Among all the arts and sciences that improve, elevate, or embellish society, or that contribute to the pleasure and comfort of mankind, the one that is the most necessary to health and happiness, has produced the fewest great geniuses, and is the least understood, is cookery. Amid the thousands of men and women who pretend to a knowledge of its mysteries, how difficult is it among the former, and how impossible among the latter, to find a good cook—one who is devoted heart and soul to the intricate science, who passes days in pondering and nights in dreaming of these delicate combinations that constitute pure and refined taste!

The world has produced in hundreds painters that delight the eye, composers that enrapture the ear, scholars that convince the intellect, poets that touch the heart; but of culinary artists that enchant the stomach, the truly great may be counted on the fingers. In ancient times more attention was paid to gastrology, but the degraded taste that could employ an emetic to enable the repetition of indulgence, and the limited resources of restricted national intercourse, have left us little of value to be gleaned for the experience of antiquity. The great masters of the kitchen of those times have passed away into oblivion, or have left only a few crude dishes, remarkable more for their extravagance than their excellence. It was a deficiency of knowledge and high art that drove the gourmands of early days to peacocks’ brains, nightingales’ tongues, and dissolved jewels.

The middle ages have left us some right royal dishes; the boar’s head, the roasted ox, the black pudding, mince-pies, the plum-pudding; remarkable, however, more for their substantial character that satisfied a vigorous appetite, than for delicacy that would gratify an educated taste. During this period, however, many drinks attained a perfection that has never been improved on, and those delicious combinations that were called cardinal, bishop, punch, and the hearty sack, are almost as well known and as great favorites now as then. There is nothing to be drawn from the dark ages in the least elevating to the science of gastronomy, and we must look to modern times, and mainly to the French nation, for our highest authorities and truest instruction.

Catherine de Medicis introduced the art of cookery into France, and liqueurs were invented during the reign of Louis XIV., since which time the revered names of Vatel, Soyer, Ude, Kitchiner, Bechamel, and Carmel have become household words throughout Christendom; their skill has shed a benign influence over mankind, has restored invalids to health, and brought peace to families; they are quoted and looked upon with deep respect by all. Coarse minds, to whom the allurements of gastronomy are incomprehensible, consider cooking vulgar; while a few pitiable individuals are created without the sense to distinguish the tasty from the tasteless, as there are persons without an eye for the beauties of nature or an ear for the harmony of sounds. These unfortunates deserve our sympathy; but for the individual who affects to despise the pleasures of the table, as loftily placing himself above what he terms grovelling appetites, nothing is appropriate but contempt. Who would believe or respect the man who claimed that his inability to distinguish green from red was a credit to him? Or could tolerate one who was filled with ostentatious pride because, by a wretched malformation, he could not tell Old Hundred from Casta Diva?

The sense of taste is as noble, and as capable of education and improvement, as the art of the painter or the musician. The stomach being the governor, master, and director of the body, when it is pleased the intellect works with force, the eye and ear are in full play, and the nerves and muscles tingle with animation; when it is sick or exhausted the eye grows dull, the intellect feeble, the ear inaccurate, and the whole body drooping and spiritless. It has its ramifications in every part of the system, and controls as inferiors the other organs. An ill-cooked dinner has lost many a battle, ruined many an individual, and disgraced many a genius; it is said that an indigestible ragout cost Napoleon his crown.

Life is dear to all, and yet persons are continually committing a disagreeable and prolonged suicide, accompanied with painful indigestions and untold sufferings, by attempting to despise the rules that the imperative stomach has laid down. Under certain well-known chemical laws, food is rendered both digestible and palatable by special modes of preparation, and indigestible and unpalatable by other modes. The same piece of meat that, fried, will resemble shoe-leather, and afford neither pleasure nor sustenance, if nicely broiled would prove agreeable to the palate and wholesome to the body.

Our country is overflowing with abundance of the raw material from which good dinners are made; but we are absolutely without cooks, and the average American life is shortened one-tenth by the miserable ignorance of the rules of cookery that pervades all classes. The farmer bolts his heavy griddle cakes and tasteless fried meats; while the wealthy citizen devours rich gravies and ill-prepared compounds. The former loses his teeth, the latter incurs the thousand horrors of dyspepsia, and both shorten their lives.

