was obliged to go into a foreign country, to take care of a considerable fortune, which was left him by a relation, and came very opportunely to improve their moderate circumstances. They received the congratulations of all the country on this occasion; and I remember it was a common sentence in every one's mouth, "You see how faithful love is rewarded." He took this agreeable voyage, and sent home every post fresh accounts of his success in his affairs abroad; but at last, though he designed to return with the next ship, he lamented, in his letters, that "business would detain him some time longer from home," because he would give himself the pleasure of an unexpected arrival. The young lady, after the heat of the day, walked every evening on the sea-shore, near which she lived, with a familiar friend, her husband's kinswoman; and diverted herself with what objects they met there, or upon discourses of the future methods of life, in the happy change of their circumstances. They stood one evening on the shore together in a perfect tranquillity, observing the setting of the sun, the calm face of the deep, and the silent heaving of the waves, which gently rolled towards them, and broke at their feet; when at a distance her kinswoman saw something float on the waters, which she fancied was a chest; and with a smile told her, "she saw it first, and if it came ashore full of jewels, she had a right to it." They both fixed their eyes upon it, and entertained themselves with the subject of the wreck, the cousin still asserting her right; but promising, "If it was a prize, to give her a very rich coral for the child of which she was then big, provided she might be godmother." Their mirth soon abated, when they observed, upon the nearer approach, that it was a human body. The young lady, who had a heart naturally filled with pity and compassion, made many melancholy reflections on the occasion. "Who knows," said she, "but this man may be the only hope and heir of a wealthy house; the darling of indulgent parents, who are now in impertinent mirth, and pleasing themselves with the thoughts of offering him a bride they have got ready for him? or, may he not be the master of a family that wholly depended upon his life? There may, for aught we know, be half a dozen fatherless children, and a tender wife, now exposed to poverty by his death. What pleasure might he have promised himself in the different welcome he was to have from her and them! But let us go away; it is a dreadful sight! The best office we can do, is to take care that the poor man, whoever he is, may be decently buried." She turned away, when a wave threw the carcase on the shore. The kins woman immediately shrieked out, "Oh, my cousin!" and fell upon the ground. The unhappy wife went to help her friend, when she saw her own husband at her feet, and dropped in a swoon upon the body. An old woman, who had been the gentleman's nurse, came out about this time to call the ladies in to supper, and found her child, as she always called him, dead on the shore, her mistress and kinswoman both lying dead by him. Her loud lamentations, and calling her young master to life, soon awaked the friend from her trance; but the wife was gone for ever. When the family and neighbourhood got together round the bodies, no one asked any question, but the objects before them told the story. Incidents of this nature are the more moving when they are drawn by persons concerned in the catastrophe, notwithstanding they are often oppressed beyond the power of giving them in a distinct light, except we gather their sorrow from their inability to speak it. I have two original letters, written both on the same day, which are to me exquisite in their different kinds. The occasion was this. A gentleman who had courted a most agreeable young woman, and won her heart, obtained also the consent of her father, to whom she was an only child. The old man had a fancy that they should be married in the same church where he himself was, in a village in Westmoreland, and made them set out while he was laid up with the gout at London. The bridegroom took only his man, the bride her maid; they had the most agreeable journey imaginable to the place of marriage; from whence the bridegroom writ the following letter to his wife's father. "March 18, 1672. "Sir, "After a very pleasant journey hither, we are preparing for the happy hour in which I am to be your son. I assure you the bride carries it, in the eye of the vicar who married you, much beyond her mother; though he says, your open sleeves, pantaloons, and shoulder-knot, made a much better show than the finical dress I am in. However, I am contented to be second fine man this village ever saw, and shall make it very merry before night, because I shall write myself from thence, "Your most dutiful son, "T. D." "The bride gives her duty, and is as handsome as an angel. --I am the happiest man breathing." The villagers were assembling about the church, and the happy couple took a walk in a private garden. The