Victorian London - Publications - Etiquette and Advice Manuals - London at Dinner, or Where to Dine, Anon., 1858

"Prandeo, poto." - MARTIAL
"La table est mon seul amour;
Manger, chanter, rire, et boire,
Voilà mon ordre du jour."

WE expected to derive many lessons, and therefore benefits, from the Great Exhibition of 1851, and we were not deceived in the results. Our manufactures asserted their general superiority in the show, that they maintain in the market. Our morals, for the inviolability of which a timorous few were in doleful trepidation - as if contact with strangers were contagion - are still as sound an article as before that event. We learnt that our greatness and our virtue as a people are not fictitious. That was much to learn, and gratifying to know. But let us not forget certain little practical lessons given us at the same time, one of them having an intimate connection with the work in hand. We had here a mass of strangers who, to the anxious query (which at a particular hour of the day will occur to Britons equally with foreigners), [-6-] "Where shall we dine? had no reply but Echo. For if they asked us, could we tell them? We were absolutely as ignorant as they were. To be sure, there were plenty of houses, well stored with provender, and ready to supply it cooked and seasoned for a disbursement. But how cooked? and for what amount of disbursement? Which dining-house catered for the Saxon stomach, and which for the Celtic? and again, which for the light purse, and which for the heavy one? If we had no wish to be inhospitable then, let us at least seek to be better informed now, and escape the charge of involving our guests in a common tribulation from mere helplessness. The matter is really of some importance to us individually, apart from the obnoxious libel so essential an omission involves. "London at Dinner" is an attempt to make up a previous deficiency in our national requirements, and we cherish a conviction that it may be found serviceable to foreign visitants of our shores, and acceptable to our hitherto greatly bewildered countrymen.
    It is not necessary, in this enlightened age, to denounce the gluttony and licentiousness of the Romans; or, as a warning, to cite the orgies of Tiberius, Apicius, or Lucullus, which foreshadowed the decline and fall of the Empire; while, on the other hand, it is pardonable to hold with the great lexicographer, Dr. Johnson, "that [-7-] cookery is one of the arts that aggrandize life; and that the masticational duties are those that we ought principally to attend to." Even the miser, in Moliere, says "you must eat to live, and not live to eat."
    The Scriptures enumerate the abundant means of living, and of food provided for the use of the human race. "Every herb bearing seed," "and every tree which is the fruit of the tree yielding seed," was given to man; and to Noah and his sons, the words went forth, "Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you even as the green herb have I given you all things." But mark well, reader, these generous gifts were for man's use, and not for man's abuse.
    Strangers in London, with money at command to dine when, where, and how it may suit their fancy, can, with perseverance and tact, always gratify their propensities in reason, but we cannot undertake to direct the voluptuary where to pamper his palate, and sow the seeds of wretchedness for himself. It is not in him to be satisfied anywhere. We address ourselves to the saner portion of society.
    In London - how, when, and where to dine - must, in a great measure, depend on the day's and the evening's amusement. If business require attendance in the city, or pleasure to the Opera or theatre, a spot suitable to the [-8-] neighbourhood will naturally be selected. If the digestive organs are somewhat impaired, a light French dinner is preferable to a substantial English one; if, on the contrary, a man has been taking strong exercise all day, and has the appetite of a Saxon, cur indigenous dishes of beef-steaks and mutton chops will be duly appreciated, and can be obtained at a moderate price at any of the numerous coffee and chop-houses.
    To a party made up in a hurry to go to the theatre, no place can be better than the "Bedford Hotel," or "Clunn's Hotel," in Covent Garden: at the former, the claret is extremely good; while at the latter, the "port" has hitherto been supremely correct.
    The stranger cannot go wrong in ordering a clear soup; the freshest fish of the day (for it ought to be an invariable rule never to order any particular fish, but to name what is preferred, leaving it to the fishmonger to send the latest arrival from the sea-side); a plain joint, with a marrow bone, or oyster toast when in season, and no sweets; sherry, port, or claret in keeping.
    To the character of treasurer of the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, Mr. Wilde has added that of landlord of the adjoining house, the Café de l'Europe, and sincerely do we hope that the coffers of both places of public entertainment will be filled, as they deserve to be. In Mr. [-9-] Buckstone we find a most spirited promoter of intellectual amusement; and, judging from personal experience, we feel assured that his highly-respected "Chairman of the Committee of Ways and Means" will be equally successful in his liberal exertions to cater for the creature comforts of the inward man. Despite of its French title, the admirers of our national fare - fresh fish, well-dressed joints, tender steaks, sound sherry, and good old port - will find all that they can require at a reasonable rate; as will those whose palates and pockets aspire to the more refined luxuries of turtle, entrées, venison, and yvn de Bourdeaux. A well-ventilated smoking room is provided by "mine host" for those who like to indulge in the fragrant weed.
    The "Blue Posts," in Cork Street, is a very snug place during the winter for a dinner of four, in the small private parlour on the ground floor. For fish, a rump steak, and boiled beef, it cannot be surpassed; the wines are good, and the gin-punch perfection. The two coffee-rooms are convenient for parties wishing their dinner in a hurry. The rooms are primitive and characteristic. You have the joints artistically carved in the room by the waiter, and not jagged about, "dog's meat fashion," by the guests; the port wine is brought up in the "black bottle," by which means the due quantity, if not the quality, is supplied.
    [-10-] "Dolly's Chop House," in St. Paul's Churchyard, for a chop, or steak, or a "cut direct" from the joint, with well-boiled mealy potatoes, is particularly good; and this, with excellent wine, ought to satisfy anybody, who, like the young Guardsman, could rough it very well on beef- steaks and port.
    The "Ship and Turtle," in Leadenhall Street, for turtle, is equal to the far-famed clear turtle of the Adelphi and Waterloo Hotels, in Liverpool. A plate of turtle, and a grilled fowl done Indian fashion, will repay a stranger for going the distance.
    Among the alleys and side-courts in and out of Cornhill, the British rump steak is furnished in primest condition, to be had nowhere else in the world. Nothing can surpass it for marrowy sweetness and tenderness, as you have it at half-a-dozen celebrated houses: Thomas's, Simpson's, &c., the cooks of which, standing before you in their paper-caps, and armed with weapons of office, may be said to represent the pillars of the Stock Exchange, for on them both Bull and Bear depend utterly for nourishment.
    Let us, however, while giving it its due honour, admit that this sort of fare is only continuously suitable for Bull and Bear.
    To return to the West End. The "Clarendon," [-11-] "Fenton's,'' "Ellis's,'' "Howchin's,'' and "Grillon's," are most celebrated, both in the coffee and private rooms. Some "California," as the fast young men of the day term money, is necessary for these houses, if an unlimited order be given; but a quiet dinner in the best style can be had at a proportionate cost, and with more satisfaction to all parties. All depends on the order given per head.
    One evil of long standing still exists in London - and that is the difficulty of finding an Hotel or Restaurant where strangers of the gentler sex may be taken to dine. It is true, that, since our intercourse with the Continent, some coffee-rooms have been opened where gentlemen may take their wives and daughters; but it has not yet become a recognised custom, although confectioners' shops are resorted to by ladies alone; - at Blackwall, Greenwich, Hampton Court, Windsor, Slough, and Richmond, ladies are to be found as in the Parisian Cafés, and in London at "Epitaux's," in Pall Mall, and at "Verey's," in Regent Street; but to give a private dinner with ladies, it is necessary to go to the "Albion" or "London Taverns," where nothing can exceed the magnificence of the rooms. The waiting is as it should be, quiet and vigilant, and turtle can be had in every shape and form; wine exquisite; price in accordance.
    Simpson's in the Strand holds a deservedly high repu-[-12-]tation for its coffee and private rooms; the dinners, principally in the English style, are commendable, and so are the wines. Mutton cannot be had of better quality than at Simpson's. But we must raise a voice against the ventilation of the rooms. The atmosphere is as of
    "– larder with the steam
    Of thirty thousand dinners;"
and, in hot weather, it is destructive of appetite.
    Those who know the Albion, in Great Russell Street, Drury Lane, have just cause to speak well of it.
    The St. James's Restaurant, in Regent Street, promises well, and will be a great advantage to those who intend to visit the monster concerts next door.
    The newly-established "London Restaurant" at the junction of Chancery Lane and Fleet Street, is admirably conducted. It is modelled as Simpson's.
    Leicester Square is the haunt of foreigners, and as they continue to frequent its restaurants, we must presume they are content with the fare provided for them. To English tastes they might not seem so satisfactory. In Castle Street, Leicester Square, a very unpretending little house, "Rouget's," gives English and French dishes capitally done. The soup Julienne is as good as is to be had in London. "Rouget's" is cheap, quiet, and homely. Joints are not to be had there.
    [-13-] All the above-mentioned taverns, although very good in their respective ways, did not come up to the ideas of the public; in some, the prices were too high, the rooms too low; in others the cooking was excellent, and the wines execrable; it remained then for some spirited individuals to establish a dining-house for the million, combining comfort, luxury, and elegance, with economy; and the Wellington sprang up from the ashes of Crockford's old Club. It would require a more graphic pen than ours to enumerate the excellences of this establishment; we shall therefore simply refer the reader to the advertisement which will be found at the end of this work. Having ourselves judicially examined all the advantages proposed, we can offer conscientious testimony to the very perfect manner in which they are severally carried out.
    The clubs of London attracted greatly the attention and curiosity of strangers. Addison, in the " Spectator," describes the clubs of his day; and although the description may appear to be a little exaggerated, it will furnish some insight into those reunions of more than one hundred and fifty years ago.
    "Man is said to be a social animal; and, as an instance of it, we may observe, that we take all occasions and pretences of forming ourselves into those little nocturnal assemblies, which are commonly known by the name of [-14-] clubs. When a set of men find themselves agree in any particular, though ever so trivial, they establish themselves into a kind of fraternity, and meet once or twice a week upon the account of such a fantastic resemblance. I know a considerable market town in which there was a club of fat men: they did not come together (as you may well suppose) to entertain one another with sprightliness and wit, but to keep one another in countenance. The room where the club met was something of the largest, and had two entrances, one by a door of a moderate size, and the other by a pair of folding doors. If a candidate for this corporate club could make his entrance through the first, he was looked upon as unqualified; but if he stuck in the passage, and could not force his way through it, the folding doors were immediately thrown open for his reception, and he was saluted as a brother."
