Soyer's Culinary Campaign: Being Historical Reminiscences of the Late War.: With The Plain Art of Cookery for Military and Civil Institutions

apron. In a word, her whole appearance is religiously simple and unsophisticated. In conversation no member of the fair sex can be more amiable and gentle than Miss Nightingale. Removed from her arduous and cavalier-like duties, which require the nerve of a Hercules,--and she possesses it when required,--she is Rachel on the stage in both tragedy and comedy. During the voyage Miss Nightingale conversed with the captain, Major Campbell, and one or two more gentlemen on board. Dinner-time arrived--four bells apprized us of the fact--the deck was soon cleared, and the table surrounded. The _pièces de résistance_ were attacked on all sides. The last decent piece of roast beef we were to see or partake of for some time was that day before us. Miss Nightingale and the Sisters of Mercy dined in their cabin. The conversation was so very lively, that one might have fancied that we were going on a pleasure excursion instead of the solemn pilgrimage from whence so many were never to return. All bore testimony to the good fare provided by the captain, and exquisite pale sherry flowed in the glasses, in honour first of her Majesty, then Miss Nightingale, next the ladies, and last, not least, the army and navy. Some good old port, with a fine crust, properly decanted without shaking, was then introduced, with the inseparable and justly-famed Stilton cheese and fresh plain salad. This sudden change of countenance in the happy homely groups, who only a few minutes before were as grave as grave--in fact, morally and properly grave, exchanging peaceably word for word while upon deck, cannot be attributed to the walk down, nor to the temperature of the room, or even the charming architectural paintings upon glass which adorned the chief cabin of the _Robert Lowe_, nor the laying out of the table, “which was perfect.” No, not at all. It was the dinner--yes, the dinner!--which made me heartily second the opinion of my illustrious compatriot, Brillat Savarin, when he justly remarks in one of his immortal aphorisms, that if there is one hour spent more pleasantly than another