cloth, imported from Flanders, and known as
cloth of ray. The beaver hats which they wear
over their capuchons, come also from Flanders.
They have just doffed them to a rich customer
arrayed in the livery of his guild, the Grocers,
which consists of a coat and surcoat of crimson.
On public occasions you will see him don a
furred cloak or gown, with a hood, and the
cognisance of his guild : the spice-bearing camel of
Araby.

That stately personage, solemnly ambling on
his palfrey, is a serjeant-at-law, bound perhaps
for Westminster Hall, or for a consultation in
the parvise, or portico, before St. Paul's. His
robes consist of a scarlet gown faced with blue,
a cape edged with budge or lambskin fur, a
white capuchon similarly furred having two
labels attached to it depending upon the breast,
and a white silk coif or head-covering tied
beneath the chin. The latter is the Serjeant's
characteristic badge, being worn over the
tonsure: a relic of the time when all lawyers were
clerks. As a contrasting equestrian figure,
observe the farm labourer on the cart horse, who
has just entered the street. His blue bliaus
(answering to the blouse or smock-frock) is made
of a coarse stuff called fustian, imported from
St. Fustien, near Amiens. His scarlet chausses
are of some common woollen material either
blanket, wadmal, falding, russet, or borel, for all
these are in use. The shaggy cap which forms
his head-covering is called a hure. The
servant woman at the door where he has stopped
is in the ordinary dress of her class: a fustian
gown, a white linen barm-cloth, or apron, a
white voluper, or cap, and high-laced shoes.
Out of doors she will probably wear a wimple:
a sort of coverchief not unlike a mob-cap.

Let us adjourn to a dinner of five hundred
years ago, at the Saracen's Head hostel in
Fryday-street. It is now past our ordinary
dinner-time, which is nine o'clock A.M. We
have no such meal as breakfast. We who have
recently shown ourselves masters of the French
on the battle-field, are their slaves in the kitchen.
Our system of cookery, in its preference of
small pieces, called gobbets, to large joints of
meat, and its lavish employment of spices, garlic,
and other such condiments, is fundamentally one
with theirs. We both make considerable use of
the pestle and mortar, and bray our meats with
fruits of various kinds. Thus, forks are seldom,
and spoons frequently, in request at our tables.
We carry our love of colour into our food no less
than dress. Saffron is our favourite ingredient
for producing yellow; sanders (sandal-wood) for
red; amydon, or wheat flour steeped in water
and dried in the sun, for white; burnt blood
for black—all harmless enough. Here is the
hostel, and in the hall to the left our repast is
prepared.

The table is furnished after the fashion before
described; the salt-cellar occupying the centre,
the trenchers made of wood, the spoons of silver,
and the goblets of masere. Knives, we carry in
our pouch. Here are two sorts of pottage. The
one, which we call bukkenade, is a composition
of either chicken, rabbit, or veal, chopped and
seethed with ground almonds, currants, sugar,
ginger, cannel (cinnamon), and other spices.
The other, is furmity; made of wheat brayed
with yolk of egg in broth or milk, and coloured
with saffron. Here are but two kinds of fish.
We dine off fish exclusively, so often—for six
weeks together in Lent—that it is not much
in request on other than fast days. Of these
dishes, one is sliced porpoise brayed with
blanched almonds. If it should appear coarse,
try the other. It is what our cooks term a
jelly: that is, a compound, of turbot, plaice,
tench, pike, and eel, which, after being minced
small and scalded, are mixed with wine, vinegar,
pepper, and other spices.

For the second course here is a mess of
mortrewes. The chief components are chicken,
pork, bread, eggs, and spices. The fellow
dish is called blankdesire from its whiteness,
produced by the blanched almonds and
rice flour which are added to its chief
material, the brawn (that is the fleshy parts)
of capons. Both these dishes require the
accompaniment of wine. Yonder are flasks of
Gascon and Rhenish, or, if you prefer bastard
(that is, sweet) wines, there are Vernage and
Claire. They are all new, for the taste in wine
is just the reverse of later England's.

To diversify the attractions of science with
those of art, the cook at this stage sends up a
"subtlety." All banquets of any pretension
include some such fanciful confectionary. This
gilded group represents the favourite national
emblem of St. George slaying the dragon. At
the great dinners in College halls the custom
will be still maintained when the year one
thousand eight hundred and sixty shall be written in
England. For the next course we have fillets of
venison, egrets (young herons), and partridges.
Before you choose the latter, it may be as well
that you should know how they are dressed. Our
ordinary method is to parboil, then lard, and
roast them; finally, sprinkling them thickly
with ginger. To these, succeed a mess of peas
minced up with onions, sugar, salt, and saffron;
and a " salat" composed of parsley, sage, garlic,
onions, mint, fennel, cress, rue, and rosemary,
prepared with oil, salt, and vinegar. The last
course is of " doucettes." In that flat-covered
dish, or coffin as we term it, is a crustard (pie)
of flawn: a delicious composition of currants
and apples ground up with cream, eggs, butter,
whitebread, and spices. That tart is made of
cheese, eggs, sugar, and spices; and, from the
first ingredient, named tart de Brie. The next
dish, under the name of macrows, is the maccaroni
of Italy. We eat it with grated cheese.
The titles of rosee and spinee are given to the
two messes yonder—their main ingredients,
almonds, milk, and rice, being flavoured respectively
with concoctions of white roses and the
hawthorn flower (spina). The last dish on the
list bears the familiar name of fruture, or
fritters, and is made of figs ground up with
spices, rolled in a thin leaf of dough, and fried
in honey.