    The late Mr. Walker, in his most original of originals, gives the following graphic account of the "Athenaeum"; it is equally applicable to almost every club of note in the metropolis:- "One of the most important modern changes in society is the present system of clubs. The facilities of living have been wonderfully increased by them in many ways, whilst the expense has been greatly diminished. For a few pounds a year, advantages are to be enjoyed which no fortune except the most ample can procure. I [-15-] can best illustrate this by a particular instance. The only club I belong to is the 'Athenaeum,' which consists of twelve hundred members. . .   For six guineas a-year, every member has the command of an excellent library, with maps; the daily papers, English and Foreign ; the principal periodicals, and every material for writing, with attendance for whatever is wanted. The building is a sort of palace, and is kept with the same exactness and comfort as a private dwelling. Every member is a master, without any of the trouble of a master. He can come when he pleases, and stay away as long as he pleases, without anything going wrong. He has the command of regular servants, without having to pay or manage them. He can have have whatever meat or refreshment he wants, at all hours, and served up with the cleanliness and comfort of his own house. He orders just what he pleases, having no interest to think of but his own : in short, it is impossible to suppose a greater degree of liberty in living. Clubs, as far as my observation goes, are favourable to economy of time. There is a fixed place to go to; every thing is served with comparative expedition; and it is not customary or general to remain long at table. They are favourable to temperance. It seems that when people can freely please themselves, and when they have an opportunity of living simply, excess is seldom committed. From the account I [-16-] have of the expenses at the 'Athenaeum' in the year 1832, it appears 'that 17,323 dinners cost on the average 2s. 9d., 3s., and 4s. 6d. each; that the average quantity of wine for each person was a small fraction more than half-a- pint. '"
    Since the above essay was written, clubs have increased greatly, many of which do not boast of Spartan abstinence and temperance; the "life-preserver," as the half-pint bottle has been termed, is often exceeded; still, one advantage remains, viz., that it is not required of any one to have more than the joint, and that, as the inimitable Liston used to say, "wine or no wine is 'h'optional.'" An anecdote is recorded of a member, who went upon the most approved Archimedean screw principle, and who managed to economize even to meanness. He would order his lunch ten minutes before the hour for that meal elapsed, and make a dinner of it. He would desire the waiter to bring him a cup of tea hot and strong; this beverage being a fraction cheaper if served in that manner than from the teapot. No sooner had the cup been brought, than the "artful dodger" complained of the strength, ordered some hot water and a clean cup, and, by dividing half, procured two good cups of tea at half price. A great public benefit has latterly been introduced into the principal clubs of London - the power of inviting a friend or two to dinner in the [-17-] strangers' room: and there are many, who, having benefited considerably by this system, not only in giving, but receiving such a courtesy, appreciate those establishments where the doors are not barred against visitors.
    Proceeding alphabetically, to avoid the charge of favouritism, we will commence with "Boodle's," in St. James's Street, "the country gentleman's club, as it is called. Latterly, however, the infusion of some London life into it, has rendered it a most popular society, and nowhere can a better dinner be served. There is no coffee-room, but a most elegant and well-proportioned dining-room, where every day, except during the sitting of parliament, a stranger may be admitted with a member. The usual plan is for a number of congenial souls to put down their names and those of the invited guests, leaving it of course optional for any member to join the party. A president and vice-president are elected, and the repast is all that can be desired; it combines English and French cookery, the choicest wines, and the best waiting. Indeed, in the above respects, few private houses come up to it.
    The "Conservative Club," in St. James's Street, has an excellent strangers' room; and the constitution, morally and physically, is well supported.
    The "Garrick Club," King Street, Covent Garden, may be classed with any of its rivals; and the play-goer will be [-18-] delighted to find himself sitting in a room surrounded with portraits of all the eminent theatrical talent of present and by-gone days. For a snug party, with the prospect of being enlivened by the entrance of some literary lion, or wit of the day, the "Garrick" is second to none. Few clubs are in such request.
    The "Oriental Club," in Hanover Square, is famed for its Eastern condiments and wines; and as the members are unquestionably good livers - (we do not speak of the gastric organs) - they may dine here to their heart's content.
    The "Parthenon" and "Windham" Clubs are exceedingly comfortable, cooking good, and wines undeniable.
    The "Reform" is known to the world at large as being the club where the inimitable Soyer presided for so long a period. It was the clever Alexis who reformed. the antiquated excrescences and abuses of the kitchen. Can any patriot burn with more devoted and intense zeal for the public good than does Soyer?
    Two clubs are especially devoted to our gallant preservers by sea and land, - the "Army and Navy," in Pall Mall; and the "Junior United." The former has had a most unjust nickname given to it, for certainly anything more diametrically opposite to "rags" or "famish" cannot be conceived. The new palace, for so it may justly be termed, was opened in February, 1851, and no more [-19-] convenient or handsome establishment anywhere exists. The "Junior" is good in the kitchen department; and the lover of Sneyd's, or Cutler and Wilson's clarets, will find them here to perfection.
    The Royal Thames Yacht Club, after "shifting their berths many times, are now safely "anchored alongside" the good ship "Wellington," in St. James's Street, from which "craft" they are "victualled." Instead, however, of the ordinary sea stock-junk, hard biscuits, preserved meat, vegetables, milk, cocoa, and rum, they can procure at club prices, not purser's profits, rations of the very best description, from pea soup to real turtle, plain sole to crimped Severn salmon, a mutton chop to a haunch of venison, a scotch collop to a supreme de volaille aux truffes, humble port to imperial Tokay.
    The "Beefsteak Club" still holds its reputation; and, associated as it is with theatrical reminiscences, it is a high privilege to be admitted to one of, what the late Edward Cannon used to call, the rump parliaments. The room, built for the purpose in the English Opera House, the kitchen only separated by a glass screen; the original gridiron of the society; the quaint mottoes on the walls, "When tis done, twere well it were done quickly;" - "Now good digestion wait on appetite, and health on [-20-] both;" the cook with his snow-white jacket, apron, and cap; the absurdity of the laws; The freedom of speech, added to a steak such as only can be seen there, and port wine of the finest quality,-all unite to make the hours fly fast. Of the great wits who once were wont "to set the table in a roar, few now remain; but the world circles on, and they are replaced, or at least substitutes are found, equally delightful to the present race as their predecessors were to the last generation.
    It would be obviously incorrect to intrude into any particular private houses. Where you ought to dine, and where you ought not to dine, only requires classification. The classes commence with Royal Banquets, Lord Mayor and Ministerial Dinners, the well-mounted aristocratic entertainments, those of the untitled gentry, and the snug party of six or eight at the bachelor's house or chambers.
    The Ascot dinner in St. George's Hall, Windsor Castle, is one of the finest sights imaginable. The hall itself is upwards of two hundred feet in length, and about thirty- five in width. The ceiling is in compartments, whereon are emblazoned the armorial bearings of the Knights of the noble Order of the Garter, from its first institution. Edward the Third, and his son, the Black Prince, in complete suits of armour, occupy the corbels; and the walls are ornamented with portraits of our monarchs, from the first [-21-] James to the last George. Along the sides of the hall, the arms of the different knights shine forth on shields; and the cross of our patron saint, encircled by the motto, "Honi soit qui mal y pense," fills the other spaces of this splendid apartment. At each end are tw onoble sideboards seventeen feet in height, and forty in breadth, covered with crimson cloth, set in Gothic framework of the chastest carving, with brackets upon which the massive gold plate is arranged. Immediately opposite the seat appropriated to Her Majesty is the celebrated tiger's bead, captured at Seringapatam; over it the Iluma, formed of precious stones, presented to George the Third by the late Marquis of Wellesley. Above the Iluma is a cup formed of a shell, mounted in gold and silver, surmounted by the figure of Jupiter, resting on the imperial bird, the base supported by Hippocampi; several vases of ivory, and the national cup, with figures of St. George, St. Andrew, and St. Patrick, and other respective emblems, set in rare jewels. The table for a hundred, which occupies nearly the whole length of the room, is ornamented with epergnes, vases, and candelabras. One of the latter, called the St. George, is, perhaps, one of the most splendid specimens of modern plate in the world; the upper division contains the combat with the dragon, the lower has four figures in full relief, supporting the shield [-22-] bearing the arms of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and the plume of the Prince of Wales. The shield of Achilles, and the gold salt-cellar representing the white tower of the castle, are splendid specimens of art. The wine-coolers are copies of the Warwick and other classical vases. The hall brilliantly illuminated; two military bands occupying the gallery; the beefeaters or "bouffetiers," as they were originally called, and the numerous servants in state liveries, give a grand effect to the whole. The company assemble in the drawing-room by half-past seven. At a quarter before eight, Her Majesty and the Prince Consort enter; and after graciously recognising their guests, the Queen takes the arm of a person of the highest rank, and followed by her Royal consort and the Duchess of Kent, leads the way to the banqueting hall. During dinner the bands play some popular waltzes, marches, overtures, and quadrilles; the repast is royal, and served on an entire service of gold plate; the attendance is wonderful. The absence of bustle or confusion in so numerous a party is marvellous; to use a homely adage, there seems to be "a place for everything, and everything in its place." The soup, fish, entrées, &c., are handed round in a state of caloric that astonishes you. The sideboards literally groan (as the newspapers term it), under the weight of home and foreign luxuries, game and truffle pies, pasties, boars' heads, [-23-] Russian tongues, caviare, sardines, &c. The wine, of the highest order, is handed round plentifully during dinner, as the Court do not patronise the old English fashion of sitting long after dinner. At nine o'clock grace is said, and the Lord Steward then gives "The Queen." All stand up, except her Majesty, who gracefully bows her acknowledgments. " God save the Queen" is then played by the united bands; the official Toast-master again rises, and gives "His Royal Highness the Prince Consort," the company standing, and the bands playing the "Coburg March." In about twenty minutes her Majesty rises, and, supported by her august mother and the other ladies, proceeds to the drawing-room. The Prince again takes his seat, and in less than half an hour joins her Majesty. The manner in which the Ascot dinner is served reflects the greatest credit upon the different heads of the departments. Everything is conducted as well as if there were only a dozen people present; there is none of the hurry so often seen in private houses, to remove the dishes before the proper time-no unnecessary delay, every dish being presented in due course: the wine and "cup-bearers" never flag, and the chief artist is everywhere about the room, suggesting some of his excellent dishes, and paying all atteution to the guests. Talk of dining with Louis the Eighteenth at the Tuileries, with Louis Philippe at the [-24-] Palais Royal, with the present King of Holland, at the Hague, with the crowned heads at the Imperial Palace at Vienna, during the congress-splendid as were these feasts, - for comfort and solid magnificence none come up to the royal dinners of Old England.
    From the Palace we proceed to the residence of the first magistrate of the City of London, the Mansion House, and the scene of his inauguration, Guildhall. The Ninth of November dinner at the latter is a fine sight, and to those who get to the Lord Mayor's table, the fare is very good; but the diner-out ought to confine himself to turtle-soup, fish, poultry, or joint. The entrées cannot be desirable, from the time that they are of necessity on the table. One custom we abominate - viz., the loving-cup; and if some spirited Lord Mayor, and there are many men of energy and refinement among the Court of Aldermen, would allow the contents of the loving-cup to be poured into the guests' glasses, he would deserve a public testimonial. What would a person say if a waiter at an inn placed on the table a glass out of which any one had drunk? Here you have a cup that hundreds have drunk from. It is all very well in love ballads to talk of sipping sweets, and leaving "kisses on the goblet:" but in true home private life, the idea is not at all a pleasant one. The large and small dinners at the Mansion House deserve [-25-] notice; the former are a decided improvement upon the Gog and Magog feasts, and the latter are extremely agreeable. The Ministerial and Speaker's dinners vary according to the givers of them. They are generally good: perhaps the wine is not always what might be expected.
    One of the best dinners on record was one given by the late truly popular and lamented Earl of Erroll, then Lord Steward, on the occasion of Her Majesty's birthday. It took place at Grillon's Hotel; and the cooking, wine, and waiting were memorable. The entrées, as should always be the case, were few, but well chosen.
    Without wishing to particularise any great dinners given during the London season, it may suffice to give a brief account of the average of the best mounted houses. You order your carriage, which lands you within five minutes of the appointed hour at your host's door, and after passing through the hall lined with servants in and out of livery, you are ushered into the drawing-room. About ten minutes after, dinner is announced, and your hat is taken from you as you descend the stairs to enter the dining-room. To make your appearance in the drawing-room without your hat is unknown,- except, perhaps, in what Theodore Hook used to term the wild, uninhabited parts of London. The uses of an opera-hat are to he commended upon this and all such occasions. [-26-] A delicate soup and turtle are handed round, - nothing an the tables except flowers and preserved fruits in old Dresden baskets, a bill of fare placed next to every person, a turbot with lobster and Dutch sauces, carved by an able domestic on the side-board, and a portion of red mullet with Cardinal sauce are offered to each guest; cucumber and the essential cruet-stands bringing up the rear. The "flying dishes," as the modern cooks call the oyster or marrow patés, follow the fish. The entrées are carried round, a supreme de volaille aux truffes, a sweetbread au jus, lamb cutlets, with asparagus, peas, a fricandeau d l'oseille; - be careful to avoid what are called flank dishes, which, if placed on the table, are usually cold, and are quite unnecessary. Either venison, roast saddle of mutton, or stewed beef a la jardinière, are then produced, the accessories being salad, beetroot, vegetables, French and English mustard. A Turkey poult, duckling, or green goose, commences the second course, peas and asparagus following in their course; plovers' eggs in aspic jelly, a mayonaise of fowl succeeding; a macédoine of fruit, meringues a la créme, a marasquino jelly, and a chocolate cream, form the sweets. Sardines, salad, beetroot, celery, anchovies, plain butter and cheese, for those who are gothic enough to eat it. Two ices, cherry-water, and pine-apple cream, with the fruit of the season, [-27-] furnsh the dessert. Two servants or more, according to the number of the party, must attend exclusively to the wine; sherry, Madeira, and champagne, must ever be flowing during dinner. Coffee, hot and strong, ought always to be served in the dining-room with liqueurs; if it be carried up stairs, it gets cold, and the chances are ten to one some awkward person upsets a portion of the aromatic beverage into the lap of a lady; besides, it is unfair to ask a butler and his myrmidons with the trays to steer through a crowded drawing-room, amidst chairs, ottomans, fauteuils, screens, and tables, with gentlemen lounging in every direction. From this large and boring dinner, let us turn to the perfection of all, a party of six, eight, or ten, at a bachelor's snuggery. A private note, instead of the formal printed card, has been sent out, naming eight, railway time; and at that hour to a minute the guests are seated, the host having led the way. Turtle from the Adelphi or Waterloo hotels, Liverpool, a Severn or Wood Mill salmon, caught in the morning, a vol-au-vent, Maintenon cutlets, poularde, duckling, green peas, jelly, and cream, form the main part of the dinner; while a leg of cold lamb, pate de Strasbourg, a Spanish ham, dressed crab, or a lobster salad, are on the sideboard for those who prefer cold to hot dishes. Moselle and claret-cup, pale sherry, old Indian Madeira, that has been [-28-] sent so often to the East, that it has almost become tired of the voyage, and champagne for those who prefer a more exhilarating beverage, with magnums of Crockford's, or Charles Cunningham's Chateau Lafitte, furnish "the flow of bowl."
    There is another style of dinner, as agreeable as the one we have just referred to, though not quite upon so expensive a plan; we allude to what may be termed "chamber practice" in the Albany, or courts of law, and for winter entertainments especially they are perfection. The Reverend Richard Barham, son of the great "Ingoldsby," in his Life of Theodore Hook, gives a graphic description of the feasts of a gallant general, the late Sir Andrew Barnard. The feasts alluded to were attended by the witty author of Sayings and Doings, Lord William Lennox, the late Edward Cannon, "Ingoldsby" himself, and others. At these dinners too much ought not to be attempted, as the offices are of necessity rather inconvenient for winter fare. We would suggest the following:- cod-fish and oyster sauce, preceded by half a dozen "natives," placed before each guest, with white and brown bread, cut lemon, and cayenne to every plate; a glass of Chablis between the shell and finny inhabitants of the deep, followed by an aitch bone of beef, jobbed for the occasion, from one of the leading shops in London. Reader! be not amazed; give [-29-] the order a day or two before, and you will have a well-steeped, admirably cooked joint ; it is weighed on its arrival and departure. At the bottom of the table, startling as it may sound, let there be a hot-pot; and as we are in a generous frame of mind, we will give to the public at large a receipt for one of the very best, most economical, and easily dressed dishes in the world, as Apollo sings, "Ply me, try me; prove, ere you deny me."
    The lean part of a loin of mutton, cut into small cutlets, four mutton kidneys sliced, a quarter of a hundred oysters boiled and bearded, four or five potatoes peeled and cut into small slices; mix the latter together, and put a handful into the bottom of a white earthen pot, or turtle mug, large enough to hold the whole of the above; then a layer of mutton, oysters, and kidneys; after that a layer of potatoes and onions, then mutton, he., as before, until the pot is full; continually sprinkling pepper and salt betwixt each layer. When the pot is full, pile on the top a good lot of mashed potatoes, and bake in a moderate oven three hours ; before sending to table fill up with good gravy. To the above add a jobbed ham on sideboard. If, like Lubin Log, "you loves to be liberal," and "stand extras," then either woodcocks, snipes, pheasants, partridges, black game, or grouse, may follow; but depend upon it, the majority of the guests [-30-] will have satisfied their appetites with the fish and first course; a pate de foie gras is a famous substitute for game.
    Good wine and whisky toddy, with a well-assorted party, such as a learned Serjeant, formerly well known on the northern circuit, brings together, is the most delightful of all dinner entertainments. We remember hearing of a dinner which Cannon gave; the time passed away without any note of it being taken, and the hour had arrived when the host wished to change the atmosphere of the dining-room for the more congenial one of an oyster- room, a few "bearded natives" and a glass of "Ginnums" being the delight of the Dean of Patcham, as Hook named him. After a few hints given to his guests, who had unfortunately got upon some dry argument of the landowners, which required considerable irrigation, the host left the chair for a few moments in the hope that his friends would follow; on his return he was greeted with a short and appropriate speech, telling him that his health had been drunk in his absence. "Most kind," pithily replied the subject of the toast; "perhaps you will allow me to return the compliment, and drink yours in your absence." As the Dean had shown his hospitality in a most distinguished manner, the hint, uncourteous as it otherwise might have appeared, was immediately taken in the best humour.