bridegroom's man knew his master would leave the place on a sudden after the wedding, and, seeing him draw his pistols before, took this opportunity to go into his chamber and charge them. Upon their return from the garden, they went into that room; and, after a little fond raillery on the subject of their courtship, the lover took up a pistol, which he knew he had unloaded the night before, and, presenting it to her, said, with the most graceful air, while she looked pleased at his agreeable flattery: "Now, madam, repent of all those cruelties you have been guilty of to me; consider, before you die, how often you have made a poor wretch freeze under your casement; you shall die, you tyrant, you shall die, with all those instruments of death and destruction about you, with that enchanting smile, those killing ringlets of your hair "-" Give fire!" said she, laughing. He did so; and shot her dead. Who can speak his condition? but he bore it so patiently as to call up his man. The poor wretch entered, and his master locked the door upon him. "Will," said he, "did you charge these pistols?" He answered, "Yes." Upon which, he shot him dead with that remaining. After this, amidst a thousand broken sobs, piercing groans, and distracted motions, he writ the following letter to the father of his dead mistress. "Sir, "I, who two hours ago told you truly I was the happiest man alive, am now the most miserable. Your daughter lies dead at my feet, killed by my hand, through a mistake of my man's charging my pistols unknown to me. Him have I murdered for it. Such is my wedding day.--I will immediately follow my wife to her grave: but, before I throw myself upon my sword, I command my distraction so far as to explain my story to you. I fear my heart will not keep together until I have stabbed it. Poor, good old man! -Remember, he that killed your daughter died for it. In the article of death, I give you my thanks, and pray for you, though I dare not for myself. If it be possible, do not curse me." This is the tale in number 94; the names of characters are such as readers of that time expected; the sense of life is true for all times: Si non errásset, fecerat ille minus.-MART. Will's Coffee-house, November 14. That which we call gallantry to women seems to be the heroic virtue of private persons; and there never breathed one man, who did not, in that part of his days wherein he was recommending himself to his mistress, do something beyond his ordinary course of life. As this has a very great effect even upon the most slow and common men; so, upon such as it finds qualified with virtue and merit, it shines out in proportionable degrees of excellence. It gives new grace to the most eminent accomplishments; and he, who of himself has either wit, wisdom, or valour, exerts each of these noble endowments, when he becomes a lover, with a certain beauty of action above what was ever observed in him before; and all who are without any one of these qualities are to be looked upon as the rabble of mankind. I was talking after this manner in a corner of this place with an old acquaintance, who, taking me by the hand, said, "Mr. Bickerstaff, your discourse recalls to my mind a story, which I have longed to tell you ever since I read that article wherein you desire your friends to give you accounts of obscure merit." The story I had of him is literally true, and well known to be so in the country wherein the circumstances were transacted. He acquainted me with the names of the persons concerned, which I shall change into feigned ones; there being a respect due to their families that are still in being, as well as that the names themselves would not be so familiar to an English ear. The adventure really happened in Denmark; and if I can remember all the passages, I doubt not but it will be as moving to my readers as it was to me. Clarinda and Chloe, two very fine women, were bred up as sisters in the family of Romeo, who was the father of Chloe, and the guardian of Clarinda. Philander, a young gentleman of a good person, and charming conversation, being a friend of old Romeo, frequented his house, and by that means was much in conversation with the young ladies, though still in the presence of the father and the guardian. The ladies both entertained a secret passion for him, and could see well enough, notwithstanding the delight which he really took in Romeo's conversation, that there was something more in his heart, which made him so assiduous a visitant. Each of them thought herself the happy woman; but the person beloved was Chloe. It happened that both of them were at a play in a carnival evening, when it is the fashion there, as well as in most countries of Europe, both for men and women to appear in masks and disguises. It was on that memorable night, in the year 1679, when the playhouse by some unhappy accident was set on fire. Philander, in the first hurry of the disaster, immediately ran where his treasure was; burst open the door of the box, snatched the lady up in his arms; and, with unspeakable resolution and good fortune, carried her off safe. He was no sooner out of the crowd, but he set her down; and, grasping her in his arms, with all the raptures of a deserving lover, "How happy am I," says he, " in an opportunity to tell you I love you more than all things, and of shewing you the sincerity of my passion at the very first declaration of it!"