rinkable; the same of the red wines; and what is there so generous?
not that we are to despise our old friend, Champagne; and now that
you've helped yourself to _pate_, let's us have a bumper. By the-bye,
have they abandoned that absurd notion they used to have in England
about Champagne? when I was there, they never served it during the first
course. Now Champagne should come, immediately after your soup--your
glass of Sherry or Madeira, is a holocaust offered up to bad cookery;
for if the soup were safe, Chablis or Sauterne is your fluid. How is
the capon? good, I'm glad of it. These countries excel in their
_poulardes_."

In this fashion my companion ran on, accompanying each plate with some
commentary on its history, or concoction; a kind of dissertation, I must
confess, I have no manner of objection to, especially, when delivered by
a host who illustrates his theorem, not by "plates" but "dishes."

Supper over, we wheeled the table to the wall; and drawing forward
another, on which the wine and desert were already laid out, prepared to
pass a pleasant and happy evening, in all form.

"Worse countries than Holland, Mr. O'Leary," said my companion, as he
sipped his Burgundy, and looked with ecstasy at the rich colour of the
wine through the candle.

"When seen thus," said I, "I don't know its equal."

"Why, perhaps this is rather a favourable specimen of a smuggler's
cave," replied he, laughing. "Better than old Dirk's, eh? By-the-bye, do
you know, Scott?"

"No; I am sorry to say that I am not acquainted with him."

"What the devil could have led him into such a blunder as to make
Hatteraik, a regular Dutchman, sing a German song? Why, 'Ich Bin
liederlich' is good Hoch-Deutsch, and Saxon to boot. A Hollander, might
just as well have chanted modern Greek, or Coptic. I'll wager you that
Rubens there, over the chimney, against a crown-piece, you'll not find a
Dutchman, from Dort to Nimegen, could repeat the lines, that he has made
a regular national song of; and again, in Quentin Durward, he has made
all the Liege folk speak German, That, was even, a worse mistake. Some
of them speak French; but the nation, the people, are Walloons, and have
as much idea of German as a Hottentot has, of the queen of hearts. Never
mind, he's a glorious fellow for all that, and here's his health. When
will Ireland have his equal, to chronicle her feats of field and flood,
and make her land as classic, as Scott has done his own!"