    [-31-] Having now given the style of houses and dinners which the diner-out ought to appreciate, it is necessary to proceed to warn him of those he ought to avoid. Beware of a party of eighteen or twenty in a room that would scarcely hold half the number conveniently; where an influenza trap is laid for you, by the room being at Calcutta heat; the windows and doors open, forming a thorough draught: where the cold clammy entrées arrive in a cart, or a cab, from a second-rate pastry-cook: where everything is sure to be cold, except the wine: where the coachman, lately employed in the stable, places each guest on the rack by the awkward way in which he "handles, not the ribands," but the plates: where a page with three tiers of buttons, his paws encased in white cotton gloves, inserts his thumb into the fish sauces, brings you potatoes, with your paté if you are bold enough to attempt a thick wall of doughy pastry, with a homeopathic supply of oysters unbearded within, and who invariably deposits the contents of same greasy dish upon your coat or your neighbour's dress: where the butler (having been in a fume all day at his additional work, drilling broken-down gouty waiters, hiring extra plate, ordering Wenham Lake ice, which melts under the influence of the heat, and giving directions to what the Four-in-hand Club used to call "a scratch team" of servants,) is literally in a state of damp heat: where the [-32-] footman, who has been on the tramp all day with notes and messages, gives warning just before the hour of dinner, having had a quarrel with the housekeeper about some domestic affair: finally, where the professed woman cook has had no end to "disagreeables," as she terms them, from the kitchen fire smoking, the boiler nearly bursting, the fishmonger being late, the butcher lad failing in his promise, and the "h'imperence" (we again quote her words) of the pastrycook's boy, who wants to occupy the whole of the dresser with his goods. Nor is the usual placidity of her temper at all improved at the unceasing ringing of the drawing-room bell, and the constant inquiry as to when dinner will be served. To masters and mistresses who get impatient, we would tender this piece of advice: never disturb your culinary artist during the process of serving or preparing dinner, as it will invariably tend to delay, if not to spoil it. Avoid a house where ostentation is the ruling passion, where handsome plate prevails; where the host, as the old story goes, boasts of his fine gildings, until some waggish guest exclaims, "Never mind your gilding, give us a taste of your carving:" where your Amphytrion tells you long stories of his wonderful wines, and does not give you iced-water in July; where the epergne is costly, and the table-cloth of a pale straw-coloured line, strongly marked with black borders, where the dishes have been [-33-] placed : where the giver of the feast prides himself upon things out of season (such luxuries just being half enough to satisfy a tenth part of his guests), and where nothing in season is worth touching where home-made gooseberry does duty for champagne, ordinary French wine for claret, from "his friend the Consul:" where the coffee is thick and cold as a November fog; and where the whole entertainment reminds one of the story of the man who, at some untidy inn abroad, desired the waiter to serve the dinner on one plate, and the dirt on another. Such dinners have been seen, and although there is an old and somewhat inelegant saying, "that you ought not to dine with a man, and then baste him with his own spit," or as Baillie Nicol Jarvie remarks, "don't accept a man's hospitality and abuse the scoundrel behind his back," we cannot for the public good refrain from warning our readers against the horrors so faintly described. To return to good cheer, it requires great art to attain it, both in public and private. Set it down as a general rule, that no one except Russian Princes, ignorant of our customs, or Manchester men with newly acquired riches, and fools, ever order things out of season. Heavy soups are a mistake; clear turtle and Julienne should only be tolerated; as a French author remarks, "three or four table-spoons of soup, with as many drops of sherry, are [-34-] all that should be laid in for the foundation of a dinner." To have soup twice is unknown in good houses, although it may generally be remarked, that if a man is bold enough to send his plate a second time he prefaces his remark by a libel on the taste of the princely George, by saying, "I believe the custom was sanctioned by the Regent." For a party of three, four, or five, a unicorn table ought to be adopted. Soup removed by fish, two entrées, one white and one brown, and a small joint or poularde, thus forming the unicorn. We have already alluded to a dinner a la Russe, which is by far the best and most economical manner. It then always arrives hot from the kitchen, and as the entrées are not exposed to the public gaze, there may be fewer of them; the joints served at the side-board by an experienced artist, are more palatable and tempting than when carved on the table; the waiting, too, is rendered more easy; there is no stooping of servants over the shoulders of the guests, no moving against your arm when you are gracefully bowing to a lady with whom you have taken a glass of champagne; no chance of having a warm shower-bath over your dress, when the hot-water plates are being removed - such a circumstance happened last year abroad: an English lady who had married a foreigner was dining with her husband at a large party; as a newly-married couple they got opposite one another. An English [-35-] gentleman sat next the bride on one side, and having been on intimate terms with her family, struck up a friendly acquaintance; towards the end of the dinner, the husband's attention was attracted by an extraordinary look of disgust on the part of his wife, who involuntarily shrank away from her talkative neighbour. Her countenance was the picture of despair. "What can have happened?" thought the husband,-still the lover. Another start rendered him almost frantic, when his surprise was not a little increased at the Englishman offering the disconsolate lady his pocket-handkerchief. "Tears! A handkerchief!" inwardly exclaimed the now excited Othello, as he was about to leave his choir to ask an explanation, when the problem was solved by the lady accepting the proffered cambric, and instead of applying it to her beautiful but somewhat dimmed eyes, placed it behind her shoulders, and soon reproduced it covered with the richest gravy. A clumsy "help," as the Americans call their servants, had deposited the contents of a hot sauce-boat down the hollow of her back; hence the start, the struggle, and the pallid countenance.
    The fashion (what a perversion of the word!) of plastering the heads of servants with powder is one that ought to be exploded. To see a huge footman with his pate like a college pudding, covered with pomatum and powder, [-36-] as if he had borrowed the lard from the cook, and the flour from the dredger, is a most untidy and sorry sight. Nothing, too, can be more unmeaning than to see this miserable relic of bygone times of swords, buckles, garters, gold lace coats, embroidered vests, and cocked hats, kept up in these days of plain liveries and cleanly habits. The baths for the million cannot be better employed than in cleansing the head-pieces of these powder monkeys, and let the tax upon the article be transferred to one on foreign manufactured flour, increased to two shillings per cwt. In well-regulated establishments the following piece of advice is needless but it is most necessary to others. Never let the cook send up a pin with the ornamental cut paper that usually, " bouquet fashion," ornaments the end bone of the leg of mutton. It too often gets into the gravy, and although a small dose of steel may be recommended by the faculty, it is not at all desirable to take it in the form of this sharp-pointed article. Another hint to minor artists never ornament with camellias cut out of red and white vegetables; never send up the feathered tail of a pheasant. Always treat a hare as Apollo did Midas, let his ears be apparent. A larded pheasant is not produceable; if you want to make this naturally dry bird juicy, roast with a piece of bacon interiorly, or what is better still, boil and smother with a purée of onions. [-37-] Rabbits, except in soup stock, ought not to have the honour of appearing at a gentleman's table. In ordering a dinner at a London tavern, at a suburban one, or a country inn, the bill of fare is the most misleading guide in the world, it usually contains seven or eight soups; fish plain and dressed in twenty ways, with every dish that the ingenuity of a man or woman can make out of beef, mutton, veal, and lamb, and in twenty-nine cases out of thirty it happens that what you particularly fancy out of the list is not to be had. Instead then of studying it, either exercise your own judgment and discretion, or leave it to the tact of the cook. In the metropolis a strong clear soup, the best fish of the day, a joint, poultry or game, always furnish a good repast.
    At Greenwich, Blackwall, or Richmond, forbid soup and second courses, confining yourself at the two former places to white-bait and fresh-water fish, with either a duck, grilled fowl, rumpsteak, or beans and bacon to follow. At the latter, to eels dressed in different ways, flounders in water suchee, (we believe water suchee is of Dutch extraction) lamb cutlets, or poultry, and a small joint. At a country inn, though unhappily the rail may be said to have driven all such off the road, we recommend a visit to the larder; if you order from the bill of fare a steak, and a chicken, you are most likely to be served with a tough [-38-] coarse piece of beef, and a gallinaceous patriarch, who, as if by instinct, has retired to his roost, on the arrival of a guest, fearing to be treated as his predecessors had been upon similar occasions. If the larder is not well stocked, a stroll to the butcher's and poulterer's will repay you for your trouble. Barham, Hook, Cannon, and a chosen few, were always in the habit of acting as caterers for themselves, and selecting some rural spot for their place of meeting. The Eel Pie House, Twickenham; the Green Man, Blackheath; the Spaniard, Hampstead; a small way-side house near Barnes Common; the Anglers, on the banks of the Thames; the Star and Garter, Kew Bridge, have all witnessed their joyous meetings. The following account of one of them will serve as an example.
    The only survivor of this jovial crew thus narrates the tale:
    "It was during the Easter-week of 183- that I was unfashionable enough to remain in London, instead of following the world to Brighton, Hastings, Leamington, or Cheltenham, to enjoy the luxuries of those cockney paradises.
    "The annual day of diversion devoted to the citizens had arrived, and hundreds, nay thousands, were wending their way to Greenwich and Stepney. Whilst ruminating as to how I should pass my afternoon, I was agreeably surprised at the receipt of the following note
    [-39-] " DEAR –,
        " Cannon has just fired me off a flaming report of his health, and as the spring has set in with its usual severity, and the easterly winds prevail, he proposes an al fresco dinner at Hampstead, Highgate, Barnes, or his far-famed eel pious (eel-pie house). He suggests that you and I should act as caterers; you to find the eatables, I the drinkables, he the appetite. Talks of fish from the Groves, chops from Hatchets, and perpetrates some wretched puns which, according to Dr. Johnson, must make us look out for our pockets. Seriously - What say you to a trip to the Jolly Anglers at four? There, in a punt, you'll find the gentle crafty Dean, taking his perch. Gentles and simples before him.
    " A Hook by his side.
    P.S.-Remember we are engaged this day week, or, as one of the pressgang says, in that detestable paper, John Bull, which I set my face against, every Sunday Morning-
    With my frothy grey jennet,
    This very day se'nnight,
    We'll drive in my dennet,
    To dine with the dean.'
    " Yours ever,
    " T. E. H. "
    No sooner had I replied in the affirmative to this note, than I proceeded to Peacock's for a jar of turtle, to Grove's for the freshest fish, to Giblet's for some lamb chops cut with the kidneys, to Covent Garden Market for cucumbers, seven shillings apiece, to Morel's for a terrine de foie gras, and started in a hack cab for the scene of action. Just as I had crossed Hammersmith Bridge I overtook Theodore Hook in his cab; to place his hamper of wine and spirits by the side of my basket of provisions, to jump into his conveyance, and get his tiger to act as guard over the united stock, was the work of an instant. After a drive through a cutting easterly wind, with March dust enough, as the adage says, to furnish a king's ransom, and a treacherous hot sun, we reached the spot, and there beheld the reverend gentleman, sitting with a parrot on his finger, and a dog by his side, the latter rather of the turnspit order. 'We are late,' observed Hook, and as Sam Slick says, "the Dean's fairly ryled, got his dander up, and when he shows clear grit, he looks wicked ugly." Stop! I'll give him a dose of "soft sawder," that will take the frown out of his frontispiece, and make his dial-plate as smooth as a lick of copal varnish.' Theodore, with that laughing good-humoured manner, for which he was famous, tried to appease the wrath of the Dean of Patcham. It's no joke to keep me waiting [-41-] half an hour,' said the Dean, and began to clear his throat for action. 'There,' said Hook, aside, 'I see a regular norwester a bruin, his very hair stands right up on eend like a cat's back when she's wrathy. But, old Deanums,' continued the wit aloud, 'we were detained, you know, in catering for you. What do you think of "the rage of the – . No, we'll say nothing about rage, but confine ourselves to the "love of the turtle," as Byron writes.' 'Turtle,' answered Cannon drily, 'I generally judge of the dinner by the Test-u-do.' After this dreadful Latin pun, Hook proceeded, 'And these bright Cameleon variegated beauties - feel their roe - half a dozen mack'rel all of a row.' 'Well, I'm glad you've brought them,' interrupted the Dean, 'for I just asked the waiter what fish he had in the house, and his reply was "soles and heels." One can't dine off shoe leather.' Hook again continued- 'Then the lamb chops, you know, are of the right kidney and last, not least, the Strasbourg geese liver pie.'
