Having now passed in review most of the vegetables commonly seen on an English dinner-table, it remains only to mention two or three plants grown chiefly for salads, which on the Continent form an indispensable adjunct to the dinner-table, and although less commonly used in England, are still in great request during the summer months.

First and foremost among salad plants is the lettuce, of which there are two principal varieties, the cabbage and the cos; of these the latter is the crispest and best, but the little tender cabbage lettuce is the first to appear in the market, and was doubtless that earliest cultivated in England, as the name of cos applied to the other variety shows that it came to us originally from Cos or some of the neighbouring Greek islands. There is a variety called Bath cos, which is perhaps best of all, and is distinguished by a brownish tinge on the leaves and stalks.

When lettuces are scarce and almost unattainable, their place is supplied by endive, of which also two varieties appear in the market, one with very much divided feathery leaves, and the other, in which the leaves are longer and plain. Both these are bleached for the table, and, with the addition of what is known as small salad, that is, mustard and cress, and that very wholesome plant the watercress, compose an excellent salad during the winter and spring months. During this time also the delicious celery is in season, and forms a very appetising addition to the luncheon or dinner-table, being especially esteemed as an adjunct to bread and cheese. Radishes also and beetroot frequently form ingredients in a winter salad, which abroad is often composed of sliced potato dressed like cucumber, with oil and vinegar.

Celery is sometimes stewed as a vegetable, and of late has been much recommended as a cure for rheumatism, and a variety known as celeriac, of which the root only is eaten, has long been cultivated in Germany for stewing. This has recently been introduced into England, but is still only rarely used.

The composition of a salad is a matter of great nicety, and is seldom left to the taste of an ordinary cook. Abroad the great bowl is set before the mistress of the house, who proceeds to dress it with oil and vinegar, salt, pepper, and mustard. In England less oil and a greater variety of condiment is used, such as is well expressed in the poetical recipe of Sidney Smith, -

'Two large potatoes, pass'd through kitchen sieve, Smoothness and softness to the salad give; Of mordent mustard add a single spoon, Distrust the condiment that bites too soon ; But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault To add a double quantity of salt: Four times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown, And twice with vinegar procured from "town" ; True flavour needs it, and your poet begs The pounded yellow of two well-boiled eggs.

Let onion's atoms lurk within the bowl, And scarce suspected, animate the whole; And lastly, in the flavour'd compound toss A magic spoonful of anchovy sauce. Oh! great and glorious, and herbaceous treat, Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat. Back to the world he'd turn his weary soul, And plunge his fingers in the salad-bowl.'

Truly an excellent dressing ; but curiously enough the salad itself is omitted altogether. And here I would hint to those not much accustomed to continental fashions, that whenever the salad makes its appearance, whether at hotel or private table, they may be sure that the feast, as far as meats are concerned, is ended, and if they have not already satisfied their appetite, they must content themselves with the dish (usually roast fowl) which accompanies the salad, for they will get nothing afterwards excepting pastry and dessert.

Of the numerous useful pot-herbs known to cooks, each deserves a special notice, for most of them have medicinal as well as culinary virtues ; but it is impossible to do more than name two or three of the principal. Parsley is perhaps that in most universal use, for not only is it employed in numerous seasonings and soups, but it is also largely used in garnishing. It was used by the Greeks, and is said to have been introduced into England in the sixteenth century, but was probably known much earlier.

Sage, known now chiefly in association with onions as a seasoning for ducks, geese, and roast pork, was formerly much in vogue as a medicine in the form of tea, and the leaves were also pressed in curd, which, under the name of sage-cheese, was highly esteemed, as well as another cheese, that in which lemon-thyme took the place of sage. Herb-cheese was a Roman delicacy, and one flavoured with parsley seeds is said to have been greatly relished later by Charlemagne, who had first been regaled upon it by a bishop on a fast-day, and enjoyed it so much that he afterwards ordered a supply of these cheeses to be sent to him annually; and, lest the cheesemonger should send them without the due proportion of seeds, he commanded that they should be cut in two and afterwards skewered together.

