n, of
the first order, such as cannot be found except in the provinces, and so
richly dowered with truffles that there were enough to put new life into
old Tithonus himself."

The whole episode is told in Savarin's happiest vein, and well-nigh
justifies his somewhat complacent conclusion that "any one who, with a
revolutionary committee at his heels, could so conduct himself,
assuredly has the head and the heart of a Frenchman!"

Natural scenery did not appeal to Savarin; to him Switzerland meant the
restaurant of the Lion d'Argent, at Lausanne, where "for only 15 _batz_
we passed in review three complete courses;" the _table d'hote_ of the
Rue de Rosny; and the little village of Moudon, where the cheese
_fondue_ was so good. Circumstances, however, soon necessitated his
departure for the United States, which he always gratefully remembered
as having afforded him "an asylum, employment, and tranquillity." For
three years he supported himself in New York, giving French lessons and
at night playing in a theatre orchestra. "I was so comfortable there,"
he writes, "that in the moment of emotion which preceded departure, all
that I asked of Heaven (a prayer which it has granted) was never to know
greater sorrow in the Old World than I had known in the New." Returning
to France in 1796, Savarin settled in Paris, and after holding several
offices under the Directory, became a Judge in the Cour de Cassation,
the French court of last resort, where he remained until his death
in 1826.

Although an able and conscientious magistrate, Savarin was better
adapted to play the kindly friend and cordial host than the stern and
impartial judge. He was a convivial soul, a lover of good cheer and
free-handed hospitality; and to-day, while almost forgotten as a jurist,
his name has become immortalized as the representative of gastronomic
excellence. His 'Physiologic du Gout'--"that _olla podrida_ which defies
analysis," as Balzac calls it--belongs, like Walton's 'Compleat Angler',
or White's 'Selborne', among those unique gems of literature, too rare
in any age, which owe their subtle and imperishable charm primarily to
the author's own delightful personality. Savarin spent many years of
loving care in polishing his manuscript, often carrying it to court with
him, where it was one day mislaid, but--luckily for future generations
of epicures--was afterward recovered. The book is a charming badinage, a
bizarre ragout of gastronomic precepts