Aghast I enter-my prophetic fears Gain treble strength, half start the bursting tears. With host and hostess, and a Mr. Brown, From the weak potion starts th' unwonted lip. Though call'd a turbot, plays its part but ill. Meanwhile my host, with pleased and cheerful mien, "Excellent soup! such fish is seldom seen, I market for myself, and pay the best, And my cook knows her duty"-Pass the rest, I call for wine-'twas hot as Etna's fire!- And haste to try some neighb'ring tavern's cheer; And if again, on any future day, And may French vineyards yield the vile Cape smack! Poverty is, in general, an effectual preventive from good eating, and is often pleaded as the insufficient excuse of those who tempt gourmands from their own houses and their own ragoûts, compel them to share, for a time, the worst evils of adversity, and poison them with friendly dinners. Yet men there are whose energetic minds may be said to conquer Fate, and to rise superior to the caprices of fortune; and with such a one it was formerly my lot to be intimately acquainted. Henry Manners and myself were united, both at school and at college, by the magnetic influence of similar tastes and pursuits, and we nursed our friendship by a thousand little offices of civility and kindness. If Harry shot a hare, he was sure to invite me to sup with him; and if I chanced to purchase a peculiarly fine Stilton cheese, I willingly divided it with my friend. When we left Cambridge, I repaired to my paternal estates in the North of England, while Manners was placed by his father in a merchant's house in town. Years passed away, and we saw little of each other; till at length, tired of a country-life, and of the trouble of keeping up hot-houses, rearing sea-kale, and forcing strawberries, I resolved to remove to London, where these, and all other luxuries, might be procured in perfection, and from whence an occasional trip to Paris could be easily effected. I found Manners living in superb style: his business had succeeded; he had married a woman with money, and he spent his wealth in the most judicious and hospitable manner. I generally dined with him once or twice a week, and some of the happiest moments of my life were spent at his table, where every thing rare and delicious was collected, and from turtle-soup down to melted butter, all was excellent, all was perfect. But, alas! these pleasures soon came to a conclusion-poor Harry became a bankrupt, left his mansion in Grosvenor-square, retired to an obscure abode in the city, and was supported by his wife's jointure. Of course I was very shy of visiting him, avoided him as much as possible, and invariably refused all his invitations to dinner. He readily guessed my motives, and one day meeting me as he was coming out of Birch's he said, "Come, come, I see you are afraid of shoulder of mutton, and suet pudding; but try me once, only once, and if you do not like your fare, never come again. Do you remember my veal-olives and lobster-currie?" The last words were accompanied by a melancholy smile; and certain that Harry was too kind-hearted to tantalize and deceive me, I promised to dine with him on the following day. Then indeed was I convinced that "the mind is its own place,” for never in his most prosperous days had my friend appeared more truly amiable and happy than in the little, meanly-furnished room where we dined. Soup of the first quality, exquisite collared salmon, chicken with bechamel sauce, (I remember it even now with pleasure) patties, the promised veal-olives and currie, Oxford dumplings, and some small joint which I did not taste, composed our entertainment; and these good things were all admirably cooked. The wine, too, was excellent of its sort, and a silver stand of rare essences and sauces, which my friend had saved from the wreck of his fortunes, made both my eyes and my mouth water. "Do I see you here?" thought I,“ Oh how unlike the place from whence you came!" But Harry seemed undisturbed by unpleasant remembrances, and during dinner every trace of care was banished from his countenance. his wife: she sat silent and gloomy at the head of the table, appeared annoyed by my praises of her fare, and when I panegyrized a new and expensive dish, gravely remarked, “ that it was needless to describe its excellences to people whose present circumstances forbade, or ought to forbid all useless expense." I had never had a very high opinion of Mrs. Manners, who in the days of her prosperity used to dine on the plainest dish at table; and I now sincerely pitied my friend for having such a helpmate in adversity. However, when she had left the room, heard to my surprise, that to her personal exertions in most instances, and her superintending care in all, the dinner I had so much admired owed its charms. "We are too poor," said Harry," to keep a good cook, and as I must have something fit to eat, Mary is obliged to dress my