreek or Negro, were ready to present at the bidding of the guests.\n\nPrevious to sitting down to the repast, the company put a spur to their\nappetite, and a cordial to their stomach, in the shape of pungent\nvegetables or strong _liqueurs_. Glasses for beer, decanters and\ngoblets for wine, appear among the ancient pictorial illustrations of\nEgyptian table-furniture. It would seem, too, from the position of\nthose at table, that they rose from their chairs to challenge each\nother to drink, to propose toasts or healths, or to inflict speeches\nupon the vexed ears of compulsory listeners.\n\nIn these \u201ccounterfeit presentments\u201d of Egyptian life may be seen the\nentire science of epicureanism, and its practical application put into\naction. The poultry-yard, the slaughter-houses, the markets and the\nkitchen, are so graphically depicted, that we see at once, that the art\nof making life comfortable was one most profoundly respected by the\nancient and mysterious people. The selecting, purchasing, and killing\nare vividly portrayed. The cooking is carried on in a large bronze\ncaldron, on a tripod, over a fire, which is stirred by an under-cook,\nwith a poker that may have been bought any day at Rippon and Burton\u2019s.\nThe butcher is there, too, in order decently to dissect the fowls;\nand our ancient friend carries before him the identical steel for\nsharpening his knife, which may be seen any day hanging from the waists\nof the butchers of London. There is a pastrycook, also, in one of\nthese \u201ccivil monuments of Egypt,\u201d who is carrying a tray of tartlets\non his head; and to the tray is appended the inscription signifying\n\u201cone thousand,\u201d which probably means, that this \u201cBirch, Pyramid-place,\nCairo,\u201d drives such a trade, that he makes and sells a thousand tarts\nor a thousand varieties of them daily.\n\nA dinner _fresco_, in a tomb at Thebes, shows us an entertainment given\nby a naval officer to some of his professional brethren. This _fresco_\nis described as being in compartments, and, perhaps, the most curious\nis that in which \u201cyou see on one side the arrival of an aristocratic\nguest, in his chariot, attended by a train of running footmen, one\nof whom hastens forward to announce his arrival by a knock at the\ndoor, sufficient to satisfy the critical ear, and rouse the somnolent\nobesity, of the sleepiest and fattest hall-porter in Grosvenor\nSquare. The other compartment presents you with a _coup-d\u2019\u0153il_ of the\npoultry-yard, shambles, pantry, and kitchen; and is completed by a\nside view of a novel incident. A grey-headed mendicant, attended by\nhis faithful dog, and who might pass for Ulysses at his palace-gate,\nis receiving, from the hands of a deformed, but charitable, menial, a\nbull\u2019s head, and a draught of that beer, for the invention of which we\nare beholden to the Thebans.\u201d\n\nThe story of Mycerinus, the Egyptian King, is grandly told by Mr.\nArnold, in his popular volume of poems; and, succinctly, by Herodotus.\nAn incident of the story connects it with our subject. Mycerinus\nwas persecuted by the gods for rendering Egypt happy, instead of\noppressing it, like his predecessors, and as the oracles had declared\nit should be oppressed for many years to come. In punishment for such\nimpious piety, as his offence may be called, poor Mycerinus was told by\nthe oracle at Buto, that he should live only six years longer. \u201cWhen\nMycerinus heard this, seeing that his sentence was now pronounced\nagainst him, he ordered a great number of lamps to be made, and, having\nlighted them, whenever night came on, he drank and enjoyed himself,\nnever ceasing night or day, roaming about the marshes and groves,\nwherever he could hear of places most suited for pleasure; and he had\nrecourse to this artifice for the purpose of convicting the oracle of\nfalsehood, that by turning the nights into days, he might live twelve\nyears instead of six.\u201d Poor fool! He probably succeeded in his object,\nbut after a sorry fashion. It may be good poetry to say that--\n\n    \u201cThe best of all ways\n    To lengthen our days\n  Is to take a few hours from night, my dear;\u201d\n\nbut it is bad in principle, and universally unsuccessful in practice.\n\nA recent describer of his travels in Egypt has said, that nothing is\nso easy as to show that the Egyptians gave jovial banquets within the\nsepulchral hall of tombs. I think that nothing would be so difficult\nas to prove this. The nearest approach to it would be the case of the\nskeleton that was carried about at Egyptian banquets, the bearer, at\nthe same time, warning the guests that, eat, drink, and laugh as they\nmight, to _that_ \u201ccomplexion they must come\u201d at last. The assertion,\nhowever, was probably made, in part, to excuse a barbarous festival, at\nwhich the writer was present, in the tombs of Eilythyias. The _locale_\nwas one of the huge halls, whose colossal columns serve to support the\nhuger mountain that is above. The dinner, we are told, was laid out\nbetween the columns, with strings of small lamps suspended in festoons\nover head.\n\nThe civilized and Christian ladies and gentlemen who were the guests\nat this feast, broke up the coffins of the pagan and barbarian Kings\nand Queens, in order to procure wood to boil their vegetables! They\nlaughed, joked, and sang joyous songs, and wondered what the buried\nmajesty of Misraim would say, could it burst its cerements, and see\nnorthern men of unknown tongues drinking Champagne at its august\nfeet. And if, for a moment, a reflecting guest contrasted the savage\nrevelry with the ensigns hung out by the King of Terrors to intimate\nhis irresistible dominion over the company,--why, reflection was soon\nbanished by the appearance of the Awalim and Ghawazi girls, whom strong\ncoffee and more potent brandy had primed for their lascivious dancing.\n\u201cO Father Abraham! what these Christians are!\u201d\n\nThese tombs are full of instruction to those who can read them. They\nshow us that the chief butler and cook--the \u201ckeeper of the drinks,\u201d and\nthe Prince (_sar_) of his cooks--were probably Princes of the blood\nof Pharaoh. In all pictorial representations of banquets, it is the\neldest son who hands the viands to his father, the eldest daughter to\nthe mother. The bill of fare of the trimestrial banquet of the dead,\nheld in the noble hall of the tomb of Nahrai at Benihassan, is still\nextant. It is as long as that of a score of Lord Mayors\u2019; and hundreds\nof men were fed from what remained. All the retainers of Nahrai, who\nwas a Prince in Egypt a full century before the time of Joseph, were\nburied in the vaults beneath the hall; and every one who could claim\nkindred with them had a right to partake of the feast. The manner of\nservice appears to have been after this fashion:--The youngest children\nof the house received the viands from the cooks, and those children\npassed them on to the elder, until they reached the first-born,\nwho placed the dish at the feet of his sire, by whom a portion was\ncut off, which the daughters, according to their age, transferred\nfrom one to the other till it reached the separate table of their\nmother. All remained standing, at these festival-dinners, until the\ntwo seniors of the house had finished the first dishes of the repast.\nPortions from these were then served to the children, when the whole\nparty sat down together; the children eating of the remains of the\nfirst dish, while \u201cthe governor\u201d and his lady partook of the integral\nsecond; and so on, through a long service. On the wall of a tomb at\nGhizeh,--that of Eimei, one of the Princes of the Saphis,--the bill of\nfare directs ninety-eight dishes to be placed, at once, on the table,\nat the fortnightly banquets which glad survivors held in honour of the\ndeparted, who appear to me always to enjoy an immense advantage over\nthose whom they leave behind them.\n\nBut now let us look in upon the modern Egyptian. If he be the master\nof a house, while he is at ablutions and prayers, his wife is making\nhis coffee; and it is to be hoped that she is allowed the privilege\nalluded to in the Augustinian sentiment, _orat qui laborat_. The cup\nof coffee and pipe, taken early, generally suffice the Egyptian till\nnoon, at which hour comes the actual breakfast, usually consisting of\nbread, butter, eggs, cheese, clotted cream, or curdled milk, with,\nperhaps, a thin pastry, saturated with butter, folded like a pancake,\nand sprinkled with sugar. A dish of horse-beans (terrific dish!)\nsometimes adorns the table. They have been slowly simmering through\na whole night in an earthen vessel, buried up to the neck in the hot\nashes of an oven; and the sauce for this indigestible dish is linseed\noil or butter, and, perhaps, a little lime-juice. Those to whom butter\nis difficult of procuring, or to whom good dinners are rarities, often\nmake a meal, and are content, upon dry bread dipped in a mixture of\nsalt, pepper, wild marjoram, with various other herbs, pungent seeds,\nand a quantity of chickpeas. The bread is dipped into this _rago\u00fbt_,\nand so eaten.\n\nThe supper is the principal meal in Egypt. The cooking is especially\nfor this repast; and what remains is appropriated for the next day\u2019s\ndinner, despite the apophthegm of Boileau, that--\n\n  \u201c_Un d\u00eener r\u00e9chauff\u00e9 ne vaut jamais rien._\u201d\n\nIt is only an amiable _paterfamilias_ that dines with his wives and\nchildren; and, in truth, where the wife appears in the plural number,\nthe husband can hardly expect a quiet meal. The washing before eating\nis almost of universal observation. The table is a round tray placed\nlow, so that the squatters on the ground may conveniently eat thereat.\nBread and limes are placed on the tray. The bread is round, as among\nthe ancient Egyptians, and often serves as a plate. The spoons, too,\nare of the materials I have named in speaking of the older nation.\nThe dishes are of tinned copper or china; and several are put upon\nthe table at one time. Among the Turks, only _one_ dish appears at\na time. Twelve persons, with one knee on the ground and the other\n(the right) raised, may sit round a tray three feet in diameter. Each\nguest tucks up his right sleeve, and prepares for his work, after\nimitating the master of the house in uttering a low _Bismillah_, \u201cIn\nthe name of God.\u201d The host sets the second example of commencing\nto eat; and the guests again follow the good precedent. Knives and\nforks are not used; spoons only for food like soups and rice. The\nthumb and two forefingers are the instruments otherwise employed; and\nthey are employed delicately enough. Generally, a piece of bread is\ntaken, doubled together, and dipped into the dish, so as to enclose\nthe morsel of meat which the guest designs for himself, or, if it be\na savoury bit, and _he_ be courteous, intended for presentation to\nhis neighbour. The food is suited to such practices. It consists of\nstewed meats, with vegetables of endless variety, or of small morsels\nof mutton or lamb, roasted on skewers: clarified butter compensates for\nwant of fat in the meat. A fowl is summarily torn asunder by two hands,\neither of the same person, or the right hands of two guests. Dexterous\nfellows, like our first-rate carvers, will \u201cjoint\u201d a fowl with one\nhand. The Arabs do not use the left hand at all at table, because it is\nused for unclean purposes. The disjointing is easily done; and even a\nwhole lamb, stuffed with pistachio nuts, may be pulled to pieces much\nmore easily than we divide a chicken. Water-melons, sliced, set to\ncool, and watched, lest serpents should approach, and poison the dish\nby their breath, generally form, when in season, a part of an Egyptian\nmeal,--a meal which usually closes with a dish of boiled rice, mixed\nwith butter, salt, and pepper; but occasionally this dish is followed\nby a bowl of water, with raisins that have been boiled in it, and sugar\nadded, with a little rose-water, to give it an odour of refinement. A\nbottle of six-year-old port is preferable.\n\nAs soon as each person has satisfied his appetite, he ceases, murmurs,\n\u201cPraise be to God!\u201d drinks his sweetened water, rises, and goes his\nway. They who drink wine, do it in private, or with confidential\nfriends, call it \u201crum\u201d to save their orthodoxy; and if a visitor call\nwhile this process is going on, the ready servant informs him that his\nmaster is abroad or in the harem. Sweet drinks and sherbets, approved\nby the Law and _the_ Prophet, are in common use, and pipes and prayer\nend \u201cthe well-spent day.\u201d\n\nEgyptian women have some little fancies connected with the table that\nmay be mentioned. In order to achieve that proportion of obesity\nwhich constitutes the beautiful, they eat mashed beetles, and they\nchew frankincense and laudanum, to perfume the breath. The Egyptian\npeasantry live upon the very sparest of diets, not often being able to\nprocure even rice. They, like the Bedouins, are, however, remarkable\nfor strength and health; but an Egyptian or Bedouin diet would not\nproduce the same results in an English climate.\n\nIt will have been observed, that in Egypt each man says his own\n\u201cgrace,\u201d before and after meat, for himself. The same custom prevails\nin Servia. At table, instead of one person asking for a blessing on the\nfood, each individual expresses, _in his own words_, (an improvement on\nthe Egyptian plan,) his gratitude to the Supreme Being. In drinking,\nthe toast or sentiment of the Servian is, \u201cTo the glory of God!\u201d and\na very excellent sentiment, only the Servian is apt to get very drunk\nover it. The Servian qualification for a chairman at a convivial party\nis, that he should be able to deliver an extempore prayer; and a very\ngood qualification, provided it be not a mere formality, and that\nthe spirit of prayer be the strongest spirit there. The combination,\nhowever, of Collects and conviviality reminds me of some strange\nparties at old-fashioned houses in our provincial towns, where comic\nsongs are followed by discussions on the Millennium, and seed-cake and\nginger wine season both.\n\nI have spoken more of the achievements of Egyptian cookery, than of the\nquality of the cooks. The fact is, that it is far more easy to speak\ndecidedly of the former, than of the latter. Mr. St. John describes\nthe Arab cooks in Egypt as being great gastronomers, and serving up\n\u201ctheir dishes in a style which could not have displeased Elagabalus\nhimself!\u201d Mr. Lane equally lauds their excellence, and the delicacy of\nthe manner of eating. Herr Werne, on the other hand,--and he is a man\nof wide experience in this matter,--speaks very differently both of\nTurkish eating and Arab cooking in Egypt. Werne, indeed, speaks of the\nremote district of Bellad Sudam, rather than of Cairo and Alexandria;\nbut his observations have an extensive application, nevertheless. He\nis disgusted with the general want of cleanliness; and he remarks,\nthat \u201cthe cooks are dirtier in themselves, and more filthy in their\ndress, than any other class of people.\u201d The dirty Arab cook is in a\ndirty kitchen, a dirty pipe ever in his mouth, and with the dirtiest of\nhands manipulating savoury preparations for the mouths of his masters.\nHe knows little more than how to boil or roast meat, boil beans, and\nprepare vegetable dishes. Even the female slaves of the harem, who act\nas cooks to their lords, are remarkable for uncleanliness. \u201cAll the\nmeat to be used for the dinner is sodden together in one huge caldron,\nand separated for arrangement in various dishes, all of which partake\nof general flavour, having been cooked together, and there is but scant\nnourishment in any of them.\u201d The vegetables are described by him as\nbeing wretchedly cooked, and saturated with bad butter, or the water\nin which they have been boiled. The dishes are not larger than our\nplates; the plates, when such are used by the guests, about the size\nof our saucers: but \u201ceach guest at once plunges his hand into any or\nevery dish that pleases him, and gropes about till he gets hold of the\nbest bits, pulls them out, and swallows them. Very often a bite is only\ntaken from the piece thus seized on, and the rest returned to the dish;\nbut, in spite of the clean treatment it has undergone, it is again soon\nseized hold of by another, and, perchance, again similarly handled,\ntill all is finally bolted. The Turks eat incredibly rapidly, as they\nbolt every thing, and keep cramming into the mouth more, ere the former\nmouthful has been swallowed; while a smacking of lips, and licking of\nsauce-dripping fingers, succeed, and proclaim their pleasure in the\nmeal. Bread is generally to be found on the table, but neither salt,\noil, vinegar, nor pepper; although, when they dine with Europeans,\nthey show no dislike to highly-seasoned dishes or strong drinks.\nAlthough these dishes are numerous, they contain but little. If there\nare many courses, or more dishes than the table will hold at one time,\nthe entertainer is ever busied making signs to the attendants which\nare to be removed; and not seldom the guest finds, that the very dish\nhe was about to help himself from is carried off from under his very\nnose. The Pasha used often to amuse himself by playing tricks on his\nguests, by ordering off, with the utmost rapidity, those dishes he saw\ntheir longing eyes fixed on, ere their outstretched hands could convey\nany portion of them into their watering mouths. At first, in spite of\nthe _pilau_, we never were quick enough to get sufficient to eat, not\nhaving been brought up to bolt our food; and that the Turks are so\nquickly satisfied, and by so little, is wholly owing to this bolting\nof their food, is undeniable; and this also produces the repeated\neructations they so loudly and joyfully give vent to, as proving their\nhigh health and vigour.\u201d\n\nThe Turks and Arabs of Egypt \u201cchaw,\u201d carrying their quid between\nthe front teeth and upper lip. The blacks of Gesira mix tobacco and\nnitron, dissolving the latter in an infusion of the former. This they\ncall \u201cbucca;\u201d and they take a mouthful of it at a time, which they\nkeep rinsing over their teeth and gums, for, perhaps, a quarter of\nan hour, before they eject it. They have \u201cbucca\u201d parties, as we have\ntea-parties; and _then_ is the circle in the very highest state of\nenjoyment,--imbibing, gurgling, gargling, and ejecting,--and not a word\nuttered, except at the close, when the guests return thanks to their\nhost \u201cfor this very delightful evening!\u201d\n\nEgypt was the locality wherein the saints of old especially shone with\nrespect to their table arrangements, or their contempt for them; and\nthese gentlemen fairly claim a due share of notice at our hands. So,\nnow \u201cfor the Desert!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE DIET OF SAINTS.\n\n\nFeasting, under certain circumstances, at certain seasons, and for\ncertain ends, is undoubtedly sanctified by apostolical recommendation.\nThe earlier fathers, however, say little on the subject. Clement of\nAlexandria mentions weekly fasts at Easter; and Tertullian, in an\narticle especially recommending the observation, bitterly bewails that\nit has fallen into a general disuse. The Church of Alexandria also\nordained a fast on Wednesdays and Fridays;--on Wednesday, because on\nthat day Christ was betrayed; on Friday, because on that day he was\ncrucified. In Alexandria too arose the saying, that the aspen-tree\nshook because it was the tree from which the wood for the cross was\ntaken. The fasting generally consisted in abstaining from food until\nthree o\u2019clock in the afternoon, but a religious liberty was allowed,\nconnected with its observance, until the sixth century, when a Council\nof Orleans decreed excommunication against all who did not fast\naccording to the laws of the Church. Nor did the authorities stop\nat this penalty; for, in later times the unlucky wight detected in\nrelieving hunger by eating prohibited meats, was punished by having all\nhis teeth drawn--the offending members were summarily extracted. The\nprohibited food in Lent was flesh, eggs, cheese, and wine; subsequently\nflesh alone was prohibited; and this tenderness of orthodoxy so\ndisgusted the Greek Church, that it lost its temper, flew off into\nschism, and forgot charity in maintaining that the use of meat in Lent\nwas damnable.\n\nThe Xerophagia, or \u201cdry eatings,\u201d were the days on which nothing was\neaten but bread and salt. This was in very early times. Innovators\nadded pulse, herbs, and fruits--no unpleasant fare in hot countries.\nThe Montanists made this fast obligatory, and were very much censured\nin consequence. The Essenes, who, whether as Jews or Jewish Christians\nin Alexandria, were singularly strict observers of the Sabbath,\ncarrying their strictness to a point which my readers may find in\nJortin, if they are curious thereupon, observed also this fast very\nrigidly, and on the stated days ate nothing with their bread but salt\nand hyssop.\n\nMost of the saints recorded on the canon roll of Rome, appear to have\nmaintained very indifferent tables, and to have considerably marred\nthereby their strength and efficiency. Saint Fulgentius abstained from\neverything savoury, and even drank no wine, says his biographer; which\nlooks as if the good men generally _did_ take some for their stomach\u2019s\nsake; and indeed Fulgentius himself took a little negus when he was\nindisposed to plain water; and \u201csmall blame to him\u201d for so harmless a\nproceeding. St. Eugenius never broke his fast till sunset; and when a\nbunch of grapes was sent to a sick monk of the desert, he forwarded it\nto a second, and a second to a third, and so on to a twentieth, until\nthis health-inspiring offering, made for man by God, was withered and\nnasty. These monks did not pray like Pope:--\n\n  \u201cThe blessings thy free bounty gives\n    Let me not cast away,\n  For God is paid when man receives,--\n    To enjoy is to obey.\u201d\n\nBut this is a sentiment in the opposite extreme, or might be easily\ncarried in that direction. Palladius says of one of these desert monks,\nSt. Macarius, that for years together he lived only on raw herbs and\npulse; that during three consecutive years he existed on four or five\nounces of bread daily; and that he consumed but one small measure\nof oil in a twelvemonth--a substitute for the gallons of sack with\nwhich profaner men washed down their modicum of bread. St. Macarius,\nhowever, surpassed himself in Lent; and an alderman might be excused\nfor fainting at the idea of a human being passing forty days and nights\nin a standing position, with no more substantial support than a few\nraw cabbage-leaves on a Sunday! St. Genevi\u00e8ve was hardly inferior in\nausterity, and only ate twice in the week, on Sundays and Thursdays,\nand then only beans and bread. When she grew old and infirm, and she\nwas prematurely both, she indulged in a little fish and milk. Simeon\nStylites surpassed both in culpable austerity. He spent an entire Lent\nwithout allowing anything to pass his lips; and at other seasons this\nslow suicidal saint never ate but on Sundays. His chief occupation\nupon the pillar, which looks much more like a column of pride than a\nmonument of humility, was in praying and bowing. An admiring monk, who\nmust have had as little of active usefulness to employ his time with as\npoor Simeon, exultingly records, that he did not eat once during the\nday, but that he made one thousand two hundred and forty-four bows of\nadoration in that time. Oh, Simeon! well for thee, poor fellow-mortal,\nif those reverences be not accounted rather as homage to thyself, than\nto Him to whom homage is due.\n\nIt is extremely difficult for the human mind to realize the idea of a\nBishop of London never breaking his fast till the evening, and then\nbeing satisfied with a solitary egg, an inch of bread, and a cup of\nmilk and water; such, however, is said to have been the daily fare of\nSt. Cedd, a predecessor of Dr. Blomfield in the metropolitan diocese.\n\u201cHow unlike _my_ Beverly!\u201d St. Severinus, an Austrian prelate, had a\nmore indifferent table than St. Cedd, especially in Lent, when he ate\nbut once a week. St. William of Bourges never tasted meat after he\nwas ordained. St. Theodosius, the Cenobiarch, was more frugal still,\nand bread often lacked, we are told, even for the holy offices of the\nChurch. This would seem to intimate, however, that the officers of the\nChurch may have eaten it. Be this as it may, when bread was needed for\nthe sacrament, a string of mules miraculously appeared in the desert,\nbearing the necessary provision. \u201cNecessary provision,\u201d may be well\nsaid, for if the Cenobites consumed little themselves, they presided at\ntables where occasionally sat a hundred hungry guests, who must have\nmuch needed a dinner, seeing that they crossed the desert to obtain it.\n\nSome of the most self-denying saints, like St. Felix of Nola, if they\ndeclined wine in its liquid form, took it in pills,--swallowing grapes.\nSt. Paul, the first hermit, lived on the fruit of a tree which produced\na fresh supply daily, the bread to temper which was brought every\nmorning by a raven. The diet was sufficiently invigorating to give\nstrength to the modest man to bite off his own tongue, and spit it in\nthe face of a lady who tried to tempt him, as the Irish nymph tempted\nthe uncourteous St. Kevin of Glendalough. He was, in abstinence, only\nsecond to St. Isidore, who, when hungry, burst into tears, not because\nGod had mercifully provided him wherewith to satisfy lawful appetite,\nbut because, sinful man that he was, he dared to eat at all!\n\nI have spoken of the abstinence of a Bishop of London; there was a\nBishop of Worcester, Wulstan, who is worthy of being mentioned with\nhim. Wulstan was rather fond of savoury viands, but he was one day,\nduring mass, so distracted by the smell of meat roasting in a kitchen,\nwhich must have been very close to his church, that he made a vow to\nabstain from meat for ever. But I do not know if he kept his vow. St.\nEuthymius was a more rational man, for he taught his monks that to\nsatisfy hunger was no crime, but that to abuse appetite and God\u2019s gifts\ntoo, _was_ an offence. St. Macedonius, the Syrian, did not discover\nthis truth until he had so impaired his powers by long fasts, that it\nwas impossible to restore them--as he tried to do on a diet of dry\nbread. And yet he was so prematurely gifted, that his own birth is said\nto have been the result of his own prayers!\n\nThe table kept by St. Publius for his monks was not of a liberal\ncharacter. He allowed them nothing but pulse and herbs, coarse bread,\nand water. Nothing else! He prohibited wine, milk, cheese, grapes, and\neven vinegar--which every sour brother might have distilled from his\nown ichor. From Easter to Whitsuntide was accounted a holiday time,\nand during that festive period, the brotherhood were allowed to grow\nhilarious, if they could, upon a gill of oil a-piece. St. Paula, \u201cthe\nwidow,\u201d subjected her nuns to the same lively fare, and she moreover\nfiercely denounced all ideas of personal neatness and cleanliness, as\nan uncleanness of the mind. She accounted herself wise in so doing, but\nher nuns might fairly have put to her the question asked by Mizen, in\nthe Fair Quaker of Deal:--\u201cDo\u2019st thou think that nastiness gives thee a\ntitle to knowledge?\u201d\n\nSt. John Chrysostom was as severe as Paula, and it would not have cost\nOlympias much to defray, as she insisted upon doing, the expenses of\nhis table. The table which the saint kept for guests was, however,\nhospitably and delicately laden--and perhaps this was an inconsistency\nin a man who censured what he also encouraged.\n\nThey who have made a saint of Charlemagne, aver that he broke his fast\nbut once a day, and that after sunset. I cannot believe this of a man\nwho dealt so largely in the eggs laid by his hens, and in vegetables\nraised in his garden. Nor do I believe that St. Sulpicius Severus would\nhave written so capital a biography of St. Martin, had he lived, as it\nis said, on herbs, boiled with a little vinegar for seasoning. Surely,\nwe have heard of the \u201ckitchen\u201d of gentlemen like Sulpicius, and if his\ncondensed Scripture History be as dry as the bread he ate during the\ntask, his letters to Claudia seem to have been written on more generous\nfood. Not that he was immoderate. He kept one cook, a very \u201cplain\ncook\u201d indeed, as Sulpicius describes him, when he despatched the boy\nto Bishop Paulinus with a letter which commences with a startling bit\nof episcopal history, namely, that \u201c_all_ the cooks in the kitchen of\nPaulinus had left him without warning, because the prelate was getting\ntoo careless about good living.\u201d Some commentators say that the letter\nwas a joke; but the reply to it is extant, and therein it may be seen\nhow Paulinus did not look upon it as a joke.\n\nSouthey, in his \u201cSt. Romuald,\u201d mirthful as the story is, has not\nexceeded the truth, or rather has not departed from the narrative told\nby the good man\u2019s biographers:--\n\n      \u201cThen, Sir, to see how he would mortify\n      The flesh! If any one had dainty fare,\n          Good man, he would come there;\n  And look at all the delicate things, and cry,\n              O Belly! Belly!\n  You would be gormandizing now, I know;\n          But it shall not be so!--\n  Home, to your bread and water. Home, I tell ye.\u201d\n\nAnd thus says Alban Butler of him:--\u201cHe never would admit of the\nleast thing to give a savour to the herbs or meal-gruel on which he\nsupported himself. If anything was brought him better dressed, he,\nfor the greater self-denial, applied it to his nostrils, and said,\n\u2018Oh Gluttony, Gluttony! thou shalt never taste this! Perpetual war\nis declared against thee!\u2019\u201d St. William of Maleval was of the same\nopinion when he cried because he ate his dry bread with a relish,\nand found that what he called \u201csensuality\u201d was not inseparable from\nthe coarsest food. St. Benedict of Anian, on the other hand, did not\ndecline the use of a little wine, when it was given him; while St.\nMartinianus, again, lived upon biscuits and water, brought to him twice\na-year--and very nasty fare it must have been towards the end of each\nsix months. It must have been worse than that of St. Peter Damian, who\nprided himself on never drinking water fresh, and thought there was\nvirtue in having it four-and-twenty hours old. St. Tarasius must have\nmaintained a more decent table, for it is said of him that he used to\ntake the dishes from it and give of them to the poor; and honour be\nto his name, because of his good sense and his charity! Our venerable\nacquaintance of the principality, St. David, was not half so wise,\nhowever well-intentioned; but St. Charles, Earl of Flanders, followed\nthe better course, and not only lived moderately well, but acted\nbetter, by daily distributing seven hundred loaves to the poor. The\nWelsh saints, generally, kept as austere a table as St. David. There\nwas, for instance, the cacophonous Winwaloe of Winwaloe, who kept his\nmonks at starving point all the week, recalling them to life on Sundays\nby microscopic rations of hard cheese and shell-fish. His own fare was\nbarley-bread strewn with ashes, and when Lent arrived, the quantity\nof ashes was doubled, in honour of the season! St. Thomas Aquinas was\nso abstracted that he never knew, at dinner, what he was eating, nor\ncould remember, after it, if he had dined, which was likely enough.\nSt. Frances, Widow, foundress of the Collations, was in more full\npossession of her wits; as, indeed, the lady saints were, generally.\nShe had her little fancies indeed, which were \u201conly charming Fanny\u2019s\nway,\u201d and her beverage at eve was dirty water, out of a human skull;\nbut she had no mercy for lazy devotees, and invariably told sighing\nwives that they had active duties to perform, and that they had better\nkeep out of monasteries, at least till they were widows. She was a\ngood, humble woman; and, as a commentator says of the abstinence of St.\nEuphrasia, without humility these facts would be but facts of devils!\n\nAnother gleam of good sense shines upon us from the person of St.\nBenedict. He drank wine, and so did his monks of Vicovara, who liked\nhis wine better than either the toast or sentiment with which he passed\nit round to them, and who tried to get rid of him by poisoning his\nglass; but the saint, full of inspired suspicion, made over it the sign\nof the cross, and away went the flask into fifty fragments. The taste\nof the good saint was known after he left Vicovara, and a pious soul\nonce sent him a couple of bottles of wine by a faithless messenger, who\ndelivered but one. \u201cMind what you are about,\u201d said St. Benedict, \u201cwhen\nyou draw the other cork for yourself.\u201d The knave was not abashed, but\nwhen he did secretly open the other bottle for the solace of his own\nthirsty throat, he found nothing therein but a lively serpent, which\nglided from him after casting at him a reproachful look!\n\nIf St. Benedict was right in the ordering of his table, why St. John of\nEgypt was wrong, for he never drank anything but stagnant water, nor\nate anything cooked by fire; even his bread he complacently swallowed\nbefore it was baked;--and what his liver was like, it would puzzle any\nbut a physician even to conjecture.\n\nThere was infinitely more sense in the table kept by an abbot of the\ncompound Christian and Pagan title and name of St. Plato. He never ate\nanything but what had been raised or procured by the labour of his own\nhands; he was consequently never in debt with respect to his household\nexpenses, and if all men so far followed the example of St. Plato, who\nwas a better practical philosopher than his heathen namesake, what\na happy world we should make of it! There would be fewer Christmas\nbills, and many more joyous dinners, not only at Christmas, but all\nthe year round!\n\nSt. Plato deserves our respect; he would not live on alms. He was more\nuseful in his generation than the men who, like St. Aphraates, were\ncontent to exist on the eleemosynary contributions of the faithful, or\nthan those who, like Zozimus and his followers, wandered through the\ndesert, trusting to chance and calling it providence. What, compared\nwith our friend Plato, was that St. Droun, the so-called patron of\nshepherds, who during forty years taught them nothing, and lived on the\nbarley-bread which they brought him in return for his instruction.\n\nI have given one or two instances of the spare tables kept by a\nfew of our ancient bishops; I may here add to them the name of St.\nElphege, some time Bishop of Winchester, and subsequently Archbishop\nof Canterbury. The smell of roast meat was never known in his palace\non any but \u201cextraordinary occasions.\u201d This, however, is a very\nindefinite term, and the table of this primate may have been one to\nmake a cardinal give unctuous thanks for rich mercies, five days out\nof the seven. There was certainly gastronomic work to do in some of\nthe ancient godly households, or St. James of Sclavonia would not\nhave passed so many years in one, as he did, in the capacity of cook,\n\u201cimproving\u201d the occasion, by drawing ideas of hell from his own fires,\nwhich were for ever roasting savoury joints, like those which strike\nthe visitors with awe and appetite in the kitchens at Maynooth.\n\nIf in some houses there were busy kitchens, in others there were soft\ncouches, whereon digestion might progress. Thus Adalbert, Bishop of\nPrague, was a Saint and Martyr; and it is said, that he had a most\ncomfortable bed in his dormitory, but that he never slept upon it!\nThen, what was the bed for? It is added, that he fasted in private,\nwith great severity,--but it is no more \u201cof faith\u201d to believe this,\nthan it is that he slept every night on the floor, under, and not upon,\nhis own excellent feather-bed; for what says the old refrain?--\n\n  \u201cA notre coucher\n  Un lit, des draps blancs,\n  Une ----\n          digue daine, bon!\n  Voila la vie que ces moines font!\u201d\n\nBut he may have been a profane fellow who wrote these rude rhymes; and\nwe will no more implicitly trust him, than we will the prose historians\nof the doings and dealings of the saintly men.\n\nIt is not an unusual thing to find wine-bibbers mentioned among the\nmembers of holy communities; where wine was generally supposed to be a\nluxury never employed but for the service of the altar,--and perhaps of\nthe sick. The venerable Bede tells a story of a \u201cbrother,\u201d whom he had\nknown, and whom he wishes to God he had never known, and who was given\nto worship the spigot. Bede does not give his name, but certifies that\nthe too jolly friar lived ignobly in a noble monastery, where he was\noften reproved for his acts of drunkenness, and only tolerated because\nof his gifts,--not spiritual, but as a carpenter. He was a terrible\ntippler, but a hard workman to boot, and would, at any time, rather\nlabour all day and all night at his bench than join the brethren in\nchapel. Indeed, when he did go, his thoughts were running on something\nelse. He was like the profane Yorkshire farmer, who praised the\ninstitution of the Sabbath because it not only brought roast beef with\nit as a sacred observance, but it authorized him to attend in his pew\nat church, where, said he, \u201cI puts up my legs and thinks o\u2019 nothing!\u201d\nBede\u2019s carpenter was characteristically punished for his bibbing; and\nthe story was made much of, by way of monition to others. It was to\nthis effect:--\u201cHe, falling sick, and being reduced to extremity, called\nthe brethren, and with much lamentation, and like one damned, began to\ntell them that he saw hell open, and Satan at the bottom thereof, and\nalso Caiaphas, with the others that slew our Lord, by him delivered up\nto avenging flames. \u2018In whose neighbourhood,\u2019 said he, \u2018I see a place\nof eternal perdition prepared for me, miserable wretch that I am!\u2019\nThe brothers, hearing these words, began seriously to exhort him that\nhe should repent even then, while he was in the flesh. He answered in\ndespair,--\u2018I have no time now to change my course of life, when I have\nmyself seen my judgment passed.\u2019 When he had uttered these words, he\ndied, without having received the saving _viaticum_; and his body was\nburied in the remotest part of the monastery; nor did any one dare\nto say masses, sing psalms, or even to pray for him.\u201d Which seems a\nvery hard case; for if any one needed such service it was he; and the\nChurch\u2019s ability to extricate him could not be denied, when she was\nduly pre-paid for the service.\n\nCuriously enough, St. Monica, the mother of St. Augustin, ranks among\nthe wine-bibbers. Her pious parents left their children to be brought\nup by a servant-maid, who had more zeal than discretion, and who\nwould allow none of the children to drink, were they ever so thirsty,\nexcept at meal-times, and then only a drop or two of water. \u201cIf you\ncannot restrain your desire to drink now,\u201d she would say, \u201cwhat will\nit be when you have wine at command?\u201d Now, the effect of this speech\nwas exactly like that of the confessor to the hostler, when he asked\nthe latter, if he never greased the horses\u2019 teeth in order to prevent\nthem eating their corn. It gave the young Monica a new idea. She was\naccustomed to draw the wine for her father\u2019s table, and she henceforth\nbegan to drink a portion each time that she went to the cellar with\nher pitcher. And I do not know that Mr. Millais, or any other of the\npre-Raphaelite gentlemen, could have a better subject for a picture,\nthan that representing the scene when the horrified nurse-maid beheld\nher young charge indulging in her cups in the parental wine-vault.\nThe lecture she received worked her conversion, we are told; and she\nmarried, and became the mother of St. Augustin, who so far followed the\nmaternal example that, in his earlier years, when, with his eyes upon\nheaven, his heart was with the good things of the earth, his commonest\nprayer used to be, \u201cLord, make me religious, _but not just yet_.\u201d\n\nThe nurse-maid of Monica deserved to have been the wife,--and perhaps\nshe was,--of St. Theodotus, the vintner of Ancyra. He was a teetotaller\nwho kept a tavern, and who passed the live-long day in leaning over his\ncounter and begging his customers not to drink! Well, men have been\ncanonized for less useful service to their kind; and Theodotus was\nmore worthily employed in keeping drunkards from his wine-casks, than\nSt. Pius V. was when, every day before dinner, by way of mocking his\nappetite, he resorted to the public hospitals, and kissed the ulcers\nof the patients! Nay, biographers tell us that an English Protestant\ngentleman was _suddenly converted_ to Romanism, by observing the\ncondescension and affection with which Pius kissed the ulcers on the\nfeet of some poor men! The pope, if he and the convert dined together\nafter this nasty ceremony, might have confessed that he had been sore\nput to it for an argument that should carry conviction to an English\ngentleman in search of a religion.\n\nLet us contrast this pope in his pride with a cardinal in his fall.\n\u201cWhen Wolsey,\u201d says Mr. Hunter the antiquary, \u201cwas dismissed by his\ntyrannical master to his northern diocese, he passed many weeks\nat Scrooby. It is a pleasing picture which his faithful servant,\nCavendish, gives of him at this period of his life:--\u2018Ministering many\ndeeds of charity, and attending on Sundays at some parish church in the\nneighbourhood; hearing or saying mass himself, and causing some one of\nhis chaplains to preach to the people; and that done, he would dine\nin some honest house of that town, where should be distributed to the\npoor a great alms, as well of meat and drink, as of money to supply the\nwant of sufficient meat, if the number of the poor did so exceed of\nnecessity.\u2019\u201d Wolsey was no saint certainly, but he was as honest a man\nas Pius, and a wiser when he fed the poor rather than kiss their ulcers.\n\nBut there is no accounting for taste; the Russian Boniface used to\nroll himself among thorns and nettles, in order to get an appetite, or\nto punish himself for indulging over much. St. Germanus, on the other\nhand, commenced every repast by putting ashes into his mouth;--the\nmodern custom of beginning with oysters is certainly better both for\ntaste and stomach. St. Walthen took wine, but then he put spiders in\nit. St. Dominic, too, was singular in his diet, and he sometimes spent\nhis half-hour before dinner in one of the most curious positions that\ngentlemen could possibly fix upon. The Abbot of St. Vincent\u2019s one day\ndesired his company at dinner, but at the usual hour the saint was in\nchurch, and had forgotten the invitation. In the meantime the turkey\nand chine were spoiling, and the hungry abbot despatched a monk in\nquest of the loiterer; the messenger hurried to the church, where, to\nhis very considerable astonishment, he beheld St. Dominic \u201cravished in\nan ecstasy,\u201d whatever that may mean, \u201craised several cubits above the\nground, and without motion.\u201d The Saint, on being told that dinner was\nready, graciously smiled at the intelligence, and gently descended to\nthe ground.\n\nSt. Laurence would have joked at this, as he did at his own grilling.\nAfter he had lain for some time extended on his gridiron, he calmly\nsaid to the executioner, \u201cWill you have the kindness to turn me, as I\nam quite done on the under side?\u201d The executioner, a trifle astonished,\ndid as he was required, and soon after, the Saint, again speaking,\nsaid, \u201cI shall be obliged if you\u2019ll take me up, as I am now fit for\neating.\u201d This story reminds me of the remark made by an Irishman, when\nfirst told that St. Patrick had crossed the ocean on a millstone:--\u201cI\ncan\u2019t contradict it! He was a lucky fellow!\u201d\n\nWe are told of St. Bernard, who used to walk before dinner on the banks\nof the Lake of Lausanne, that on hearing two of his monks speak of\nthe beauty of the lake, he declared that no such lake existed, or he\nhad been too much absorbed ever to have noticed it. So the Trappists\nused to glory in not knowing where or how they dined, or recollecting\nanything about it! All this shows less wisdom at table than was\nexhibited by the royal St. Louis, who, when a certain friar began to\ndiscuss doctrinal subjects with the pullets, stopped him with the\nremark that \u201call things had their time, and joking was good sauce with\nchickens!\u201d\n\nSt. Laurence Justinian, the first patriarch of Venice, was far less\nindulgent than the royal saint of France. He was so little so, that\nwhen his thirsty monks sometimes asked for a little wine, declaring\nthat their throats felt as dry as the high road in summer, he used\nquite as drily to remark, that if they could not bear parched throats\nnow, what would they do in the fires of purgatory? St. John the Dwarf,\nAnchoret of Scete, cared as little for wine as St. Laurence, but he\nwas fond of fruit, and he obtained a supply from a strange source. An\nold hermit bade him plant his walking-staff in the ground, and he not\nonly did so, but he watered it regularly for three years, when it\nbore pippins, sweeter than those that grew at Ribstone up to the time\nof the death of the late baronet. Before this miraculously-bearing\nstick the little man used to read prayers as devoutly as Sir Hollyoak\nGoodrick, the present Ribstone baronet, does to the villagers in his\nown parish church, and for the same reason each had much to be thankful\nfor. It must be confessed that John the Dwarf had more taste than\nhis namesake of Cupertino, who not only ate nothing but vegetables,\nbut ate no vegetables that any other human being could be induced to\nswallow. It was such garbage as only pigs would condescend to. _Arcades\nambo_--nasty creatures both!\n\nSt. Francis of Assisium exhibited something more of true humility at\nhis table, with a touch of the false metal notwithstanding. He ate\nnothing dressed by fire, unless he were very ill, and even then he\ncovered it with ashes, or dipped it in cold water. His common daily\nfood was dry bread strewn with ashes; but this founder of the Friars\u2019\nMinors had the good sense not to condemn his followers to the rigorous\ndiet he observed himself; and \u201cBrother Ass,\u201d as he familiarly called\nthat self, was in his own opinion worthy of no better fare.\n\nThere was a founder of another community who exhibited more singularity\nthan St. Francis, who, despite some mistakes, was a man of whom\nnone other dare speak but with respect,--St. Ammon, founder of the\nhermitages of Nitria. At the age of twenty-two this young Egyptian\nnoble married a fair girl of Memphis; and instead of a nuptial banquet,\nhe treated his bride to a reading of a particularly edifying chapter\nfrom St. Paul, after which he withdrew to solitary meditation. During\neighteen years he occupied himself in training balsam-trees all day,\nafter which he returned home to a supper of fruit and herbs; then\ncame that terrible reiteration of advice from St. Paul, followed by a\nseparate solitary comment on the part of this exemplary pair. At the\nend of the time above specified, he retired altogether from domestic\nlife, and settled alone on Mount Nitria, and his biographers na\u00efvely\nremark, this was \u201cwith his wife\u2019s consent.\u201d This saint was of such a\n\u201ccomplexion\u201d of virtue, that one day, on accidentally catching sight of\nan uncovered portion of his own body, he was so shocked that he fainted\naway. If he had only read \u201cErasmus Wilson, on the Skin,\u201d he would have\nlearned to look oftener at his own, and would have been a cleaner man,\na better husband, a more grateful feeder, and an improved Christian.\n\nBut St. Bruno, the founder of the Carthusians, probably exceeded all\nother originators of communities in the \u201cfierceness,\u201d so to speak,\nof his dietetic laws; he never spared himself, nor his disciples. A\nCarthusian is never permitted to eat meat under any pretence whatever.\nIn addition to this, they fast eight months in the year, and I suppose\nthey starve in Lent, for during that season they are forbidden to eat\nwhat is called \u201cwhite meats,\u201d that is, eggs, milk, butter, and cheese.