t was he of whom I
speak), ate of soup, bouilli, fricandeau, pigeon, boeuf piquee, salad,
mutton cutlets, spinach stewed richly, cold asparagus, with oil and
vinegar, a roti, cold pike and cresses, sweetmeat tart, larded
sweetbreads, haricots blancs au jus, a pasty of eggs and rich gravy,
cheese, baked pears, two custards, two apples, biscuits and sweet cakes.
Such was the order and quality of his repast, which I registered during
the first leisure moment, and which is faithfully reported; and, be it
recollected, that he did not confine himself to a mere taste of any one
dish. Perhaps I may be borne out by the experience of those who have had
the patience to sit out an old Parisian gourmand, by the help of coffee
and newspapers, and observed him employed corporeally and mentally for
nearly two hours, digesting and discriminating, with the carte in one
hand, and his fork in the other. The solemn concentration of mind
displayed by many of these personages is worthy of the pencil of
Bunbury; and though French caricaturists have done no more than justice
to our guttling Bob Fudges, I question whether they would not find
subjects of greater science and physical powers among their own
countrymen. On our return to the coche d'eau, our fat companion lighted
his cigar, and hastened to lie down in the cabin, observing, "Il faut
que je me repose un peu, pour faire ma digestion;" and Monsieur C.,
instead of leaving him quietly in his state of torpidity, like a boa
refreshed with raw buffalo, began to argue with us on the superior
nicety of the French in eating. "Nous aimons les mets plus delicats que
vous autres," quoth he; at which we laughed, and pointed to the cabin.
We found, upon explanation, however, that Mr. C., though well-informed
in general upon the subject of English customs, entertained an idea not
uncommon in France, viz. that we always despatch the whole of those
hospitable haunches and sirloins, which appear at an English table, at
one and the same sitting: with this notion, his observation was
certainly natural enough.

From Trevoux, the Saone winds between narrow, steep, and picturesque
banks as far as Lyons, near which place they close in upon its channel,
exhibiting more varieties of rock and wood than before. For the good
taste displayed by the rich Lyonnais in their villas and gardens, which
began to peep upon us at every step, I cannot in truth say much; but
our French companions, who had overlooked the merely