    "Poor critters,' responded Cannon, somewhat mollified; though to be crammed and kept before a hot fire such a day as this, would be no great penalty.'But where are the rest of the party?' I inquired. 'You, too, are late,' responded the cynic; fashionable, I suppose; the "cream of he cream" (as the self-styled exclusives call themselves) think it good manners to keep the plebeians [-42-] waiting.' 'Only listen,' I rejoined; 'Covent Garden market was rather out of my way, but as I knew you were devoted to early cucumbers, I have brought you this pun- net.' The fragrance of this delicious luxury completely overpowered the senses of the Dean, who, with one of his happiest smiles, said, 'It's the privilege of an Englishman to grumble, and I have some little cause of complaint, for there's Ingoldsby and the "chirruper," (alluding to one of the most popular choristers of the day,) in the house, as some one says,-
    Drinking warm brandy, genial purl or stout,
    And poor old Deanums taking cold without.'
The songs, the sayings, the good-humour, the unalloyed delight of that festive day, will never pass from remembrance, although the thought that the hearts that then beat high, vibrate no longer, casts a melancholy feeling of gloom over the scene."
    And now for a few remarks touching suppers. A talented French writer thus panegyrises this most social meal. "When five or six men of congenial tastes form a society to talk over during the evening all the agreeable impressions of the day, and who are themselves familiar with all that is going on in the world, and with those who are causing any sensation in it, the pleasure of suppers cannot be equalled."
    [-43-] The nature of this repast must, however, entirely depend on the season. Cold boiled chickens, which are not so dry as roasted ones, are an indispensable dish; oysters from October to March, opened in the room, brawn, plover's eggs, poached eggs, lobsters plain, in salad, and hot au gratin, cold pies, dressed crabs, afford a sufficient choice of principal materials out of which to furnish the viands. If a grill be considered essential, the following modus operandi is worthy of notice;-
    Let the fowl or turkey be neatly carved into legs, breast, wings, back, and merry-thought; score them with a knife, and rub them well over with mustard, not leaving some parts plastered over, and others bare; then add the Dutch sauce (No. 7, see Page 68), taking care that both sides have an equal quantity of the necessary accompaniments. Place the whole in a large dish, and serve thoroughly grilled and hot. Many think there is no art required to send up this dish; this is a great mistake. How often is a dark, burnt dry, hot, "devil" sent up, the taste of which would suffice for the first lesson in fire-eating, and which so completely burns your organs of speech, that your taste is gone, and thirst so increased, that no reasonable quantity of liquid can allay it. Soda water, sugar, lemon and nutmeg, should be ready for making any cup beverages that may be fancied, from sherry cobbler to gin swizzle.
    [-44-] A supper table ought to be so made that the centre turns round, enabling every person to help himself. Servants ought never to be permitted to remain in the room; a dumb waiter, with the needful supply of glasses, spoons, and a kettle of hot water, is all that is required to be handy. There is only one modern drawback to suppers, and that is the unwholesome habit of smoking; the denseness of the atmosphere which it causes is not only injurious to health, but diametrically opposed to the hilarity of the evening: a soporific feeling is produced, which, like opium eating, may be agree able to the recipients, but does not extend its influence on the non-partakers. Take the majority of those who are addicted to the noxious weed, and it will be found they seldom open their mouths, except like steam engines, to emit the smoke, or take in fuel and water, the latter mixed in this instance with sufficient alcohol to destroy the animalculae. All brilliant wits make a practice of never smoking in public : a mild Havannah, al fresco, in riding to cover, or on a water excursion, is all well enough, but a cigar is not the indispensable companion of visiting hours. This smoke nuisance should be referred to Mr. Mackinnon and a select committee of ladies.
    To render one of the above suppers perfect, the party should be so up to the pleasure of the evening that no one person ever engrosses the whole conversation. It is not [-45-] a smart anecdote or witty saying, a pungent remark, a well-pointed epigram or repartee, all following one another in a chaos of confusion, and repeated by a wit, however ready, that conduces to an agreeable reunion; it is the interchange of brilliant fancy, the sharp yet short encounter of antagonistic genius, the playful rejoinder, the good-humoured retort, the leading up to favourite topics, and the absence of hall selfishness, that creates the charm; a punster or anecdote monger who retails his worn out wares, without giving his audience time to laugh or even to get a word in edgeways, ought especially to be shunned; it will be better to hire a man to recite the first chapter of the modem jest-book, or spout forth some pages from the Percy Collection. Wit to be effective, must flow spontaneously. The late Lord Alvanley, Sheridan, George Colman, and Theodore Hook, (when not invited only on the principle of "Jack be funny," ) were most agreeable and delightful companions. In the present day men exist, of the highest acquirements in conversational powers, who make their wit subservient to their higher order of intellect. The professional punster is a bore, and the retailer of conundrums a still greater one. The punsters, like the Thugs of India, go on a system; they lead their victims up to a certain number of ready-cut-and-dried plants-for instance, an old snuff-box will be produced, which affords the oppor-[-46-]tunity of introducing an impromptu fait a loisir. It has been ninety-eight years in the family, and in two more I shall call it a "sentry (century) box;" again, a newspaper may be reverted to, announcing the marriage of Miss Annie Bread, and upon a remark being made on the name, the trained Buffo will deliver himself of what he would call an extempore epigram, supposed to be written by the bridegroom
        "While belles around the Graces spread,
        And beaus around them flutter,
        I'll be content with any bread,
        And won't have any but her (butter)."
    The importer of Americanism ought to be carefully avoided; he brings out a large stock of Yankee notions, to the following effect :-" Of course you have heard of the wag who says that, now a days, in circumference, 'a miss is as good as a mile;' or, you remember the tailor, who, in skating, fell through the ice, declared that he would never again leave a hot goose for a cold duck; or of the chap out West, with hair so red, that when he goes out before day, he is taken for sunrise, and the cock begins to crow." Before the laugh is over, he takes a moral tone, quoting the following aphorism "Men are frequently like tea-the real strength and goodness are not properly drawn out, until they have been a short time in hot water."
    [-47-] The conundrum vendor, surpassing the hacknied punster, will commit to memory a dozen old charades, and dress them up in modern attire, suiting them to the persons and topics of the day; whenever such a one asks you, "Do you give it up?" the only way to stop him is, "Yes, and I wish you would, for I bought two hundred yesterday for a penny, and the hawker's voice and acting was worth more than his wares; for in that gin-broken barrow tone, he asked, 'Vy is curds like your h'opposite neighbour? Becoz it's over the whey! Vy is a donkey's tail like a new-born baby? Becoz it never vas seen before. Vy was Burford, when his h'exibition was burnt down, like a h'orphan? Becoz he'd no longer a pa-nor-a-ma.'" This is a quiet way to stop nonsense, and give a chance of something more agreeable in the way of conversational amusement.
    This supper dissertation has occupied a considerable space, but, before concluding, one word on carving.
    A. dinner cannot be thoroughly appreciated unless the carving be good. When that remnant of English barbarism is kept up, of having everything placed on the table, and the person of the highest rank is called upon to assist the lady of the house, as if helping nicely were an hereditary accomplishment, it is absolutely essential that the soup, fish, and entrées, after being handed to the ladies, should [-48-] be next offered to the distinguished martyr who is called upon to undergo the fatiguing duty of dividing wings of turkeys and chickens. The late Duke of Gloucester, whose talents and knowledge were much greater than the world gave his royal highness credit for, was once heard to exclaim aloud, at a large party at a nobleman's house in Worcestershire, "Take this away, it's a very bad help." This was a characteristic, and, no doubt, a very true remark ; for there be carvers who destroy everything that falls under their careless, clumsy hands; who never think of diving for green fat, sounding for cod sound, dividing the fin and liver in equal portions, and who will send meat and venison, without fat and gravy, woodcock and snipe without trail, turkey without stuffing, and golden plover without toast.
    Sauces for teal and wild duck, that require great heat, ought to have spirit-lamps under the sauce-boats; but it is a mistake to have them for entrées, as the cooking process should cease in the kitchen, and scalding water, if applied the last thing to the hot well, is quite sufficient to keep them at a proper temperature.
    The object of domestic solicitude is to endeavour to combine comfort and system with economy, in the social intercourse of life; to draw a line between an intellectual dinner party of four, six, or eight (and which, with an equal admixture of ladies, may be extended to twelve), and that [-49-] of large dinner gatherings, which are now very properly designated, "Season Liquidation Reunions," in discharge of Cosmopolitan "Soup Tickets." To such reunions, in rooms no larger than closets, and to people who submit to the infliction of being stowed away like negroes in a slaver's hold, the only remedy is to withdraw from the self-imposed ordeal of this middle passage, and seek repose in the quiet of small well-selected parties, where alone "the feast of reason and the flow of soul" can be expected to be realized.
    If objection be taken to the prominent introduction of agreeable and economical "cup beverages," the reply is, "Wenham Lake ice demands them."
    Cookery-books, from the celebrated "Ude," the brilliant and accomplished "Soyer," down to humble "Meg Dodds," abound in every bookseller's shop, in all of which ample instructions will be found for the guidance and study of those anxious to excel in the profound science of Gastronomy; all that requires to be added, as a hint to cooks, is, "Keep your cooking up, and keep your bills down." But country butlers often have to acquire a knowledge of the art of decorating a table and serving a dinner from such practical experience as they may have acquired from time to time in, perhaps, not first-rate, modern schools.
    Considering that the success of a well-cooked dinner entirely depends on the mode in which it is served, and [-50-] the style of the waiting, the following brief instructions will give a general idea of what is absolutely essential as an approach towards serving a dinner "a la Russe."

