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

as far as the hospital, to pay my duty to her. You must know, Monsieur Soyer, that Miss Nightingale is very fond of me. When I passed through Scutari, she very kindly gave me board and lodging.” This was about the twentieth time the old lady had told me the same tale. Shaking her by the hand-- “Good-bye, my son,” said she; “I wish you had let me taste some of that fine dish you made yesterday.” “How could I, my dear mother? I did not know you were there.” At this point of the conversation, the Egyptian beauty, her daughter Sarah, entered. “My dear Sally, how are you?” said I. “I never see you in our alley now.” “Go along with you!” said smiling Sally; “you are always making fun of me.” “Fun of you, my dear?--never. I swear by your blue eyes and black hair, that I never do. Do I, mother?” “If you did, it would not matter; a little innocent mirth now and then does one good. For my part, my son, I could not live without laughing.” “Yes; but you told a certain colonel that it was I who was dressed as a Scotchman at the French ball given the other day in honour of the young Emperor.” “What harm is there in that? All the great people were invited, and why should you not have been there?” “Indeed, do you think mother or myself would go to such a place, where the women wear soldiers’ clothes? Not likely. And what soldiers?--the Scotch Brigade!” We all laughed; and I then parted, quite pleased with Sally’s modesty. Sally richly deserves the title of the Dark, instead of Fair, Maid of the Eastern War. On my return to the hospital, I found Miss Nightingale had arrived, accompanied by the chaplain, Mr. Hone, who informed me that she could not possibly go through the camp that day. As I was thus disengaged, I called upon Mrs. Stuart, in order to inquire whether she required anything in my department. To my astonishment, she informed me that a field-stove, of