But to rise above the unimportant consideration of mere life, which is held in our land at its true value, and regarding cookery from a loftier point of view, is there not something noble in the art that moulds together the various subjects of taste, and builds up an exquisite, soul-thrilling composition? Is not that man worthy of our deepest admiration, who, not only from the wealth of materials prepares the perfection of luxury, but when reduced to the simplest articles, still manages to gratify the most delicate and exacting of our organs? Who has not felt his heart expand as he surveyed a royal feast; his affections become purified, his feelings elevated, as dish followed dish, and each proved itself worthy of the other; and at last has not taken a gentler view of human kind when contentment filled his soul? A good dinner encourages generosity, begets sympathy, increases geniality, while it strengthens the intellect and the nerves; a bad dinner produces ill-nature, leads to discontent and quarrelling, dulls the mind, and injures the body. The former aids Christianity and promotes virtue; the latter is the bold accomplice of vice and crime; evil humors cannot exist in the body without spreading to the mind, and vices in the former create vices in the latter. Controlled by that complacency which is the stomach’s return for kind treatment, the evil passions sleep, and fading gradually, lose half their strength; whereas, if aggravated by perpetual dissatisfaction and uneasiness, they become daily more violent, till they disdain command and burst forth in unrestrained fury. So that the soul, even, may be endangered by bad cookery. The civilization and power of nations advance in proportion to their improvement in their cuisine, and the reformation is said to be due to the strong Teutonic impatience of fast days. A coarse taste in eating is as sure an indication of coarseness in mind and habits, as delicacy of taste is of delicacy and refinement in other particulars. As the more vulgar desires are controlled by the higher impulses of the mind, and clean hands are often the index of a clean heart, so purity of appetite usually accompanies purity of soul. Nothing condemns the vulgar man more quickly than the nature of his appetite, and his mode of gratifying it; driven on like the beasts by hunger, he thinks only of the readiest and quickest mode of satisfying the unpleasant craving, and never dreams there can be anything intellectual in a dinner. The Americans, as a nation, are ignorant of the first principles of dining; in private, they ruin their digestions; in public, they disgust their fellows. With that practical turn for which they are famous as a body, they devote themselves to what is profitable; and the arts of sculpture, painting, and gastronomy are just beginning to be appreciated.

Those huge dishes that delight hungry, vulgar John Bull, such as roast beef, boiled mutton, and the like, still meet with the approbation of the active American; and while our women, with their natural elegance, draw their fashions from France, our matter-of-fact men imitate the rude cookery of England. It is a melancholy truth that there is no place in America where a dinner can be obtained; feeding-places, miscalled restaurants after those priceless legacies of the French revolution, are innumerable; but even the famous Delmonico fails to appreciate that wonderful production, the pride of our land—none of the miserable little coppery European abominations, but the great American oyster—does not understand it, and never rises to a proper comprehension of its capabilities, and consequently never serves a perfect dinner.

So must it be while ignorant Irish cooks—whose only claim to the title consists in having spoiled thousands of potatoes, in having rarely seen, and never cooked, a piece of meat, and only dreamed of coffee—possess our kitchens and rule the roast; and as it is impossible for the master of the house, and would be unladylike in the mistress, to superintend the dinner, the only spot for truly scientific cookery is in the woods. There, under the blue vault of heaven, where the shade of some friendly tree tempers the combined heat of sun and fire, accompanied only by the interested and appreciative guides, with the hot wood fire rapidly forming its pile of glowing coals, can the contemplative man, tempted by appetite and opportunity, devote himself to the higher branches of epicurism. Not that the materials are plentiful, rich, or costly, but working up from the very plainness of his fare a more gratifying compound. With that bed of coals suggesting broiling, and that dancing, smokeless blaze inviting roasting, no intelligent being would think of frying meat.

Under such circumstances, the larder being necessarily limited, and repetition threatening to breed disgust, ingenuity is sharpened and exercised to produce variety; an accurate knowledge of the power of different sauces is obtained, and new modes of dressing simple articles invented. It is to lead the mind of the reader in this direction, and not with the hope of instructing Irish cooks, or educating American taste, that this short article on cookery is written; and if the life in the woods, or on the water, of our sportsmen shall be in a degree improved by the effort, the main object will be attained.

