IV. 



THAT window in the oyster-shop has always had a 

 strange fascination for me, and I never contemplate 

 the bivalves in its tanks without a sigh of regret that 

 so much in the way of complex anatomy should glide 

 over the human throat without exciting even a quiver 

 to mark its sense of the social barbarity to which it 

 has been subjected. It is curious, too, to note how 

 different are the feelings with which we of these 

 islands regard two nearly related molluscs the oyster 

 and the snail. 



For the former we pay down cheerfully our two- 

 and-six or three-and-six per dozen on Mrs. Driver's 

 counter, while the dainty, vegetable- feeding snail 

 (costing us, as imported, nothing like such prices) is 

 eschewed as a continental culinary and gastronomic 

 eccentricity. I suppose it always will be so in the 

 matter of our food. We are terribly insular in a 

 dietetic sense. I do not aspire to the free ideas of 

 John Chinaman, who despises nothing which is edible, 

 and to whom a rat or a dog may come with equal 

 relish as does his trepang or bird's nest (for soup) ; 

 but I do contend we might enlarge our daily bill 

 of fare with great advantage to health and pocket 

 alike. 



