up to the grossness and indocility which too often accompany maturer swinehood? Ten to one he would have proved a glutton, a sloven, an obstinate, disagreeable animal-wallowing in all manner of filthy conversation-from these sins he is happily snatched away Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade, his memory is odoriferous--no clown curseth, while his stomach half rejecteth, the rank bacon-no coalheaver bolteth him in reeking sausages-he hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful stomach of the judicious epicure and for such a tomb might be content to die. Charles Lamb. A Salad 'O make this condiment, your poet begs то The pounded yellow of two hard-boil'd eggs; Two boil'd potatoes, pass'd through kitchen sieve, Smoothness and softness to the salad give; Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, And, half-suspected, animate the whole. Of mordant mustard add a single spoon, Distrust the condiment that bites so soon; But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault, To add a double quantity of salt; Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca brown, Oh, herbaceous treat ! 'Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat : Sydney Smith. Fish MUCH do I love, at civic treat, The monsters of the deep to eat ; To see the rosy salmon lying, Sydney Smith. The Ballad of Bouillabaisse A STREET there is in Paris famous, For which no rhyme our language yields, The which in youth I oft attended, This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is- Indeed, a rich and savoury stew 'tis ; Should love good victuals and good drinks. And Cordelier or Benedictine Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace, Nor find a fast-day too afflicting, Which served him up a Bouillabaisse. I wonder if the house still there is? Yes, here the lamp is, as before ; I recollect his droll grimace: We enter-nothing's changed or older. "How's Monsieur TERRÉ, waiter, pray? The waiter stares, and shrugs his shoulder"Monsieur is dead this many a day.” "It is the lot of saint and sinner, So honest TERRE'S run his race." "What will Monsieur require for dinner?" "Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse ?" "Oh, oui, Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer; "Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il ?" "Tell me a good one."-" That I can, Sir: The Chambertin with yellow seal." "SO TERRE'S gone," I say, and sink in My old accustom'd corner place; "He's done with feasting and with drinking, With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse." My old accustom'd corner here is, The table still is in the nook; Ah! vanish'd many a busy year is This well-known chair since last I took. When first I saw ye, cari luoghi, Where are you, old companions trusty My memory can quick retrace; There's JACK has made a wondrous marriage; Ah me! how quick the days are flitting ! |