I have also inserted personal biography, but when I read them over, I feel to a degree uneasy.

This anxiety originated in my last lectures and glossaries, which are in the hands of every body. I think, however, that I may be tranquil, having sheltered myself under the mantle of philosophy, I insist that my enemies have uneasy consciences and sleep badly.

VARIETIES.

I.

L'OMELETTE DU CURE.

All know that twenty years ago, Madame R---- was the most beautiful woman in Paris. All know that she was very charitable and took an interest in the various enterprises, the object of which was the alleviation of misery, perhaps greater in the capital than elsewhere.

Having business with the cure of----, she went thither about five P. M., and was surprised to find him at dinner.

She believed that every body dined at six P. M., and was not aware that ecclesiastics dined earlier, from the fact that they were used to take light collations.

Madame R---- wished to retire, but the cure would not permit her to do so, either because the matter under discussion would not interrupt conversation, or that a pretty woman never disturbs any entertainment.

The table was very well arranged; old wine sparkled in a chrystal flagon, and the porcelain was faultless. The plates were kept hot by boiling water, and an old housekeeper was in attendance.

The meal was half way between luxury and abstinence. A soup of ecrevisses was removed and a salmon trout, an omelette, and a salad were placed on the table.

"My dinner tells you," said the priest "what you do not know, that to day is a fast day." My friend a.s.sented with a blush.

They began with the trout, the shoulders of which were soon eaten.

The sauce was made by a competent person and the pastor's brow was irradiated with joy.

Then the omelette, which was round and done to a point, was attached.

As soon as the spoon touched it, the odor and perfume it contained escaped, and my friend owns that it made her mouth water.

The curel had a sympathetic movement for he was used to watch my pa.s.sions. In reply to a question he saw Madame R---- was about to ask, he said, "It is an omelette au thon. My cook understands them simply, and few people ever taste them without complimenting her."

"I am not amazed," said his lady guest, "for I never ate anything so delightful."

Then came the salad. (I recommend it to those who have confidence in me. It refreshes without exciting. I think it makes people younger.)

Dinner did not interrupt conversation. They talked of the affair which had occasioned the visit, of the war, of business, of other things which made a bad dinner pa.s.sably good.

The dessert came. It consisted of septmoncel cheese, of apples and preserves.

At last the house-keeper brought forward a little round table, such as once was called a gueridon, on which was a cup of strong mocha, the perfume of which filled the room.

Having sipped it, the cure said grace, and arose, adding "I never take spirits, though I offer them to my guests. I reserve them as a succor for extreme old age."

While all this was progressing, time had pa.s.sed, and as it was six o'clock, Madame R---- was anxious to get into her carriage, for she had several friends to dine with her. She came late, and told her guests, of whom I was one, what she had seen.

The conversation pa.s.sed from subject to subject, but I, as a philosopher, thought the secret of the preparation of such a dish must be valuable. I ordered my cook to obtain the recipe in its most minute details. I publish it the more willingly now, because I never saw it in any book.

OMELETTE AU THON.

Take for six persons the roe of four cash [Footnote: the translator has followed this recipe with shad, pike, pickerel, etc., and can recommend it with a quiet conscience. Any fish is a subst.i.tute for tunny] and steep them for a few minutes in salt water just below boiling point.

Put in also a fresh tunny about as large as an egg, to which you must add a charlotte minced.

Mix the tunny and the roes together, and put the whole in a kettle with a portion of good b.u.t.ter, and keep it on the fire until the b.u.t.ter has melted. This is the peculiarity of the omelette.

Take then another piece of b.u.t.ter and mix it with pa.r.s.ely and sage. Put it in the dish intended to receive the omelette, cover it with lemon juice and put it on hot coals.

Then beat twelve eggs, (fresh as possible), pour in the fish and roe so that all may be perfectly mixed.

Then cook the omelette as usual, making it thin and firm. Serve it up hot.

This dish should be reserved for breakfasts, where all the guests are connoisseurs. It is caviare to the vulgar.

OBSERVATIONS.

1. The roes and fish should be warmed, not boiled. They will thus mingle more easily with the eggs.

2. The plate should be deep.

3. It should be warm, for a cold porcelain plate would extract the caloric of the omelette and make it insipid.

II. A NATIONAL VICTORY.

When I lived in New York I used every once in a while to pa.s.s the evening in a kind of tavern kept by a man named Little, (the old lank coffee house) where one could always get turtle soup and all the dishes common in the United States.

I often went thither with the Vicomte de la Ma.s.sue and M. Fehr, an old broker of Marsailles; all three of us were emigrants, and we used to drink ale and cider, and pa.s.s the evening very pleasantly together.

There I became acquainted with a Mr. Wilkinson, who was a native of Jamaica, and a person he was very intimate with, for he never left him. The latter, the name of whom I do not remember was one of the most extraordinary men I ever met. He had a square face, keen eyes, and appeared to look attentively at everything, though his features were motionless as those of a blind man. When he laughed it was with what the English call a horse-laugh, and immediately resumed his habitual taciturnity. Mr. Wilkinson seemed about forty, and, in manner and appearance, seemed to be a gentleman.

The Englishman seemed to like our company, and more than once shared the frugal entertainment I offered my friends, when Mr.

Wilkinson took me one evening aside and said he intended to ask us all to dine with him.

I accepted the invitation for three o'clock on the third day after.

The evening pa.s.sed quietly enough, but when I was about to leave, a waiter came to me and said that the West Indian had ordered a magnificent dinner, thinking their invitation a challenge. The man with the horse-laugh had undertaken to drink us Frenchmen drunk.

This intelligence would have induced me, if possible, to decline the banquet. It was, however, impossible, and following the advice of the Marshal de Saxe, we determined, as the wine was uncorked, to drink it.

I had some anxiety, but being satisfied that my const.i.tution was young, healthy and sound, I could easily get the better of the West Indian, who probably was unused to liquors.

I however, went to see Messrs. Fehr and Ma.s.sue, and in an occular allocution, told them of my plans. I advised them to drink as little as possible, and to avoid too many gla.s.ses, while I talked to our antagonists. Above all things, I advised them to keep up some appet.i.te, telling them that food had the effect of moderating the fumes of wine.

Thus physically and morally armed, we went to the old bank coffee house, where we found our friends; dinner was soon ready. It consisted of a huge piece of beef, a roasted turkey, (plain) boiled vegetables, a salad and pastry.

Wine was put on the table. It was claret, very good, and cheaper than it then was in France.

Mr. Wilkinson did the honors perfectly, asking us to eat, and setting us an example, while his friend, who seemed busy with his plate, did nothing but laugh at the corners of his mouth.

My countrymen delighted me by their discretion.