The English are apt to spoil French cooks by neglecting the entrees for the piece de resistance, and, when the cook discovers this, which he is soon enabled to do by the slight breaches made in the first, and the large one in the second, his amour-propre becomes wounded, and he begins to neglect his entrees.  Be warned, then, by me, all ye who wish your cooks to retain their skill, and however your native tastes for that English favourite dish denominated “a plain joint” may prevail, never fail to taste the entree.

A propos of cooks, an amusing instance of the amour-propre of a Parisian cook was related to me by the gourmand Lord ——­, the last time we dined at his house.  Wishing to have a particular sauce made which he had tasted in London, and for which he got the receipt, he explained to his cook, an artist of great celebrity, how the component parts were to be amalgamated.

“How, mylord!” exclaimed Monsieur le cuisinier; “an English sauce!  Is it possible your lordsip can taste any thing so barbarous?  Why, years ago, my lord, a profound French philosopher described the English as a people who had a hundred religions, but only one sauce.”

More anxious to get the desired sauce than to defend the taste of his country, or correct the impertinence of his cook, Lord ——­ immediately said, “On recollection, I find I made a mistake; the sauce I mean is a la Hollandaise, and not a l’Anglaise.”

A la bonne heure, my lord, c’est autre chose; and the sauce was forthwith made, and was served at table the day we dined with Lord ——.

An anecdote is told of this same cook, which Lord ——­ relates with great good humour.  The cook of another English nobleman conversing with him, said, “My master is like yours—­a great gourmand.”

“Pardon me,” replied the other; “there is a vast difference between our masters.  Yours is simply a gourmand, mine is an epicure as well.”

The Duc de Talleyrand, dining with us a few days ago, observed that to give a perfect dinner, the Amphitryon should have a French cook for soups, entrees and entremets; an English rotisseur, and an Italian confiseur, as without these, a dinner could not be faultless.  “But, alas!” said he—­and he sighed while he spoke it—­“the Revolution has destroyed our means of keeping these artists; and we eat now to support nature, instead of, as formerly, when we ate because it was a pleasure to eat.”  The good-natured Duc nevertheless seemed to eat his dinner as if he still continued to take a pleasure in the operation, and did ample justice to a certain plat de cailles farcies which he pronounced to be perfect.

Our landlord, le Marquis de L——­, has sent to offer us the refusal of our beautiful abode.  The Duc de N——­ has proposed to take it for fourteen on twenty-one years, at the same rent we pay (an extravagant one, by the bye), and as we only took it for a year, we must eithor leave or hire it for fourteen or twenty-one years, which is out of the question.