weaver, named Kennedy, who died in the Windmill Lane in 1823, aged 114 years. Kennedy informed this gentleman that he had served his apprenticeship to a weaver, named Fox, who carried on his business in the North Main Street, near the Clock Gate. Fox when a boy stole away from his work,' as he was wont to tell it, 'to follow the great funeral that came from Dungarvan;' and he listened to Cromwell's address in the south transept of St. Mary's. He remembered quite well the appearance of the English general in our streets, with his slouched hat and military cloak; and he saw him on a fine summer's day (26 May, 1650) pass with a cavalcade under the Watergate, embark at the landing stairs near the old Fort, and

get on board a large frigate (The President), that was bound for England."

There is an old castle at Youghal, in the Main Street, called "Tynt's Castle." In the back-streets there are some good iron-work, quaint knockers, old almshouses with curious doorways, and many a bit of old-world care and conceit. The best of the town houses, which Mr. Dineley noticed as being "fair, built after ye English manner, though low, not unlike those of Portsmouth in England," have walled gardens in which flowers and vegetables grow in absolute perfection. I have a lively recollection of seeing four or five years ago in a Youghal street a window-box of yellow carnations, the like of which I never saw before nor since. FANNY W. CURREY.

One may

ND this is what a large party of us were seriously threatened with on a fine summer's day in the blessed year of 18. It was in Normandy, many years ago, when the word "piquenique" was not yet known, and we used to call these gatherings "parties de campagne." My father and several friends had arranged one among themselves, and a nice farm near a very pretty village called Montivilliers had been fixed upon as the locality. It was about ten or twelve miles from Hâvre-de-Grâce, and the numerous party drove joyfully to the appointed place. We carried most of our provisions with us, but the cooking talents of the farmer's wife had been very much depended upon. therefore imagine the dismay of the projectors of the "partie de campagne" when they were told that the poor woman had met with an accident which absolutely prevented her from leaving her bed. The dismay was soon dispelled, however, by the two smartest gentlemen of the party. Smart they were, for both wore the brilliant uniforms of captains in a regiment of "Chasseurs d'Afrique" (French officers being seldom, and never in those days, allowed to appear in public out of regimentals). They both belonged to the Faubourg St. Germain, and were St. Cyriens; their respective names were Messieurs de Baude and de St. Simon. But, with all the alacrity and cheerfulness which characterise the French nation, they pledged themselves, if the ladies. would help them, that they would serve us a charming

OWEN MEREDITH.

dinner, such as could be expected only in a private house or at one of the best restaurants in Paris. No sooner said than done. The ladies went to the farm and decked themselves out in beautiful large white aprons with bibs, tucked up their sleeves, and returned ready to obey the orders of the two improvised chefs, who also had donned white aprons, and had returned from the farmyard bringing in each hand a large fowl and a duck. With some contrivance known to troopers accustomed to find their food at the point of their sword, they had killed the birds (which were young) so as to make them eat very tender. In a very short time, whilst a fire was lighted in an improvised brick or stone stove, they plucked and trussed them, made most refined dishes (entrées) with the chickens, and most cleverly roasted the ducks. In the meantime, peas, French beans, and potatoes had been prepared and cooked in the French ways; a delicious sorrel soup, such as you can get only in French farms, with cream and eggs, had been cooking gently on the hearth; crisp and fresh salads were abundant; and a large supply of Brie cheese and fresh butter, with very dark tasty brown bread, satisfied the appetite of those who still had some corners to fill; and, finally, a plethora of fruit of all denominations formed, with some whipped cream, a most enviable dessert. I must not omit to say that during the cooking of all the divers viands the unoccupied hands had made themselves very busy, and their sport with the line had produced two immense dishes of splendid gudgeon, also fried by our two gallant

officers, who did not forget that no good dinner can be complete without a strong cup of "café noir." Some of the ladies had helped the fishermen; others had volunteered to lay the cloth, an immense table having been improvised with some planks on trestles in the open air, on a beautiful grass plot by the pretty river. Some bottles of Burgundy and Champagne had cleared the throats of all the guests, who, according to ancient fashion in merry Gaul, had paid their tribute by sing ing those witty songs the choruses of which resounded far into the woods, and which, alas! are never heard now. A general toast was proposed for the two clever and charming officers who had improvised such a successful banquet, and I leave my readers to judge how heartily it was responded to. And so ended the most delightful complete picnic dinner it has ever been my lot to be at. This was not all the fun, however. Some gentlemen had provided themselves with pocket musical instruments, and, after a thorough rest in the wood or by the banks of the river, they produced them, and played the first bars of a favourite waltz. Although taken by surprise, the groups were soon formed, and the dancing lasted till the stars and the moonlight made it well to return home.

