continues he, despondingly, " is the prevailing
delusion that fish, as an aliment, disagrees
with man's economy, that it is indigestible,
that it is hostile to interior domestic quietude,
that it is prone to make a pronunciamento
and fly into open insurrection. Friends,
Romans, countrymen, and lovers" (there is a
peculiar appropriateness in this address on the
score of locality), "I say emphatically no
food is so digestible as fish. But it must be
digested. Where ? I will not pause for a reply.
Where ? I say. In the pot, in the stewpan !"
(Murmurs of adhesion from the hearers.) "This
is a pregnant fact. What we have partaken of,
what we shall yet partake of " (adhesion again
in the shape of motion of the lips expressive of
relish), "is warranted all digested. It has
been digesting all day, and will sit heavy on no
man's soul to-night."

Enters now the second gift of the gods. Wistful
eyes speculate on it tenderly; for it is
covered. An unaccustomed fragrance is spread
around. We doubt, we hope, we fear, we think
it to be Fry, and yet we hesitate. The cover is
swept away with a flourish. " Fry!" sings our
Professor of the Beautiful. "Fry!" murmur his
disciples plaintively. It is a miscellany again,
a mingle-mangle, a grill of white trout, but oh!
white trout and mullet glorified, transfigured,
resplendent! What manner of man can be Coquus
inside? Let it go! Fade into the past,
glorified white trout and mullet! give place to yet
more celestial idealities! What shall we say to
the sepia, or cuttle-fish, made into a stuffato, or
stew, being left to simmer, and bubble, and grow
tender as infants for hours, in its own rich juices,
then seasoned with aromatic herbs and curious
spices, the whole beating ox-tail and vermicelli
soup — shall I say it?—to sticks? What shall
we say, on the decent removal of the mortal
remains of the brave sepia or cuttle-fish, to a Poem,
an Epic, a Pindaric flight in the shape of a dish
called " Laccia?" Yes, Laccia; a preparation
cold but divine, rich in oils, yet with the train,
and other unpleasing relishes of that lubricative
utterly sublimated. Human speculation, as
represented at the table, was utterly at fault:
some protesting that it was of meat, meatish;
but meat such as celestial butchers purvey to
the immortals; others suggest faintly that it
may be fish, but the fish of Dreamland, caught
in the Sweet Waters with a golden hook; others
hint at a new species fashioned for the occasion,
a sort of hermaphrodite article, neither fish,
flesh, nor fowl. Good red-herring is scornfully
put aside. Merrynote speaks:

"Laccia is a species of whitebait caught in
the waters of the Tiber. The curious traveller,
sitting on a broken arch of Roman Bridge,
must have observed the creaking aboriginal
wheels turning below him. These are nets for
the laccia: the take is on an average one little
minnow to the hour. Eat and be thankful.
Allah is great!"

But what shall I say of the cefalo, spigola,
and others of the finny tribes who came
disguised exquisitely; their dull sapless textures
saturated with flavours and juices not their own,
who passed away and were never seen more ?
Suddenly there came a pause— the procession
was suspended, was over. There were no more
worlds to conquer, no exquisite little grilled
sonnets, no finned Anacreontics, no more scaled
dithyrambs. Then came in, as a last act of
grace, a company of artichokes, bathing luxuriously
in Lucca oil. Eyes swam tenderly as
they pulled away the leaves softly, for it spoke
to all hearts touchingly and with a gush of
pathos. Was it not the last ? Presently came
the bill, scored up on the walls according to the
old primeval canons, transferred thence to
paper, and laid before the committee. A
delightful rusticity, a delicious state of nature
almost barbarian. It was not charged per capita,
or by head, but by dish. So many dishes, so
much. We might have come fifty strong.
Cielo, how moderate ! As I live, on an allocution
—allocation, I would say — of the cost, it
stands us in no more than a poor three shillings
per head, wine included !— only three shillings
for a banquet of the immortal gods !

We went our way silent and dejected, picking
our steps through the old Jewry again, for
Nemesis walked beside us. Some thought sadly
of the coming night, and with the stern and
fixed resolve of ordering hot brandies and
stimulating drinks when they reached home. To
others, the image of the rising sun presented
itself in all its appalling hideousness. But all
such idle terrors passed away as a vapour. Truly
had Merrynote foretold it: all things digestible
had been digested in the pot, and by way of
fire.

I think it is at Pisa that there is found
a culinary "forty" — an academy of cooking
savans, where meetings are held, and papers
"communicated," and degrees conferred in that
"faculty." This accounts for the healthy growth
of true stewing science, based on sound eclectic
principles and the Baconian method: perhaps,
this body has its " transactions" with Signor
Francatelli's interesting paper " On the Solidification
of Soup," or Soyer "On the Inductive
Theory as applied to the mayonnaise." This
last allusion raises a host of pleasing memories
—no hand can mix that seductive sauce like
theirs, and in this the richer oils of Lucca
place them on immeasurable vantage-ground. I
have seen mayonnaise of lobster, wherein the
most searching eye could not detect a
particle of the " meat" of that shell-cased dainty,
so artfully had the enticing vehicle disguised the
deficiency. Albion may proudly take her stand
on her immortal beef, and defy the waves, yet
let her not too incautiously claim the same pre-
eminence for her plum-pudding, almost as
famous. Reluctantly I say it, they order this
matter better in Italy; and the rich ebony-
looking block, bathed in a yellow cream, lighter
and more delicate in flavour, transcends
immeasurably the conscientious but ponderous
twenty-pounder that rolls in about Christmas-
time. Our Italian delicacy is not arbitrarily
relegated to one festive season: we are glad to