Roland Cashel Volume I Part 22

"I dinna ken, and I dinna care. It's mair needfu' that one kens hoo to mak' it than to speer wha gave it the name of c.o.c.kie-leekie."

"More properly p.r.o.nounced, _coq a lecher_," said the inexorable Dean.

"The dish is a French one."

"Did ever any one hear the like?" exclaimed Sir Andrew, utterly confounded by the a.s.sertion.

"I confess, Sir Andrew," said Linton, "it's rather hard on Scotland.

They say you stole all your ballad-music from Italy, and now they claim your cookery for France!"

"The record," said the Attorney-General, across the table, "was tried at Trim. Your Lords.h.i.+ps sat with the Chief Baron."

"I remember perfectly; we agreed that the King's Bench ruled right, and that the minor's claim was substantiated." Then turning to Mrs.

Kennyf.e.c.k, who out of politeness had affected to take interest in what she could not even understand a syllable of, he entered into a very learned dissertation on "heritable property," and the great difficulties that lay in the way of defining its limits.

Meanwhile "pipeclay," as is not unsuitably styled mess-table talk, pa.s.sed among the military, with the usual quizzing about regimental oddities. Brownrigg's cob, Hanshaw's whiskers, Talbot's buggy, and Carey's inimitable recipe for punch, the Dean throwing in his negatives here and there, to show that nothing was "too hot or too heavy" for his intellectual fingers.

"Bad law! Mr. Chief Justice," said he, in an authoritative tone. "Doves in a cot, and coneys in a warren, go to the heir. With respect to deer--"

"Oh dear, how tiresome!" whispered Mrs. White to Cashel, who most heartily a.s.sented to the exclamation.

"What's the name o' that beastie, young gentleman?" said Sir Andrew, who overheard Cashel recounting some circ.u.mstances of Mexican life.

"The chiguire,--the wild hog of the Caraccas," said Cashel. "They are a harmless sort of animal, and lead somewhat an unhappy life of it; for when they escape the crocodile in the river, they are certain to fall into the jaws of the jaguar on land."

"Pretty much like a member o' the Scotch Kirk in Ireland," said Sir Andrew, "wi' Episcopaalians on the tae haun, and Papishes on the t.i.ther.

Are thae creatures gude to eat, sir?"

"The flesh is excellent," broke in the Dean. "They are the _Cavia-Capybara_ of Linnaeus, and far superior to our European swine."

"I only know," said Cashel, abruptly, "that _we_ never eat them, except when nothing else was to be had. They are rancid and fishy."

"A mere prejudice, sir," responded the Dean. "If you taste the chiguire, to use the vulgar name, and let him lie in steep in a white-wine vinegar, _en marinade_, as the French say--"

"Where are you to find the white-wine vinegar in the Savannahs?" said Cashel. "You forget, sir, that we are speaking of a country where a fowl roasted in its own feathers is a delicacy."

"Oh, how very singular! Do you mean that you eat it, feathers and all?"

said Mrs. White.

"No, madam. It's a prairie dish, which, I a.s.sure you, after all, is not to be despised. The _plat_ is made this way. You take a fowl,--the wild turkey, when lucky enough to find one,--and cover him all over with soft red clay; the river clay is the best. You envelop him completely; in fact, you make a great ball, somewhat the size of a man's head. This done, you light a fire, and bake the ma.s.s. It requires, probably, five or six hours to make the clay perfectly hard and dry. When it cracks, the dish is done. You then break open the sh.e.l.l, to the outside of which the feathers adhere, and the fowl, deliciously roasted, stands before you."

"How very excellent,--_le poulet braise_ of the French, exactly," said Lord Kilgoff.

"How cruel!" "How droll!" "How very shocking!" resounded through the table; the Dean the only one silent, for it was a theme on which, most singular to say, he could neither record a denial nor a correction.

"I vote for a picnic," cried Mrs. White, "and Mr. Cashel shall cook us his _dinde a la Mexicaine_."

"An excellent thought," said several of the younger part of the company.

"A very bad one, in my notion," said Lord Kilgoff, who had no fancy for seeing her Ladys.h.i.+p scaling cliffs, and descending steep paths, when his own frail limbs did not permit of accompanying her. "Picnics are about as vulgar a pastime as one can imagine. Your dinner is ever a failure; your wine detestable; your table equipage arrives smashed or topsy-turvy--" "_Unde_ topsy-turvy?--_unde_, topsy-turvy, Softly?" said the Dean, turning fiercely on the curate. "Whence topsyturvy? Do you give it up? Do you, Mr. Attorney? Do you, my Lord? do you give it up, eh? I thought so! Topsy-turvy, _quasi_, top side t' other way."