\nDry bread with water is their Lenten fare; and a peculiar law connected\nwith them is, that they can never change into another order, because\nthey would thereby profit a little in the way of better living; but\na brother of any other order may become a Carthusian, as thereby he\nincreases his mortifications and diminishes his diet. Of course from\nthese remarks the Carthusians of the \u201cCharterhouse\u201d are excepted. If\nthe thin spirit of St. Bruno ever scents the juicy viands that adorn\nthe well-spread table _there_, it probably melts into thin air by the\nvery force of disgust or ghastly envy.\n\nThe table kept by St. Bridget, when she married Ulpho, prince of\nNericia, in Sweden, was a very modest one for so princely a pair, but\nwhat was spared thereby was given to the poor. Bridget and Ulpho, she\nsweet sixteen, he two years more, read every evening the soothing\nchapter from St. Paul, which formed the favourite study of St. Ammon\nand his wife; but, as it would appear, with indifferent success. \u201cThey\nenrolled themselves,\u201d say their various biographers, \u201cin the Third\nOrder of St. Francis, and lived in their own house as if it had been\na regular and austere monastery.\u201d The biographers immediately add\nwithout comment,--\u201cThey afterwards had eight children: four boys and\nfour girls;\u201d and as the same paragraph goes on to state that \u201call\nthese children were favoured with the blessings of divine grace,\u201d it\nmay be fairly concluded that a domestic observation of a monastic\nregularity and austerity, is a course that will purchase blessings and\nolive-branches.\n\nThe case of St. Gomer and his wife, the Lady Gwinmary, may perhaps be\ncited as an exception. But this Gwinmary was an exacting lady at all\ntimes, and when St. Gomer betook himself from her to live in the desert\non bitterness and biscuits, he fared as sumptuously and lived far more\nquietly than he had done at home. He was one of the most placid of\nsaints, and it is a positive libel upon him for the French Admiralty\nto have given his name to one of the most thundering steamers in the\nservice. Its broadsides far more nearly resemble the tongue of Gwinmary\nthan the tones of Gomer.\n\nIn charming contrast with this truculent Gwinmary do we meet and greet\nthe gentle St. Elizabeth of Hungary. The record of her good deeds would\nfill a volume, but out of them I have only to select an exquisite table\ntrait--to register which is also to eulogize it. I do not allude to her\nhabitual temperance, to her dry bread and thimble-full of wine, when\nshe sat at meat with kings and queens, her equals in birth; nor to her\nsmall feasts with her two maids, in the absence of her consort, Louis\nthe Landgrave; but I allude--and listen, O ye Benedicts, with grateful\nrapture--to the fact \u201cthat the kitchen she kept out of her own private\npurse, not to be the least charge to her husband.\u201d If celibate priests,\nwho can hardly be supposed capable of appreciating such a fact,\ncanonized so rare a lady, all married men who love banquets but dislike\nthe butchers\u2019 bills, will cry \u201cWell done!\u201d and recommend their wives to\nread the instructive life of Elizabeth of Hungary.\n\nWho would expect to hear good of a Borgia?--St. Francis Borgia was\nvirtuous enough to save his family name from entire infamy. Of no\nother man or woman of his house could it be said that they gave up\nsuppers, in order to have more time for prayers. It was not Alexander\nVI., the papal glory of his house and the shame of mankind, that\nwould have been content with one meal a day, and that meal--a mess\nof leeks, or some pulse, with a piece of bread, and a cup of water.\nAt the same time, Francis Borgia kept a table becoming a man of his\nrank, for the gratification of his guests of high degree. There, while\nthey ate their venison, and quaffed their _lachrym\u00e6 Christi_, he\nnibbled his leeks, and sipped his water, \u201cand conversed facetiously\nwith them, though at table his discourse generally turned on piety.\u201d\nIt was very like a Borgia to make piety facetious, but if fun in\nholiness be of the ingredients necessary to the making of a saint,\nSidney Smith has as good a right as Borgia to be on the roll of the\n_beati_. Our reverend \u201cjoker of jokes,\u201d indeed, would not have smiled\nat the cook who put wormwood instead of mint into his broth; and I\ndoubt if Peter Plimley ever thought of doing what Francis Borgia\ndid,--namely, chewing his pills, and swallowing physic slowly, as\nworks of meritorious mortification, bearing compound interest to the\nprofit of the practitioner. St. Wilfrid, who taught the half-starved\nSouth Saxons to catch the fish that swam at their feet, and thereby\nlive, seems to me to have performed a far more meritorious work than\nif he had passed his life in gnawing leeks or masticating pills. Our\nnative saint, a good man at table, was often better employed than St.\nTheresa, who is so eulogized because when serving at table, or carrying\nthe dinner from the kitchen, \u201cshe was often seen suddenly absorbed in\nGod, with the utensils or instruments of her business in her hands.\u201d\nThe hungry and expectant monks might have quoted against the rapt maid,\nthe assertion of the royal sage, that there is a time to eat, as well\nas to fast and pray. But St. Theresa, with all her good qualities,\nwas as obstinate as the Polish saint Hedwiga, who not only abstained\nfrom meat till abstinence had nearly proved suicidal, but who refused\nto save her life by eating any, until the Pope\u2019s legate had issued a\nvery peremptory precept to that effect. St. Peter of Alcantara lost\nall taste by his nearly total-abstinence principle, and when some one\ngave him warm water with vinegar in it, he thought it was his usual\ndinner of bean broth! That actively good saint, Charles Borromeo, was\nonly wisely moderate. \u201cHis austerities were discreet,\u201d is the phrase\nof one of his biographers; and his abstemiousness made his health\nrather than marred it. This was so well known, that they who dieted\nthemselves in order to recover or preserve health, were said to have\nadopted the remedy of Doctor Borromeo. St. Francis Xavier had something\nof the discretion of Charles Borromeo,--and of the modesty too, for\nhe dressed his own dinners, even when he was apostolic legate; and\nthat St. Clement of Alexandria belonged to the same class of sagely\ntemperate men, is proved by his maintaining that a little wine taken\nat evening, after the labours of the day, was good for the body, and\ncheering for the spirits. So the sainted Archbishop of York had no\nrepugnance to a slice of roast goose, for, as he truly remarked, so\ngood a thing was not designed especially for sinners. And this recalls\nto my mind a comment, similar in spirit, made by St. Thomas \u00e0 Becket.\nA monk once saw him eating the wing of a pheasant with much relish, and\nthe pharisaical fellow thereon affected to be scandalized, saying that\nhe thought Thomas was more of a mortified man. \u201cThou art but a ninny,\u201d\nsaid the Archbishop; \u201cknowest thou not that a man may be a glutton upon\nhorse-beans; while another may enjoy with refinement even the wing of a\npheasant, and have nature\u2019s aid to digest what Heaven\u2019s bounty gave?\u201d\n\nThis was good sense in the Archbishop, who perhaps had been reading\nEpicurus, before he sat down to his repast. However this may be, it is\ncertain that the philosopher in question says something very like what\nBecket said to the friar. \u201cIs man,\u201d he asks, \u201cmade to disdain the gifts\nof nature? Is he placed on earth only to gather bitter fruits? For whom\nthen are the flowers that the gods strew at the feet of mortals?...\nWe please Providence when we yield to the divers inclinations which\nProvidence suggests; our duties have reference to His laws; and our\ninnocent desires are born of His inspirations.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere are few things more common in the Lives of the Saints, than to\nfind them, after spare banquets of their own, working penal miracles\nat the banquets of others. St. Eloy was gifted with terrible power in\nthis way, and endless are the stories of revellers turned to stone\nby the might of his magic right arm. Other saints had equal power\nin turning the tables upon those who slighted them; and I will take\nthis opportunity of narrating one instance, and will set my Muse in\nslippers, to detail what occurred at\n\n\nTHE BRIDAL AND BANQUET OF FERQUES.\n\nNear the marble quarries of Ferques, adjacent to Landrecthun le\nNord, in the Boulonnais, may be seen a circular range of stones,\nbearing a close resemblance in their shape, though little in their\nmagnitude, to those at Stonehenge; as also to the Devil\u2019s Needles, near\nBoroughbridge, and to the solitary block on the common at Harrogate.\nLearned people recognise the stones at Ferques by the appellation of\nthe _Mallus_, a Druidical name for an altar; but the traditionary\nfolks, wiser in their generation, acknowledge no other title for these\nremains of antiquity than _Neuches_, an old provincial word, the\ncorruption, I suppose, of _Noces_, and signifying a bridal, including\nthe banquet which followed it. According to them, the stones at Ferques\nstand there as a testimony of divine vengeance, inflicted on a fiddler\nand other individuals belonging to a wedding party who refused to kneel\nbefore the Host, as it was being borne along by a priest to a dying\nbrother. Rabelais says, that a well-disposed and sensible man believes\nall that he is told; (\u201cUn homme de bien, un homme de bon sens, croit\ntoujours ce qu\u2019on lui dit, et ce qu\u2019il trouve par \u00e9crit;\u201d) and _argal_,\nas the logical grave-digger in _Hamlet_ has it, this story of a bridal\nand banquet will be allowed to pass without question.\n\n  Though around the bleak district there is not a grove\n  That can boast of a shade, e\u2019en in summer, for love,\n  Nor a walk by the side of a murmuring stream,\n  Where somnambulist lovers may talk as they dream;\n  Nor a valley retir\u2019d, nor sweet mossy dell,\n  Where young hearts that are aching, their anguish may tell;\n  Nor a wood where a maiden deserted may sigh,\n  Or where youths, stripp\u2019d of hope, may with decency die;--\n  Though all it can boast be a desolate heath,\n  Where \u2019twould puzzle young Cupid to find him a wreath,--\n  Yet e\u2019en here the Idalian has furnish\u2019d full work\n  For the hearts of the youths and the maidens of Ferques.\n\n  Of these there were two in the good days of old,\n  When the hard iron heel of the baron so bold\n  Ground those to the dust whom the mere chance of birth\n  Had deprived of the licence to lord it on earth.\n  The maid was as light and as shy as the fawn,\n  Her eyes dark as night, and her brow like the dawn;\n  And her lips, twice as rich and as red as the rose,\n  Were more warm than the sky at a summer eve\u2019s close;\n  While a music fell from them made only to bless;\n  And her shape--nay! her shape I must leave you to guess.\n  \u2019Twould require the power pictorial of Burke,\n  To record how sublime was this beauty of Ferques.\n\n  The swain was in manhood\u2019s first op\u2019ning bloom,\n  In doublet, slash\u2019d hose, martial bonnet, and plume;\n  And he look\u2019d, as he walk\u2019d \u2019neath the moon\u2019s silver light,\n  Half hero, half mortal;--half _bourgeois_, half knight.\n  If upward he gazed into heaven\u2019s soft skies,\n  He saw nothing there half so soft as her eyes;\n  Or, at least, the young lover thus gallantly swore,\n  As he ran the long roll of his soft nonsense o\u2019er,\n  And mincingly walk\u2019d by the damosel\u2019s side,--\n  The latter all fondness, the former all pride;--\n  With one arm round the maiden, one hand on his dirk,\n  Irresistibly fine look\u2019d this gallant of Ferques.\n\n  These walkings, these gazings, the terrible sighing,\n  With death, or at least earnest threat\u2019nings of dying;\n  These sinkings of spirit, these meltings away,\n  With the watchings by night and the dreamings by day,\n  What could such a mixture combustible bring,\n  But a state of incendiarism, like Swing?\n  When hearts are the haystack, and Love holds the torch,\n  \u2019Tis odds but the haystack will soon get a scorch.\n  And what else could arise from those meetings at eve,\n  From those flaming assertions which maidens believe,\n  And those vows warmly breath\u2019d \u2018\u2019twixt the gloam and the murk,\u2019[2]\n  But a bridal and banquet to gladden all Ferques?\n\n  Love\u2019s eddying current, I say it in sooth,\n  Ran, for this young couple, remarkably smooth;\n  For the fathers paternally look\u2019d on each child,\n  While the mothers maternally wept as they smiled;\n  Fraternally too a whole bevy of brothers\n  Look\u2019d on the alliance as fondly as mothers;\n  And, if the young bride had possess\u2019d but a sister,\n  These lines would have told how she tenderly kiss\u2019d her.\n  Suffice it to say, that there never was seen,\n  In valley, dale, hamlet, on moorland or green,\n  An assembly so joyous as met at the kirk,\n  To view and to envy the lovers of Ferques.\n\n  For, the youthful, the aged, the ugly, the fair,\n  The idle, the busy, grave and gay, all were there.\n  Maids with prayers on their lips, for the weal of the bride,\n  Some who long\u2019d for her looks, some for _him_ by her side,\n  And, though last, yet most certain, by no means the least,\n  Stood his Rev\u2019rence, who having been bid to the feast,\n  Look\u2019d as jocund and joyous, and beaming with smiles,\n  As the fair Cytherean, when weaving her wiles.[3]\n  For where is the priest, be he Pagan, Hindoo,\n  Yellow Bonze from Japan, olive sage from Loo Choo,\n  A Franciscan Friar, an opium-drench\u2019d Turk,\n  But loves a fair feast like this banquet at Ferques?\n\n  \u2019Twould be tedious to tell, when the service was done,\n  How that of the gallants was warmly begun,\n  How, like the old suitors in Livy\u2019s old story,\n  By \u2018Cupiditate\u2019 (his words) \u2018et Amore,\u2019[4]\n  The hearts of the damsels they ruthlessly task\u2019d,\n  And finally gain\u2019d twice as much as they ask\u2019d.\n  Ah, sigh not to think that in Love\u2019s stricken field,\n  The maidens of Ferques were so ready to yield;\n  For Livy declares that no maid can withstand\n  The wooer who comes with such arms in his hand.\n  They\u2019re pleasant to talk of, but \u2019neath them doth lurk\n  A peril not felt less at Rome than at Ferques.\n\n  The banquet was sped, and the floor being clear\u2019d,\n  Terpsichore\u2019s summons distinctly was heard,\n  In the tuning Cremona that squeak\u2019d forth its call,\n  Inviting all those light of foot to the ball.\n\n  Lovely dance! of thy charms how correct was the notion\n  Of her who the Poetry, called thee, of Motion![5]\n  When Beauty her features in smiles deigns to grace,\n  What are those same smiles but the dance of the face?\n  And when Dancing and Modesty happily meet,\n  What is Dancing just then but the smiles of the feet?[6]\n  I\u2019d defy e\u2019en a hermit the summons to shirk,\n  Ask\u2019d a measure to tread by the beauties of Ferques.\n\n  When moonlight had risen to silver the scene,\n  The party adjourn\u2019d from the hall to the green,\n  And their laughter was shaking the stars in the sky,\n  When by chance, on the heels of their mirth, there pass\u2019d by\n  A Franciscan from Boulogne, Franciscanly shod,[7]\n  Who ask\u2019d them to kneel at the sight of their God,\n  Whose presence mysterious he fully reveal\u2019d.\n  But the fiddler, he swore, he\u2019d be hang\u2019d if he kneel\u2019d,\n  And affirm\u2019d--most irreverent charge \u2019gainst a monk--\n  That the bare-footed priest was decidedly drunk.\n  And the party applauded each quip and each quirk\n  That fell from this vile Paganini of Ferques.\n\n  But, oh, wonder! those ribalds their scoffs had scarce utter\u2019d,\n  When, at a low prayer by the Cordelier mutter\u2019d,\n  Their laughter was heard to change into a moan,\n  As the priest transform\u2019d each to a figure of stone.\n  There motionless still do the revellers stand,\n  Misshapen, as turn\u2019d from their sculptor\u2019s rough hand;\n  Save one, who when moonlight pours down from above,\n  May be seen from the spot vainly trying to move.\n  Some affirm \u2019tis the bridegroom aroused from his trance,\n  Some declare \u2019tis the bride gliding forth to the dance.\n  But \u2019tis only the fiddler endeavouring to jerk\n  His bow arm o\u2019er the once magic fiddle of Ferques.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SUPPORT OF SAINTS OF LATER DAYS.\n\n\nIt may be seen from our last chapter, that the bill of fare of those\nwho dined in the desert was neither very long nor very varied. It was\notherwise with the better fed, but perhaps not better-taught gentlemen\nof the church of later days. Thus, for instance, the Cur\u00e9 of Brequier\nkept a very different table from that of the lean Amphitryons of the\ndesert. Brillat Savarin once called on the holy man just as he had\ndismissed the soup and beef from the table. These were replaced by a\nleg of mutton _\u00e0 la royale_, a fat capon, and a splendid salad. The\nhour was scarcely noon, and the cur\u00e9 had sat down to this saint\u2019s fare\nalone. He was not selfish, however, and he invited his guest to \u201cbreak\nbread\u201d with him, but the guest, a prince of \u201cgastronomers\u201d in his way,\ndeclined, and the cur\u00e9, like Coriolanus, did it all alone! He finished\nthe \u201cgigot\u201d to the ivory, the capon to the bones, and the salad to the\npolished bottom of the bowl. A colossal cheese was then placed before\nhim, in which he made a breach of ninety degrees, and having washed\ndown all with a bottle of wine, he, like the Irishman, thanked God \u201cfor\nthat snack,\u201d and betook himself to digestion and repose. \u201cLe pauvre\nhomme!\u201d\n\nThe nuns were in no ways behind the priests. Madame d\u2019Arestrel, lady\nAbbess of the nuns of the Visitation at Belley, (_faustum nomen_!)\nonce told a secret to a visitor who feared she was going to expound a\nchapter from the Prophets. \u201cIf you want a foretaste of Paradise in the\nguise of good chocolate,\u201d said she, \u201cbe sure to make it over-night, in\nan earthenware coffee-pot. Its standing still for a night concentrates\nit, and gives it a velvety taste, which is divine! And Heaven cannot be\nangry with us for this little luxury, for is not Heaven too divine?\u201d\nHow wide the distance between St. Paula, widow, and Madame d\u2019Arestrel,\nof the convent of the Visitation! I may add, that if the Visitandines\nmade good chocolate, the monks of the Feuillants, in Paris, were\nrenowned for their ratafie. But they too have superior authority for\ngood living. A dainty dish in Italy is commonly called a \u201cmouthful for\na cardinal.\u201d--_un boccone di cardinali._\n\nThe canons took the tone from the cardinals. When the French canon\nRollet became ill through excessive drinking, his doctor interdicted\nall strong beverages, and was not a little wroth, on his next visit,\nat finding the dignitary in bed indeed, but at his bed-side a little\ntable, neatly laid out with bottles and glasses. The canon met the\nthreatened storm by gently remarking:--\u201cDoctor, when you forbade\nme drinking wine, you did not wish to deprive me of the pleasure\nof looking at the bottle!\u201d It was such canons who were the best\ncustomers of the nuns who distilled liqueurs, and of the Ursulines who\nmanufactured the daintiest drops flavoured by the daintiest essences!\nBut in the Archbishop of Paris himself, M. de Belley, the clergy\nof France had example to which they might appeal as authority for\nindulging in good cheer. The archiepiscopal face was wreathed in smiles\nat the sight of a good dinner. The prelate lived to be a veteran among\ngastronomers, and was, in other respects, not an unworthy archbishop.\n\nBut M. de Belley was at least a gentleman in his gastronomic\npropensities. He was not, like a Russo-Greek \u201cPapa,\u201d a brandy-bibber.\nThe Russo-Greek priests sanctify drinking, in the minds of the people,\nby their evil example. Monsieur L\u00e9verson Le Duc, a French diplomatist\nin Russia, tells us that he knows of one parish in Muscovy where the\npeople lock up their pastor every Saturday night, in order that he\nmay not be too muzzy for mass on the Sunday. They occasionally find\nhim very drunk, nevertheless, when they have forgotten previously\nto examine beneath his robe, under which the sinning sot sometimes\nsmuggles his quart of Cognac! Sir George Simpson crossed the Pacific in\na Russian vessel. The chaplain had been sent in her to sea, because he\nwas always too drunk to officiate on land. He was kept sober expressly\nfor the hour of service on Sundays, but at other times, he appears to\nhave realized the verse in the old song of Dibdin\u2019s, wherein it is said\nthat\n\n  \u201c\u2019Tother day as our chaplain was preaching,\n    Behind him I curiously slunk;\n  And while he our duty was teaching,\n    As how we should never get drunk,\n  I show\u2019d him the stuff, and he twigg\u2019d it,\n  And it soon set his Rev\u2019rence agog.\n    And he swigg\u2019d, and Nick swigg\u2019d,\n    And Ben swigg\u2019d, and Dick swigg\u2019d,\n    And we all of us swigg\u2019d it,--\n  And we swore there was nothing like grog.\u201d\n\nThese examples, however, must be understood as occurring mostly, if\nnot exclusively, among the lower classes of the clergy. There was a\ntime when \u201cthe Vicar and Moses\u201d illustrated the sad doings of a similar\nclass among ourselves.\n\nThe Greek clergy in the South of Europe present us with something no\nless curious of aspect. The hall-kitchen of the Greek Patriarch, at\nConstantinople, is crowded with inferior clergy, who take their meals\nthere, and his All-Holiness himself is served with pipes and sweetmeats\nby nothing less than gentlemen in Deacon\u2019s orders. Fancy our Lord\nPrimate ringing his bell for cheroots for two! and having them brought\nin on a silver tray by the Curate of St. Margaret\u2019s!\n\nThe Greek usages however are classical. The stranger who dines with\nthe Patriarch has, previous to falling to, water poured over his hands\nas he holds them over a basin with a perforated cover, and the napkins\nfor drying them are as delicate as rose-leaves. The guest reclines on\na low couch, in ancient fashion, and his repast is placed on a low\nstool at his side. The same custom exists in the convents, but meat is\nseldom to be found there by a guest who arrives unexpectedly. The monks\nthemselves never eat it at all. During half the year they have but one\nmeal a day, and that consists of vegetables and bread. On the other\ndays of the year they are permitted the more liberal, but sufficiently\neremitic fare of cheese, eggs, fish, wine, and milk; but even on these\ngala days they are never allowed more than two meals. Poor fellows!\nthe majority of them pass their remarkably well-spent time, when not\nat table, in tilling the ground or teaching wonderful feats to very\naccomplished tom-cats!\n\nA Greek monk\u2019s idea of an Englishman is that he is a plum-pudding\neater. And no wonder, since the English are almost the exclusive\npurchasers of the currant-grapes which are cultivated all along the\nnorthern shores of the Peloponnesus, from Patra to Corinth. As the\nChinese think that we take their tea that we may live, so the Greek\nmonks conclude that we _must_ buy their currants, or die! At the\nconvent of Vestizza, the good fathers trouble their heads about nothing\nbut the produce and price of their great staple crop. If you ask how\nmany brethren there are in the convent, they will answer, \u201cThree\nhundred; and what was the price of currants in England when you left?\u201d\nInquire if their books be in good order, and they will reply in the\nnegative, adding an assurance that they do their utmost to produce the\nbest currants in the country. And they will give you permission to see\ntheir church, if you will only promise to recommend their dwarf grapes\nto the English merchants who are catering for plum-pudding eaters\nat home. The grounds of other convents in the peninsula are famous\nfor their nuts, in the exportation of which the brethren drive no\ninconsiderable trade.\n\nThese worthy people are said to be a trifle more enlightened and a\ndegree less slothful than they were some thirty years ago. There\nwas ample room and verge enough for improvement; for at the period\nmentioned, the Greek priests resisted the introduction of the potato\ninto the kitchen-garden, for the very satisfactory reason that the\n_pomme de terre_ was the very identical apple with which Satan beguiled\nEve out of Paradise! Yes, these modern and orthodox saints very\ngenerally held that the devil tempted Eve with an \u201cash-leaf kidney!\u201d\n\nIf we cross over to Abyssinia, we shall find that the priests and\northodox people there keep as poor tables, at least on fast-days,\nas the Greeks. Above eight months in the year are assigned by the\nAbyssinian Christians to abstinence! On these occasions an Abyssinian\nneither eats nor drinks till long after noon. On festival days,\nhowever, they make up for their moderation by unrestrained excess.\nMr. Mansfield Perkyns, a traveller who has given us the most recent\naccount of life in Abyssinia, tells us that, in honour of the festival\nof the Elevation of the Cross, he gave an early breakfast to some dozen\nguests, who were engaged to half-a-dozen other parties in the course\nof the same joyous day, and that these guests whetted their appetite\nfor later meals by consuming at breakfast a fine fat cow, two large\nsheep, and endless gallons of mead! On these occasions the mead is\npretty prolific of murder. The guests get dreadfully drunk in honour\nof the day, exactly as many highly civilized Christian people in happy\nEngland do on the yearly recurrence of \u201cmerry Christmas.\u201d Indeed, a\nfeast of the Elevation of the Cross without plenty of quarrelling and\nbloodshed would be as dull as Donnybrook fair now is without a row.\nBut the Abyssinian Christian is as clever in establishing a _casus\nbelli_ as a Donnybrook Romanist. If the latter sees the fair is likely\nto end without a fight, he simply takes off his hat, draws a white\nline round it with chalk, and declaring that he will break the head of\nthe first man who denies that such white line is silver lace, he has\nspeedily abundance of active work before him. So a pious Abyssinian at\nan \u201cElevation\u201d banquet, if he finds things dull, merely remarks to his\ndearest friend and next neighbour, \u201cYou are a good sort of man, but you\nare not so handsome as I am!\u201d and thereupon out fly the knives of the\nparties and their respective friends, which they proceed to clean by\nplunging them into each other\u2019s ribs!\n\nThe people are brought up on a food likely to encourage such pugnacious\npropensities. Mr. Perkyns, speaking of the slaughtering of oxen for\nthe kitchen, says:--\u201cAlmost before the death-struggle is over, persons\nare ready to flay the carcase, and pieces of the raw meat are cut\noff, and served up before this operation is completed. In fact, as\neach part presents itself, it is cut off and eaten while yet warm and\nquivering. In this state it is considered, and justly so, to be very\nsuperior in taste to what it is when cold. Raw meat, if kept a little\ntime, gets tough; whereas, if eaten fresh and warm, it is far tenderer\nthan the most tender joint that has been hung a week in England. The\ntaste is perhaps, in imagination, rather disagreeable at first, but far\notherwise when one gets accustomed to it; and I can readily believe\nthat raw meat would be preferred to cooked meat, by a man who from\nchildhood had been accustomed to it.\u201d Such fare, I may observe, may not\nbe out of place at the table of a patriarch who lives in such a climate\nas that of Abyssinia, but we suspect that it would as much astonish a\ndinner party at an episcopal palace in England, as Mr. Perkyns himself\nwould do were he to sit down to that dinner in his ordinary Abyssinian\nfashion of--a bald head covered with butter!\n\nI have spoken in another chapter of a Brahmin who stuffed himself\nwith sweetmeats until he was nearly suffocated, and who exclaimed, on\nbeing recommended to swallow a little water, that if he had had room\nfor water he would have swallowed more sweetmeats! It is but justice,\nhowever, to these saintly gentlemen to confess that they _can_ fast\nwhen there is anything to be gained by it. Among the Mahrattas, when\na fast man attempts to cheat his creditors, a Brahmin is hired to sit\nthe _dhurna_, and this is the process--a process, by the way, which\nMonsieur Dimanche tried on Don Juan, but unsuccessfully. The Brahmin\ngoes to the house or tent of the debtor, sometimes attended by numerous\nfollowers, and he announces the _dhurna_, by which the debtor must not\neat until he has discharged his liabilities. The clerical bailiff sits\nat his side and is bound to fast also, until the matter is arranged.\nHe who holds out longest wins the day, and if the debtor be famished\nhe will pay rather than die outright, for eat he dare not until his\ncreditor be satisfied; besides, if he were to starve the Brahmin to\ndeath, the crime would be so heinous, that the debtor himself had\nbetter have departed to the world of shadows. It ensues that sitting\n_dhurna_ is more successful in certain districts than it would be in\nBelgravia, even though the Archbishop of Canterbury himself were to\ntake his seat in the middle of the square, with a declaration that he\nwould neither move nor eat until every inhabitant in the parish had\npaid his Christmas bills. Poor man! he would have to sit as long as\n_infelix Theseus_.\n\nThe saints of our puritan days were great favourers of public fasts;\nbut these fasts were less numerous after they had consolidated their\npower, than before. \u201cIn the beginning of the wars,\u201d says Foulis, in\nhis \u201cHistory of the wicked Plots of the pretended Saints,\u201d \u201ca public\nmonthly fast was appointed for the last Wednesday of every month, but\nno sooner had they got the king upon the scaffold, and the nation fully\nsecured to the Rump interest, but they thought it needless to abuse\nand gall the people with a multitude of prayers and sermons,\u201d and so,\nby a particular act of their worships (April 23, 1649), nulled the\nproclamation for the observation of the former; all which verifieth the\nold verses:--\n\n  \u201c\u2018The devil was sick, the devil a monk would be.\n  The devil was well, the devil a monk was he.\u2019\u201d\n\nGeorge Fox, the father of the Quakers, remarks in his Journal, of the\nPuritans and their fasts:--\u201cBoth in the time of the Long Parliament,\nand of the Protector, so called, and of the Committee of Safety, when\nthey proclaimed fasts, they were commonly like Jezebels, and there\nwas some mischief to be done.\u201d Taylor, the Water-poet, compares their\nfasts to hidden feasts. \u201cThey were like the holy maid,\u201d he says, \u201cthat\nenjoined herself to abstain four days from any meat whatsoever; and\nbeing locked close up in a room, she had nothing but her two books to\nfeed upon; but the two books were two painted boxes, made in the form\nof great Bibles, with clasps and bosses, the inside not having one word\nof God in them; but the one was filled with sweetmeats, the other with\nwine; upon which this devout votary did fast with zealous meditation,\neating up the contents of one book, and drinking as contentedly the\nother.\u201d Dr. South, in his Sermons, is equally severe. He observes\nthat \u201ctheir fasts usually lasted from seven in the morning till seven\nat night; the pulpit was always the emptiest thing in the church; and\nthere never was such a fast kept by them, but their hearers had cause\nto begin a thanksgiving as soon as they had done.\u201d Butler, in his\nHudibras, hints that the work of fasting was to be accounted to the\nfaster, righteousness:--\n\n  \u201cFor \u2019tis not now who\u2019s stout and bold,\n  But who bears hunger best, and cold.\n  And he\u2019s approved the most deserving,\n  Who longest can hold out at starving.\u201d\n\nThe fasting of the civilians, however, was made to turn to the benefit\nof the military gentlemen; and, in March, 1644, an ordinance was passed\nfor the contribution of one meal a week towards the charge of the army.\nThere was by far a more considerable liberality of spirit among some of\nthe clergy of the time of Louis XIV. than in the Puritan authorities,\ninasmuch as they permitted others to follow clerical example rather\nthan precept. The celebrated preacher, Father Feuillot, for instance,\nstood by while \u201cMonsieur\u201d was enjoying an uncanonical collation in\nthe middle of Lent. His Highness held up a _macaron_, and remarked,\n\u201cThis is not breaking fast, is it?\u201d \u201cNay,\u201d said Feuillot, \u201cyou may eat\na calf, if you will only act like a Christian.\u201d I am afraid that we\nhad not improved at home, in the last century. On one of the fasts of\nthat period, Walpole comments after his usual gay fashion. \u201cBetween\nthe French and the earthquakes,\u201d he says, in 1756, \u201cyou have no notion\nhow good we are grown; nobody makes a suit of clothes now but of\nsackcloth, turned up with ashes. The fast was kept so devoutly, that\nDick Edgecumbe, finding a very lean hazard at White\u2019s, said with a\nsigh, \u2018Lord! how the times are degenerated! Formerly, a fast would have\nbrought everybody hither; now it keeps everybody away!\u2019 A few nights\nbefore, two men were walking up the Strand, one said to t\u2019other, \u2018Look\nhow red the sky is! Well, thank God, there is to be no masquerade!\u2019\u201d\n\nAn ex-Capuchin has revealed some of the mysteries of the house of\nwhich he was lately a member, and by this it would appear that the\nFriars of the nineteenth century are as little for slender diet as\nthe fine gentlemen of the eighteenth. \u201cThese Capuchins,\u201d he says,\n\u201cof squalid appearance, clothed in serge, with shaven heads and bare\nfeet, presenting the very type of humility and self-renunciation,\nenjoy the luxuries of life with a prodigality unknown to you. The poor\nfriars have, with one exception, no enjoyment of the things of this\nworld, their only worldly comfort is good cheer. The friars have three\ncarnivals in the year, of two or three weeks\u2019 duration each. These\nare the only periods at which they can recruit their wasted strength,\nto enable them to resist the mortifications of the rest of the year.\nDuring these few weeks they have seven courses served at dinner, all\nsubstantial and choice dishes, the most dainty morsels that can be\nprovided. At supper they have five courses. By that hour, in spite of\ntheir plentiful dinner, they have regained their appetites; and their\ndigestion is again most active. These courses are as substantial as\nthose of the dinner, and are despatched with equal facility by these\nmen of iron frame and tranquil conscience.... _Lent_ is arrived! Well,\nyou must fast, you must mortify the flesh, but you must not die of\ninanition. A good table is necessary, or you will suffer too much from\ncontrast with the past few weeks. You need double the supply that the\nsecular orders do when they fast, for your digestion is twice as active\nas theirs. Supper is now a sadly scanty meal; it consists simply of\nfish, bread, wine, and fruit. A miserable dish! not miserable as to\nquantity or quality, but because it is the solitary dish during the\nforty days of Lent, always excepting bread and wine _ad libitum_.\nFortunately, the friars are wise and provident; the slender supper is\nforeseen and provided against at dinner, which consists of four dishes.\nThe bottle of good wine is valuable now, or they would be overcome with\nweakness.\u201d Such is the testimony of a living witness, who pledges his\nreputation for the truth of his depositions.\n\nI do not know that there is much that is exaggerated in this, for from\nM. Saurin we hear that, in France, well-to-do priests mortify the\nflesh on maigre days by very pretty eating. The bill of fare of these\nsaintly men has been known to include soup _au coulis d\u2019\u00e9crevisse_,\nsalmon trout, an omelette _au Thon_, that would have called a dead\n_gastronome_ to life; a salad, the very smell of which seemed to give\neternal youth; Semonal cheese, fruit, confectionary, a light wine, and\na cup of coffee. By such self-denial is heaven gained by modern saints,\nin orders; having fair fortunes, and looks with the same characteristic.\n\nThe Dominicans of Italy are in no degree behind their brethren in\nFrance. The \u201clate prior and visitor of the order,\u201d who recently\npublished his dealings with the Inquisition, thus describes his ancient\nbrethren. \u201cThey do nothing,\u201d he says, \u201cwhich they are bound to do by\ntheir rules, if these are opposed to their inclinations. They profess\nnever to eat meat in the refectory, or room for their common meals; but\nthere is another room near it, which they call by another name, where\nthey eat meat constantly. On Good Friday, they are commanded by their\nrules to eat bread and drink water. At the dinner hour they all go\ntogether into the refectory, to eat bread and drink water, but having\ndone so for the sake of appearance, they go one after another into\nanother room, where a good dinner is prepared for them all. I do not\nblame them for enjoying it; but I blame them for feigning an abstinence\nwhich none of them intend to keep.\u201d These Dominicans, honest fellows!\nare more hungry than the gods of the old r\u00e9gime of whom it is said,--\n\n  \u201cThe Gods require the thighs\n  Of beeves for sacrifice;\n  Which roasted, we the steam\n  Must sacrifice to them,\n  Who, though they do not eat,\n  Yet love the smell of meat.\u201d\n\nBut our poor friend the monk has witnesses in his favour, as well as\nopposed to him. Some men call him a living mummy swathed in faith.\nAnother says he is \u201ca moral gladiator who wrestles with his passions,\nand either stifles them or is devoured by them.\u201d A third, describes\nhim picturesquely as a sea-worthy vessel moored in a stagnant dock;\nand a fourth dismisses him contemptuously as a coward who won\u2019t fight.\nEven allowing him to be all these, it does not follow that he is to\nbe deprived of his dinner. If _he_ pays homage with his body to the\nsaints, he has earned what has been called the mind\u2019s daily homage to\nthe body. Dinner should be the peculiar privilege of the monk, for it\nis as _he_ is, in some sense, \u201cthe open friend of poverty, the secret\nfoe of riches\u201d and if dinner be \u201cthe breakfast of the poor and the\nsupper of the rich,\u201d it is doubly due to the monk, who can claim it by\neither title. And it must not be supposed that they do not know how to\nenjoy pleasure like sensible men. The Abb\u00e9 of St. Sulpice, a Bernardine\nmonastery in the south of France, once invited a party of merry\nand musical gentlemen from the neighbouring town to come up to the\nmonastery, and give the monks a treat of good music on the _f\u00eate_ day\nof their patron saint. A joyous company ascended at early dawn to the\nmonastery; the most remarkable incident connected with which is, that\nit is seated at the edge of a pine forest, from which a hurricane swept\ndown, in one night, thirty-seven thousand trees. The visitors were\nreceived by the cellarer, the abb\u00e9 not being yet risen, who conducted\nthem to the refectory, where they found awaiting them a p\u00e2t\u00e9 as big as\na church; flanked on the north by a quarter of cold veal; on the south\nby a monster ham; on the east by a monumental pile of butter; and on\nthe west by a bushel of artichokes _\u00e0 la poivrade_. All the necessary\nadjuncts were at hand; and among others, a party of lay brethren ready\nto wait upon the visitors, and very much astonished to find themselves\nout of bed at so early an hour. An array of a hundred bottles of wine\nbespoke the fathers\u2019 idea of good cheer; and the cellarer, having\nbidden them fall-to and welcome, deplored his inability to join them,\nnot having yet said mass,--and he then took his leave to go and sing\n\u201cmatins.\u201d\n\nThe breakfast was done ample justice to; after which the visitors\nretired to take a short repose, subsequently repairing to the church,\nwhere they performed a musical service with the usual zeal and energy\nof amateurs, and received modestly the showers of thanks that descended\nupon them in return.\n\nMonks and musicians then sat down to a dinner,--ample, admirably\ncooked, excellently served, and thoroughly enjoyed. The abundance\nthat marked it may be judged of by the fact, that at the second\ncourse there were not less than fifteen dishes of roasted meats. The\ndessert would have made the eyes of a queen sparkle; the liqueurs were\nchoice, and the coffee redolent of Araby the Blest. The enjoyment was\nlong and perfect; and by the end of the repast, there was not man or\nmonk present who was not in charity with all the world. The \u201cpious,\nglorious, and immortal memory\u201d of St. Bernard was not forgotten among\nthe toasts.\n\nAnd then came vespers and more amateur music,--probably more vigorously\nperformed than in the morning. And after vespers there was a division\nof pleasures: some took to quiet games at cards, some chose a ramble\nin the wood, and a few looked in again upon their friend the cellarer.\nAs night came on, all again drew together, but the discreet abbot\nretired, willing to allow the brethren full liberty on a festival\nwhich only came \u201conce a year.\u201d And to do the brothers justice, they\nbegan to make a night of it as soon as the superior had disappeared.\nJokes and laughter and winged words flew about like wildfire, and the\nexercise got thereby sharpened the general appetite for supper,--a\nrepast which was discussed with a vivacity as if the guests had been\nfasting up to that very hour. Wit and wine, and wisdom and folly, were\nall mingled together; and the oldest of the fathers present, with a\nflush on the cheek and a light in the eye, joined _chorus_ in table\nsongs that were _not_ sung to the tune of _Nunc dimittis_. It was when\nthe fun was flying most fast and furious, that a voice exclaimed,\n\u201cBrother cellarer, where is your official dish?\u201d \u201cTrue!\u201d answered that\nreverend individual; \u201cI am not cellarer for nothing;\u201d--and therewith\nhe disappeared, but speedily returned accompanied by three servitors,\nbearing piles of buttered toast and bowls of what worldly men would\nhave called \u201cpunch.\u201d If the fun had waxed fast before, it grew fiery\nnow, and fervour for the patron saint glowed at the very fiercest heat\nthat punch could give it. In the midst of it all, the hour of midnight\nwas solemnly tolled out by the convent bell, and the revellers,\nreverend and laic, swang merrily to bed, satisfied with the day well\nspent in honour of St. Bernard.\n\nI have now spoken of the Dominicans, Capuchins, and Bernardins. The\nFranciscans are a not less lively fraternity. When the author of\nE\u00f6then was at the Franciscan Monastery in Damascus, he asked one of\nthe monks to tell what places were best worth seeing, in reference to\ntheir association with St. Paul. \u201cThere is nothing in all Damascus,\u201d\nsaid the good man, \u201chalf so well worth seeing as our cellars;\u201d and\nforthwith he invited the stranger to \u201cgo and admire the long range of\nliquid treasures that he and his brethren had laid up for themselves\nupon earth.\u201d And, adds the author, \u201cthese I soon found were not as the\ntreasures of the miser, that lie in unprofitable disuse; for day by\nday, and hour by hour, the golden juice ascended from the dark recesses\nof the cellar to the uppermost brains of the friars, dear old fellows!\nIn the midst of that solemn land, their Christian laughter rang loudly\nand merrily. Their eyes kept flashing with joyous bonfires, and their\nheavy woollen petticoats could no more weigh down the springiness of\ntheir paces, than the filmy gauze of a _danseuse_ can cloy her bounding\nstep.\u201d\n\nRichard the First, as worthless a human being as ever lived, bankrupt\nin every virtue save that of brute courage, in making legacy of his\nvices, said he would bequeath gluttony to the priests. It was rather\na compliment than otherwise, for the inference was, that they lacked\nwhat he was willing to surrender, when he could no longer enjoy it. St.\nAugustin settled this vexed question as to what was \u201cgood living,\u201d when\nhe said, that \u201cthe great fast was abstinence from vice.\u201d And in the\ntrue spirit of St. Augustin\u2019s prose, rings the rich rhyme in Herrick\u2019s\nNoble Numbers. \u201cIs this,\u201d he says,\n\n  \u201cIs this a fast, to keep\n    The larder leane\n    And cleane\n  From fat of veales and sheep?\n\n  \u201cIs it to quit the dish\n    Of flesh, yet still\n    To fill\n  The platter high with fish?\n\n  \u201cIs it to faste an houre?\n    Or ragged to go,\n    Or show\n  A downcast look, and soure?\n\n  \u201cNo; \u2019tis a fast, to dole\n    Thy sheaf of wheat,\n    And meat,\n  Unto the hungry soule.\n\n  \u201cIt is to fast from strife,\n    From old debate,\n    And hate;\n  To circumcise thy life.\n\n  \u201cTo show a heart grief-rent,\n    To starve thy sin,\n    Not bin:\n  And that\u2019s to keep thy Lent.\u201d\n\nThis is better philosophy than that given on a similar subject by\nMontesquieu, who only recommends moderation on the ground that it\nlengthens the term of enjoyment. \u201cI call moderation,\u201d says Pythagoras,\n\u201call that does not engender pain;\u201d and by this maxim of the Hellenized\nHindoo, Buddha Ghooros, the saints both of the desert and the\ndining-room may, perhaps, in their several ways be condemned.\n\nIn treating of the diet of more modern saints than those of the days\nof martyrdom, I might have noticed the fact, that in not very remote\ntimes, the parsonage-house at Langdale, in Westmoreland, was licensed\nas an ale-house, the living being too poor to allow the incumbent to\nmake anything like one upon it for himself. The ale-cask became to the\npriest, what the fruit of the amrite tree was to the Tibetians--the\nspring of life. This Westmoreland ale was accounted a great\nstrengthener, but so have many less likely things. But enough of the\n\u201csaints,\u201d good men and true the majority of them, earning their right\nto enjoy the rich blessings of God, by fairer means, perhaps, than many\nof their censurers. I know no set of men so well to contrast with the\nsaints, as the \u201cC\u00e6sars,\u201d and we have yet time before supper to attend\nthat august company to table.\n\n\n\n\nTHE C\u00c6SARS AT TABLE.\n\n\nIt is a well-ascertained truth, that the C\u00e6sars at table by no means\ngenerally conducted themselves as though they were under the influence\nof a Roman Chesterfield, as regarded their behaviour; or a Roman\nAbernethy, as regarded their moderation. Perhaps the great Julius\nwas as much of a gentleman in both the above respects as any of his\nimperial successors; and even he could reform the calendar with far\nmore ease than he could reform himself.\n\nWhen he was commanding in the Roman provinces, beyond the Italian\nfrontier, he kept two distinct tables. At one sat his inferior officers\nand the Greeks who were in his service. The latter do not appear to\nhave expressed any discontent at not ranking with their Roman comrades.\nAt the other table sat none but Romans of high state, with such native\nguests of quality as C\u00e6sar chose to invite to meet them. He would watch\nhis servants as sharply as he did the enemy; and on one occasion,\nhaving observed that his baker had put down to his guests a coarser\nbread than that which he had served to C\u00e6sar, he sent the knave to\nprison, there to learn better manners.\n\nC\u00e6sar was as sober as Sir Charles Napier, who used to sign himself\n\u201cGovernor of Scinde, because I was always a sober man.\u201d Cato said\nof Julius, that he was the only sober man who had ever attempted to\nsubvert a government; \u201ca cutting sarcasm on all preceding patriots.\u201d\nAs for sauces, the Duke of Wellington did not inspire Francatelli\nwith more despair upon that head, than C\u00e6sar did _his_ cook. It was\nimmaterial to him whether he had sauce to his meat, or not; and as to\nthe quality, he never concerned himself about it. He ate, thankfully\nperhaps, but thoughtlessly, certainly. His politeness was sometimes\nridiculously excessive, as when he ate up the ointment which had been\nserved instead of sauce, at a table where he was a guest, and where he\nwas courteously resolved to find everything excellent. But although\nthe great Julius was, according to Cato, the only man who came sober\nto the subversion of his country, he had some unsoberly habits about\nhim. Thus, when invited to a feast, he used to whet his appetite by\ntaking an emetic. This is attested by Cicero, who says, in his letters\nto Atticus, (lib. xiii. p. 52,) \u201cUnctus est; accubuit; \u1f10\u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u03b9\u03ba\u03ae\u03bd agebat.