h pork, salt pork, cold meat, hash.'--But where's the use of
titivating one's appetite with reading of such luxteries? Oh, what a
wife Madame de Genlis would have made for me! Oh dear, oh dear, I shall
die of hunger, I see --I shall die of absolute famine--my stomach thinks
my throat's cut already!" In the height of his distress in came two
turkeys and a couple of fowls, and his countenance shone forth like an
April sun after a shower. "Come, this is better," said he; "I'll trouble
you, sir, for a leg and a wing, and a bit of the breast, for I'm really
famished--oh hang! the fellow's a Frenchman, and I shall lose half the
day in looking it out in my dictionary. Oh dear, oh dear, where's the
dinner dialogue!--well, here's something to that purpose. 'I will
send you a bit of this fowl.' 'A little bit of the fowl cannot hurt
you.'--No, nor a great bit either.--'Which do you like best, leg or
wing?' 'Qu'aimez-vous le mieux, la cuisse ou l'aile?'" Here the Countess
Benvolio, who had been playing a good knife and fork herself, pricked
up her ears, and guessing at Jorrocks's wants, interceded with her
countryman and got him a plateful of fowl. It was soon disposed of,
however, and half a dish of hashed hare or cat, that was placed within
reach of him shortly after, was quickly transferred into his plate. A
French dinner is admirably calculated for leading the appetite on by
easy stages to the grand consummation of satiety. It begins meagrely, as
we have shown, and proceeds gradually through the various gradations of
lights, savories, solids, and substantiate. Presently there was a
large dish of stewed eels put on. "What's that?" asked Jorrocks of the
man.--"Poisson," was the reply. "Poison! why, you infidel, have you no
conscience?" "Fishe," said the Countess. "Oh, ay, I smell--eels--just
like what we have at the Eel-pie-house at Twickenham--your ladyship, I
am thirsty--'ge soif,' in fact." "Ah, bon!" said the Countess, laughing,
and giving him a tumbler of claret. "I've travelled three hundred
thousand miles," said the fat man, "and never saw claret drunk in that
way before." "It's not werry good, I think," said Mr. Jorrocks, smacking
his lips; "if it was not claret I would sooner drink port." Some wild
ducks and fricandeau de veau which followed, were cut up and handed
round, Jorrocks helping himself plentifully to both, as also to pommes
de terre a la maitre d'hotel, and bread at discretion. "Faith, but this
is not a bad dinn