Next followed a few made dishes, light articles; and one real delicacy, which was first introduced to our acquaintance by Gingham. This was no other than a kid, baked whole. I take the liberty, my dear sir, of very particularly and pointedly calling your attention to the dish in question. I have, on previous occasions, ventured to offer gastronomic hints. But a kid thus dressed is a real delicacy, worthy of a place on any table. N. B.--If you bake, envelop in paste. Should you prefer roasting, cover with paper. Let the roasting be _gentle_, but _complete_. Of course you don't stretch out the legs. Double them up, and skewer to the sides. For sauce, chop up the pluck. Sauce should be piquant, with lots of cayenne, subacid. Or make a separate dish, with the pluck and heart. Pensive regret was mingled, in the face of Barnacles, with intense curiosity, while he viewed this novel _entrée_, as it made its appearance in a case of dough. Capsicum asked no question; sent him a plateful; a great part of which he was forced to send away. It was clear Mr Barnacles was now beat to a standstill. The dish, though, was rather rich; and what he had eaten took effect. His countenance changed. Suddenly he became pallid, with an effort to look _degagé_. This lasted about a minute, in which time he swallowed two successive bumpers of madeira. The dose so far kept him right, that Barnacles didn't leave the table: but he was evidently _hors de combat_. Mr B. being now brought to a standstill, the _joke_ was so far successful. Yet was not the _hoax_ complete, unless there appeared something on table that he liked, and yet something of which he could not partake. The sweets now made their appearance, and were viewed by Mr Barnacles with indifference. But when the table was wellnigh covered, and space remained for only a single dish-- Enter a splendid plum-pudding--yes, a regular English plum-pudding--its summit hoary with pounded sugar, its sides distilling brandy sauce. The eyes of Barnacles lit up again--sparkled. He was alive in a moment. Once more his fist went bang into his hand; once more his hands embraced and rubbed, as in mutual congratulation. Forgetting all his previous performances, he accepted a substantial slice of the plum-pudding. Alas! he had kept no corner! "You don't seem," said Capsicum, "to like your pudding, Mr Barnacles." "Oh yes! Oh yes!" said Barnacles, with emotion. "Indeed I do, sir. It's what I never, never expected to see again till my return--till my return to the British metropolis. But"----It ended in a watering-pot scene--a regular boo-hoo. He put his handkerchief to his face. It was too much for his feelings. Plum-pudding before him as good as could be got in London, and he not able to eat a mouthful! The poor man cried.