SAUCES.

The donor of the sauce dinner, mentioned in the last page, was an eccentric old Major. He invited three persons to partake of this unique repast. The soup consisted of gravy sauce, and oyster and lobster sauce were handed round instead offilet de sole. Then came the sirloin in guise of egg sauce, on the ground, I suppose, that an egg is proverbially “full of meat.” There was no pheasant, but there was bread sauce, to put his guests in mind of the flavour; and if they had not plum-pudding, they had as much towards it as could be implied by brandy sauce; just as Heyne says, that Munich is the modern Athens in this far,—that if it has not the philosophers, it has the hemlock, and has Alcibiades’ dog, as a preparation towards getting Alcibiades. The sauce-boats were emptied by the guests. The wine was well-resorted to after each boat, and a little brandy settled the viand that was represented by the egg sauce. Half the guests, between excess of lobster sauce and Cognac, were all the worse for the banquet; but that proved rather the weakness of their stomachs, than the non-excellence of the feast. It is said that the Major, when alone in the evening, wound up with a rump-steak supper,—a process rather characteristic of the “old soldier;” but I have heard, in a provincial town, of large parties to “tea,” followed by a snug family party, when the guests were all departed, to a hot supper, with the usualet cæteras. But letusget back from the supper to the matter of seasonings.

Seasonings may be said to form an important item in the practice and results of cookery. The first, and most useful and natural, is salt. The ancients did not allow, at one time, of its use in sacrifices; but Homer called it “divine,” and Plutarch speaks of it as acceptable to the gods. Its value was not known to men until the Phœnicians, Selech and Misor,—so, at least, says an ancient legend,—taught mankind the real worth of this production as a condiment, and thereby gave to meat increased flavour, and to the eaters of it increased health and improved digestions.

The Roman soldiers received their pay insalarium, or “salt-money.” The Mexican rulers punished rebellious provinces by interdicting the use of salt; and Holland, some years since, cruelly took vengeance on the breakers of the law, by serving them with food, without salt, during the term of their imprisonment. The poor wretches were almost devoured by worms, in consequence of this inhuman proceeding.

Of course, the salt-money of the soldiery was, like the pin-money of a married lady, employed in other ways than those warranted by its appellation. For above three centuries, soldiers servedgratis, and supported themselves. Then came “salt-money,” orsalarium, in the shape of a couple ofobolidaily to the foot, and adrachmato the cavalry. This was to the common men. The Tribunes were, however, exorbitantly paid, if Juvenal’s allusion may be trusted, wherein he says that,—

——“alter enim, quantum in legione TribuniAccipiunt, donat Calvinæ vel Catienæ;”

——“alter enim, quantum in legione Tribuni

Accipiunt, donat Calvinæ vel Catienæ;”

or, as it may be translated,—

“Such sums as a full Colonel’s coffers swell,He flings to Lola, or to Laura Bell!”

“Such sums as a full Colonel’s coffers swell,

He flings to Lola, or to Laura Bell!”

But this must have been in very late times, previous towhich frugality, modesty, and indifferent pay were ever the Tribune’s share of the national virtues and their consequences, lauded by Livy. The first Cæsar doubled thesalariumof the army, and decreed that it should never be reduced. His successors followed the example of increase. Augustus fixed the salt-money at tenassesa day, and by the time of Domitian it was considerably more than double that amount. From that period, the soldiery fed better, and fought worse, than ever. Up to the time of the Empire they had been frugal livers, and were not above preparing the rations of corn allowed them with their own hands: some ground it in hand-mills, others pounded it between stones, and the hastily-baked cakes were eaten contentedly upon the turf, with nothing better to wash them down than pure water, or, at best,posca, which was water mixed with vinegar,—and a very wholesome beverage, too, in hot weather.

The Jewish dispensation, unlike that of the early Olympian theology, enforced the use of salt in all sacrificial ceremonies. That of the Dead Sea was abundant; and Galen pronounced it as the most favourable for seasoning, and for promoting digestion. The Greeks learned to call it “divine,” and at last consecrated it to their gods. Spilling salt was accounted as unlucky in the days when “young Time counted his birthdays by the sun,” as in these modern times when the schoolmaster is abroad,—sometimes too much abroad.

Ancus Martius was the first of the Roman Kings who levied a duty on salt. He was not visited by the gods—as legends say other Kings were who created such imposts—by some dire calamity. The bad example of Ancus Martius has continued over nearly the whole of Europe; and a slave cannot eat salt to his bread without paying tribute to the King.

The word “salt” was often used for life itself. WhenDordalus says to Toxilus, in the “Persa,” “Eodem mihi pretio sal præhibetur quæ tibi,”—“I get my salt at the same price as you do,”—he simply means that his manner of life is as good as that of Toxilus, and that a slave-merchant is as respectable as the very best-fed of slaves themselves. Catullus employs the word to denote beauty; other poets use it to signify virtues of various kinds; and in Terence we find a man without salt to mean a man without sense. Plutarch was not wrong when he styled salt “the condiment of condiments.” I do not know that it has ever been used to point a proverb with a contemptuous meaning, except in Greece, where he who had nothing to dine upon was called a “salt-licker.” Rome, where it was of such commercial importance, honoured it more by giving to the road along which it was conveyed the name of “the Salarian Way.”

There were people who never knew its use, as in Epeiros; some who have steadily rejected it, as the Bathurst tribe in Australia. The Peruvians delighted in it, and ate it mixed with hot pepper and bitter herbs, as a sort of “sweetmeat.” How sacred it is in Arabia, we all know; and, in illustration of it, I have heard of an Arab burglar accidentally letting his tongue come in contact, as he was plundering a house by night, with a piece of salt. He instantly deemed he had partaken of the owner’s hospitality, and he departed without booty. Could Christian thieves be so influenced, we should salt our plate-baskets and cash-boxes nightly!

