The head should be scalded, scraped, and well washed. Don't have it singed, in the Scottish fashion, as lamb's wool is not nice to eat. Then put it, with the liver (the sweetbread was chopped up with the brain, I fancy), into a stewpan, with a Spanish onion stuck with cloves, a bunch of parsley, a little thyme, a carrot, a turnip, a bay leaf, some crushed peppercorns, a tablespoonful of salt, and half a gallon of cold water. Let it boil up, skim, and then simmer for an hour. Divide the head, take out the tongue and brain, and dry the rest of the head in a cloth. Mince the liver and tongue, season with salt and pepper, and simmer in the original gravy (thickened) for half-an-hour. Brush the two head-halves with yolk of egg, grate bread crumbs over, and bake in oven. The brain and sweetbread to be chopped and made into cakes, fried, and then placed in the dish around the head-halves. Ah me! The old tavern, after falling into bad ways, entertaining "extra-ladies" and ruined gamesters, has been closed for years. The ground floor was a potato warehouse the last time I passed the place. And it should be mentioned that the actors, journalists, etc., who, in the 'seventies, possessed smaller means, or more modest ambitions, were in the habit of supping--on supping days--at a cheaper haunt in the Strand, off (alleged) roast goose. But, according to one Joseph Eldred, a comedian of some note and shirt-cuff, the meat which was apportioned to us here was, in reality, always bullock's heart, sliced, and with a liberal allowance of sage and onions. "It's the seasoning as does it," observed Mr. Samuel Weller. Then there was another Bohemian house of call, and supper place, in those nights--the "Occidental," once known as the "Coal Hole," where, around a large, beautifully polished mahogany table, many of the wits of the town--"Harry" Leigh and "Tom" Purnell were two of the inveterates--sat, and devoured Welsh rarebits, and other things. The house, too, could accommodate not a few lodgers; and one of its great charms was that nobody cared a button what time you retired to your couch, or what time you ordered breakfast. In these matters, the Occidental resembled the "Limmer's" of the "Billy Duff" era, and the "Lane's" of my own dear subaltern days. _Parlour Cookery._