with
carrots, it is a dish for a king; but cold it is nobler. Oh, the thin
broad slice, with just its fringe of consistent fat!

We are sparing of condiments, but such as we use are the best that man
has invented. And we know _how_ to use them. I have heard an impatient
innovator scoff at the English law on the subject of mustard, and demand
why, in the nature of things, mustard should not be eaten with mutton.
The answer is very simple; this law has been made by the English
palate--which is impeccable. I maintain it is impeccable! Your educated
Englishman is an infallible guide in all that relates to the table. "The
man of superior intellect," said Tennyson--justifying his love of boiled
beef and new potatoes--"knows what is good to eat"; and I would extend it
to all civilized natives of our country. We are content with nothing but
the finest savours, the truest combinations; our wealth, and happy
natural circumstances, have allowed us an education of the palate of
which our natural aptitude was worthy. Think, by the bye, of those new
potatoes, just mentioned. Our cook, when dressing them, puts into the
saucepan a sprig of mint. This is genius. No otherwise could the
flavour of the vegetable be so perfectly, yet so delicately, emphasized.
The mint is there, and we know it; yet our palate knows only the young
potato.

IX.

There is to me an odd pathos in the literature of vegetarianism. I
remember the day when I read these periodicals and pamphlets with all the
zest of hunger and poverty, vigorously seeking to persuade myself that
flesh was an altogether superfluous, and even a repulsive, food. If ever
such things fall under my eyes nowadays, I am touched with a half
humorous compassion for the people whose necessity, not their will,
consents to this chemical view of diet. There comes before me a vision
of certain vegetarian restaurants, where, at a minim outlay, I have often
enough made believe to satisfy my craving stomach; where I have swallowed
"savoury cutlet," "vegetable steak," and I know not what windy
insufficiencies tricked up under specious names. One place do I recall
where you had a complete dinner for sixpence--I dare not try to remember
the items. But well indeed do I see the faces of the guests--poor clerks
and shopboys, bloodless girls and women of many sorts--all endeavouring
to find a relish in lentil soup and haricot something-or-other. It was a
grotesquely heart-breaking si