\nItaque edit et bibit \u1f00\u03b4\u03b5\u1ff6\u03c2 et jucunde.\u201d Suetonius agrees with Cato,\nthat C\u00e6sar was moderate with regard to wine:--\u201cVini parcissimum ne\nquidem inimici negaverunt.\u201d\n\nIt is singular that a man who cared so little as he was reported to\nhave done for his stomach, should have cared so much about the outside\nof his head. He could eat pomatum, and yet be ashamed of the baldness\nwhich a proper application of the unguent might perhaps have cured.\n\nAugustus C\u00e6sar, who visited prisoners, like Howard, and cut off heads\nlike an Algerine Dey, was moderate in his cups, and endeavoured to make\nthe people so. When the latter once complained that wine was not only\ndear, but scarce, he gravely proclaimed that his son-in-law Agrippa had\nbeen looking to the aqueducts, and there was no fear of any one dying\nof thirst.\n\nThere were seasons, however, when he could be more than imperially\nextravagant. Witness the little supper he gave to chosen guests, all of\nwhom attended in the attire of gods and goddesses; and at which feast\nhe presided in the character of Apollo. The wits of the day, who were\nnot invited, denounced this supper as an orgy at which decent people\nwould not have been present, even if asked. Such stupendous iniquity\nwas said there to have been enacted, that the real gods who had at\nfirst looked laughingly down from Olympus, withdrew one by one behind\ntheir respective clouds. Even Jove himself, who sat gazing longest, at\nlength hurried away from the sight of men, who were greater beasts than\nthe privileged gods!\n\nLike some of the extravagant and unclean banquets at Versailles, this\nentertainment was given when there was a famine in the city. On the\nfollowing day, the people exclaimed in the streets, \u201cIt is the gods who\nhave devoured the food.\u201d The less fearful than these raised an altar to\nAugustus Ph\u0153bus, and there paid mock worship to the Emperor, under the\ntitle of Apollo the Tormentor.\n\nIt was not every one that deemed himself entitled, that could find\naccess to the table of C\u00e6sar Augustus. He was extremely nice with\nregard to his associates, but he was not so nice with respect to\nkeeping his guests waiting for his company. It was the maxim of Sir\nJoshua Reynolds, that it was far less courteous on principle to allow\nhungry guests to be kept from table out of respect to one man, than it\nwas to go to dinner without him. So also Augustus thought that the many\nshould not be made to wait for one; and, accordingly, he frequently\ndid not appear at table till the repast was half over; and sometimes\ndeparted even then, after tasting of from three to half-a-dozen dishes,\nbefore it was concluded.\n\nHe was dignified and condescending, enjoyed the jokes of those who were\nbold enough to make them, and encouraged the reserved to be bold and\njocund too. When jests lacked from either of those parties, the master\nof the Roman world then laughed, as he sipped his moderate draught, at\nthe quips and cranks of the hired jesters, whose office it was to be\ncheerful when the guests grew dull.\n\nIt has come down to us that he was a lover of brown bread, small fish,\ngreen cheese and green figs. He was so far intemperate that he would\nnever let his appetite tarry till meal-time. He ate when he was hungry,\nand perhaps he was right. And yet it was but an unedifying sight to see\nhim passing in his chariot through the public streets, returning the\ngreetings of the people with one hand full of bread, the other full\nof dates, and his almost sacred mouth full of both. He was, in fact,\nwayward in his attentions to his appetite, and would occasionally fast\ntill sunset if the caprice took him. As to what is said of him that he\nsometimes rose from the most sumptuous banquets, leaving the viands\nuntouched,--this was perhaps because the edge of his appetite had been\naltogether destroyed by brown bread and indigestible fruit.\n\nIn the day-time he quenched his thirst by eating of bread dipped in\nwater, by drinking water itself, or by taking a slice of cucumber,\nlettuce, or unripe apple. His moderation in drinking, when he _did_\ntake up the goblet at the evening repast, is much spoken of, but as we\nhear more of the quantity than of the strength of what he drank, it is\ndifficult to decide upon this point. Suetonius admiringly records that\n\u201che never exceeded a quart for his share, or if he did, he was sure\nto throw it up again.\u201d This is but equivocal praise after all. He was\na very great man, no doubt, but, demi-god as he almost was, he spelt\nafter the \u201ccacological\u201d fashion of Lord Duberly; and he was more afraid\nof lying awake in the dark than any little baron or squire in the\nnurseries of Belgravia and the adjacent squares.\n\nTiberius, like his predecessor, treated his soldiers occasionally like\nschoolboys, and when they displeased him, he used to put them on a\nregimen of barley. Tiberius himself was not a profuse eater; he was\nrather moderate than otherwise, and when gastronomic extravagancy had\nreached a high pitch in Rome, he used to dine in public, like the kings\nof France, but, unlike them, upon cold meat, as a reproof to the luxury\nof the times. He was not, however, at all moderate in his cups, and the\nRoman wits, who, like those of Paris, used to make merry epigrams on\nthe worst of their woes, punningly transformed his names of Tiberius\nClaudius Nero, into _Biberius Caldius Mero_. He had a reverence too\nfor great draughts, and he once raised a common fellow to the office\nof qu\u00e6stor, simply because he could drink off a measure of three pints\nof wine without drawing breath. Most of the C\u00e6sars must have been very\nunsatisfactory people to dine with, but none more so than Tiberius, who\nloved discussion, but if he found himself worsted in it, he invariably\nordered his opponent to retire--and commit suicide. A hot bath and a\nvein or two opened soon disposed of an inconvenient adversary. He used\nto puzzle his guests with all sorts of strange questions, such as would\npuzzle even the editor of _Notes and Queries_ to answer. One of these\ninterrogatory puzzles was \u201cthe name of the song chanted by the Syrens.\u201d\nHe would not speak the fashionable Greek at table, but conversed in\nLatin; and his favourite feat at dessert was to run his forefinger\nthrough a hard green apple.\n\nCaligula must have been a most unpleasant person to dine with. He\nentertained himself and his guests with the sight of men tortured on\nthe rack, and he got up little private executions on those occasions\nto enliven the scene. We read of Her Majesty\u2019s private concerts, and\nhow \u201cMrs. Anderson\u201d presided at the piano. But the Romans only heard\nof their Emperor\u2019s killing fun to frighten his guests with, and how\nhis Divinity\u2019s private headsman, Niger Barbatus, performed, as usual,\nwith his well-known dexterity. His frolics were really of a frightful\ncharacter. It was after a banquet, when the capital jest of slaying\nhad failed to make him as merry as usual, that he rushed to the\nsacrificial altar, attired in the dress of a victim-killer, that is,\nwith a linen apron for his sole costume. He seized the mallet as though\nhe were about to slay the appointed victim, but he turned suddenly\nround on the resident official and butchered him instead. And thereat,\nall who had witnessed the frolicsome deed of their master, declared\nthat \u201c\u2019Fore Jove, \u2019twas a more capital joke than the last!\u201d His answer\nto the Consuls who ventured to ask the cause of a sudden burst of\nlaughter in which he indulged at a crowded feast, is well known; \u201cI\nlaugh to think,\u201d said the amiable creature, \u201cthat with one wave of my\nhand I can sweep all your stupid heads off!\u201d His method of loving was\nequally characteristic. He would fling his terrible arm round the fair\nneck he professed to admire, and express his delight that he could cut\nit off when he pleased. There was the brilliant Cesonia; \u201cI cannot\ntell,\u201d said her imperial lover at a feast, \u201cwhy it is that I am so fond\nof that girl. I\u2019ll have her put on the rack for a quarter of an hour,\nthat she may be compelled to tell me the reason.\u201d Blue Beard was the\nmildest of Quaker gentlemen compared with this Caligula. A lady might\nas well have been wooed by a boa constrictor.\n\nClaudius C\u00e6sar has hardly had justice done him, as regards his general\ncharacter, but as my office is only to show how he looked at table,\nI must be satisfied with making the remark, and pass on to C\u00e6sar at\nmeat. He was no hero, undoubtedly, for he contemplated suicide, for\nno better reason than having a pain in his stomach after a repast. In\nthis, however, he did not show less courage than Zeno, the father of\nthe Stoics, who having bruised his finger by a fall, went home and hung\nhimself.\n\nHe was largely hospitable, and sometimes entertained six hundred\nguests at a time. He liked on these occasions to see his own children\nand those of the nobility seated, according to the ancient fashion,\nat the lower end of the table. It is to be hoped that they were out\nof ear-shot of what was being said at the upper end. The jokes were\nsometimes pleasant enough in their way. Thus a Roman nobleman having\ncarried home with him a gold plate from the imperial table, was gently\nreminded of his theft when, on the next occasion of dining with\nClaudius, he saw a reproachfully vulgar earthenware platter put down\nbefore him.\n\nHe was a man of infinite capacity, was the divine Claudius,--that is,\nin gastronomic matters. He was ever ready to devour, and always did\nso greedily. He has been known to have suddenly jumped down from his\nseat in the forum, allured by the smell of roast meat issuing from the\npriest\u2019s table, in the adjacent temple of Mars. And he would sit down\nwith the reverend gentleman, without waiting for an invitation. It must\nhave surely made the common-place spectators of the feat broadly smile,\njust as if the twelve judges in Westminster Hall were to leap from\ntheir benches, and racing across the churchyard, pour into the first\nhouse in the cloisters where the dinner-bell was ringing loudest, and\nthe prandial odour was most savoury.\n\nHe ate like Baal, and drank like the beast in Fortunatus. He did both\nto repletion; but his attendants would then tickle his throat with\na feather, and so, by exonerating his stomach, enable the imperial\nanimal to eat and drink again. He contemplated making a decree for the\nbenefit of guests at table, which was of a Rabelaisian indelicacy, and\nwhich probably never presented itself to the minds of any other men but\nClaudius and the Cur\u00e9 of Meudon.\n\nCaligula had more affection for his horse than for anything human. He\nfed him on gilded oats, and the animal was not a more beastly consul\nthan many who were appointed to that high office. The emperor\u2019s dinner\nparties must have presented a strange aspect, when the obsequious\nsenators stood, napkin in hand, to wait upon the guests. Fancy the\npeers of all politics, and the commons of every shade of opinion, all\nranged behind the dinner-table at Windsor Castle, in the professional\nuniform of dingy white waistcoats and napless black coats, with their\nthumbs duly doubled up in napkins, and all offering anxious service,\nand \u201cdindon \u00e0 la daube\u201d to our Sovereign Lady and her guests,--fancy\nthis, I say, and you will have the very remotest idea possible of what\nthe sight was like when the senators changed the plates of C\u00e6sar. The\npersonages and their qualities are all different, but the strangeness\nof one spectacle could only be matched by that of the other.\n\nNero (who found sport in sitting in an upper gallery at the theatre,\nand flinging down nuts upon the bald head of the pr\u00e6tor below) was a\nvery common-place individual at table, but he assembled guests about\nhim who were ever ready to consume his good things and applaud his good\nsayings. Galba, his successor, was at once gouty and gluttonous. He\ncommenced eating at early dawn, and darkness came over him still with\nappetite unsatiated. He was as mean, however, as he was voracious. He\ndid once so far whip up his liberal spirit as to compel himself to give\na dinner party; but when he read the bill of fare, he fairly burst\ninto tears at the idea of the extravagance and the expense. And yet\nthe most costly dish he could reprovingly point to, when his steward\nchallenged him, was a dish of boiled peas;--but perhaps they were out\nof season, and Galba knew he should be asked for them at least a guinea\na quart! _He_ would never have been guilty of the prodigality of the\nEmperor Otho, who daily wasted more bread and milk in making cosmetic\npoultices to lay on his own face than would have served to keep body\nand soul together in half-a-dozen families. The father of Vitellius\nmore gallantly, when he wished to look well at the centre of his table,\nwas wont to besmear himself with a mixture made up of honey and his\nmistress\u2019s saliva. He of course deemed it impossible to say which was\nthe sweeter of the two ingredients. This was even worse than Galba, who\nwas, however, essentially greedy; the latter emperor could not eat with\npleasure unless he had more before him than he could digest. When his\nstomach cried, \u201cHold, enough!\u201d he used it as the Somersetshire lad did\n_his_. \u201cAh!\u201d exclaimed the lad of Wincanton, to certain monitions,--\u201cye\nmay ake, but, \u2019vor I ha\u2019 done, I\u2019ll make ye ake worser.\u201d Galba, when\nno longer able to eat, lay and gazed at what he hoped to attack more\nsuccessfully after digestion had been accomplished.\n\nOtho is remembered as being the complaisant gentleman who, when Nero\nhad determined to murder his mother, gave an exquisite little supper to\nboth parties by way of a pleasant preliminary. But Otho could at least\nbehave with outward decency, and of this Vitellius was incapable. If he\nwalked through the market-place, he snatched the meat roasting at the\ncooks\u2019 stalls, and greedily devoured it. He was not more reverent even\nin the temple; where, taking advantage of his vicinity to the altar,\nhe would sweep the latter of the barley that was on it, consecrated to\nthe god, and swallow the same, like the sacrilegious heathen that he\nwas. When about to fly from the enemies who had overturned his throne,\nhe selected only his cook and his butler to be the companions of his\nflight, and he took the former dear associate with him, in his own\ncovered chair.\n\nThe chief table trait which I can call to mind as connected with\nVespasian is, that once a month he went without dinner for a day. Such\nan observance, he said, saved at once his health and his purse. He had\nso much the less to pay to his purveyor; and in consequence of the\nfast, less also perhaps than if he had feasted, to his physician. Both\nthe sons of Vespasian, Titus and Domitian, were modest at the banquet.\nThe former had ceased to be a free liver before he put on the imperial\nmantle; and as for Domitian, he could wash down his Malian apple with a\ndraught of water, and then address himself to sleep, as though he were\na virtuous anchorite, and not the most thirsty drinker of human blood\nthat ever disgraced his race.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe five succeeding emperors,--Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, and the two\nAntonines,--Antoninus Pius, and Marcus Aurelius,--governed the world\nduring the eighty years which are said, but questionably I think,\nto have been the happiest years of the human race. There is little\non record as to how these potentates disported themselves at table.\nTrajan, indeed, is known to have been a fearful drinker; but he loved\na quiet, unceremonious dinner at the house of a friend of modest\ndegree,--for there he tippled and talked to his heart\u2019s content, and\nwillingly forgot that he was C\u00e6sar. Hadrian is remembered as the first\nRoman emperor who wore a beard. He had warts on his throat, and he did\nnot like that these should be seen by his guests at table. He once gave\nan entertainment which cost upwards of two millions sterling, (when\nVerus was made C\u00e6sar,) and he was sorry for it through the remainder\nof his life. Many a man of far humbler degree has committed the same\nkind of extravagance, and experienced the same enduring repentance.\nAntoninus kept the table of a country gentleman; and Marcus Aurelius\ndined alone, while Commodus, his son, played at his knee. The board of\nthat son resembled that of Vitellius, and he fell from it one day, full\nof drugged wine administered to him by a concubine, and was strangled\nas he lay beneath the table, drunk, and deserving of his fate.\n\nThe modest Pertinax was less happy as emperor than when, as a simple\nofficial, he had charge of the provisions of Rome. Didius Julianus\nwas deep in the luxuries of the table, and not nearly so deep in\nwisdom, when he made a bid for the diadem, a few uneasy dinners in the\npalace, and death. Septimius Severus, cared less for the splendour of\nhis table than the consolidation of his power, but his banquets were\nchoice things, nevertheless. His sons, Caracalla and Geta, exemplified\ntheir fraternal unanimity by keeping different tables. They never\nsat down together at the same board; and there were two factions in\nthe court, something like that of George the Second, at St. James\u2019s,\nand the son whom he hated, Frederick, Prince of Wales, in Leicester\nSquare. Macrinus was a coarse feeder, and in everything he presented a\nremarkable contrast with his successor Heliogabalus.\n\nHeliogabalus lay on couches stuffed with hare\u2019s down, or partridge\nfeathers. \u00c6lius Verus reclined on cushions of lily and rose-leaves.\nThe first-named monster had his funny moments; and sometimes he would\ninvite a certain number of bald men, or of gouty men, or grey-headed\nmen, and he was particularly amused at a company of fat men, so crowded\ntogether that they could find room only to perspire. \u201cOne of his\nfavourite diversions consisted in filling a leathern table-couch with\nair instead of wool; and while the guests were engaged in drinking,\na tap, concealed under the carpet, was opened, unknown to them,--the\ncouch sank, and the drinkers rolled pell-mell under the sigma, to the\ngreat delight of the beardless emperor.\u201d He was the first Roman emperor\nwho wore garments of pure, unmixed silk. He cared little for poets or\nphilosophers; but he gave liberal premiums to the inventors of new\nsauces, provided these pleased his palate. If he disliked them, the\ninventor was condemned to eat of nothing else, until he had discovered\na new condiment to win the imperial sanction. Heliogabalus and George\nI. had this in common, that they both liked fish a trifle stale. Thus,\nit is known that George never cared for oysters till their shells began\nspontaneously to gape; and the Oriental master of the Roman empire,\nwho made a barber prefect of the provisions, would never eat sea-fish\nexcept at a great distance from the sea, when they acquired the taint\nhe loved. His delight then was to distribute vast quantities of the\nrarest sorts, brought at an immense expense, to the peasants of the\ninland country. The table of his successor, Alexander Severus, was\nthat of a gentleman. Its master was the first Roman emperor to whom\nthat title can be incontestably given; and he loved to have around\nhim accomplished guests of all varieties of opinion; and this is much\nmore than can be said for that huge and hungry Goth, Maximin. The\nGordians brought back some of the elegances of social life, which the\nuncleanness and severity of Maximin had banished; but at both the\nprivate and public, the humble and the imperial, tables of Rome, there\nmust have been small ceremony and permanent fear during the brief and\ntroubled reigns of the foolish men who purchased the right of dining\nin an imperial mantle by being speedily enveloped in a bloody shroud.\nGallienus, alone, shines out upon the list as the very prince of cooks;\nand if Car\u00eame had possessed half the enthusiasm which he so warmly\naffected, he would have named his son and heir after this imperial\ninventor of _rago\u00fbts_,--who was also the accelerator of the ruin of\nRome. All the temperance of the Gothic Claudius could not restore\nthe remnant of ancient moderation, which had been destroyed by that\nimperial maker of stews, the ever hungry and cruel Gallienus. Aurelian\nfailed, like Claudius, but the emperor Tacitus was more successful,\nand the descendant of the great historian, even during _his_ short\nreign, roused the nobles to a sense of dignity, and honoured science by\ninviting its disciples to his well-ordered table.\n\nA subsequent emperor, Carus, was perhaps one of the most frugal, by\nhabit and inclination, that ever wore the imperial sword upon his\nthigh. Carus was at once moderate and mirthful. He was seated on the\ngrass, supping on dry bread and grey peas, when the Persian ambassadors\ncame to him, suing for peace. \u201cThe matter just stands thus, gentlemen,\u201d\nsaid the emperor, opening his mouth widely, at the same time, to insert\na shovel-like spoonful of peas; \u201cif your master does not acknowledge\nthe superiority of Rome, I will render Persia,\u201d--and here he took off\nthe cap which he wore to conceal his entire baldness,--\u201cI will render\nPersia as destitute of trees as my head is of hair.\u201d Having said which,\nhe resumed swallowing his peas, and left the delegates to digest his\nremark.\n\nWe are accustomed to consider Diocletian dining at Salona, on the\ncabbages he had reared there, as an emperor in reduced circumstances;\nbut the truth is, that the palace, gardens, and table of the ex-emperor\nwere all of a splendid character, and if his table was adorned by the\ncabbages he had tended to a prize perfection, he was far too wise an\nepicure to confine himself to that dish alone.\n\nThe great Constantine appears under a double aspect, and the least\nfavourable one is offered to us in his maturer years, when he\nsurrendered himself more unreservedly than before to good living, for\nwhich he had peculiar facilities at Byzantium, took to wearing false\nhair, and became altogether a ridiculous old dandy and _bon vivant_;\nthe ridicule of whom, by his clever and unscrupulous nephew, Julian,\nI am not at all surprised at; for what is so eagerly seized upon by\naffectionate nephews as the foibles of their indulgent uncles? Julian\nwas possessed just of that scampish sort of nepotism which leads the\nmodest young relative to eat an uncle\u2019s dinners and deride the donor.\nJulian\u2019s own table would have gained the contempt of an editor of the\n_Almanach des Gourmands_. Its frugality was frigidly parsimonious in\nits character. The philosophic emperor was a vegetarian, and even of\nvegetables he ate sparingly, but swiftly, leaping up, as it were, from\ndining thereon, to hurry to his books or the public business, which\nhe quitted reluctantly when the hour of supper summoned him even to a\nmore frugal meal than the dinner, which he despatched with a celerity\nnot at all admired by those who dined with him. Nothing disgusted\nhim so much as a gross feeder, and probably nothing ever so greatly\nsurprised him as when, on taking possession of Constantinople, he found\none thousand cooks waiting to prepare the imperial dinner! A thousand\ncooks for a man who could dine on a boiled turnip! The Constantines had\nbeen accustomed to dine upon birds from the most distant climates, fish\nfrom the most remote seas; to have a dessert of fruits out of their\nnatural seasons, and to drink foreign wines cooled in the summer snows\nof the lofty hills. All this was as useless to a man who needed but\na crust and an apple to calm his appetite, as were the golden basins\nand the jewelled combs to an emperor like Julian, who seldom washed\neven his face, and who not only never cleaned his hair, but _felt_\nthe lively luxury of leaving it undisturbed. Julian in this respect\nwas like Anthony Pasquin, who was said to have died of a cold caught\nby washing his face. There was a famous Irish member of Parliament,\nwho, unlike Julian, was a glutton at dinner, but who was remarkable\nfor his religious abstinence from all ablution. His son was one day\nstanding in the bow-window of White\u2019s, when the sire was passing down\nthe opposite side of the street. I believe it was the noble lord who,\nwhen Mr. Gunter in the hunting-field remarked that his horse was too\n\u201chot\u201d to ride comfortably, suggested to the equestrian pastrycook\nthat he should _ice_ him.--I believe it was the same noble lord who,\non the first occasion alluded to above, said to \u201cJack T----,\u201d \u201cJack!\nwhat _does_ make your father\u2019s hands so dirty?\u201d \u201cWell!\u201d said the old\nColonel\u2019s affectionate son, \u201cI believe it arises from a bad habit he\nhas of putting them up to his face!\u201d And so of Julian we may say, that\nif his hands were innocent of water, his famous beard was dirtier than\nhis hands, and that it was not pleasant to lie near the emperor at\ndinner, unless guardedly ensconced to the leeward of his sacred and\ndirty person.\n\nIf Gratian, who was the first Roman emperor who refused the pontifical\nrobe, had lived but as became the master of an imperial household, his\nsacrifice would have had more merit; but the emperors of these times\nhad curious ideas as to duties. Thus the second Valentinian delighted\nin giving splendid dinners, but at these entertainments he always,\nhimself, fasted;--a most discouraging course for the guests,--but\nhe thought there was merit in the work. But Theodosius was at least\nas good a man, and we know that _he_ enjoyed the sensual and social\npleasures of the table without excess; and the same taste was shown by\nthat emperor Maximus, who is said to have espoused Helena, the daughter\nof a wealthy Caernarvonshire lord, and to have renewed the popularity\nof boiled leeks in Rome; and this was a better taste than that of\nHonorius, who took to feeding poultry and eating them, while Stilicho\nruled the empire, and the eunuchs lived on the very fat of the land.\nIt was decidedly better too than the taste which led Valentinian the\nthird, after dining with Petronius Maximus and winning his money, to\ncarry off his wife; a Tarquinian insult, which he paid for, however,\nwith his life. Avitus could indulge in such freaks, however, with\nimpunity; and he not only seduced Roman matrons, but invited their\nhusbands to dinner, where the slaves smiled at the imperial raillery\ndirected against them while the courses were changing! His successor,\nMajorianus, was a man of another stamp, and I would fain believe the\npleasant anecdote which says of him that he went to Carthage in the\ndisguise of his own ambassador, and dined with Genseric the king,\nwho was especially chafed when he afterwards discovered that he had\nentertained, without knowing it, the Emperor of the Romans. Anthemius,\nif he be famous for little else, is at least famous for the superb\nwedding-dinner with which he celebrated the nuptials of his daughter\nwith Count Ricimer, a wicked son-in-law who devoured the dinners of\nhis \u201cbeau p\u00e8re,\u201d and robbed him of his estate;--no uncommon course for\nsons-in-law to take. The count placed on the uneasy and vacant throne\nthe epicurean Glycorius, who, having murdered Julius Nepos after a\nbanquet, was made Archbishop of Milan, as one of the recompenses of\nthe act. And then the empire fell into the delicate hands of the weak\nand beautiful Augustulus, who could not find wherewith in the treasury\nto maintain a decent table, and who was glad to accept clemency and\nan annuity from Odoacer, whereby he was enabled, upon six thousand\npieces of gold annually, to keep such state in the Castle of Lucullus\nin Campania, that the surrounding gentry visited him in shoals, and ate\nhis dinners by way of proof that they looked upon him as a man of the\nhighest respectability.\n\nAnd this was the end of the \u201ctwelve vultures,\u201d seen by Romulus,\nforeshadowing the \u201ctwelve centuries,\u201d more or less, that were to mark\nthe duration of the dominion which he founded; a dominion commenced\nby a hungry adventurer, and which crumbled to nothing in the hand of\nthat Augustulus, who was but too rejoiced to take in exchange for it,\nthe bed, board, and six thousand a year with which he set up as a\nhospitable country gentleman, in his rustic villa, on the slopes of\nCampania.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs for the C\u00e6sars of the Eastern Empire, they were rather Oriental\ndespots than either Greek or Roman monarchs, just as the Byzantines\nwere ever more Asiatics than Europeans. The sovereigns, for the most\npart, ate at golden tables, and were served like gods. Some of them,\nlike Romanus, were respectable cooks, and more than one was discussing\nthe merits of a new sauce or dish, when the Saracens were knocking at\nthe frontier gates of the empire. The sort of merry humour indulged in\nby others may be judged of by a single trait of Michael the Drunkard.\nThis amiable sovereign started up, one day, from table, ere the\nimperial dinner was well over, and assuming an episcopal dress, he\ndescended into the streets followed by his courtiers. The latter bore\nthe vinegar and mustard that had been on the monarch\u2019s side-board,\nand mixing the condiments together, they stopped all passers-by,\ncompelled them to kneel, and with horrible profanity and mock psalmody,\nadministered the Sacrament with the above-named horribly compounded\nelements. Such was one of the Eastern C\u00e6sars at and after dinner, and\nthe easy Byzantines were not much scandalized thereat. Indeed, they\ntroubled themselves very little about the affairs of the government, or\nthe doings of the governors; and it would never have entered the head\nof a Byzantine subject to say of his son what the American citizen\nonce remarked, touching his heir, to Mrs. Trollope, namely, that he\nwould much sooner that his son got drunk three times a week than that\nhe should refrain from meddling with the politics of his times.\n\nFrom the palaces of the C\u00e6sars, let us now pass into the mansions of\nmiscellaneous majesties, and see how the first gentlemen of their\nrespective days comported themselves \u201cat meat.\u201d Yes, at _meat_; for \u201cla\nviande du Roi\u201d was the consecrated phrase, and guards presented arms,\nand courtiers bowed low, as the king\u2019s \u201cmeat\u201d was solemnly carried to\nthe royal table, or borne to the bed-side, where it remained under the\nname of an _en cas_, \u201cin case\u201d the august appetite should be lively\nbefore morning.\n\n\n\n\nTHEIR MAJESTIES AT MEAT.\n\n\nThere was an old custom at Pisa, the origin of which may be traced to\nthe anti-judaical days of persecution. On a certain day in the year,\nI believe, Good Friday or Easter Sunday, every Jew discovered in the\nstreets, was hunted down by the populace. When the game was caught he\nwas weighed, and compelled to ransom himself by paying his own weight\nof sweetmeats. It was an advantage, then, at Pisa for a Jew to be of a\nCassius cast. It was different in other days, and climes, with regard\nto kings. Nations used to weigh their monarchs yearly, and if the\nregister showed an increase of dignified obesity, great was the popular\nrejoicing thereat. If, on the other hand, the too, too solid flesh of\nthe potentate had yielded to irresistible influences, and the father\nof his people exhibited a falling away in his material greatness, the\nbody of loyal subjects went into mourning and tears, and deplored the\nevil days on which they had fallen, when monarchs could not be kept\nup to the old monarchical standard of corpulency. Kings who cared for\nthe affections of their people were, accordingly, disinterestedly\nsolicitous to support their corporeal requirements; for to be fat was\nto be virtuous, and he was really the greatest of monarchs who required\nthe greatest circumference of belt. You must understand, however, that\nif kings encouraged their own increase, it was disloyal in the people\nto imitate them. The monarchs of old, in this respect, were like our\nHenry VIII, who never stinted his own appetite, but who imprisoned the\nEarl of Surrey in Windsor Castle, for daring to touch a lamb chop on a\nFriday.\n\nThe most gigantic of royal feeders placed on the record of ancient\nhistory, was Thys, king of Paphlagonia, at whose table \u201cthe entire\nanimal\u201d was served by hundreds. When he fell into the power of Persia\nhe exhibited more appetite than grief, and banqueted in such a style\nthat the courtiers spoke of it wonderingly to their king Artaxerxes.\nHe replied significantly, \u201cThys is making the most of the shortness of\nlife.\u201d\n\nThe kings of Persia were but sorry hosts to dine with. Their table was\nin a little recess divided from the outward hall by a low curtain. The\nking sat alone in his alcove, and could behold, without being seen, the\nguests in the outer hall. The latter were of the highest rank; mere\nyounger brothers, civilians, and undignified people of that sort, sat\nat meat in the galleries. It was only on two or three high days that\nthe king sat at the same table with his subjects. The royalty of old\nPersia had once a reputation for temperance, but to be \u201croyally drunk\u201d\nwas no uncommon characteristic of his majesty and the princes of the\nblood. He generally made drinking parties of a dozen favourites. These\nsat on the ground, while the king lay on a gold couch, and the conclave\ndrank like dragoons, and got infinitely more tipsy.\n\nIn the banquets of state there were a few singularities. Horses and\nostriches appear in the bill of fare, among a hundred other delicacies;\nbut no guest did more than just taste what was placed before him; and\nwhat he did not eat, he carried home with him. A dainty bit from the\nking\u2019s table was a present meet for lover to make to his lady; and a\nwooer who brought a rump-steak of horse-flesh in his hand, straight\nfrom the regal banquet, was scarcely a man to be refused anything.\n\nThere was something of grandeur in the banquets of Cleopatra, when\nAntony dined with her. The service was in gold, and she made a present\nof it to her visitor. On the following day there was a new service,\nand it was again presented to \u201cthe favoured guest.\u201d Antony himself\nexhibited infinitely less taste at Athens. He erected in the public\ntheatre a scene representing the grotto of Bacchus, dressed himself\nlike the god, and, with a party of followers as worthless as himself,\nsat down at day-break, in presence of an admiring and crowded \u201chouse,\u201d\nand got dreadfully drunk before breakfast-time. And this knave aspired\nto rule in Rome!\n\nAlexander, and, as may be seen in another page, Augustus, was given\nto this sort of theological masquerading. The first-named accepted\nbanquets from his great officers; and these exhibited their taste by\nhaving all the fruit on the table covered thickly with gold, which,\nwhen the fruit itself was presented to the guests, was torn off and\nflung on the ground, for the benefit of the servants. The father of\nAlexander had shown in his time a better example of economy. He had but\none gold cup, and to prevent that from being stolen, he placed it every\nnight under his pillow, and went to sleep upon it. The mad Antiochus,\nof Syria, was of another kidney, for whenever he heard of a drinking\nbout in his own city, he used to order his chariot, and taking with him\na measure of wine and a goblet, he would rush down to the place and\ntake a seat uninvited. He was such indifferent company, however, that\nthe guests could not be prevailed upon to tarry, and even the offer of\nhis golden goblet was unable to bribe a man to sit and get drunk with a\nwitless king.\n\nBut the most extraordinary meal I have ever heard of was that made by\nCambes, king of Lydia. He was a great eater, a great drinker, and of\ninsatiable voracity. It is told of him that he one night cut up his\nwife and devoured her, and that he awoke the next morning, with one of\nher hands sticking in his mouth. But I have little doubt that something\nof an allegory lies under this royal story. Cambes probably had had an\nargument with his consort,--a lady of the sort spoken of by Dr. Young\nas one who\n\n  Shakes the curtain with her good advice.\n\nHis logic \u201ccut up\u201d her assertions, and thereon he addressed himself to\nsleep; but he no sooner awoke in the morning than her hand was upon his\nmouth, to prevent his speaking while she reiterated her follies of the\nprevious night. Poor Cambes! he cut his throat in order to escape from\na too loquacious consort, of whom he is accused of being the murderer\nby the libelling Xanthus.\n\nI may add to the record of these exemplary persons, the name of\nDionysius of Heraclea, who, through good living, fell into such\na condition of obesity and somnolency that he could only be made\nconscious by running fine gold needles into his flesh. What a droll\nthing it must have been for his morning visitors who found the huge\nmass fast asleep at table! Shaking hands with him, or any other\nequivalent ceremony, would have been useless. They accordingly took\na gold needle from his girdle and tenderly run it into his fat. When\nit reached a vital point, the uneasy monarch snorted and opened one\neye; and this being taken as an acknowledgment of their presence, he\nstraightway went to sleep again. Ptolemy, the seventh king of Egypt,\nwas in nearly as deplorable a condition, and Magas of Cyrene was\nperhaps even worse. The Ephori, it will be remembered, had a horror\nof the Laced\u00e6monians getting fat, and to prevent this undesirable\nconsummation, the youth were obliged to present themselves undraped\nto the magistrates. Woe to the offenders with prominent stomachs, for\nthey had them punched till the owners hardly knew whether they stood\non their head or their heels, and could not digest a dinner for a month\nafterwards.\n\nThey were beaten almost as badly as the unlucky official who went, in\nParthia, by the name of the king\u2019s friend. It was the duty of this\nminister to seat himself on the ground at the foot of the lofty couch\non which the king lay, and from which the sovereign flung refuse bits\nto his \u201cfriend.\u201d If the latter ate too voraciously, his meat was\nsnatched from him, and he was beaten with rods till he had hardly\nstrength left to thank his majesty for the entertainment. Of course, if\nhe ate too slowly, he was subject to similar castigation. The moral,\nperhaps, is, that \u201cfast\u201d or \u201cslow,\u201d it is safer not to be \u201cfriends\u201d\nwith the king--of the Parthians.\n\nBut let us turn from the ancient records of how the monarchs of old\ndeported themselves at their solemn boards, and contemplate a few brief\ntable traits in connexion with the sovereigns of more modern times.\n\nClovis was a Christian king, but his behaviour at dinner was not always\nso exemplary as might have been desired. But the Chesterfields of his\ntime were not exacting, and they probably thought Clovis a gentleman\nwhen, on Bishop (St. Gerome) taking leave of him after dinner, the\nmonarch pulled out a hair and placed it in the bishop\u2019s palm; the civil\nceremony was imitated by the courtiers, and the prelate left the rude\npalace with more hairs on his hand than he had on his head.\n\nBut dismissing the idea of running regularly through the \u201cTables of\nthe Sovereigns of Europe,\u201d and elsewhere, I will simply relate such\nincidents as are exemplary of royal table life, without pausing to be\nvery nice with regard to chronological order. Thus it occurs to me that\nRussia, in modern times, exhibits as much barbarism as the court of\nClovis, where Christianity and civilization were, as yet, hardly known.\n\nWhen Peter the Great and his consort dined together, they were waited\non by a page and the empress\u2019s favourite chambermaid. Even at larger\ndinners, he bore uneasily the presence and service of what he called\nlistening lacqueys. His taste was not an imperial one. He loved, and\nmost frequently ordered, for his own especial enjoyment, a soup with\nfour cabbages in it; gruel; pig, with sour cream for sauce; cold roast\nmeat, with pickled cucumbers or salad; lemons and lampreys; salt meat,\nham, and Limburgh cheese. Previously to addressing himself to the\n\u201cconsummation\u201d of this supply, he took a glass of aniseed water. At his\nrepast he quaffed quass, a sort of beer, which would have disgusted\nan Egyptian; and he finished with Hungarian or French wine. All this\nwas the repast of a man who seemed, like the nation of which he was\nthe head, in a transition state, between barbarism and civilization;\nbeginning dinner with cabbage water, and closing the banquet with\ngoblets of Burgundy.\n\nPeter and his consort had stranger tastes than these. This illustrious\npair once arrived at Stuthof, in Germany, where they claimed not only\nthe hospitality of the table, but a refuge for the night. The owner\nof the country-house at which they sought to be guests was a Herr\nSchoppenhauer, who readily agreed to give up to them a small bed-room,\nthe selection of which had been made by the emperor himself. It was a\nroom without stove or fire-place, had a brick floor, the walls were\nbare; and the season being that of rigorous winter, a difficulty arose\nas to warming this chamber. The host soon solved the difficulty.\nSeveral casks of brandy were emptied on the floor, the furniture being\nfirst removed, and the spirit was then set fire to. The czar screamed\nwith delight as he saw the sea of flames, and smelt the odour of the\nCognac. The fire was no sooner extinguished than the bed was replaced,\nand Peter and Catherine straightway betook themselves to their repose,\nand not only slept profoundly all night in this gloomy bower, amid the\nfumes and steam of burnt brandy, but rose in the morning thoroughly\nrefreshed and delighted with their couch, and the delicate vapours\nwhich had curtained their repose.\n\nThe emperor was pleased, because when an emergency had presented\nitself, provision to meet it was there at hand. Napoleon loved to be\nso served at his tables when in the field. He was irregular in the\nhours of his repasts, and he ate rapidly and not over delicately. The\nabsolute will which he applied to most things, was exercised also\nin matters appertaining to the appetite. As soon as a sensation of\nhunger was experienced, it must be appeased; and his table service was\nso arranged that, in any place and at any hour, he had but to give\nexpression to his will, and the slaves of his word promptly set before\nhim roast fowls, cutlets, and smoking coffee. He dined off mutton\nbefore risking the battle at Leipsic; and it is said that he lost the\nday because he was suffering so severely from indigestion, that he was\nunable to arrange, with sufficient coolness, the mental calculations\nwhich he was accustomed to make as helps to victory.\n\nAs Napoleon, the genius of war, was served in the field, Louis XV.,\nthe incarnation of selfishness and vice, was served in his mistress\u2019s\nbower. That bower, built at Choisy for Pompadour, cost millions; but\nit was one of the wonders of the world. For the royal entertainments,\nthere were invented those little tables, called \u201cservants\u201d or\n\u201cwaiters;\u201d they were mechanical contrivances, that immortalized the\nartist Loriot. At Choisy, every guest had one of these tables to\nhimself. No servant stood by to listen, rather than lend aid. Whatever\nthe guest desired to have, he had but to write his wish on paper, and\ntouch a spring, when the table sunk through the flooring at his feet,\nand speedily re-appeared, laden with fruits, with pastry, or with\nwine, according to the order given. Nothing had been seen like this\nenchantment in France before; and nothing like it, it is hoped, will\never be seen there or elsewhere again. The guests thought themselves\nlittle gods, and were not a jot more reasonable than Augustus and his\ncompanions, who sat down to dinner attired as deities. When kings ape\nthe majesty of gods, it is time for the people to shake the majesty of\nkings.\n\nPerhaps Louis XV. never looked so little like a king as when he dined\nor supped in public,--a peculiar manifestation of his kingly character.\nThe Parisians and their wives used to hurry down to Versailles on a\nSunday, to behold the feeding of the beast which it cost them so much\nto keep. On these occasions he always had boiled eggs before him. He\nwas uncommonly dexterous in decapitating the shell by a single blow\nfrom his fork; and this feat he performed weekly at his own table, for\nthe sake of the admiration which it excited in the Cockney beholders.\nBut an egg broken by the king, or Damiens broken alive upon the wheel,\nand torn asunder by wild horses,--each was a sight gazed upon, even by\nthe youthful fair, with a sort of admiration for the executioner!\n\nThe glory of the epicureanism of Louis XV. was his \u201cmagic table,\u201d\nand the select worthless people especially invited to dine with him\nthereat. In 1780 the Countess of Oberkirch saw this table, even then\na relic and wreck of the past. She and a gay party of great people,\nwho yet hoped that God had created the world only for the comfort of\nthose whom He had honoured by allowing them to be born \u201cnoble,\u201d paid\na visit \u201cto the apartments of the late king\u201d in the Tuileries. There,\namong other things, she saw the celebrated magic table, the springs\nof which, she says, \u201chad become rusty from disuse.\u201d The good lady,\nwho had not the slightest intention in the world to be satirical,\nthus describes the wondrous article, at the making of which Pompadour\nhad presided:--\u201cIt was placed in the centre of a room, where none\nwere allowed to enter but the invited guests of Louis XV. It would\naccommodate thirty persons. In the centre was a cylinder of gilt\ncopper, which could be pressed down by springs, and would return with\nits top, which was surrounded by a band, covered with dishes. Around\nwere placed four dumb waiters, on which would be found everything that\nwas necessary.\u201d In 1789 the Countess says,--\u201cThis table no longer\nexists, having been long since destroyed, with everything that could\nrecall the last sad years of a monarch, who would have been good if he\nhad not been perverted by evil counsels.\u201d\n\nAfter all, the gastronomic greatness of Louis XV. was small compared\nwith that of his predecessor, Louis XIV. The \u201cstate\u201d of the latter was,\nin all things, more \u201ccumbersome.\u201d To be helpless was to be dignified;\nand to do nothing for himself, and to think of nothing _but_ himself,\nwas the sole life-business of this very illustrious king. A dozen men\ndressed him; there was one for every limb that had to be covered. Poor\nwretch! His breakfast was as lumbering a matter as his _toilette_; and\nhe tasted nothing till it had passed through the hands of half-a-dozen\ndukes. It took even three noblemen, ending with a prince of the\nblood, to present him a napkin with which to wipe his lips, before he\naddressed himself to the more serious business of the day.\n\nLouis XIV. could not be properly got to the dinner-table, entertained\nthere, and removed, without a still more fussy world of ceremony,\nand that of a very Chinese or Ko Tou character. The ushers solemnly\nsummoned the guard when the cloth was to be laid, and a detachment of\nmen under arms were at once spectators and guardians at the dressing\nof the table. They stood by, exceedingly edified, no doubt, while\nthe appointed officers touched the royal napkin, spoon, plate, knife,\nfork, and tooth-picks, with a piece of bread, which they subsequently\nswallowed. This was the \u201ctrial\u201d against poisoning. The dishes in the\nkitchen were tried in the same way, and were then carried to table\nescorted by a file of men with drawn swords. As the dishes were placed\non the table, the loyal officials bowed as though some saintly relics\nwere on the platter!\n\nIf there was ceremony at the coming in of the meat, how much more was\nthere at the coming in of him who was about to eat it! Unhappy wretch!