A Petrified Luncheon.
"Mr. Punch,—The periodical review of the uses and abuses of English Hotels having commenced, I beg leave to state that there is a small, unpretending hostelry at Matlock Baths, where the luncheon (price 2s.) supplied is invariably made up of bits of loins of mutton, and leavings of ribs of beef, all—in honour of the locality—duly petrified. Last week I managed to chip off and swallow a bit of a joint, and I verily believe have been troubled with the stone ever since. (Price 2s.!)
Yours,
Viator."
