THE DINNER-TABLE.

MY DEAR ELOISE,—I thank you for your kind compliment, but I have always been of opinion that the arrangements and serving of a dinner-table, have as much to do with the happiness and pleasure of a party as the viands which are placed upon it; this I had a practical proof of last week. Mr. B. and myself were invited to dine with Mr. D., a city friend, at Balham Hill; I had before met Mrs. D. at an evening party, at his partner’s, at Hackney, and knew little of her.

Dinner was served pretty punctually, only half an hour after time. On my entrance in the room, my first glance at the table showed me that there was a want of savoir-faire in its management: the plate, very abundant and splendid, was of so yellow a cast that it looked as if it were plated, and the cut glass was exceedingly dim. My first surprise was that there were no napkins, the next the soup plates were quite cold, which I have found often the case in other houses; after being served with fish, and waiting until it was cold for the sauce to eat with it, I was rather sceptical how the rest of the dinner would progress. After the first, the second course made its appearance, which was heavy and too abundant; the plain things were well done, but there was only one servant in the room for the whole party of fourteen, and from the strict formality of the table, it would have been a sacrilege to have handed your plate for any vegetables, or anything else you might require. There were four saltcellars, certainly very massive silver ones, at each corner of the table, and a beautiful cruet-frame in the centre; the hot dishes of this course, like the previous one, became cold and tasteless before being eaten, and during the time the servant was serving the champagne, all the plates were empty; in fact it was a good dinner spoilt. The wine drank with less goût than usual, and the long pauses between the courses made the formality appear still greater than it really was, and made you wish for the time to arrive for the cloth to be removed, which was not done, only the slips, a most awkward undertaking for one servant, and should never be practised unless having at least two.

About half an hour after the cloth was removed, and just as the conversation was being thawed from the freezing it received at the dinner-table, Mrs. D. and the ladies withdrew, and for an hour and a half we had to bear the insipid conversation of the drawing-room, the hissing urn on the tea-table bearing a prominent part. Several messages were sent from time to time to the dining-room that coffee was ready; and when at last the gentlemen came, two had had quite wine enough, which caused them to receive sundry angry looks from their wives who were present, and who were glad to get them into their carriages which were waiting, and right glad indeed was I when ours was announced.

This all happened, my dear Eloise, not from meanness; for if money could have purchased it nothing would have been wanting, but solely from want of management; and every one should think before they invite their friends to partake of their hospitality, if they know how to entertain them. Money of course will provide delicacies of all kinds, but to know how to dispose of those delicacies to the best advantage, that your friends may appreciate them, is what is sadly wanting in more than one house I visit.

A very excellent remark is made in Punch by Mr. Brown, in his Letters to a Young Man about Town, on the subject of great and little dinners. He says: “Properly considered the quality of the dinner is twice blest; it blesses him that gives, and him that takes; a dinner with friendliness is the best of all friendly meetings—a pompous entertainment, where no love is, is the least satisfactory.”

Our dinner on which you compliment me so much, we sat down twelve, for although the room and table would accommodate more, yet as my service of plate is for that number, and the arrangements of the kitchen are limited, that is the number I prefer, besides beyond which the conversation becomes partial, which is the bane of a dinner-table. You know we have no regular man-servant, but for these occasions I hire two, and place one on each side the table, and they each have their own side table with a change of everything that is required. The first thing to be looked to is the lights: these ought to be so placed as not to intercept the view of any person at the table, but at the same time they ought to be enough to show everything off to advantage; I prefer removing some of the lights from the table to the sideboard when the cloth is removed, as the light after dinner ought to be more subdued. In laying the cloth we place it over the baize, and remove it after dinner, as Mr. B. says he likes to see the mahogany, for when he asks a city friend to come and put his feet under his mahogany, it looks rather foolish if he never sees it. I have, as you know, my table rather wide, that is, six feet, and I generally place a vase of flowers in the centre, as I think their freshness and odor add greatly to the appearance of the table, and admit a flanc on each side. We prefer the old English plan of taking the top and bottom of the table, instead of I and Mr. B. being together at the side.