In Sicily a salt is spoken of that melts only in fire, and hardens in water. At Utica, one of the great salt suppliers of the ancient world, it lay about in such huge mounds, hardened by the sun and moon, that the pickaxe would scarcely penetrate it. In Arabia whole cities were once built of it, the blocks of salt being cemented bywater. It is still procured with most difficulty in Abyssinia, where the clouds are supposed to deposit the crystal in sandy plains, of heat so furious, that it is only during one or two hours of the night that the seekers of it dare dash into the locality, and carry off, as hastily as possible, what they seek. It is procured far more pleasantly in those parts of Chili where it is found deposited on the leaves of plants. Off the warmer coasts of South America, and the still hotter shores of Africa, blocks weighing from one to two hundred weight have been picked up. Some writers tell us that lakes are nothing more than salt plains in solution; and others, that salt plains are merely lakes congealed. However this may be, it is known that generally four gallons of water produce one of salt; but there is great difference of result in various localities, some water yielding a sixth, other only a sixteenth. The deep sea-water is the most highly productive. There are various strange ingredients, too, used in different places to make the salt “grain” properly. White of egg, butter, ale, and even blood, are employed to produce the desired result. In its fossil or mineral state it is nowhere seen to such great advantage as in the mines of Williska, in Poland. I have seen those near Salzburg, in southern Austria; but these are mere salt-cellars, compared with the Polish mine, which forms a large subterranean city, has its streets, citizens, and coteries, and is an underground republic, many of the natives of which die without seeing a blade of grass, or a gleam of sunlight, upon the bosom of the upper earth.

Finally, salt is the most natural stimulant for the digestive organs; but it should be remembered that too much of it isalmostas bad as too little. The lowering of the price of salt, a consequence of the abolition of the duty, was beneficial to the poor, and ruinous to theworm-doctors. It is a singular production. In small quantities it is a stimulating manure; in large quantities it begets sterility. A little of it accelerates putrefaction, while a large quantity prevents it. Farther, it is to be remembered,—and I have mentioned the fact in another page,—that the salt in salted meat is not (whatever it may once have been) the table salt, the use of which is so favourable to digestion. In the meat it undergoes a chymical change, by which it deteriorates itself as well as the object to which it is applied. “Sweet salt” was the name once given to sugar; and in reference to this latter production, it may be safely averred, that its introduction worked a considerable change in society. And it appears to have been early added to that “significant luxury,” wheat. In Isaiah xliii. 24 there is an allusion made to it in these words: “Thou hast bought me no sweet cane with money, neither hast thou filled me with the fat of sacrifices.” And again, in Jeremiah vi. 20: “To what purpose cometh there to me incense from Sheba, and sweet cane from a far country?” It would seem, however, that though the sweet cane may have been known, its uses were not very speedily appreciated, or, if they were, that they were for a long time forgotten. Thus, as late as the thirteenth century of our era, a writer speaks of a novel sort of salt that has been discovered, the flavour of which was sweet, and, as he suggests, might be found acceptable to sick persons, because of its soothing and cooling properties. “Honey out of the rock,” which was the sweetener most early noticed in Scripture, fell into comparative disuse, after sugar had become a necessary of life, after being first a medicine, and then a luxury. The Spaniards received it from the Arabs, and familiarized it in Europe. Its first settlement beyond the Continent was in Madeira, and at length it found a congenial soil in the islands of the WesternIndies. God gave the gift, but man has discovered how to abuse it to his own destruction; and, from the sweet food offered by an angel, he has distilled the fire-water, which slays like the pestilence. But to return, for a moment, from the sweets to the salts, and especially to the latter in the form of brine.

The Romans were fond of brine,—water in which bay-salt had been dissolved,—as a seasoning; and after dinner, those who could not guess the riddles that were put to them, were punished, like the refractory gentlemen at the Nightingale Club, by being compelled to swallow a cupful, without drawing breath. Apicius invented a composition made up of salt, pepper, ginger, thyme, celery, rocket, and anise-seed, with lamoni, wild marjoram, holy thistle, spikenard, parsley, and hyssop, as a specific to be taken, after heavy dinners, against indigestion. They who could digest the remedy need not have been afraid of the dinner.

That universal seasoning of the classical world, thegarum, was originally a shrimp sauce; but it was subsequently made of the intestines of almost any fish, macerated in water, saturated with salt; and when symptoms of putrefaction began to appear, a little parsley and vinegar were added; and there was the famousgarum, of which the inventors were so proud,—and particularly of agarumwhich was prepared in Spain. Flesh instead of fish was occasionally used, with no difference in the process of preparation; and it would be difficult to say which was the nastier. But, perhaps, if we could see the witchery of preparing any of our own flavouring sauces, we should be reluctant ever to allow a drop of the polluted mixture to pass our lips. Thereisa bliss in ignorance.

Pythagoras showed better taste in the science of seasonings, when he took to eating nothing but honeywherewith to flavour his bread. Hybla sounds sweet, the very word smells sweet, from its association with honey. Aristæus, who is said to have discovered its use, merited the patent of nobility, whereby he was declared to have descended from the gods; and the placing the honeycomb and its makers under the protection of Mellona, expressly made by men for this purpose, was a proof of the value in which they were held. Theophrastus placed sugar among the honeys,—the honey of reeds,—or the “salt of India,” as some strangely called it. The Greek physicians recommended its use, both as food and as flavourer. It was at one time as scarce as cinnamon,—that precious bark of which the phœnix made its nest, and which the Cæsars monopolized. Cinnamon and cloves were not employed in seasoning until a comparatively modern period. The good people of earlier days preferred verjuice, in certain cases prescribed by Galen. They seemed to have a taste for acids: hence the admiration, both in Greece and Rome, for vinegar and pickles. Vinegar figured in the army statistics of Rome especially; but it once, at least, figured in a still more remarkable way in the statistics of the French army, in the time of Louis XIII., when the Duc de la Meilleraye, Grand Master of the Artillery of France, put down £52,000 as the sum expended by him in cooling cannons. How hot the war must have been, and at what a price the fever must have been maintained, when the merely refrigerating process cost so much!