-"My dear, dear Philander," says the lady, pulling off her mask, "this is not a time for art; you are much dearer to me than the life you have preserved; and the joy of my present deliverance does not transport me so much as the passion which occasioned it." Who can tell the grief, the astonishment, the terror, that appeared in the face of Philander, when he saw the person he spoke to was Clarinda! After a short pause, " Madam," says he, with the looks of a dead man, 66 we are both mistaken;" and immediately flew away, without hearing the distressed Clarinda, who had just strength enough to cry out, "Cruel Philander! why did you not leave me in the theatre?" Crowds of people immediately gathered about her, and, after having brought her to herself, conveyed her to the house of the good old unhappy Romeo. Philander was now pressing against a whole tide of people at the doors of the theatre, and striving to enter with more earnestness than any there endeavoured to get out. He did it at last, and with much difficulty forced his way to the box where his beloved Chloe stood, expecting her fate amidst this scene of terror and distraction. She revived at the sight of Philander, who fell about her neck with a tenderness not to be expressed; and, amidst a thousand sobs and sighs, told her his love, and his dreadful mistake. The stage was now in flames, and the whole house full of smoke; the entrance was quite barred up with heaps of people, who had fallen upon one another as they endeavoured to get out. Swords were drawn, shrieks heard on all sides; and, in short, no possibility of an escape for Philander himself, had he been capable of making it without his Chloe. But his mind was above such a thought, and wholly employed in weeping, condoling, and comforting. He catches her in his arms. The fire surrounds them, while --I cannot go on- Were I an infidel, misfortunes like this would convince me that there must be an hereafter: for who can believe that so much virtue could meet with so great distress without a following reward? As for my part, I am so old-fashioned as firmly to believe, that all who perish in such generous enterprizes are relieved from the further exercise of life; and Providence, which sees their virtue consummate and manifest, takes them to an immediate reward, in a being more suitable to the grandeur of their spirit. What else can wipe away our tears, when we contemplate such undeserved, such irreparable distresses? It was a sublime thought in some of the heathens of old; Quæ gratia currúm Pascere equos, eadem sequitur tellure repostos.1 That is, in other words, "The same employments and inclinations which were the entertainment of virtuous men upon earth make up their happiness in Elysium." Before we pass from Tatler to Spectator, let us turn aside to make acquaintance with another of the wits who was amusing readers in Queen Anne's time. Dr. William King was born in the year 1663, son of Ezekiel King, a gentleman of London. He was educated at Westminster School and Christ Church, Oxford. He early inherited a fair estate, took his Master of Arts degree in 1688, and began his career as writer with a refutation of attacks upon Wiclif in the "History of Heresy," by M. Varillas. He then chose law for a profession, in 1692 graduated as LL.D., and was admitted an Advocate at Doctor's Commons. He kept a light heart and a lighter purse than beseemed one of his fraternity, publishing playful satires, and at times showing an earnest mind under his mirth. In or soon after the year 1 Virgil, Eneid, vi. 653–5. 1702 Dr. King went to Ireland as judge of the High Court of Admiralty, sole Commissioner of the Prizes, Vicar General to the Lord Primate, and Keeper of the Records in Birmingham's Tower, in which office he was succeeded in 1708 by Joseph Addison. Dr. King, who had not increased his credit for a love of work, returned to London about that time, and following his own way of mirth began publishing WILLIAM KING. From the title-page of his Collected Works (1776). "Useful Transactions in Philosophy and other sorts of learning." In 1709 he published the best of his playful poems, "The Art of Cookery, in imitation of Horace's Art of Poetry; with some letters to Dr. Lister and others, occasioned principally by the Title of a Book published by the Doctor, being the works of Apicius Caelius, concerning the Soups and Sauces of the Ancients. With an Extract of the greatest Curiosities contained in that Book." Here the "Extract" is a satire on waste erudition, which is only entitled "Letter IX. To Mr. be said to represent in whimsical fashion APICIUS SAUCED. "but may DEAR SIR,-I must communicate my happiness to