The cloth being laid with its proper side uppermost, I order a napkin, two knives, two prongs, two tablespoons, and two wine-glasses to be placed to each person, a saltcellar between every other, that being a condiment which every one uses, though often wrongly; the cruet-frames and other requisites are kept on the sideboards. I then have the fish and soup served together, the potatoes and sauce on the sideboard; I serving the soup, and Mr. B. the fish, and often a little dish of fried fish, such as smelts, &c., to remove the soups. This gives me an opportunity of seeing that my guests are properly attended to, and also leisure of taking wine with any gentleman who challenges me. During the time this course has been progressing, the cook has had time to dish up the removes nice and hot, and get all up close to the door, as I like as little time as possible to intervene in changing the dishes; and these consist generally of variously dressed chickens, which I have before me, as this gives an opportunity for the gentleman on my right to display his gallantry; but, thanks to Soyer’s separator, this is an easy task. This affords me still further leisure to pay attention to my guests. Mr. B., who is a capital carver, either has a saddle or a haunch of mutton, or a quarter of lamb before him, the rest of the dishes consisting of a tongue and entrées. I select those most easy to carve, and also easy for the cook to prepare. This is a period of dinner where a great deal depends upon the attendants; they should know almost by the look what this lady or that gentleman require, and what kind of vegetables to hand them; a first-rate butler should be able to judge by the physiognomy to whom he should offer mint sauce with the lamb, and who prefers cayenne; on their attention and hot plates, depends the success of the substantial part of the dinner.

As soon as I see that all are served, and words are few in consequence of the organ which utters them being employed in another way, I give a look to the two servants, which they understand, and immediately two reports are heard,—they are from two bottles of champagne, opened at the same time by the attendants, who have each a salver with six glasses on it; this takes but a short time to serve, and prepares the palate for the entrées, which generally get praised; indeed my cook would think something was wrong if two of the dishes did not go down empty. By having the champagne thus, I find it goes much further than if only one bottle was opened at the time, there being sufficient left in the bottles for a gentleman to challenge a lady to take champagne with him. If I have game I remove the top and bottom dishes with them, and make the sweets a separate course, taking care to have cold plates for the jelly, and having the liquors handed round when the sweets are on the table; one cheese I place opposite Mr. B., and macaroni opposite myself. Objections have been made to the use of napkins, as being of no service at an English dinner-table, and only a copy of the dirty manners of our neighbors. If we are more cleanly at the table than they are (which I question), there is no reason why we should not use that which would make us still more so; but Mr. B. is so well pleased with the rose water which he has at the court dinners of his company, that he made me a present of those two beautiful dishes which you admired so much. The outside compartment holds rose-water, and the inner one a little eau-de-cologne; these are placed on salvers, and pass down each side of the table, the corner of each napkin being dipped into it. They seem to be absolutely required, and I must say they form a delightful adjunct to the dinner-table.

He[9] has also introduced at our table, but only at Christmas, another city custom, which the gentlemen seem very much to like,—I cannot say so for the ladies; it is what he calls a loving cup; he has it placed before him when the cheese is put on; and after filling the glass of the lady on each side of him, he rises and drinks to their health and the rest of the company, and then passes it to the gentleman on the left, who, in like manner, fills the glass of the lady on his left, rises, drinks to her health and the company, and thus it goes round the table. Your husband, my dear Eloise, thought that the contents were exceedingly good, or, as he expressed it, nectar fit for the gods, and would like to have the receipt,—here it is as Mr. B. prepares it:—The cup holds two quarts; he places in it half a teacupful of capillaire; if he has none, he uses dissolved lump sugar, with a few drops of orange-flower water in it, one pint of brown sherry, one bottle of good Edinburgh ale, mixing these together, and a minute before placing on the table, adding one bottle of soda water, stirring it well up till it froths; he then grates some nutmeg on the froth, and places a piece of toast in it, and sends it to the table with a napkin through the handle of the cup. I must say, since we have had this, it has produced some most interesting conversation as regarded the antiquity of the custom, &c. In addition, Mr. B. bought the cup at a sale, and it is stated to have been drunk out of by Henry the Eighth: this of itself is a subject of conversation, and draws out the talents and conversational powers of our guests, and one in which ladies can join, as there is hardly one of our sex who has not read Miss Strickland’s “Queens of England.” You have often made the remark, that the time always appears short whilst we are at table; this is, no doubt, from the animated conversation which is kept up, for that is the real motive of meeting together, to enjoy the conversation of one another, to gain and impart information, and amuse ourselves with the wit and talent of those around us, and not for the sake of eating and drinking; yet without the assistance of both of these, the most sparkling wit would be as heavy as a bad soufflé, and the brightest talent as dull as my looking-glass on a foggy day.