made-dishes herself. She got the receipts from our former French cook, and I must say manages very well, considering she was never used to any thing of the kind; but she makes an everlasting grumbling about expense." Not so After this, I dined several times with my valued friend, but ere long he was obliged to take up his abode in the King's Bench, whither his wife accompanied him. I saw him no more, and in six or seven months heard that he had died suddenly of apoplexy. His widow resides in the country, and when I wrote to her for one of her receipts, did not vouchsafe me an answer. She is bringing up her only son in the most ridiculous manner, makes him live on the plainest food, will not allow him to be rewarded by cakes and sweetmeats, and requests her acquaintance not to talk of eating in his presence as if it were a matter of any importance. My blood boils at this insult to the memory of my friend. Could he know how his son is being educated?—but I hasten to quit this melancholy theme. Since the peace, I have spent a great deal of my time in Paris, where I improve my culinary skill, and gratify my accurate taste by study, observation, and experience. Never do I leave its walls without regret, "Crebra relinquendis infigimus oscula portis, Rutilius. There are many peculiarities in French cookery disagreeable to unitiated palates; among the rest the frequent use of garlic and of oil: yet how delicious to some persons is the taste of the latter ingredient may be seen by the following anecdote, which exemplifies, in the strongest manner, the domineering power of a favourite dish over the feelings and affections of the human mind. Fontenelle, the celebrated French author, was particularly fond of asparagus dressed with oil; but he was intimately acquainted with an abbé, who loved to eat this delicious vegetable served up with butter. One day, the abbé dropped in unexpectedly to dinner, and Fontenelle, who had ordered his favourite dish, with great kindness directed that half should be dressed with oil, and the rest with butter. The value of this sacrifice is proved by the sequel of the story. The abbé falling down dead in a fit, Fontenelle, without a moment's delay, darted to the top of the stairs, and exclaimed to the cook-" Dress the whole with oil, the whole with oil, as I told you before." Two works have been recently published in London, which I can conscientiously recommend to the lovers of my favourite science: "Apicius Redivivus," and "Tabella Cibaria." The former is a book of receipts, preceded by a most admirable preface, and dedicated to "tasteful palates, keen appetites, and capacious stomachs." The author affirms that he has eaten of every receipt in his book, and that each may be said to have been written "with a pen in one hand, and a spit in the other." He has 103 compositions upon cookery in his own library, all of which he has attentively read; and were it not for a few contemptuous expressions concerning French cooks, I should have it in my power to recommend Apicius beyond all his English predecessors. He urgently advises strict attention to the due mastication of food, as essential to present enjoyment and future comfort; but he appears to think that solid meat requires between thirty and forty movements of the jaw, which is surely an exaggerated statement. His motto is, however, deserving of the attention of all prudent gourmands. "Masticate, denticate, chump, grind, and swallow." He recommends the immediate administration of two doses of medicine to your cook, when your dishes are not seasoned with customary skill, and proposes that this should be one of the agreements at the time of hiring. "Tabella Cibaria," or the bill of fare, is a short Latin poem in good hexameters and pentameters. A waiter at a French tavern is supposed to enumerate the various dishes which he can bring to table, and the author has, with considerable ingenuity, discovered and constructed classical terms which express, with sufficient accuracy, the names of modern dishes and ingredients. But the notes are, in my opinion, the most valuable part of the volume; they are in English, and contain much useful informa tion upon French cookery, many curious anecdotes, and many ways of making the simplest dishes become (to use the writer's own words) "extremely interesting." And now, my readers, farewell; and if I have succeeded in opening the eyes of any mature or embryo gourmand to a sense of his real character, and induced him to bestow the energies of a rational and immortal mind, capable of all that is noble and good, where they may be most honourable to himself and useful to others, I am satisfied; and as virtue is ever its own reward, my morning labours will doubtless be repaid by an unusual appetite for dinner. UPON SEEING A PAINTING OF THE RIVER LARA. THE sun has sunk-and twilight's lonely hour Breaks the repose that breathes along the shore: |