ing; others deplored the limited capacity of the stomach (which will not hold, upon the average, more than two quarts of pulp); and Roman dignitaries went the length of sparing it the trouble of digesting the first meal, to have the pleasure of swallowing a second. . . The delicacy of our manners would not endure this practice; but we have done better, and we have arrived at the same end by means recognised by good taste. Dishes have been invented so attractive, that they unceasingly renew the appetite, and which are at the same time so light, that they flatter the palate without loading the stomach. Seneca would have called them Nubes Esculentas. We are, indeed, arrived at such a degree of alimentary progression, that if the calls of business did not. compel us to rise from table, or if the want of sleep did not interpose, the duration of meals might be almost indefinite, and there would be no sure data for determining the time that might elapse between the first glass of Madeira* and the last glass of punch."

It may not be deemed beside the purpose to state that M. Brillat-Savarin was of a sober, moderate, easily-satisfied disposition: so much so, indeed, that many have been misled into the supposition that his enthusiasm was unreal, and his book a piece of badinage written to amuse his leisure hours. The writer of these pages has been frequently exposed to depreciating remarks of the same tendency, but has contrived to bear up against the calumny.

An anecdote (related to Colonel Damer by Talleyrand) may help to rescue the fair fame of BrillatSavarin from the reproach of indifference, and illustrate the hereditary quality of taste. He was on his way to Lyons, and was determined to dine at Sens. On his arrival he sent, according to his invariable custom, for the cook, and asked what he could have for dinner? The report was dispiriting. "Little enough," was the reply. "But let us see," retorted

The custom of taking Parmesan with, and Madeira after, soup, was introduced into France by M. Talleyrand.

M. Savarin, "let us go to the kitchen and talk the matter over." In the kitchen he found four turkeys roasting. "Why!" exclaimed he, " you told me you had nothing in the house. Let me have one of these turkeys." "Impossible!" said the cook, "they are all bespoken by a gentleman upstairs."

"He

must have a large party to dine with him then?" "No, he dines by himself." "I should like much to be acquainted with the man who orders four turkeys for his own eating." The cook was sure that the gentleman would be glad of his acquaintance; and M. Brillat-Savarin immediately paid his respects to the stranger, who turned out to be his own son. "What, you rogue, four turkeys all for yourself? ” "Yes, sir; you know that, whenever I dine with you, you eat up the whole of les-sots-les-laissent" the titbit which we call the oyster of the turkey or fowl"I was resolved to enjoy myself for once in my life, and here I am, ready to begin, although I did not expect the honour of your company."

It may not be deemed an unpardonable digression to state here that the late Lord Alvanley had his suprême de volaille made of the oysters, or les-sots-leslaissent, of fowls, instead of the fillet from the breast; so that it took a score of fowls to complete a moderate dish. The same distinguished epicure, who was also one of the three or four pleasantest companions and wittiest men of the century, held that partridges were only worth eating in July, and he used to be regularly furnished with them from his own estate during that month.

To proceed with our extracts :

"But, the impatient reader will probably exclaim, how then is a meal to be regulated, in order to unite all things requisite to the highest pleasures of the table? I proceed to answer this question.

"1. Let not the number of the company exceed twelve, that the conversation may be constantly general.

"2. Let them be so selected that their occupations shall be varied, their tastes analogous, and with such points of contact that there shall be no necessity for the odious formality of presentations.

"3. Let the eating-room be luxuriously lighted, the cloth remarkably clean, and the atmosphere at the temperature of from thirteen to sixteen degrees of Réaumur.

"4. Let the men be spirituels without pretension — the women pleasant without too much coquetry.*

"5. Let the dishes be exceedingly choice, but limited in number, and the wines of the first quality, each in its degree.

"6. Let the order of progression be, for the first (the dishes), from the most substantial to the lightest; and for the second (the wines), from the simplest to the most perfumed.

"7. Let the act of consumption be deliberate, the dinner being the last business of the day; and let the guests consider themselves as travellers who are to arrive together at the same place of destination.

"8. Let the coffee be hot, and the liqueurs chosen by the

master.

9. Let the saloon be large enough to admit of a game at cards for those who cannot do without it, and so that there may notwithstanding remain space enough for post-meridian colloquy.