In order to prolong the time, and to enjoy the gentlemen’s society as much as possible, I do not have the dessert placed on the table until ten or twenty minutes after the cloth is removed; this also gives an opportunity for my guests to admire the beautiful Sevres dessert plates, containing views of the French chateaux; this of course gives a subject for conversation to those who have visited them. In the dessert I generally introduce some new importation, such as bananas, sugar-cane, American lady apples, prickly pears, &c.; these also give a subject for the gentlemen to talk about when the ladies have left, as free trade, colonial policy, &c. About half an hour after the dessert is on the table, and when I see that the conversation is becoming less general, I retire to the drawing-room; the servants then remove the dirty glass and plates, and Mr. B. introduces some of his choice claret or Burgundy in ice coolers.

You know, my dear Eloise, I allow very little more than half an hour for us to talk about the last new fashions, or of Mrs. A. and B.’s cap, and the young ones about their partners at the last ball, and other nothings, when the tea and coffee are brought up on salvers; it is always made down stairs, and sent up in cups to the drawing-room, although Mr. B. had a very handsome silver service presented to him just after we were married, for serving as an honorary secretary to some grand masonic festival, yet the milk ewer and sugar basin are all I allow in the room. This does away with the formality of the tea-table and the hissing of the tea-urn; it allows some young gentlemen with a Byron collar and a little down under his chin to turn over the pages of a music-book for a young lady at the piano, and make his coffee at the same time; it allows my dear mamma and Mr. P. to make up their whist table, and have their tea whilst playing; or, if we make up a quadrille, to have a few turns of a waltz or polka, the coffee is serving during the time; whilst this is going on the hand of the clock advances, and half-past ten soon arrives, and with it Mrs. C.’s fly; Dr. D.’s brougham is at the door; the party breaks up, delighted with the evening they have passed in each other’s society: and this you see done with trifling management.

DEAREST ELOISE,—You are right in your remark, that there is a great difference as to the manner and way in which evening parties or soirées are given in different houses, although being frequented by the same party or circle. I must say I have my own ideas on this subject, and I think the French understand this matter much better than we do, and that we could not do better than imitate them. We English are a plodding, matter-of-fact people, and carry our notions into every concern in life: our dinners and entertainments are given with an ulterior object, and with a view of what may be gained from it, even from the charitable dinner at the London Tavern to the man who asks another to partake of a pint of beer with him at a public-house. It is this, together with ostentation, which is the bane of society, by bringing together people of incongruity of ideas, destroying that free exchange of thought which constitutes the true pleasure of social réunions; we are also naturally of a reserved and cautious disposition: hence the reason why the pleasures of a soirée are not felt until after supper. Of these I am a great advocate, though not to the extravagant and outré manner many are given in the present day. Of course in the way most ladies are now educated, they would rather be attending to the adornment of their persons for the occasion than to the entertainment and amusement of their guests. Those who can afford it, are quite right to patronize a first-rate confectioner, and thus save themselves the trouble; but how many that cannot afford it do the same thing, and make a bargain for a bad supper with one, by which he gains little, and the guests great disgust, instead of doing it at home and ordering a few good things which would look and eat well. There are a variety of drinks which could be made at a moderate expense, good and wholesome, and infinitely better than bad Marsala, which you are often obliged to partake of. I will enclose you a few receipts for them, and some bills of fare for suppers for small soirées.

—— Farm, Essex, July —, 1849.