you, because you are so much my friend as to rejoice at it. I some days ago met with an old acquaintance, a curious person, of whom I inquired if he had seen the book concerning soups and sauces. He told me he had; but that he had but a very slight view of it, the person who was master of it not being willing to part with so valuable a rarity out of his closet. I desired him to give me what account he could of it. He says that it is a very handsome octavo; for ever since the days of Ogilby good paper and good print and fine cuts make a book become ingenious, and brighten up an author strangely; that there is a copious index; and at the end a catalogue of all the Doctor's works concerning cockles, 2 1 De Opsoniis sive Condimentis, sive Arte Coquinaria, Libri Decem. Amsterdam, 1709. 2 John Ogilby's illustrated translation of Virgil, 1654. English beetles, snails, spiders that get up into the air and throw us down cobwebs, a monster vomited up by a baker, and such like; which, if carefully perused, would wonderfully improve us. There is, it seems, no manuscript of it in England, nor any other country that can be heard of; so that this impression is from one of Humelbergius, who, as my friend says, he does not believe contrived it himself, because the things are so very much out of the way, that it is not probable any learned man would set himself seriously to work to invent them. He tells me of this ingenious remark made by the editor, "That, whatever manuscripts there might have been, they must have been extremely vicious and corrupt, as being written out by the cooks themselves, or some of their friends or servants, who are not always the most accurate." And then, as my friend observed, if the cook had used it much it might be sullied; the cook perhaps not always licking his fingers when he had occasion for it. I should think it no improvident matter for the State to order a select scrivener to transcribe receipts, lest ignorant women and house-keepers should impose upon future ages by illspelt and uncorrect receipts for potting of lobsters, or pickling of turkeys. Coelius Apicius, it seems, passes for the author of this treatise; whose science, learning, and discipline, were extremely contemned, and almost abhorred, by Seneca and the Stoics, as introducing luxury, and infecting the manners of the Romans; and so lay neglected till the inferior ages; but then were introduced, as being a help to physic, to which a learned author, called Donatus, says that "the kitchen is a handmaid." I remember in our days, though we cannot in every respect come up to the ancients, that by a very good author an old gentleman is introduced as making use of three doctors, Dr. Diet, Dr. Quiet, and Dr. Merriman. They are reported to be excellent physicians; and, if kept at a constant pension, their fees will not be very costly. It seems, as my friend has learnt, there were two persons that bore the name of Apicius, one under the Republic, the other in the time of Tiberius, who is recorded by Pliny, "to have had a great deal of wit and judgment in all affairs that related to eating," and consequently has his name affixed to many sorts of omelets and pancakes. Nor were emperors less contributors to so great an undertaking, as Vitellius, Commodus, Didius Julianus, and Varius Heliogabalus, whose imperial names are prefixed to manifold receipts; the last of which emperors had the peculiar glory of first making sausages of shrimps, crabs, oysters, prawns, and lobsters. And these sausages being mentioned by the author which the editor publishes, from that and many other arguments the learned doctor irrefragably maintains, that the Book, as now printed, could not be transcribed till after the time of Heliogabalus, who gloried in the titles of Apicius and Vitellius, more than Antoninus, who had gained his reputation by a temperate, austere, and solid virtue. And, it seems, under his administration, a person that found out a new soup might have as great a reward as Drake or Dampier might expect for finding a new continent. My friend says, the editor tells us of unheard-of dainties; how "Esopus had a supper of the tongues of birds that could speak;" and that "his daughter regaled on pearls," though he does not tell us how she dressed them; how "Hortensius left ten thousand pipes of wine in his cellar, for his heir's drinking; " how "Vedius Pollio fed his fish-ponds with man's flesh;" and how "Cæsar bought six thousand weight of lampreys for his triumphal supper." He says, the editor proves equally to a demonstration, by the proportions and quantities set down, and the nauseousness of the ingredients, that the dinners of the emperors were ordered by their physicians; and that the recipe was taken by the cook as the collegiate doctors would do their bills to a modern apothecary; and that this custom was taken from the Egyptians; and that this method continued till the Goths and Vandals overran the western empire; and that they, by use, exercise, and necessity of abstinence, introduced the eating of cheese