of the sea.

The first thing that presented itself to Sancho's sight was a whole
bullock spitted upon a large elm. The fire it was roasted by was
composed of a middling mountain of wood, and round it were placed six
pots, not cast in common moulds; for they were half-jars, each
containing a whole shamble of flesh; and entire sheep were sunk and
swallowed up in them, as commodiously as if they were only so many
pigeons. The hares ready cased, and the fowls ready plucked, that hung
about upon the branches, in order to be buried in the caldrons, were
without number. Infinite was the wild fowl and venison hanging about the
trees, that the air might cool them. Sancho counted above threescore
skins, each of above twenty-four quarts, and all, as appeared
afterwards, full of generous wines.

There were also piles of the whitest bread, arranged like heaps of wheat
on the threshing-floor, and cheeses, piled up in the manner of bricks,
formed a kind of wall. Two caldrons of oil, larger than dyers' vats,
stood ready for frying all sorts of batter-ware; and, with a couple of
stout peels, they shovelled them up when fried, and forthwith immersed
them in a kettle of prepared honey that stood near. The men and women
cooks were about fifty in number, all clean, all active, and all in good
humor. In the bullock's distended belly were sewed up a dozen sucking
pigs, to make it savory and tender. The spices of various kinds, which
seemed to have been bought, not by the pound, but by the hundredweight,
were deposited in a great chest, and open to every hand. In short the
preparation for the wedding was all rustic, but in sufficient abundance
to have feasted an army.

Sancho beheld all with wonder and delight. The first that captivated and
subdued his inclinations were the flesh-pots, out of which he would have
been glad to have filled a moderate pipkin; next the wine-skins drew his
affections; and lastly the products of the frying-pans--if such
capacious vessels might be so called; and, being unable any longer to
abstain, he ventured to approach one of the busy cooks, and in
persuasive and hungry terms begged leave to sop a luncheon of bread in
one of the pots.

To which the cook answered, "This, friend, is not a day for hunger to be
abroad--thanks to rich Camacho. Alight, and look about you for a ladle
to skim out a fowl or two, and much good may they do you."

"I see no ladle," answered Sancho.

"Stay," said the cook. "Heaven save