THE BITTERN. 269 



A very different fate, in sooth, from being riddled 

 with a charge of double Bs from a rusty flint-lock Queen 

 Anne's musket, poised by the horny paws of John 

 Verity, and then ignobly cast to fester in the sun, 

 among the up-piled eel-skins, fish-heads, king-crabs, and 

 the like, with which, in lieu of garden-patch or well- 

 trained rose-bush, the south-side Long Islander orna- 

 ments his front-door yard, rejoicing in the effluvia of the 



' . decomposed piscine exumce, which he regards as 

 " considerable hullsome," beyond Sabaean odors, Syrian 

 nard, or frankincense from Araby the blest ! 



Being eaten is being eaten after all ; whether it be by 

 a New Zealand war-chief, a New York alderman, a 

 peerless lady, or a muck-worm ; and I suppose it feels 

 much the same, after one is once well dead ; but, if I 

 had my choice, I would most prefer to be eaten by the- 

 damoiselle of high degree, and most dislike to be bat- 

 tened on by the alderman, as beirg more ravenous and 

 less appreciative than either Zealander or muck-w T orm. 



The Bittern, however, be it said in sober earnest, 

 although like many other delicious dishes prized by the 

 wiser ancients, but now fallen into disuse, if not into 

 disrepute to w r it, the heronschaw, the peacock, tho 

 curlew, and the swan all first-rate dainties to the wise 

 is a viand not easily to be beaten, especially if he be 

 sagely cooked in a well-baked, rich-crusted pastry, with 

 a tender and fat rump-steak in the bottom of the dish, a 

 beefs kidney scored to make gravy, a handful of cloves, 



