“You doubtless know that there is a little air bag at the large end of every egg, called the _folliculus aeris_, and which, as we are told, is designed to furnish a supply of air to the growing chick; if, therefore, an egg be exposed to the temperature of hot embers, this air will be suddenly expanded, the shell burst, and its contents scattered into the ashes. To prevent such an occurrence, the careful house-wife pricks the blunt end of the shell with a needle, so as to allow the expanded air to escape, and thus to prevent the accident I have just explained; from which it appears that there is reason, or philosophy, in roasting an egg.” “Capital, upon my word!” exclaimed Mr. Seymour. “Well, but, papa, we have interrupted the major in his delightful description; he had not concluded the account of his proposed fête,” said Louisa. “Pray go on,” cried Fanny: “let me see, where did you leave off? Oh, I remember, you were interrupted in a temporary tent, which I hope you intend to decorate with garlands.” “Leave all that to the vicar, young lady; he will, no doubt, display his classical taste in the emblematical appointments.” “I shall terminate the festivities of the day by a grand display of fire-works; the arrangements of which will necessarily fall under my own more immediate direction. The vicar,” added the major, “will perhaps allow me to proclaim him as master of the revels; for he is, as we all well know, deeply versed in ancient customs, and I am especially anxious that every department should be conducted with classical taste.” “I willingly accept the office,” said Mr. Twaddleton, with a gracious smile, “since there is authority for my acquiescence. The Romans, in their entertainments, usually appointed a person whom they styled king, and held responsible upon such occasions. I accept it also, on a different ground; that my presence may check the enthusiasm of the people, and restrain the hilarity of the evening within the boundary of rational decorum.” “If in the arrangement of your banquet, my assistance can prove of any service, command me,” said Mrs. Seymour. “Believe me sincere, my dear madam, when I say, that the kind manner in which you receive my plan, and offer to promote its execution, affords me the highest gratification; if I decline your services, it is only from a fear of usurping the sovereignty of our master of the ceremonies,” replied the major. “What! am I to descend into the lower regions, and hold converse with your ancient Sibyl, the cook? Would you call upon me to marshal the dishes? Am I, at once, to perform the offices of ‘_Dapifer_,’ ‘_Lardrenius_,’ ‘_Magister Coquorum_,’ and ‘_Prægustator_?’” cried the horrified vicar. “Have I not declared that every part of my entertainment shall be strictly classical? and ought not each dish to convey some moral device, some allegorical design? Are we to feed with as little discrimination as the dogs that devoured the sacred Apis?”