MY DEAR ELOISE,—You are no doubt surprised at receiving this from the above address, but you remember when you last called I thought my little Emily was unwell, the next day she seemed worse, I then had the Dr.—, who ordered her out of town, and a friend of Mr. B.’s being present recommended this place; so Emily and I have now been a week here, and she has already improved by the change of air; it has also done me good, and I am greatly amused with the various occupations going on in the farm, which is an old-fashioned one, tenanted by a good old English farmer, his wife, and son; the latter is gone to see a brother settled in Liverpool. The cleanliness and regularity of the house are quite charming; but what delights me more than all is the dairy—such delicious cream and butter that it makes me quite envy people living in the country!

I must describe the pretty dairy to you: it is situated at the back of the house, and sheltered by it from the mid-day and afternoon’s sun, and from the morning’s sun by a plantation, so that it is deliciously cool; it is about twelve feet long by ten wide, paved with flat stones, and the walls of plaster, like stone, a door at one end with a window above and a window high up at the other end, and two windows at the side; these have thin wire shutters and glazed sashes on hinges; the roof is of slate, with about two feet thickness of thatch over it; there are also several little openings for the admission of air, about one inch from the floor. A dresser, two feet wide, being two inches from the wall, is on both sides, and above these are two shelves of nine inches wide, also two inches from the wall, these are supported on iron brackets. At the end, and opposite the door, is the churn, which is turned by a wheel outside, with apparatus for a donkey or mule to work it, if required.

All the utensils are of sycamore wood and perfectly clean, never used twice without washing in hot water with soda put in it, and made perfectly dry.

There are as many ways of making butter as there are counties in Great Britain. I will now tell you how it is practised here. The cows are milked at a regular hour, not later than five, the milk taken as soon as possible into the dairy, and placed in the dishes about six quarts in each; is thus left for twenty-four hours; then it is skimmed, and the cream from each is placed in a deep bowl or pan, where it remains until the next day, when it is churned. Friday’s milk is made into cheese; when churned it is gathered well together from the milk and laid in a clean bowl, with hard spring water in it, and worked to and fro until it is brought to a firm consistence; it is then laid out thin, and then what is called here a scotcher is taken—that is, a kind of five-pronged fork of wood, only each prong is as sharp as a knife, and drawn through every part of it; then whatever salt is required is added, and it is then formed into pats, or done any way they like. If intended as corned or salt butter, they then add one pound of fine salt to every fourteen pounds of butter; in some places the coarsest grained salt is used; in others two pounds of salt, one pound of saltpetre, and one pound of white sugar mixed together, one fourth of this for every fourteen pounds. If intended for keeping, it is put into stone crocks until it is wanted. The way in which they make the cheese here is as follows: all Friday’s milk is taken, that of the morning is kept until the afternoon, and mixed with it; then two spoonfuls of rennet to every twelve quarts of milk are put to it and well mixed, it is then left all night. Very early the next morning the curd is removed with a strainer and equally broken into the cheese vat or mote until it is about one inch above the brim, a cheese cloth or strainer having previously been put at the bottom of the vat, and large enough to allow for part of it to be turned over the top when the vat is filled; when thus filled it is taken to the press, and left for two hours with a clean cloth under it; it is then turned over on the cloth, and pressed again; and the same process is continued three or four hours out of the twenty-four. It is then removed and placed on the shelf, and turned regularly every day for the first two months; after that occasionally.

I intend to try my hand at it shortly, and see what I can make of it.

I find that the butter which is made here and potted for winter use is not intended to be sold as salt, but as fresh, and the dairy-maid has just told me how it is done. For every quart of new milk from the cow, she takes one pound of potted butter, which has been treated thus the day previous: into two quarts of cold water two tablespoonfuls of vinegar are mixed, and the potted butter well broken and kneaded in it, and then taken out, and served the same in fresh water, in which it is left until the next morning, and then mixed with the milk, put into the churn and churned again, and then treated in the usual way as butter; by this plan there is a large quantity of sweet milk always in the farm, as it is exceedingly good when strained.

The following is the way they make the clouted cream:—

Mrs. R. After all the receipts and information which you have given me, there is one which you have not touched upon yet, which, perhaps, is of more importance than all the rest, it is the management of servants.

