grand consummation of satiety.  It begins meagrely, as we have shown, and proceeds gradually through the various gradations of lights, savories, solids, and substantiate.  Presently there was a large dish of stewed eels put on.  “What’s that?” asked Jorrocks of the man.—­“Poisson,” was the reply.  “Poison! why, you infidel, have you no conscience?” “Fishe,” said the Countess.  “Oh, ay, I smell—­eels—­just like what we have at the Eel-pie-house at Twickenham—­your ladyship, I am thirsty—­’ge soif,’ in fact.”  “Ah, bon!” said the Countess, laughing, and giving him a tumbler of claret.  “I’ve travelled three hundred thousand miles,” said the fat man, “and never saw claret drunk in that way before.”  “It’s not werry good, I think,” said Mr. Jorrocks, smacking his lips; “if it was not claret I would sooner drink port.”  Some wild ducks and fricandeau de veau which followed, were cut up and handed round, Jorrocks helping himself plentifully to both, as also to pommes de terre a la maitre d’hotel, and bread at discretion.  “Faith, but this is not a bad dinner, after all’s said and done, when one gets fairly into it.”  “Fear it will be very expensive,” observed the fat man.  Just when Jorrocks began to think he had satisfied nature, in came a roast leg of mutton, a beef-steak, “a la G—­d-dam”, [22] and a dish of larks and snipes.

[Footnote 21:  Macaroni soup.]

[Footnote 22:  When the giraffe mania prevailed in Paris, and gloves, handkerchiefs, gowns, reticules, etc. were “a la Giraffe,” an Englishman asked a waiter if they had any beef-steaks “a la Giraffe.”  “No, monsieur, but we have them a la G—­d-dem,” was the answer.]

“Must have another tumbler of wine before I can grapple with these chaps,” said he, eyeing them, and looking into Madame de Genlis’s book:  “‘Garsoon, donnez-moi un verre de vin,’” holding up the book and pointing to the sentence.  He again set to and “went a good one” at both mutton and snipes, but on pulling up he appeared somewhat exhausted.  He had not got through it all yet, however.  Just as he was taking breath, a garcon entered with some custards and an enormous omelette soufflee, whose puffy brown sides bagged over the tin dish that contained it.  “There’s a tart!” cried Mr. Jorrocks; “Oh, my eyes, what a swell!—­Well, I suppose I must have a shy at it.—­’In for a penny in for a pound!’ as we say at the Lord Mayor’s feed.  Know I shall be sick, but, however, here goes,” sending his plate across the table to the garcon, who was going to help it.  The first dive of the spoon undeceived him as he heard it sound at the bottom of the dish.  “Oh lauk, what a go!  All puff, by Jove!—­a regular humbug—­a balloon pudding, in short!  I won’t eat such stuff—­give it to Mouncheer there,” rejecting the offer of a piece.  “I like the solids;—­will trouble you for some of that cheese, sir, and don’t let it taste of the knive.  But what do they mean by setting the dessert on before the cloth is removed?