Ma chere Eloise,—Remembering your admiration of the small dessert I put on the table at my last birth-day party, you will, I am confident, feel interested in the description of desserts in general, and I will give you a few more hints and receipts, which will tend both to economize as well as gratify the palate and sight; and very different in style from some of our visitors, who, though they spend their money freely enough when they give their Christmas party, but still keep up the old style of covering their table with dry sweet stuff, and, in the way of fruits, display oranges in their original golden skin, Ribston pippins in their mournful ones, American apples with their vermilion cheeks, large winter pears in their substantial state, the whole ornamented and crowned with laurel, no doubt to signify their immortality, being present upon almost every table from year to year, especially the unsociable pear, which no teeth can ever injure, but, on the contrary, it may injure the teeth. A very comical friend assured us, as a fact, that he had met one of the before-mentioned pears in three different parties in less than a week, having, for curiosity’s sake, engraved his initial with a penknife upon one he was served with at the first party. “And, talk about pine-apples,” said he, “many times I have had the pleasure of meeting with the same, and even as much as twice in less than twelve hours, quite in a different direction, that is, on a dinner-table in the west-end about eight in the evening, and, at midnight, on the supper-table of a civic ball; at dinner being perched on an elevated stand in the centre of a large wide table, so much out of reach that it would almost require a small ladder to get at it; and I must say that every guest present paid due respect to his high position, and never made an assault, or even an attempt to disturb, much less to uncrown his fruity majesty, though, now and then, one of the fair guests, as a compliment, would remark to the amphitrion, that she never saw in her life a finer pine-apple. ‘Very fine, very fine indeed, madam! will you allow me to offer you part of an orange?’ ‘Not any more, I thank you, sir,’ being the reply.”

On the supper table this aristocratic and inaccessible pine still holds its kingly rank, and is still proudly perched on the top of a sideboard, surrounded by Portugal or Rhenish grapes, and to prevent its dethronement by removing the grapes the intelligent waiter has carefully tied it to the ornament that supports it. Our friend, who is a literary gentleman, has promised to write a small brochure, to be called the ‘Memoirs of a Pineapple in London,’ which I am confident, will not fail of being very interesting, having had the advantage of mixing in so many different societies.

I know, dearest, what will be your feeling after the perusal of the above, that I have given vent to a little scandal; but it is the truth, and of almost daily occurrence, so that there is no mystery about it. I do not mean that it is very general, but is certainly often practised; for my part, you know my style: I never attempt to astonish my guests with extensive wonders of nature and art in any shape of eatable, but simply follow the middle prices, by which I always can procure the best quality of article in comestibles; and nothing pleases me more when I give a party than that every dish on the table should be partaken of, and still more so when entirely eaten. I do not approve of meanness; though a great economist, I abhor it as much as I do extravagance; and we never, I assure you, give a single party without being perfectly satisfied that it does not interfere with our daily comforts, that is, as regards financial matters. For dessert in summer I confine it entirely to fresh fruit, compotes, ices, and a few almond cakes, and Savoy biscuits. Fruits, preserves, oranges, compotes, and biscuits in winter.

The list of names I here inclose to you consists of moderately priced articles, and will enable you to make a good appearance for your dessert, and at a trifling expense.

The first thing I wish you to be initiated in is, what is called in France “compote,” which may be made almost from any kind of fruits, especially apples, pears, apricots, plums, greengages, peaches, cherries, gooseberry, oranges, &c. It was on my second visit to Havre that I took lessons in confectionery; I paid as much as ten shillings per lesson to M. Bombe GlacÉ, that being the “nom de guerre” of the first confectioner there; but you know, dearest, how quick I am learning, especially anything in the way of cookery. I really must say I do love cooking, so you may fancy that the clever artist, Monsieur le Confiseur, had not very many of our demi-souvereign, as he called them, from us; my Mr. B. thought at the time that it was quite ridiculous and extravagant to pay so much for a trifle like that; but let me tell you, dear, he had not then tasted them; but now all the wall-and tree-fruits from our garden, if I were to follow entirely his taste, would be converted into compote, he being so remarkably fond of it.