his professional card--

THE HONORABLE GEORGE GORMAND GOBBLETON,

Apician Chambers, Pall Mall.

Or,

SIR AUGUSTUS CARVER CRAMLEY CRAMLEY,

Amphitryonic Council Office, Swallow Street.

or, in some such neat way, Gothic letters on a large handsome
crockeryware card, with possibly a gilt coat-of-arms and supporters, or
the blood-red hand of baronetcy duly displayed. Depend on it plenty of
guineas will fall in it, and that Gobbleton's supporters will support
him comfortably enough.

For this profession is not like that of the auctioneer, which I take to
be a far more noble one, because more varied and more truthful; but in
the Agency case, a little humbug at least is necessary. A man cannot be
a successful agent by the mere force of his simple merit or genius in
eating and drinking. He must of necessity impose upon the vulgar to a
certain degree. He must be of that rank which will lead them naturally
to respect him, otherwise they might be led to jeer at his profession;
but let a noble exercise it, and bless your soul, all the "Court Guide"
is dumb!

He will then give out in a manly and somewhat pompous address what has
before been mentioned, namely, that he has seen the fatal way in which
the hospitality of England has been perverted hitherto, accapare'd by
a few cooks with green trays. (He must use a good deal of French in his
language, for that is considered very gentlemanlike by vulgar people.)
He will take a set of chambers in Canton Gardens, which will be richly
though severely furnished, and the door of which will be opened by
a French valet (he MUST be a Frenchman, remember), who will say, on
letting Mr. Snorter or Sir Benjamin Pogson in, that "MILOR is at
home." Pogson will then be shown into a library furnished with massive
bookcases, containing all the works on cookery and wines (the titles
of them) in all the known languages in the world. Any books, of course,
will do, as you will have them handsomely bound, and keep them under
plate-glass. On a side-table will be little sample-bottles of wine, a
few truffles on a white porcelain saucer, a prodigious strawberry or
two, perhaps, at the time when such fruit costs much money. On the
library will be busts marked Ude, Careme, Bechamel, in marble (never
mind what heads, of course); and, perhaps, on the clock should be a
figure of the Prince of Conde's cook killing himself because the fish
had not arriv