Let us come to our bachelor apartment. Jim — big, bustling, hearty fellow as he is — has come in. I have been buried for the last half-hour in Charles Lamb’s dissertation on “ Roast Pig.” “ I say, old chap,” says he, “ I’m deucedly hun- gry*—what’s in the larder ? ” “ Nothing but mushrooms,” I reply. “ Ye gods ! ” I knock the ashes from my pipe, and poke the fire a bit. " Well, you are a good ’un,” says Jim. Noth- Mushrooms for “Jim.' 1 3 mg could be better. But oh, for a broiled mush- room on toast ! ” “You shall have it.” “ In a chafing-dish ? Come off, old man ! ” This is how I did it : In the first place, they were fresh — just from the field where I had found them. Into the chafing- dish I put some sweet olive-oil — just enough to flood it. Then a teaspoonful of paprika, a divina- tion of black pepper, and a pinch of salt. Into this I placed the mushrooms, hollow part upward, put on the cover, and they browned in — well, say ten minutes. Turning them into a covered dish, I put two slices of bread into the hot pan with half an ounce of butter✪ Broiled Mushrooms on Toast. In a few seconds they were heated sufficiently to serve the mushrooms upon. I It is useless to set down the culinary invention of such a connoisseur, for instance, as George Au- gustus Sala, before a hungry canal-boat driver, and look expectantly for an intellectual smile of satisfaction. Some men simply eat to live until another day, not with the cheering prospect that they may eat again. To-morrow’s meals are, to many, a tiresome necessity. And, too, I do not care for the glutton who lives to eat ; but give me a moderate man who thinks well, and, when free from his professional duties, says to you, with a hearty slap and just a suspicion of a smack to his lips, “ Look here, old man, what do you say to a chop ? I know the cosiest place in town — something to see while you eat — a regular crank on paintings and etchings, don’t you know — the best men go there, and all that.” That’s the kind of a fellow Jim is. He talks just that way, and never speaks about anything more serious when he is hungry than a chop or a steak; but when you are seated at the little pol- ished table with him, he has such an insidious Jim's Dinner. 15 way of making you believe you are hungrier than you are, and that you know a great deal more about the proper thing than you do, that the first thing you know “you are like a house afire” with enthusiasm, as he used to say. Sometimes Jim would be hard up at an exceed- ingly unfortunate time — just when I was. On one of these occasions he said to me : “ We’ll have to go it light, old man — simply a snack of something or other.” Then we would have a bisque by the way of a soup, with some toast and anchovy paste, to start off on. Of course nothing could be better ; it was all so deucedly appetizing ! Then would come some calf’s tongue in brown sauce, with a trium- phant tinge of flavor that Jim had suggested him- self. Then a salad — chicory with plain dressing — ■ followed by Rocquefort cheese that was solemnly declared to be genuine. Meanwhile we had com- pletely destroyed a bottle of Chablis, and ended with black coffee and Benedictine, and a cigar that he knew how to recommend. There was not much variety to that, was there ? Oh, but it was all very hearty and chummy, and we would wax warm in friendship over it.

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Let us come to our bachelor apartment. Jim — big, bustling, hearty fellow as he is — has come in. I have been buried for the last half-hour in Charles Lamb’s dissertation on “ Roast Pig.” “ I say, old chap,” says he, “ I’m deucedly hun- gry*—what’s in the larder ? ” “ Nothing but mushrooms,” I reply. “ Ye gods ! ” I knock the ashes from my pipe, and poke the fire a bit. " Well, you are a good ’un,” says Jim. Noth- Mushrooms for “Jim.' 1 3 mg could be better. But oh, for a broiled mush- room on toast ! ” “You shall have it.” “ In a chafing-dish ? Come off, old man ! ” This is how I did it : In the first place, they were fresh — just from the field where I had found them. Into the chafing- dish I put some sweet olive-oil — just enough to flood it. Then a teaspoonful of paprika, a divina- tion of black pepper, and a pinch of salt. Into this I placed the mushrooms, hollow part upward, put on the cover, and they browned in — well, say ten minutes. Turning them into a covered dish, I put two slices of bread into the hot pan with half an ounce of butter. In a few seconds they were heated sufficiently to serve the mushrooms upon. I It is useless to set down the culinary invention of such a connoisseur, for instance, as George Au- gustus Sala, before a hungry canal-boat driver, and look expectantly for an intellectual smile of satisfaction. Some men simply eat to live until another day, not with the cheering prospect that they may eat again. To-morrow’s meals are, to many, a tiresome necessity. And, too, I do not care for the glutton who lives to eat ; but give me a moderate man who thinks well, and, when free from his professional duties, says to you, with a hearty slap and just a suspicion of a smack to his lips, “ Look here, old man, what do you say to a chop ? I know the cosiest place in town — something to see while you eat — a regular crank on paintings and etchings, don’t you know — the best men go there, and all that.” That’s the kind of a fellow Jim is. He talks just that way, and never speaks about anything more serious when he is hungry than a chop or a steak; but when you are seated at the little pol- ished table with him, he has such an insidious Jim's Dinner. 15 way of making you believe you are hungrier than you are, and that you know a great deal more about the proper thing than you do, that the first thing you know “you are like a house afire” with enthusiasm, as he used to say. Sometimes Jim would be hard up at an exceed- ingly unfortunate time — just when I was. On one of these occasions he said to me : “ We’ll have to go it light, old man — simply a snack of something or other.” Then we would have a bisque by the way of a soup, with some toast and anchovy paste, to start off on. Of course nothing could be better ; it was all so deucedly appetizing ! Then would come some calf’s tongue in brown sauce, with a trium- phant tinge of flavor that Jim had suggested him- self. Then a salad — chicory with plain dressing — ■ followed by Rocquefort cheese that was solemnly declared to be genuine. Meanwhile we had com- pletely destroyed a bottle of Chablis, and ended with black coffee and Benedictine, and a cigar that he knew how to recommend. There was not much variety to that, was there ? Oh, but it was all very hearty and chummy, and we would wax warm in friendship over it.

The bachelor and the chafing dish