passengers quickly ranged themselves round, and, with his mouth watering as the female garcon lifted the cover from the tureen, Mr. Jorrocks sat in the expectation of seeing the rich contents ladled into the plates.  His countenance fell fifty per cent as the first spoonful passed before his eyes.—­“My vig, why it’s water!” exclaimed he—­“water, I do declare, with worms[21] in it—­I can’t eat such stuff as that—­it’s not man’s meat—­oh dear, oh dear, I fear I’ve made a terrible mistake in coming to France!  Never saw such stuff as this at Bleaden’s or Birch’s, or anywhere in the city.”  “I’ve travelled three hundred thousand miles,” said the fat man, sending his plate from him in disgust, “and never tasted such a mess as this before.”  “I’ll show them up in The Times,” cried Mr. Jorrocks; “and, look, what stuff is here—­beef boiled to rags!—­well, I never, no never, saw anything like this before.  Oh, I wish I was in Great Coram Street again!—­I’m sure I can’t live here—­I wonder if I could get a return chaise—­waiter—­garsoon—­cuss!  Oh dear!  I see Madame de Genlis is of no use in a pinch—­and yet what a dialogue here is!  Oh heavens! grant your poor Jorrocks but one request, and that is the contents of a single sentence.  ’I want a roasted or boiled leg of mutton, beef, hung beef, a quarter of mutton, mutton chops, veal cutlets, stuffed tongue, dried tongue, hog’s pudding, white sausage, meat sausage, chicken with rice, a nice fat roast fowl, roast chicken with cressy, roast or boiled pigeon, a fricassee of chicken, sweet-bread, goose, lamb, calf’s cheek, calf’s head, fresh pork, salt pork, cold meat, hash.’—­But where’s the use of titivating one’s appetite with reading of such luxteries?  Oh, what a wife Madame de Genlis would have made for me!  Oh dear, oh dear, I shall die of hunger, I see —­I shall die of absolute famine—­my stomach thinks my throat’s cut already!” In the height of his distress in came two turkeys and a couple of fowls, and his countenance shone forth like an April sun after a shower.  “Come, this is better,” said he; “I’ll trouble you, sir, for a leg and a wing, and a bit of the breast, for I’m really famished—­oh hang! the fellow’s a Frenchman, and I shall lose half the day in looking it out in my dictionary.  Oh dear, oh dear, where’s the dinner dialogue!—­well, here’s something to that purpose.  ’I will send you a bit of this fowl.’  ’A little bit of the fowl cannot hurt you.’—­No, nor a great bit either.—­’Which do you like best, leg or wing?’ ‘Qu’aimez-vous le mieux, la cuisse ou l’aile?’” Here the Countess Benvolio, who had been playing a good knife and fork herself, pricked up her ears, and guessing at Jorrocks’s wants, interceded with her countryman and got him a plateful of fowl.  It was soon disposed of, however, and half a dish of hashed hare or cat, that was placed within reach of him shortly after, was quickly transferred into his plate.  A French dinner is admirably calculated for leading the appetite on by easy stages to the