Now, it will be readily admitted that if a party of English gentlemen and ladies had met with such a mishap as this, it is doubtful whether it would ever have been turned into so triumphant a success. But it is not only on such occasions as these that culinary talents are highly serviceable; it is above all when men are campaigning, and hardly know, after a hard day's work, whether they will have anything to eat, that the true genius for cookery will turn to account the smallest thing, and produce a really palatable dish for several hungry men, which, had it fallen into ignorant hands, would have been deemed perfectly useless. These are the resources I have been asked to point out one by one and systematically to English housewives, who are nowadays so anxious to drink at the fountain of useful knowledge. Half the work is done when they honestly and candidly come forward and say, "We don't know, "We don't know, pray instruct us."

English women begin to see—and they must be practically supported in their discovery-that they may learn and thoroughly understand the art of cooking without its being derogatory to their position as ladies. They now know that to be perfect helps to their husbands they must do something more than lounge on couches reading the last novel, and devolving to their menials the management of their households. These were the ways of the past; but now they can say with more accuracy than Molière's hero in the Médecin malgré lui, "Mais nous avons changé tout cela." Indeed you have changed all this, brave English women! You have burst forth from the useless isolated places that had been assigned to you by routine, and because, forsooth, you have been deemed inferior beings. Inferior! the most sublime of the Creator's creations. Woman, whose mind can reach the highest regions and descend to the most humble; whose heart can give and embrace so much, and yet be content with so little! The impulse

given may have overleaped proper boundaries, but it will right itself in time; and when English women have recovered from the natural intoxication caused by their new conquest, they will soon see, with the admirable good common sense which characterises them, that their mission is not to encroach upon man's domain, but to help him with their hundredfold powers to watch over, improve, and maintain it; and for English women to wish to master a thing means success, for their natural cleverness and perseverance are certainly indisputable.

Some, however, indeed too many, are still inclined to say in a very off-hand way, "We cannot get a good cook; the things come on the table perfectly uneatable. Of course I cannot tell my cook what is wanting in her cooking, I can only tell her it is not right"—very little suspecting what condemnation they thus pronounce upon themselves. It is this very regrettable ignorance. which must be dispelled, and now is the time to do it, because English women are gradually waking up to the fact of their utter absence of knowledge of all the manipulations performed in the lower regions, and they begin to see that by acquiring that knowledge they will at once materially increase their comforts and those of their families, while at the same time they will diminish their expenses-two very important items in the budget of any household, be it large or small.

Now, I repeat, is the time to do it, because cooks --who know their power-are demanding most extravagant wages and a great many perquisites; the good ones have a right to do so, they deserve them, but unfortunately the inferior cooks follow suit, and unblushingly demand the same. These latter call themselves professed cooks because they can make clear soup (that craze of the present time: it must be clear at any cost: no taste in it perhaps, but never mind, it is clear; no strength in it—never mind, it is clear!) They can also fry fish, and can cook two or three "hangtries," as they call them; any amount of pretty puddings, but generally insipid and extremely expensive; and, finally, they can make jellies. Jellies! this is their forte; and most likely this is one of those indifferent cooks who, after having received £16 or £17 wages in some nice family, who have patiently put up with all her deficiencies, suddenly, in order to "better herself" as they call it, takes one guinea's worth of cookery lessons, and at once applies for a place where she demands £28 or £30, simply because she has learnt how to fry fish properly, how to concoct the most un-French of French entrées, a few showy puddings, and, to crown the whole, has learnt how to make jellies. Who can blame them? No one, surely. They are very ordinary plain cooks who always spoil game, or fish, or vegetables, in fact everything excepting joints, roast or boiled; but they are clean, honest, and sober, consequently they are seldom or never reprimanded, so frightened are their mistresses at the idea of their giving warning.

