* * * * * ARISTOPHANES. (Book iii. § 33, p. 145.) Then every soul of them sat open-mouth'd, Like roasted oysters gaping in a row.—J. H. FRERE. * * * * * ARCHESTRATUS. (Book iii. § 44, p. 154.) For mussels you must go to Ænos; oysters You'll find best at Abydos. Parion Rejoices in its urchins; but if cockles Gigantic and sweet-tasted you would eat, A voyage must be made to Mitylene, Or the Ambracian Gulf, where they abound With many other dainties. At Messina, Near to the Faro, are pelorian conchs, Nor are those bad you find near Ephesos; For Tethyan oysters, go to Chalcedon; But for the Heralds, may Zeus overwhelm them Both in the sea and in the agora! Aye, all except my old friend Agathon, Who in the midst of Lesbian vineyards dwells.—J. A. ST. JOHN. * * * * * DAMOXENUS. (Book iii. § 60, p. 170.) _Master Cook._ Behold in me a pupil of the school Of the sage Epicurus. _Friend._ Thou a sage! _M. C._ Ay! Epicurus too was sure a cook, And knew the sovereign good. Nature his study, While practice perfected his theory. Divine philosophy alone can teach The difference which the fish _Glociscus_ shows In winter and in summer: how to learn Which fish to choose, when set the Pleiades, And at the solstice. 'Tis change of seasons Which threats mankind, and shakes their changeful frame. This dost thou comprehend? Know, what we use In season, is most seasonably good! _Friend._ Most learned cook, who can observe these canons? _M. C._ And therefore phlegm and colics make a man A most indecent guest. The aliment Dress'd in my kitchen is true aliment; Light of digestion easily it passes; The chyle soft-blending from the juicy food Repairs the solids. _Friend._ Ah! the chyle! the solids! Thou new Democritus! thou sage of medicine! Versed in the mysteries of the Iatric art! _M. C._ Now mark the blunders of our vulgar cooks. See them prepare a dish of various fish, Showering profuse the pounded Indian grain, An overpowering vapour, gallimaufry, A multitude confused of pothering odours! But, know, the genius of the art consists To make the nostrils feel each scent distinct; And not in washing plates to free from smoke. I never enter in my kitchen, I! But sit apart, and in the cool direct, Observant of what passes, scullions' toil. _Friend._ What dost thou there? _M. C._ I guide the mighty whole; Explore the causes, prophesy the dish. 'Tis thus I speak: "Leave, leave that ponderous ham; Keep up the fire, and lively play the flame