\nwhat splendid misery enveloped his mutton-chop! He was looked upon as\nvery august, but decidedly helpless. Did he wish to wipe his fingers;\nthree dukes and a prince only could present him with a _damp_ napkin;\nbut a dry one might be offered him at dinner, without insult, by a\nsimple valet. Philosophical distinction! Changing his plate required as\nmuch attendant ceremony as would go to the whole crowning of a modern\nconstitutional king; and when he asked for drink, there was thunder\nin heaven, or something like it. The cup-bearer solemnly shouted the\nking\u2019s desire to the buffet; and the buffeteers presented goblets\nand flasks to the cup-bearer, who carried them to the thirsty but\nnecessarily patient monarch; and, when he finally received the draught\ninto his extended throat, all loyal men present seemed the better for\nthe sight.\n\nBut Louis XIV. was so well-used to this, and much more ceremony than I\nhave space to detail, that it interfered in nowise with the comfortable\nindulgence of his appetite. He was a very gifted eater. The rough old\nDuchess of Orleans declares in her Memoirs, that she \u201coften saw him eat\nfour platesful of different soups, a whole pheasant, a partridge, a\nplatefull of salad, mutton hashed with garlick, two good-sized slices\nof ham, a dish of pastry, and afterwards fruit and sweetmeats!\u201d At the\nend of such a repast as this, this \u201cmost Christian\u201d king (very much\nso, indeed!) must have been in something of the condition of the young\ngentleman who went out to dine, and who, after taking enough for three\nboys of his size, and being invited to take more, answered that he\nthought he could, if they would allow him to stand!\n\nThe Duchess of Orleans, however, is by no means astonished at the\nBaal-like ability of the king. Of her own performances in that way\nshe says, \u201cI am not good at lying in bed; as soon as I awake, I must\nget up. I seldom breakfast, and then only on bread and butter. I take\nneither chocolate, nor coffee, nor tea, not being able to endure those\nforeign drugs. I am German in all my habits, and like nothing in eating\nor drinking which is not conformable to our old customs. I eat no\nsoup but such as I can take with milk, wine, or beer. I cannot bear\nbroth; whenever I eat anything of which it forms a part, I fall sick\ninstantly, my body swells, and I am tormented with colics. When I take\nbroth alone, I am compelled to vomit even to blood, and nothing can\nrestore the tone of my stomach but--_ham and sausages_!\u201d Poor lady! she\nreminds me of the converted cannibal Carib, who was once sick, and who\nbeing asked by a missionary what he could eat, answered sentimentally,\nthat he thought he could pick a bone or two of a very delicate hand of\na young child!\n\nAt a later period even than that of the Duchess of Orleans above\nmentioned, the German taste could hardly be said to have improved. For\ninstances of this, I need only refer to the Memoirs of the Margravine\nof Bareuth. This lady was the daughter of that Frederic William of\nPrussia, whose portrait is graphically drawn also by his own son, and\nwith additional light and shade by Voltaire. The Princess Frederica\nsubsequently married the Prince of Bareuth--a _m\u00e9salliance_ which did\nnot displease her easy parents;--they were not as proudly vexed at it\nas Isaac and Rachel were at the marriage of their son Esau with the\ndaughter of Beeri the Hittite, which certainly sounds as if Esau\u2019s\nfather-in-law had been a pugilistic publican;--the Princess Frederica,\nI say, paints a portrait of her father in very broad style. He used to\ncompel her and his other children to come to his room every morning at\nnine o\u2019clock, whence they were never allowed to depart till nine in\nthe evening, \u201cpour quelque raison que ce f\u00fbt.\u201d The time was spent by\nthe affectionate sovereign in swearing at them, and he added injury\nto insult by half-famishing them. He begrudged them even a wretched\nsoup made of bare bones and salt. Occasionally, they were kept fasting\nthe whole day; or, if he graciously allowed them a meal at his own\ntable, the royal beast would spit into the dishes from which he had\nhelped himself, in order to prevent their touching them. At other\ntimes he forced them to swallow compositions of the most disgusting\ndescription--\u201cce qui nous obligeait quelquefois de rendre, en sa\npr\u00e9sence, tout ce que nous avions dans le corps!\u201d He would then throw\nthe plates at their heads; and, as his children rushed by him to escape\nhis fury, the paternal brute, whom it is too much flattery to himself,\nand too much injustice to the brute creation so to name, would strike\nfiercely at them with his crutch, and was eminently disappointed when\nhe failed to crack their little, hard, royal, but very dirty skulls.\nIt is known that this madman would have slain his own son, \u201cthe rascal\nFritz,\u201d as he, \u201cthe great Frederic,\u201d as the world afterwards was used\nto call him; and little doubt can exist that the great Frederic owed\nmost of his great vices, and none of his great qualities, to the\neducation which he received at the knees of his infamous sire.\n\nThe history of the German courts abounds in traits connected with the\ntable, but I am compelled to go little beyond the announcement of such\na fact. One or two more, however, I may be permitted to notice before\nfinally leaving this section of my multifaced subject.\n\nErnest the \u201cIron\u201d was, perhaps, the least luxurious of his race. He\nmarried Cymburga of Poland, the lady who brought into the Austrian\nfamily the thick lips, which to this day form a characteristic feature\nin the imperial physiognomy. Cymburga cracked her nuts with her\nfingers; and when she trained her fruit-trees, she hammered the nails\ninto the wall with her clenched knuckles! Their table was at once\ncopious and simple. Their son Frederic had less strength both of body\nand judgment. At near fourscore years of age he suffered amputation of\nthe leg, in order to get rid of a cancerous affection. He was \u201cdoing\nwell\u201d after the operation, when he resolved upon dining on melons. He\nwas told that such a diet would be fatal to him, as it had already been\nto one Austrian archduke of his house. Frederic reflected that he would\nprobably die at all events, and that he had already reigned longer than\nany emperor since the days of Augustus, namely, fifty-three years. \u201cI\n_will_ have melons,\u201d said he, \u201cbetide what may!\u201d He ate unsparingly,\nand death followed close upon the banquet.\n\nFrederic would neither drink wine himself, nor allow his consort to do\nso, although physicians declared that, without it, she was not likely\nto achieve the honours of maternity. She did abstain, and despite what\nthe oracular doctors had asserted, she became the mother of Maximilian,\na prince who drank wine enough to compensate for the abstinence of\nboth his parents. His second wife, Bianca of Milan, whom Maximilian\nthe \u201cMoneyless\u201d married for her dowry, was, like the lady in Young\u2019s\nSatires, by no means afraid to call things by their very broadest\nnames; and she died of an indigestion, brought on by eating too\nvoraciously of snails! They were of the large and lively sort, still\nreared for the market in the field-preserves near Ulm. If my readers\nshould feel sick at the thought, let them remember their juvenile days,\nand \u201cperiwinkles,\u201d and be gentle in their strictures. Leopold the\n\u201cAngel,\u201d the second son of the Emperor Ferdinand, surpassed even his\nfather in abstinence. He reared the most odoriferous of plants, but\ninflicted on himself the mortification of never going near enough to\nscent them; and, poor man! he thought that thereby he was adding a step\nto a ladder of good works, by which he hoped to scale heaven!\n\nThe grandson of Ferdinand, Joseph I., was a somewhat free liver, and\nhis intemperate diet was against him when he caught the small-pox. But\nthe medical men were fiercer foes than his way of life; for when the\neruption was at its worst, they hermetically closed his apartment, kept\nup a blazing fire in it, gave him strong drinks, swathed him in twenty\nyards of English scarlet broadcloth, and then published, on his dying,\nthat his majesty\u2019s decease was contrary to all the rules of art. His\nbrother and successor, Charles, did for himself what the doctors did\nfor Joseph. In 1740 he had the gout, and _would_ go out hunting in the\nwet. He was subsequently seized with what would now be called incipient\ncholera, and he _would_ eat--not melons, like some of his obstinate and\nimperial predecessors, but that delicate dish for an invalid, mushrooms\nstewed in oil! He ate voraciously, and the next day symptoms ensued\nwhich, he was informed, heralded death. Charles, like Louis Philippe,\nwould not believe his own medical advisers; and there was some reason\nin this, for they stood at his bed-side, disputing as to whether\nmushrooms were a digestible diet or the contrary. The emperor dismissed\nthem from his presence, ordered his favourite mushrooms, ate the\nforbidden \u201cfruit\u201d with intense gastronomic delight, and died in peace.\n\nThe table of the great Frederic of Prussia was regulated by himself.\nThere were always from nine to a dozen dishes, and these were brought\nin one at a time. The king carved the solitary dish, and helped the\ncompany. One singular circumstance connected with this table was,\nthat each dish was cooked by a different cook, who had a kitchen to\nhimself! There was much consequent expense, with little magnificence.\nFrederic ate and drank, too, like a boon companion. His last work,\nbefore retiring to bed, was to receive from his chief cook the bill\nof fare for the next day; the price of each dish, and of its separate\ningredients, was marked in the margin. The monarch looked it cautiously\nthrough, generally made out an improved edition, cursed all cooks\nas common thieves, and then flung down the money for the next day\u2019s\nexpenses.\n\nThe late King of Prussia was a sensible man with respect to his table\narrangements. On gala days, and when it concerned the honour of Prussia\nthat the royal hospitality should assume an appearance of splendour,\nhis table was as glittering and gastronomic as goldsmiths and cooks\ncould make it. But in the routine of private and unofficial life, it\nwas simply that of an opulent merchant, something, perhaps, like that\nof Sir Balaam after he had grown rich. Even then he partook only of\nthe least savoury dishes, and it was seldom, indeed, that he exceeded\na third glass of wine. His example enforced moderation, but it did not\nmar enjoyment, for he loved every man around him to be merry and wise.\n\nHis own wisdom he manifested by a characteristic trait in 1809. The\nroyal family had returned to Berlin for the first time since the war\nhad broken out in 1806. The court marshal, deeming that the piping\ntimes of peace were going to endure for ever, waited on Frederic\nWilliam, and asked what amount of champagne he should order for\nthe royal cellars. \u201cNone,\u201d replied the king; \u201cI will drink neither\nchampagne nor any other wine, until all my subjects--even the very\npoorest--can afford to drink beer again.\u201d The incident was made\npublic, and the king\u2019s poor neighbours were especially delighted. Many\nof them testified their gratitude by sending from their gardens or\nlittle farms various articles for his table. The king ate thereof with\npleasure, and did _not_ forget the givers.\n\nI have spoken of his moderation, but here is an additional trait from\nhis table worth mentioning. When he came to the crown, the grand\nmarshal proposed a more extended list of viands for the royal table.\n\u201cMarshal,\u201d said the king in reply, \u201cI do not feel that my stomach has\nbecome more capacious since I became king. We will let well alone, and\ndine to-day even as we have done heretofore.\u201d\n\nIn another page I have spoken of Bishop Eglert supping with the king.\nSuch a guest was not an unfrequent one at the royal dining-table. On\none occasion the bishop had preached before the court in the morning\nfrom Luke xiv. 8-11: \u201cWhen thou art bidden of any man to a wedding, sit\nnot down in the highest room, lest a more honourable man than thou be\nbidden of him; and he that bade thee and him come and say unto thee,\nGive this man place, and thou begin with shame to take the lower room,\u201d\n&c. &c.\n\nThe bishop profited by the opportunity to expatiate on the virtues of\ndiffidence and humility, insisting on their observance as necessary for\nthe preservation of our happiness. Now, many dignified officials were\npresent at the banquet in question, and the bishop, who had entered the\nsaloon last, (which does not say much for the courtesy of those who\npreceded him,) meekly took his place at the lower end of the table.\nThere the king\u2019s scrutinizing eye fell upon him; and \u201cEglert,\u201d said\nFrederic William, \u201cI see you are self-applying the text from which you\npreached to us to-day. But, if I remember rightly, it is also written,\n\u2018Friend, go higher.\u2019 Come, then, take this chair that is near to me!\u201d\nand the simple but highly embarrassed prelate walked blushingly to the\nstation appointed him, and all in his vicinity began to recognise a man\nwhom the king himself delighted to honour.\n\nThis anecdote reminds me, albeit it be \u201crue with a difference,\u201d of\none told of the second of the seven Dukes of Guise, Duke Francis.\nThis celebrated individual was, during one part of his bloody career,\nengaged in the service of the Pope, to fight the battles of the latter\nagainst the King of Naples. He was not successful, and his holiness\nshowered down upon him mordant epigrams and invitations to dinner.\nHe had accepted one of the latter, and repaired to the sacro-regal\nboard, after a day in the course of which he had been engaged serving\nas acolyte in the Papal chapel, and holding up the trains of very\nobese cardinals. In the banqueting-hall of the descendant of the poor\nfisherman, he meekly took the lowest seat. He had scarcely done so,\nthan a French lieutenant endeavoured to thrust in below him. \u201cHow now,\nfriend!\u201d said the haughty enough Guise; \u201cwhy pushest thou so rudely to\ncome where there is no room for thee?\u201d \u201cMarry!\u201d said the soldier, \u201cfor\nthis reason, that it might not be said that the representative of a\nking of France had taken the last place at a priest\u2019s table!\u201d It was a\nbold piece of table-talk to so powerful a man as Guise, who recovered,\nand added to his reputation when he subsequently regained, Calais from\nthe English. Previously to this last feat, when the occupation of\nCalais formed the subject of conversation at social boards, there arose\nthe proverbial expression applied to the bravest of untried men, and\nhonourable to the reputation of our own ancestors,--\u201c_He_ is not the\nsort of man to drive the English out of France!\u201d The proverb died out\nof French society from the day when Guise drove old Lord Wentworth out\nof Calais, and cheated his duchess out of the silks which he found\ntherein, and in which he attired the courtesans whom he invited to his\nducal but _not_ dignified table.\n\nIt may fairly be asserted that kings may wear as graceful an aspect as\nguests at others\u2019 tables, as they do when enacting the host at their\nown. The Prince Regent, dining off the mutton which he had helped to\ncook at Colonel Hanger\u2019s, is indeed no very edifying spectacle. I\nwill introduce my readers to a royal guest of what Hamlet would call\n\u201canother kidney.\u201d\n\nWhen the Prussian general Koeckeritz had completed his fiftieth year\nof service in 1809, he was residing in modest apartments, becoming\nhis celibate condition, near the Neustadt Gate at Potsdam. On the\ndawn of the day of his martial jubilee, he was harmoniously greeted\nby the bands of the garrison; but the hautboys did not discourse such\nsweet music as was conveyed to him in a letter from the king, full of\nexpressions of gratitude for services rendered by him during a long\nhalf century to the crown. At a grand review held in honour of the day,\nthe king embraced him in presence of the army, giving in his person the\naccolade to every other faithful soldier who had served as long; and\nwhen this had been done, Frederic William not only declared he would\nescort the old warrior to his plainly furnished lodgings, but requested\nto be invited to the _d\u00e9jeuner \u00e0 la fourchette_, which he assumed must\nthen be wanting. Koeckeritz had the pride of Caleb Balderstone, and he\nturned pale at the idea of exposing his domestic economy to the eyes\nof a king and court. He grew eloquent in excuses, protested that he\nwas unworthy of the honour designed for him, and piteously muttered\nan apologetical phrase about \u201cold bachelors.\u201d \u201cThen why are you a\nbachelor?\u201d asked the monarch: \u201cI have often counselled you to marry,\nand this very day you shall be punished for your disobedience.\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d\nsaid the general, with a sigh, denoting the resignation of despair,\n\u201cif it must be so, I trust your majesty will allow me a few hours in\norder to make fitting preparation.\u201d The spirit that possessed Caleb\nBalderstone suggested this petition. \u201cNot five minutes!\u201d exclaimed the\nsovereign; \u201cyou surely have a crust of bread and a glass of wine to\ngive to us who are your comrades, and we desire no more! Come along,\ngentlemen!\u201d\n\nOf course, no further resistance was to be thought of, and the gay and\nbrilliant escort led the grave Koeckeritz along, looking very much like\na criminal who was about to be hanged with riotous solemnity at his own\ngates.\n\nBut, when he reached those gates, his surprise was extreme. The\nthreshold was covered with flowers, the little hall was lined with\nthe royal servants in their state suits, and the space in front of\nthe house was partly occupied by a score of \u201ctrumpets,\u201d who no sooner\nperceived the approach of the hero of the day than they received him,\nas our theatrical orchestras do stage kings, with a \u201cflourish.\u201d It\nis hardly necessary to add, that when the old general conducted his\nguests within, he found there such a banquet as Aladdin furnished his\nwidowed mother with by means of the lamp. Everything was there, whether\nin or out of season; and the rare-looking flasks promised pleasure\nless equivocal than that held out by a Calais Boniface upon his cards,\nwhereon his English visitors were told, that \u201cthe wine shall leave you\nnothing to hope for!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! oh!\u201d exclaimed the king, \u201chere is bachelor\u2019s fare with a\nvengeance! Let us be seated, and show that our appetites can appreciate\nwhat our comrade Koeckeritz has provided for them.\u201d Monarch and\nservant, honouring and honoured, sat side by side; and so gay and so\nprolonged was the festival, that the king surprised all those who knew\nhow strictly he lived by rule, by ordering the dinner at the palace to\nbe retarded for a couple of hours. At that banquet he entertained the\nveteran, affecting to do so in return for the hospitality displayed\nby the latter in the morning. The scene was not without its moving\nincidents, for the king had contrived another surprise whereby to\ngratify his old friend and servant. As the monarch led him by the hand\nto the dining-room, there stood before him three of the surviving\nfriends of his youth who had fought with him in the Seven Years\u2019 War,\nand whom he had not seen for years. The king had got them together,\nnot without difficulty; the general joy that ensued was as unalloyed\nas humanity could make it, and never did monarch sit at meat with\nmore right to feel pleased, than Frederic William on this day of\nKoeckeritz\u2019s jubilee. It was a day that Henri IV. of France would\nhave delighted in. That king is said never to have dined better than\none evening previous to the battle of Ivry, when he was sojourning\nin a country-house under the name of a French officer. There were\nno provisions there, but the solitary lady who was the chatelaine\nintimated that there was a retired tradesman who lived near, who was\nthe possessor of a fine turkey, and who would contribute it towards\na dinner, if he were only invited to partake of it. \u201cIs he a jolly\ncompanion?\u201d asked the supposed officer. The reply being affirmatively,\nthe citizen and turkey were invited together, and two merrier guests\nnever sat down with a lady to cut up a bird and crush a bottle. Henri\nwas in the most radiant of humours; and it was when he was at his\nbrightest, that the _bourgeois_ avowed that he had known him from the\nbeginning, and that after dining with a king of France, he trusted\nthat the monarch would not object to grant him letters of nobility.\nHenri laughed, which was as good as consenting, and asked what arms his\ncountship would assume? \u201cI will emblazon the turkey that founded my\ngood fortune,\u201d answered the aspirant for nobility. \u201cVentre Saint-Gris!\u201d\nexclaimed the king, laughing more immoderately, \u201cthen you shall be\na gentleman, and bear your turkey \u2019en pal\u2019 on a shield!\u201d The happy\ncitizen purchased a territorial manor near Alen\u00e7on, and le Comte Morel\nd\u2019Inde was _not_ a _conte pour rire_.\n\nThe Russian Empress Catherine used to affect the good-fellowship that\nwas natural to the first of the Bourbon kings of France. When she dined\nwith the highly honoured officers of the regiment of which she was\ncolonel, she used to hand to each a glass of spirits before the banquet\ncommenced. At her own table the number of guests was usually select,\ngenerally under a dozen. The lord of the bed-chamber sat opposite to\nher, her own seat being at the centre of one of the sides, carved one\nof the dishes, and presented it to her. She took once of what was so\noffered, but afterwards dispensed with such service. In her days, many\nof the Russian nobility kept open tables. Any one who had been duly\nintroduced, and knew not where to dine, had only to call at a house\nwhere he was known, and to leave word that he intended to dine there\nin the afternoon. He was sure to be welcomed. At the present time, the\nRussians are more civilized and less hospitable.\n\nJermann describes the imperial kitchen at St. Petersburg as good,\ndelicate, and \u201cmeagre,\u201d--the latter being a consequence of the\ncontinual eating that is going on, and the necessity which follows of\nproviding what is light of digestion. The imperial household tables in\nthe days of Paul were divided into \u201cstations,\u201d an arrangement which\ntook its rise from a singular incident. The late empress, like our own\nQueen Adelaide, was given to inspect the \u201cdomestic accounts,\u201d and she\nwas puzzled by finding among them \u201ca bottle of rum\u201d daily charged to\nthe Naslednik, or heir apparent! Her imperial Majesty turned over the\nold \u201cexpenses\u201d of the household, to discover at what period her son had\ncommenced this reprobate course of daily rum-drinking; and found, if\nnot to her horror, at least to the increase of her perplexity, that it\ndated from the very day of his birth. The \u201cbottle of rum\u201d began with\nthe baby, accompanied the boy, and continued to be charged to the man.\nHe was charged as drinking upwards of thirty dozen of fine old Jamaica\nyearly! The imperial mother was anxious to discover if any other of the\nCzarovitch babies had exhibited the same alcoholic precocity; and it\nappears that they were all alike; daily, for upwards of a century back,\nthey stood credited in the household books for that terrible \u201cbottle\nof rum.\u201d The empress continued her researches with the zeal of an\nantiquary, and her labours were not unrewarded. She at last reached the\noriginal entry. Like all succeeding ones, it was to the effect of \u201ca\nbottle of rum for the Naslednik;\u201d but a sort of editorial note on the\nmargin of the same page intimated the wherefore: \u201cOn account of violent\ntoothache, a teaspoonful with sugar to be given, by order of the\nphysician of the imperial court.\u201d The teaspoonful for one day had been\ncharged as a bottle, and the entry once made, it was kept on the books\nto the profit of the unrighteous steward, until discovery checked the\nfraud,--a fraud, more gigantically amusing than that of the illiterate\ncoachman, who set down in his harness-room book, \u201cTwo penn\u2019orth of\nwhipcord, 6_d._\u201d The empress showed the venerable delinquency to her\nhusband, Paul; and _he_, calculating what the temporary toothache of\nthe imperial baby Alexander had cost him, was affrighted at the outlay,\nand declared that he would revolutionise the kitchen department, and\nput himself out to board. The threat was not idly made, and it was soon\nseriously realized. A gastronomic contractor was found who farmed the\nwhole palace, and did his spiriting admirably. He divided the imperial\nhousehold into \u201cstations.\u201d The first was the monarch\u2019s especial table,\nfor the supply of which he charged the emperor and empress fifty\nroubles each daily; the table of the archdukes and archduchesses was\nsupplied at half that price; the guests of that table, of whatever\nrank, were served at the same cost. The ladies and gentlemen of the\nhousehold had a \u201cstation,\u201d which was exceedingly well provisioned, at\ntwenty roubles each. The graduated sliding scale continued to descend\nin proportion to the _status_ of the feeders. The upper servants had\nsuperior stomachs, which were accounted of as being implacable at\nless than fifteen roubles each. Servants in livery, with finer lace\nbut coarser digestions, dieted daily at five roubles each; and the\ngrooms and scullions were taken altogether at three roubles a head. \u201cA\nwonderful change,\u201d says Jermann, \u201censued in the whole winter palace.\nThe emperor declared he had never dined so well before. The court,\ntempted by the more numerous courses, sat far longer at table. The\nmaids of honour got fresh bloom upon their cheeks, and the chamberlains\nand equerries rounder faces; and most flourishing of all was the state\nof the household expenses, although these diminished by one-half. In\nshort, every one, save cook and butler, was content; and all this was\nthe result of \u2018a bottle of rum,\u2019 from which the Emperor Alexander, when\nheir to the crown, had been ordered by the physician to take a spoonful\nfor the toothache.\u201d\n\nHerr Jermann, who was manager of the imperial company of German actors\nin St. Petersburg, frequently dined at the table of the \u201csecond\nstation,\u201d or officials\u2019 table. There were six dishes and a capital\ndessert. He describes the \u201cdrinkables\u201d as consisting of one bottle of\nred and one of white wine, two bottles of beer, one of kislitschi,\nand quass _ad libitum_. The dinner he speaks lightly of, as inferior\non the point of cookery to that of the best restaurants in the\ncapital. The wine was a light Burgundy; the beer heavy and Russian.\nThe kislitschi must have been a powerful crusher of the appetite, it\nbeing a sour-sweet drink, prepared from honey, water, lemon-juice, and\na decoction of herbs. Quass is a plain, cheap beverage, the better\nsort of which is extracted from malt, while an inferior sort is an\nextract of bread-crusts. It is the national drink of the lower orders.\nA stranger finds it at first detestable; but he not only soon becomes\nreconciled to it, but generally prefers it to any other beverage,\nespecially in the brief scorching summer of St. Petersburg, when the\ncooling properties of quass are its great recommendation.\n\nTo talk of the fierceness of a Russian summer seems paradoxical, but it\nis simple truth; and probably the court of Naples itself, throughout\nits long season of heat, does not consume so much ice as their\nimperial Muscovite majesties do in the course of their slow-to-come,\nquick-to-go, and sharp-while-it-lasts summer. Nay, the whole capital\neats ice at this season. Ice is thought such a \u201cnecessary\u201d of life,\nthat the first question in taking a house is, probably, touching the\nquality and capability of the ice-cellar, wherein they pack away as\nmuch of the Neva as they can in solid blocks. They eat it and drink\nit, surround their larders with it, and mix it with the water, beer,\nquass--in short, with whatever they drink. Nay, more, when there is\na superabundance of the material, they place it under their beds and\non their stoves to cool their apartments. So tremendous is the dust\nand heat of a Russian summer, that, for inconvenience, it is only\nthe opposite extreme of annoyance to that experienced in the wintry\nvisitations of frost. The ice-tubs of the popular vendors in the\nstreets are enveloped and covered with wet cloths, to protect them\nfrom the heat of the sun. I need not say that this is _not_ the season\nat which a visitor should resort to the capital. St. Petersburg in\nJanuary, and Naples in July, are the respective times and places to be\nobserved by those who can bear the consequences.\n\nI do not know what may be the case with regard to the fruit eaten at\nthe imperial table; but, generally speaking, fruit is never eaten by a\nRussian until it has been blest by a priest. Jermann, alluding to this\ncustom, praises it on sanitary grounds, for, he says, the fruit has no\nchance of earning a benediction unless it be ripe; but if it then be\ntaken to church, the blessing is granted with much attendant solemnity.\n\nI do not believe that the czars were ever accustomed to dine in such\nstate as the kaisers. The old emperors of Germany, on state occasions,\nwere waited on at dinner by the two happy feudatory princes of the\nempire. On one of these occasions, we are told that old General\nDalzell, the terrible enemy of the Scottish Covenanters, was invited\nto dine with the kaiser, and the prince-waiter nearest to him in\nattendance was no less a personage than the Prince of Modena, head of\nthe house of Este. Some years afterwards, the Duke of York (James II.)\ninvited Dalzell to dine with himself and Mary of Modena. That proud\nlady, however, made some show of reluctance to sit down _en famille_\nwith the old general; but the latter lowered her pride by telling her,\nthat he was not unacquainted with the greatness of the princes of\nModena, and that the last time he had sat at table with the Emperor of\nGermany, a prince of that house was standing in attendance behind the\nemperor\u2019s chair.\n\nThere were other good points about Dalzell\u2019s character; in proof of\nwhich may be cited his dining with Dundas, an old Covenanting Scotch\nlaird, who would _not_ forego his long prayers before dinner, and who\nespecially prayed that Dalzell and his royal master might have their\nhard hearts softened towards the Covenanting children of the Lord. When\nthe prayer was ended, and dinner about to begin, Dalzell complimented\nhis host on his courage in fearing man less than God. The anecdote\nreminds me of one in connexion with a dinner given by a gentleman of\none of our \u201cProtestant denominations,\u201d in honour of the presence of\na new minister and his bride. Prayer preceded the repast, and it was\ngiven by the host, who, introducing therein the welcomed strangers,\nsaid, \u201cWe thank thee, O Lord, that thou hast conducted hither in safety\nthy servants, our new minister and his wife. It is thou, O Lord, who\npreservest both man and beast!\u201d This was more like a kick than a\ncompliment; but it only called up a smile on the pretty features of the\nminister\u2019s lady.\n\nLet us now cross the Atlantic, with Cortez and his companions, and\ncontemplate Montezuma in his household and at his table. Barbarian\nas the Spanish invaders accounted him to be, he was superior in many\nrespects to most of his royal contemporaries in Europe. He was not less\nmagnificent than Solomon, and he was far more cleanly than Louis XIV.\n\nOn the terraced roof of his palace, thirty knights could tilt at\neach other, without complaining of want of space. His armouries were\nfilled with weapons almost as destructive as any to be found in the\narsenals of civilized Christian kings. His granaries were furnished\nwith provisions paid by tributaries; three hundred servants tended the\nbeautiful birds of his aviaries; his menageries were the wonder and\nterror of beholders; and his dwarfs were more hideous, and his ladies\nmore dazzling, than potentate had ever before looked upon with contempt\nor admiration. His palace within and without was a marvel of Aztec art.\nIt was surrounded by gardens, glad with fountains and gay flowers. One\nthousand ladies shared the retirement of this splendid locality, with\na master more glittering than anything by which he was environed,--who\nchanged his apparel four times daily, never putting on again a garment\nhe had once worn, and who, eating off and drinking from gold, (except\non state occasions, when his table was covered with services of\nCholulan porcelain,) never used a second time the vessels which had\nonce ministered to the indulgence of his appetite.\n\nIt is said eulogistically of his cooks, that they had thirty different\nways of preparing meat,--a poor boast, perhaps, compared with that of\nthe Parisian _chefs_, who have six hundred and eighty-five ways to\ndress eggs! Three hundred dishes were daily placed before the monarch;\nand such as were required to be kept hot at table were in heated\nearthenware stands made for the purpose. And it is even asserted, that\nthis autocrat occasionally killed time before dinner by watching the\ncooking of his viands, a practice in which, according to Peter Pinder,\nthat honest old English king used to indulge, who dined off boiled\nmutton at two, and to whom the funniest sight in the world was the\nclown in a pantomime swallowing carrots.\n\nThe ordinary dishes of Montezuma consisted of very dainty fare;\nnamely, domestic fowls, geese, partridges, quails, venison, Indian\nhogs, pigeons, hares, rabbits, and other productions of his country,\nincluding--it is alleged by some and denied by others--some very choice\ndairy-fed baby, when this choice article happened to be in season! In\ncold weather enormous torches, that flung forth not only light but\nwarmth and aromatic odours, lent additional splendour to the scene;\nand to temper at once the glare and the heat, screens with deliciously\ndroll devices upon them, framed in gold, were placed before the\nbrilliant flame.\n\nThe sovereign sat, like his links, also protected by a screen. He was\nnot as barbarous as the most Christian kings of France, who fed in\npublic; nor was he personally tended like them by awkward Ganymedes\nof a middle age. Four Hebes stood by the low throne and table of\ntheir master, and these poured water on his hands, and offered him\nthe napkin, white as driven snow, or as the cloth on which the four\nhundred dishes stood waiting his attention. Women as fair presented him\nwith bread; but even these fair ministers retired a few steps, when\nhis sacred majesty addressed himself to the common process of eating.\nThen a number of ancient but sprightly nobles took their place. With\nthese Montezuma conversed; and, when he was particularly pleased with a\nsage observation or a sprightly remark, a plate of pudding bestowed by\nthe royal hand made one individual happy, and all his fellows bitterly\njealous. The pudding, or whatever the dish might be, was eaten in\nsilent reverence; and while an Aztec emperor was at meat, no one in the\npalace dared, at peril of his life, speak above his breath. Montezuma\nis described as being but a moderate eater, but fond of fruits, and\nindulging, with constraint upon his appetite, in certain drinks which\nwere of a stimulating quality, such as are found in countries where\ncivilization and luxury are at their highest.\n\n\u201cOne thing I forgot, and no wonder,\u201d says Bernal Diaz, \u201cto mention in\nits place, and that is, during the time Montezuma was at dinner, two\nvery beautiful women were busily employed making small cakes, with eggs\nand other things mixed therein. These were delicately white, and when\nmade, they presented them to him on plates covered with napkins. Also,\nanother kind of bread was brought to him on long leaves, and plates\nof cakes resembling wafers. After he had dined, they presented to him\nthree little canes, highly ornamented, containing liquid amber, mixed\nwith a herb they call tobacco; and when he had sufficiently viewed\nand heard the singers, dancers, and buffoons, he took a little of the\nsmoke of one of those canes, and then laid himself down to sleep. The\nmeal of the monarch ended, all his guards and attendants sat down to\ndinner, and, as near as I could judge, about a thousand plates of those\neatables that I have mentioned, were laid before them, with vessels\nof foaming chocolate, and fruit in immense quantities. For his women\nand various inferior servants, his establishment was of a prodigious\nexpense, and we were astonished, amid such a profusion, at the vast\nregularity that prevailed.\u201d\n\nWhat a contrast with the meal of this splendid barbarian is that of\nprinces of the same complexion, but of different race, the Arab! We\nmay fittingly include among sovereigns those Arab princes whose word,\nif it be not heeded far, is promptly obeyed within the little circle\nof their rule. Skins on the ground serve for table-cloths; the dishes\nare, in their contents, only the reflection of each other, and in the\ncentre of the array whole lambs or sheep lie boiled or roasted. The\nchief and his followers dine in successive relays of company. Sometimes\nthe skin is spread before the door of the tent, whether in a street or\nin the plain, and the passers-by, even to the beggars, invited with\na \u201cBismillah,\u201d In God\u2019s name, fall to; and having eaten, exclaim,\n\u201cHamdallilah!\u201d God be praised! and go their way.\n\nNot less may we include, in the roll of Majesty at Meat, those Pilgrim\nFathers who were the pioneers of civilization and liberty in America.\nScant indeed was the table of that \u201csovereign people,\u201d until they found\nsecurity to sow seed, and reap the harvest in something like peace. The\nfirst meal which they enjoyed, after long months of labour, disease,\nand famine, was when they had constructed the little fort at Plymouth,\nbehind which they might eat in safety and thankfulness. \u201cThe captain,\u201d\nsays Mr. Bartlett, in his \u201cPilgrim Fathers,\u201d \u201chad brought with him \u2018a\nvery fat goose,\u2019 and those on shore had \u2018a fat crane, and a mallard,\u2019\nand \u2018a dried neat\u2019s tongue.\u2019 This fare was, no doubt, washed down\nwith good English beer and strong waters; and thus, notwithstanding\nthe gloom that hung over them, the day passed cheerfully and sociably\naway.\u201d Such was the first official dinner of the \u201cmajesty of the\npeople\u201d beyond the Atlantic.\n\nAnd having got to the \u201cmajesty of the people,\u201d I am reminded of a\n\u201cpopular majesty,\u201d the citizen king, Louis Philippe. He was a monarch\neconomically minded, and kept the most modest yet not worst furnished\nof tables. His family often sate down before he arrived, detained as\nhe often was by state affairs. When all rose as he quietly entered the\ndining-room, his stereotyped phrase was, \u201cQue personne ne se d\u00e9range\npour moi,\u201d and therewith ensued as little ceremony as when \u201cWilliam\nSmith\u201d and his household sate down to an uncrowned dinner at the little\ninn at Newhaven.\n\nThey who are curious to see how admirably Louis Philippe was\nconstituted for making a poor-law commissioner, or a parochial\nrelieving overseer, should peruse the graphic biography of the king\nwritten by Alexander Dumas. Therein is a list, made out by the monarch,\nof what he thought was sufficient for the table of the princes and\nprincesses; and Louis of Orleans condescends to name the number of\nplates of soup, or cups of coffee, that he deemed sufficient for the\nrequirement and support of the younger branches of his house. It shows\nthat the soul of a crafty \u201cgargottier\u201d was in the body of the citizen\nking. But we have not yet contemplated the appearance and behaviour of\nour own sovereigns at table, out of respect for whom we now allot a\nchapter, but a brief one, to themselves.\n\n\n\n\nENGLISH KINGS AT THEIR TABLES.\n\n\nThe utilitarians of history have declared that half our treasured\nincidents of story are myths. Rufus was not slain by Sir Walter\nTyrrell; Richard III. was a marvellously proper man; and the young\nprinces were not smothered in the Tower. They have laid their hands on\nour legends, as Augustus did his on the nose of the dead Alexander,\nand with the same effect,--under the touch it crumbled into dust. The\ninfidels refuse even to have faith in that table trait of Alfred, which\nshowed him making cakes, or rather marring them, in the neatherd\u2019s\ncottage. Mr. Wilkie may have prettily painted the incident, but its\nexistence, anywhere but on canvas and in the poet\u2019s brain, they\nruthlessly deny. I do not know but that they are right.\n\nWe march into the bowels of more trustworthy ground, when we pass the\nfrontier of the Roman period. William the Norman we know had a huge\nappetite for venison; and the Saxon chronicler says, that he loved the\n\u201chigh deer\u201d as if he had been their father, which is but an equivocal\ncompliment to his paternal affection. His table indulgences cost the\nlife of hundreds, and the ruin of tens of hundreds. It brought on\ncorpulency; his corpulency begot a poor joke in Philip of France;\nand of this joke was born such wrath in the soul of William, that he\ncarried fire and sword into that kingdom, and was cut short in his\ncareer, ere he had accomplished the full measure of his revenge.\n\nRufus was as fat as his father, and as majestic both in his oaths\nand his appetites. To every passion he yielded himself a slave; and\nhe feasted, like so many who would affect to be disgusted at his\ndishonesty, without troubling himself as to who \u201csuffered.\u201d He never\npaid a creditor whom he could cheat; and again, like many of the same\nclass, he was most affable at table; his drinking companions were on\nan equality with him; and in such fellowship, over gross food and huge\ngoblets mantling to the brim, he cut unclean jokes on his own unclean\ndeeds, at which his servile and drunken hearers roared consumedly, and\nswore he was a god. There was some grandeur in his ideas, however,\nfor he built Westminster Hall, as a vestibule to a palace, wherein he\nintended to hold high revel such as the world had never seen; and a\nvestibule it has now become, but to a palace wherein sits a different\nsort of dignity to that dreamed of by the low-statured, fat, fierce,\nand huge feeding Rufus.\n\nAll the Norman kings were fearful objects at which to fling jokes; and\nthe appetite of Henry I. was ruined, and his sanguinary ire aroused,\nby a derisive passage in a poem by Luke de Barr\u00e9. The king made the\ntable shake as he declared that he would let wretched versifiers know\nwhat they were to expect if they offended the King of England; and\nBarr\u00e9 suffered the loss of his eyes. Henry ate and drank none the less\njoyously for the dead. But _Beauclerc_ was a more refined _gastronome_\nthan his brothers, as befitted his name; and though in many respects\nhis court was horribly licentious, yet when he went from one demesne\nto another, to consume its revenues upon the spot, the feasting there\nseems to have been attended by as much moderation as merriment.\n\nStephen had more to do with fighting than feasting, and with keeping\ncastles rather than cooks; but he knew how to gain allies by the fine\nscience of giving dinners, and there was no more courteous host than\nhe. While the king and the barons kept high mirth, however, the people\nwere in the lowest misery. While the king gave political feasts, his\nsubjects were perishing of starvation by thousands.\n\nHis successor, the Second Henry, was but a poor patron of cooks, as\nwas to be expected of a monarch who had continually to defend himself\nagainst the rebellions, not only of subjects, but of his own children.\nOf the latter, the only one who loved him was his natural son Geoffrey.\nIt is no wonder that this melancholy king was the first to do away with\nthe old custom of having a coronation dinner thrice every year, on\nassembling the States at the three great festivals. He was ever in the\nmidst of affrays; and once he fell among a body of monks, who checked\ntheir turbulence to complain to the king; their complaint being that\ntheir abbot, the Bishop of Winchester, had cut off three dishes from\ntheir table. \u201cHow many has he left you?\u201d said the king. \u201cGood heavens!\u201d\nsaid the monks, \u201che has only left us ten.\u201d \u201cTen!\u201d said the monarch; \u201cI\nam content with but three; and I hope your bishop will reduce you to a\nlevel with your king.\u201d They, of course, were highly disgusted at the\nremark.\n\nRichard C\u0153ur de Lion, that copper monarch, was too busy with mischief\nto have leisure for much banqueting; but he loved one thing, and\nthat was venison, the poor stealers of which he punished by the most\nhorrible of mutilations. In his reign, an ox and a horse cost four\nshillings each; a sow was to be bought for a shilling; a sheep with\nfine wool, for tenpence, and with coarse wool, for sixpence; so that,\ntaking into account the difference in the valuation of money, people\nwho _had_ the money to purchase with, could procure mutton and pork\nat a rate about a dozen times cheaper than the same articles can be\nprocured at now. The sovereign did not trouble himself about paying\nanybody; and when he gave a banquet, the very last thing he thought of\nwas whether it were ever paid for or not.\n\nRichard had no virtue but courage; and John resembled his worthless\nbrother in every thing _but_ courage. He had the same love for venison;\nand a joke at dinner upon a fat haunch, which he said had come from a\nnoble beast that had never heard mass, was looked upon by the clerical\ngentlemen present as a reflection upon their corpulency. They never\nforgot it; and it was, perhaps, partly a consequence of their retentive\nmemory, that the monks of Swineshead poisoned the dish of which the\nking partook on the occasion of almost his last dinner. He certainly\nnever _enjoyed_ another.\n\nHenry III. was the first of our kings whose reign exceeded\nhalf-a-century in duration. He was a moderate man, loved plain fare,\nand cared more for masses than merriment. He was an easy, indolent\nmonarch, with troubles enough to have fired him to activity; but he\nwould have given half his realm for the privilege of daily dining in\npeace and quietness, a boon seldom vouchsafed to him. His subjects must\nhave dined as ill as himself, if we may judge by the extraordinary\nvariation in the prices of articles of consumption during his reign.\nThus the price of wheat, for instance, varied from one shilling to\na pound a quarter. The royal statute upon ale rather displeased all\ncitizens of this period, for by it the price was fixed at a halfpenny\nper gallon in cities, while in the country the same quantity might be\nsold for a farthing. A gallon of ale for a halfpenny ought, however, to\nhave satisfied the most thirsty of drinkers.\n\nThe frugal Edward I. very little patronised either eating or drinking,\nbeyond what nature required. He was a very moderate wine-drinker,\nbut he exceedingly offended those who were otherwise, by imposing a\nduty of two shillings a tun on all wine imported, over and above the\nold existing duty. The unlucky Edward II. was to the first Edward,\nwhat Louis XVI. was to Louis XIV., the scape-goat for the crimes of a\npredecessor and tyrant too powerful to be resisted. The banqueting-room\nof this Edward, however, was, as is often the case with such princes,\noftener used than the council-room, and the favourites feasted with\ntheir weak lord until rebellion marred the festivity. There never was a\nmerrier reign (despite public calamity) closed by so terrible a murder\nas that of this king, whose last dinner would have almost disgusted a\ndog.\n\nEdward III. was a gorgeous patroniser of the culinary art; the cooks\nand his guests adored him; and Windsor Castle, which he built as a\nfortress and a pleasaunce, is a monument of his power and his taste.\nBut his love for good cheer was imitated by his subjects to their ruin;\nand king and parliament interfered to remedy by penalty, what might\nhave been obviated by good example. Servants were prohibited from\neating flesh, meat, or fish, above once a day. By another law, it was\nordained that no one should be allowed, either for dinner or supper,\nabove three dishes in each course, and not above two courses; and it is\nlikewise expressly declared that _soused_ meat is to count as one of\nthese dishes. And of these laws I will only observe, that if they were\nobeyed, servants and citizens of the days of Edward III. were a very\ndifferent class of people from what they are at present.