Mrs. B. You are right, my dear, it is of great importance, and more so than many of us imagine, as for myself I do not consider that I am a good manager, being perhaps of too forgiving a disposition; but there is one good quality which I possess which makes up for the want of others, that is exactitude; by enforcing this it causes all to know their place, and perform their work.

Mrs. R. But what surprises me is to see everything so well done and clean with so few servants; you seem to have but two maid servants, the cook, house-maid, and coachman.

Mrs. B. Yes, that is all, and I generally find that they are enough for the work, unless I have a dinner party, and then of course, as you know, I have extra men; but I will tell you how I pass the day, and then you will be able to judge.

We are what are called early risers, that is, Mr. B. is obliged to leave home every week day at twenty minutes past nine; our breakfast is on the table at half-past eight; the breakfast parlor having previously been got ready, as the servants rise at seven. We are, when we have no visitors, our two selves, the three children, and the governess. The children, in summer time, have had a walk before breakfast, but before leaving their room they uncover their beds, and if fine open the windows, if a wet morning about two inches of the top sash is pulled down. The servants get their breakfast at the same time as we do, as we require hardly any or no waiting upon, everything being ready on the table. In a former letter I told you what was our breakfast some years since when in business, now we have placed on the table some brown bread, rolls and dry toast; the butter is in a glass butter-dish, and the eggs are brought up when we have sat down to table. The urn is placed on the table, as I make my own tea and coffee; the cocoa is made down stairs.

You will perhaps be surprised when I say that I make the coffee for breakfast myself, but I have done so for some little time past, having found that when made in the kitchen it never came up twice alike, but now we always have it delicious.

I lately purchased a coffee-pot which enables me to do it in the very best manner, with no more trouble than I have in making the tea. I mentioned it in my receipts for coffee, and said it was invented by a Mr. S., which letter was inserted by mistake instead of C. which it ought to be. It is called Carey’s Hecla. It makes the very best coffee at one short operation, and is so contrived as to produce it almost boiling hot; in fact, never permitting the great mistake of boiling the coffee itself at all.

Mr. B. generally leaves home in the brougham, which returns in time for me; in case I should be going out, he then goes in a cab or omnibus. Whilst we are at breakfast, I generally consult Mr. B. what he would like for dinner, and if he is likely to invite any friend to dine with him; the fishmonger has previously sent his list and prices of the day. I then write with a pencil on a slip of paper the bill of fare for the nursery dinner, luncheon, should any be required, and our dinner, which I send to the cook. At ten o’clock I go down stairs into the kitchen and larder, when the cook gives me her report, that is everything that is required for the next twenty-four hours’ consumption, including the servants’ dinner, which report is filed in the larder and made to tally with the week’s list, for I must tell you that the week’s consumption of all things that will not spoil is had in on the Saturday, on which day the larder is properly scoured out, and everything put again into its proper place, there being bins for all kinds of vegetables, &c. The larder is generally kept locked, the cook and I only having keys, because it is in fact a larder, and not, as in many houses, full of emptiness; this occupies about half an hour, during which time the chambermaids have been attending to the bed-rooms and drawing-room, &c. If I go out or not, I always get my toilet finished by twelve o’clock; I thus have one hour to write notes, or see tradesmen or my dressmaker, and Monday mornings check and pay my tradesmen’s accounts, and to dress. If I stop at home, I amuse myself by reading, or going to see the children in the nursery, or sometimes go again into the kitchen and assist the cook on some new receipt or preparation, and often have several calls; during the course of the morning the two maids scour out alternately one or two of the rooms, according to size, except on Wednesdays, when one of them is otherwise engaged.

