Sage and bread, mix just enough, Salt and pepper quantum suff., And the pig's interior stuff, With the whole combined. To a fire that 's rather high, Lay it till completely dry; Then to every part apply Cloth, with butter lined.
Dredge with flour o'er and o'er, Till the pig will hold no more; Then do nothing else before 'T is for serving fit. Then scrape off the flour with care; Then a buttered cloth prepare; Rub it well; then cut—not tear— Off the head of it.
Then take out and mix the brains With the gravy it contains; While it on the spit remains, Cut the pig in two. Chop the sage and chop the bread Fine as very finest shred; O'er it melted butter spread,— Stinginess won't do.
When it in the dish appears, Garnish with the jaws and ears; And when dinner-hour nears, Ready let it be. Who can offer such a dish May dispense with fowl and fish; And if he a guest should wish, Let him send for me!
PUNCH'S Poetical Cookery Book.
A RECIPE FOR SALAD.
To make this condiment your poet begs The pounded yellow of two hard boiled eggs; Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve, Smoothness and softness to the salad give; Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, And, half suspected, animate the whole; Of mordant mustard add a single spoon, Distrust the condiment that bites so soon; But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault To add a double quantity of salt; Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca crown, And twice with vinegar, procured from town; And lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss A magic soupçon of anchovy sauce. O green and glorious! O herbaceous treat! 'T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat; Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul, And plunge his fingers in the salad-bowl; Serenely full, the epicure would say, "Fate cannot harm me,—I have dined to-day."
SYDNEY SMITH.
ODE TO TOBACCO.
Thou who, when fears attack, Bid'st them avaunt, and Black Care, at the horseman's back Perching, unseatest; Sweet when the morn is gray; Sweet, when they 've cleared away Lunch; and at close of day Possibly sweetest: