THE TABLE D^HOTE. 173 



adoration, that Mr. Killjoy had so intimidated our voracious friend, that 

 like Sancho in his government, he played the part of Tantalus, and pain- 

 fully forbore to taste the very article of all culinary blessings, which he 

 most affected. On the occasion present, Mr. Blunt was destined to a 

 second, and an equal disappointment. It was so concerted previously, 

 that on the introduction of a savoury dish, to all appearance, venison 

 hashed, the conversation should establish the presumption, that it was a 

 preparation of boiled mutton ; and the scheme was so adroitly managed 

 by its agents, and the garqon too, that every atom was demolished before 

 Mr. Blunt could urge his palate to the endurance of what he thought 

 such flagrant heterodoxy. " I thought that that was venison," said 

 Blunt, in a grumble. The Castilian, who was placed between the 

 Oxford students, with a courteous smile, observed to one of them, 

 " Todo lo que brilla no es oro." * " No parli Frangois, Mosshieu," said 

 the student, shaking his head, and apparently revelling in his ignorance. 

 Though an enemy to practical jokes, my uncle relished the affliction 

 of the gourmand, whose disconcerted visage and ruffled manner, formed 

 an infallible standard of his vexation, Blunt beheld the unlearned (he 

 imagined) in gastronomy, performing with their wonted skill, and was 

 not the less dissatisfied at the incessant titters of the company, which 

 savoured of a latent joke. " Well," said the leader of the prank, " I 

 never knew such cooks ! tarragon with hash ! and the ground-work of 

 boiled mutton, too ! I remember when I was at college " " You at 

 college! hah!" was Mr* Blunt's subdued ejaculation. Continuing, 

 " What is that by you, sir ; no sir, not you; that gentleman with the 

 plate full but I suppose he is too busy to " At this moment, the 

 individual so designated, in no wise heeding Mr. Blunt, desired his 

 left-hand friend to fill with Burgundy, assuring him, that, save red 

 hermitage, no wine went half so well with venison : and a better hash he 

 never in his days had tasted !" The compliance and response of his 

 neighbour, which attested the opinion just advanced, began to operate on 

 Mr. Blunt's suspicion. " Hashed venison ! what hashed venison ? why, 

 I say, garqon, cela vcnnison ?" said Blunt, pointing with his trembling 

 finger to the empty dish. " Ma foi, monsieur, il y en avoit mais, vous 

 voyez bien qu'il n'y en a plus Ah ! parbleu, que les Messieurs Anglais 

 Faiment beaucoup cette viandela a la folie meme. Pourtant elle n'est 

 pas mauvaise." "What does he say, sir?" said Blunt, to a gentleman oppo- 

 site ; " it's a most extraordinary thing, these French fellows won't speak 

 English." The person interrogated interpreted the waiter's words, and 

 added to them all the weight of his own individual approbation of the 

 dish in question. " Why, sir," said Blunt to some one, " I thought, sir, 

 you said it was boiled mutton hashed." " Oh, no! that was of a hash we 

 tasted yesterday: but this was of a haunch from Cranbourne Chase, and 

 better certainly was never placed before a king." The smile of the deviser 

 of the plot was followed by a chorus of loud laughter. Blunt gave vent to 

 his exasperation in the novel apophthegm of ' one fool maketh many!' 

 which also was received by the offending company with increased and 

 mortifying mirth; and, to mend the matter, and, if possible, increase the 

 eminent absurdity of Blunt's predicament, my uncle, whose staid and 

 sober manner, united with his time of life, precluded any coarse reply, 

 attempted to console him, by reference to his philosophy. " My good 

 sir," said my uncle, " believe me, this is all a joke ; and you have cer- 



* All is not gold that glitters. 