and venison without those additional sauces, which the physicians of old found out to restore the depraved appetites of such great men as had lost their stomachs by an excess of luxury. Out of the ruins of Erasistratus's book of endive, Glaucus Lorrensis' of cow-heel, Mithæcus of hot-pots, Dionysius of sugar-sops, Agis of pickled broom-buds, Epinetus of sack-posset, Euthedemus of apple-dumplings, Hegesippus of black-pudding, Crito of soused mackerel, Stephanus of lemon-cream, Archites of hogs-harslet, Acestius of quince-marmalade, Hickesius of potted pigeons, Diocles of sweet-breads, and Philistion of oatcakes, and several other such authors, the great Humelbergius composed his annotations upon Apicius; whose receipts, when part of Tully, Livy, and Tacitus, have been neglected and lost, were preserved in the utmost parts of Transylvania, for the peculiar palate of the ingenious editor. Latinus Latinius finds fault with several dishes of Apicius, and is pleased to say they are nauseous; but our editor defends that great person, by showing the difference of our customs; how Plutarch says, "the ancients used no pepper," whereas all, or at least five or six hundred of Apicius's delicates were seasoned with it. For we may as well admire that some West Indians should abstain from salt, as that we should be able to bear the bitterness of hops in our common drink and therefore we should not be averse to rue, cummin, parsley-seed, marsh-mallows, or nettles, with our common meat; or to have pepper, honey, salt, vinegar, raisins, mustard and oil, rue, mastic, and cardamoms, strewn promiscuously over our dinner when it comes to table. My friend tells me of some short observations he made out of the annotations, which he owes to his memory; and therefore begs pardon if in some things he may mistake, because it is not wilfully, as that Papirius Petus was the great patron of custard: "That the tetrapharmacon, a dish much admired by the Emperors Adrian and Alexander Severus, was made of pheasant, peacock, a wild sow's hock and udder, with a bread-pudding over it; and that the name and reason of so odd a dish are to be sought for amongst the physicians." : The work is divided into ten books, of which the first treats of soups and pickles, and amongst other things shows that saucepans were tinned before the time of Pliny; that Gordian used a glass of bitter in the morning; that the ancients scalded their wine; and that burnt claret, as now practised, with spice and sugar, is pernicious; that the adulteration of wine was as ancient as Cato; that brawn was a Roman dish, which Apicius commends as wonderful; its sauce then was mustard and honey, before the frequent use of sugar: nor were soused hog's feet, cheeks, and ears, unknown to those ages. It is very probable they were not so superstitious as to have so great a delicate only at Christmas. It were worth a dissertation between two learned persons, so it were managed with temper and candour, to know whether the Britons taught it to the Romans, or whether Cæsar introduced it into Britain: and it is strange he should take no notice of it; whereas he has recorded that they did not eat hare's flesh; that the ancients used to marinate their fish, by frying them in oil, and the moment they were taken out pouring boiling vinegar upon them. The learned annotator observes, that the best way of keeping the liquor in oysters is by laying the deep shell downwards; and by this means Apicius conveyed oysters to Tiberius when in Parthia. A 1 Bills, prescriptions. noble invention, since made use of at Colchester with most admirable success! What estates might brawn or locket have got in those days, when Apicius, only for boiling sprouts after a new fashion, deservedly came into the good graces of Drusus, who then commanded the Roman armies! The first book having treated of sauces or standing pickles for relish, which are used in most of the succeeding receipts; the second has a glorious subject, of sausages, both with skins and without, which contain matters no less remarkable than the former. The ancients that were delicate in their eating prepared their own mushrooms with an amber or at least a silver knife; where the annotator shows elegantly, against Hardouinus, that the whole knife, and not only the handle, was of amber or silver, lest the rustiness of an ordinary knife might prove infectious. This is a nicety which I hope we may in time arrive to; for the Britons, though not very forward in inventions, yet are out-done by no nations in imitation or improvements. The third book is of such edibles as are produced in gardens. The Romans used nitre, to make their herbs look green; the annotator shows our saltpetre at present to differ from the ancient nitre. Apicius had a way of mincing them first with oil and salt, and so boiling them; which Pliny commends. But the present receipt is, to let the water boil well; throw in salt and a bit of butter; and so not only sprouts but spinage will be green. There is a most extraordinary observation of the