An arch-cook insinuates that there remain only two “pillars of the state,” besides himself, of the school of Sinon, one of the great masters of the condimenting art.  Sinon, we are told, applied the elements of all the arts and sciences to this favourite one.  Natural philosophy could produce a secret seasoning for a dish; and architecture the art of conducting the smoke out of a chimney:  which, says he, if ungovernable, makes a great difference in the dressing.  From the military science he derived a sublime idea of order; drilling the under cooks, marshalling the kitchen, hastening one, and making another a sentinel.  We find, however, that a portion of this divine art, one of the professors acknowledges to be vapouring and bragging!—­a seasoning in this art, as well as in others.  A cook ought never to come unaccompanied by all the pomp and parade of the kitchen:  with a scurvy appearance, he will be turned away at sight; for all have eyes, but few only understanding.[125]

Another occult part of this profound mystery, besides vapouring, consisted, it seems, in filching.  Such is the counsel of a patriarch to an apprentice! a precept which contains a truth for all ages of cookery.

    Carian! time well thy ambidextrous part,
    Nor always filch.  It was but yesterday,
    Blundering, they nearly caught thee in the fact;
    None of thy balls had livers, and the guests,
    In horror, pierced their airy emptiness. 
    Not even the brains were there, thou brainless hound! 
    If thou art hired among the middling class,
    Who pay thee freely, be thou honourable! 
    But for this day, where now we go to cook,
    E’en cut the master’s throat for all I care;
    “A word to th’ wise,” and show thyself my scholar! 
    There thou mayst filch and revel; all may yield
    Some secret profit to thy sharking hand. 
    ’Tis an old miser gives a sordid dinner,
    And weeps o’er every sparing dish at table;
    Then if I do not find thou dost devour
    All thou canst touch, e’en to the very coals,
    I will disown thee!  Lo! old Skin-flint comes;
    In his dry eyes what parsimony stares!

These cooks of the ancients, who appear to have been hired for a grand dinner, carried their art to the most whimsical perfection.  They were so dexterous as to be able to serve up a whole pig boiled on one side, and roasted on the other.  The cook who performed this feat defies his guests to detect the place where the knife had separated the animal, or how it was contrived to stuff the belly with an olio composed of thrushes and other birds, slices of the matrices of a sow, the yolks of eggs, the bellies of hens with their soft eggs flavoured with a rich juice, and minced meats highly spiced.  When this cook is entreated to explain his secret art, he solemnly swears by the manes of those who braved all the dangers of the plain of Marathon, and combated at sea at Salamis,