he names and the separate uses
Of muscular fibre, albumen and juices.
We are shown the right methods of roasting and boiling,
Of frying and stewing, decocting and broiling;
While our author in words there can be no mistaking,
Is dead against "roasting" in ovens--or baking.

Our asparagus then we are heedfully told,
[Greek: Iostephanos] should be like Athens of old:
With a violet head and a stalk very white
While this CHILD thinks that tepid it yields most delight.
On the artichoke too with affection he lingers,
And also advises you eat with your fingers,
_Petits pois a la Francaise_ are here, the receipt
That he gives is a good one but haply too sweet.

Our author is great upon salads and sauces,
To cool our hot palates, or tittivate _fauces_;
Here is all you need learn about GOUFFE'S _Bearnaise_,
And a charming receipt for the _Sauce Hollandaise_.
In England we know that in sauces we're weak,
And we've never attained to the _cuisine classique_;
But French Seigneurs of old gave full rein to their wishes,
And live on immortal in delicate dishes.

We are told how to give and receive invitations,
And eke how a table may need decorations.
We agree with the author who says when you dine,
It is very much better to stick to one wine,
Be it ruddy Bordeaux or the driest Champagne,
Let the latter be cool but your ice is no gain.
While on coffee and tea he is sound as a bell,
With all dexterous dodges for making them well.

No man ever escaped--to a cook who did wrong,
For his art ranks so high, said MENANDER's old song.
And the ancients we know loved both oysters and pullets,
When the [Greek: oinos kekramenos] slipped down their gullets.
While here is a man to have joined them when roses,
In classical fashion, were cocked o'er their noses.
So we'll take leave of CHILD and his capital book,
With a "Bon appetit" to the _gourmet_ and cook.

* * * * *

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.--(BY A DISAPPOINTED CHURCH-DECORATOR.)

[Illustration]

When rustic woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that Curates flirt;
It pains, ah! sharper than the holly
Whose spikes her pretty fingers hurt.

Pleasant is pulpit-decoration,
And altar-ornamenting's sweet,
When girls get lost in contemplation
Of parson-whiskers, trim and neat.

Most pleasant too the cheery chatter
Of woodland parties, in the snow,