Open and beard two dozen, and cut each bivalve in half. Melt two ounces of butter in a stewpan, and mix into it the same allowance of flour, the strained oyster liquor, a teacupful of cream, half a teaspoonful of essence of anchovies, and a pinch of cayenne--death to the caitiff who adds nutmeg--and stir the sauce well over the fire. Take it off, and add the well-beaten yolks of two eggs, a tablespoonful of finely chopped parsley, and a teaspoonful of lemon juice. Put in the oysters, and stir the whole over a gentle fire for five minutes. Put the mixture in the shells, grate bread-crumbs over, place a small piece of butter atop, and bake in a Dutch oven before a clear fire until the crumbs are lightly browned, which should be in about a quarter of an hour. _Oyster Stew_ is thoroughly understood in New York City. On this side, the dish does not meet with any particular favour, although no supper-table is properly furnished without it. Open two dozen oysters, and take the beards off. Put the oysters into a basin and squeeze over them the juice of half a lemon. Put the beards and the strained liquor into a saucepan with half a blade of mace, half a dozen peppercorns ground, a little grated lemon rind, and a pinch of cayenne. Simmer gently for a quarter of an hour, strain the liquid, thicken it with a little butter and flour, add a quarter of a pint (or a teacupful) of cream, and stir over the fire till quite smooth. Then put in the oysters, and let them warm through--they must not boil. Serve in a soup tureen, and little cubes of bread fried in bacon grease may be served with the stew, as with pea-soup. Be very careful to whose care you entrust your barrel, or bag, of oysters, after you have got them home. A consignment of the writer's were, on one memorable and bitter cold Christmas Eve, consigned to the back dairy, by Matilda Anne. Result--frostbite, gapes, dissolution, disappointment, disagreeable language. _Ball Suppers._