The skill of the French cook is proverbial, and his reputation is deserved. One of the craft once said that with a pair of cavalry boots, a handful of grass and plenty of salt and pepper, he could make soup for a regiment, and I believe him. They use more vegetables than we do, and use them infinitely better. Out of the despised carrot, which seldom makes its appearance on American tables, they make a delicious dish, and their treatment of potatoes, tomatoes, and the whole race of salad-making vegetables, is something akin to miraculous. They use oil in profusion, and no matter what the raw material is that comes under the hands of a French cook, there is a taste and relish about the product that is satisfying as well as gratifying. The Frenchman at his table aims at all the senses. To begin with it is garnished with flowers, and, second, the dishes gratify hunger, and, thirdly, they gratify the taste. Then, as an appropriate finish, they will have the most cheerful conversation, and for the time all care and trouble is banished and the feeding time is the good time of the household. A Frenchman may come to his house ever so much depressed, but he has a thoroughly enjoyable time at his dinner. He may rise from the table and blow his brains out, but at the table no one would ever know or dream that he ever had a trouble. Among the middle classes, and indeed the better, the lady of the house does the marketing in person. It is too important a matter to be entrusted to a servant, for they are exceedingly particular as to the quality, and equally so as to the price of the supplies. French market-people, especially the women, are the shrewdest and the most unscrupulous in the world, and it requires much care and skill not to be imposed upon. I went one morning with my landlady to see a French market. The first thing desired was a lobster. One was selected and then commenced the bargaining. "How much?" demanded the Madame. "Five francs," was the answer, "and very cheap it is. Observe, Madame, its size, and its condition. Oh, I have nothing but the best. Shall I put it into your basket?" "No, it is too much!" "Too much! Madame, you would starve me. Well, then, you are an old customer (she had never seen Madame before), I will give it to you--I would no one else--for four and a half. It is ruin, but I can't keep them over." "I will give you two francs." "Two francs! You jest, Madame. Two francs for this king of lobsters--this emperor! Ah no! but I will say four--and little Jean shall go without shoes." "Two francs." "Say three and a half--my landlord can do without his rent till times are better." Precisely as the two franc offer was being accepted, a young man drove up in a stylish coupe. "How much for that lobster?" "Ten francs, Monsieur le Colonel," replied the dame without a blush. "Wrap it up and put it in my carriage," was the reply, and it was done.