The materials generally at the disposal of the hunter or fisherman on the coast and in the woods consist of fish, oysters, clams, ducks, game birds, and venison; while he will carry of necessity pork, ship-biscuit, salt, and pepper, and, if possible, eggs, flour, sauces, Indian-meal, and as many of the minor aids of a good cuisine as his means of transportation will admit.

No attempt will be made to confuse the reader with complicated directions for the construction of highly seasoned and strangely named French dishes, but the simplest and readiest mode of cooking each article will be given, with instructions in varying the effect. If the enthusiasm inherent in the subject shall occasionally carry the writer away and lead him to indulge in what the reader—living on hard tack and salt pork—may regard as vain imaginings, the weakness of man in the contemplation of so vast a subject must be the excuse; and the disciple need undertake nothing for which he has not the materials.

One of the great deficiencies, although partially supplied by the solidified article, is milk, which cannot be kept in its natural state, and is badly represented by its substitute. Generally, however, water will answer in its stead, and for gravies or thickening for stews, a little flour mixed with a lump of butter, and dissolved in a cupful of tepid water, is an excellent equivalent.

Oyster Stew.

The American oyster, to the thoughtful mind, presents itself almost as an object of veneration, and would among barbarous nations have altars raised to its honor; to the practical mind it is a mine of luxury, a very Golconda of epicurean wealth; raw broiled, baked, roasted, fried, stewed, or scolloped, it is the tit-bit of perfection, and in every mode may be varied extensively; it takes all flavors, and is delicious without any; it is improved by all sauces, and needs none. It accords with every other dish, or makes a dinner alone. The subject has never been half explored, much less exhausted.

A stew may be made with crackers or flour, with celery, cheese, or milk, and with or without sauces; but in every instance the juice must be separated from the oysters and well cooked before the latter are added, or they will be over-done, shrivelled, and ruined. The simplest mode is to put some pepper, salt, and butter in the juice, boil it five minutes, add the oysters, and cook for one minute longer.

Or you may add to the juice crackers pounded fine and rolled in butter, and some celery chopped fine, or a little cheese and Worcestershire or Harvey sauce; or you may put a table-spoonful of flour and as much butter in a cup, and having rubbed them together and added a little of the warm juice, may mix this slowly with the rest. This must all be done before the oysters are added; and where flour is used, care must be taken to mix it first with a small quantity of fluid, or it will lump. A dry stew, which is preferred by many, is made by cooking the oysters, from which the liquor has been carefully strained, in butter, salt, pepper, and sauce.

Fried Oysters.

Dry each oyster separately on a towel; dip them in the yolk of eggs beaten up, and then in pounded crackers that have been seasoned with salt and pepper; heat butter or pork drippings in the frying-pan, and cook the oysters over a slow fire, turning them frequently. Do not use too much butter or drippings, but add fresh as required, so as to leave the oysters dry when done. A clean tin pan is the best, and red pepper preferable to black. Lard is detestable for frying anything, and salad oil is perfection. If black pepper is ever used, it should be purchased whole and ground by hand, as the fine pepper is generally adulterated and flavorless.

Roasted Oysters.

To roast an oyster, it is simply put on the fire till it opens, when the shell is forced off, and it is eaten from a hot, concave shell, in which butter has been melted with vinegar, salt, and pepper; or it may be taken out when half done, and cooked in a pan with its own liquor, salt, pepper, and a little butter.

Broiled Oysters.

Are prepared as for frying, then dipped in melted butter, placed in a double gridiron, and cooked over live coals.

Scolloped Oysters.

Are placed in a deep dish with butter and bread-crumbs, or pounded crackers well seasoned and baked.

Clam-Bake.

The only proper mode of baking clams was discovered by the aborigines, and was invariably practised by them on their yearly visitations to the sea; the clams are placed on a flat rock side by side, with their sharp edges down and the valves up, and when so arranged in sufficient numbers, are kept in their places by a surrounding circle of stones. A large fire is built over them and allowed to burn for about twenty minutes, when it is cleared away and the clams are extracted from the ashes, overflowing with juiciness and steaming with aroma. Burnt fingers and lips add to the pleasures of an Indian clam-bake. The best sauce is pepper-vinegar.