Flowers should invariably be tastefully introduced, as being the most pleasing and agreeable to the eye and senses. Plateaus of fruits complete the ornamental part of the arrangements. For the sake of convenience, sherry and Madeira may be placed on the table.

It is of the utmost importance that the dining-room should be well-lighted ; this is a point often neglected at the tables of people who ought to know better, but are too indolent to give directions. The light thrown on the table should be brilliant, and every part of the room thoroughly illuminated, although with a more subdued light. Ventilation must, at the same time, be attended to.

Every dish, plate, knife, fork, spoon, and glass should be placed on the table and removed without the least noise or appearance of bustle; every movement must be quiet, cool, collected, and deferential. Plates warmed up to that point of heat which will bear the touch. Small cruet-frames,-such as manufactured by Dismore of Liverpool,-containing salt, Cayenne pepper, and mustard, should be on the table in proportions of one to every three persons.

In order to give the cook fair play, the fish should never be served with the soup - it is a distinct and important course.

When the soup is handed round, ring the bell as a signal for the cook to send up the fish, and thus it will [-52-] be served hot, and the anxiety and character of a good cook cared for.* [* The hour named for dinner should be adhered to with military exactness. It is related of Camhacéres that Napoleon kept his dinner waiting half an hour, and in despair he sent for his cook, and in true military phraseology, exclaimed, "Head! save the entremets, the entrées are annihilated. The late Dr. Kitchener, whose name fully bore out his devotion to the culinary art, piqued himself upon his punctuality, and was in the habit of having the following motto written over his sideboard: "Come at seven, go at eleven. Theodore Hook, who always liked to get into what are called the short hours, added the word "it," to the above, and great was the surprise of the worthy doctor, when he found that by the alteration, the notice read as follows:
"Come at seven, go it at eleven."] Never place fish on a napkin, but serve on a silver or earthenware strainer. Almost every fish requires the use of a knife, and as steel is highly detrimental to the delicate flavour of the piscatory luxury, and the use of one is deemed a vulgarism, a sharp silver blade will prevent your being choked with bones, and not lay you open to the charge of being a Goth.

In the same way, the entrées and top and bottom dishes should never be served together. The entrées [-53-] should be handed round singly, and disposed of in succession; and when the plates are removed, then place on the table the top and bottom removes. N.B.-Two good entrées, a light and a solid one, are enough, and worth a dozen badly cooked and worse served. Don't omit to hand the vegetables and sauces.

If rose-water is introduced, do not have a silver handbath for the million, but have the fragrant liquid in a separate finger-glass for each guest. It is impossible to be too Jewish in the cleanliness of your feast. The lavatory operation is often performed in a way truly disgusting - napkins and fingers immersed.
The old fashion of a small piece of lemon in a glass of pure water,-tepid, if during the winter, is always agreeable.

    AFTER SOUP.-Hand round Madeira and sherry; and remember that, after turtle, punch is banished from all well-regulated tables, as being a stomach-destroying, bilious, gouty, and cloying beverage.
    AFTER WHITE FISH.-One glass only of hock or Moselle cup. After salmon, either claret cup, claret, or port.* [*White cup and Sauces follow White Fish-Red cup amid Brown Sauces, Red or Brown Fish. The same rule applies to White and Brown Meats.]
    AFTER ENTREES.-In order to pander to the prevailing weakness of the day, and assuming that the champagne is choice in quality and perfectly iced, this much overrated, but now favourite wine with the ladies, may be introduced and continued throughout the dinner - but, strictly speaking, it should be reserved until the roast has been served. Never use the present round saucer animalculae-catching champagne glasses, but properly fashioned tulip-shaped ones.
    AFTER GAME.-Either claret cup or port.
    AFTER ICEs.-Cherry-brandy in Bohemian liqueur glasses; all other liqueurs are destructive of the palate.
    [-55-] Should oysters precede the soup, a glass of Chablis or Sauterne.
    Oysters or anchovy toast should be substituted for cheese; the handing round of the latter is more honoured in the breach than the observance.

    Have a bill of fare laid on the table of what is ready in the kitchen to be dressed, so that each person can order what he fancies. It is often painful to see plates of eggs and ham, cutlets, kidneys, come up and get cold-especially when, in many houses, persons do not assemble at a fixed hour.
    It is very essential that the butler should be on the most charitable terms with the cook, so as to give due effect to their respective departments, as well as to ensure a cordial cooperation on the part of the whole establishment; it being now an acknowledged axiom that, with a good cook and a little mutual forbearance, domestic comfort and worldly happiness are greatly promoted. It is also necessary for a butler to be very circumspect in his conduct: exacting strict economy and care throughout his department. Early rising [-56-] is requisite; drones must not be permitted to remain in the hive, punctuality being indispensable.
    Taking the range of service, it is universally admitted that none are so well off as domestic servants, or in so good a position to save their earnings, and acquire the good-will and patronage of their employers few, however, profit by the opportunities offered, owing, in nine cases out of ten, to want of education, and good conduct. If a person, well to do in the world, is pointed out as having originally been a confidential servant in a nobleman or gentleman's family, it will be found, almost invariably, on inquiry, that he or she were conspicuous for their attention to their religious, as well as moral duties.
    Some reform is absolutely necessary with regard to that pampered and overpaid class of footmen who, whether rents are paid or unpaid, or famine and distress be desolating the land, still keep up their exorbitant demands. A tall, overgrown country lout from the plough, uneducated, is often speedily transformed into a ladies' footman, and thinks himself entitled to demand the war-price of five pounds per foot for his services, and two or three suits of livery. He turns up his nose at good wholesome plain food, declares his master keeps a 'orrid bad table; that the beer is h'execrable, &c. In good old times, servants prided themselves on being family fixtures; [-57-] now no young man considers he is bettering himself if he stays more than a year or two in one place, and when new liveries are issued, "Jeames" begins to talk of disagreeables in the servants' hall, and not being comfortable with his fellow-servants; and, after a few years in livery, he thinks himself competent to fill the responsible situation of house-steward and butler, or groom of the chambers. There are, no doubt, many honourable exceptions to the above rule; after all, women are by far the most valuable domestic servants, and do more work without bustle than any in-door footman, and do not require so much looking after. There is one reform already pretty generally established, and that is, no mourning is now given, unless servants have lived in the family two years, and are likely to remain.
    The foregoing synopsis, when sanctioned by conventioial usage, will be sufficient, as a general guide, to establish something like discipline and uniformity of practice in those essentials admitted to be necessary for regulating the movements of the "corps domestique," in order to secure combined action when auxiliary aid is required to assist the permanent establishment in serving a banquet.
    Formulas for keeping simple and correct accounts of the expenditure in each department of the household [-58-] should be provided, without which no establishment can be said to be well regulated. The want of this necessary and salutary check and supervision, has caused the ruin of many aristocratic families, especially in Ireland and Scotland, owing, in a great measure, to an utter forgetfulness that hospitality must be regulated by income, in order to guard against improvident expenditure.
    The following receipts will be found particularly useful on board yachts, and most refreshing after recovering from sea sickness, the effects of which were thus graphically described by a sufferer on board a cutter belonging to the Royal Yacht Squadron, placed by the owner at his disposal for a month's cruise. Being a nautical green hand, he was, of course, determined to prove himself every inch a sailor, by keeping out at sea for a week; he suffered accordingly, and was unable to move from his couch; when, however, the weather moderated, and after being two days without food, he ordered some chicken broth; but no sooner had he raised himself and swallowed a spoonful or two, than he dropped his head again on the pillow, and exclaimed, "Man wants but little here below, and not that little long. - Steward !! the basin !!! Quick!!!! Oh Yacht, my head !!!!!"
    The steward, fortunately, was an old experienced hand, and admiring the determined pluck of his temporary mas-[-59-]ter, recommended the sufferer to endeavour to eat a dry biscuit. By a desperate effort this was accomplished, and, after an interval of half an hour, a glass of cherry brandy was administered. The same process was adopted the next day, and at noon a tumbler of Moselle cup, as blended by Sir John Bayley, completed the cure.
    The following is the learned Baronet's receipt, to whom the author is, and the public ought to feel, deeply grateful for this, and the other subjoined Tonics.

