_Soufflé de Fromage de Hollande._--This is a very favourite dish for the dormitory in Young Gentlemen's schools. Procure, on credit, a fine Dutch cheese, keep it carefully in your play-box or in your desk; but don't let your white mice get at it. Before cooking in the dormitory, you and your young friends can have a nice game of ball with the merry Dutchman, only refrain from trying his relative hardness or softness by hammering the head of MUGG, the stupidest boy in the school, with it. Now cut up your cheese into small dice and carefully toast them on a triangular piece of slate, which you will cause "GYP Minor" to hold over a spirit-lamp. When, as the slate grows hotter, "GYP Minor" will probably howl, box his ears smartly, and the cheese will thus become a "_soufflé_," or rather "_soufflet_." Serve _à la main chaude_, but I must indignantly protest against the practice of some youths of eating peppermint drops with this "_plat_." A bath bun is much better. Beverage, gingerbeer or a little ginger wine. _Tournedos à la Busby._--It is a very astonishing thing that I never could persuade school-boys that this is a most succulent, scholastic supper-dish, exceptionally brisk and pungent in its flavour. Perhaps their aversion to it is based on the fact that the _tournedos_ is usually served very hot indeed towards the conclusion of the repast by the Rev. Principal. It is accompanied by a brown sauce made of a _bouquet de bouleau_ full of buds and marinaded in mild pickle. _Curried Rabbit._--Proceed to Ostend and procure a rabbit; honestly if possible, but procure it. Pinch its scut or bite its ears, and when it exclaims, "Miauw!" it is not a genuine rabbit, but a grimalkin in disguise. Some cats are very deceitful at heart. Bring your rabbit home, and then send to the nearest livery stables and borrow a curry-comb, then proceed to curry your rabbit. If Bunny resists, hit him over the head with the comb. He will possibly run away to rejoin his brethren at Ostend, or in New South Wales; but at all events you will have the curry-comb. One can be good and happy without returning the things you borrow. See my "Essay on Books, Cartes-de-visite, and Umbrellas," in the next number of _Sala's J----_ (_Editorial blue-pencil again_.)