French epicures maintain that the pig was born to be “ringed,” and that his mission was to rout at the foot of the yoke-elm trees, and turn up truffles! Pliny gravely looked upon the truffle as a prodigy sown by the thunderbolt in autumnal storms. However this may be, all lovers of good things eat the truffle with a sort of devout ecstasy, in spite of the wide differences of opinionwhich exist among the faculty of guessers, as to whether the truffle be nutritious or poisonous, fit for food, or monster sire of indigestion. The fact is, that they should be delicately dealt with, like mushrooms; of which he who eats little is wise, and he who eats not of them at all is safe from blaming them for bringing on indigestion—as far asheis concerned.

The truffle is thus elaborately, yet not verbosely, described by Archimagirus Soyer: “The truffle is a very remarkable vegetable, which, without stems, roots, or fibres, grows of itself, isolated in the bosom of the earth, absorbing the nutritive juice. Its form is round, more or less regular; its surface is smooth, or tuberculous; the colour, dark brown outside, brown, grey, or white within. Its tissue is formed of articulated filaments, between which are spheric vesicles, and in the interior are placed reproductive bodies, small brown spheres, called ‘truffinelles.’ Truffles vegetate to the depth of five or six inches in the high sandy soils of the south-west of France, Piedmont, &c. Their mode of vegetation and reproduction is not known. (?) Dogs are trained to find them, as well as pigs, and boars also, who are very fond of them. They are eaten cooked under the ashes, or in wine and water. They are preserved when prepared in oil, which is soon impregnated with their odour. Poultry is stuffed with them; also geese’s livers, pies, and cooked pork, besides numerousragoûts. They possess, as it is said, exciting virtues.” The latter, we suppose, is a paraphrase for the sentiment of “Falstaff,” before cited, “It rains potatoes!” Shell-fish had the same reputation in the olden time. “Tene marsupium,” says Italius to Olympio, in theRudens:—

“Abi atque obsonia propera; sed lepidè voloMolliculas escas, ut ipsa mollicula est.”

“Abi atque obsonia propera; sed lepidè volo

Molliculas escas, ut ipsa mollicula est.”

As for the mushroom, if it be not in itself deadly,it has been made the vehicle of death. Agrippina poisoned Claudius in one, and Nero, his successor, had a respect for this production ever after. Tiberius, in Pagan, and Clement VII., in Papal, Rome, as well as Charles VI. of France, are also said to have been “approximately” killed by mushrooms. Seneca calls them “voluptuous poison,” and of this poison his countrymen ate heartily, and suffered dreadfully. The mushroom was not rendered harmless by the process of Nicander,—raising them under the shadow of a well-irrigated and richly-manured fig-tree.

One of the most perfect illustrations of “sauce,” in its popular sense, with which I am acquainted, is conveyed in the reply once given by a FrenchCuréto his Bishop. It is a regulation made by canonical law, that a Priest cannot keep a female servant to manage his household, unless she be of the assigned age of, at least, forty years. It once happened that a Bishop dined with aCuré, at whose house the Prelate had arrived in the course of a visitation tour. On that occasion he found that they were waited on at dinner by two quietly pretty female attendants, of some twenty years each. When diocesan and subordinate were once more alone, the former remarked on the uncanonical condition of the household, and asked theCuréif he were not aware that, by rule of church, he could maintain but onemenagère, who must have attained, at least, forty years of age? “I am quite aware of it,Monseigneur,” said the rubicundCuré; “but, as you see, I prefer having my housekeeper in two volumes!”

With respect to the use of spices, it may be safely said, that the less they are used, the better for the stomach. Asoupçonof them in certain preparations is not to be objected to; but it must be recollected that in most cases, however pleasant they may be to the palate, theapparent vigour which they give to the stomach is at the expense of the liver, and the reaction leaves the former in a worse condition than it was in before.

The world probably never saw a second time such a trade in spices as that which was carried on of old between Canaan and Egypt. The Dutch and Amboyna was a huckstering matter compared with it. Egypt sent Canaan her corn, wine, oil, and linen; and Canaan sent, in return, her spicery, balm, myrrh, precious woods, and minerals. The Ishmaelites were the carrying merchants; and, while each class of them had its especial article of commerce, they all dabbled a little in slave-dealing. Thus, the men of the tribe that purchased Joseph dealt in spicery only,—a term including balm and myrrh. The Egyptian demand for the article was enormous. At the period of the sale of Joseph, spicery was most extensively used, not only for the embalming of men, but of sacred animals. In after times, this practice ceased to a great extent, on account of a large failure in the supply.

There is something very characteristic of the “ancient nation” in the transaction of the brethren with respect to Joseph. The general proposal was to slay him; but it was Judah, first of his race, who, with a strong eye to business, exclaimed, “Whatprofitto slay our brother, and conceal his blood? Come, let ussell himto the Ishmaelites.” The opposition to fratricide, on the part of Judah, was not on the principle that it was a crime, but that it brought nothing. But, no sooner had he pointed out how they might get rid of the troublesome brother, and put money in their purses to boot, than the profligate kinsmen adopted the project with alacrity, preferring lucrative felony to downright profitless murder.—Do I hear you remark, Sir, that it has ever been thus with this rebellious Jewish people? Well, let us not be rash in assertions. Judah was a very mercenary fellow,no doubt; but it was better to sell a live brother into a slavery which gave him the chance of sitting at the table of Pharaoh Phiops, than to murder one for the mere sake of making money by the sale of the body, as was done by a Christian gentleman of the name of Burke.