\n\nWhen it is stated of Richard II. that two thousand cooks and three\nhundred servitors were employed in the royal kitchen, we think we\nbecome acquainted with the gastronomic tastes of that unhappy king. But\nas he was one of those whose virtues were his own, and his vices were\nof others\u2019 making, so this Sardanapalian array of cooks was kept up by\nthose who ruled from behind the throne, and finally left the king to\nstarve, despite his counting cooks by thousands. His chief _cuisinier_\nis known only by the initials C. S. S., under which he wrote a culinary\nwork in English, \u201cOn the Forme of Cury.\u201d In this work, he speaks of\npoor Richard, his royal master, as the \u201cbest and royallest viander of\nall Christian kynges.\u201d\n\nHenry IV. kept a princely but not a profuse table. He was the first\nking in England whose statutes may be said to have acted as a check\non the freedom of after-dinner conversation upon religious matters;\nfor in his reign took place the first execution in England, on account\nof opinions connected with matters of faith. The household expenses\nof this monarch are set down at something less than \u00a320,000 per annum\nof the money of the time; and this sum, moderate enough, appears to\nhave been fairly applied to the purposes for which it was intended. A\nporpoise was a fashionable dish in the time of Henry V., who first had\nit at the royal table, and thus sanctioned its use at tables of lower\ndegree. Loyal folks in those days copied the example set them by their\nsovereign, as they did in the later days of George III. boiled mutton\nand caper sauce, when country gentlemen \u201cdined like the king, sir, at\ntwo o\u2019clock.\u201d But Henry V. was oppressed with debts, and, like many\nmen in similar positions, his banquets were all the more splendid, and\nhis prodigality was equal to his liabilities. So extravagant a monarch\nbequeathed but a poor inheritance to Henry VI., who was occasionally\nas hard put to it for a dinner as ever the Second Charles was. When\nEdward IV. jumped into poor Henry\u2019s seat, he found a host of angry\npersons who disputed his power, and these he took care to conciliate\nby the most powerful, nay irresistible means that were ever applied to\nthe solution of a difficulty, or the removal of an obstruction. He\nsimply invited them to dinner; and, certainly, up to that time England\nhad never seen a king who gave dinners on so extravagantly profuse a\nscale. They were marked, however, by something of a barbaric splendour;\nand the monarch, gay and glittering as he was, dazzling in dress, and\noverwhelmingly exuberant of spirits, was more like William de la Marck\nthan any more knightly host. In short, Edward was but a coarse beast\nat table. \u201cIn homine tam corpulento,\u201d says the Croyland chronicler,\n\u201ctantis sodalitiis, vanitatibus, crapulis, luxuriis et cupiditatibus\ndedito,\u201d--a sort of testimonial to character which neither monarch nor\nman could be justified in being proud of. The young Edward V. is the\n\u201cpetit Dauphin\u201d of English history, but with a less cruel destiny, for\nhe was at least not starved to death, amid dirt, darkness, and terror,\nbut mercifully, if roughly, murdered, and so saved from the long and\nyet unexpiated assassination of the innocent and helpless Louis XVII.\nHis murderer sought to make people forget the heinousness of his crime,\nby the double splendour of his coronation dinners. The ceremony and the\nfestival took place, not only in London, but in York; and Richard hoped\nhe had feasted both the northern and southern provinces into sentiments\nof loyalty. A curious incident preceded the first dinner,--the\nanointing of himself and consort at the coronation. There is nothing\nsingular in the fact, but there _is_ in the manner of it. Richard and\nhis queen stripped themselves naked to the waist, in order that the\nunction might be more liberally poured over them,--and in Richard\u2019s\nown case, perhaps for another reason, that the great nobles who were\npresent might see that they were not about to sit down to dinner with a\nsovereign who was as deformed in body as his enemies declared him to be.\n\nAlmost all young readers of history take their first permanent idea\nof Henry VII. from that gallant Richmond, in Shakspeare\u2019s Tragedy, who\ncomes in like an avenging angel, at the beginning of the fifth act,\nand has it all his own generous way, until he sticks \u201cthe bloody and\ndevouring bear,\u201d and sends a note to Elizabeth to come and be married.\nThis Elizabeth, by the way, was the good mother of Henry VIII., and she\nwas the only woman for whom that capricious prince ever felt a spark of\npure affection. His love and respect for _her_ were permanent, and the\nfact merits to be recorded. But to return to Henry VII., and to conduct\nhim to the dinner-table, where alone we have present business with him;\nI do not know that I can find a better \u201ctrait\u201d touching himself and his\ntimes, than one connected with his royal visit to York.\n\nHe was received in the city with more than ordinary ceremony, and\nloudly-expressed delight at the sight of his \u201csweet-favoured\u201d face;\n\u201csome casting out of obles and wafers, and some casting out of\ncomfits in great quantities, as it had been hailstones, for joy and\nrejoicing of the king\u2019s coming.\u201d But I must pass over the outward\nshow--how Augustans, Franciscans, Carmelites, and Dominicans met him\nat Micklegate, and how these, with priors, and friars, and canons of\nhospitals, and priests, and knights, and noble, and gentle, and simple,\naccompanied the monarch to the Minster, and thence to the archbishop\u2019s\npalace, where Henry resided during his stay in the northern capital.\nThe grandest banquet given to him during his sojourn, was in this\npalace, on the eve of the festival of St. George: the great hall was\ndivided into a centre and two aisles. In each division there were two\ntables, half-a-dozen in all. The king sat at the centre table, arrayed\nin all the pomp and glory of a king;--George and garter, crown, and\nEngland\u2019s sceptre. One individual only was esteemed worthy of being\nseated at the same table, namely, the Archbishop of York, who was\nquite as powerful a man, in his way, as Henry Tudor himself. Knights\ncarved the joints, and earls waited upon prince and prelate. Lord\nScrope, of Bolton, _because_ he was a Knight of the Garter, served\nthe king with water; another member of chivalry handed the cup, and\nthe sovereign\u2019s meat was especially carved for him by a Welsh cousin,\nSir David Owen. The distribution of the other tables exhibited a\njudicious mixture of priest and layman. At the first table in the\ncentre of the hall (the cross-table at the top being occupied by\nthe king and the archbishop) sat two secular dignitaries, the Lords\nChancellor and Privy Seal, and with them, the Abbots of St. Mary and\nFountains, with the archbishop\u2019s suffragans, other prelates, and the\nroyal chaplains; thus the chief members of the clergy were seated in\ngreatest numbers near the king. The second table was entirely occupied\nby lay nobility, earls, barons, knights and esquires of the king\u2019s\nbody. Of the two tables in the right aisle, the city clergy and the\nMinster choir occupied one to themselves. At the upper end of the other\ntable were several knights of the garter, all sitting on one side,\n\u201cand beneath them a void space, and then other honest persons filled\nthat table.\u201d We are glad to fall on the term \u201c_other_ honest,\u201d or we\nmight have been tempted to believe that a distinction was made between\nhonesty and nobility. The tables in the left aisle were occupied, one\nby the municipal authorities and other citizen guests; the second\nby the judges, \u201cand beneath them _other_ honest persons,\u201d again. At\nthe rear of the king\u2019s table a stage was erected, on which stood the\nroyal officer of arms, who cried his \u201clargesse\u201d three times, in the\nusual manner, and doubtless with something of the stentorian powers\nmade familiar to us by the late Mr. Toole, and the present loud and\nlively Mr. Harker. \u201cThe surnape,\u201d we are told, \u201cwas drawn by Sir\nJohn Turberville, the knight-marshal; and after the dinner there was\na voide, when the king and his nobles put off their robes of state,\nexcept such as were knights of the garter, who rode to even-song,\nattired in the habit of their order;\u201d and a very fitting close to a\nfeast,--and a good example is held forth therein to all who rise from\na festival without any more thought of being thankful for it, than\nis implied by trying to find out the reflection of their nose in the\nmahogany.\n\nThe following table story, cited by Southey, furnishes another\nillustration of social, and, indeed, of political, life about this\ntime:--\n\n\u201cHenry (then Richmond), on his march from Milford, lodged one night\nwith his friend David Llwyd, at Matha\u2019farn. David had the reputation\nof seeing into the future, and Richmond, whether in superstition or\ncompliment, privately inquired of him, what would be the issue of\nhis adventure. Such a question, he was told, was too important to be\nimmediately answered, but in the morning a reply should be made. The\nwife of David saw that her husband was unusually grave during the\nevening; and having learnt the cause, she said, \u2018How can you have any\ndifficulty about your answer? Tell him he will succeed gloriously. If\nhe does, you will receive honours and rewards. But, if it fail, depend\nupon it, he will never come here to reproach you.\u2019\u201d Hence, it is said,\na Welsh proverb, \u201cA wife\u2019s advice without asking it.\u201d\n\nHenry VIII. loved to take a quiet dinner, occasionally, with his\nchancellor, at Chelsea; and there he would walk in the garden, with\nhis arm round that neck which he afterwards flung beneath the axe\nof the executioner. He was given to indulgences of all sorts, and\nwith respect to those of the appetite and palate, he was well served\nby his incomparable clerk of the kitchen, honest and clever William\nThynne, who was not a _mere_ clerk of the kitchen, but a gentleman\nand scholar to boot; loving poetry though he was no poet, and editing\nChaucer with as much zeal as that with which he regulated the accounts\nof his kitchen clerkship. Henry ate not wisely, but too well; and this\nhuge feeding brought him at last to such a size, that he could not be\nmoved but by aid of \u201ca machine.\u201d In other words, I suppose, he could\nnot walk, and was compelled to submit to locomotion in a chair. Among\nthe sovereigns who assembled at the Congress of Vienna, and who were\nas strangely there together as the half-dozen kings whom Candide met\nat the _table d\u2019h\u00f4te_ in Venice, was that monster of a man, the King\nof Wurtemburg. This mountain of flesh dined daily at the imperial\ntable, where a semicircular piece was cut out of the mahogany, in order\nthat the stomach of the monarch might rest comfortably against the\ntable, when engaged in its appropriate work. He did not lack wit for\nabounding in fatness, and to him, I believe, is properly attributed the\nneat saying, when he saw Lord Castlereagh in simple civilian\u2019s dress,\nwithout a star, amid the gold lace, gems, jewels, ties, tags, and\nglittering uniforms of the crowd around him. The king asked who he was,\nand on being informed, he remarked: \u201cMa foi! il est _bien distingu\u00e9_!\u201d\nHe could not have paid the same compliment to the noble Stewart\u2019s wife,\nif it be true, as was reported, that at one of the state-dinners, or\nstate balls, she appeared with her husband\u2019s jewelled garter, worn as a\n_bandeau_, and \u201cHoni soit qui mal y pense\u201d burning in diamonds upon her\nforehead.\n\nMay it not have been the unpleasant effects of Henry\u2019s gastronomic\nindulgences that made of him a dabbler in medicine? Many of his\nprescriptions in his own handwriting are still extant, and some of\nthem are in the British Museum. He invented a plaister, and was\nthe concocter of more than one original ointment for the cure of\nindigestion. He also prepared \u201ca plaister for the Lady Ann of Cleves,\nto mollify and lessen certain swellings proceeding from cold, and\nto dissipate the boils on the stomach.\u201d His majesty in some of his\nafter-dinner ruminations professed also to have discovered a remedy\nfor the plague; the prescription for which he sent to the lord mayor.\nHe was very tender of the health of Wolsey, when the cardinal little\nregarded his own. His majesty, on one occasion, counsels his minister,\nif he would soon be relieved from \u201cthe sweating,\u201d to take light\nsuppers, and to drink wine very moderately, and to use a certain kind\nof pill. I do not know if Henry\u2019s cookery and kitchen at all smelt\nof unorthodoxy before the Reformation, but it is a fact that, when\nCardinal Campeggio came over here on the business of the divorce of\nHenry and Catherine, he was especially charged by the Pope to look into\nthe state of cookery in England generally, and in the royal palace in\nparticular.\n\nThe royal table of Elizabeth was a solemnity indeed. But it was all a\nmajestically stupendous sham. The attendants thrice bent their knee\nas they approached to offer her the different dishes; and when these\nceremonies had been gone through, the queen rose and retired to a\nprivate room, where the meats were placed before her, and she was left\nto dine as comfortably as the citizens and their wives of Eastcheap and\nAldersgate.\n\nAmong the numerous new year\u2019s gifts made to Elizabeth, and by which she\ncontrived to maintain a splendid wardrobe, gifts of good things for her\ntable were not wanting. One of her physicians presented her with a box\nof foreign sweetmeats; another doctor with a pot of green ginger; while\nher apothecaries gave her boxes of lozenges, ginger-candy, and other\nconserves. \u201cMrs. Morgan gave a box of cherries and one of apricots.\u201d\nThe queen\u2019s master-cook and her serjeant of the pastry presented her\nwith various confectionary and preserves.\n\nElizabeth and her \u201cmaids\u201d both dined and breakfasted upon very solid\nprinciples and materials. Beef and beer were consumed at breakfast,--\u201ca\nrepast for a ploughman!\u201d it may be said. Alas! ploughmen are content,\nor seem so, to strengthen their sinews as they best may of a morning\nwith poor bread and worse tea. Elizabeth made a truly royal bird of\nthe goose,--a distinction which her sister Mary failed to give to the\ncygnet, the stork, and the crane. These no more suited the national\ntaste than that Crimean delicacy, a Russian oyster, and which all\nEnglishmen who have tasted thereof pronounce to be a poisonous dab\nof rancid putty. Yet Russian princes are fond thereof, and Russian\nsovereigns order them for especial favourites;--just as the Prince\nRegent, whenever Lord Eldon was to dine at Carlton House, always\ncommanded the chancellor\u2019s favourite dish to be placed near him,--liver\nand bacon.\n\nThe household expenditure of James I. amounted to \u00a3100,000 sterling\nyearly; double the sum required for the same purpose by Elizabeth; and\nif \u201ccock a leekie\u201d and \u201chaggis\u201d were dishes to which his national taste\ngave fashion, the more foreign delicacies of snails and legs of frogs,\ndressed in a variety of ways, were readily eaten by the very daintiest\nof feeders. The taste of the purveyors was, however, something clumsy.\nWhat would now be said if a _chef_ sent up to table four huge pigs,\nbelted and harnessed with ropes of sausages, and all tied together to a\nmonstrous bag-pudding?\n\nThe court of James I. was uncleanly enough, but it was made worse by\nthe example of the Danish king and his courtiers, on the royal visit\nto the Stuart. \u201cThe Danish custom of drinking healths was scrupulously\nobserved, and in a company of even twenty or thirty, every person\u2019s\nhealth was required to be drunk in rotation; sometimes a lady or an\nabsent patron was toasted on the knees, and, as a proof of love or\nloyalty, the pledger\u2019s blood was even mingled with the wine.\u201d It is\nwell known that the ladies of the court, as well as the gentlemen, got\n\u201cbeastly drunk,\u201d in honour of the visit of the King of Denmark to his\nsister, the consort of James I.\n\nJames, whose taste in gastronomy was not a very delicate one, used to\nsay that if ever he were called upon to provide a dinner for the devil,\nhis bill of fare should consist of \u201ca pig, a poll of ling and mustard,\nand a pipe of tobacco for digestion.\u201d\n\nThere was more temperance under Charles I., and increased moderation\nunder the Commonwealth, when Cromwell\u2019s table was remarkable for its\nsimplicity. The civic feasts of those days were also distinguished by\ntheir decorous sobriety; and it is, perhaps, worth noticing that the\n\u201cshow\u201d followed, and did not precede the dinner.\n\nCharles I. was served with a world of old-fashioned ceremony, not\nunlike that which ought to have made Louis XIV. very uncomfortable. The\nfact, however, is, that both monarchs were pleased with the cumbrous\nsolemnities of state, and nothing affected our English king more in his\nfallen fortunes than the rude service which he received at the hands\nof the Puritan servitors of whose masters he was the captive. When\nhe was in durance at Windsor, his meat was brought to him uncovered,\nand carried without any observance of respectful form, by the common\nsoldiers. No trial or \u201csay\u201d of the meats was made; no cup presented on\nthe knee. This absence of ceremony wounded Charles to the very quick.\nIt chafed him more than greater sorrows did subsequently. It was, he\nobserved, the refusal to him of a service which was paid, according to\nancient custom, to many of his subjects; and rather than submit to the\nhumiliation, he chose to diminish the number of dishes, and to take his\nmeals in strict privacy.\n\nThere are few kings who had such variety of experience in matters\nof the table as Charles II. The first spoonful of medicine that was\noffered him he resisted with a determined aversion which never left him\nfor that sort of _pabulum_. His table was but simple enough during the\nlatter years of his father, but it was worse after the fatal day of\nWorcester. He was glad then, at White Lady\u2019s, to eat \u201cbread and cheese,\nsuch as we could get, it being just beginning to be day;\u201d and \u201cbread,\ncheese, small beer, and nothing else,\u201d sufficed him in the oak. Bread,\nbutter, ale and sack, he swallowed in country inns, and seemed rather\nto look on the masquerade and the meals as a joke.\n\nWhen he was lying hid in Spring Coppice, the goodwife Yates brought\nto his most sacred majesty \u201ca mess of milk, some butter, and\neggs,\u201d--better fare than the parched peas which were found, in after\ndays, in the pocket of the fugitive Monmouth. The women provided for\nhim as tenderly in his hour of hunger and trial, as their ebony sisters\ndid for Mungo Park in his African solitude. When Charles arrived at\nthe house at Boscobel, he \u201cate bread and cheese heartily,\u201d and (as an\nextraordinary), \u201cWilliam Penderell\u2019s wife made his majesty a posset\nof fine milk and small beer, and got ready some warm water to wash\nhis feet, not only extremely dirty, but much galled with travel.\u201d The\nking, in return, called the lady \u201cmy dame Joan,\u201d and the condescension\nquickened her hospitality; for shortly after, she \u201cprovided some\nchickens for his majesty\u2019s supper, a dainty he had not lately been\nacquainted with.\u201d But the king and his followers not only longed for\nmore substantial fare, but were not very scrupulous as to the means of\nobtaining it. Colonel Carlis, for instance, went into the sheepcot of a\nfarmer residing near Boscobel, and like an impudent as well as a hungry\nthief \u201che chose one of the best sheep, sticks him with his dagger, then\nsends William for the mutton, who brings him home on his back.\u201d The\nnext morning was a Sunday morning, and Charles, having muttered his\nprayers, went eagerly to the parlour to look after the stolen mutton.\nIt was hardly cold, but Will Penderell \u201cbrought a leg of it into the\nparlour; his majesty called for a knife and a trencher, and cut some of\nit into collops, and pricked them with the knife-point, then called for\na frying-pan and butter, and fried the collops himself, of which he ate\nheartily.\u201d Colonel Carlis, the while, being but under-cook (and that,\nhonour enough too), made the fire, and turned the collops in the pan.\n\u201cWhen the colonel,\u201d adds the faithful Blount, who records this table\ntrait, \u201cafterwards attended his majesty in France, his majesty, calling\nto remembrance this passage among others, was pleased merely to propose\nit, as a problematical question, whether himself or the colonel were\nthe master-cook at Boscobel, and the supremacy was of right adjudged to\nhis majesty.\u201d Circumstances which made of the royal adventurer a king\nwere the spoiling of an excellent cook. When he was secretly sojourning\nat Trent, his meat was, for the most part, to prevent the danger of\ndiscovery, dressed in his own chamber; \u201cthe cookery whereof served him\nfor some divertisement of the time.\u201d The king better understood cookery\nas a science than the machinery of it. When he stood in the kitchen of\nMr. Tombs\u2019s house at Longmarston, disguised as \u201cWill Jackson,\u201d the busy\ncook-maid bade him wind up the jack. \u201cWill Jackson\u201d was obedient and\nattempted it, but hit not the right way, which made the maid in some\npassion ask, \u201cWhat countryman are you, that you know not how to wind\nup a jack?\u201d Will Jackson answered very satisfactorily, \u201cI am a poor\ntenant\u2019s son of Colonel Lane, in Staffordshire. We seldom have roast\nmeat, but when we have, we don\u2019t make use of a jack;\u201d which in some\nmeasure assuaged the maid\u2019s indignation. Never had the sacredness of\nmajesty been in such peril since the period when Alfred marred instead\nof made the cakes of the neatherd\u2019s angry wife. But Charles escaped to\nhis rather hungry exile in France;--and see, how sweet are the uses\nof adversity! When this charming prince was restored to the throne,\nhe brought with him two gifts of which the nation had heard little\nfor some years;--one was the Church Liturgy, and the other, \u201cGod d--n\nye,\u201d--a fashionable phrase which has tumbled from the court to the\nalley.\n\nIt can hardly be said that Charles, when king, fulfilled the\nrequirement which Lord Chesterfield subsequently laid down, when he\ninsisted that a man should be gentleman-like even in his vices. When\nWilliam of Orange came to England as the suitor of the king\u2019s niece,\nthe Princess Mary, Charles took an unclean delight in making the\nDutchman drunk. Evelyn says:--\u201cOne night, at a supper given by the\nDuke of Buckingham, the king made him (William) drink very hard; the\nheavy Dutchman was naturally averse to it, but being once entered, was\nthe most frolicsome of the company; and now the mind took him to break\nthe windows of the chambers of the maids of honour; and he had got\ninto their apartments had they not been timely rescued. His mistress,\nI suppose,\u201d adds Evelyn, and it is a strange comment for so sensible\na man, \u201cdid not like him the worse for such a notable indication of\nhis vigour.\u201d The monarch who made his _paulo-post_ successor drunk\nhad little difficulty to bring the lord mayor of London into the same\ncondition; and the city potentate and his \u201ccousin the king\u201d had that\nterrible \u201cother bottle\u201d together, in which men\u2019s reason ordinarily\nmakes shipwreck, with their dignity. But his majesty, of blessed\nmemory, was a trifle devout after his drink, and on the \u201cnext morning\u201d\nhe heard anthems in his chapel, and, by way of devotion, would lean\nover his own pew and play with the curls of Lady Castlemaine, who\noccupied the next seat to that of \u201cour most religious and gracious\nking.\u201d When he was pouring the public money into the lap of that\nprecious lady, he was leaving his own servants unpaid; and, on one\noccasion, when these could not obtain their salaries, they carried off\ntheir royal master\u2019s linen, and left him without a clean shirt or a\ntable-cloth!\n\nThe priests with whom Louis XIV. and Louis XV. used to transact their\nreligion were wont to excuse all the conjugal infidelities of those\nanointed reprobates by remarking that they ever treated their consorts\nwith the very greatest politeness. The poets of Charles\u2019s days went\nfurther, and extolled his marital affection. Waller, for instance,\ncongratulates the poor queen, that if she were ill, Charles was by to\ntend and weep over her:--\n\n  \u201cBut, that which may relieve our care\n  Is, that you have a help so near\n  For all the evil you can prove;\n  The kindness of your Royal Love.\n  He that was never known to mourn\n  So many kingdoms from him torn,\n  His tears reserved for you; more dear,\n  More prized, than all those kingdoms were!\n  For when no healing art prevail\u2019d,\n  When cordials and elixirs fail\u2019d,\n  On your pale cheek he dropt the shower,\n  Revived you like a dying flower.\u201d\n\nThe illness referred to was a spotted fever; and here is Pepys\u2019 plain\nprose on the subject:--\u201c20th October, 1663. This evening, at my lord\u2019s\nlodgings, Mrs. Sarah, talking with my wife and I, how the queen do,\nand how the king tends her, being so ill. She tells us that the\nqueen\u2019s sickness is the spotted fever; that she was as full of the\nspots as a leopard, which is very strange that it should be no more\nknown; but perhaps it is not so; and that the king do seem to take it\nmuch to heart, for that he hath wept before her; but for all that he\nhath not missed one night since she was sick, of supping with my lady\nCastlemaine; which I believe is true; for she says that her husband\nhath dressed the suppers every night; and I confess I saw him myself\ncoming through the street, dressing up a great supper to-night, which\nSarah also says is for the king and her, which is a very strange\nthing.\u201d Oh, depth of royal grief, that required light suppers and light\nladies for its solace!\n\nThe _Spectator_ has preserved for us a pleasant story illustrative both\nof royal and citizen good-fellowship, in the reign of Charles II., and\nin the person of the king and that of his jolly lord mayor, Sir Robert\nViner. The merry monarch had been dining with the chief magistrate\nand the municipality, at Guildhall, where he had not drunk so deeply\nhimself but he was aware that the jollity of his entertainers was\nbeginning to render them rather oblivious of the respect due to their\nroyal guest. He accordingly, with a curt farewell, slipped away down to\nhis coach, which was awaiting him in Guildhall-yard. But the lord mayor\nforthwith pursued the runaway, and overtaking him in the yard, seized\nhim by the skirts of his coat, and swore roundly that he should not\ngo till they \u201chad drank t\u2019other bottle!\u201d \u201cThe airy monarch,\u201d says the\nnarrator in the _Spectator_, \u201clooked kindly at him over his shoulder,\nand with a smile and graceful air (for I saw him at the time, and do\nnow), repeated this line of the old song:--\n\n  \u201c\u2018And the man that is drunk is as great as a king!\u2019\n\n\u201cand immediately turned back, and complied with his landlord.\u201d This\nanecdote, however, though it be given on the authority of an alleged\neye-witness, is probably over-coloured with regard to the conduct of\nhis worship the mayor. Mr. Peter Cunningham quotes (in his story of\nNell Gwyn) from Henry Sidney\u2019s Diary, a letter addressed to Sidney by\nhis sister the Countess Dowager of Sutherland, and which refers to the\nincident of the visit of Charles to Guildhall. The letter in question\nwas written five years after the mayoralty of Sir Robert Viner. \u201cThe\nking had supped with the lord mayor, and the aldermen on the occasion\nhad drunk the king\u2019s health, over and over, upon their knees, wishing\nevery one hanged and damned that would not serve him with their lives\nand fortunes. But this was not all. As his guards were drunk, or said\nto be so, they would not trust his majesty with so insecure an escort,\nbut attended him themselves to Whitehall, and, as the lady-writer\nobserves, \u2018all went merry out of the king\u2019s cellar.\u2019 So much was this\naccessibility of manner in the king acceptable to his people, that the\nmayor and his brethren waited next day at Whitehall, to return thanks\nto the king and duke for the honour they had done them, and the mayor,\nconfirmed by this reception, was changed from an ill to a well-affected\nsubject.\u201d\n\nBut as this merry mourner lived, so may he almost be said to have\ndied. It will be remembered with what disgust Evelyn records the\nscene at Whitehall, a week before the king\u2019s decease:--\u201cI can never\nforget,\u201d he says, \u201cthe inexpressible luxury and profaneness, gaming\nand all dissoluteness, and as it were total neglectfulness of God, it\nbeing Sunday evening, which this day sennight I was witness of, the\nking sitting and toying with his concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland,\nMazarine, &c.; a French boy singing love-songs in that glorious\ngallery; whilst about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute\npersons were at basset, round a large table, a bank of at least two\nthousand pounds in gold before them, upon which two gentlemen who were\nwith me made reflections in astonishment. Six days after, all was in\nthe dust.\u201d\n\nThere was more meanness, but not more decency, under James II., but his\nqueen more deeply resented, and that in public, at dinner, the insults\nlevelled at her. When Mrs. Sedly, in 1686, was created Countess of\nDorchester, the day on which the nomination passed the Great Seal, and\nindeed on a subsequent occasion, the queen showed how she was touched\nby the honours paid to a brazen concubine. \u201cThe queen,\u201d says Evelyn,\n\u201ctook it very grievously, so as for two dinners, standing near her, I\nobserved she hardly ate one morsel, nor spake one word to the king,\nor to any about her; though at other times she used to be extremely\npleasant, full of discourse and good-humour.\u201d Such is one of the table\ntraits of the time of James II.\n\nThere is little to be said of William III., save that he kept a\nwell-regulated table, and was excessively angry if he detected any\nfaults in the service. He is described as being kind, cordial, open,\neven convivial and jocose. He would sit at table many hours, and would\nbear his full share in festive conversation. Burnet, I think, somewhere\nintimates, but I cannot recollect the precise words, that he was\nsomething more than moderately given to Hollands. As much, indeed, has\nbeen said of Queen Anne. But Anne _was_ inclined to indulge in good\nliving, and her doctor, Lister, had as many gastronomic propensities\nas herself. Lister entered into the minuti\u00e6 of the kitchen with the\nexactness of an apothecary weighing poison. On the subject of larks, he\nsays, for the benefit of the queen, and all who love such dainty food,\nthat if twelve larks do not weigh twelve ounces, they are scarcely\neatable; they are just tolerable if they reach that weight; but that if\nthey weigh thirteen ounces, they are fat and excellent! On such table\nmatters did royal physicians write, when Anne was queen.\n\nThe table of George, Prince Regent, was splendidly served. The court\nlanguage was French, as though the days of the Normans were come\nagain. But the son of George III., whether as prince or as king, and\ndespite his character of being the first gentleman in Europe, was _not_\nnaturally refined. He loved to have around him men like Humboldt,\nwho, when his guest, amused him with stories as broad as they were\nlong. He himself would tell similar stories, even in the presence of\nhis mother and sisters, and in spite of a sharp \u201cFie, George!\u201d and\nan indignant working of her fan on the part of Queen Charlotte. When\nking, the female society which he assembled at the Pavilion was very\n_d\u00e9collet\u00e9_ indeed, both as regarded person and principles, and the\nappearance of these brilliant looking and light dressed individuals\nin the day-time gave to Brighton an aspect that put Rowland Hill into\nfits. There were joyous evenings then at Virginia Water, on \u201ctea\nand marrow bones,\u201d and there was everything there but refinement.\nRefinement, indeed, was not the characteristic of any one prince\nof the house. The Duke of Cumberland revelled in coarse jests, and\nwas delighted when they embarrassed the modesty that could not even\ncomprehend them. The Duke of Cambridge was perhaps the least offensive\nof the family. He was the professional diner-out of the house; and in\nhis day very few public dinners took place without having the advantage\nof his presence as president. He was, on such occasions, punctuality\nitself, and could not tolerate being kept waiting. In such cases, he\nsometimes wiled away the time by trying over music with the musical\ngentlemen whose harmony was to relieve the toasts and tedium of the\nevening, but his impatience sometimes got the better of his politeness\nand of his reverence for serious things, and we shall not soon forget\nthe effect he produced at a \u201creligious public dinner,\u201d by exclaiming\naloud, \u201cWhere is the chaplain? d--n him! Why doesn\u2019t he say grace?\u201d\nBefore passing to the next reign, we may take notice of a fact that is\nnot generally known, but which nevertheless cannot be disputed. The\ncoronation banquet of George IV. was one of the most splendid upon\nrecord. But there was a world of \u201cleather and prunella\u201d about it, in\nspite of its reputed splendour. Thus, for instance, the king\u2019s table\nwas one gorgeous display of gold plate, but the plates and dishes at\nall the other tables, one only, I believe, excepted, were composed of\nnothing more costly than good, honest pewter. The metal was indeed so\nsplendidly burnished that to the eye no silver highly polished could\nhave been more dazzling; but the truth remains that the peerage that\nday dined off pewter. But the occasion gave value to the material,\nand the dishes, in their character of relics of the glory of the last\ncoronation banquet in Westminster Hall, are as highly prized, and as\nreverently preserved, as though they were composed of materials less\nstrange to Potosi than tin, antimony, and a trifle of copper.\n\nCourt life, in the reign of William IV., was but of a very sombre\naspect. The good old king used to indulge in giving toasts after\ndinner, and he made long and somewhat prosy speeches. Of the latter\nhe was particularly fond, and he made the then young Prince George of\nCambridge his pupil, by giving the health of his father, the Duke, and\ninducing the son to rise and return thanks for the honour conferred.\nIt was no bad discipline for one who intended to become a public man.\nThe young prince became a very fair speaker under the old king\u2019s\ninstructions. William detested politics, and he invariably fell asleep\nduring the dessert. It would have violated etiquette to have awoke\nhim; and the queen and her ladies never thought of rising until the\nroyal eye-lids began again to give symptoms of returning wakefulness.\nHe was fond of talking, over the wine, of military details, and was\nproud of two achievements connected therewith; first, that he had made\nColonel Needham shave off his cherished whiskers, according to the\nnew regulations; and that he had succeeded in having all the Waterloo\nmedals worn with the king\u2019s head outwards. He frequently fell asleep\nduring these conversations; and then the guests quietly passed the\nwine from one to the other, and, as they drank off their glasses, bowed\nto or smiled at the sleeping sovereign the while. In the evening, there\ngenerally was music, during which the Queen Adelaide was as generally\nengaged in worsted work. The king usually honoured some one with an\ninvitation to sit by his side on the sofa. He then fell asleep again,\nand the unlucky, honoured individual, did not dare leave his \u201ccoign of\n\u2019vantage\u201d until the king awoke and gave the signal. William was a very\nmoderate joker, and he loved a joke from others. It is reported that,\nwhen heir presumptive, he once said to a Secretary of the Admiralty\nwho was at the same dinner-table, \u201cC----, when I am king, you shall\nnot be Admiralty Secretary! Eh, what do you say to that?\u201d \u201cAll that I\nhave to say to that, in such a case, is,\u201d said C----, \u201cGod save the\nking!\u201d I have heard it further said, that William never laughed so\nloudly as when he was told of a certain _parvenu_ lady, who, dining at\nSir John Copley\u2019s, ventured to express her surprise that there was \u201cno\n_pilfered_ water on the table.\u201d\n\nThe dining-tables of deceased monarchs belong to history; and,\nconsequently, the limit of this imperfect record is to be found here.\nOne further illustration, however, of \u201chousehold\u201d matters may here be\nnot inaptly introduced. A few months ago a gentleman, who had been in\nhis early years the personal friend of the Duke of Kent, was desirous\nof sending from Sicily a testimonial of his respect to the late Duke\u2019s\ndaughter, our sovereign lady the Queen. His grateful remembrance took\nthe shape of some very rare and choice Sicilian wine, the proper\ntransmission of which was entrusted to the good offices of a friend\nof the donor. This honorary agent proceeded to the proper office for\ninstructions, and there he was somewhat surprised at being informed\nthat, as soon as the duty had been paid upon the wine, the latter\nwould be forwarded to the \u201chousehold.\u201d At this strange intimation, the\nfriendly agent wrote to his principal for fresh instructions, and the\nprincipal, who had not the slightest intention of showing his respect\nfor the memory of a sire by presenting wine to the \u201chousehold\u201d of that\nsire\u2019s royal daughter, at once directed the luscious tribute to be\ndivided among friends who had households of their own, and who could\nappreciate the present. The rule, with regard to offerings like these,\nwas not in former times so ungraciously severe. When Mrs. Coutts used\nto send her pleasant tributary haunches of venison to the Pavilion, she\nwas not informed that the \u201chousehold\u201d would condescend to dine upon\nthe venison: on the contrary, a graceful autograph note from the royal\nrecipient not only made cheerful acknowledgment of the gift, but also\ngave hearty promise that it would be thoroughly enjoyed. There is more\nindependence, perhaps, in the present system, which discourages all\ntributes, whatever may be their nature; but there is something very\nungracious in the method of its application.\n\nEnough, however, of this matter, or we shall have little time to\ndiscuss, even briefly, two other subjects, touching which I would say\nsomething, before we are finally called to \u201csupper.\u201d The first of these\ncomes under the head of \u201cStrange Banquets.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSTRANGE BANQUETS.\n\n\nUnder this title I was half inclined to include the records of the\nachievements of those gastronomic heroes, whose spirit was something\nlike that of the boy\u2019s who ate with two spoons, and cried because\nhe could not swallow faster. But, from Milo and his entire bull for\ndinner, down to Dando and his peck of oysters for supper, there is a\nsameness of very gross detail, and perhaps not very great truth, in\nall. The rustic who was victor at an eating match, \u201cby a pig and an\napple pie,\u201d was on a level with the ancient kings, who were wont to\nboast that they could carry more beneath their belts with impunity than\nany other men. So the ardour of the two villages contemplating their\nrespective champions--gluttons employed for the honour of their several\nbirth-places--and the exultation of one party at finding its favourite\nahead \u201cby two turkeys and a pound of sausages,\u201d gave proof of as much\ndignity of humanity as was given in _their_ case by those nations of\nold who weighed their kings annually, and had a general illumination\nwhen they found their monarchs growing fatter.\n\nThese illustrations of table manners, if indeed they deserve to be so\ncalled, we leave to the perusal of those whose devotion is of that cast\nthat they would have reckoned Baal as a god, for no other reason than\nthe sufficient one given of old, namely, that he ate much meat. In more\nmodern times, we have had defunct kings who have been supposed capable\nof consuming as much as Baal himself, or any of his lively followers;\nfor an illustration of which fact we must pass over, for a short time,\nto the once kingdom of France.\n\nThe last banquet prepared by the culinary officers of Francis I. for\nthat royal personage, was one at which my readers would not have cared\nto sit in fellowship with the king, nor was it one which that monarch\nhimself could be said to have perfectly enjoyed. He made, indeed, no\nremark or complaint, but _that_ was for the natural reason that he was\ndead when he presided at it! How this came to pass I will proceed to\nrelate.\n\nOn the 1st day of March, 1546, Francis I. died in the Ch\u00e2teau de\nRambouillet. The whole of the following day his body was in the hands\nof the surgeon-embalmers, who vainly exercised their office to render\nthat sweet when dead which had by no means been so when living. During\nsix weeks the corpse was deposited at the neighbouring Abbey of\nHaute-Bruy\u00e8re. It was then transported to the house of the Archbishop\nof Paris at St. Cloud, where there was a duplicate \u201clying in state.\u201d\nThe dead king, extended on a couch of richly embroidered crimson satin,\nwas surrounded by a thickly-wedged mass of priests, who, night and day,\noffered up prayers for the repose of his soul. In the adjacent chamber\nwas the \u201ccounterfeit presentment,\u201d or effigy of the monarch, made\n\u201cafter nature,\u201d reclining on a bed of the most gorgeous description,\non and about which was displayed all that could lend additional solemn\nglory to the scene. The waxen effigy, with hands joined, was decked\nin a crimson silk shirt, covered by a light blue tunic powdered with\n_fleurs de lis_. The royal mantle, of a deep violet, lay across the\nfeet; and near it were the orders, chains, and other \u201cbravery\u201d worn by\nFrancis in his lifetime. On the head was a violet velvet scull-cap,\nand above that the crown. The legs were thrust into boots of cloth\nof gold, with crimson satin soles,--but then they were not made for\nwalking in. In the room, and particularly near the bed, there was a\nblaze of gold and jewellery, such as dazzled the sight only to look at\nit. The upper portion of the bed was fashioned like a tent. Sentinels\nguarded it from without, and priests kept watch with much prayer\nwithin. They were of all grades, from cardinals and princes of the\nChurch down to bare-footed friars, who would have been more thankful\nfor a scarlet hat than for a pair of the newest sandals. These were the\nguests at a banquet where the king was the highly honoured host.\n\nWe are told by old Pierre de Chastel, Bishop of Macon, that the\nordinary etiquette of service was rigorously maintained every day,\nduring eleven days, as if the king had been living and laughing in\nthe midst of them. The royal dinner-table was laid out at the side of\nthe bed; a cardinal blessed the viands; and a gentleman of various\nquarterings presented to the unconscious image a full ewer, wherewith\nto wash the hands which, folded as they were, seemed like those of\nthe father of Miss Kilmansegg, to be already washing themselves with\ninvisible soap in imperceptible water!\n\nA second gentleman offered to the representative of the defunct king\na vase mantling with wine; and a third wiped his lips and fingers, as\nif either could have been soiled by _not_ coming in contact with the\ncates and the goblet! These functions, and others that may very well be\npassed over, were performed amid a most death-like silence, and by the\nfitful light of funereal torches,--the only dinner lamps in use while\nthe dead king was engaged in _not_ dining. And such were the clever\nfuneral banquets presided over by the waxen similitude of a defunct\nking. And here it should be _my_ office to pass to other subjects more\nimmediately connected with Table Traits, but I may perhaps, be pardoned\nif I add, that the royal corpse, after the copious feeding which its\neffigy was mocked with, was raised with incredible pomp, and borne into\nParis with an attendant mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous. It\nwas preceded by beggars, nobles, cavaliers, and cooks, (\u201cofficiers de\nbouche,\u201d) pages, surgeons, and valets de chambre, grooms, heralds, and\narchbishops. The followers behind the car were of more uniform and\nexalted rank; and when the procession reached Vaug\u00e9rard, it was met by\nthe twenty-four town-criers of Paris, who took immediate precedence\nof the five hundred beggars. The funeral service in the cathedral was\nconducted with similar magnificence; but what is most singular is the\nfact, that the solemn ceremony was no sooner concluded, than it was\nrecommenced with all gravity, for the benefit of the waxen effigy\nthat had been served for eleven days with an \u201comelette fantastique!\u201d\nand more than this, two of the sons of the deceased king, having\nbeen previously interred, but with maimed rites, a newly organized\nprocession and service took place on this occasion, not only for\nthemselves, but for their effigies also! There was an ocean of holy\nwater scattered on these exaggerated dolls; the aspersion, however, was\nborne with a calmness worthy of their dignity! And at these ceremonies\nthe English ambassador, with other Christian representatives, appeared\non horseback, each with a prelate mounted also at his side. The\nunion represented that which ought to exist between church and state\neverywhere, but which does not even in the Duchy of Baden. When the\nlengthened solemnities had come to a conclusion, the merry pages, as\nhungry as they were joyous, scrambled for sweetmeats, and that was the\nlast of the feasting or fasting of Francis I.\n\nAll this seems barbarous and antique: it _is_ the former rather than\nthe latter. The custom, with some attendant exaggerations, is still\nprevalent in China, where only two years ago the defunct aunt of the\nsun and moon, mother to the reigning monarch, was feasted with a\nsolemn parade of magnificent nonsense, the details of which make those\nof the banquet of the deceased Francis look extremely poor indeed. I\nbelieve that the Chinese idea with regard to their poor dead princess\nwas, that she, or the immortal part in her, could not possibly\ntake flight upon the celestial dragon waiting to convey her to the\npagoda--paradise of Cathay--until this farewell banquet had been given\nto her by those who had loved her upon earth.\n\nIt is the easiest thing in the world, and perhaps it is the most\nnatural, to smile superciliously at these customs, and dismiss them\nwith the definite remark, that they were heathenish and superstitious.\n_But_ our grandmothers, or _their_ mothers rather, saw something very\nlike it in England. In the latter case, it was not the consequence of\na law that ruled in such matters, but a spontaneous act of a sublimely\nridiculous, or a ridiculously sublime, affection. Henrietta, Duchess\nof Marlborough, we are told, demonstrated her affection for Congreve\nin a manner indicative of absolute insanity. \u201cCommon fame reports,\u201d\nsays Kippis, in the \u201cBiographia Britannica,\u201d \u201cthat she had his figure\nmade in wax, talked to it as if it had been alive, placed it at table\nwith her, took great care to help it with different sorts of food, had\nan imaginary sore in its leg regularly dressed, and, to complete all,\nconsulted physicians with regard to its health.