Clam or Fish-Chowder.

Pork, potatoes, butter, crackers, sauce, salt, pepper, vegetables, and meat, if any can be had, clams or fish, or both, are covered with water, placed in a close vessel, and stewed slowly till patience is exhausted, appetite insists upon indulgence, or the mess threatens to burn. The large articles are cut in pieces of an inch square or thereabouts, and may be highly seasoned.

Stewed Clams, or Clam Soup.

Hard clams are not fit to eat, stew them as you will. Soft clams, after the tough parts are removed, are excellent stewed with a little butter, or butter rolled in flour, as directed for oysters; but being richer than oysters, they do not need so many additions. The soup is made by thinning the juice before it boils with milk, which will curdle if thrown into the boiling liquid. Hard clams make a good soup if they are cut fine and not eaten.

Fried or Broiled Clams.

Soft clams may be prepared as directed for oysters, the tough parts being first removed.

Scrambled Eggs.

Eggs are broken one by one in a cup to make sure they are fresh, and then thrown into a pan with a lump of butter, some salt and pepper, and stirred carefully, so as not to break the yolks immediately, over a slow fire till the whole is almost hard. They had better be too soft than too firm.

Poached Eggs.

Are broken into a cup and poured one by one carefully into hot water, and when done are ladled out on a flat, broad stick or spoon, so as to let the water drain off.

Fried Eggs.

Fried eggs are broken one at a time into a cup, and poured into hot grease.

Omelette.

Eggs are broken into milk, thickened with a moderate quantity of flour, salt, and pepper, which is beaten up and fried with butter; parsley, ham, or bacon may be added, cut fine.

Smoked Beef.

May be fried in grease with a little pepper, or may be stewed in milk. A little flour rubbed with butter in a cup, and mixed with some of the warm gravy, may be added.

Boiled Fish.

There are two modes of boiling fish; one recommended by Sir Humphrey Davy, and the other by the great Soyer. By the former, the fish cut into pieces is thrown into boiling salt and water, one piece at a time, and the largest first; by the latter it is placed in cold water, heated slowly, and allowed to simmer by the fire. The former, in his Salmonia, page 120, quotes chemistry to show that by the excessive heat the curd is coagulated at once and preserved; the latter refers to his unequalled reputation. I have generally pursued the former course as the more rapid; the water must be allowed to recover its heat after each piece is thrown in, so that it may be always intensely hot; about fifteen minutes of hard boiling will be required, but the only reliable plan is to examine and try the fish with a fork from time to time, as it is ruined if cooked too long, and uneatable if not cooked enough.

In Soyer’s receipt the fish is placed in cold water that contains a pound of salt to every six quarts, which is then heated to the boiling point and allowed to simmer for half an hour if the fish weighs four pounds, for three-quarters if it weighs eight pounds, and so on.

Of course, a fish must be scaled ere it is cooked, and should be cleaned, although if it is cooked whole and the party is hurried, the latter process may be omitted without injury; the entrails, however, are not to be eaten.

A little of the liquor in which the fish has been boiled, with Harvey or Anchovy sauce, or Chili vinegar, makes an excellent dressing; but the best sauce is obtained by dissolving a spoonful of flour, that has been thoroughly mixed with a lump of butter, in a little warm water, and boiling the whole for a few minutes. This may be prepared in any tin pot, and, cooked with chopped parsley, is the making of boiled fish.

Fried Fish.

The fish, which should be small, after being cleaned and scaled, are dipped in water and then in Indian-meal, and fried, well seasoned with pepper, in the pan with pork drippings or butter. If the latter is used, salt must be added. Trout are excellent prepared in this manner.

Broiled Fish.

Fish for broiling may be larger than for frying; they are scaled, split open down the back, and well seasoned. They are placed on the gridiron and approached for a few moments close to the fire, so as to sear the pores. They are then cooked more slowly and well basted with butter, unless a piece of thin pork is laid across them, the grease from which will answer the place of basting. A favorite way to cook a shad or blue-fish alongshore is to split him entirely in two, and tacking the halves, seasoned and buttered, to shingles, to roast them rapidly; each man eats from his own hot shingle.