There are some plants used in seasoning which have been esteemed for other virtues besides lending a fillip to the appetite. Others of these seasoning plants have acquired an evil reputation. Thus orach was said to cause pallor and dropsy. Rocket had a double use: it not only was said to remove freckles, but an infusion of it in wine rendered the hide of a scourged convict insensible to the whip. Fennel was, unlike asparagus, held to be good for the sight. Dill, on the other hand, injured the eyes, while it strengthened the stomach. Anise-seed was in great favour with the medical philosophers, who prescribed it to be taken, fasting, in wine; and hyssop wine was a specific for cutaneous eruptions, brought on by drinking wine of a stronger quality. Wild thyme cured the bite of serpents,—if the sufferer could only collect it in time; and pennyroyal was sovereign for indigestion. Rue cured the ear-ache, and nullified poisons; for which latter purpose it was much used by Mithridates. Mint was gaily eaten, with many a joke, because it was said to have been originally a pretty girl, metamorphosed by Proserpine. The Romans, now and then, ate camomile at table, just as old country ladies, when tea was first introduced, and sent to them as a present, used to boil the leaves, and serve them, at dinner, like spinach. Capers, in the olden time, were vulgar berries, and left for democratic digestion. “I once saw growing in Italy,” said an Irish traveller, fit to be “own correspondent” to one of the morning papers, “the finest anchovies I ever beheld!” A listener naturally doubted the alleged fact; and the offended Irishman not only called him out,but shattered his knee-cap by a pistol-shot. As he was leaping about with intensity of pain, the Irishman’s second remarked to his principal, that he had made his adversary cut capers, at any rate. “Capers!” exclaimed the Hibernian, “capers! ’faith, that’s it. Sure, Sir,” he added, advancing to his antagonist, “you were right; it was not anchovies, but capers, that I saw growing. I beg pardon: don’t think any more about it.” Let us add, that, if the aristocratic ancients deeply declined capers, they were exceedingly fond of assafœtida, as a seasoning ingredient. Green ginger was also a popular condiment; and it is commonly eaten in Madagascar at this day. I suppose that, in former times, Hull imported this production in large quantities, and that therefore one of her streets is called “the Land of Green Ginger.” The Romans gave wormwood wine to the charioteers, perhaps considering that the stomachic beverage would secure them from dizziness.

I have mentioned above that Mithridates patronized rue as a nullifier of poisons. He was in the habit of swallowing poisons, as people in the summer swallow ices; and he was famous for inventing antidotes, to enable him to take them with impunity. One consequence is, that he has gained a sort of immortality in our pharmacopœia; and “Mithridate,” in pharmacy, is a compound medicine, in form of an electuary, serving as either a remedy or a preservative against poisons, being also accounted a cordial, opiate, sudorific, and alexipharmic. “Mithridate” is, or rather, I suppose, was, one of the capital medicines in the apothecaries’ shops. The preparation of it, according to the direction of the College, is as follows; and I request my readers to peruse it attentively, and to get it by heart, in case of necessity supervening. Here is the facile recipe: “Take of cinnamon, fourteen drachms; of myrrh, eleven drachms; agarick,spikenard, ginger, saffron, seeds of treacle-mustard, frankincense, Chio turpentine, of each ten drachms; camel’s hay, costus, Indian leaf, French lavender, long pepper, seeds of hartwort, juice of the rape of cistus, strained storax, opopanax, strained galbanum, balsam of Gilead, or, in its stead, expressed oil of nutmegs, Russian castor, of each an ounce; poly-mountain, water germander, the fruit of the balsam tree, seeds of the carrot of Crete, bdellium strained, of each seven drachms; Celtic nard, gentian root, leaves of dittany of Crete, red roses, seed of Macedonian parsley, the lesser Cardanum seeds freed from their husks, sweet fennel seeds, gum Arabic, opium strained, of each five drachms; root of the sweet flag, root of wild valerian, anise-seed, sagapenum strained, of each three drachms; spignel, St. John’s wort, juice of acacia, the bellies of scinks, of each two drachms and a half; of clarified honey, thrice the weight of all the rest: dissolve the opium first in a little wine, and then mix it with the honey made hot. In the mean time, melt together, in another vessel, the galbanum, storax, turpentine, and the balsam of Gilead, or the expressed oil of nutmeg,” (I have no doubt that one will do quite as well as the other; and this must be highly satisfactory for sufferers to know,) “continually stirring them round, that they may not burn; and, as soon as these are melted, add to them the hot honey, first by spoonsful, and afterwards more freely. Lastly, when this mixture is nearly cold, add by degrees the rest of the spices reduced to powder,”——and, as the French quack used to say of his specific for the toothache, if it does you no harm, it will certainly do you no good. For my own part, I think the remedy worse than the disease; but a gentleman just poisoned may be of another opinion; and I can only say, that if, with prussic acid knocking at his pylorus, he has leisure to wait till the above prescription is made up forhim,—till the bellies of scinks and the camel’s hay are procured, and till the ingredients are amalgamated “by degrees,”—he will,ifhe survive the poison, the waiting, and the remedy, have deserved to be called, κατ’ ἐξοχὴν, the “patient.” But here are the pastry and the fruits; and thereAREpeople who are given to believe that pastry and poison are not very wide asunder.

