hey will have a plate of pease in May
with it, or a little feast of ortolans, or a piece of Glo'ster salmon,
or one more flask from their favorite claret-bin.

It is not the ruined gastronomist that I would advise a person to select
as his TABLE-MASTER; for the opportunities of peculation would be too
great in a position of such confidence--such complete abandonment of
one man to another. A ruined man would be making bargains with the
tradesmen. They would offer to cash bills for him, or send him opportune
presents of wine, which he could convert into money, or bribe him in one
way or another. Let this be done, and the profession of table-master is
ruined. Snorter and Pogson may almost as well order their own dinners,
as be at the mercy of a "gastronomic agent" whose faith is not beyond
all question.

A vulgar mind, in reply to these remarks regarding the gastronomic
ignorance of Snorter and Pogson, might say, "True, these gentlemen know
nothing of household economy, being occupied with other more important
business elsewhere. But what are their wives about? Lady Pogson in
Harley Street has nothing earthly to do but to mind her poodle, and her
mantua-maker's and housekeeper's bills. Mrs. Snorter in Belford Place,
when she has taken her drive in the Park with the young ladies, may
surely have time to attend to her husband's guests and preside over
the preparations of his kitchen, as she does worthily at his hospitable
mahogany." To this I answer, that a man who expects a woman to
understand the philosophy of dinner-giving, shows the strongest evidence
of a low mind. He is unjust towards that lovely and delicate creature,
woman, to suppose that she heartily understands and cares for what she
eats and drinks. No: taken as a rule, women have no real appetites.
They are children in the gormandizing way; loving sugar, sops, tarts,
trifles, apricot-creams, and such gewgaws. They would take a sip of
Malmsey, and would drink currant-wine just as happily, if that accursed
liquor were presented to them by the butler. Did you ever know a
woman who could lay her fair hand upon her gentle heart and say on her
conscience that she preferred dry sillery to sparkling champagne? Such
a phenomenon does not exist. They are not made for eating and drinking;
or, if they make a pretence to it, become downright odious. Nor can
they, I am sure, witness the preparations of a really great repast
without a certain jealousy. They grudge spending mo