Here, again, and still among the twenty-
three soups—all of them delicious—is a
compound for the mortification of the flesh which
might surely have affected that object better,
if there had been fewer nice things in it. It is
called almond soup. The very name has a
comfortable and succulent sound, which is very
inviting, while the directions for making it are
suggestive of a rapturous result. "Blanch and
chop," says the Manual, "very fine, two ounces
of almonds, boil them gently for an hour in
a pint of milk, with an onion and a head of
celery: then take out the latter, mix together
a table-spoonful of flour and a little butter,
add half a pint of milk, a little cayenne pepper,
mace, and salt; stir the soup on the fire till it
has boiled a few minutes, add a little cream, and
when it boils, serve it directly." This haste in
sending it up while in the very crisis of a boil
is the culminating touch, and there is in the
manner in which the point is urged, something
little short of real artistic feeling. Such
injunctions as "serve it hot," "it should be
sent quite hot to table," "it must not boil
again"—this last after some momentous crisis
—are phrases of constant recurrence in the
treatise, and are urged with affecting
vehemence.

It would be pleasant, and profitable as well,
no doubt, if space permitted, to linger over the
directions for making lobster soup, "with the
flesh of two fine lobsters," and gratifying additions
of "grated lemon-peel, and anchovy, and
cayenne, and the yolk of an egg," or a soup of
oysters, which, besides the precious shell-fish
themselves, is to contain, among other comfortable
ingredients, the yolks of ten hard-boiled
eggs, and of five raw ones, and which, as it
approaches completion, is to be "stirred well
one way" and served to the anchorites, who are
bent on keeping their Lent in the most orthodox
manner, "when thick and smooth." But we
must not dwell too long on the soups. There
are twenty-seven "made dishes," some of which
deserve a passing word, and to a few of which
we beg particularly to call the attention of
those sacrilegious persons who are in the habit,
during Lent or Advent, of pampering their vile
bodies with joints of plain meat, or even with
nourishing chops and juicy steaks. Let such
people cower with shame as they hear what
other people put up with. They put up with
"oyster sausages," in compounding which you
are to "beard your oysters and chop them very
fine, to have ready a mixture of bread-crumbs,
yolks of eggs, parsley, sweet marjoram, and
seasoning to your taste; to mix the whole well
together into a thick paste, cut it into pieces
the length and breadth of your finger; fry the
pieces a nice brown"—we must make things
look nice at any rate for the poor anchorites—
"put mashed potatoes in the centre of your dish,
and the sausages all round." Others mortify
the flesh on "Parmesan cheese fritters,"
confectioned thus: You "boil some macaroni very
tender, cut it very small, mix it with some
grated Parmesan cheese and a little pepper and
salt, take a little paste and roll some of the
cheese in it, then roll it out thin, cut it with a
round cutter, and put some of the cheese
mixture between two rounds of the paste, egg and
bread-crumb them, fry them in butter or olive
oil, and serve in a napkin." Such specimens of
the unsavoury food which certain enthusiastic
abstinents will bring themselves to endure, are
so afflicting to think of, that the reader shall
only be asked to dwell on one other specimen
of the "made dishes" described in this curious
and instructive little volume. The consuming
of lobsters seems to be an act of self-denial
finding especial favour among the orthodox, and
this particular dish, which we are about to
consider, is composed mainly of the shell-fish in
question. It is called "lobster pudding." To
make it properly, you must "pick the meat
from a fresh lobster, and after pounding it in
a mortar add a handful of bread-crumbs, two
yolks of eggs well beaten, two ounces of fresh
butter, and salt and cayenne to your taste;
then put it into a mould to boil for an hour,
pound the red coral with a small spoonful of
water; mix this with melted butter, and pour
it over the pudding. It should look quite red,"
says the Manual, conceding again something to
the eye's gratification; and then he adds, as a
finishing touch, "garnish with claws and feelers."

The different modes of cooking eggs which
are given in these ascetic pages, are in no
respect behind the other recipes in the matter
of savoury suggestion. What does the reader
think, to take a specimen dish (compatible, let
it be remembered, with strict fasting), of the
following? "Eggs with forcemeat balls. Take
half a pound of bread-crumbs, and rub two
ounces of butter into it, adding one ounce of
onion, and a little lemon-thyme; season with
cayenne, salt, and a little mace; add two eggs
well beaten, and two table-spoonfuls of cream;
roll it into balls, fry them in butter, lay them
on a flat dish, with three eggs boiled hard and
cut in two; pour some brown sauce over the
whole; and serve some brown sauce in a boat
and some currant jelly." Not a bad substitute,
perhaps, for the cold mutton of which the
orthodox must not partake on any terms.

Or, supposing the above not sufficiently
savoury to console the faithful for their privations
in the matter of animal food, perhaps an
"Onion omelette" might prove satisfactory.
In order to prepare this penitential dish you
are directed to "take six small onions, slice
them, and put them in a dish with butter, salt,
and pepper, and bake them till tender; beat
four eggs well, add a cupful of milk, a little
salt, two ounces of bread-crumbs, and the sliced
onions; put all this into a buttered pie-dish, and
bake it in a moderately hot oven; serve with
brown sauce."

One can imagine the possibility of concocting
a dinner from the pages of this Manual,
which should be strictly in keeping with
sackcloth and ashes, and yet not wholly
unsatisfactory to the human palate. The repast
might commence with that vegetable soup of
which it is affirmed, that when it is properly
prepared it "is as well-coloured, and nearly as