"10. Let the party be detained by the charms of society, and animated by the hope that the evening will not pass without some ulterior enjoyment.

"11. Let the tea be not too strong; let the toast be scientifically buttered, and the punch carefully prepared.

"12. Let not the retreat commence before eleven, but let everybody be in bed by twelve.

"If any one has been present at a party uniting these twelve requisites, he may boast of having been present at his own apotheosis."-vol. i. pp. 297–302.

M. Brillat-Savarin has here omitted one very im

* "I write," says the author in a note, "between the Palais Royal and the Chaussée d'Antin."

portant requisite, which it may be as well to supply without delay from another section of his book.

Of all the qualities of a cook, the most

indispensable is punctuality.

"I shall support this grave maxim by the details of an observation made in a party of which I was one - quorum pars magna fui-and where the pleasure of observing saved me from the extremes of wretchedness.

"I was one day invited to dine with a high public functionary (Cambacérès); and at the appointed moment, half-past five, everybody had arrived, for it was known that he liked. punctuality, and sometimes scolded the dilatory. I was struck on my arrival by the air of consternation that reigned in the assembly; they spoke aside, they looked into the court-yard; some faces announced stupefaction: something extraordinary had certainly come to pass. I approached one of the party whom I judged most capable of satisfying my curiosity, and inquired what had happened. 'Alas!' replied he, with an accent of the deepest sorrow, Monseigneur has been sent for to the Council of State; he has just set out, and who knows when he will return!' 'Is that all?' I answered, with an air of indifference, which was alien from my heart; that is a matter of a quarter of an hour at the most; some information which they require; it is known that there is an official dinner here to-day-they can have no motive for making us fast.' I spoke thus; but at the bottom of my soul I was not without inquietude, and I would fain have been somewhere else. The first hour passed pretty well; the guests sat down by those with whom they had interests in common, exhausted the topics of the day, and amused themselves in conjecturing the cause which had carried off our dear Amphitryon to the Tuileries. By the second hour some symptoms of impatience began to be observable; we looked at one another with distrust; and the first to murmur were three or four of the party, who, not having found room to sit down, were by no means in a convenient position for waiting. At the third hour the discontent became general, and everybody complained. When will he come back?' said one. • What can he be thinking of?' said another. It is enough to give one one's death,'

said a third. By the fourth hour all the symptoms were aggravated; and I was not listened to when I ventured to say that he whose absence rendered us so miserable was beyond a doubt the most miserable of all. Attention was distracted for a moment by an apparition. One of the party, better acquainted with the house than the others, penetrated to the kitchen; he returned quite overcome; his face announced the end of the world; and he exclaimed in a voice hardly articulate, and in that muffled tone which expresses at the same time the fear of making a noise and the desire of being heard, Monseigneur went out without giving orders; and, however long his absence, dinner will not be served till his return.' He spoke, and the alarm occasioned by his speech will not be surpassed by the effect of the trumpet on the day of judgment. Amongst all these martyrs, the most wretched was the good D'Aigrefeuille *, who is known to all Paris; his body was all over suffering, and the agony of Laocoon was in his face. Pale, distracted, seeing nothing, he sat crouched upon an easy chair, crossed his little hands upon his large belly, and closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to wait the approach of death. Death, however, came not. Towards ten, a carriage was heard rolling into the court; the whole party sprang spontaneously to their legs. Hilarity succeeded to sadness; and in five minutes we were at table. But alas! the hour of appetite was past! All had the air of being surprised at beginning dinner at so late an hour; the jaws had not that isochronous (isochrone) movement which announces a regular work; and I know that many guests were seriously inconvenienced by the delay."- vol. i. pp. 93-96.

On the part of the guests, also, punctuality should be regarded as imperative; and the habitual want of it may commonly be set down to affectation or to long-indulged selfishness. Rather than place the slightest restraint on himself, the transgressor makes a whole party uncomfortable. It is no answer to say that they can sit down without him, for a wellselected company may be spoilt by a gap; and a late arrival causes discomfort and confusion in exact pro

* The friend and principal gastronomic aide-de-camp of Cambacérès.