A bottle of Moselle; half a pint of sherry peel a lemon, not too much, so as to predominate; two table spoonsful of sugar; a bunch of burrage, or young nettles, for ten minutes, or a sprig of verbena; all well mixed, and then strained and iced.

Dissolve four or five lumps of sugar in a quarter of a pint of boiling water, with a little very thin lemon peel; [-60-] let it stand a quarter of an hour; add one bottle of the above wines; three or four leaves of burrage, or a small bunch of young nettles, or a sprig of verbena; a small glass of sherry; half a pint of water; mix well and let stand half an hour; strain, and ice it well.

Peel one lemon fine; add to it some white pounced sugar; pour over one glass of sherry; then add a bottle of claret (via ordinaire the best), and sugar to taste ; a bunch of barrage, or young nettles, for ten minutes, or a sprig of verbena; one bottle of soda water; nutmeg if you like it. For cup, strain and ice it well. For mull, heat it, and serve it hot.

A quart of cider; a bottle of soda water; one glass of sherry; one small glass of brandy; juice of half a lemon; peel of quarter of a lemon; sugar and nutmeg to taste; bunch of barrage, or young nettles, for ten minutes, or a sprig of verbena; flavour it with a small glass of pine [-61-] apple shrub (if you can get it); strain and ice it all well. This is a delicious and truly English beverage, and only requires to be tasted to be duly appreciated.

Brandy and water in a large silver or glass goblet, half filled with pounded ice, white sugar, eight or ten leaves of fresh gathered mint, and a small portion of lemon.

Same as above, without lemon peel or mint; sherry, vice brandy, with a dash of nutmeg.

One glass of brandy; half-glass of Jamaica rum; a table spoonful of arrack or whisky; quarter of a lemon; a table spoonful of powered white sugar; water and ice· The above must be "well shaken" and mixed; the ice, [-62-] of the clearest sort, ought to be planed into small pieces with a sharp plane; and to those who like their draughts "like linked sweetness long drawn out, let them use a glass tube or straw to sip the nectar through.

Bruise one small anchovy in a mortar, fine; take a score oysters (Natives, or Hampshire Royals, best), and cast off their beards; chop the oysters up fine; put anchovy and oysters into a small saucepan; mix both together with sufficient cream to give it a pleasing consistency; heat it well over the fire, stirring it all the time; spread it on a round of buttered toast baked crisp, and crust cut off; serve it up hot, in slices ; eat in solemn silence; wash down with a glass of brown sherry.* [* Those who are addicted to sherry, can obtain the finest selected grades at Johnson and Langhorne's; this firm devoting itself especially to the sale of the finest Xeres wines.]

One spoonful of salt, one spoonful of mustard, well mixed; three table spoonsful of oil; one table spoonful of vinegar, half Elder half Tarragon; six drops of Chili [-63-] vinegar; beetroot, onions, celery, cut in thick square slices, boiled and stirred well together in the same; pepper the whole bountifully; a couple of boiled eggs, cut in quarters; mix all well together. It is an improvement to ice it.

One glass port wine; one ditto Harvey sauce; one ditto walnut pickle; three tablespoonfuls of gravy; one pickled walnut, bruised; a bit of butter; slice of a small onion; mustard, cayenne, and salt to taste; mix all together and serve it hot. A brilliant accompaniment to all stews, hashes, grills, and game.

A breakfast cup of rice, boiled and strained; four eggs, bard boiled; a large haddock boiled, or any cold fish; put a large piece of butter in a stewpan, mince all together, season well, and serve very hot.

The following remark from the European Times was omitted by mistake; and as we entirely coincide with the writer, we hasten to rectify it:-
"Those who require either a zest to enable them to relish their food, or stimulant to assist the stomach in digesting it, should make trial of the Worcestershire sauce, which is world-renowned for the exquisite flavour it communicates alike to fish, flesh, or fowl, to soups, salads, or curries. At this season in particular, when so many inducements exist to enjoy the luxury of a good salad; a new sensation' may be obtained by the epicure in a very simple manner. Add a dessert spoon of this sauce to a bowl of dressed salad, and its aromatic properties will be found extremely agreeable, while effectually counteracting any tendency to indigestion. In any country or climate, and at all seasons, this truly stomachic sauce will prove a valuable addition to the breakfast, dinner, or supper table, while the traveller who carries a bottle of it will be enabled to eat with a relish many things which foreign cooks and stewards might otherwise in vain set before him. We must also call the reader's attention to Aerated Waters of Messrs. Lea, Perrins, and Burrows, whose valuable preparations are as delicious as they are wholesome.

    A GENTLEMAN who has written many successful books, and who for many years has contributed to the Magazines and Newspapers, offers his services to those who are anxious to have their works brought forward. Every information will be given personally as to the best method of publishing.
    The Advertiser will be happy to correct any MS., prepare and carry it through the Press.
    Apply by letter to L. W. L., care of Mr. Robert Hardwicke. 192, Piccadilly.

    THIS Establishment was opened to the Public in May, 1853, having for its object to supply a want which has always existed in the
Metropolis, the more remarkable when London is compared with the other Capitals of Europe.
    The patronage with which it has been hononred, the unqualified encomiums of the leading Journals, and the active determination of its Proprietors to provide every attraction that wealth and talent can command, consistent with its social character, bear testimony that by
its means this desideratum has been both ably and liberally supplied.
    These remarks naturally direct attention to the Kitchens—a most important department of the WELLINGTON—in which Ude, that
Emperor of cooks, finding ample scope for his art, ruled supreme, holding at the same time the appetites and the goût of the Royal and
Aristocratic members of the Club (then Crockford’s) completely a discrétion.
    The Kitchens are two in number, each quite complete and independent of the other. In the one an English chef rules the roast; and in the other, one of the cleverest and blest accomplished artistes that Paris can produce prepares, with the aid of his subs. “petits [-3-] diners,” which the travelled English allow to excel the dinners served in the Restaurants of the French capital, everything being realized save the climate.
    The Dining Saloon on the Ground Floor is exceedingly comfortable. Two hundred persons may be seen daily dining in it at the same moment, each capitally served. The ventilation is perfect.
    The Dining Saloon on the First Floor is smaller, but unequalled for the elegance of its proportions and the beauty of its decorations.
And here remark should fall upon the system of dining, in operation at THE WELLINGTON; and to this end a copy of the daily carte is inserted. It should be understood that the Set Dinners are altered daily, and served at a minute’s notice during the hours named. The Dinner at Three Shillings is cooked in the English Kitchen, as are all those ordered from the Bill of Fare. The Dinners at Five Shillings and at Eight Shillings are entirely prepared in the French Kitchen.
    The character of the Wines enumerated in the Wine List requires but the practical test of the refined palate to secure a just appreciation. The plan of serving the Ports and Sherries in marked decanters of the imperial measure, has recommended itself for its plain honesty and common-sense principle; and to its strict and impartial adherence, and the excellent quality of the Wines, are due the great and increasing demand for Wines at table; nor must it be forgotten that to the scientific construction of the Cellars, which are kept at one unvarying degree of temperature, and the careful drawing and decanting of the several Wines, no slight share of its high condition is to be attributed.
    The Carte supplies every information relative to the resources of the Cuisine; said the prices being appended to each dish, the visitor sees at a glance of what his dinner may consist. The option of having but half a portion of many of the made dishes is worthy of notice, the more as it has been remarked that the sight of a small and delicate entrée will sometimes invite the appetite, when a larger one approaching too near vulgarity would produce a contrary effect.
    [-4-] The Suite of Apartments up-stairs vie in magnificence of taste and splendour with any others in Europe. A high authority, speaking of one of the Saloons, says— "Many of our readers are no doubt acquainted with the principal leading palatial mansions in this Metropolis. The most conspicuous of them, with regard to their luxuriant splendour and truly aristocratic grandezza, were called into existence at the period of George the Fourth and his Royal brothers. Notwithstanding the eccentric and faulty taste of that period, there are a few exceptions, and we may name as honourable distinctions Stafford House (the Duke of Sutherland’s), some of the rooms in Buckingham Palace, and one all surpassing in splendour—the Club house, erected with astounding liberality, in St. James’s Street, now known as THE WELLINGTON.”
    It should be added, with reference to the Subscription Rooms, that Gentlemen are required to give their names and addresses upon the payment of their subscription, and that the number of members is limited; that no other games than Chess and Draughts are permitted, and that they are open daily from 9 A.M. until midnight. All the Daily, Weekly, and Foreign Newspapers, Magazines, Books of Reference, &c., and a large number of the newest Publications, will be found on the tables; and the finest Wines, Liqueurs, Cigars, &c., excellent Tea, Coffee, &c., supplied in them. All particulars may be obtained of Mr. THYER, by letter or otherwise.
    It will be seen that the original exclusiveness of the building has given way before the progress and requirements of the age, and that
the educational and social advancement of the people may find at THE WELLINGTON that which was reserved until now for the aristocratic and wealthy alone— "an example," says a popular writer, "deserving an honourable place in the first ranks of a nation’s refinements;" and this gained, it will be the earnest endeavour of the Lessee to deserve it, he being led to hope that capital and zeal will retain and make so enviable a position lasting.

