A Salt Water Scene.
Inone of the recent fishing excursions in our bay, the steward of the steamer had employed, as assistant cook, a simple negro, who had “never before smelt salt water,†nor knew its peculiar properties. There were a hundred persons on board to feed, and, not having a very large supply of water on board, at the first dinner the steward took his aid severely to task for wasting the fresh water in boiling the vegetables, when the salt water, alongside, was so much better for the purpose. Poor Darky promised to do better next time; and, accordingly, on the following morning, when the bell rang for breakfast, the aforesaid hundred half-famished people rushed up to the table, and, seizing the coffee-cups, each quaffed a copious draught, when, phew! phiz! splutter! what a spitting and coughing there ensued! “Steward! cook! captain! where are you? what is the matter of the coffee?†shouted a Babel of vehement voices. The steward appeared, and protested his ignorance of anything wrong, when a deputation was sent for poor cook, and he soon appeared amid the excited multitude, trembling, and as pale as he could be. “What is the matter with this coffee?†demanded the captain.
“I sure I don’t know, massa,†he replied.
“Where did you get the water that you made it of?â€
“Why, massa cap’n, de steward scold me for wasting the fresh water for bile the ’taters, and said de salt was better; soI got it out ob de riber, too, to make dis coffee.â€
Hungry as was the party, a hearty roar followed the explanation of this real African bull, and all hands were obliged, in good humor, to wait the making offreshcoffee.
The Shoulder of Mutton.—The blade bone of a shoulder of mutton is called in Scotland “a poor man,†as in some parts of England it is termed “a poor knight of Windsor.†Some years ago, an old Scottish peer chanced to be indisposed whilst he was in London attending parliament. The master of the hotel where he lodged, anxious to show attention to his noble guest, waited on him to enumerate the contents of his well-stocked larder, so as to endeavor to hit on something which might suit his appetite. “I think, landlord,†said his lordship, rising up from his couch, and throwing back the tartan plaid with which he had screened his grim and ferocious visage, “I think I could eat a morsel ofa poor man.†The landlord fled in terror, having no doubt that his guest was a cannibal, who might be in the habit of eating a slice of a tenant, as light food, when under a regimen.