Mr. B. arrives home at twenty minutes to five, and at half-past five we dine: the cloth is laid, and everything prepared as if we had company; it may be a little more trouble for the servants; but when we do have any friends they find it less trouble; besides it is always uncertain but what Mr. B. may bring somebody home with him, and it prevents slovenly habits; the two maids, with the exception of Wednesdays, are always ready to attend on us. I never allow the coachman to defile our carpets with his stable shoes; all his duties in the house are—the first thing in the morning to clean the knives and forks for the day, for enough are kept out for that purpose, clean the boots and shoes, and those windows the maids cannot easily get at, and assist in the garden if required. Many have made the remark to me, that as you have a male servant why not have him wait at table. I reply that the duties of the stable are incompatible with those of the table, and if he does his duty properly he has enough to do. The servants dine at one, and have tea at quarter to five, by which time the cook has everything ready, all but to take it from the fire, and the maids the dining-room ready. The nursery dinner is at the same hour; after dinner, should we be alone, we have the children and the governess down; if we have company we do not see them; they go to bed at a quarter to eight, and we have tea and coffee at eight; the governess comes and passes the rest of the evening with us; eleven is our usual hour of retiring, before which Mr. B. likes his glass of negus, a biscuit, or a sandwich, which is brought upon a tray.

Mrs. L.—What you have described to me is all very well, yet I am certain, that if I go and try to do the same to-morrow, I shall not succeed; how is it that you have everything in its place, and I never hear a word said to the servants?

Mrs. B.—It is because they all know their duties, and if they should in any way neglect them, I think of the maxim, bear and forbear, for none of us are perfect, and I take an opportunity when I may be alone with them to tell them quietly of their faults. Some mistresses will go into the kitchen and be angry with them before the other servants; the consequence is, that as soon as her back is turned they all begin to laugh. A ridiculous incident of this kind occurred the other evening at Mrs. G.’s. We missed her out of the drawing-room just before tea, and it appeared that her young boy Fred, followed her; whilst we were at tea he was very communicative, as children sometimes will be (l’enfant terrible), and said, “We have been having such fun in the kitchen.” On inquiry he said, “My mother has been down stairs scolding Jane, and I hid myself behind the door; and when my mother had gone up, Betsy the cook spoke and moved her hands just like mamma; it made us all laugh so, it was such fun.” I need not tell you it was no fun for Mrs. G., who looked rather annoyed. We should ever remember, that we have our feelings, and should also think that others have theirs; and I think it is as much the mistress’s fault when anything goes wrong in the house, as the servants’. I only lose my servants when they get married, or from ill health, and the only thing that I find bad, is, that they quarrel amongst themselves, but should this occur thrice with the same two, I dismiss them both. I am certain, that if you teach your servants to take care of themselves, they are certain to take care of you. I continually hear Mrs. M. complaining of changing her servants, and that seems to be her sole occupation. Poor thing, she has no children, and nothing to occupy her mind, and without occupation the mind becomes diseased, and the least action throws it into fever. Mrs. N. complains of the extravagance of her servants; it is her own extravagance, or, more properly speaking, her want of management which causes all; but this I really think, that if everybody were more cautious in receiving and giving characters to servants other than what they are, we should not hear the continual complaint we do, when often assembled in the drawing-room after dinner, when, perhaps, some dear old lady complains of the education given to young people of the present day, and that, in time, there will be no such thing as servants. To some extent I am of her opinion, and consider that the education given by all classes to their children, is a great deal more ornamental than useful. I would rather see the child taught some of the accomplishments of housekeeping, than that she should be considered as the mere ornament of the drawing-room. I think it is the bounden duty of every mother, where the income of the husband may be dependent on trade or profession, to give her children that education which even the most adverse of circumstances may call upon them to assume. Look at the advertisements which appear in the public press every day!—Young girls offering themselves as governesses, to be remunerated by their board; whereas, if they had been educated with a knowledge of some useful employment, they would have made good ladies’ maids or housekeepers, or useful wives to tradesmen.

Sunday’s Dinner.—Roast-Beef, Potatoes, Greens, and Yorkshire Pudding.

Monday.—Hashed Beef and Potatoes.

Tuesday.—Broiled Beef and Bones, Vegetables, and Spotted Dick Pudding.

Wednesday.—Fish if cheap, Chops and Vegetables.

Thursday.—Boiled Pork, Peas Pudding, and Greens.

Friday.—Peas Soup, Remains of Pork.

Saturday.—Stewed Steak with Suet Dumpling.

