aking his
apostacy the theme of general remark--of surprising the world with an
exhibition of prostrated worth--let him not seek the market-cross to
publish his dishonour, whilst there remains the elevated chair at a
dinner-table. Let him prove himself entitled to be ranked as a man, by
the elaborate manner in which he seasons his soup or anatomises a
joint. Let him have the glass and the towel--the one to cool the
tongue, which must burn with the fulsome praises of those whom he has
hitherto decried, and the other as a ready appliance to conceal the
blush which must rush to the cheek from the consciousness of the
thousand recollections of former professions awakened in the minds of
every applauder of his apostacy. Let him have a Toole to give bold
utterance to the toasts which, in former years, would have called forth
his contumely and indignation, and which, even now, he dare only
whisper, lest the echo of his own voice should be changed into a curse.
Let him have wine, that his blood may riot through his veins and drive
memory onward. Let him have wine, that when the hollow cheers of his
new allies ring in his ears he may be incapable of understanding their
real meaning; or, when he rises to respond to the lip-service of his
fellow bacchanals, the fumes may supply the place of mercy, and save
him from the abjectness of self-degradation. Burdett! the 20th of
August will never be forgotten! You have earned an epitaph that will
scorch men's eyes--

"To the last a renegade."[2]
* * * *

[2] "Siege of Corinth."

Who that possesses the least reflection ever visited a police-office
without feeling how intimately it was connected with the cook-shop! The
victims to the intoxicating qualities of pickled salmon, oyster-sauce,
and lobster salad, are innumerable; for where one gentleman or lady
pleads guilty to too much wine, a thousand extenuate on the score of
indigestion. We are aware that the disorganisation of the digestive
powers is very prevalent--about one or two in the morning--and we have
no doubt the Conservative friends of Captain Rous, who patriotically
contributed five shillings each to the Queen, and one gentleman (a chum
of our own at Cheam, if we mistake not) a sovereign to the poor-box,
were all doubtlessly suffering from this cause, combined with their
enthusiasm for the gallant Rous, and--_proh pudor!_--Burdett.

How much, then, are we indebted to our cooks! those perspiring
prof