Theres Pippins and Cheese to Come | Page 5

stirred. Seizing an armful of the papers,
he leaped down the attic steps, three at a time. His lady mother thrust a
curled and papered head from her door and asked whether the chimney
were afire, but he did not heed her. The cook was waddling in her
pattens. He cried to her to throw wood upon the fire.
That night the Digby household was served a delicacy, red herrings
broiled in the fashion of my Lord d'Aubigny, "short and crisp and laid
upon a sallet." Also, there was a wheaten flommery as it was made in
the West Country--for the cook chose quite at random--and a slip-coat
cheese as Master Phillips proportioned it. Also, against the colic, which
was ravishing the country, the cook prepared a metheglin as Lady
Stuart mixed it--"nettles, fennel and grumel seeds, of each two ounces
being small-cut and mixed with honey and boiled together." It is on
record that the Lady Digby smiled for the first time since her lord had
died, and when the grinning cook bore in the platter, she beat upon the
table with her spoon.
The following morning, Sir Kenelm's son posted to London bearing the
recipes, with a pistol in the pocket of his great coat against the crossing

of Hounslow Heath. He went to a printer at the Star in Little Britain
whose name was H. Brome.
Shortly the book appeared. It was the son who wrote the preface:
"There needs no Rhetoricating Floscules to set it off. The Authour, as is
well known, having been a Person of Eminency for his Learning, and
of Exquisite Curiosity in his Researches. Even that Incomparable Sir
Kenelme Digbie Knight, Fellow of the Royal Society and Chancellour
to the Queen Mother, (Et omen in Nomine) His name does sufficiently
Auspicate the Work." The sale of the book is not recorded. It is
supposed that the Lady Middlesex, so many of whose recipes had been
used, directed that her chair be carried to the shop where the book was
for sale and that she bought largely of it. The Countess of Dorset
bought a copy and spelled it out word for word to her cook. As for the
Lady Monmouth, she bought not a single copy, which neglect on
coming to the Digbys aroused a coolness.
To this day it is likely that a last auspicated volume still sits on its shelf
with the spice jars in some English country kitchen and that a worn and
toothless cook still thumbs its leaves. If the guests about the table be of
an antique mind, still will they pledge one another with its honeyed
drinks, still will they pipe and whistle of its virtues, still will they--
"EAT"--A flaring sign hangs above the sidewalk. By this time, in our
noonday search for food, we have come into the thick of the restaurants.
In the jungle of the city, here is the feeding place. Here come the
growling bipeds for such bones and messes as are thrown them.
The waiter thrusts a card beneath my nose. "Nice leg of lamb, sir?" I
waved him off. "Hold a bit!" I cried. "You'll fetch me a capon in white
broth as my Lady Monmouth broileth hers. Put plentiful sack in it and
boil it until it simpreth!" The waiter scratched his head. "The chicken
pie is good," he said. "It's our Wednesday dish." "Varlet!" I cried--then
softened. "Let it be the chicken pie! But if the cook knoweth the
manner that Lord Carlile does mix and pepper it, let that manner be
followed to the smallest fraction of a pinch!"

On Buying Old Books
By some slim chance, reader, you may be the kind of person who, on a
visit to a strange city, makes for a bookshop. Of course your slight
temporal business may detain you in the earlier hours of the day. You
sit with committees and stroke your profound chin, or you spend your
talent in the market, or run to and fro and wag your tongue in
persuasion. Or, if you be on a holiday, you strain yourself on the sights
of the city, against being caught in an omission. The bolder features of
a cathedral must be grasped to satisfy a quizzing neighbor lest he
shame you later on your hearth, a building must be stuffed inside your
memory, or your pilgrim feet must wear the pavement of an ancient
shrine. However, these duties being done and the afternoon having not
yet declined, do you not seek a bookshop to regale yourself?
Doubtless, we have met. As you have scrunched against the shelf not to
block the passage, but with your head thrown back to see the titles up
above, you have noticed at the corner of your eye--unless it was one of
your