Removes.—Saddle of Mutton—Turkey in Celery Sauce.

Two Entrées.—Cutlets a la Provençale—Sweetbreads larded in any White Sauce.

Two Vegetables.—Greens—Kale—Potatoes on the Sideboard.

A New Aliment.

Bifrons Villa.

Here, dear Eloise, is an entirely new aliment, which has never yet been introduced into this country. A semi-epicure of our acquaintance, on returning from his visit to the National Guard of France, presented me with a pound of it, which he had purchased in Paris; but even there, said he, it is almost in its infancy; you may fancy, if I were not anxious of making an immediate trial of it; but before I give you the receipt how to use it, let me tell you I have found it most delicious. Mr. B. has not yet tasted it, being for a week in the country, but I am confident he will like it, especially for breakfast: but the puzzle is, after my pound is used, how we are to get more? Time, I suppose, will teach us. It appears that we are indebted for it to a celebrated French gentleman, M. le Docteur Lamolte, the inventor of the electric light, who ingeniously, though oddly, named it Cho-ca, being a scientific composition of chocolat and café, the alliance of which balancing admirably their excellence and virtue, and partly correcting their evils, the first being rather irritable, the second heavy. But I think, if my recollection serves me rightly, the idea of this compound must have originated from that great French philosopher, M. de Voltaire, who constantly, for his breakfast, partook of half café-au-lait and half chocolate, which were served at the same time in separate vessels in a boiling state, and poured from each slowly, about eighteen inches in elevation from his cup, which, he said, made it extremely light and digestible.

Years after, that still more extraordinary man, Napoleon Bonaparte, became so partial to it, that he made a constant use of it, and it has often been remarked by those who surrounded his person, that after the great excitement and fatigue of a battle he has often partaken of two or three cups, which seemed to restore all the strength and energy which used to characterize that great man; on ordinary occasions one cup would suffice him, but served more à la militaire, not being poured so scientifically as did the Fernaise philosopher.

The approval of this mixed beverage by two such eminent characters speaks volumes in favor of the Cho-ca, which ought to be immediately introduced in England. It will also, no doubt, interest you to learn that the first cup of coffee ever introduced in Europe was made and presented to Louis XIV, at his magnificent palace of Versailles, by the Ambassador from the Sublime Porte in the year 1664, when the noble potentate, whose palate was as delicate as he was himself great, pronounced it excellent; and immediately perceived the immense advantage it would be to introduce such a delicacy into France as food, which a short time after took place, and was very successfully received there; also the chocolate, which is made from cacao, was first introduced to the Cardinal Mazarin, who, having partook of the first cup like Louis XIV. did of the coffee, and not a worse judge than his illustrious master, remunerated with a handsome reward its inventor. It is much to be regretted that such interesting and useful subjects have never yet attracted the attention of our great Painters, instead of continually tracing on innumerable yards of canvass the horrors of war, the destruction of a fleet by fire and water, the plague, the storm, the earthquake, or an eruption and destruction of a city by an avalanche or an inundation; if we cannot do without those painful historical reminiscences, why not add to those mournful collections a group of Louis XIV. and his court at Versailles, where he, magnificently dressed, was receiving from the hands of the said Pacha, not a cup of coffee, but a branch of that plant covered with its precious berries; and why not also, as a pendant, Mazarin surrounded by his satellites, taking the first cup of chocolate; or the characteristic Voltaire pouring a cup of Cho-ca to Frederic the Great in his tent on the field of Potsdam? These subjects seem to have been entirely neglected in being immortalized on canvass, why? because they have never done harm or evil to any one; but, on the contrary, have, are, and ever will prove to be, among the greatest boons ever conferred upon humanity: it would also engrave in our minds, as well as in our history, to what mortals we are indebted for the importation and introduction of such important productions, which daily constitute a part of our comforts, and have conferred an everlasting benefit on mankind; but, as usual, dear Eloise, you will no doubt reproach me for having so much enthusiasm; however, as on this subject you have been tolerably quiet lately, I not only here inclose you the receipt, but also two of the thin round cakes of this new aliment, the Cho-ca, which will produce two cups by making it as follows:—