Baked Fish.

Small fish or pieces of fish, cleaned, scaled, and seasoned, may be rolled in oiled paper and baked in the ashes; or a whole fish unsealed, but cleaned and wiped dry, may be rolled in damp leaves and buried deep in hot ashes. When it is done, the skin and scales will come off together.

Stewed Fish.

Cold fish may be cut up into small pieces, seasoned and stewed in water, with a little salt pork. If milk is substituted for water, the dish will be more palatable.

Lobsters.

Must be boiled when alive till they turn red. For a dressing the yolk of a raw egg is beaten up, with a tea-cupful of salad oil poured in very slowly till it is firm; a tea-spoonful of mustard, a little salt, pepper, and vinegar are added and beaten together, after which more oil may be added, if necessary. The meat is picked from the shell, cut up fine, and mixed with a few spoonfuls of vinegar; the dressing is then poured over it.

Or the dressing may be omitted, and the meat cut into pieces may be warmed up in milk and butter, with pepper and salt, and served hot.

Potatoes.

Are usually boiled by being thrown, after they have been washed, into an iron pot filled with cold water and a little salt, placed on the fire till the water boils, and allowed to cook till they are done, which is ascertained by puncturing them with a fork. The water is then poured off, and they are allowed to steam near the fire for a few minutes.

When cold they may be cut up and fried in grease, or mashed and stewed in milk, or mixed with small pieces of salt pork or meat, and made into a species of hash; in either case they must be well seasoned, and are improved by the addition of onions.

The best way to fry them is to slit thin pieces from the raw potatoes, and letting them drop into cold water, leave them for a few minutes. When taken out and fried in butter, they will be crisp and fresh.

Potatoes are tender and mealy if simply baked in hot ashes, which can be done by burying them under the fire until they become soft.

Boiled Meats.

Meats are placed in cold water with a little salt, and boiled slowly, the scum that rises being removed from time to time.

Fried Pork or Bacon.

Pork is cut into thin slices and freshened by being heated in the frying-pan with a little water. It is fried without any addition whatever, and the grease fried out of it is saved for cooking other articles. It can be breaded by being dipped first in cold water, and then in crumbs or Indian-meal, and fried crisp.

The same directions apply to bacon, and both should be cut exceedingly thin.

Stewed, Baked, and Broiled Meats.

Meat may be stewed, baked, and broiled, much as has been heretofore directed for fish. In stewing, the great point is to proceed slowly, and in broiling to close the pores by burning the outside slightly on the start; and the next point is to season sufficiently, as both pepper and salt lose their strength in the presence of heat.

Soups.

Are made by boiling a fish or a piece of meat very slowly; if salt meat is used, it must have been boiled previously in a different water; remove the scum till no more rises, add any vegetables, and boil till done. Use a quart of water to every pound of meat, and keep the pot well covered. Rapid boiling throws off the volatile portions of the meat in steam.

Roast Duck.

Dip a duck or other large bird, neither cleaned nor picked, in water so as to wet the feathers, and throw him on the fire or into the hot coals. When the feathers are pretty well singed, he is done, and the skin, feathers, and dirt may be peeled off together. A duck needs little more than a thorough heating. Small birds may be rolled in oiled paper and roasted in the ashes, or a bird picked and cleaned may be suspended by a string near the fire, and made to revolve by twisting it up occasionally.

Beans.

Should be soaked over night, and then well boiled.

Rice.

A cupful of rice is thrown with a pinch of salt into enough boiling water to cover it well, and boiled for fifteen minutes. It must be soft, but the grains should be separate. The water is poured off, and it is dished up hot.

Gravy.

White gravy is made as already directed for fish. For brown gravy, a little flour is heated in a frying-pan, and stirred till it is brown. It can be kept in a bottle, and is added in small quantities to thicken the juice of meat or soups.

Tough Meat.

Scalding vinegar may be poured over tough meat, which is left to stand over night; next day the meat is to be cut into small pieces and stewed with seasoning, and a few slices of potatoe and carrot.

Vegetables.

Must be placed in boiling water with a pinch of salt, and are done when they sink; they must be taken up immediately.

Water Souchy.

Is made by stewing fish cut into small pieces with chopped parsley and onions, and some pepper and salt. It may be poured over toast and thickened with flour and butter.

