The scorn of the true Briton for alien delicacies was repaid with interest by the Frenchman, who regarded his neighbor’s groaning table very much as we might regard the doubtful provender of a cannibal chief. The contempt for frog-eating foreigners, on the one hand, was not greater than the contempt for beef-eating islanders, on the other; in fact, all nations, from Egypt down, seem to have cherished a wholesome dislike and distrust for each other’s food. The British officer who, at the attack on Cadiz, shouted to his men, “You Englishmen, who are fed upon beef, don’t surely mean to be beaten by a d—d lot of Spaniards, who live on oranges!” made a stronger appeal to human nature than did Napoleon with his famous “forty centuries;” and the reverse of the medal may be seen in Talleyrand’s description of England, as a land where there were twenty-four religions and only one sauce. Twenty-four religions would make but a poor showing in these days, when even a serious novel can beget a new one; but sauces are not so lightly called into being. Those “slibber sops” which brought “queesiness to the stomach and disquiet to the mind” of John Lyly were hard to rout from the field; and they were still holding their own when Brillat-Savarin, the most serene and kindly of epicures, first visited Great Britain. With Savarin, eating was more than a mere vulgar pleasure; it was a solemn and yet exquisite duty which man owed to himself, and to a generous nature that had yielded him up her bounties for this purpose. Mr. Birrell says that Burke’s letters on carrots “tremble with emotion,” and there is a like earnestness about all of Savarin’s recipes; a pathetic anxiety lest some ingredient should be omitted or ill-used. For fish he entertains a profound respect; for game, a manly affection; for pastries, a delicate regard; but truffles are the beloved darlings of his heart. It contents him greatly to sit at table with congenial spirits; to watch “the eagerness of desire, the ecstasy of enjoyment, and, finally, the perfect repose of bliss on every countenance,” when the noble meal is ended. Surely even the Reign of Terror might have dealt tenderly with such a man as this, since patriots are unswerving eaters, and it behooved them to remember that “the discovery of a new dish does more for the happiness of mankind than the discovery of a new planet.”