When Murat wished to instigate the Italians to labour, he cut down their olive-trees. The Jews were forbidden to destroy fruit-trees, even in an enemy’s country; and it used to be a law in France, and may be so still, that when an individual had received permission to cut down one of his trees, it was on condition of his planting two. The planters of vineyards enjoyed many privileges under the Jewish dispensation, and heathen governments placed both vineyards and orchards under the protection of the most graceful of their deities, and these deities were supposed to have an especial affection for particular trees. The Romans were skilled in forcing their fruits, which were produced at the third course, and not, as with the Greeks, at the second.

Minerva is popularly said to have given birth to the olive, which was the emblem of Peace, the latter being naturally born of Wisdom. But the poisoned shafts of Hercules were made of the olive, perhaps to symbolize those armed neutralities which are generally so fatal to powers with whom the neutrals affect to be at peace. The Autocrat of Russia, for instance, has been dealing very largely in olive shafts, tipped with death. But the olive was known to the world before Wisdom, taking flesh, sprang in her bright panoply from the brain of her sire, and was called Minerva. From Judea the olive was taken into Greece; it was not planted within the territory of Rome until a later period; and, finally, in Spain it found a soil as favourable to cultivation as that of Decapolis, on holyground. The Ancona olives were the most highly esteemed by the Roman Patricians, at whose tables they opened and closed the banquet. While the olives were greedily swallowed, the expressed oil was distributed by way of largess to the people. It was declared to possess, if not a vital principle, something that stimulated and maintained vitality. Augustus, who was for ever whiningly hoping that he might die easily, and for ever chanting the prayer, “Euthanasia!” asked Pollio how he might best maintain his health and strength in old age. “You have nothing in the world to do,” said Pollio, “but to drink abundance of wine, and lubricate your imperial carcase with plenty of oil!”—a prescription which does not say much for the medical instruction of Pollio. Olive oil was so scarce at one time, in Europe, that in 817 the Council of Aix-la-Chapelle authorized the priests to manufacture anointing oil from bacon. With regard to the fruit itself, it has not even yet undisputed possession of the public approval; and I am very much of the opinion of the farmer who, having taken some at his landlord’s table, expressed his indignation on reaching home, that he had been served with gooseberries stewed in——brine.

The palm-tree wine of the Hebrews inspired song, and thence, perhaps, did the palm itself pass into the possession of the mythological Muses. The palm-tree deserved to be a popular tree: its wood furnished man with a house, its branches with fuel; its leaves afforded him garments, and a bed; and from them he could manufacture baskets, wherein to carry the fruit, bread, and cakes which he could make from its dates. I am only astonished that tradition has not made the palm, rather than the beech or the oak, the original tree which first fed, clothed, and sheltered man.

The cherry, compared with the palm, is but as a rusticbeauty, compared with Cleopatra. Mithridates and Lucullus share the glory of making men acquainted with its fruit. From Cerasus, in Asia, Lucullus, no doubt, transplanted a cultivated fruit-tree, of a peculiarly fine sort; but the fruit itself was not unknown to the Romans long anterior to the time of Lucullus. It was slow in acquiring an esteem in Italy. The most extraordinary species of cherry with which I am acquainted, is the Australian cherry, which grows with the stone on the outside. But Nature, in Australia, is distinguished for her freaks. There the pears are made of wood, and salt-water fish abound in the fresh-water rivers! The nastiest species I know of, grows in the vicinity of, and some of them within, the cemetery of Père-la-Chaise, at Paris. They are magnificent to the eye, and are not ill-flavoured; but, at the heart of each there is a maggot, as fat as one of Rubens’s Cupids, and, saving a slight bitterness, with as much of the taste of the cherry in him as a citizen of ripe Stilton has of the cheese of which he is so lively a part. There is not a bad story told of an old and poor Spanish Grandee, who used to put on spectacles when he sat down to his modest dinner of bread and cherries, in order that the fruit might gain, apparently, in magnitude. There was philosophy in this pleasant conceit! If the poor nobleman had had a dish of our cherries, from Kent, Berks, or Oxfordshire, he would not have stood in need of his merry delusion.

How grateful to the palate is the Armenian apricot, blushing, in its precocity, like a young nymph; or the Persian peach, for a couple of which the Romans would give a score of pounds! The peach has an evil tradition with it. It is said to have been originally poisonous, but to have lost its deadliness when it was transplanted. Perhaps the peculiarly peachy odour of prussic acid may have contributed to give currency to a very long-lived,but entirely foundationless, tradition,—except, indeed, that poison may be extracted from the kernel; but so may arsenic from a Turkey carpet, and, indeed, from apple-pips also, as Sir Fitzroy Kelly told the jury, when endeavouring to save from the gallows a man who had murdered his mistress, in order that he might not put in peril his respectability! Perhaps the plum-tree, whether of Africa or Asia, from Egypt or Damascus, has been more fatal to health, if not to life, than any other of the stone-fruits. When Pliny complained of their superabundant propagation in Italy, he probably had in view the usual consequences of a very plentiful plum season.