Potted Fish.

Small fish, cleaned and seasoned, and placed with a little mace in a pot lined with paper, are covered with melted butter, pressed down, and baked four hours with a weight on them.

Boiled Salmon.

Bleed the fish the moment it is taken by cutting its gills, and across its sides, in a slanting direction at every two inches. Hold it by the tail for a few minutes in the stream, moving it so as to encourage the flow of blood. Put the pot, filled with cold spring water, on a brave fire, so that it may heat while you are cleaning and scaling the fish. Divide into slices through the backbone, where the slashes have already been made. When the water boils, add a large bowlful of salt, and when it has recovered its heat and is screeching hot, throw in the pieces of salmon, the largest first, allowing the water to recover its temperature after each. For fish under nine pounds, allow ten minutes, and one minute more for every additional pound. Serve with a little of the brine strengthened with anchovy sauce, or make a white gravy of flour and butter, as heretofore directed. Save the brine for future use.

Trout on First Principles.

Catch your trout, put a pinch of salt in his mouth, roll him up in a few folds of newspaper, dip the swaddled darling in the water, light a fire, and place him in the embers. When the paper chars, take him out and eat him at once, rejecting the entrails.

Kippered Salmon.

Divide the fish down the back and remove the bone; rub him with equal quantities of sugar and salt, and a little pepper; dry him in the sun or smoke. Cut into thin streaks, and broiled, he will be found good and appetizing.

Daniel Webster’s Chowder.

Four table-spoonfuls of onions fried with pork.

One quart of boiled potatoes well mashed.

One and one-half pounds of ship-biscuit broken.

One tea-spoonful of thyme.

One tea-spoonful of summer savory.

One half bottle of mushroom catsup.

One bottle of port or claret.

One-half nutmeg grated.

A few cloves, mace, allspice, and slices of lemon, and some black pepper.

Six pounds of sea-bass or cod, cut in slices.

Twenty-five oysters.

The whole to be put in a pot, covered with an inch of water, cooked slowly and stirred gently.

Liver.

Pieces of deer-liver may be impaled on a red cedar skewer, with a slice of pork on top, and set up round a fire, near enough to cook slowly; the pork will melt and baste the rest.

Griddle Cakes.

Are made by thickening flour with milk or water, and adding an egg or two, together with a pinch of salt. They are poured in ladlefuls on a hot griddle or frying-pan that has been well greased. Rice that has been boiled and left over, or corn-meal that has been scalded, may be mixed with the other articles, and makes rice or Indian cakes.

Corn Bread.

Two cups of Indian meal and one cup of wheat flour are mixed with two tea-spoonfuls of cream of tartar, to which is added one pint of sour milk or of sweet milk in which one tea-spoonful of soda has been dissolved, beaten up with two eggs. The whole is to be baked one hour. Cream of tartar is always to be mixed with the flour, and soda with the milk, so that when these are subsequently brought in contact, gas is evolved and the bread is rendered light.

Scott’s Chowder.

The following recipe was furnished by Mr. Genio C. Scott to the New York Spirit of the Times, and is doubtless equal to the reputation of the author:—

“The old-fashioned iron pot is the best to make it in, but in lieu of it a copper-bottomed saucepan, as deep as it is wide, will answer. First take your fish—almost any kind will answer—but cod and sea-bass are the best; clean and scale your fish, and cut them into pieces two inches square; parboil a few onions; peel a few potatoes and quarter them; cut up some salt pork into the thinnest possible slices, and cover the bottom and sides of your pot with it to prevent your chowder from burning; place upon the pork a layer of fish, and season it with salt and a little black pepper. (Since I read ‘My Peninsular Medal,’ I have been very chary of black pepper, for that authority states that it inflames the stomach without stimulating it, while the cayenne pepper stimulates without inflaming; but a dash of black pepper is useful for its fragrance.) Next, a layer of the parboiled onions quartered; next, a layer of potatoes, and season the layers; next, a layer of ripe tomatoes sliced and seasoned (tomato requires more salt than other vegetables); next, a layer of cracked sea-biscuit; next, a layer of fish; then sprinkle this layer with infinitesimal pieces of salt pork, but sparingly; then your layers of onions, potatoes, tomatoes, and sea-biscuit, with proper seasonings of each layer; pour water enough to cover the contents of the pot, but no more; cover the pot and place it on a slow fire where it will simmer or boil slowly for an hour and a half; a half hour before dishing the chowder, pour upon it a bottle of Burgundy or claret.

