sts in
the salt ocean, and fresh-water rivers, an abundance of aliment, which
the present state of gastronomic art enables the cook to introduce to
the table in the most agreeable forms, and oftentimes at a very moderate
cost.

Less nutritious as a food than the flesh of animals, more succulent than
vegetables, fish may be termed a middle dish, suited to all temperaments
and constitutions; and one which those who are recovering from illness
may partake of with safety and advantage.

As to which is the best fish, there has been much discussion. The old
Latin proverb, however, _de gustibus non disputandum_, and the more
modern Spanish one, _sobre los gustos no hai disputa_, declare, with
equal force, that where _taste_ is concerned, no decision can be arrived
at. Each person's palate may be differently affected--pleased or
displeased; and there is no standard by which to judge why a red mullet,
a sole, or a turbot, should be better or worse than a salmon, trout,
pike, or a tiny tench.

Fish, as we have explained, is less nourishing than meat; for it is
lighter in weight, size for size, and contains no ozmazome (_see_ No.
100). Shell-fish, oysters particularly, furnish but little nutriment;
and this is the reason why so many of the latter can be eaten without
injury to the system.

In Brillat Savarin's [Footnote: Brillat Savarin was a French lawyer and
judge of considerable eminence and great talents, and wrote, under the
above title, a book on gastronomy, full of instructive information,
enlivened with a fund of pleasantly-told anecdote.] clever and amusing
volume, "The Physiology of Taste," he says, that towards the end of the
eighteenth century it was a most common thing for a well-arranged
entertainment in Paris to commence with oysters, and that many guests
were not contented without swallowing twelve dozen. Being anxious to
know the weight of this advanced-guard, he ascertained that a dozen
oysters, fluid included, weighed 4 ounces,--thus, the twelve dozen would
weigh about 3 lbs.; and there can be no doubt, that the same persons who
made no worse a dinner on account of having partaken of the oysters,
would have been completely satisfied if they had eaten the same weight
of chicken or mutton. An anecdote, perfectly well authenticated, is
narrated of a French gentleman (M. Laperte), residing at Versailles, who
was extravagantly fond of oysters, declaring he never had enough.
Savarin resolved to procure him the sa