Thyme is perhaps best known by name from Shakespeare's song, 'I know a bank whereon the wild thyme grows,' but it is highly esteemed for its flavour in seasoning, although a very small quantity suffices.

Mint, so much associated in the popular idea with lamb, is one of a large variety of plants of the same species, most of which are highly valued in many countries for their medicinal virtues. Peppermint is known everywhere, and the menthol, which of late has been so much used for neuralgia, is prepared from a mint, but that which we use in sauce for lamb, is the spearmint.

Marjoram, chervil, basil, and marigold were much used formerly in seasonings, but, like the sorrels, burnet, and garden rocket, which were salad plants in the last century, are seldom seen now. Fennel, also, is little used except as a garnishing, and occasionally as a flavouring in fish sauces, for fashion reigns in food as much as in dress, and the epicures of to-day would turn up their noses at some of the most highly esteemed delicacies of Apicius, whilst the latter would probably scorn the cookery of the most renowned French chef of to-day. We may, however, be thankful that the gluttony of Rome and of ancient Egypt is no longer the fashion. We eat, it is true, often more than hunger requires, but certainly do not indulge in the excesses recorded by ancient historians, although in Russia and Scandinavia it is still the custom to introduce a variety of dishes as a preliminary stimulant to the appetite before dinner. In Russia salt fish, cheese, and brandy serve this purpose; but in Norway and Sweden a greater variety is introduced. Among ourselves, perhaps, oysters may be considered in the same light; and even soups are regarded as a preparation for more solid food. Oysters, however, must now be classed among luxuries, and soups in England are far too rare. We know nothing of the excellent bouillons and vegetable soups which form the invariable prelude to more substantial dishes on the Continent. If an English housewife wants soup she buys an ox-tail, or a pound or two of lean beef, or a calfs head, and the soup thus produced is of course too strong and expensive for family consumption; whereas abroad a very small piece of meat, or none at all, and plenty of vegetables, compose a wholesome and appetising soup at a very small cost.

Our national culinary tastes at present are perhaps too simple. The tables of the wealthy are, of course, supplied with delicacies; but among the middle classes and poor there is a tendency to fancy the plainest of food the most wholesome and economical. A leg of mutton roasted on Sunday, and perhaps only half done, appears on the table cold the greater part of the week, and is finished up on Friday or Saturday in a watery and repellant hash; whereas the same amount of meat, well cooked, with plenty of vegetables, or made into pies or pasties, would make many savoury, appetising, and wholesome dishes, acceptable alike to the elders and children of the household; and the bone crushed and boiled, with the addition of sundry vegetables, peas, lentils, or a tin of tomatoes, would make a splendid soup. Certainly we have much to learn in the way of economical, wholesome, and savoury cookery; and it is sincerely to be hoped that the various schools of cookery, which seem to be slowly arousing an interest among mistresses, will succeed also in inducing servants to study cooking as an art far more worthy of study for them than the piano, French, or embroidery, - an art which, when they get married, will enable them to draw their husbands and sons from the public-house and club, for however cynical the saying may appear, it is yet true that 'a man's heart lies in the region of the stomach.'

I have not attempted in this little book to lay down any hygienic rules as to diet, for I am convinced that in the present day too much attention is paid to what is called the digestibility of food. A healthy stomach ought to be able to eat with relish, of any well-cooked meat in moderation, and the extreme care now taken to give children everything wholesome and nutritious, is tending to produce a nation of valetudinarians in the near future. Sir Henry Thompson has well said: 'The wholesomeness of a food consists solely in its adaptability to the individual, and this relation is governed mainly by the influences of his age, activity, surroundings, and temperament or personal peculiarities.' I have known people to experience indigestion and nausea after eating boiled mutton, who could eat roast pork with impunity.

Whilst carefully avoiding the gluttony and extravagance of the ancients, we need not fall into the opposite extreme, and deem meagreness and bad cooking, household virtues. We need not live to eat, but since we must eat to live, we may as well see that our necessary food is good and appetising.