“In seasoning the different layers of the chowder, tomato catsup will answer where ripe tomatoes cannot be had. Sauces are also introduced sometimes, and in case the party has been used to highly-seasoned food, either Soyer, Harvey, or Worcestershire sauces may be used sparingly. Many prefer to season with a greater variety of spices and condiments. I often season with allspice; but camp chowder should be simple, and composed of edibles easily obtainable. Clam chowder is made in the same manner.”

Fish-House Punch.

One-quarter of a pint of lemon juice, one-quarter of a pound of white sugar, and two pints and a half of water. One-quarter of a pint of peach brandy; the same of Jamaica rum, and a half pint of cognac; the three latter ingredients mixed separately.

Pineapple Punch.

One slice of pineapple which has stood a day covered with sugar, two bottles of port, one bottle of champagne, and plenty of ice.

Porto Rico Punch.

Black tea and Porto Rico rum, mixed half and half, and sufficient sugar, lemon-peel, and ice.

Nondescript Punch.

One bottle of claret, three-fourths of a tumbler of brandy, a claret glass of Jamaica rum, one bottle of champagne, ice and sugar.

Arrack Punch.

Eight tumblers of Jamaica rum, one and a half of arrack, and one of lemon juice, which together with the rind of three lemons, is to be allowed to stand for ten minutes, when sugar is to be added, and water to twice the amount of the liquor.

Champagne Punch.

One bottle of brandy, one of Jamaica rum, and one of arrack; three and a half pounds of sugar, but no water, four lemons and twelve oranges cut in slices, a large lump of ice. Add champagne to suit the taste immediately before drinking.

Regal Punch.

Peel twenty-four lemons; steep the rinds for twelve hours in two quarts of Jamaica rum. Squeeze the lemons on three and a half pounds of loaf sugar; add two quarts of dark brandy and six quarts of water. Mix all together; add two quarts of boiled milk, stir until the mixture curdles, strain it through a jelly-bag until clear; bottle and cork.

This I have not tried, but give it on good authority.

Frank Forester’s Punch.

The rind of a dozen lemons, two tumblerfuls of finely powdered sugar, three pints of pale cognac, two quarts of cold, strong, green tea, strained clear, two flasks of CuraÇao, abundance of ice, and a half dozen of champagne. This is an admirable liquor, even without the champagne.

Venison Stew.

Make a sauce by melting a lump of butter with two mustard-spoonfuls of mustard, two table-spoonfuls of mushroom catsup, and one of sauce, mango sauce being the best; add the juice of half a lemon, one wine glass of sherry, and one of claret. Heat the mixture as hot as possible, and rub in two table-spoonfuls of currant jelly till the whole is perfectly smooth; then take the venison cut in steaks, and previously either roasted or broiled, and warm it thoroughly in the sauce to which the juice of the meat, if any, has been added. Cold meat is redeemed by this process.

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And now my friends, if you are ever fortunate enough to have the Superior Fishing I have described, or if the author’s good-will may avail even better, and, after the delight and triumph of success, the well-earned prize is brought up properly upon the table, either in the rough woods or the elegant dining-room, and is flanked by such appropriate dishes as circumstances permit, and laid to rest in the best liquor that can be obtained; then your mind, filled with present complacency, must travel back over these pages, and forgetting the faults and pardoning the errors, acknowledge that if in them you have not found an instructor, you have found a brother sportsman; and, for the sake of the bond that binds all members of the gentle craft together, if you cannot conscientiously praise the manner or the matter of these pages, you will utter no word to discourage an effort that, while pointing out and dwelling upon the beauties of nature in our wonderful country, and the pure attractions it offers to the lovers of our art, has principally been to maintain the healthy and ennobling nature of field-sports; to urge the protection, at proper seasons, of the game that still lingers in our woods and waters; and to elevate to a proud standard of honorable, generous, and merciful rivalry the sportsmanship of America.

THE END.

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