The apricot was not known in France till the eleventh century, and then they were accounted dear at a farthing each. In the same century cherries used to appear at the royal table in May. To effect this, lime was laid at the roots of the tree, which was irrigated with warm water! Louis XIII. was fond of early fruit, and he had strawberries in March, and figs in June: this is more than the most expert fig-rearers in Sussex ever accomplished! The fig used to be esteemed as only inferior to that compound of luscious savours, the pine,—a fruit which, in the seventeenth century, was religiously patronized by the Jesuits. The same sort of sanction was given in the East to dates, though these were fashionable in Rome, after a basket of them had been sent from Jericho to Augustus. The Tunis dates are the best; but indulgence in them is said to loosen the teeth, and produce scurvy. The Tunisian ladies, however, were as fond of them as the French ladies were of sweet citrons, before oranges were patronized by Louis XIV. The ladies used to carry them about, and occasionally suck them, the operation being considered excellent to produce ruby lips. The citron was hardly less popular than the Reine Claude plum, which received its pretty name from the Queen of Francis I., anddaughter of Louis XII. I have noticed the Sussex fig: the white fig of the Channel Islands is also highly prized; and there is a tree at Hampton Court renowned for its fruit, but they who eat had better not too curiously inquire as to where the root of that productive tree penetrates, in order to accomplish its productiveness. In Sicily, they acupuncture the tree, and drop into it a little oil, and this is said to improve the flavour of the fruit. To what I have previously said of the peach, I may add here what the Chinese say of it; namely, that it produces eternity of life, and prevents corruption until the end of the world. This species would be a popular one in England.

Some writers assert that the apple was originally an African; but a Negro with a red nose would be an anomaly; and the apple-tree does not look as if it came from the country of the children of the sun. Nevertheless, historians assert that it crossed the Mediterranean, and reached Normandy through Spain and France. The apple has been as productive of similes as of cider; and perhaps the prettiest is that of Jeremy Taylor, who says, in his Sermon on the “Marriage Ring,” that the “celibate, like the fly in the heart of an apple, dwells in a perpetual sweetness; but sits alone, and is confined, and dies in singularity:”—a figure of speech, by the way, not highly calculated to frighten a bachelor. But, after all, the sentiment of Jeremy Taylor is preferable to that of Gregory of Nazianzum, who calls a wife “an acquired evil; and, what is worse, one that cannot be put away.” However this may be, apples were once productive of matrimony in Wales. When the fruit-dealers there could not find a market, they proclaimed a dance. The revellers paid entrance-money, and received apples in return. These meetings were called “apple lakings;” and the fruit was sauce for many a consequent wedding-dinner.The finest used to be kept for accompaniment to the roast goose eaten on St. Crispin’s Day. Brides, in remote times, used to carry a love-apple in their bosoms; as fond thereof as the pitman’s wife of Northumberland was of the two lambs which she suckled, after their dams had been killed in a storm. This was a more creditable affection than that of Marc Antony’s daughter for a lamprey, which she adorned with ear-rings, and which she exhibited at dinner; as Lord Erskine did the leeches which had cured him of some complaint, and which, enclosed in a bottle, he sent round with the wine. He called one “Cline” and the other “Home,” from the great surgeons of those names; and noble guests, before filling their glasses, gravely inspected the leeches, and then duly passed on the reptiles and the wine.

This is what a Frenchman would have called a “triste plaisanterie, à l’Anglaise;” and, by the way, I may remark, that Théophile de Garancières imputes the alleged melancholic nature of Englishmen to the great use which we make of sugar. Our sires used to make one curious use of sugar, undoubtedly; namely, when they put it into the mouth of the dying, in order that their souls might pass away with less bitterness!

There is a German proverb which says, that “it is unadvisable to eat cherries with potentates.” In English this might mean, “Do not make too free with your betters.” Few royal families, however, have given their inferiors more frequent opportunities to “eat cherries” with them, than that of Prussia. I am reminded of this while upon the subject of pine-apple, a slice of which was once given by Frederick William III. to a lad employed in the gardens at Sans Souci. “Here,” said the King, pleasantly, “eat, enjoy, and reflect while thou art eating. Now, what does it taste like?” The boy looked puzzled, as he munched the pine; thought of all the most delightfulthings that had ever passed over his palate and clung to his memory, and, at last, with a satisfied expression, exclaimed, “I think,—yes, it does,—it tastes like sausage!” The courtiers laughed aloud; and the King, philosophizing on the boy’s answer, said, “Well, every one has his own standard of taste, guiding his feelings and judgment, and each one believes himself to be right. One fancies he discovers in the pine-apple the flavour of the melon; another, of the pear; a third, the plum. Yon lad, in his sphere of tastes, finds therein his favourite food—the sausage.”

The lad’s answer was as much food for mirth at Sans Souci, as was that of the Eton boy who was invited by Queen Adelaide to dine at Windsor Castle, and who was honoured with a seat at Her Majesty’s side. The boy was bashful,—the Queen encouraging; and, when the sweets were on the table, she kindly asked him what he would like to take. The Etonian’s eyes glanced hurriedly and nervously from dish to dish; pointing to one of which, he, in some agitation, exclaimed, “One of those twopenny tarts!” His young eye had recognised the favourite “tuck” he was in the habit of indulging in attheshop in Eton, and he asked for it according to the local phrase in fashion. Reverting to the lad who compared pine-apple to German sausage, I may remark, that pine-apple is most to be enjoyed when the weather is of that condition which made Sydney Smith once express a wish, that he could “slip out of his fat, and sit in his bones.”

The quince is a native of Cydon, in Crete; and first Greece, and then Rome, Gaul, and Spain, learned to love the fruit, and drink a quince wine, which was said to be excellent either as a stomachic or as a counter-poison.

Galen recommended the pear as an astringent, which is more than a modern practitioner will do. St. Francis dePaul introduced one sort into France when he paid a medical visit to Louis XI. The species was named from the saint, “le bon Chrétien.”