\u201d\n\nAn invitation from the duchess to dinner, to meet her simulative\nfriend, who could hardly be said to have waxed wittier after his\nmetempsychosis, would not have been a lively thing. I am not sure\nthat I would not rather have been in the place of the Hetman of the\nZaparogue Cossacks, who was strangely treated and dieted when he was\nelected to the chief command over his own wild hordes. His followers\nbesmeared (and the fashion is not yet obsolete) his face with mud,\nplaced a symbolic _baton_ in his hand, and a saucy-looking crane\u2019s\nfeather in his bonnet. They then gave him a cupful of tar (a process\nthat would have delighted Bishop Berkeley), and after pitching\ngreatness into him in this manner, he was allowed a draught of mead by\nway of purifying his palate. When Shakspere said, \u201cTake physic, pomp,\u201d\nhe was little aware of the custom to that effect among the Zaparogues.\nIt was sweetened, indeed, by the conclusive draught of mead, as\nBerkeley\u2019s dissertation on tar water was wound up by a sermon on the\nTrinity; but I think I would have preferred swallowing the tar, with\nnothing to qualify it but the title, rather than have sat down to the\nmost sumptuous of banquets, between the mad duchess and her wax lover\nwith an issue in his leg!\n\nWilliam Howitt tells of an old countrywoman whom he sought to initiate\ninto the simple elements of religion, and to whom he presented a\nTestament. When the latter had been read through, the worthy teacher\nasked her what she thought of the solemn record: \u201cAh, well!\u201d was the\ngraceless comment, \u201cit all happened so long ago, and so far off, that\nI don\u2019t believe a word of it!\u201d Some such witticism may, perhaps, apply\nto my stories just told, some of which have distant scenes for their\nlocality, and others distant periods for their times of actions. But,\nin the way of barbarous banquets, examples may be cited less open to\nthis objection; and if the far-off Zaparogue chiefs have a cruelly\nnasty inauguration into greatness, I do not know if the children in\nthe Scottish Highlands, to whom the wise women there administer a\nmixture of whisky and earth as their first food, have not a nastier\ninauguration into life. Having mentioned Scotland, I may, while on\nthe subject of strange banquets, show how they cooked and fed in the\ndays of Edward III. \u201cNor yet had they,\u201d says old Joshua Barnes, \u201cany\ncauldrons or pans to dress their meat in; for what beasts they found\n(as they always had good store in those northern parts), they would\nseethe them in their own (the beasts\u2019!) skins, stretched out bellying\non stakes, in the manner of cauldrons; and having thus sodden their\nmeat, they would take out a little plate of metal, which they used to\ntruss somewhere in or under their saddles, and laying it on the fire,\ntake forth some oatmeal (which they carried in little bags behind them\nfor that purpose), and having kneaded and tempered it with water,\nspread that thereon. This being thus baked they used for bread, to\ncomfort and strengthen their stomachs a little when they eat flesh.\u201d\n\nStomachs that needed no other comforting than this must have belonged\nto men of irresistible arms. They devoured the bullocks, and afterwards\ndressed themselves in the cauldrons. They remind us of those nomade\npeople of whom the poet asks,--\n\n  \u201cWas ever Tartar fierce or cruel\n  Upon the strength of water-gruel?\n  But who shall stand his rage and force,\n  If first he rides, then eats his horse?\u201d\n\nAnd this metrical allusion to ancient banquets, and characteristic\nprowess connected with them, recalls to my memory the singular story\ntouching the strangest of facts, which has been told in choice verse by\nLudwig Uhland. The German poet, in narrating it, has condemned himself\nto execute a sort of double hornpipe in fetters, having set himself the\ntask to introduce one word, the subject of his poem, into every stanza\nof his rhymed romance. \u201cDone into English,\u201d the legend runs thus:--\n\n\nTHE CASTELLAN OF COUCY, OR THE HEART.\n\n  \u201cHow deeply young De Coucy sigh\u2019d,\n  How sad the feeling that came o\u2019er him,\n  And smote his heart, when first he saw\n  The Lady of Fayal before him!\n\n  \u201cHow suddenly his song assumed\n  The strain of love\u2019s impassion\u2019d fire!\n  How every measure clearly told\n  His heart vibrated with his lyre!\n\n  \u201cBut vain the sweetness of his song,\n  In am\u2019rous cadence softly dying!\n  No hope had he to move the heart\n  Of her who heeded not his sighing!\n\n  \u201cFor even, when beyond his wont\n  He fell on some inspir\u00e8d strain,\n  The wedded lady\u2019s heart scarce moved,--\n  It warm\u2019d but to be cold again.\n\n  \u201cThen was the Castellan resolved,\n  The cross upon his cuirass\u2019d breast,\n  \u2019Mid toils in Palestine to seek\n  The tumults of his heart to rest.\n\n  \u201cAnd there, in many a hot affray,\n  Where perils threat, and dangers thicken,\n  He stands till,--\u2019spite his coat of mail,\n  His noble heart with death is stricken.\n\n  \u201c\u2018Oh! hear\u2019st thou me, my page?\u2019 he cried,\n  \u2018When this fond heart has ceased its beating,\n  To the fair Lady of Fayal\n  Bear it, with De Coucy\u2019s greeting.\u2019\n\n  \u201cIn cold and consecrated earth\n  The hero\u2019s corpse at length reposes;\n  But o\u2019er his heart, his broken heart,\n  Hot so the tomb its portal closes.\n\n  \u201cThe heart within a golden urn.\n  Was laid; the page received the treasure,\n  And quickly sped him o\u2019er the main,\n  To do his noble master\u2019s pleasure.\n\n  \u201cNow whirlwinds tear, and waters dash,\n  Now lightnings rend, and masts are falling;\n  All hearts on board are struck with awe,\n  One heart alone\u2019s beyond appalling!\n\n  \u201cNow beams the golden sun again;\n  Now France upon the bow\u2019s appearing;\n  All hearts on board with joy are cheer\u2019d;\n  One heart alone\u2019s beyond all cheering!\n\n  \u201cAnd soon, through Fayal\u2019s frowning wood,\n  The page and heart their way are making,\n  When winding sounds the lusty horn,\n  With hunters\u2019 cries the stillness breaking.\n\n  \u201cThen from the thicket bounds a stag,\n  Through his heart an arrow flying,\n  Checks his course, and strikes him dead,--\n  At the page\u2019s feet he\u2019s lying.\n\n  \u201cAnd now the Ritter of Fayal,\n  Who first the gallant stag had wounded,\n  Gallops up with hunting train,\n  Who soon the gentle page surrounded.\n\n  \u201cThe golden urn had quickly fall\u2019n\n  To the Ritter\u2019s knaves a welcome booty,\n  Had not the boy stepp\u2019d back a pace,\n  And told them of his mournful duty.\n\n  \u201c\u2018Heart of a knightly Troubadour,\n  Here is a warrior\u2019s heart, I say,--\n  The Castellan of Coucy\u2019s heart;\n  Let pass this heart its peaceful way!\n\n  \u201c\u2018Dying, my gallant master cried,\n  When this heart has ceased its beating,\n  To the fair Lady of Fayal\n  Bear it, with De Coucy\u2019s greeting.\u2019\n\n  \u201c\u2018That dame I know full passing well!\u2019\n  Shouted the knight in deadly passion,\n  As from the trembling page he tore\n  The urn, in fierce uncourteous passion.\n\n  \u201cAnd with it, grasp\u2019d beneath his cloak,\n  Homeward sped the savage Ritter;\n  The heart close press\u2019d upon his breast,\n  Fill\u2019d it with thoughts of vengeance bitter.\n\n  \u201cScarce at his castle-gate arrived,\n  His madden\u2019d thoughts intent on treason,\n  Than straight his frighted cooks are charged\n  The heart with condiments to season.\n\n  \u201c\u2019Tis done! and richly strewn with flow\u2019rs,\n  And lain on golden dish withal,\n  \u2019Tis placed before the Knight and Dame,\n  When seated in their banquet-hall.\n\n  \u201cThe Knight upon the Lady tended.\n  Speaking in terms of feign\u2019d delight--\n  \u2018Of all the produce of my chase,\n  This heart is yours, fair dame, by right!\u2019\n\n  \u201cBut scarcely had the Lady tasted\n  Of the dainty placed before her,\n  When impulse, strong and strange, to weep,\n  Irresistibly came o\u2019er her.\n\n  \u201cOn marking which the Ritter cried,\n  With wild and savage laugh unholy,\n  \u2018Do pigeons\u2019 hearts, my faithful Dame,\n  Give tendency to melancholy?\n\n  \u201c\u2018Then how much more, O Lady mine,\n  Must fare like this such passion raise--\n  The Castellan of Coucy\u2019s heart,\n  Whose lyre was wont to sound thy praise?\u2019\n\n  \u201cAnd when the Knight, with stern reproof,\n  Had ceased thus sneering to upbraid, he\n  Stood; while hand on heart too, thus\n  With solemn action spoke the Lady:--\n\n  \u201c\u2018Thou\u2019st done me foulest wrong to-day!\n  Ne\u2019er false was I, not e\u2019en in thought,\n  Till this poor heart I touch\u2019d but now,\n  Within my own mutation wrought.\n\n  \u201c\u2018The youthful Poet\u2019s passion, told\n  With sadden\u2019d heart and anxious brow,\n  I scorn\u2019d while yet the Poet lived,\n  But dead! I yield me to it now.\n\n  \u201c\u2018To death devoted, this weak frame,\n  To which De Coucy\u2019s heart hath lent\n  A brief support, shall never more\n  Partake of earthly nourishment.\n\n  \u201c\u2018May Heav\u2019n its mercy show to all;\n  Yes, e\u2019en to thee may Heav\u2019n show it!\u2019\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \u201cSuch is the story of a heart\n  That once inspired a youthful Poet.\u201d\n\nThe above story of the Castellan de Coucy is considered to be\none of Uhland\u2019s most remarkable poems, as much from its general\nsweetness, unhappily lost in translation, as from the wit with which\nhe continually keeps before the reader the one word which forms the\nprincipal feature in the little romance. The tale is, however, by no\nmeans new. There are few nations whose story-tellers do not celebrate\na lady who was forced by a jealous husband to eat the heart of her\nlover. It is common to England, Ireland, and Scotland. In France, the\nstory exists nearly as Uhland has told it. In Germany, it is to be\nmet with in various forms. In one of these, the lady is shown to have\nbeen more kind and less faithful than the Ritter\u2019s wife of Fayal. But\nabove all it is, as the mad prince says, \u201cextant, and written in very\nchoice Italian,\u201d by the at once seductive and repulsive Boccaccio. It\nis one of the least filthy of a set of stories, told with a beauty of\nstyle, a choice of language, a lightness and a grace, which make you\nforget the matter and risk your morals, for the sake of improving your\nItalian. In Boccaccio\u2019s narrative, the lady is of course very guilty;\nand the husband also, of course, murders the lover in as brutal and\nunknightly a fashion as can well be imagined. Nothing else could be\nexpected from that unequalled story-teller, (unequalled as much for the\ncharm of his manner, as for the general uncleanness of his details,)\nwho but seldom has a good word to say for woman, or an honest testimony\nto give of man. Human nature presented nothing beautiful or estimable\nto him; and yet it is undeniable that he had an acute perception of\nbeauty and honour. The characters he describes are scurvy, vicious,\nheartless, debauched wretches; but he dresses them up in such dashing\nbravery of attire, and endows them with such divinity of beauty, and he\nwrites of their whereabout with such witchery of pen, that his poor,\nweak, ensnared readers have nothing for it but to go on in alternate\nextremes of admiring and condemning. To revert to the German prose\nstory of the Heart, I may say that it is merely a bad translation from\nthe \u201cDecameron,\u201d telling in a very matter-of-fact way the history of a\nLady von Roussillon, \u201cwelches ihres geliebte Herz zu essen erh\u00e4lt, und\nsich den Tod gibt.\u201d\n\nThis strange banquet is not to be set down as positively apocryphal,\nmerely because it has fallen into the possession of the rhymers and\nromancers. The old German barons were rather inclined to a barbarous\nspecies of kitchen--something crude and cannibal of character--if we\nmay so far credit the extravagances of legend as to believe that they\nare founded on fact. But we need not go to Germany and fairy periods\nfor illustrations of extraordinary banquets, or individual dieting.\n\nAmong eccentric gastronomists, I do not recollect one more remarkable\nthan Mrs. Jeffreys, the sister of Wilkes. At Bath, she slept throughout\nthe year beneath an open window, and the snow sometimes lent her bed an\nadditional counterpane. She never allowed a fire to be kindled in this\nroom, the chief adornment of which was a dozen clocks, no two of which\nstruck the hour at the same moment. She breakfasted frugally enough\non chocolate and dry toast, but proceeded daily in a sedan-chair,\nwith a bottle of Madeira at her side, to a boarding-house to dine.\nShe invariably sat between two gentlemen, \u201cmen having more sinew in\nmind and body than women,\u201d and with these she shared her \u201cLondon\nParticular.\u201d Warner, in his \u201cLiterary Recollections,\u201d says that some\nmighty joint that was especially well-covered with fat, was always\nprepared for her. She was served with slices of this fat, which she\nswallowed alternately with pieces of chalk, procured for her especial\nenjoyment. Neutralizing the _subacid_ of the fat with the alkaline\nprinciple of the chalk, she \u201camalgamated, diluted, and assimilated the\ndelicious compound with half-a-dozen glasses of her delicious wine.\u201d\nThe diet agreed well with the old lady, and she maintained that such a\ntest authorized use.\n\nWe may contrast with the lady who loved lumps of chalk, the people of\na less civilized time and place, who had a weakness for a species of\nanimal food, which is not to be found written down in the _menus_ of\nmodern dinners. Keating, in his \u201cNarrative of an Expedition to the\nSource of St Peter\u2019s River,\u201d gives some curious details, which may\nbe not inappropriately touched upon here, referring as they do to a\nnation of dog-eaters. The custom at first sight strikes us as rather\nrevolting; but the animal in question, to say nothing of our stealthy\nfriend the cat, is eaten every day in \u201crago\u00fbts,\u201d that smoke on the\nboards of the cheap _gargottes_ of Paris and the _banlieux_. After\nall, custom and prejudice have much to do with the subject. \u201cWhat\ndo you do with your dead?\u201d once asked a member of a distant Asiatic\ntribe of a Roman. \u201cWe bury them,\u201d answered the latter. \u201cGracious\nheaven!\u201d exclaimed the \u201cuntutored Indian,\u201d with disgust, \u201cwhat filthy\nand fiendish impiety!\u201d \u201cWhy so?\u201d inquired the other. \u201cWhat do you and\nyour people with _your_ dead?\u201d \u201cWe treat them,\u201d replied the Indian\nproudly, \u201cwith the decent forms that best become the dead; we _eat_\nthem!\u201d To this day the nobles of Thibet are honoured after death with\na very valuable and enviable privilege. They are reverentially offered\nto a body of hounds, maintained for the especial purpose of devouring\nthe defunct aristocracy. What remains at the end of the process is\ncared for, like the ashes which were taken of old from beneath the\npile on which a loved corpse had lain. This exclusive honour is never\nvouchsafed to the commonalty; it is the particular vested right of\ngreatness; and had Hamlet known of it when he traced great C\u00e6sar\u2019s clay\nstopping a bung-hole, it would have afforded him another illustration\nof the base uses to which mortality may return. Let _us_ return to the\ndog-eaters. Mr. Keating shall tell what he saw among them, in his own\nwords: _Sua narret Ulysses_.\n\n\u201cAs soon as we had taken our seats, the chief (Wanotau) passed his\npipe round; and while we were engaged in smoking, two of the Indians\narose, and uncovered the large kettles which were standing over the\nfire. They emptied their contents into a dozen of wooden dishes which\nwere placed all round the lodge. These consisted of buffalo meat\nboiled with _tepsin_; also the same vegetable boiled without the meat,\nin buffalo grease; and, finally, the much-esteemed dog-meat--all\nwhich were dressed without salt. In compliance with the established\nusage of travellers to taste of everything, we all partook of the\nlatter, with a mixed feeling of curiosity and reluctance. Could we\nhave divested ourselves entirely of the prejudices of education, we\nshould, doubtless, unhesitatingly have acknowledged this to be one of\nthe best dishes that we had ever tasted. It was remarkably fat,--was\nsweet and palatable. It had none of that dry, stringy character which\nwe had expected to find in it; and it was entirely destitute of the\nstrong taste which we had apprehended it must possess. It was not an\nunusual appetite, or the want of meat to compare with it, which led\nus to form this favourable opinion of the dog; for we had on our dish\nthe best meat which our prairies afford. But so strongly rooted are\nthe prejudices of education, that though we all unaffectedly admitted\nthe excellence of this food, yet few of us could be induced to eat\nmuch of it. We were warned by our trading friends, that the bones\nof this animal are treated with great respect by the doctors. We\ntherefore took great care to replace them in the dishes; and we are\ninformed that after such a feast is concluded, the bones are carefully\ncollected, the flesh scraped off them, and that after being washed,\nthey are burned on the ground; partly, as it is said, to testify to\nthe dog-species that in feasting on one of their number, no disrespect\nwas meant to the species itself; and partly also from a belief that\nthe bones of the animal will arise and reproduce another. The meat of\nthis animal, as we saw it, was thought to resemble that of the finest\nWelsh mutton, except that it was of a much darker colour. Having so far\novercome our repugnance as to taste it, we no longer wonder that the\ndog should be considered a dainty dish by those in whom education has\nnot created a prejudice against this flesh. In China it is said that\nfatted pups are frequently sold in the market-place; and it appears\nthat an invitation to a feast of dog meat is the greatest distinction\nthat can be offered to a stranger by any of the Indian nations east\nof the Rocky Mountains. That this is not the case among some of the\nnations on the east of those mountains, appears from the fact that\nLewis and Clarke were called in derision by the Indians of Columbia,\n\u2018dog-eaters.\u2019\u201d\n\nIt may be readily believed that the food above spoken of must be more\nacceptable to the human appetite than the snails which are fattened\nfor the public markets in the meadows about Ulm. Two Edinburgh doctors\ndid indeed pronounce the prejudice against snails to be absurd, and\nthey showed the strength of their own convictions by sitting down to\na charmingly prepared little dish. The courage of each failed him at\nthe first taste, but neither liked to confess as much to the other.\nThey went on playing with their repast, until one ventured to say in a\nremarkably faint voice, \u201cDon\u2019t you think, doctor, they are a _leetle_\ngreen?\u201d \u201cD--d green, Sir! d--d green!\u201d was the hearty confirmatory\nrejoinder; \u201cthey are d--d green! take them away!\u201d\n\nBut the Australians do not always exhibit this extreme nicety. If they\ncannot, or once could not, eat biscuits, they have no such delicate\nscruples about eating babies, even when those babies are their own. The\ncannibalism of the Australians appears to be not so obsolete as those\nwho wish well to humanity would fain desire. This is settled by the\ntestimony of Mr. Westgarth, a member of the local parliament, and the\nlatest writer who has touched upon the subject. In his \u201cVictoria, late\nAustralia Felix,\u201d he says:--\u201cIn their natural state, the aborigines\nstand out with a species of rude dignity. The precision and acuteness\nof their observant faculties are not to be surpassed; and they exhibit\na surprising tact in their various modes of discovering and securing\nfood. The narrow compass of their minds is concentrated in a few\nlines of vocation, in which, as in the exhibitions of a Blind Asylum,\nthere are displayed an extraordinary accuracy and skill. But to these\nbarbaric excellences, must be added the most degrading, superstitious,\nand revolting customs. Civilized nations are still unwilling to believe\nthat infanticide and cannibalism are associated with the customs of\nany race of human beings, or voluntarily practised, except in those\nrare cases of necessity which have broken down the barriers of nature\nalike to the white and the black; but nothing is better affirmed than\nthat cannibalism is a constant habit with this degraded race, who\nalternately revel in the kidney fat of their slain or captured enemies,\nand in the entire bodies of their own friends and relatives. Nor can\nthe infant claim any security from the mother who bore it, against\nsome ruthless law, or practice, or superstition, that on frequent\noccasions consigns the female proportion, and sometimes both sexes, to\ndestruction. On authentic testimony, bodies have been greedily devoured\neven in a state of obvious and loathsome disease; and a mother has\nbeen observed deliberately destroying her youngest child, serving it\nup as food, and gathering around her the remainder of the family to\nenjoy the unnatural banquet.\u201d It is certainly pleasant to turn from\nsuch a spectacle as this to contemplate the wives of the King of Delhi,\nwho pass their time in spoiling, but not killing, their children, and\nwhose chief amusement, after matters of dress, consists in sitting and\ncracking nutmegs in presence of the Great Mogul!\n\nBut there are worse things than these which necessity can render\nacceptable to the palate. In Australia especially does nature appear\nto indulge in strange freaks. Many of our salt-water fish there live\nin fresh-water rivers; and, indeed, more than one inland river is\nbrackish if not salt. Yet of salt itself the natives had never tasted,\nuntil the arrival among them of Europeans; they do not take kindly\nto the condiment even to this day. They prefer their own unadorned\ncookery; and they would especially have admired the late Dr. Howard,\nwho published quarterly his denunciations against the use of salt. In\nAustralia, the pears are made of wood, and the stones of the cherries\ngrow on the outside, and not within. The aborigines are satisfied with\nvery unsavoury diet. They have one fashion, however, in common with the\nself-appointed leaders of civilization, the French; they eat frogs. In\nFrance it is the pastime of the _bourgeois_, on a summer evening, to\nresort to some pool with a rod and line, and a piece of red rag or bit\nof soap for bait, and there catch the little people who could not agree\nabout their king by the dozen. In Australia the native ladies, in their\nusual scantiness of costume, proceed to the swamps; and there, plunging\ntheir long arms up to the shoulders into the mud, they draw up the\nastonished frogs by handfuls. When caught they are cooked over a slow\nfire of wood-ashes; the hinder parts only are eaten, as in France; and\nthere are worse dishes than the _fricas\u00e9e_ of the edible frog. Indeed,\nif the Australians devoured nothing more objectionable, their system of\ndiet would almost defy reproof. But, alas! I find upon their bills of\nfare--grubs, raw and roasted, snakes, lizards, rats, mice, and weazels.\nThe mussel is deeply declined by some of the tribes, in consequence\nof an opinion prevailing that the fish in question is the especial\nproperty of sorcerers, whose amiable propensity it is to destroy\nmankind by means of mussels. If all the world held the same opinion, I\nhave no doubt of great profit therefrom resulting.\n\nOne of our earlier captains who visited Australia observing a native\ndevouring some indescribable sort of food, offered him, in exchange\nfor a portion of it, a sound sea-biscuit. The exchange was effected,\nand then it became a point of courtesy and honour that each should eat\nwhat he had acquired by the barter. The trial was a severe one for both\nparties. The Englishman swallowed slowly, and with a sickening sense\nof disgust that cannot be told, the odious food of the aboriginal;\nwhile the native, nibbling at the biscuit, appeared to grow more\nhorror-stricken at each bit which he tried to swallow. The tears came\ninto his eyes, he grew sick, faint, enraged; and at length, dashing the\nbiscuit on the ground, he as violently seated himself upon it with a\nbounce that ought to have driven it to the very centre of the earth.\nThe Englishman, in the meantime, had flung away the remnant of _his_\n\u201c_pi\u00e8ce de r\u00e9sistance_,\u201d and they remained gazing at each other, with\nthe inward conviction that, as regarded food, each had tasted that day\nthat which deserved to be designated as surprisingly beastly.\n\nKeating\u2019s Indians are not the only men of North America who have a\ndelicate fancy for the dog: the Dacotas are also that way given. Their\ncelebrated \u201cdog-dance\u201d is indeed a festival but of rare occurrence,\nbut it is held to show that that highly respectable people would eat\nthe hearts of their enemies with as little reluctance as the heart\nof a dog. And this is the manner of the feast of \u201cbraves;\u201d they cook\nthe heart and liver of a dog, cool them in water, and then hang the\ndainties on a high pole, around which they assemble as grave and\nsilent as quakers. The spirit is literally supposed to move them, and\nwhen one is thus influenced, he begins to bark, and jumps towards the\npole. Another follows his example. The jumping backwards and forwards,\nand the chorus of barking become gradually universal, and the solemn\nconcert is then at its height. Every one does his best, according as\nnature has gifted him. The children snap like French poodles; the girls\nyelp like pugs; some snarl, others growl; the women \u201cgive tongue\u201d as\nmusically as the Bramham Park hounds; and the fathers of the tribe run\nthrough a scale of sounds that would highly astonish Lablache.\n\nAnd thus, in the midst of it all, one becomes bolder than the rest,\nlooks about him grinningly defiant, and making a run and a leap at the\ncanine dainties suspended from the pole, he generally touches ground\nagain with a piece thereof in his teeth! This good example is also\nfollowed universally, until the tempting prize is all consumed, and\nthen there is \u201ca general dance of characters,\u201d and the drama is done.\nThe Dacotas have an esteem for diminutive dogs; and, lest my readers\nshould deem the tribe to be wholly unacquainted with civilization and\nits secrets, I will just mention that these Indians not only drink\nwhisky with as much profusion as it is drunken in godly Glasgow, but\nthey occasionally administer a little of it to their dogs, in order to\nstunt their growth. Such prayers too as they have, are also marked by a\nmodern and civilized character; for example, they say, \u201cGreat Spirit!\nFather! help us to kill our enemies, and give us plenty of corn!\u201d This\nis the very spirit of much of the prayer put up by the dwellers in the\nregions of enlightenment. And the spirit, with its proper motives, is\nnot one to be blamed. These barbarous Indians do not, at all events,\ninsult their Great Spirit, by asking him to give peace in their time,\n_because_ none other fighteth for them but him. This would sound to\ntheir ear as though they needed peace, for the reason that their\ndefence in war was not to be relied upon; and, if it had slipped into\ntheir formulary, they would at least amend it without delay.\n\nBut this is getting critical, and so to become reminds us of authors.\nNow to treat of _them_, in reference to the table, is generally\nspeaking to fall upon the discussion of their \u201ccalamities,\u201d and the\nEncyclop\u00e6dia of famished writers would be a very heavy work indeed.\nWe have yet time, however, before the chapter of \u201cSupper\u201d opens, to\ntake a cursory glance at a few of the brotherhood of the brain and\nquill. It can be but of a few, and of _that_ few but briefly. \u201c_Tanto\nmeglio!_\u201d says the reader, and I will not dispute the propriety of the\nexclamation.\n\n\n\n\nAUTHORS AND THEIR DIETETICS.\n\n\nIt is all very well for Mr. Leigh Hunt to write a poem on the \u201cFeast\nof the Poets,\u201d and to show us how Apollo stood \u201cpitching his darts,\u201d\nby way of invitation to the ethereal banquet. This is all very well in\ngraceful poetry, but the account is no more to be received, than the\nnew gospel according to _ditto_ is likely to be by the Lord Primate\nand orthodox Christians. It is far more difficult to tell the matter\nin plain prose; for, where there are few dinners, many authors cannot\nwell dine. It is easier to tell how they fasted than how they fed; how\nthey died, choked at last by the newly-baked roll that came too late to\nbe swallowed, than how they lived daily,--for the daily life of some\nwould be as impossible of discovery, as the door of the \u201cCathedral\nof Immensities,\u201d wherein Mr. Carlyle transacts worship. The soul of\nthe poet, says an Eastern proverb, passes into the grasshopper, which\nsings till it dies of starvation. An apt illustration, but our English\ngrasshoppers must not be used for the illustrative purpose, seeing that\nthey are far too wise to do anything of the sort. A British grasshopper\nno more sings till he dies, than a British swan dies singing: these\nfoolish habits are left to foreigners and poetry. Let us turn to the\nmore reliable register of our ever-juvenile friend, Mr. Sylvanus Urban.\n\nMore than a century ago, Mr. Urban, who is the only original \u201coldest\ninhabitant,\u201d gave a \u201cLiterary Bill of Mortality for 1752,\u201d showing\nthe casualties among books as well as among authors. Touching the\nrespective fates of the former, we find the productions of the year\nset down as, \u201cAbortive, 7000; still-born, 3000; old age, 0.\u201d Sudden\ndeaths fell upon 320. Three or four thousand perished by trunk-makers,\nsky-rockets, pastrycooks, or worms; while more than half that number\nwere privily disposed of. If such were the fortunes of the works, how\ndesperate must have been the diet of the authors! So also was their\ndestiny. As a class, they are fixed, in round numbers, at 3000; and a\nthird of these are registered as dying of lunacy. Some 1200 are entered\nas \u201cstarved.\u201d Seventeen were disposed of by \u201cthe hangman,\u201d and fifteen\nby hardly more respectable persons, namely _themselves_! Mad dogs,\nvipers, and mortification, swept off a goodly number. Five pastoral\npoets, who could not live by the oaten pipe, appropriately died of\n\u201cfistula.\u201d And, as a contrast to the multitude \u201cstarved,\u201d we find a\n_zero_ indicating the ascertained quantity of authors who had perished\nby the aldermanic malady of \u201csurfeit.\u201d\n\nThere is, perhaps, more approximation to truth than appears at first\nsight in this _jeu d\u2019esprit_. It was only in Pagan days that authors\ncould boast of obesity. They dined with the _tyranni_, as Persian poets\nget their mouths stuffed with sugar-candy by the Shah Inshah. And yet\nPliny speaks of poets feeding sparingly, _ut solent poet\u0153_. Perhaps\nthis was only an exception, like that of Moore, who smilingly sat\ndown to a broil at home when not dining with \u201cright honourables;\u201d or\ncontentedly thanked Heaven for \u201csalt fish and biscuits\u201d with his mother\nand sister in Abbey Street, the day after he had supped with the ducal\nviceroy of Ireland, and half the peerage of the three kingdoms.\n\nStill, in the old times, authors took more liberty with their hosts.\nIn Rome they kept more to the proprieties; for a nod of the head of\nthe imperial entertainer was sufficient to make their own fly from\ntheir shoulders. In presence of the Roman emperor of old, an author\ncould only have declared that the famous invasion of Britain, which\nwas productive of ship-loads of spoil, in the shape of sea-shells,\nwas a god-like feat. So, at the table of the czar, all the lyres of\nMuscovy sing the ode of eternal sameness, to the effect that the\ndastardly butchery at Sinope was an act that made the angels of God\njubilant! The Russian lyres dare not sing to any other tune. It was\nnot so of yore. Witness what is told us of Philoxenus, the ode writer,\nwhose odes, however, are less known than his acts. He was the author\nof the wish that he had a crane\u2019s neck, in order to have prolonged\nenjoyment in swallowing. This is a poor wish compared with that of\nQuin, elsewhere recorded, that he might have a swallow as long as from\nhere to Botany Bay in palate all the way! He was a greedy fellow,\nthis same Philoxenus. He accustomed himself to hold his hands in the\nhottest water, and to gargle his throat with it scalding; and, by this\nnoble training, he achieved the noble end of being able to swallow the\nhottest things at table, before the other guests could venture on them.\nHe would have conquered the most accomplished of our country bumpkins\nin consuming hasty-pudding at a fair. His mouth was as though it was\npaved, and his fellow-guests used to say of him, that he was an oven\nand not a man. He once travelled many miles to buy fish at Ephesus;\nbut, when he reached the market-place, he found it all bespoke for a\nwedding banquet. He was by no means embarrassed; he went uninvited to\nthe feast, kissed the bride, sang an epithalamium that made the guests\nroar with ecstasy, and afforded such delight by his humour, that the\nbridegroom invited him to breakfast with him on the morrow. His wit\nhad made amends for his devouring all the best dishes. It is a long way\nfrom Philoxenus to Dr. Chalmers forgetting his repast in the outpouring\nof his wisdom, and entering in his journal the expression of his fear\nthat he had been intolerant in argument. What a contrast, too, between\nPhiloxenus and Byron, who, when dining with a half-score of wits at\nRogers\u2019s, only opened his mouth to ask for biscuits and soda-water, and\nnot finding any such articles in the bill of fare, silently dining on\nvegetables and vinegar! The noble poet\u2019s fare in Athens was often of\nthe same modest character; but we know what excesses he could commit\nwhen his wayward appetite that way prompted, or when he wished to lash\nhis Pegasus into fury, as, after reading the famous attack on his\npoetry in the Edinburgh Review, when he swallowed three bottles of\nclaret, and then addressed himself to the tomahawking of his reviewers\nand rivals.\n\nPhiloxenus, however, had his counterpart in those abb\u00e9s and poets who\nused, in the hearing of Louis XV., to praise Madame de Pompadour. He\nwas writing a poem called \u201cGalatea,\u201d in honour of the mistress of\nDionysius of Sicily, when he was once dining with that tyrant. There\nwere a couple of barbels on the royal board, a small one near the\npoet, and a larger near the prince. As the latter saw Philoxenus put\nhis diminutive barbel to his ear, he asked him wherefore, and the poet\nreplied that he was asking news of Nereus, but that he thought the\nfish he held had been caught too young to give him any. \u201cI think,\u201d\nsaid Philoxenus, \u201cthat the old fish near your sacredness would better\nsuit my purpose.\u201d This joke has descended to Joe Miller, in whose\ncollection it is to be found in a modified form. But the story is\naltogether less neat than the one told of Dominic, the famous Italian\nharlequin and farce writer. He was standing in presence of Louis\nXIV. at dinner, when the Grand Monarque observed that his eyes were\nfixed on a dish of partridges. \u201cTake that dish to Dominic,\u201d said the\nking. \u201cWhat!\u201d exclaimed the _farceur_, \u201cpartridges and all!\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d\nsaid the monarch, smiling with gravity, \u201cyes, partridges and all!\u201d\nThis reminds me of another anecdote, the hero of which is the Abb\u00e9\nMorallet, whom Miss Edgeworth in her \u201cOrmond\u201d praises so highly, and\npraises so justly. But Morallet, if he loved good deeds, loved not\nless good dinners, and he shone in both. His talents as a writer,\nand his virtues as a man, to say nothing of his appetite, made him\nespecially welcome at the hospitable table of Monsieur Ansu. The abb\u00e9\nhad learned to carve expressly that he might appropriate to himself\nhis favourite portions,--a singular instance of selfishness in a man\nwho was selfish in nothing else. It was on one of these occasions that\na magnificent pheasant excited the admiration of the guests, and of\nthe abb\u00e9 in particular, who nevertheless sighed to think that it had\nnot been placed close to him. Some dexterity was required so to carve,\nit, that each of the guests might partake of the oriental bird; and\nthe mistress of the house, remembering the abb\u00e9\u2019s skill as a carver,\ndirected an attendant to pass the pheasant to M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9 de Morallet.\n\u201cWhat!\u201d exclaimed the latter, \u201cthe whole of it? how very kind!\u201d \u201cThe\nwhole of it?\u201d repeated the lady; \u201cI have no objection, if these ladies\nand gentlemen are willing to surrender their rights to you.\u201d The entire\ncompany gave consent, by reiterating the words, \u201cthe whole of it!\u201d and\nthe man, who might have gained the Montholon prize for virtue, really\nachieved a prize of gluttony which hardly confers honour on a hungry\nclown at a fair.\n\nLa Fontaine at table was seen in a better light than the Abb\u00e9 Morallet.\nA fermier-general once invited him to a dinner of ceremony, in the\npersuasion that an author who excited such general admiration would\ncreate endless delight for the select company, to entertain whom he\nhad been invited. La Fontaine knew it well, during the whole repast\nate in silence, and immediately rose, to the consternation of the\nconvives, to take his departure. He was going, he said, to the Academy.\nThe master of the house represented to him that it was by far too\nearly, and that he would find none of the members assembled. \u201cI know\nthat,\u201d said the fabulist, with his quiet smile and courteous bow; \u201cI\nknow that, but I will go a long way round.\u201d If this seemed a trifle\nuncourteous--and it was so more in seeming than reality--it was not\nso much so as in the case of Byron, who used to invite a company to\ndinner, and then leave them to themselves to enjoy their repast. Noble\nhosts of the past century used to do something like this when they gave\nmasquerades. Fashion compelled them to adopt a species of amusement\nwhich they detested; but they vindicated personal liberty nevertheless,\nfor when their rooms were at their fullest, the noble host, quietly\nleaving his guest to the care of his wife, would slip away to some\nneighbouring coffee-house, and over a cool pint of claret enjoy the\ncalm which was not to be had at home. The late Duke of Norfolk used\nhabitually to dine at one of the houses in Covent Garden, out of pure\nliking to it. He was accustomed to order dinner for five, and to duly\neat what he had deliberately ordered; but, as he one day detected a\nwaiter watching him in his gastronomic process, he angrily ordered his\nbill, and never entered the house again.\n\nIt was a common practice with Haydn, like his Grace of Norfolk, to\norder a dinner for five or six, and then eat the whole himself. He\nonce ordered such a dinner to be ready by a stated hour, at which time\nhe alone appeared, and ordered the repast to be served. \u201cBut where is\nthe company?\u201d respectfully inquired the head waiter. \u201cOh!\u201d exclaimed\nHaydn, \u201c_I_ am de gompany!\u201d But if he ate all, he also paid for all.\nMoore and Bowles, in their visits together to Bath, used sometimes to\ndine at the White Hart, where, as Moore records, he paid his share of\nthe dinner and pint of Madeira, and then Bowles magnificently \u201cstood\u201d a\nbottle of claret, at dessert. And a pleasant dinner the two opposite,\nyet able, poets, made of it;--far more pleasant than Coleridge\u2019s dinner\nwith a party at Reynolds\u2019s, when he bowled down the glasses like\nnine-pins, because they were too small to drink from copiously!\n\nThe name of Coleridge reminds me of Dufresny, an author of the time\nof Louis XIV., who was full of sentiment and majestic sounds, but\nwho was content to live at the cost of other people, and who never\nachieved anything like an independence for himself. After the death\nof his royal patron, he was one day dining with the Regent Duke of\nOrleans, who expressed a wish to provide for him. Caprice inspired\nthe author to say, \u201cYour royal highness had better leave me poor, as\nI am, as a monument of the condition of France before the regency.\u201d\nHe was not displeased at having his petition refused. A guest at his\nside did indeed remark, by way of encouragement, that \u201cpoverty was no\nvice.\u201d \u201cNo,\u201d answered Dufresny, sharply, \u201cbut it is something very\nmuch worse.\u201d In act and spirit he was not unlike a prince of wits and\npunsters among ourselves, who used to set up bottles of champagne on\nhis little lawn and bowl them down for nine-pins; and who, of course,\nleft his wife and children pensioners on the charity of the state and\nthe people.\n\nI have spoken of La Fontaine; he was as absent at table as poor Lord\nDudley and Ward, whose first aberrations so alarmed Queen Adelaide.\nLa Fontaine was also like Dean Ogle, who, at a friend\u2019s table, always\nthought himself at his own, and if the dinner were indifferent, he\nwould make an apology to the guests, and promise them better treatment\nnext time. So La Fontaine was one day at the table of Despreaux; the\nconversation turned upon St. Augustin, and after much serious discourse\nupon that Christian teacher, La Fontaine, who had till then been\nperfectly silent, turned to his neighbour, the Abb\u00e9 Boileau, one of\nthe most pious men of his day, and asked him \u201cif he thought that St.\nAugustin had as much wit as Rabelais?\u201d The priest blushed scarlet, and\nthen contented himself with remarking, \u201cM. de la Fontaine, you have got\non one of your stockings the wrong side out;\u201d--which was the fact.\n\nThe poet\u2019s query to the priest was no doubt as startling as that put\nby the son of a renowned reverend joker to the then Lord Primate. The\nanxious parent had informed his somewhat \u201cfast\u201d offspring, that as the\narchbishop was to dine with him that day, it would be desirable that\nthe young gentleman should eschew sporting subjects, and if he spoke at\nall, speak only on serious subjects. Accordingly, at dessert, during a\nmoment of silence, the obedient child, looking gravely at his grace,\nasked him \u201cif he could tell him what sort of condition Nebuchadnezzar\nwas in, when he was taken up from grass?\u201d The Lord Primate readily\nreplied that he should be able to answer the question by the time he\nwho had made it had found out the name of the man whom Samson ordered\nto tie the torches to the foxes\u2019 tails, before they were sent in to\ndestroy the corn of the Philistines!\n\nMoore loved to dine with the great; but there have been many authors\nwho could not appreciate the supposed advantages of such distinction.\nLainez was one of these, and there were but few of his countrymen who\nresembled him. One day the Duke of Orleans met him in the park at\nFontainebleau, and did him the honour of inviting him to dinner. \u201cIt\nis really quite impossible,\u201d said Lainez; \u201cI am engaged to dine at a\ntavern with half-a-dozen jolly companions; and what opinion would your\nroyal highness have of me if I were to break my word?\u201d Lainez was not\nlike Madame de Sevign\u00e9, who, after having been asked to dance by Louis\nXIV., declared in her delight that he was the greatest monarch in the\nworld. Bussi, who laughed at her absurd enthusiasm, affirms that the\nfair authoress of the famous \u201cLetters\u201d was so excited at the supper\nafter the dance, that it was with difficulty she could refrain from\nshrieking out \u201cVive le Roi!\u201d\n\nHad the famous \u201cpetit p\u00e8re Andr\u00e9\u201d kept down his impulses as\nsuccessfully as Madame de Sevign\u00e9 did at the supper, where, after\nall, she did _not_ exclaim, \u201cVive le Roi,\u201d it would have been more to\nhis credit, and less to our amusement. The good father, like a better\nman, H. Vincent de Paul, was excessively fond of cards, but he did not\ncheat, like the saint, for the sake of winning for the poor. He had\nbeen playing at _piquet_, and in one game had won a considerable sum by\nthe lucky intervention of a fourth king. He was in such ecstasy at his\nluck, that he declared at supper he would introduce his lucky fourth\nking into his next day\u2019s sermon. Bets were laid in consequence of this\ndeclaration, and the whole company were present when the discourse was\npreached. The promise made at the supper was kept in the sermon, though\nsomething profanely: \u201cMy brethren,\u201d said the abb\u00e9, \u201cthere arrived one\nking, two kings, three kings; but what were they?--and where should I\nhave been without the fourth king, who saved _me_, and has benefited\nyou? That fourth king was He who lay in the manger, and whom the three\nroyal magi came but to worship!\u201d At the dinner which followed the\nauthor of the sermon was more eulogised than if he had been as grand as\nBourdaloue, as touching as Massillon, or as winning as F\u00e9nelon.\n\nThere was more wit in a cur\u00e9 of Basse Bretagne, who was the author\nof his diocesan\u2019s pastorals, and who happened to hold invitations\nto dinners for the consecutive days of the week. He could not take\nadvantage of them and perform his duty too, but he hit on a method of\naccomplishing his desire. He gave out at church, an intimation to this\neffect:--\u201cIn order to avoid confusion, my brethren, I have to announce\nthat to-morrow, Monday, I will receive at confession, the liars only;\non Tuesday, the misers; on Wednesday, the slanderers; on Thursday,\nthe thieves; Friday, the libertines; and Saturday, the women of evil\nlife.\u201d It need not be said that the priest was left during _that_ week\nto enjoy himself without let or hindrance. And it was at such joyous\ndinners as he was in the habit of attending that most of the sermons,\nwith startling passages in them, like those of Father Andr\u00e9, were\ndevised. Thus, the Cordelier Maillard, the author of various pious\nworks, at a dinner of counsellors, announced his intention of preaching\nagainst the counsellors\u2019 ladies,--that is, against their wives, or\nsuch of them that wore embroidery. And well he kept his word, as the\nfollowing choice flowers from the bouquet of his pulpit oratory will\nshow. \u201cYou say,\u201d he exclaimed to the ladies in question, \u201cthat you are\nclad according to your conditions; all the devils in hell fly away with\nyour conditions, and you too, my ladies! You will say to me, perhaps,\nOur husbands do not give us this gorgeous apparel, we earn it by the\nlabours of our bodies. Thirty thousand devils fly away with the labours\nof your bodies, and you too, my ladies!\u201d And, after diatribes like\nthese against the ladies in question, the Cordelier would dine with\ntheir lords, and dine sumptuously too. The dinners of the counsellors\nof those days were not like the Spanish dinner to which an author\nwas invited, and which consisted of capon and wine, two excellent\ningredients, but unfortunately, as at the banquet celebrated by Swift,\nwhere there was nothing warm but the ice, and nothing sweet but the\nvinegar, so here the capon was cold and the wine was hot. Whereupon,\nthe literary guest dips the leg of the capon into the flask of wine,\nand being asked by his host wherefore he did so, replied, \u201cI am\nwarming the capon in the wine, and cooling the wine with the capon.\u201d\n\nThe host was not such a judge of wine, apparently, as the archbishops\nof Salzbourg, who used not indeed to write books, nor indeed read\nthem, but who used to entertain those who did, and then preach against\nliterary vanity from those double-balcony pulpits which some of my\nreaders may recollect in the cathedral of the town where Paracelsus was\nwont to discourse like Solan, and to drink like Silenus; and before\nwhose tomb I have seen votaries, imploring his aid against maladies,\nor thanking him for having averted them! It is said of one of these\nprince primates that when, on the occasion of his death, the municipal\nofficers went to place the seals on his property, they found the\nlibrary sealed up exactly as it had been done many years before at the\ntime of the decease of his predecessor. Such, however, was not the case\nwith the wine-cellars. What the archiepiscopal wine is at Salzbourg, I\ndo not know, but if it be half as good as that drank by the monks of\nM\u00f6lk, on the Danube, why the archbishops may stand excused. Besides,\nthey only drank it during their leisure hours,--of which, as Hayne\nremarks, archbishops have generally four-and-twenty daily.