"It's vera ingenious," said Sir Andrew; "but I maun say I see no neecessity to be always looking back to whare a word gat his birth, parentage, or eddication."

"It suggests unpleasant a.s.sociations," said Lord Kilgoff, looking maliciously towards Linton, who was playing too agreeable to her Ladys.h.i.+p. "The etymology is the key to the true meaning. Sir, many of those expressions popularly termed bulls--"

"Oh, _apropos_ of bulls," said Mr. Meek, in his sweetest accent, "did you hear of a very singular outrage committed yesterday upon the Lord Lieutenant's beautiful Swiss bull?"

"Did the Dean pa.s.s an hour with him?" whispered Linton to Lady Janet, who hated the dignitary.

"It must have been done by mesmerism, I fancy," rejoined Mr. Meek.

"The animal, a most fierce one, was discovered lying in his paddock, so perfectly fettered, head, horns, and feet, that he could not stir. There is every reason to connect the outrage with a political meaning; for in this morning's paper, 'The Green Isle,' there is a letter from Mr.

O'Bleather, with a most significant allusion to the occurrence.

'The time is not distant,' says he, 'when John Bull,'--mark the phrase,--'tied, fettered, and trammelled, shall lie prostrate at the feet of the once victim of his tyranny.'"

"The sedition is most completely proven by the significance of the act,"

cried out the Chief Justice.

"We have, consequently, offered a reward for the discovery of the perpetrators of this insolent offence, alike a crime against property, as an act subversive of the respectful feeling due to the representative of the sovereign."

"What is the amount offered?" said Cashel.

"One hundred pounds, for such information as may lead to the conviction of the person or persons transgressing," replied the Attorney-General.

"I feel it would be very unfair to suffer the Government to proceed in an error as to the affair in question; so that I shall claim the reward, and deliver up the offender," replied Cashel, smiling.

"Who can it be?" cried Mr. Meek, in astonishment "Myself, sir," said Cashel. "If you should proceed by indictment, as you speak of, I hope the Misses Kennyf.e.c.k may not have to figure as 'aiding and abetting,'

for they were present when I la.s.soed the animal."

"La.s.soed the Swiss bull!" exclaimed several together.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 162]

"Nothing more simple," said the Dean, holding up his napkin over Mrs.

Kennyf.e.c.k's head, to the manifest terror of that lady for her yellow turban. "You take the loop of a long light rope, and, measuring the distance with your eye, you make the cast, in this manner--"

"Oh dear! oh, Mr. Dean; my bird-of-paradise plume!"

"When you represent a bull, ma'am, you should not have feathers,"

rejoined the implacable Dean, with a very rough endeavor to restore the broken plume. "Had you held your head lower down, in the att.i.tude of a bull's attack, I should have la.s.soed you at once, and without difficulty."

"La.s.so is part of the verb 'to weary,' 'to fatigue,' 'to _ennuyer,_ in fact," said Mr. Linton, with an admirably-put-on simplicity; and a very general smile ran through the company.

"When did you see Gosford?" said Meek, addressing one of the hussar officers, eager to relieve the momentary embarra.s.sment.

"Not for six months; he 's in Paris now." "Does he mention _me_ in his letter to you?"

"He does," said the other, but with an evident constraint, and a side-look as he ended.

"Yes, faith, he forgets nane of us," said Sir Andrew, with a grin. "He asks after Kannyfack,--ould sax-and-eightpence, he ca's you,--and says he wished you were at Paris, to gie him a dinner at the--what d' ye ca' it?--the Roshy de something. I see he has a word for ye, my Lord Kilgoff. He wants to know whether my leddie is like to gie ye an heir to the ancient house o' Kilgoff, in whilk case he 'll no be so fond of playing ecarte wi' George Lus.h.i.+ngton, wha has naething to pay wi' except post-obits on yer lords.h.i.+p,--he, he, he! Ay, and Charlie, my man,"

continued he, turning to the aide-de-camp, Lord Charles Frobisher, "he asks if ye hauld four by honors as often as ye used formerly; he says there 's a fellow at Paris ye could n't hold a candle to,--he never deals the adversary a card higher than the nine."