THE GUDGEON. 323 



Pope, the Thames-side poet, has sung its praises, or at 

 least implied them. The French rejoice in it. And who 

 that frequents the Thames, either as an angler or tourist, 

 has not partaken of it at some river-side hotel or fisher- 

 man's cottage with infinite satisfaction ? 



It was probably to enjoy our fresh-water goby — Gobio 

 fluviatilis — our esteemed gudgeon, and not his sea-water 

 congener, that Ptolemy invited over to Egypt the parasite 

 Archephon from Attica. The story, as told by Dr. Badham, 

 is that this bon-vivant accepted the invitation ; but when 

 offered at supper a dish of these delicacies, let it pass 

 without taking any. Ptolemy, utterly taken aback by 

 this strange conduct, first stared, and then muttered to 

 his confidant that he must have invited to his table 

 either a blind man or a lunatic. Whereupon Alcanor 

 good-naturedly put the guest's abstinence in a new and 

 more favourable light, by attributing it entirely to modesty : 

 " He saw it, sire, but deemed himself unworthy to lay 

 profane hands upon so divine a little fish." 



Gastronomically, our little Gobio has not degenerated 

 since ancient days. He is still the same delicate, tooth- 

 some morsel he was in days of old, and as highly- 

 prized by sensible epicures. It is not, however, every one 

 who can cook him, and make him worthy of a highly 

 educated palate. A Ude, a Prancatelli, and a Soyer might 

 easily fail, as many other most scientific chefs have failed, 

 and will probably continue to fail. It is not a question of 

 sauces, of condiment, or of " how to serve him " after 

 the laborious fulfilment of the requirements of a lengthy 

 recipe. The whole matter is one of extreme simplicity, 

 just as boiling a potato, grilling a chop, or making 

 melted butter; and hence, perhaps, the very general 



T 2 