THE
WELLINGTON SET DINNERS,
Served from 3 to 9 o’clock.
Three Shillings each.

Potages.
A l’Indienne, Consommé au Naturel.

Poisson.
White-bait.

Rots.
Côtelettes de Veau, Sauce Tomate.

Rots.
Au Choir.

Entremet.
Pouding a la D’Orsay.

Legumes.
Choux, Pommes de terre.

Served from 4 to 9 o’clock.
Five Shillings each.
WITH DESSERT AND ATTENDANCE.

Potages.
A la Mussarde, Consommé au Tapioka.

Poisson.
Soles a la Maître d’Hôtel.

Entrees,
Timballes de Macaroni a la Milanais, Cannetons aux Petite Pois.

Rots.
Au Choix.

[-6-]
Entremets.
Brioches an Madere.

Legumes.
Flageolets, Pommes de terre, Sautées.

Desserts.
Pommes, Oranges, Noix.

PETITS FOURS ASSORTIS.

Served from 6 to 9 o’clock.
Eight Shillings each.
WITH DESSERT AND ATTENDANCE.

Potages.
A la Crécy, Consommé an Sagon.

Poisson.
Salmon a l’Italienne, White-bait.

Entrees.
Filets de Boeuf, Marines, Sauce Poivrade, Chaud-froid de Poulets a la Gelée.

Rots.
Oisons.

Hors d'oeuvre
Mayonnaise de Homard.

Entremets.
Savarins aux Amandes, Gelée aux Fraises nouvelles.

Legumes
Petite Pois, Pommes de terre a la Reine.

Dessert.
Pommes, Oranges, Noix, &c.

PETITS FOURS ASSORTIS.

[-7-]

JOINTS, with Plain Vegetables 2s. 0d.
"              "       "           "              (When soup and Fish are taken) 1s. 6d.
"              "       "           "              (when Made Dish or Poultry is taken) 1s. 0d.
ATTENDANCE, each Person 3d.

JOINTS from Half-past Three to Nine o;clock.
MUTTON Roast Haunches.
LAMB Roast Fore Quarter.
BEEF Roast Sirloin.
"         Boiled.
"         Stewed.
VEAL Roast Fillet and Ham.
PIES   Chicken and Ham
"         Pigeon.

FISH from Quarter-to-Five to Nine o’clock.
SOLE Fillets Maitre d’Hôtel 0s. 9d.
SALMON .... Boiled, Lobster Sauce.. 1s. 6d.
TURBOT .... Boiled, Lobster Sauce.. 1s. 6d.

FISH in Five Minutes.
WHITING 0s. 6d.
SOLE   Fried, Broiled, or Boiled 0s. 9d.
"           Fillets, Gratin,, Tomato, orTartare 1s. 0d.
MACKEREL Boiled, or Broiled.. 1s. 0d.
EELS.. Fried 1s. 6d.
SALMON   Cutlets, Indienne, or Tartare 2s. 0d.
WHITE-BAIT 1s. 0d.

ICED PUNCH, 6d. per Glass.

LUNCHEONS from One to Half-past Three o’clock.

SOUPS—Julienne, or Wellington 0s. 6d.
" Spring, Mock Turtle, or Oxtail 1s. 0d.
MUTTON CHOP, with Bread 0s. 9d.
RUMP STEAK 1s. 0d.
COLD JOINT 1s. 3d.
POTATOES or PICKLES 0s. 3d.
ATTENDANCE, each Person 0s. 2d.

TO SUBSCRIBERS ONLY.
BREAKFAST, Plain 1s. 6d.
" with Ham, Eggs, or Cold Meat 2s. 0d.

DINNERS of a plain or recherché description are served in the Private Rooms.
The Saloons and Billiard Rooms are open daily to Subscribers.
Gentlemen dining have the privilege of using them after dinner.
Yearly Entrance Fee, Two Guineas. Exclusive of the Billiard Room, One Guinea.
Subscriptions received by Mr. THYER, the Superintendent, to whom orders for Dinners, complaints, &c., should be addressed.

[-10-]

			s.	d.
SHERRY	Pale, Gold or Brown	Per Imperial Pint	4	0
	"	" " Half	2	0
	"	" " Quarter	1	0
	Pale Gold, or Brown	" Imperial Pint	4	6
	"	" " Half	2	3
	Old East India	" Imperial Pint	6	0
	"	" " Half	3	0
	Manzanilla	" Imperial Pint	4	0
	"	" " Half	2	0
	Amontillado	" Imperial Pint	6	0
	"	" " Half	3	0
PORT	Old and Dry	" Imperial Pint	4	0
	"	" " Half	2	0
	"	" " Quarter	1	0
	Older and Dry	" Imperial Pint	5	0
	"	" " Half	2	0
	Very Old and Dry	" Imperial Pint	6	0
	"	" " Half	3	0
	Very Fine	" Imperial Pint	7	0
	"	" " Half	3	6
MADEIRA	Old East India	" Imperial Pint	7	0
	"	" " Half	3	6

		Per Bottle		Half
		s.	d.	s.	d.
CHAMPAGNE,	Sparkling or Creaming (Iced)	7	0	3	6
	Sparkling or Creaming, 1st quality (Iced)	8	0	4	0
	Sparkling or Creaming, Extraordinary (do.)	9	0	4	6
CLARET	St. Julien	4	6	2	3
	Lapose	6	6	3	3
	Leoville	6	6	3	3
	Chateau Lafite, or Latour, 1831	8	0	-	-
	Chateau Margaux, 1844	8	0	-	-
	Chateau Lafite, 1844	9	0	-	-
CHABLIS		6	0	3	0
SAUTERNE		7	0	3	6
BURGUNDY	Beame	6	0	3	0
	Clos de Vougeot	10	0	-	-
HOCK	Hockheimer	5	0	2	6
	Macrobrun	7	0	3	6
	Johannisberg	9	0	4	6
	Steinberg (very fine)	10	0	5	0
	Sparkling	8	0	4	0
MOSELLE	Scharzberg	6	0	3	0
	Sparkling	8	0	4	0

All these Wines have been selected from The Cellars of Messrs. CROCKFORD & CO., and are sold to the Public in Imperial Measure, with the exception of the French and German Wines, which are sold by the Bottle and Half Bottle.
N.B.—Any qumtlty of the above Wines may be had at the Wholesale Price on application to MR. THYER, Superintendent.

Draught Beer
		s.	d.
PALE ALE, Bass or Allsopp	Imperial Pint	0	6
"	" Half	0	3
STOUT, London	Imperial Pint	0	6
"	" Half	0	3
Bottled Beer
PALE ALE, Bass or Allsopp	Imperial Pint	0	9
STOUT, London	"	0	9
" Dublin	"	0	9
ALE, Scotch	Bottle	1	0
"	Half	0	6
Waters
SODA	Bottle	0	6
SELTZERS, German	"	1	6
" "	Half	1	0
" Brighton	Bottle	0	6
Miscellaneous
GLASS OF WINE		0	6
" " NEGUS		1	0
LEMONADE or GINGER BEER		0	6
CUPS (to order)		-	-
CIDER		1	6
Choice Old Liquers and Spirts
BRANDY or OTHER SPIRITS	Per Measure	0	6
GLASS OF CHAMPAGNE LIQUEUR BRANDY		0	6
GLASS OF ANISETTE, KIRSCHWASSER, or CHERRY BRANDY		0	9
GLASS OF CURACAO, DANTZIC, GARRUS, KEMMELL, NOYEAU or SHRUB		0	9
GLASS OF ABSYNTHE, EAU D'ARGENT, or EAU D'OR		1	0
GLASS OF MARASCHINO		1	0

		HALF PORTION	PORTION
MUTTON	Cutlets, "Reforme," Soubise, or Tomato	1s. 6d.	2s. 6d.
LAMB	Cutlets, Asparagus, or Peas	2s. 0d.	3s. 6d.
BEEF	Fillets. Fried Potatoes, or "Piquante"	1s. 6d.	2s. 6d.
VEAL	Cutlets, Ham and Mushrooms, or Tomato	1s. 6d.	2s. 6d.
"	Ficandeau, "Italienne"	1s. 6d.	2s. 6d.
CURRY	Chicken	1s. 6d.	2s. 6d.
FRICASSEE	Chicken with Mushrooms	2s. 0d.	3s. 6d.
CHOPS or RUMPSTEAK		-	2s. 0d.

POULTRY and GAME in Twenty Minutes.
FOWL	Roast, Boiled, or Broiled (Ham 6d.)	2s. 0d.	4s. 0d.
CHICKEN, SPRING			5s. 0d.
DUCKLING			4s. 6d.
RUFFES			1s. 6d.

SWEETS
PUDDING	Cabinet College, Newmarket or St. Cloud		0s. 6d.
TART	Rhubarb		0s. 9d.
MERINGUE	Cream		0s. 9d.
OMELETTE	Savory or Sweet		1s. 0d.
"	Apricot or Greengage		1s. 6d.
MACARONI	"Gratin," "Italienne" or Sweet		1s. 0d.

SUNDRIES
ASPARAGUS			1s. 0d.
BROCCOLI, or NEW POTATOES			0s. 6d.
CUCUMBER, or DRESSED SALAD			0s. 6d.
POTATOES -. Fried or Mashed			0s. 3d.
" Maitre d’Hôtel”			0s. 6d.
CHEESE “Gruyere,” Parmesan, or Stilton			0s. 3d.
BISCUITS, CREAM, or CURRANT JELLY			0s. 3d.
DESSERT

	HALF PORTION	PORTION
JULIENNE, or WELLINGTON	0s. 3d.	0s. 6d.
SPRING, MOCK TURTLE, or OX-TAIL	0s. 6d.	1s. 0d.