IF the art of dishing up nicely the remains of cold meat, fish, and vegetables, were more closely studied than it is, the fair chatelaine would not look upon cold mutton, cold beef. &c:, with the feelings of despair that I fear too often possess her, there would be much less wastefulness, and our breakfast and luncheon tables would be far more easily supplied than they are. Has not-some thrifty professor of kitchen lore actually dedicated a little book to the mysteries of cooking cold mutton, and how to penetrate them? I have never seen the work, but, without boasting, I think I could fill a couple of chapters myself upon a similar theme.

The mistake most of us make is one on the side of sameness. We pick up a tasty recipe for warming up fish, a cunning method of treating cold vegetables, or a marvellously good wrinkle about a hash, and ring the changes on our small stock of knowledge ad nauseam. The most artistic rechauffe will lose its charm if repeated too often, and the appetite, - especially the Anglo-Indian appetite - soon tires of a flavour too frequently offered it. There is no fault that a native cook is more likely to acquire than this, so we should take pains to remove from his control materials which are likely to minister to his failing. Let all your pungent sauces, and essences, be kept under lock and key, and give out, from time to time, the doles that are necessary for delicate flavouring. If you do this, your hashes will cease to be slices of meat, cooked up in hot water and Worcester sauce, thickened with flour; neither will your minces, croquettes, cassolettes, etc., be presented with a sauce similarly composed.

There are certain hard and fast laws to be observed generally with regard to the treatment of cold meat, etc., which ought never to be forgotten. Let me enume-rate them:-

1. Always cut off carefully all parts that have been browned in the previous cooking, such as skin, etc.

2. Use the trimmings, and all bones, assisted by anything you may have to spare, to make the strongest broth you can for your rechauffe.

3. Be generous in your allowance of butter and eggs, and, if recommended in the recipe you are following, do not refuse a small modicum of cream.

4. Never be without red-currant jelly, olives, anchovies, grated cheese, grated bread-crumbs (bottled), mushroom-ketchup, good vinegar, bottled garden herbs, and a mild sauce like Harvey.

5. Try to maintain a little kitchen garden, in large pots, or boxes, containing English curled parsley, marjoram, thyme, garden-cress, and celery. The last need not be planted for its root's sake, the leaves and stalks provide the cook with his flavouring agent.

6. Teach your cook that meat that has been once cooked, does not require to be boiled or stewed de novo. Describe a hash or a mince to him as meat gently warmed up in gravy or sauce separately made to receive it.

You must now turn back to Chapter X (Sauces) in which I tried to explain the fundamental principles of sauce-making.

The success of the rechauffe wholly depends upon the care bestowed upon the composition of the sauce in which it is heated up; or by which it is enriched and diluted. This maxim holds good no matter what your dish may be : the hash, the salmis, the mince, the croquette, croustade, cassolette, little patty, kramousky, etc., etc., all lean upon their Espagnole or veloute as the case may be.

Cold fish of any kind gives us valuable material for little breakfast dishes. Fairly Large slices of firm fish, not overboiled in the first instance, may be advantageously warmed up whole, au grat in, or in a nicely-made white or brown sauce flavoured according to taste, and accompanied by pieces of cooked cucumber, or vegetable marrow. But if at all broken up, it is better to serve cold fish en caisses, or en coquilles, or to work it up into croquettes or crous-tad Broken fragments of cold fish are very nice when added to, and tossed about with, a goodly allowance of "buttered-egg." This can be served on toasts, or poured out upon a silver dish. A colouring of tomato sauce is an improvement.

Another tasteful way of serving cold fish is to cut it into small pieces, like a coarse mince, and toss it about in a hot sauce-pan containing some previously boiled, hot maccaroni, stirring in with it a bountiful supply of melted butter, and a little tomato puree (or sauce); when the con-tents of the sauce-pan are thoroughly well heated, turn them out on a very hot dish, and serve at once. This can, of course, be composed upon a charcoal fire in the verandah, hard by the dining-room door. Gentlemen, whose appetites require stimulating, may fancy some chopped green chilli, some cayenne or Nepaul pepper, or a few drops of "Tabasco;" but, to my mind, the dish is better without a suspicion of the evil one.

Cold fish is almost invariably presented to you by Ra-masamy in the form of what he is pleased to call "fishpudding." This is sometimes nice, and sometimes very nasty. To be nice, a good deal of butter (good butter please, not four-annas-a-cup-composition, - "I beg your pardon,") is necessary with the mashed potato, with a little cream, or some fresh milk helped up with the yolk of an egg, and a few drops of anchovy sauce; llamas amy being at the same time entreated not to make the mould into a pretty pattern with quarters of hard-boiled egg, etc., an effect which cannot be achieved without free use of his finger and thumb. "Twice-laid," as this dish is called at Home, cannot be sent up better than in a simple mould like mashed potato, streaked with a fork outside, and baked till it takes a pale brown tint. Chopped hard-boiled egg may be stirred into the fish and potatoes with advantage.

The best fish pudding is that made of pieces of cooked fish steamed in a savoury custard. This is turned out like a pudding, and served with any nice fish sauce.