The apple may lay fair claim to antiquity of birth. The fruit has been diversely estimated by divers nations; but the general favour has usually awaited it. In ancient times, both in Greece and Persia, it was the custom for a bridegroom at his nuptial feast to partake of a single apple, and of nothing else. The origin of the custom is said to arise from a decree issued by Solon. It was the sight of an apple that always put Vladislas, King of Poland, into fits. It is the best fruit that can be taken as an accompaniment to wine; and the best sorts for such a purpose are the Ribstone Pippin and the Coster Pearmain. The golden apples stolen by Hercules were lemons; and they are suspected to have been the “Median apples” of Theophrastus. The Romans, at first, employed this Asiatic fruit only as a means for keeping moths out of garments; from this household use it passed into the ancient pharmacopœia, and it took rank among the counter-poisons. Its acknowledged reputation in scurvy and punch, if I may so express myself, was not made until a much later period of civilization. The orange disputes with the lemon the honour of being the “Hesperides apples,”—which is a dispute of a very Hibernian character. China was probably its native place; and the Portuguese oranges are merely descendants of the original “Chinaman.” It was not known in France until introduced there by the Constable de Bourbon. In England, an orange, stuck full of cloves, was a fitting New Year’s present from a lover,—being typical of warmth and sweetness.

The fig-tree appears to have been, like the vine, very early used as a symbol of peace and plenty. It was a tree of Eden; yet the Athenians claimed it as a nativetree, asserting, by way of proof, that it had been given them by Ceres,—not reflecting that Ceresmayhave brought it from a region farther east. If it be commonly employed in Scripture as a symbol, so an American poet has taken it, with its scriptural allusions, to illustrate worldly marriages, of which he says, that—

——they are like untoJeremiah’s figs:The good are very good indeed;The bad, not fit for pigs.

——they are like unto

Jeremiah’s figs:

The good are very good indeed;

The bad, not fit for pigs.

The authorities of Attica were so fond oftheirfigs, that they passed a law against the exportation of the fruit. The advocates of free trade in figs broke the law when they could do so with profit; and the men who affected to be on friendly terms with them, in order to betray their proceedings to the Magistrates, were called by a name which is now given to all fawning traitors,—they were styled,sycophants, or “fig-declarers.” Even the philosophers in Greece became greedy in presence of figs; and with figs famished armies have been braced anew for the fight. Theathletæate of them before appearing in the arena; and more than one invasion has been traced to the taste of the invader for figs. Medical men were divided in opinion as to the merits of this fruit. It was considered indigestible; but, to remedy that, almonds were recommended to be eaten with it! The Romans, perhaps, were wiser, who took pepper with them, as we do with melon; and Dr. Madden says that we should never eat figs at all, if we could only spend half an hour in Smyrna, and see them packed. So, as I have before said, a sight of the kitchen, just before dinner, would take away appetite; but as people do not commonly go to Smyrna, or sit with their cooks, why, figs and dinners will continue to be eaten. Modern professors have resembled ancientphilosophers in an uncontrollable appetite for figs. Who has not heard of the famous Oxford fig, which, in its progress to luscious maturity, was protected by an inscription appended to it, conveying information to the effect that “this is the Principal’s fig!” which a daring Undergraduate one day devoured, and added insult to injury by changing the old placard for one on which was written, “A fig for the Principal?” The felonious fig-stealer must have been more rapid in his sacrilege, than the poet Thomson was in his method of enjoying his own peaches in his garden at Kew. Attired in the loosest and dirtiest of morning-gowns, the author of the “Castle of Indolence” used to watch his peaches ripening in the sun. When he saw one bursting with liquid promise, he was too lazy to take his unwashed hands from his well-worn pockets, and pluck the blushing treasure. No; “Jamie” simply sauntered up to it, contemplated it for a moment with a yawn, and finished his yawn by biting a piece out of the fruit,—leaving the ghastly remains on the branch for wasps and birds to divide between them.

As the Athenian rulers kept their figs, so did the Persian Kings their walnuts,—and more selfishly; for no one but their most sacred Majesties dared eat any; but one would think that even they would find it hard to digest all the walnuts that the country could produce. It is averred, that walnuts entered largely into the Mithridatic recipe against poison. The modern recipe, called “Mithridate,” I have given elsewhere; but that which Pompey is said to have found in the palace of the King whom he had overthrown, was as follows: “Pound, with care, two walnuts, two dried figs, twenty pounds of rue, anda grain of salt.” Yes, we should say it must be takencum grano. Howbeit, the royal physician goes on to say, “Swallow this mixture,—precipitate it with a little wine,—andyou have nothing to fear from the action of the most active poison, for the space of four-and-twenty hours.” There would, probably, be less to fear after that time had elapsed than before.

Nuts have not had respectability conferred on them, even by Nero, who was wont to goincog.to the upper gallery of the theatre, and take delight in pelting them on the bald head of the Prætor, who sat below. That official knew the offender, and was rewarded for bearing the attack good-humouredly; and thence, perhaps, the proverb which characterizes something falling, at once sudden and pleasant, by the term, “That’s nuts!” Of course, nuts were in fashion; not so chestnuts,—these were as much disliked by the Patricians as the filbert and hazel were said, in France, to be hated by the sun. When they were ripening, the inhabitants used to issue forth at sunrise, and endeavour to frighten the luminary out of the firmament, by making a horrid uproar, with pots, pans, and kitchen utensils generally. And this was done under a Christian dispensation. The people were not heathen Chinese, trying to cure an eclipsed planet by attacking the dragon that was supposed to be swallowing it, with atintamarreof caldron, kettle, tongs, and trivet.