It is the London season, people come fast to town; cooks are in great request; a good deal of company is kept; the newly-made professed cook has received a very good character, her habits are not extravagant; perhaps.she succeeds one "qui faisait terriblement danser

l'anse du panier;" she comes out with all her nice frying, showy puddings, and jellies of all hues; she keeps the bills down lower at first than her predecessor. She is thought a capital acquisition, but by degrees the transformation scene takes place; the season is on the wane, the company have gone, her accomplishments are no longer in request, the clear soups are found too expensive for daily use, and her répertoire is soon at an end, for it is very limited; her detestable entréeswhich made a show, being offered to constantly renewed visitors are put aside as "those horrid French kickshaws which have nothing in them," and her show of puddings travel away in the same boat. What is left of this newly-made professed cook who receives such high wages? She is clean, she is honest, she is sober; but she is still a very inferior cook, and she is kept on because another, though perhaps she might cook better, would very likely lack these other qualities so important in every household, particularly in England, where so much liberty is left to the servants. And so, according to English custom, the dinners resume their former sameness, the old routine reigns supreme. The hot joints re-appear in rotation, delicious the first day, and even another day cold, but too much of them will endanger the health of many; for, alas! the English way of living-excellent as it is-is too heavy and too unsound for those who do not belong to the following categories, viz. :—

(1) Schoolboys and girls;

(2) Men who do manual work;

(3) Those who take a great deal of exercise; and (4) Those who have to talk a great deal. Therefore, all people who are intellectually engaged, those who are very much at the desk, those who have a weak digestion and how many they are in this country! -young children, and old people, should have a diet different from the present one, consisting as it does of a joint, either roasted, boiled, or baked, unsurpassed (as I said above) in excellence the first day; but being served up again three or four days in succession, and sometimes at two meals on the same day, the monotonous recurrence must inevitably produce disorders in the two most important organs in man, one being entirely dependent on the other, viz., the digestive apparatus and the liver.

The appetite requires tempting, and it can seldom be tempted with cold joints, plain boiled vegetables, such as cabbage the good of which has all gone into the water, and some of those substantial puddings, so very good and nutritious when they are delicately made, but so deplorably heavy and indigestible otherwise!

These greens or cabbages remind me of an incident which happened to a Parisian gourmet who had come to England some time after the erection of the Crystal Palace at Sydenham. He was most enthusiastic over the grandeur of London, showing itself as it did even in all its utensils, including washhand-basins, glasses, dinner plates, knives, &c. &c.-excepting, however, the weights and measures, which are considerably smaller than the corresponding ones on the Continent, for, as everybody knows, an English pound weighs only fourteen French ounces! a yard-measure is three inches shorter

than the mètre, a quart is much less than a litre. The Parisian gourmet was energetically extolling the splendid gigantic roast of sirloin wheeled about to each guest in its bright metallic dish, and admiring the immense plates which exactly correspond to French round dishes, when suddenly the complacent and beaming expression changed into one of horror, and with a voice made hoarse with a feeling of disgust he exclaimed, "Qu'est-ce que c'est que ça ?" Ça referred to a large vegetable-dish copiously filled with monstrously verdant greens or cabbage. When he was told what it was, his countenance, a moment before jubilant with admiring approbation, gave way to the most contemptuous expression, and he said, "Mais ce sont donc des sauvages que ces gens-là !" And when he returned abroad and his friends got a little tired of his everlasting praises of everything that was English, they used to put a stop to his eloquence by saying in a sarcastic tone, "Eh bien ! et les choux du Palais de Cristal, vous les oubliez done!" The fact is that cabbages in France are never eaten simply boiled in water. After having boiled only a quarter of an hour to lose their strong taste they are squeezed very dry, chopped up very small, and regardless of their green appearance they are put in a saucepan with butter, gravy, pepper, and salt, and allowed to fricasser for at least half an hour; sometimes a soupçon of nutmeg makes them extra savoury.

My opinion being that a combination of French and English cooking forms the most perfect of all cuisines, I strongly advocate that the English ladies should do what I have done since I have lived in this country, viz., compose their menus with an intelligent intermixture of the various dishes produced by the two countries. For instance, such menus as the following might, it seems to me, satisfy the hungry and the fastidious, the healthy and the invalid.