editor's, to which I cannot but agree; that it is a vulgar error, that walnut-trees, like ruffian wives, thrive the better for being beaten; and that long poles and stones are used by boys and others to get the fruit down, the walnuttree being so very high they could not otherwise reach it, rather out of kindness to themselves, than any regard to the tree that bears it. As for asparagus, there is an excellent remark, that, according to Pliny, they were the great care of the ancient gardeners, and that at Ravenna three weighed a pound; but that in England it was thought a rarity when a hundred of them weighed thirty; that cucumbers are apt to rise in the stomach, unless pared, or boiled with oil, vinegar, and honey; that the Egyptians would drink hard without any disturbance, because it was a rule for them to have always boiled cabbage for their first dish at supper; that the best way to roast onions is in colewort leaves, for fear of burning them: that beets are good for smiths, because they, working at the fire, are generally costive: that Petronius has recorded a little old woman, who sold the agreste olus of the ancients; which honour I take to be as much due to those who in our days cry nettle-tops, elder-buds, and cliver, in spring-time very wholesome. The fourth book contains the universal art of cookery. As Matthæus Sylvaticus composed the pandects of physic, and Justinian those of law; so Apicius has done the pandects of his art, in this book which bears that inscription. The first chapter contains the admirable receipt of a salacacaby of Apicius. Bruise in a mortar parsley-seed, dried pennyroyal, dried mint, ginger, green coriander, raisins stoned, honey, vinegar, oil, and wine; put them into a cacabulum; three crusts of pycentine bread, the flesh of a pullet, goat stones, vestine cheese, pine kernels, cucumbers, dried onions minced small; pour a soup over it, garnish it with snow, and send it up in the cacabulum. This cacabulum being an unusual vessel, my friend went to his dictionary, where, finding an odd interpretation of it, he was easily persuaded, from the whimsicalness of the composition, and the fantasticalness of snow for its garniture, that the properest vessel for a physician to prescribe to send to table upon that occasion might 2 Cliver, goosegrass. be a bed-pan. There are some admirable remarks in the annotations to the second chapter, concerning the Dialogue of Asellius Sabinus, who introduces a combat between mushrooms, chats or beccafico's, oysters, and red-wings, a work that ought to be published; for the same annotator observes that this island is not destitute of red-wings, though coming to us only in the hardest weather, and therefore seldom brought fat to our tables; that the chats come to us in April and breed, and about autumn return to Africk; that experience shows us they may be kept in cages, fed with beef or wether mutton, figs, grapes, and minced filberts, being dainties not unworthy the care of such as would preserve our British hospitality. There is a curious observation concerning the diversity of Roman and British dishes; the first delighting in hodge-podge, gallimaufreys, forced meats, jussels, and salmagundies; the latter in spear-ribs, surloins, chines and barons; and thence our terms of art both as to dressing and carving, become very different; for they, lying upon a sort of couch, could not have carved those dishes which our ancestors when they sat upon forms used to do. But, since the use of cushions and elbow-chairs, and the editions of good books and authors, it may be hoped in time we may come up to them. For indeed hitherto we have been something to blame. The fifth book is of peas-porridge; under which are included, frumetary, watergruel, milk-porridge, rice-milk, flummery, stir-about, and the like. The Latin or rather Greek name is Ausprios; but my friend was pleased to entitle it Pantagruel, a named used by Rabelais, an eminent physician. There are some very remarkable things in it; as the Emperor Julianus had seldom anything but spoon meat at supper: that the herb fenugreek, with pickles, oil, and wine, was a Roman dainty; upon which the annotator observes, that it is not used in our kitchens for a certain ungrateful bitterness that it has; and that it is plainly a physical diet; and that, mixed with oats, it is the best purge for horses: an excellent invention for frugality, that nothing might be lost; for what the lord did not eat he might send to his stable! The sixth book treats of wild-fowl; how to dress ostriches (the biggest, grossest, and most difficult of digestion of any bird), phoenicoptrices,2 parrots, &c. The seventh book treats of things sumptuous and costly, and therefore chiefly concerning hog-meat; in which the Romans came to that excess, that the laws forbade the usage of hogs-harslet, sweet-breads, cheeks, &c., at their public suppers; and Cato, when censor, sought to restrain the extravagant use of brawn, by several of his orations. So much regard was had then to the art of cookery, that we