\n\nBut to return nearer home, and to our own authors:--Dr. Arne may be\nreckoned among these, and it is of him, I think, that a pleasant story\nis told, showing how he wittily procured a dinner in an emergency,\nwhich certainly did not promise to achieve such a consummation. The\ndoctor was with a party of composers and musicians in a provincial\ntown, where a musical festival was being celebrated, and at which they\nwere prominent performers. They proceeded to an inn to dine; they were\naccommodated with a room, but were told that every eatable thing in\nthe house was already engaged. All despaired in their hunger, save\nthe \u201cMus. Doc.\u201d who, cutting off two or three ends of catgut, went\nout upon the stairs, and observing a waiter carrying a joint to a\ncompany in an adjacent room, contrived to drop the bits of catgut on\nthe meat, while he addressed two or three questions to the waiter. He\nthen returned to his companions, to whom he intimated that dinner would\nsoon be ready. They smiled grimly at what they thought was a sorry\njoke, and soon after, some confusion being heard in the room to which\nthe joint which he had ornamented had been conveyed, he reiterated the\nassurance that dinner was coming, and thereupon he left the room. On\nthe stairs he encountered the waiter bearing away the joint, with a\nlook of disgust in his face. \u201cWhither so fast, friend, with that haunch\nof mutton?\u201d was his query. \u201cI am taking it back to the kitchen, Sir;\nthe gentlemen cannot touch it. Only look, Sir,\u201d said William, with his\nnose in the direction of the bits of catgut; \u201cits enough to turn one\u2019s\nstomach!\u201d \u201cWilliam,\u201d said Arne gravely, \u201cfiddlers have very strong\nstomachs; bring the mutton to our room.\u201d The thing was done, the haunch\nwas eaten, the hungry guests were delighted, but William had ever\nafterwards a contempt for musical people; he classed them with those\nbarbarians whom he had heard the company speak of where he waited, who\nnot only ate grubs, but declared that they liked them.\n\nMartial was often as hardly put to it to secure a dinner as any of the\nauthors I have hitherto named. He was fond of a _good_ dinner, _ut\nsolent poet\u00e6_; and he knew nothing better than a hare, followed by a\ndish of thrushes. The thrush appears to have been a favourite bird in\nthe estimation of the poets. The latter, may have loved to hear them\nsing, but they loved them better in a pie. Homer wrote a poem on the\nthrush; and Horace has said, in a line, as much in its favour as the\nChian could have said in his long and lost poem,--\u201cnil melius turdo.\u201d\nMartial was, at all events, a better fed and better weighted man than\nthe poet Philetas of Cos, who was so thin that he walked abroad with\nleaden balls to his feet, in order that he might not be carried away\nby the wind. The poet Archestratus, when he was captured by the enemy,\nwas put in a pair of scales, and was found of the weight of an obolus.\nPerhaps this was the value of his poetry! It was the value of nearly\nall that was written by a gastronomic authoress in France; I allude\nto Madame de Genlis, who boasts in her Memoirs, that having been\ncourteously received by a certain German, she returned the courtesy\nby teaching him how to cook seven different dishes after the French\nfashion.\n\nThe authors of France have exhibited much caprice in their gastronomic\npractice; often professing in one direction, and acting in its\nopposite. Thus Lamartine was a vegetarian until he entered his teens.\nHe remains so in opinion, but he does violence to his taste, and eats\ngood dinners for the sake of conforming to the rules of society! This\ncourse in an author, who is for the moment rigidly Republican when all\nthe world around him is Monarchical, is singular enough. Lamartine\u2019s\nvegetarian taste was fostered by his mother, who took him when a\nchild to the shambles, and disgusted him with the sight of butchers\nin activity on slaughtering days. He for a long time led about a pet\nlamb by a ribbon, and went into strong fits at a hint from his mother\u2019s\ncook, that it was time to turn the said pet into useful purposes,\nand make _tendrons d\u2019agneau_ of him. Lamartine would no more have\nthought of eating his lamb, than Emily Norton would have dreamed of\nbreakfasting on collops cut from her dear white doe of Rylston. The\npoet still maintains, that it is cruel and sinful to kill one animal in\norder that another may dine; but, with a sigh for the victim, he can\neat heartily of what is killed, and even put his fork into the breast\nof lamb without compunction,--but all for conformity! He knows that if\nhe were to confine himself to turnips, he should enjoy better health\nand have a longer tenure of life; but then he thinks of the usages of\nsociety, sacrifices himself to custom, and gets an indigestion upon\ntruffled turkey.\n\nMoore, in his early days in London, used to dine somewhere in\nMarylebone with French refugee priests, for something less than a\nshilling. Dr. Johnson dined still cheaper, at the \u201cPine Apple,\u201d in\nNew-street, Covent Garden--namely, for eightpence. They who drank wine\npaid fourpence more for the luxury, but the lexicographer seldom took\nwine at his own expense; and sixpenny-worth of meat, one of bread, and\na penny for the waiter, sufficed to purchase viands and comfort for\nthe author of the \u201cVanity of Human Wishes.\u201d Boyce the versifier was of\nquite another kidney; when he lay in bed, not only starving, but stark\nnaked, a compassionate friend gave him half-a-guinea, which he spent\nin truffles and mushrooms, eating the same in bed under the blankets.\nThere was something atrociously sublime about Boyce. Famine had pretty\nwell done for him, when some one sent him a slice of roast beef, but\nBoyce refused to eat it, because there was no catchup to render it\npalatable.\n\nIt must have been a sight of gastronomic pleasure to have seen Wilkes\nand Johnson together over a fillet of veal, with abundance of butter,\ngravy, stuffing, and a squeeze of lemon. The philosopher and the\npatriot were then on a level with other hungry and appreciating men.\nShallow with his short-legged hen, and Sir Roger de Coverley over\nhasty-pudding, are myths; not so Pope with stewed regicide lampreys,\nCharles Lamb before roast pig, or Lord Eldon next to liver and bacon,\nor Theodore Hook bending to vulgar pea-soup. These were rich realities,\nand the principal performers in them had not the slightest idea of\naffecting refinement upon such subjects. Goldsmith, when he could get\nit, had a weakness for haunch of venison; and Dr. Young was so struck\nwith a broiled bladebone on which Pope regaled him, that he concluded\nit was a foreign dish, and anxiously inquired how it was prepared.\nBen Jonson takes his place among the lovers of mutton, while Herrick\nwandering dinnerless about Westminster, Nahum Tate enduring sanctuary\nand starvation in the Mint, Savage wantonly incurring hunger, and Otway\nstrangled by it, introduce us to authors with whom \u201cdining with Duke\nHumphrey,\u201d was so frequent a process, that each shadowy meal was but as\na station towards death.\n\nWhen Goldsmith \u201ctramped\u201d it in Italy, his flute ceased to be his\nbread-winner as it had been in France; the fellow-countrymen of\nPalestrina were deaf to \u201cBarbara Allen,\u201d pierced from memory through\nthe vents of an Irish reed. Goldsmith, therefore, dropped his flute,\nand took up philosophy; not as a dignity; he played it as he had done\nhis flute, for bread and a pillow. He knocked at the gate of a college\ninstead of at the door of a cottage, made his bow, gave out a thesis,\nsupported it in a Latin which must have set on edge the teeth of his\nhearers, and, having carried his exhibition to a successful end, was\nawarded the trifling and customary honorarium, with which he purchased\nbread and strength for the morrow. No saint in the howling wilderness\nlived a harder life than Goldsmith during his struggling years in\nLondon; the table traits, even of his days of triumph, were sometimes\ncoloured unpleasingly. I am not sure if Goldsmith was present at the\nsupper at Sir Joshua\u2019s, when Miss Reynolds, after the repast, was\ncalled upon as usual to give a toast, and not readily remembering one,\nwas asked to give the ugliest man of her acquaintance, and thereon\nshe gave \u201cDr. Goldsmith;\u201d the name was no sooner uttered than Mrs.\nCholmondeley rushed across the room, and shook hands with Reynolds\u2019s\nsister, by way of approval. What a sample of the manners of the day,\nand how characteristic the remark of Johnson, who _was_ present, and\nwhose wit, at his friend\u2019s expense, was rewarded by a roar, that\n\u201cthus the ancients, on the commencement of their friendships, used to\nsacrifice a beast between them!\u201d Cuzzoni, when found famishing, spent\nthe guinea given her in charity, in a bottle of tokay and a penny\nroll. So Goldsmith, according to Mrs. Thrale, was \u201cdrinking himself\ndrunk with Madeira,\u201d with the guinea sent to rescue him from hunger\nby Johnson. But let us be just to poor Oliver. If he squandered the\neleemosynary guinea of a friend, he refused roast beef and daily pay,\noffered him by Parson Scott, Lord Sandwich\u2019s chaplain, if he would\nwrite against his conscience, and in support of government; and he\ncould be generous in his turn to friends who needed the exercise of\ngenerosity. When Goldsmith went into the suburban gardens of London\nto enjoy his \u201cshoemakers\u2019 holiday,\u201d he generally had Peter Barlow\nwith him. Now Peter\u2019s utmost limit of profligacy was the sum of\nfifteen-pence for his dinner; his share would sometimes amount to five\nshillings, but Goldsmith always magnificently paid the difference.\nPerhaps there are few of the sons of song who dined so beggarly,\nand achieved such richness of fame, as Butler, Otway, Goldsmith,\nChatterton, and, in a less degree of reputation, but not of suffering,\npoor Gerald Griffin, who wrestled with starvation till he began to\ndespair. Chatterton _did_ despair, as he sat without food, hope, and\nhumility; and we know what came of it. Butler, the sturdy son of a\nWorcestershire farmer, after he had astonished his contemporaries by\nhis \u201cHudibras,\u201d lived known but to a few, and upon the charity or\nat the tables of _them_. But he did not, like the heartless though\nsorely-tried Savage, slander the good-natured friends at whose tables\nhe drew the support of his life. As for Otway, whether he perished\nof suffocation by the roll which he devoured too greedily after long\nfasting, or whether he died of the cold draught of water, drank when\nhe was overheated, it is certain that he died in extreme penury at the\n\u201cBull\u201d on Tower Hill,--the coarse frequenters of the low public-house\nwere in noisy revelry round their tables, while the body of the dead\npoet lay, awaiting the grave, in the room adjacent.\n\nThe table life of Peter Pindar was a far more joyous one than that of\nmuch greater poets. At Truro he was noted for his frugal fare, and he\nnever departed from the observance of frugality of living throughout\nhis career. He would sometimes, we are told, when visiting country\npatients, and when he happened to be detained, go into the kitchen and\ncook his own beefsteak, in order to show a country cook how a steak\nwas done in London,--the only place, he said, where it was properly\ncooked. He laughed at the faculty as he did at the king, and set\nthe whole profession mad by sanctioning the plentiful use of water,\ndeclaring that physic was an uncertain thing, and maintaining that in\nmost cases all that was required on the doctor\u2019s part was \u201cto watch\nnature, and when she was going right, to give her a shove behind.\u201d\nHe was accustomed to analyse the drugs which he had prescribed for\nhis patients, before he would allow the latter to swallow them, and\nhe gave a decided county bias against pork by remarking of a certain\napothecary that he was too fond of bleeding the patients who resorted\nto him, and too proud of his large breed of pigs. The inference was\ncertainly not in favour of pork. Peter\u2019s practical jokes in connexion\nwith the table were no jokes to the chief object of them. Thus, when\na pompous Cornish member of parliament issued invitations for as\npompous a dinner to personages of corresponding pomposity, \u201cPeter,\u201d\nrecollecting that the senator had an aunt who was a laundress, sent her\nan invitation in her nephew\u2019s name, and the old lady, happy and proud,\nexcited universal surprise, and very particular horror in the bosom of\nthe parliament-man, by making her appearance in the august and hungry\nassembly, who welcomed her about as warmly as if she had been a \u201cboule\nasphyxiatre\u201d of the new French artillery practice.\n\nIt is going a long way back to ascend from \u201cPindar\u201d to Tasso, but both\npoets loved roasted chestnuts,--and _there_ is the affinity. Peter\nnever drank any thing but old rum; a wine glass, (never beyond a wine\nglass and a half,) served him for a day, after a dinner of the plainest\nkind. The doctor eschewed wine altogether, at least in his latter days,\nas generating acidity. Tasso, however, unlike our satirical friend, was\na wine-bibber. During the imprisonment which had been the result of\nhis own arrogance, he wrote to the physician of the Duke of Ferrara,\ncomplaining of intestinal pains, of sounds of bells in his ears, of\npainful mental images and varying apparitions of inanimate things\nappearing to him, and of his inability to study. The doctor advised him\nto apply a cautery to his leg, abstain from wine, and confine himself\nto a diet of broth and gruels. The poet defended the sacredness of his\nappetite, and declined to abstain from generous wine; but he urged the\n_medico_ to find a remedy for his ills, promising to recompense him\nfor his trouble, by making him immortal in song. At a later period of\nhis life, when he was the guest of his friend Manco, in his gloomy\ncastle of Bisaccio, the illustrious pair were seated together, after\ndinner, over a dessert of Tasso\u2019s favourite chestnuts and some generous\nwine; and there he affrighted his friend by maintaining that he was\nconstantly attended by a guardian spirit, who was frequently conversing\nwith him, and in proof of the same, he invited Manco to listen to\ntheir dialogue. The host replenished his glass and announced himself\nready. Tasso fell into a loud rhapsody of mingled folly and beauty,\noccasionally pausing to give his spirit an opportunity of speaking;\nbut the remarks of this agathod\u00e6mon were inaudible to all but the ears\nof the poet. The imaginary dialogue went on for an hour; and at the end\nof it, when Tasso asked Manco what he thought of it, Manco, who was the\nmost matter-of-fact man that ever lived, replied that, for his part, he\nthought Tasso had drunk too much wine and eaten too many chestnuts. And\ntruly I think so too.\n\nThe greatest of authors are given to the strangest of freaks. Thus\none of the most popular of the teachers of the people presided at a\ngay tavern supper the night before the execution of the Mannings.\nThe feast concluded, the party (supplied with brandy and biscuits)\nproceeded to the disgusting spectacle, where they occupied \u201creserved\nseats;\u201d and when all was done, the didactic leader of the revellers\nand sight-seers, thought he compensated for his want of taste, by\npronouncing as \u201cexecrable\u201d the taste of those who, like George\nSelwyn, could find pleasure in an execution. But there are few men\nso inconsistent as didactic authors. Pope taught, in poetry, the\nexcellence of moderation; but he writes to Congreve in 1715, that he\nsits up till two o\u2019clock over burgundy and champagne; and he adds, \u201cI\nam become so much of a rake that I shall be ashamed, in a short time,\nto be thought to do any sort of business.\u201d But Pope\u2019s table practice,\nlike Swift\u2019s, was not always of the same character. The dean, writing\nto Pope, in the same year that the latter tells Congreve (a dissolute\nman at table, by the way) of his sitting over burgundy and champagne\ntill two in the morning, speaks of quite another character of life:\n\u201cYou are to understand that I live in the corner of a vast unfurnished\nhouse. My family consists of a steward, a groom, a helper in my stable,\na footman, and an old maid, who are all at board wages; and when I\ndo not dine abroad, or make an entertainment,--which last is very\nrare,--I eat a mutton pie, and drink half a pint of wine.\u201d Pope\u2019s habit\nof sleeping after dinner did not incline him to obesity; and it was a\nhabit that the dean approved. Swift told Gay that his wine was bad,\nand that the clergy did not often call at his house; an admission in\nwhich Gay detected cause and effect. In the following year to that\nlast named, Swift wrote a letter to Pope, in which I find a paragraph\naffording a table trait of some interest: \u201cI remember,\u201d he says, \u201cwhen\nit grieved your soul to see me pay a penny more than my club, at an\ninn, when you had maintained me three months at bed and board; for\nwhich, if I had dealt with you in the Smithfield way, it would have\ncost me a hundred pounds, for I live worse here (Dublin) upon more.\nDid you ever consider that I am, for life, almost twice as rich as\nyou, and pay no rent, and drink French wine twice as cheap as you do\nport, and have neither coach, chair, nor mother?\u201d Pope illustrates\nBolingbroke\u2019s way of living as well as his own some years later. The\nreveller till two in the morning, of the year 1715, is sobered down\nto the most temperate of table men, in 1728. \u201cMy Lord Bolingbroke\u2019s\ngreat temperance and economy are so signal, that the first is fit for\nmy constitution, and the latter would enable you to lay up so much\nmoney as to buy a bishopric in England. As to the return of his health\nand vigour, were you here, you might inquire of his haymakers. But, as\nto his temperance, I can answer that, for one whole day, we have had\nnothing for dinner but mutton broth, beans and bacon, and a barn-door\nfowl;\u201d after all, no bad fare either, for peer or poet! Swift too, at\nthis period, boasts no longer of his \u201cFrench wines.\u201d His appetite is\naffected by the appalling fact, that the national debt amounts to the\nunheard-of sum of seven millions sterling! and thereupon he says: \u201cI\ndine alone on half a dish of meat, mix water with my wine, walk ten\nmiles a day, and read Baronius.\u201d\n\nSuch was the table and daily life of an author who began to despair of\nhis country! In 1732, however, the dean was again full of hope,--we\nsee it in the condition of his wine matters: \u201cMy stint in company,\u201d he\nwrites to Gay, \u201cis a pint at noon, and half as much at night; but I\noften dine at home, like a hermit, and then I drink little or none at\nall.\u201d Was it that he despaired again, when alone; or that he only drank\ncopiously at others\u2019 cost? Of his own cellar arrangements, though, he\nthus speaks: \u201cMy one hundred pounds will buy me six hogsheads of wine,\nwhich will support me a year, _provis\u00e6 frugis in annum copia_. Horace\ndesired no more; for I will construe _frugis_ to be wine. How a man\nwho drank little or none at home, and seldom saw company to help him\nto consume the remainder, could contrive to get through six hogsheads\nin a year, is a problem that will be solved when the philosophers of\nLaputa have settled _their_ theories.\u201d Literature is a pleasant thing\nwhen its professors have not to write in order to live. Such was the\ncase in the last century, with poor De Limiers, who was permitted to\nwrite in periodicals, on the stipulation that he \u201cnever told anybody.\u201d\nIt is said of him that he would have been an exceedingly clever person,\nif he had not always been hungry, but that famine spoiled his powers.\nThis was the bookseller\u2019s fault, not his. The same might nearly be said\nof poor Gerald Griffin; but _he_ kept his ability warm even amid cold\nhunger, and had the courage to write his noble tragedy \u201cGisippus\u201d on\nscraps of paper picked up by him in wretched coffee-shops, where he\nused to take a late breakfast, and cajole himself into the idea that it\nwas dinner.\n\nWhen Cervantes, with two friends, were travelling from Esquivias,\nfamous for its illustrious wines, towards Toledo, he was overtaken by\na \u201cpolite student,\u201d who added himself and his mule to the company of\n\u201cthe crippled sound one\u201d and his friends, and who gave honest Miguel\nmuch fair advice touching the malady which was then swiftly killing\nhim. \u201cThis malady is the dropsy,\u201d said the student with the neck bands\nthat would _not_ keep in their place,--\u201cthe dropsy, which all the\nwater in the world would not cure, even if it were not salt; you must\ndrink by rule, sir, and eat more, and this will cure you better than\nany medicine.\u201d \u201cMany have told me so,\u201d was the reply of the immortal\nMiguel, \u201cbut I should find it as impossible to leave off drinking, as\nif I had been born for no other purpose. My life is well-nigh ended,\nand by the beatings of my pulse, I think next Sunday, at latest, will\nsee the close of my career.\u201d The great Spaniard was not very incorrect\nin his prognostic. I introduce this illustrative incident for a double\nreason; first, it is \u201cgermane to the matter\u201d in hand, and secondly,\nit reminds me of a fact with the notice of which I will conclude this\nsection of my imperfect narrative: I allude to\n\n\nTHE LIQUOR-LOVING LAUREATES.\n\nIt is incontrovertible that, with the exception of two or three,\nall our laureates have loved a more pleasant distillation than that\nfrom bay-leaves. In the early days, the \u201cversificatores regis,\u201d\nwere rewarded, as all the minstrels in Teutonic ballads are, with\na little money and a full bowl. The nightingales in kings\u2019 cages\npiped all the better for their cake being soaked in wine. From the\ntime of the first patented laureate, Ben Jonson, the rule has borne\nmuch the same character, and permanent thirstiness seems generally\nto have been seated under the laurel. Thus, Ben himself was given to\njoviality, jolly company, deep drinking, and late hours. His affection\nfor a particular sort of wine acquired for him the nick-name of the\nCanary-bird; and indeed succeeding laureates who, down to Pye, enjoyed\nthe tierce of Canary, partly owe it to Ben.\n\nCharles I. added the wine to an increase of pay asked for by the bard;\nand the spontaneous generosity of one king became a rule for those\nthat followed. The next laureate, Davenant, a vintner\u2019s son, was\nfar more dissolute in his drinking, for which he did not compensate\nby being more excellent in his poetry. The third of the patented\nlaureates, Dryden, if he loved convivial nights, loved to spend them\nas Jonson did, in \u201cnoble society.\u201d Speaking of the Roman poets of the\nAugustan age, he says:--\u201cThey imitated the best way of living, which\nwas, to pursue an innocent and inoffensive pleasure; that which one\nof the ancients called \u2018eruditam voluptatem.\u2019 We have, like them,\nour genial nights, where our discourse is neither too serious nor\ntoo light, but always pleasant, and for the most part instructive;\nthe raillery neither too sharp upon the present, nor too censorious\non the absent; and the cups only such as will raise the conversation\nof the night, without disturbing the business of the morrow.\u201d The\ngenial nights, however, were not always so delightfully Elysian and\n\u00e6sthetic. When Rochester suspected Dryden of being the author of the\n\u201cEssay on Satire,\u201d which was really written by Lord Mulgrave, and\nwhich was offensive to Rochester, the latter took a very unpoetical\nrevenge. As Dryden was returning from his _erudite voluptes_ at Wills\u2019,\nand was passing through Rose-street, Covent Garden, to his house in\nGerrard-street, he was waylaid and severely beaten, by ruffians who\nwere believed to be in the pay of Rochester. The conversation of _that_\nnight certainly _must_ have disturbed the business of the morrow!\n\nAnd next we come to hasty Shadwell, who may be summarily dismissed\nwith the remark that he was addicted to sensual indulgence, and to any\ncompany that promised good wine, and plenty of it. Poor Nahum Tate,\ntoo, is described as \u201ca free and fuddling companion;\u201d but the miserable\nman had gone through more fiery trials than genial nights. Of Rowe,\nthe contrary may be said. He was the great diner-out of his day; always\nvivacious, dashing, gay, good-humoured, and habitually generous,\nwhether drunk or sober. He was but a poor poet, but he was succeeded\nby one who wrote worse and drank more--Eusden, of whom Gray writes to\nMason that he \u201cwas a person of great hopes in his youth, though at\nlast he turned out a drunken parson.\u201d Cibber loved the bottle quite\nas intensely as Eusden did, and he was a gambler to boot; but there\nwere some good points about Colley, although Pope has so bemauled him.\nPosterity has used Cibber as his eccentric daughter did when he went to\nher fish-stall to remonstrate with her against bringing disgrace upon\nhis family by her adoption of such a course: the affectionate Charlotte\ncaught up a stinking sole, and smacked her sire\u2019s face with it; but\nColley wiped his cheek, went home, and got drunk to prove that he was\na gentleman. With heavy Whitehead we first fall in with indisputable\nrespectability. He sipped his port, a pensioner at Lord Jersey\u2019s table,\nand wrote classical tragedies, for which I heartily forgive him,\nbecause they are deservedly forgotten. His successor, slovenly Warton,\nexulted over his college wine with the gobble of a turkey-cock; and\nthen came Pye, with his pleasant conviviality and his warlike strains,\nwhich \u201croared like a sucking dove,\u201d and put to sleep the militia, which\nit was hoped they would have aroused. Pye was of the time of \u201cPindar,\nPye, and Parvus Pybus;\u201d and it was during his tenure of office that\nthe tierce of Canary was discontinued, and the 27_l._ substituted.\nWith Southey, a dignity was given to the laureateship, which it had,\nperhaps, never before enjoyed; and the poetic mantle fell on worthy\nshoulders, when it covered those of the gentle Wordsworth. Not that\nWordsworth never was drunk. The bard of Rydal Mount _was_ once in his\nlife \u201cfull of the god;\u201d but he was drunk with strong enthusiasm too,\nand the occasion excused, if it did not sanctify the deed. The story is\nwell told by De Quincey, and it runs thus:--\n\n\u201cFor the first time in his life, Wordsworth became inebriated at\nCambridge. It is but fair to add, that the first time was also the last\ntime. But perhaps the strangest part of the story is the occasion of\nthis drunkenness, which was the celebration of the first visit to the\nvery rooms at Christ College once occupied by Milton,--intoxication by\nway of homage to the most temperate of men, and this homage offered\nby one who has turned out himself to the full as temperate! Every\nman, in the mean time, who is not a churl, must grant a privilege and\ncharter of large enthusiasm to such an occasion; and an older man than\nWordsworth, at that era not fully nineteen, and a man even without a\npoet\u2019s blood in his veins, might have leave to forget his sobriety\nin such circumstances. Beside which, after all, I have heard from\nWordsworth\u2019s own lips that he was not too far gone to attend chapel\ndecorously during the very acme of his elevation!\u201d\n\nDe Quincey has told how pleasant, and cheerful, and conversational was\nthe tea-time at Wordsworth\u2019s table; and there, no doubt, the poet was\nfar more, so to speak, in his element than when in the neighbourhood\nof wine, whose aid was not needed by him to elevate his conversation.\nBut Wordsworth, gentle as he was, had nothing in him of the squire\nof dames, whom he generally treated with as much indifference as the\npresent laureate, Tennison, was once said to feel for those very\npoetical little mortals,--children. And here I end the record of a\nfew table traits of the patented laureates, adding no more of the\nfourteenth and last, that is, the present vice-Apollo to the Queen,\nthan that he has said of his own tastes and locality to enjoy them in,\nin Will Waterproof\u2019s Lyrical Monologue, made at the Cock,--\n\n  \u201cO plump head waiter at \u2018The Cock,\u2019\n    To which I most resort,\n  How goes the time? \u2019Tis five o\u2019clock.\n    Go fetch a pint of port.\n\n  \u201cBut let it not be such as that\n    You set before chance-comers,\n  But such whose father-grape grew fat\n    On Lusitanian summers.\u201d\n\nAnd now all things must have an end; and the end of pleasure is like\nthe end of life,--weariness, satiety, and regret; and the end of a\nwell-spent day is _not_ of that complexion, for its name should be\n\u201csupper,\u201d without which, however, a man had better go to bed, than with\nit and arise in debt. But, as the moral does not apply to us, you and\nI, Reader, if you will venture further with so indifferent a companion,\nwill go hand in hand, before we finally separate.\n\n\n\n\nSUPPER.\n\n\nThe supper was the only recognised repast in Rome; if, indeed, we may\ncall that supper which sometimes took place at three in the afternoon.\nIt was then rather a dinner, after which properly educated persons\nwould not, and those who had supped over freely could not, eat again\non the same day. The early supper hour was favoured by those who\nintended to remain long at table. \u201cImperat extructos frangere nona\ntoros,\u201d says Martial. The more frugal, but they must also have been the\nmore hungry, supped, like the Queen of Carthage, at sunset; \u201clabente\ndie convivia qu\u00e6rit.\u201d All other repasts than this had no allotted\nhour; each person followed inclination or necessity, and there was no\ndifference in the _jentaculum_, the _prandium_, or the _merenda_,--the\nbreakfast, dinner, or collation,--save difference of time. Bread, dried\nfruits, and perhaps honey, were alone eaten at these simple meals;\nwhereat too, some, like Marius, drank before supper-time, \u201cthe genial\nhour for drinking.\u201d The hosts were, in earlier ages, cooks as well as\nentertainers. Patroclus was famous for his Olla Podrida, and a Roman\ngeneral received the Samnite ambassadors in a room where he was boiling\nturnips for his supper!\n\nSunset, however, was the _ordinary_ supper-time amongst the Romans.\n\u201cDe vespere suo vivere,\u201d in Plautus, alludes to this. In the time of\nHorace, ten o\u2019clock was not an unusual hour, and men of business supped\neven later. At the period of the decadence of the empire, it was the\nfashion to go to the baths at eight, and sup at nine. The repasts which\ncommenced earlier than this were called _tempestiva_, as lasting a\nlonger time. Those which began by daylight--_de die_--had a dissolute\nreputation; \u201cad amicam de die potare,\u201d is a phrase employed in the\n_Asinaria_ to illustrate the great depravity of him to whom it is\napplied.\n\nThere is no doubt, I think, in spite of what critics say, that, however\nit may have been with the Romans, the Greeks certainly had four repasts\nevery day. There was the breakfast (\u03ac\u03ba\u03c6\u03ba\u03ac\u03c4\u03b9\u03c3\u03bc\u03b1), the dinner (\u1f04\u03c1\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd),\nthe collation (\u1f11\u03c3\u03c0\u03ad\u03c1\u03b9\u03c3\u03bc\u03b1), and the chief of all, despite the term for\ndinner, the supper (\u03b4\u03b5\u1fd6\u03c0\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd).\n\nAmong the Romans the _C\u0153na adventitia_ was the name given to suppers\nwhereat the return of travellers to their homes was celebrated; the\n_C\u0153na popularis_ was simply a public repast, given to the people by the\ngovernment; the _terrestris c\u0153na_ was, as Hegio describes it in the\n_Captivei_, a supper of herbs, _multis oleribus_. The Greeks called\nsuch \u201ca bloodless supper.\u201d The parasite, in Athen\u00e6us, says that when he\nis going to a house to supper, he does not trouble himself to gaze at\nthe architectural beauties of the mansion, nor the magnificence of the\nfurniture, but at the smoke of the chimney. If it ascends in a thick\ncolumn, he knows there is certainty of good cheer; but if it is a poor\nthread of smoke, says he, why then I know that there is no blood in the\nsupper that is preparing: \u03c4\u1f78 \u03b4\u03b5\u1fd6\u03c0\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb\u2019 \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u2019 \u03b1\u1f37\u03bc\u03b1 \u1f14\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9.\n\nThese repasts were gay enough when there was good Chian wine,\nunmixed with sea-water, to set the wit going. The banquets of La\u00efs\nwere probably the most brilliant ever seen in Greece, for there was\nabundance of sprightly intellect at them. It might be said of them, as\nSidney Smith says of what used to be in Paris under the ancient r\u00e9gime,\nwhen \u201ca few women of brilliant talents violated all the common duties\nof life, and gave very pleasant little suppers.\u201d\n\nIt is a well-ascertained fact that when the Greeks gave great\nentertainments, and got tipsy thereat, it was for pious reasons.\nThey drank deeply in honour of some god. They not only drank deeply,\nbut progressively so; their last cup at parting was the largest, and\nit went by the terrible name of the Cup of Necessity. There was a\nheadache of twenty-anguish power at the bottom of it. Their pic-nic\nand conversation suppers were not bad things. Every guest brought his\nown rations in a basket; but as the rich and the selfish used to shame\nand tantalise the poorer guests by their savoury displays, Socrates,\nthat dreadfully didactic personage, imperious as Beau Nash in matters\nof social discipline, insisted, that what each guest brought should be\ncommon to all. The result was less show and more comfort. But I would\nnot have liked to have supped where Socrates was in the chair, for, in\nspite of his talents, he was a horrid bore, watching what and how each\nguest ate, and speaking to or at him whenever his acute eye discovered\na rent in the coat of his good manners. If he sometimes said good\nthings, he as frequently said sharp ones; and where he was president,\nthe guests were simply at school.\n\nIt is indeed seldom that the sages are desirable associates. \u201cCome and\nsup with me next Thursday,\u201d said a French Amphitryon to a friend. \u201cYou\nshall meet philosophers or literary men; take your choice.\u201d \u201cMy choice\nis soon made,\u201d was the reply; \u201cI will sup twice with you.\u201d It was so\narranged, and the supper with the _literati_ was incomparably the\nbetter banquet of the two.\n\nThe supper was the great meal of the Greeks; but neither at this, nor\nat any other repast, does Homer ever make mention of boiled meat.\nThe Greeks, then, were not like our poor Greenwich pensioners, who,\nup to the present time, have never been provided with meat cooked\nin any other way. The result is that the men themselves look as if\nthey were half-boiled. But a new order of things, including ovens and\nbaked joints, has been introduced into the kitchen and refectory of\nthe hospital, and the ancient mariners will soon show the effects of\nvariety in diet and cooking, by a healthier and a happier hue on their\nsolemn and storm-beaten cheeks.\n\nAnd this matter of boiled meat reminds me of the old Duke of Grafton,\nwho never ate any thing else at dinner or supper, (for it was in the\ndays of double meals,) but boiled mutton. Yet every day the cook was\nsolemnly summoned to his grace\u2019s side, to listen to orders which he\nknew by heart, and instructions which wearied while they vexed his\nspirits. The duke must have been of the saddened constitution which\nwould have entitled him to sup with that nervous Duke of Marlborough,\nwho always joined with his invitation a request that his guest would\nsay or do nothing to make him laugh, as his grace could not bear\nexcitement.\n\nAt the supper-table the Romans did not decline the flesh of the ass,\nnor that of the dog; and they were as fond of finely fatted snails as\nthe southern Germans are, who have inherited their taste. Macrobius,\ndescribing the supper given by the epicurean pontiff Lentulus, in\nhonour of his reception, says that the first course was composed\nof sea hedgehogs, oysters, and asparagus. After these provocatives\ncame a second course, consisting of more oysters, and various other\nshell-fish, fat pullets, beccaficoes, venison, wild boar, and sea\nnettles,--to digest the marine hedgehogs, I suppose. The third course\nassumed a more civilized aspect, and the guests were only tempted\nby fish, fowl, game, and cakes from the Ancona marshes. There is a\nsupper of Lentulus, as described by Becker. The supper was given to\nGallus, and the account of it is so little exaggerated as to afford\na tolerably correct idea of what those banquets were. Nine guests,\ntwo of them \u201cgentlemen from Perusia,\u201d occupied the _triclinium_. The\npictures around represented satyrs celebrating the joyous vintage;\nthe death of the boar; fruit and provision pieces over the door, and\nsimilar designs, calculated to awaken a relish for the banquet, were\nsuspended between the elegant branches occupied by living thrushes.\nThe lowest place in the middle sofa was the seat for the most honoured\nguest. As soon as all were in a reclining posture, the attendant slaves\ntook off their sandals, and water in silver basins was carried round by\ngood-looking youths, and therewith the visitors performed their brief\nablutions. At a nod from the host, two servants deposited the tray\nbearing the dishes of the first course in the centre of the table. The\nchief ornament of this tray, which was adorned with tortoise-shell,\nwas a bronze ass, whose panniers were filled with olives, and on whose\nback rode a Silenus, whose pores exuded a sauce which fell upon the\nroast breast of a sow that had never fulfilled a mother\u2019s duty, below.\nSausages on silver gridirons, with Syrian plums and pomegranate seeds\nbeneath them to simulate fire; and dishes, also of silver, containing\nvarious vegetables, shell-fish, snails, and a reptile or two, formed\nthe other delicacies of this course. While the guests addressed\nthemselves thereto, they were supplied with a beverage composed of\nwines and honey scientifically commingled. The glory of the first\ncourse was, however, the carved figure of the brooding hen, which was\nbrought in on a separate small tray. The eggs taken from beneath her\nwere offered to the guests, who found the apparent eggs made of dough,\non breaking which with the spoon, a fat figpecker was seen lying in the\npepper-seasoned yolk, and strongly tempting the beholder to eat. This\ndelicacy, was, of course, readily eaten, and _mulsum_, the mixture\nof Hymettian honey and Falernian wines, was copiously drunk to aid\ndigestion. A good deal of wine was imbibed, and numerous witch stories\ntold (a favourite supper pastime), between and during the courses, at\nwhich the dishes were more and more elaborate and fantastic. A vast\nswine succeeded to a wild boar at the supper of Lentulus, who affecting\nto be enraged at his cook for forgetting to disembowel the animal\nbefore preparing it for the table, that official feigns to tremble with\nthe energy of his repentance, and forthwith proceeds to perform the\noffice of gutting the animal in presence of the guests. He plunges his\nknife into its flanks, when there immediately issues from the gaping\nwound string after string of little sausages. The conclusion of the\nsupper is thus told:--\u201cThe eyes of the guest were suddenly attracted to\nthe ceiling by a noise overhead; the ceiling opened, and a large silver\nhoop, on which were ointment bottles of silver and alabaster, silver\ngarlands with beautifully chiselled leaves, and circlets and other\ntrifles, descended upon the table; and after the dessert, prepared\nby the new baker, whom Lentulus purchased for a hundred thousand\nsesterces, had been served up, the party rose, to meet again in the\nbrilliant saloon, the intervening moments being spent, by some in\nsauntering along the colonnades, and by others in taking a bath.\u201d\n\nIn the description of the supper given by Siba to celebrate the\nreturn of Nero to Rome, we find that the slaves, when they took off\nthe sandals of the guests, supplied them with others of a lighter\ndescription, which were fastened by crossed ribands. Those who did not\ncome in \u201cdress,\u201d were furnished with variegated woollen vestments to\ncover their togas. Siba\u2019s banquet began to the sound of a hydraulic\norgan, which, however, was only in place of our dinner-bell. When the\nlime-wood tables were duly covered and flowered, the guests took their\nplaces to the sound of flutes and harps, and said a sort of _grace_,\nby invoking Jupiter; while a modest libation of wine was cast on the\nfloor in honour of the household gods. The first course consisted of\nsome remarkably strange dishes, but the guests reserved their appetite,\nor provoked it with pickled radishes, fried grasshoppers, and similar\ncattle. A master of drinking was then chosen, whose duty it was to\nregulate how often the guests should drink; and the latter invariably\nselected the most confirmed toper. _We_ leave this office to the master\nof the house, and in well-regulated families that high official leaves\nhis guests to do according to their good pleasure. The garlands having\nbeen duly encircled round the brows of Siba\u2019s friends, the trumpets\nannounced the entrance of the second course. The second course was\nduly discussed, its extraordinary dishes thoroughly consumed, and the\nfour cups were drained to Nero; being the number of letters in his\nname; and a good deal of jollity began to abound, which was checked\na little by the arrival of a present from the emperor, sent to Siba,\nand which consisted of a silver skeleton. As the guests feared to\ninterpret the meaning of the gift they fell to deeper drinking, and\nthen to singing, and philosophising; and then resumed their eating;\nand when the force of nature could no further go, they called in the\njugglers, and tumblers, and buffoons, and puppets, and having drawn as\nmuch amusement from these as they possibly could, they whipped up their\nflagging sensations by looking at the feats of Spanish dancing girls,\nand these were succeeded by ten couple of gladiators, who slew one\nanother in the apartment for the pastime of the supremely indifferent\npersonages who lay half asleep and half drunk, and lazily applauded the\nmurderous play. The company were in the very midst of this innocent\namusement when the fire was lit up in Rome by Nero, and which did not\nspare the mansion of Siba. The struggle to escape was not more furious\nand selfish than that which took place at Prince Schwartzenberg\u2019s ball\nin Paris, at which the devouring flames had as little respect for some\nof the guests as they had at the terrible supper of Caius Siba.\n\nIt may be said that civilization never afforded such examples of\ndeformed appetites as some of those which we find in the records of\nthe olden time. But this is not the case. They are fewer; but they\n_do_ exist. We read in the modern history of Germany, that a man with\nan uncontrollable appetite for bacon once presented himself at the\ntent where Charles Gustavus was supping, before Prague, which he was\nbesieging. The man was a boor, and had sought access to the king, to\nask permission to perform before him a feat which he boasted of being\nable to accomplish,--namely, devour a whole hog. General Koenigsmark,\nwho was present, and was very superstitious, warned the king not to\nlisten to a being who, if not the devil, was probably leagued with him.\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you what it is, and please your Majesty,\u201d said the boor, \u201cif\nyou will but make that old gentleman take off his sword and spurs, I\u2019ll\neat him before I begin with the hog!\u201d The general was no coward; but he\ntook to his heels, as though the man were serious, and left the king to\nenjoy what pleasure he might from seeing a peasant eat a whole pig.\n\nIn Africa, the rustics eat something smaller than pigs for supper. When\nCailli was in that quarter of the world, a Bambere woman gave him some\nyams, and what he thought was gambo sauce, to make them palatable. On\ndipping his yams therein, however, he saw some little paws, and at\nonce knew that it was the famous mouse-sauce; but he was hungry, and\ncontinued his repast. He often subsequently saw the women chopping up\nmice for their suppers. When the animals were caught, they were singed\nover a fire, put by for a week, and then cooked. A hungry man _might_\neat thereof without loathing. We have all partaken of far less clean\nanimals.\n\nIt is commonly said that the time of the evening meal is the very hour\nfor wit. I do not know how this may be, but Souwarow\u2019s wit appears\nto have been uncommonly alert at supper-time. When he returned from\nhis Italian campaign to St. Petersburg, in 1799, the Emperor Paul\nsent Count Kontaissow to compliment him on his arrival. The count\nhad been originally a Circassian slave, and _valet_ to Paul, who had\nsuccessively raised him to the ranks of equerry, baron, and count. The\nCircassian _parvenu_ found the old warrior at supper. \u201cExcuse me,\u201d said\nSouwarow, pausing in his meal, \u201cI cannot recall the origin of your\nillustrious family. Doubtless your valour in battle procured for you\nyour dignity as count.\u201d \u201cWell, no,\u201d said the ex-valet, \u201cI have never\nbeen in battle.\u201d \u201cAh! perhaps you have been attached to an embassy?\u201d\n\u201cNo.\u201d \u201cTo a ministerial office then?\u201d \u201cThat neither.\u201d \u201cWhat important\npost, _then_, have you occupied?\u201d--\u201cI have been valet-de-chambre to\nthe emperor,\u201d \u201cOh, indeed,\u201d said the veteran leader, laying down his\nspoon, and calling aloud for his own valet, Troschka. \u201cHere, you\nvillain,\u201d said he, as the latter appeared, \u201cI tell you daily to leave\noff drinking and thieving, and you never listen to me. Now, look at\nthis gentleman here. He was a valet like you; but being neither sot\nnor thief, he is now grand equerry to his majesty, knight of all\nthe Russian orders, and count of the empire. Go, sirrah, follow his\nexample, and you will have more titles than your master; who requires\nnothing just now, but to be left alone to finish his supper!\u201d\n\nIt was at Paris, however, that the evening hour was generally accounted\nas the peculiar season of wit; but wit, often too daring at such an\nhour, sometimes got chastised for its over-boldness.\n\nAt one of the _petits soupers_ of Paris, in this olden time, when wit\nand philosophy had temporarily dethroned religion, a little abb\u00e9,\nwho had the air of a full-grown Cupid in a semi-clerical disguise,\nor who was like Rose Pomaponne in a carnival suit at the Courtille,\ntook upon himself to amuse the assembled company with stories intended\nto ridicule the old-fashioned faith, (as the philosophers styled\nChristianity,) and its professors. He was particularly comic on\nthe subject of hell and eternal punishments, upon which questions\nhe dilated with a fulness that would have scarcely edified either\nProfessor Maurice or Dr. Jelf. The whole of the amiable society\nexploded in inextinguishable laughter at hearing this villanous abb\u00e9\nspeak of hell itself as his \u201cfeu de joie!\u201d There was, however, one\nface there that bore upon it no traces of a smile. It was that of an\nold marechal-de-camp, who might have said, like the old beadle of St.\nMary\u2019s, Oxford, \u201cI have held this office, sir, for more than thirty\nyears, and, thank heaven, I am a Christian yet!\u201d Well, the old mar\u00e9chal\nfrowned as, looking at the infidel abb\u00e9, he remarked, \u201cI see very\nplainly, sir, by your uniform, to what regiment you belong, but it\nseems to me that you must be a deserter.\u201d \u201cMy dear mar\u00e9chal,\u201d answered\nthe profligate priest, with a beaming smile, \u201cit may indeed be a little\nas you say, but then, you see, I do not hold in my troop the rank which\nyou enjoy in yours. I am not a marechal-de-camp!\u201d \u201cParbleu,\u201d rejoined\nthe old soldier, \u201cyou never could have reached such a rank, for, to\njudge by your conduct and sentiment, you would have been hanged long\nbefore your chance came for promotion.