The Athenians were great hands at dumplings, consisting of fruit, covered with a light and perfumed paste; and Rhodes, verifying the proverb, that “extremes meet,” was as famous for its gingerbread as for its Colossus. The Roman wedding-cake was a simple mixture of sweet wine and flour; and thesavilumpie, made of flour, cheese, honey, and eggs, was a dish to make all sorts of guests jubilant. It was, in short, the national pie; and if there were a dish that was more popular, it was theartocreas, a huge mince-pie, and the imperial pie of Verus, compounded of sow’s flank, pheasant, peacock,ham, and wild boar, all hashed together, and covered with crust. If Emperors invented pies, so did philosophers create cakes; and thelibunaof Cato was a real cheesecake, that gave as much delight as any of the same author’s works in literature. Cheese was a favourite foundation for many of the Roman cakes; but he was a bold man who added chalk, and so invented theplacenta. Yet theplacentawas eaten as readily as Charles XII. swallowed raspberry-tarts, Frederick II. Savoy cakes, or Marshal Saxe—who loved pastry, pastrycooks, and pastrycooks’ daughters—macaroons.

The Church honoured pastry,—or would so pious a King as St. Louis have raised the pastrycooks to the dignity of a guild? The Abbey of St. Denis, long before this, stipulated with the tenant-farmers, that they should deliver a certain quantity of flour, to make pastry with; and, in some cases, in France, portions of the rent for lands was to be paid in puff pastry. This was at a time when fennel-root tooth-picks used to appear at table, thrust into the preserved fruits, and every one was expected to help himself. Certainly our refined neighbours had some questionable customs. See what L’Etoile says: (1596) “Les confitures sèches et les massepains y étaient si peu épargnés que les dames et demoiselles étaient contraintes de s’en décharger sur les pages et laquais, auxquels on les baillait tout entiers.”

Prince George of Denmark, the consort of Queen Anne, was never suspected of intermeddling with the foreign policy of the kingdom; but he was something renowned for his appetite, and for the bent of it towards pastry. I think it is Archdeacon Coxe, in his “Life of the Duke of Marlborough,” who says of this illustrious Prince, that he would leave the battle-field, in the very heat of action, and come into camp, with the hungry inquiry, if it were not yet dinner-time. This was somethingworse than drawing off the hounds, or unloading the fowling-pieces, because the “Castle bell” was peremptorily ringing to luncheon. Prince George was just the sort of man—fond of good living, and able to entertain others with the same predilection—who was likely to be surrounded by parasites; and the remembrance of this fact suggests that, while the wine is passing round, I may venture to give a sketch of that ancient and remarkable gentleman, “the Parasite.” It is better than getting upon controversial subjects, which are productive of any thing but unanimity. I remember one of the very pleasantest of “after-dinners” being marred by a guest, who, having slipped into the assertion that the Jews were the earliest of created people, was indiscreet enough to try to maintain what he had asserted, and weak enough to be angry at finding it summarily rejected. Why, Father Abraham himself was but a foreign Heathen, from Ur of the Chaldees; and to claim primeval antiquity for the Jews is only as absurd as if one were to say, that Yankees and mint julep were anterior to Alfred’s cakes and the Anglo-Saxons.

But many a hasty assertion has been simply the effect of an antagonism between imperfect chymification and the oppressed intellect. Mind and matter have much influence on each other; and, for the guidance of those interested in such questions, I may, while on the subject of dinner, notice, that from Dr. Beaumont’s “Table,” drawn out to show the mean time of digestion in the stomach (orchymification) of various articles of food, we learn that boiled tripe ranks first in amiable facility, being disposed of in about one hour. Venison steak requires some half-hour more. Boiled turkey and roast pig are classed together, as requiring two hours and twenty-five minutes for the process of digestion; while roast turkey and hashed meat demand five minutes more. Fricasséedchicken is not more facile of digestion than boiled salt beef, both requiring two hours and three-quarters. Boiled mutton, broiled beefsteak, and soft-boiled eggs, take three hours; while roast beef and old strong cheese trouble the stomach for some three hours and a half. Roast duck, and fowls, whether boiled or roasted, are alike slow of digestion: they require four hours as their mean time of chymification, and are only exceeded by boiled cabbage, which requires full half-an-hour more. I borrow these details from an article in the “Journal of Psychological Medicine,” for January, 1851, a periodical edited by Dr. Forbes Winslow. I believe I do not err in attributing the article in question (“Mental Dietetics”) to the able pen of the accomplished Editor himself, than whom no man has a better right to speakex cathedrâon the subject in question. It will be seen, by the following extract from this article, that diet influences the mind as well as the body. “The nutritive particles of the food,” says Dr. Winslow, “being in the form of chyle, mixed with the blood, and supplying it with the elements which enable it to repair the waste of the animal system, it is obvious that the health, both of the body and of the mind, must depend on the quality and quantity of the vital stream. According to Lecanu, the proportion of the red globules of the blood may be regarded as a measure of vital energy; for the action of the serum and of the globules on the nervous system is very different. The former scarcely excites it, the latter do so powerfully. Now those causes which tend to increase the mass of blood, tend also to increase the proportion of red globules; whilst those which tend to diminish the mass of blood, tend to diminish the proportion of the globules. The result is obvious. A large quantity of stimulating animal food, without a proper amount of exercise, augments the number of the red globules, and diminishesthe aqueous part of the blood. Hence the nervous system becomes oppressed, the brain frequently congested, and the intellectual faculties no longer enjoy their wonted activity. In the mean time, the system endeavours to relieve itself by throwing a counter-stimulus upon certain other organs, the functions of which are morbidly increased. The blood, in such cases, becomes preternaturally thickened, and its coagulum unusually firm. On the other hand, if the system be not supplied with the requisite amount of nutrition, the blood becomes, by the loss of its red corpuscles, impoverished in quality, and, in cases of extreme abstinence, diminished in quantity. In these cases the powers of the mind soon become enfeebled.”

But we will pass from these scientific matters, to seek the company of one who, if ignorant of science, was, generally, a great man in the profession of his peculiar art,—the ancient parasite.

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