see it took place in the thoughts of the wisest men, and bore a part in their most important counsels. But, alas! the degeneracy of our present age is such, that I believe few besides the annotator know the excellency of a virgin sow, especially of the black kind brought from China, and how to make the most of her liver, lights, brains, and pettitoes; and to vary her into those fifty dishes which, Pliny says, were usually made of that delicious creature. Besides, Galen tells us more of its excellencies: "That fellow that eats bacon for two or three days before he is to box or wrestle, shall be much stronger than if he should eat the best roast beef or bag pudding in the parish." The eighth book treats of such dainties as four-footed beasts afford us; as (1) the wild boar, which they used to boil with all its bristles on. (2) The deer, dressed with broth 1 Gallimaufry was a hash of several meats; jussel, a mince of several meats, for which old recipes are extant; salmagundi was a mixture of chopped meat and pickled herring, with oil, vinegar, pepper, and onions. Phoenicoptrices, flamingoes. made with pepper, wine, honey, oil, and stewed damsons, &c. (3) The wild sheep, of which there are "innumerable in the mountains of Yorkshire and Westmoreland, that will let nobody handle them; " but, if they are caught they are to be sent up with an elegant sauce, prescribed after a physical manner, in form of an electuary, made of pepper, rue, parsleyseed, juniper, thyme dried, mint, pennyroyal, honey, &c.," with which any apothecary in that country can furnish you. (4) Beef, with onion sauce, and commended by Celsus, but not much approved by Hippocrates, because the Greeks scarce knew how to make oxen, and powdering-tubs were in very few families for physicians have been very peculiar in their diet in all ages; otherwise Galen would scarce have found out that young foxes were in season in autumn. (5) The sucking pig boiled in paper. (6) The hare, the chief of the Roman dainties; its blood being the sweetest of any animal, its natural fear contributing to that excellence. Though the emperors and nobility had parks to fatten them in; yet in the time of Didianus Julianus, if anyone had sent him one, or a pig, he would make it last him three days; whereas Alexander Severus had one every meal, which must have been a great expense, and is very remarkable. But the most exquisite animal was reserved for the last chapter; and that was the dormouse, a harmless creature, whose innocence might at least have defended it both from cooks and physicians. But Apicius found out an odd sort of fate for those poor creatures; some to be boned, and others to be put whole, with odd ingredients, into hogs-guts, and so boiled for sausages. In ancient times people made it their business to fatten them: Aristotle rightly observes that sleep fattened them, and Martial from thence too poetically tells us that sleep was their only nourishment. But the annotator has cleared that point; he, good man, has tenderly observed one of them for many years, and finds that it does not sleep all the winter, as falsely reported, but wakes at meals, and after its repast then rolls itself up in a ball to sleep. This dormouse, according to the author, did not drink in three years time; but whether other dormice do so, I cannot tell, because Bambouselbergius's treatise "of fattening dormice" is lost. Though very costly, they became a common dish at great entertainments. Petronius delivers us an odd receipt for dressing them, and serving them up with poppies and honey; which must be a very soporiferous dainty, and as good as owl-pie to such as want a nap after dinner. The fondness of the Romans came to be so excessive towards them, that, as Pliny says, "the Censorian Laws, and Marcus Scaurus in his consulship, got them prohibited from public entertainments." But Nero, Commodus, and Heliogabalus, would not deny the liberty, and indeed property, of their subjects in so reasonable an enjoyment; and therefore we find them long after brought to table in the times of Ammianus Marcellinus, who tells us likewise, that "scales were brought to table in those ages, to weigh curious fishes, birds and dormice," to see whether they were at the standard of excellence and perfection, and sometimes, I suppose, to vie with other pretenders to magnificence. The annotator takes hold of this occasion to show "of how great use scales would be at the tables of our nobility," especially upon the bringing up of a dish of wild-fowl: "For if twelve larks (he says) should weigh below twelve ounces, they would be very lean and scarce tolerable; if twelve and down-weight, they would be very well; but if thirteen, they would be fat to perfection." We see upon how nice and exact a balance the happiness of eating depends! I could scarce forbear smiling, not to say worse, at such exactness and such dainties; and told my friend, that those scales would be of extraordinary use at Dunstable; and that, if the annotator had not prescribed his dormouse, I should |