\u201d\n\nAt the _soupers_ of Paris, however, there were few men who were of the\ncharacter of our marechal-de-camp. Bungener, in his \u201cVoltaire et son\nTemps,\u201d illustrates the confusion into which men\u2019s ideas had got upon\nthe subject of things spiritual and things temporal, by noticing the\naffair of the Chevalier de la Barre, in 1766. Amid the accusations\nbrought against him was one, according to which it was laid to his\ncharge that he had recited in public a certain filthy ode. He was\ncondemned to be broken on the wheel, on charges of irreligion, of which\nthis was one. But the part of the question that must have made Astr\u00e6a\nweep through the bandage with which poets have bound her eyes, was\nthis, namely, that the author of the obscene ode objected to, Piron,\nwas then in the reception of a pension from the court; and this pension\nhad been procured for him by Montesquieu, by way of compensation\nfor his having lost his seat at the Academy, in consequence of his\nhaving been the author of this very ode. This confusion of rewards\nand penalties was enough to make Justice dash her brains out with\nher own scales. Piron would have been in no wise troubled by such a\ncatastrophe; the pension from the court enabled him to keep a joyous\ntable, and that was enough for him.\n\nDuclos was a contemporary and a co-disciple with Piron, in the temple\nof philosophy. In 1766, he was at Rome, where he gave such charming\nlittle suppers, that the Sacred College gratefully extended to him the\nprivileged permission of reading improper books! The philosophers were\nthen in possession of considerable influence. Marmontel, who was one\nof them, was sent to the Bastille, on a certain Friday, in the year\n1760. Soon after his arrival, he was supplied with an excellent dinner\n_maigre_, the which he ate without thinking of complaining. His servant\nwas just on the point of addressing himself to the scanty remains, when\nlo! an admirable but somewhat irreligious repast, of meat and other\nthings which come under the denomination of _gras_, and are therefore\nforbidden on fast-days, was brought in. The unorthodox banquet was\nintended for Marmontel; the more lenten fare was intended for his\nservant. For in those days, although philosophers were sent to prison,\ntheir appetites were left to their heretical freedom.\n\nThis liberty was allowed by the state, but it was neither sanctioned\nnor practised by the Church. The authority of the latter was great\nprevious to the Revolution. There was then a clerical police, which\nlooked into the dishes as well as the consciences of the people--of\nall degrees. I have somewhere read of a body of this police coming\nin collision, during Lent, with the officers of the household of\nthe Prince of Conti, who were conveying through the streets, from a\nneighbouring _rotisseur\u2019s_ to the ducal palace, a supper, through the\ncovers of which there penetrated an odour which savoured strongly of\nsomething succulent and sinful, of gravy and gravity. Thereupon the\narchbishop\u2019s alguazils bade the prince\u2019s men stand and deliver. The\nfollowers of the house of Conti drew their swords in defence of their\nrights and sauces. Much of the latter on the side of Conti, and a\nlittle malapert blood on both sides, was spilt, to the edification of\nthe standers by. Finally, the transgressors of the Church law were\ndragged to prison. The damaged repast remained on the pav\u00e9, for the\nbenefit of poor souls who assumed ecclesiastical licence to devour it\nwithout fear of damnation; and the servants of Conti were left in damp\ncells to meditate at their leisure upon the argument which Dean Swift\nat another period had thus cast into verse:--\n\n  \u201cWho can declare, with common sense,\n  That bacon fried gives God offence?\n  Or that a herring hath the charm\n  Almighty vengeance to disarm?\n  Wrapt up in Majesty divine,\n  Doth He regard on what we dine?\u201d\n\nTo pass from cooks and church to courtesy and coachmen, I may here\nspeak of a certain Girard who was known in Paris, during the Terror,\nfor his love of what he called liberty and good living. In his early\ndays he was a very independent coachman, and was just on the point of\nconcluding an engagement with an aristocratic old countess, when he\nremarked--\u201cBefore I finally close with madame, I should like to be\ninformed for whom madame\u2019s horses are to make way in the streets.\u201d\n\u201cFor every one,\u201d said the countess. \u201cOn questions of precedence, I am\nnot difficult; if it is yielded to me, I take it; if not, I wait.\u201d \u201cIn\nthat case,\u201d said the aristocratic John, \u201cI shall not suit, madame, as\nI myself never draw aside except for the princes of the blood!\u201d Now\nthis great personage in livery was no other than the Girard who became,\nin 1793, the \u201cpublic accuser,\u201d and who sent to the scaffold those same\nnobles who had not been sufficiently noble for him in 1780.\n\nUpon the matter of what became nobility, however, there was always\nmuch confusion in the \u201caristocratic idea\u201d of the highest continental\nfamilies. Thus who, in contemplating the famous Princess des Ursins,\nseated among the most honoured at the table of the King of Spain, would\ndream of her writing the following sentence in one of her letters to\nMadame de Maintenon? \u201cIt is I who have the honour of taking from his\nmajesty his _robe de chambre_, when he gets into bed; and I am there to\ngive it to him again, with his slippers, when he rises in the morning.\u201d\n\nThe flattery paid to royalty in France was never more prodigally\noffered than at the period when \u201cwit and philosophy\u201d were beginning to\nundermine the throne. We have an instance of this in what happened when\nthe queen of Louis XV. arrived, in 1765, at Fert\u00e9-sous-Jouarre, where\nshe intended to sup and sleep. She was met beneath an avenue of trees,\noutside the town, by the authorities, who offered to her, according to\ncustom, bread and wine. The queen took a portion of the bread, broke\nit in two, and ate thereof, as well as of some grapes, sipping also the\nwine; to the delight and edification of the admiring multitude. The\nauthorities were so struck by the act of condescension on the part of\nthe royal personage, that they made record of the fact in the register\nof the town council. And this they did in such terms as to cause a\ncommentator to remark, that they could hardly have said more, had her\nmajesty been a genuine goddess.\n\nAfter all, this sort of homage had fallen off, in 1765, from what it\nhad been two centuries before. When Louis XII. encountered his bride,\nMary of England, outside Abbeville, he clapped his feeble hands, and\nwished the devil might seize him (and he _did_ die soon after) if she\nwere not more beautiful than report had painted her! At the gates of\nAbbeville, the ill-assorted pair were met by the Bishop of Amiens and\nthe municipal magistrates, to welcome them to the evening banquet ere\nthey betook themselves to repose. The bishop presented the new Queen of\nFrance with a piece of the Real Cross. \u201cThe _mayeurs_ offered a gift,\nthe nature of which brings it within my subject.\u201d The gift was usual\nwhenever king and queen appeared at the portals of the old monkish\ncity. It consisted of three tuns of wine, three fat oxen, and fifteen\nquarters of oats, three pecks of which were presented to the astonished\nlady on bended knee, and in a measure painted light blue, and covered\nwith golden fleurs-de-lys. A complimentary address to the king crowned\nall. \u201cSire,\u201d said the chief local magistrate, \u201cyou may now conclude\nyour marriage in this our good city, without any fear of committing sin\nthereby; for, in the year 1409 were reformed, as abuses, those synodal\nstatutes by which men in our city were forbidden to live with their\nwives, during three whole mortal days after the wedding!\u201d The monarch\nentered and sat down with his consort to a repast which rendered\nboth ill for more than double the period just mentioned. Louis had\nwell-nigh died, like La Matrie, the infidel philosopher at Berlin, of\nan indigestion. Had he done so, it might have been said of him, as the\ninfidel Prussian king said of La Matrie: \u201cHe was a _gourmand_, but he\ndied like a philosopher; let us have no more anxiety about him.\u201d\n\nFrederic himself loved philosophy more than faith, and philosophical\nthough profligate kings, more than he did \u201cMost Christian\u201d or \u201cMost\nCatholic\u201d monarchs. He was wont, therefore, to laugh at the story\nof the famished beggar who, standing near the statue of Henri IV.\non the Pont Neuf, solicited charity of a friend of Voltaire who was\npassing by. \u201cIn the name of God,\u201d said the mendicant. The student of\nphilosophy was deaf. \u201cIn the name of the Holy Virgin!\u201d--\u201cIn the name\nof the saints!\u201d The appeal was unheeded. \u201cIn the name of Henri IV!\u201d\nexclaimed the petitioned; and forthwith the Voltairean put his hand\nin his pocket, giving a crown-piece, in the name of a philosophical\nprofligate, while he refused a sou when asked for in the name of God.\nBut, as Frederic used to say, \u201cHow divine is philosophy!\u201d In his mouth\nthe exclamation was like the well-known cry of Marcel, the ecstatic\ndancing-master: \u201cQue de choses dans un minuit!\u201d\n\nThere is a story told in connexion with this same great Frederic\nwhich is a good table trait in its way. Joachim von Ziethen was one\nof the bravest of the generals who stood by Frederic the Great in\nvictory or defeat. He was the son of a poor gentleman, and had little\neducation save what he could pick up in barracks, camps, and battle\nfields, in all of which he figured in early youth. If his head was\nnot over-ballasted with learning, his heart was well freighted with\nthat love for God, of which some portion, as the dismissed lecturer\non Ecclesiastical History in King\u2019s College tells us, is in almost\nevery individual without exception, and forms the sheet-anchor which\nshall enable him to ride through the storms which keep him from his\ndesired haven of rest. He became the terror of the foes of Prussia;\nbut among his comrades, he was known only as \u201cgood father Ziethen.\u201d\nHe was remarkable for his swiftness at once of resolve and execution,\nand in remembrance as well as illustration thereof, a sudden surprise\nis spoken of by an astonished Prussian as \u201cfalling on one like Ziethen\nfrom an ambush.\u201d\n\nNow, old Ziethen, after the triumph achieved in the Seven Years\u2019 War,\nwas always a welcome guest at the table of Frederic the Second. His\nplace was ever by the side of the royal master whose cause he had more\nthan once saved from ruin; and he only sat lower at table when there\nhappened to be present some foreign royal mediocrity, illustriously\nobscure. On one occasion, he received a command to dine with the king\non Good Friday. Ziethen sent a messenger to his sovereign, stating that\nit was impossible for him to wait on his majesty, inasmuch as that\nhe made a point of never omitting to take the sacrament on that day,\nand of always spending the subsequent portion of the day in private\nmeditation.\n\nA week elapsed before the scrupulous old soldier was again invited\nto the royal dinner-table. At length he appeared in his old place,\nand merry were the guests, the king himself setting an example of\nuproarious hilarity. The fun was running fast and furious,--it was\nat its very loudest, when Frederic, turning to Ziethen, smacked him\nfamiliarly on the back, and exclaimed, \u201cWell, grave old Ziethen! how\ndid the supper of Good Friday agree with your sanctimonious stomach?\nHave you properly digested the veritable body and blood?\u201d At this\nblasphemy, and amid the thunders of pealing laughter, the saluting\nartillery of the delighted guests, Ziethen leaped to his feet, and\nafter shaking his grey hairs with indignation, and silencing the\nrevellers with a cry, as though they had been dogs, he turned to the\ngodless master of the realm, and said--words, if not precisely these,\ncertainly and exactly to this effect:--\n\n\u201cI shun no danger;--your majesty knows it. My life has been always\nready for sacrifice, when my country and the throne required it. What\nI was, _that_ I am; and my head I would place on the block at this\nmoment, if the striking of it off could purchase happiness for my\nking. But there is One who is greater than I, or any one here; and\nHe is a greater sovereign than you who mock Him here from the throne\nin Berlin. He it is whose precious blood was shed for the salvation\nof all mankind. On Him, that Holy One, my faith reposes: He is my\nconsoler in life, my hope in presence of death; and I _will not_ suffer\nHis name to be derided and attacked where I am by, and have voice to\nprotest against it. Sir, if your soldiers had not been firm in this\nfaith, they would not have gained victories for you. If you mock this\nfaith, and jeer at those who cling to it, you only lend a hand to bury\nyourself and the state in ruin.\u201d After a pause he added, looking the\nwhile on the mute king:--\u201cWhat I have spoken is God\u2019s truth; receive it\ngraciously.\u201d\n\nFrederic was the patron of Voltaire, who had dared to say at his own\ntable that what it had taken God and twelve Apostles to build up, one\nman (Voltaire) would destroy. But Frederic was now, for the moment,\nmore deeply moved by what had been uttered by the unphilosophical\nZiethen than by anything that had ever fallen from the brilliant but\nirreligious Voltaire. He rose, flung his left arm over Ziethen\u2019s\nshoulder, offered his right hand to the brave old Christian general,\nand exclaimed:--\u201cZiethen, you are a happy man! Would that I could be\nlike you! Hold fast by your faith; and I will respect even where I\ncannot believe. What has occurred shall never happen again.\u201d\n\nA deep and solemn silence followed, and the dinner was spoiled,\naccording to the guests, to whom the king gave the signal to disperse\nlong before their appetites had been satisfied. Ziethen was preparing\nto withdraw with the rest, but Frederic, taking him by the hand,\nwhispered:--\u201cYou, my friend, come with me to my cabinet.\u201d\n\nThis anecdote was told by Bishop von Eylert to Frederic William III.\nThat king, who had never heard of the incident, pronounced on it a\nthree-piled eulogium of \u201cexcellent, pleasing, and instructive,\u201d adding\nthereto a natural desire to know what passed between the king and\nZiethen in the cabinet. It were doubtless well worth knowing, but I\nhave sought for any notice of it, and all in vain. The good bishop, as\nhe deserved, was invited to remain at Sans Souci, to supper. \u201cI excused\nmyself,\u201d says the prelate, in his memoir of the king, \u201cas having only a\ncommon upper coat on.\u201d The king replied, smilingly, \u201cI know very well\nthat you have got a dollar and a dress-coat; you are the same person in\neither. I want _you_, not your coat; so, go in.\u201d\n\nThe Prussian soldiers, in the days of the great Frederic, used to be\nallowed unlimited liberty in providing themselves with food in an\nenemy\u2019s country. The like permission, but somewhat enlarged, was given\nto the Croat soldiers, under the name of foraging for \u201csupper;\u201d but\nin that permission they included every meal. They are as ready at it\nas Abyssinians; they cut a slice out of the first beast they fall in\nwith, salt it, put it between the saddle and the horse\u2019s back, gallop\ntill it gets warm, and then eat it with Croat appetite. The sportsmen\nof Dauphiny eat beccaficoes after much the same fashion; they pluck\nthe bird, sprinkle it with pepper and salt, carry it on their hat to\ndry in the air, and eat it with relish for supper, without any further\ncooking. They declare it is far better so than when roasted.\n\nCelebrated as the \u201cpetits soupers\u201d of the French were during the last\ncentury, they were equalled in brilliancy, and perhaps surpassed in\npopularity, by those given in Paris by the Duchess of Kingston. The\nadventures of that very adventurous lady rendered her a favourite with\nour lively neighbours. When a rustic Devonshire beauty,--wayward,\ncapricious, ignorant, and seductive, Elizabeth Chudleigh was suddenly\ntransplanted to the court of the Princess of Wales, as maid of honour.\nShe there captivated the youthful Duke of Hamilton, returned his\naffection, and accepted the offer of his hand. They loved intensely,\nquarrelled furiously, and were reconciled warmly; the enemies of both\ntoiled incessantly to prevent the marriage, and each was daily told of\nthe alleged infidelities of the other. One of these stories excited\nthe ardent beauty to such rage that she dismissed her ducal lover,\nand in the whirlwind of her wrath gave her hand to Captain Hervey,\nbrother of the Earl of Bristol. She married in haste, and repented\nquite as hastily. She hated her husband before they left the church\ntogether; and after six months of the most active domestic warfare,\nthe ill-assorted pair separated by mutual consent. She went abroad to\nfind solace for her disappointment, and was heartily welcomed at the\ncourts of St. Petersburg, Prussia, and Saxony; she was the favoured\nguest of Catherine II., and of the great Frederic, at Berlin; and\nno electoral banquet took place at Dresden without being enlivened\nby her presence and her wit. When she accepted the invitation to\nresume her place at the English court, the reception she met with was\nenthusiastic: she played whist with the men, and she drove four-in-hand\nas if she had been the born daughter of a charioteer, brought up to her\nfather\u2019s business. Her accomplishments won the heart of the simplest\nof dukes and the gentlest of men, his grace of Kingston, and as an\necclesiastical court, in 1769, pronounced her marriage with Captain\nHervey (now Earl of Bristol) null and void, she speedily espoused her\nducal admirer, while her former husband bestowed an earl\u2019s coronet\non a second wife. The duke\u2019s property was not entailed, and the\nduchess spent it with such reckless prodigality, that his grace was\nfairly frightened into consumption and death; and in 1773 she was a\nbeautiful widow, with the large remnant of the duke\u2019s fortune in her\npossession--as long as she did not marry again. Away she went to Rome,\nsailed up the Tiber in her own yacht, entertained the pope (Ganganelli)\nClement XIV. at breakfast, dinner, and supper, and kept up such a state\nthat the world had never beheld such extravagant splendour since the\ndays of the most profuse and profligate of queens: the heirs of the\nduke, seeing their inheritance fast melting away, instituted against\nher the famous suit for bigamy, on the ground that the ecclesiastical\ncourt which broke her first marriage had no power to do so. To meet her\naccusers she hurried to England, where she considerably startled the\nmodest among our grandmothers by her Sunday amusements, and the daily\ndisplay afforded by the very lowest of dresses. But as she gave most\nsplendid dinners she had no lack of friends, and few men could find it\nin their hearts to abandon a woman in distress, whose kitchen fires\nwere never extinguished, who gave her guests green peas at Christmas,\nand whose commonest beverage was imperial tokay. The House of Lords\njudged her case, heard her defence, and pronounced her second marriage\nbigamy by overthrowing the decree of the ecclesiastical court with\nregard to her first union. To avoid the vulgar penalty she immediately\nfled, crossed the Channel in a storm, and proceeded to Munich, where\nshe was royally entertained, especially as the law could not touch the\nproperty bequeathed her by the Duke of Kingston. The courtesy title of\nduchess was still allowed her, and the Elector of Bavaria added to it\nthat of Countess of Warth. Great nobles gave entertainments in her\nhonour, which lasted, for days, and ended with a ball, a banquet, and,\ninstead of common-place fireworks, the storming of a town at midnight.\nPoor nobles vied with each other for her smiles and the life-interest\nof her possessions; but as she had once been nearly entrapped by a\nGreek Prince Warta, who turned out to be the son of an ass-driver in\nTrebizond, and who committed suicide in prison, she made and kept her\nresolution to be her own mistress for the future, and not that of\neither count or kaiser.\n\nIn France, where she ultimately resided, she purchased the estate\nof St. Assize au Port, which had formerly belonged to the Duke of\nOrleans, the father of \u201cEgalit\u00e9.\u201d She paid down a million and a half\nof francs for it, and sold seven thousand francs\u2019 worth of rabbits\nfrom it, during the first week of her residence there. A fricasee of\nthe duchess\u2019s rabbits was, for a long time, the chief dish at all\nthe _guinguettes_ round Paris. Her own great suppers were famous for\ntheir refinement and luxury. She was a lover of good living, a GOURMET\nrather than a GOURMANDE; an epicure of taste, but not a glutton; and\nthe gastronomic art never could boast of a more liberal patronage than\nthat she bestowed upon it, especially in her Paris residence; where her\ntable, her wit, her dinners, and her diamonds, made of her, for a time,\nthe most remarkable personage in the capital. She died suddenly, of the\nrupture of a blood-vessel, in 1788, and was completely forgotten before\nthat year had also expired.\n\nI have mentioned that our eccentric countrywoman had purchased the\nproperty of the Duke of Orleans; and that reminds me how fatal the\ntable, and particularly the supper-table, has been to the dukes of\nthat house. Thus Philippe, the brother of Louis XIV., quarrelled with\nthe latter touching the marriage which the king wished to conclude\nbetween one of his own natural daughters and the duke\u2019s son. Orleans,\nfevered and flushed, went to sup \u201cwith the ladies of St. Cloud.\u201d He\nhad not long before eaten heavily and drunk deeply at dinner; and at\nthis second meal he was fatally stricken with apoplexy. The king said\nhe was sorry, and having thus far given way to his grief, he sat down\nwith Madame de Maintenon to rehearse the overture of an opera. This\nduke\u2019s son and successor gave suppers, at which his infamous daughter,\nthe Duchess de Berri, presided, and admission to which was purchased\nby the candidate making simple denial of his belief in a God! The fate\nof both had something retributive in it. The Duchess de Berri, who had\nprivately married a profligate and ugly officer of her guards, named De\nRiou, sought to overcome her father\u2019s wrathful refusal to acknowledge\nthe union, by giving him a splendid supper _al-fresco_ on the terrace\nof Meudon, on the 13th May, 1709. The evening proved cold and damp, and\nthe duchess caught there a fever brought on by a chill, over-feeding,\nand deep drinking, of which she died. Fourteen years afterwards, the\nsire who, at sixteen, had all the experience in vice of a man of sixty,\nwas dining with the Duchess of Phalaria, his last mistress, when he\nwas taken ill. The physician who was summoned enjoined abstinence\nimmediate and complete. \u201cWait till to-morrow,\u201d said the duke, \u201cI will\nenjoy myself to-night.\u201d And accordingly, the exemplary pair supped\ntogether, and the lady was in the act of telling the duke one of her\nlively stories. As she went on, the glass slid from his hand, and his\nhead sank upon her shoulder. She thought he was asleep, and went on\nwith her story; but he to whom she was telling it was stone-dead. The\nson of the regent duke was in every respect unlike his father. He ate\n_his_ last supper with the Jansenist fathers of the Genevi\u00e8ve,--symbol\nof his general habits and the society he kept. _His_ son was the father\nof _Egalit\u00e9_, and at the time of his death (1785) was popular with the\nlower classes at Paris for the nightly suppers which he distributed\nto them, and which consisted of bread and wine, with medicine for\nthose who needed it. It was a distribution made not charitably, but\npolitically. Of the last meal of Egalit\u00e9, before he went to execution,\nI only know that it was a breakfast, and not a supper, and that he\nboth ate and drank heartily. Misfortune quite as little disturbed the\nappetite of the Louis Philippe of our own days. During his flight from\nParis he never forgot the hour of supper or dinner; and when \u201cWilliam\nSmith\u201d landed at Newhaven, the first thing he asked for was--something\nto eat. I notice these table traits, simply because the Orleanist\nhistorians always speak contemptuously of Louis XVI. eating, with\nappetite, in open court during his trial. The stomach of Orleans was\never as ready as that of Bourbon.\n\nThe supper has been called the conversational meal, but to make it\nso in perfection it requires a thorough professor of the science of\nconversation--one who knows that its very spirit consists less in being\na good talker himself than in flinging about suggestive matter to\ninduce others to converse upon. The host who understands the science\nwill so do this that his guests will be satisfied with themselves.\nSome French writer has said, in reference to this after-supper gossip,\nthat it should be like a game at cards, at which each player does his\nbest,--but I do not endorse this sentiment to its fullest extent,\nalthough I allow that there is something in it. The wise generally,\nand dyspeptics especially, will do well to avoid political subjects\nafter supper; and perhaps there is no more comprehensive remark to be\nmade on this matter than one advanced by a follower of La Bruy\u00e8re,\na minor moralist, who has said that \u201cla confiance fournit plus \u00e0 la\nconversation que l\u2019esprit ou l\u2019\u00e9rudition.\u201d\n\nI recollect once seeing the dullest of evenings made suddenly bright\nby an apt query modestly put by one who needed not to inquire, but who\nquietly asked if anyone present could name the author of the line:--\n\n  \u201cFine by degrees, and beautifully less.\u201d\n\nMany a wide guess was fired off prior to the successful naming. The\ngeneral opinion was in favour of Pope, and Pope has indeed written a\nline very like it:--\n\n  \u201cFine by defect, and delicately weak.\u201d\n\nThe falling upon such coincidences are the very explosives of\nafter-supper discussions: thus, the very familiar line--\n\n  \u201cRides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm,\u201d\n\nmay be the text for a pretty dispute. It occurs in Addison\u2019s\n\u201cCampaign,\u201d and also in Pope\u2019s \u201cDunciad.\u201d The latter poet too has said--\n\n  \u201cYe little stars, hide your diminish\u2019d rays;\u201d\n\nbut Milton, before him, had written--\n\n  \u201cAt whose sight all the stars\n  Hide their diminish\u2019d heads.\u201d\n\nSchiller\u2019s \u201cThekla\u201d warbles melodiously her melancholy assurance--\n\n  \u201cIch habe gelibt und geliebet;\u201d\n\nand Byron\u2019s \u201cSardanapalus,\u201d equally used up, mutters with a faint sigh\nthe same words--\n\n  \u201cI have lived and loved.\u201d\n\nWe all know who tells us that\n\n  \u201cGospel light first beam\u2019d from Boleyn\u2019s eyes;\u201d\n\nand Horace Walpole harped on the same tune, when he said--\n\n  \u201cFrom Catherine\u2019s wrongs a nation\u2019s bliss was spread,\n  And Luther\u2019s light from Henry\u2019s lawless bed.\u201d\n\nGray and Moss, too, afford instances of like coincidences of sound or\nsentiment, or both. The first, in his \u201cElegy,\u201d has--\n\n  \u201cAnd leaves the world to darkness and to me.\u201d\n\nThe second, in his \u201cBeggar\u2019s Petition,\u201d sings to the same air--\n\n  \u201cAnd left the world to wretchedness and me.\u201d\n\nI have noticed, in a former page, how Gray\u2019s line of\n\n  \u201cDear as the light that visits these sad eyes,\u201d\n\nmust necessarily remind one of Shakspeare\u2019s words, in the mouth of\nBrutus--\n\n  \u201cDear as the drops that visit this sad heart.\u201d\n\nDemosthenes has truly said--\n\n  \u1f08\u03bd\u1f74\u03c1 \u1f41 \u03c6\u03b5\u03cd\u03b3\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bb\u03b9\u03bd \u03bc\u03b1\u03c7\u03ae\u03c3\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9,\n\nso that Sir John Minnes is not even the original author of the\nHudibrastically sounding assertion--\n\n  \u201cHe who fights and runs away,\n  May live to fight another day.\u201d\n\nThe lines in Hudibras are as the perfecting and comment on the above,\nremarking as they do--\n\n  \u201cFor he that runs may fight again,\n  Which he can never do that\u2019s slain.\u201d\n\nThese coincidences are, no doubt, unintentional. For my own part, I do\nnot believe that Shakspeare, when he spoke in Hamlet, of\n\n  \u201cThe undiscover\u2019d country, from whose bourne\n  No traveller returns,\u201d\n\nnecessarily had in his mind the\n\n  \u201cQui nunc it per iter tenebricosum\n  Illuc unde negant redire quemquam,\u201d\n\nof Catullus; although the latter lines were quoted by Seneca the\nphilosopher, and were as familiar as household words among the\nverse-loving ancients. Dr. Johnson\u2019s remark on the similarity between\nCaliban\u2019s desire to sleep again, and the \u03c0\u03ac\u03bb\u03b9\u03bd \u1f24\u03b8\u03b5\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u03b5\u03cd\u03b4\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd of\nAnacreon, may apply to nearly all the passages in our national poet\nwhich appear to have been derived from the ancients. If we judged them\nby any other rule than that the ideas presented themselves naturally to\nShakspeare\u2019s mind, without consideration whether any one before him had\nsung to the self-same tune, we might soon turn _his_, and indeed any\npoet\u2019s works, into a thing of shreds and patches. For instance, again,\nwhen the young Dane describes Osric as \u201cspacious in the possession\nof dirt,\u201d we might accuse the author, yet wrongfully, perhaps, of\nhaving stolen the idea from the \u201cmulta dives tellure\u201d of Horace. We\nmight imagine that the \u201cId in summa fortuna \u00e6quius quod validius,\u201d of\nTacitus, gave birth to\n\n  \u201cThat in the captain\u2019s but a choleric word,\n  Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy,\u201d\n\nof Shakspeare, who would have been very much surprised had he been told\nas much. Again, Corneille, because he said,\n\n  \u201cQui commence bien ne fait rien s\u2019il n\u2019ach\u00e8ve,\u201d\n\nis not to be accused of having written a pendant to the assertion of\nFlaccus--\n\n  \u201cDimidium facti qui c\u0153pit habet.\u201d\n\nNeither has Beaumarchais rifled Otway, because \u201cD\u00e9sirer du bien \u00e0 une\nfemme est ce vouloir du mal \u00e0 son mari,\u201d has a close resemblance to--\n\n  \u201cI hope a man may wish his friend\u2019s wife well,\n  And no harm done.\u201d\n\nIf mere close resemblance establish a charge of plagiarism, then\nChaucer, when in speaking of maidens dark or fair he said--\n\n  \u201cBlake or white, I toke no kepe,\u201d\n\nstole the thought from the ancient Irish bard, who said--\n\n  \u201cBohumilun a coolen dhuv no baun;\u201d\n\na line which Chaucer could not have read, though his own is a\nliteral translation of it. Examples like these I might go on citing\n_ad infinitum_. As Rosalind says, I could quote you so eight years\ntogether, dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted. But I\nwill conclude with one more case in point between a well-known English\nauthor and the French dramatist Moli\u00e8re. Thus writes the one--\n\n  \u201cWhat woful stuff this madrigal would be,\n  In some starved, hackney\u2019d sonneteer, or me!\n  But let a lord once own the happy lines,\n  How the wit brightens and the style refines!\u201d\n\nAnd thus sung the other--\n\n  \u201cTous les discours sont des sottises,\n  Partout, d\u2019un homme sans \u00e9clat.\n  Ce seraient paroles exquises,\n  Si c\u00e9\u2019tait un grand qui parla.\u201d\n\nIf this be digressing, it is because after-supper conversation _does_\ntake a discursive character. In the last century, in Paris, the\nmajestic nonentities were invited to dinner; the talkers, be they who\nthey might, to supper. \u201cLa Robe d\u00eene; Finance soupe,\u201d was another of\nthese distinctions; and it was found that the supper was by far the\nmost agreeable meal of the day. The celebrated Duchess of Kingston\nwas especially celebrated for her Paris suppers. They were infinitely\nmore splendid than her English breakfasts, so pleasantly sneered at by\nHorace Walpole. The wits assembled round her in gay clusters, and they\nand the poets cudgelled their brains to prove one another plagiarists;\nwhile the peers stood by, and marvelled at the extent and elasticity of\nthe human understanding. Nothing could well surpass the hilarity and\nmagnificence of these entertainments, where the philosophers were voted\nas dull as the nobles, and no aristocracy was acknowledged but the\naristocracy of intellect. Another lady, remarkable for the elegance of\nthe little suppers over which she presided, was Madame Tronchin: but\nthe Reign of Terror came on, and her friends and relatives were daily\ndragged from her to the guillotine; and Madame Tronchin, who had a most\nfeeling heart, used to say, that she never could have gone through such\nhorrors had it not been for her little cup of caf\u00e9 \u00e0 la cr\u00eame. The\ncourtiers used to joke in like fashion, at the suppers of Versailles,\nat national disgrace. When the Count d\u2019Artois returned from the siege\nof Gibraltar, to which he had gone with much boasting, and began to\ntalk of his batteries, the courtiers used to smile, and to whisper to\none another that he meant his \u201cbatterie de cuisine.\u201d\n\nWith regard to the dietetics of supper, it may be taken for granted\nthat late, heavy meals are dangerous, and to be avoided. Chymification\nand sleep may go on tolerably well together after it; but when the time\ncomes for chylification and sanguification, feverish wakefulness will\naccompany the process. Dyspeptic patients, however, are authorized to\ntake a light supper before going to bed. It is said that the idle man\nis the devil\u2019s man; and it may also be said of the stomach, that if it\nhas nothing to do it will be doing mischief. It is especially so with\npersons of weak digestion; for whom an egg, lightly boiled, or dry\ntoast and a little white-wine negus, is a supper _selon l\u2019ordinance_.\nBut a wise man will hardly want a guide in this matter. Breakfast may\nbe the meal of friendship; dinner, of etiquette; and supper, the feast\nof wit;--but, generally speaking, he will show most wit who takes the\nleast supper. Common sense should teach him the exact measure of his\ncapacity.\n\nA whale swallows at a gulp more shrimps than would be required to make\nsauce for the universe. That gentle songster, the canary, is like the\ncelebrated contralto songstress, who eats daily half a peck of saffron\nsalad;--the bird consumes nearly his own bulk weight of food. But he\nis delicate compared with the caterpillar, which consumes five hundred\ntimes its own weight before it lies down, to rise a butterfly. As\nfor the hy\u00e6na, he is popularly said, when hungry, and other food not\npresenting itself, to eat himself; and probably, like Dr. Kitchener,\nhe carries his own sauce-box about with him! But the stomach of man is\nnot made to perform such feats as those accomplished by the whale, the\ncanary, or the caterpillar. He is especially to remember, that though\nan animal, he is not a beast.\n\nMan, it must be remembered, began with refinement. He was made perfect,\nupright, and to him was given \u201cevery herb bearing seed, which is on\nthe face of all the earth, and every tree in which is the fruit of a\ntree, yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.\u201d Here food is used as\nthe symbol of celestial blessings; as in the passage, \u201cHe should have\nfed them also with the finest of the wheat, and with honey out of the\nrock should I have satisfied them.\u201d With the fall, civilization and\ninnocence also fell, and barbarism was the offspring of disobedience.\nThere was a time when men had sunk so low that they were like the\nTroglodytes described by Pomponius Mela--\u201cTroglodyt\u00e6 nullarum opum\ndomini, strident magis quam loquuntur, specus subeunt, alunturque\nserpentibus\u201d--they had no property, shrieked rather than spoke, lived\nin caves, and devoured serpents for food. The fine wheat and the\nhoney from the rock was not theirs. The Fenns, painted by Tacitus,\nwere only a shade less barbarous: \u201cMira feritas,\u201d says the graphic\nCaius Cornelius, \u201cf\u0153da paupertas; non arma, non equi, non penates;\nvictui herba, vestui pelles, cubili humus\u201d--wonderful for their\nwildness, their poverty filthy; they had neither horses, nor gods;\nthe grass was their food, skins their raiment, and the ground their\ncouch. The Helvetii were _progressistas_ in the race for the prize of\ncivilization; and, when planning an emigration project, they took two\nyears to thoroughly perfect the plan, laying up stores of provisions\nthe while. Whoever Ceres may have really been, it is clear that in her\nis to be recognised the benefactress of mankind:--\n\n  \u201cPrima Ceres unco glebam dimovit aratro,\n  Prima dedit fruges, alimentaque mitia terris,\n  Prima dedit leges;\u201d\n\nshe who taught them the uses of the plough, of agriculture, and of\nfixed laws, and who gave them what God had intended for civilized and\ninnocent man, \u201cthe finest wheat,\u201d--she must have been the renovator of\nthe earth, and of beauty upon it. Man, like the rudest saints of the\ndesert--so near may savagery be to undisciplined sanctity--had been\n\u201cfeeding on ashes but now the finest wheat was again there to give\nhim strength and delight,\u201d--wheat, where golden grain had, perhaps,\nfirst yielded its abundance beneath the shade of the primeval tree of\nknowledge.\n\nThe era of wheat, of the ploughshare, and of iron, was the era of the\nsecond civilization. Man was no longer generally a wild savage, or a\ncunning hunter. God again vouchsafed to him \u201cthe finest of the wheat;\u201d\nand, as civilization progressed, so also was widened the circle of\nsupply, upon which indeed much of civilization depends.\n\nThe subject of \u201cMan and his Food,\u201d with regard to the future, has been\nably discussed by Dr. Leonard Withington, of Newbury, Massachusetts.\nHe has moved the question, whether we have reached the terminus of all\nour stores or not? He holds, that the forest, the field, the river,\nand the sea may yield contributions to our table, in addition to the\nknown abundance for which our as abundant gratitude is now due. We\nhave not reached the line of our last inventions; and, doubtless, new\narticles are to be discovered, which will have an equal influence on\nvirtue and happiness. \u201cBoundless nature,\u201d says Dr. Withington, \u201clies\nbefore us, and undeveloped skill is wrapt up in the human breast. The\nexuberance of our system is not exhausted,--her beasts, her birds, her\nfishes, her plants, her growing trees and her copious grasses, her\npastures, her valleys, her lofty mountains and her rolling streams, are\nall spread out to the hungry world. Nature is an image of God, and she\nechoes, though she does not originate the words, \u2018In my Father\u2019s house\nis bread enough, and to spare. Thou visitest the earth, and waterest\nit; thou greatly enrichest it with the river of God, which is full of\nwater; thou preparedst them corn when thou hadst so provided for it.\nThou waterest the ridges thereof abundantly; thou settlest the furrows\nthereof; thou makest it soft with showers; thou blessest the springing\nthereof.\u2019\u201d\n\nDr. Cumming holds, not only that death is the most unnatural of\nconditions, but that when the era of heavenly, everlasting life shall\nbe established, the heaven of man will be here upon earth. So Dr.\nWithington thinks that the earth will not only be made more heavenly\nbeautiful than it now is, before the period of the new paradise, but\nmore abundant also. \u201cThe manna,\u201d he says, \u201cwhich is hereafter to be\nprovided, will not be rained down from heaven, but will spring up from\nthe earth.\u201d And there is common sense in this last assertion, for in\nit is implied that abundance will come by the proper application of\nknowledge and labour, without which the earth, ever wise and prudent,\nwill yield but little. The increasing populations of that earth have\ntwo objects before them which are of no small importance, and which\nare thus defined by Dr. Withington:--\u201cOne is, to impart from the open\nfield of nature all those good and wholesome things which our Father\nhas laid up for us; and secondly, to train our taste and habits for\nthe using of those things which are nutritive and sweet, and which may\nhave the best influence on our moral character and social happiness.\u201d\nThe training should begin from early childhood,--and early childhood\nrequires delicate training.\n\nAn American writer on dietetics is half afraid that people will smile\nif he, in connexion with the subject, introduces dainty children; and\nyet, as he justly remarks, \u201cthere is a mystery about this subject, on\nwhich we may well bestow a passing thought.\u201d There are children in all\nthe various classes of life who are \u201cvery difficult about their food.\u201d\n\u201cThese little connoisseurs,\u201d says Dr. Withington, \u201ccannot eat with the\nrest of the family, and the mother and the son are often at issue in\nan interminable controversy. The mother often says it is all whim and\ncaprice; and some severe matrons tell their children that they shall\nnot eat a morsel until the given lump is devoured. But the son would\nsay, if he could quote Shakspeare, \u2018You cram these things into mine\near against the stomach of my sense. I know I don\u2019t love it. I can\u2019t\neat it; it is not fit to be eaten.\u2019\u201d The doctor proceeds to inquire\nif this turn of the appetite be a matter of caprice or necessity. He\nexamines whether the mother, or the boy be right. He acknowledges the\nantiquity of a controversy which has been carried on for ages, and he\nhas no doubt \u201cthat Eve had it with Cain and Abel, the first supper\nshe gave them after they were weaned. We offer it,\u201d he adds, \u201cas a\nprofound conjecture, that Cain was a dainty boy, and probably doubled\nup his fist at his mother.\u201d With regard to the controversy itself, he\nappears to think that it has much of the quality of that which marked\nthe dispute about the colour of the chameleon, and that \u201cboth parties\nare partly wrong.\u201d It is likely, as he remarks, that much depends on\nthe training and volition, and also on original nature and temperament.\n\u201cThere are some things we were never made for, and they were never made\nfor us. There are some kinds of food which, though they may suit the\nrace, were never made for the _individual_. But this blinded appetite,\npartly natural, partly artificial, follows through life.\u201d And this is\nleaving the controversy very much where the worthy doctor found it.\n\nFinally, let them who fancy that man was made merely to enjoy, learn\ntruth from contemplating the portrait of one whose sole philosophy was\ngastronomic enjoyment. If ever there was a man who had a gay celebrity,\nand who taught in the porch, that life was only life at the tables in\nthe \u201csalon,\u201d it was the editor of the \u201cAlmanack des Gourmands.\u201d He\ntaught not that _bibere est vivere_, but that _bibere_ was only the\nhalf of _vivere_, and that to _live_ was emphatically to eat and drink.\nHe was a practical philosopher, it should be observed, and here is the\nportrait of the man, at the end of his philosophical practice:--\u201cThe\nauthor of the Almanack is still in the land of the living. He eats,\ndigests, and sleeps, in the charming valley of Longpons.... But how is\nhe changed! At eight o\u2019clock, he rings for his servants, scolds them,\ncries _Extravagantes!_ calls for his _soupe aux ficules_, and swallows\nit. Digestion now commences: the labour of the stomach reacts upon\nthe brain, the gloomy ideas of the fasting man disappear, calmness\nresumes her sway, he no longer wishes to die. He speaks, converses\ntranquilly, asks for Paris news; and inquires for the old gourmands\nstill living. When digestion is finished, he becomes silent, and sleeps\nfor some hours. On awaking, complaints recommence; he weeps, he sighs,\nhe becomes angry, he wishes to die, he calls eagerly for death. The\nhour for dinner comes; he sits himself down to table, dinner is served,\nhe eats abundantly of every dish, although he says he has no want of\nanything, as his last hour is approaching. At dessert, his face becomes\nanimated; his eyes, sunk in their orbits, sparkle brightly. \u2018How is\nMarquis de Coussy, dear doctor?\u2019 he exclaims: \u2018how long will he last?\nThey say he has a terrible disease. Doubtless they have not put him\non regimen. You would never have suffered that, for one must eat to\nlive,--ah!\u2019 At length, he rises from table. Behold him in an immense\narm-chair. He crosses his legs, supports his stumps upon his knees (for\nhe has no hands, but something resembling the flap of a goose), and\ncontinues his conversation, which always runs on eating. \u2018The rains\nhave been abundant,\u2019 he cries, \u2018we shall have plenty of mushrooms\nthis autumn. What a pity, dear doctor, that I cannot accompany you in\nyour walks to St. Genevi\u00e8ve! How fine our vines are! what a delicious\nperfume!\u2019 And then he falls asleep, and dreams of what he will eat on\nthe following day!\u201d\n\nFancy, if the theory of guardian angels be a beautiful truth, what\nthe winged watcher of this animal, staggering over the supper of\nlife, must feel at contemplating the ward committed to his care. For\nour own profit such examples may be employed, as the ancients showed\ntheir slaves drunk in presence of their sons, that the latter might be\ndisgusted with inebriety. And this tail-piece should be engraved at the\nend of every work professing to teach that there is even in this world,\na paradise for _gourmands_. The old heathen Socrates knew better, when\nhe said, \u201cBeware of such food as persuades a man, though he be not\nhungry, to eat; and those liquors that will prevail with a man to drink\nthem when he is not thirsty.\u201d In the same spirit, the pious Dodsley\ntaught, that health sat on the brow of him only who had temperance\nfor a companion--temperance, which Sir William Temple styled as \u201cthat\nvirtue without pride and fortune without envy, which gives health of\nbody and tranquillity of mind, the best guardian of youth, and support\nof old age.\u201d So Jeremy Collier says, \u201cTemperance keeps the senses clear\nand unembarrassed, and makes them seize the object with more keenness\nand satisfaction. It appears with life in the face, and decorum in the\nperson; it gives you the command of your head, secures your health, and\npreserves you in a condition for business.\u201d What comment can I add to\ntexts of such philosophy, but to bid wise men welcome to the feast of\nreason, where\n\n  \u201cMay good digestion wait on appetite,\n  And health on both!\u201d\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\nR. CLAY, PRINTER, BREAD STREET HILL.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Henry Holden Frankum, Esq.\n\n[2] \u201c\u2019Twixt the gloaming and the murk,\n    When the kye comes hame.\u201d--HOGG.\n\n[3] \u03a6\u03b9\u03bb\u03bf\u03bc\u03bc\u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u1f74\u03c2 \u1f08\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03b4\u03af\u03c4\u03b7. Iliad, iii. 414.\n\n[4] After \u201cCupiditate et Amore,\u201d Livy ungallantly adds, \u201cqu\u00e6 maxime ad\nmuliebre ingenium efficaces preces sunt.\u201d\n\n[5] Lady Morgan, I think, calls dancing, \u201cthe Poetry of Motion.\u201d\n\n[6] \u201cQu\u2019est-ce que la danse? le sourire des jambes. Qu\u2019est-ce que le\nsourire? la danse du visage.\u201d--_Bibliophile Jacob._\n\n[7] The theatre at Boulogne stands on the site of the old convent\ngarden belonging to the Cordeliers, the sea formerly flowed close to\nthe spot. When Henry VIII. took Boulogne, he converted the convent into\na marine arsenal.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s Notes\n\nObvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations\nin hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other\nspelling and punctuation remains unchanged.\n\nItalics are represented thus _italic_.","title":"Table traits, with something on them","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":172890}