*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79020 ***




                               THE SPOON:
                                  WITH
                 UPWARDS OF ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS,
           PRIMITIVE, EGYPTIAN, ROMAN, MEDIÆVAL, AND MODERN.


                         BY HABBAKUK O. WESTMAN,

                          OF THE GLOBE TAVERN;
                  FORMERLY TEACHER OF A PUBLIC SCHOOL.

                             BEING A PART OF

 THE TRANSACTIONS OF THE SOCIETY OF LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CHIFFONIERS,

            ILLUSTRATING THE PRIMITIVE ARTS IN DOMESTIC LIFE.

                                 LONDON:

                   WILEY & PUTNAM, 6, WATERLOO PLACE.




                             ADVERTISEMENT.


‘THE SPOON’ is the first of a series of papers designed to elucidate the
origin, history, and value of several primitive devices, which, from
their apparent insignificance, have been overlooked by writers on the
useful arts; but which have not been without their influence on the
progress of civilization. As it was out of the question to treat every
subject with the gravity due to historical research—to do so a writer
must be the personification of melancholy herself—the idea was adopted
of embracing them under the ‘Transactions’ of a Society, whose name
should indicate their miscellaneous character, and relative value among
literary merchandize. Small as this value may be, there are persons
simple enough to suppose the annals of the shuttle and needle, of
bellows and boilers, &c. possess higher claims on the attention of the
moralist, philosopher, and historian, than many dignified tomes of
acknowledged history; for what are these, when divested of extraneous
matters, but records of the club, sword and bayonet, the musket, cannon,
and scaffold?

                                                         THE PUBLISHERS.




                                PREFACE.


A Turkish shepherd tending his flocks in the vicinity of Adrianople,
bethought of solacing himself with a few whiffs of tobacco. Seated on
the ground, under the shade of a tree, he drew from a pouch his
apparatus for striking fire, but found the piece of flint missing. He
therefore arose, looked about for a stone, and at length picked up a
pebble, which answered the purpose so well that he used it daily for a
year or more. It came to pass that a Jewish pedlar one morning
approached as the boor was lighting his pipe. The Israelite took a fancy
to the stone, and bought it for a few aspers—soon after which, it shone
the largest and brightest gem in the turban of Mahomet IV:—Now every
reader of this book will either resemble the disciple of Moses or the
Mahommedan keeper of sheep. It is true, diamonds are not concealed
within the leaves; yet he who has wit to detect, _aurum e stercore_,
gold from dirt—will certainly meet with something more than materials to
light a cigar.

_New-York, February, 1844._




                             INTRODUCTION:

  _Embracing a Sketch of the Origin and Organization of the Society of
                             Chiffonniers._


COURTEOUS READER:

                  In the character of an author I beg leave to salute
thee as my reader; and, as host of “The Globe,” as my guest. Having for
some time kept an establishment for the accommodation of travellers—that
is, for supplying at moderate charges such conveniences and refreshments
as are necessary to comfort and strengthen the body or outer man, I have
lately been induced, indeed in a manner compelled, by the rage of
competition, to add a new branch to the business; a department for
providing various cates and delicious dainties to cheer and invigorate
the spirit or inner man—to the end that both the mental and material
palates of my patrons may be gratified at my table.

This, it is suspected, will become a general practice. As libraries are
expelling decanters from steamers; sojourners at hotels will next
require landlords to furnish literary as well as culinary food—books as
well as butcher’s meat; philosophical essays and fashionable novels as
well as pasties and beef à la mode. A change is passing over the world
and none feel it more than those in my line. Temperance has already
turned bar-rooms out of doors; while, from the efforts made by new
doctors on diet, it is likely kitchens will soon have to follow. So far
as I am concerned, the change will not be disagreeable, for I still
prefer Horace to Kitchiner, and Tully to Mrs. Glasse. I can have no
objection to imitate Phædo, who kept a victualing shop, and entertained
those whom he fed; for like him I may peradventure have a Socrates for a
boarder. May I hope, gentle guest, our acquaintance will be as agreeable
to thyself as to me—that the fare to be set before thee will be to thy
taste, and that I and my family may often have the prof—I mean the
pleasure of thy company.

Ahem—It never was my wont to make excuses when my stock of viands was
low; yet, sooth to say, the pantry is at present bare of fresh meats and
of game. Vegetable and other watery aliments have been so much cried up
in these parts, that old dealers in sirloins and haunches have been
driven from the trade; some have taken stands in the fish-market, others
opened stores for the sale of garden truck, and not a few have begun to
vend “cookies and candies,” which last, strange to say, are found the
most profitable. All I can therefore promise thee on the present
occasion is a simple dish, or rather a wholesome bowl of spoon-meat—_un
dejeuné à la cuiller_. I pray thee let not thine anger kindle at this
announcement, for, on my veracity and hopes of public favor, it is a
pleasant and not an unsubstantial food—a rather thick, but still an
agreeable, acidulous fluid—one in which thou wilt find (what Englishmen
erroneously attribute to beer) both meat and drink—though certainly not
washing and mending, which Irishmen, it is said, formerly ascribed to
their whiskey.

Its appearance may not be enticing to “queasy” appetites, but I have
seldom known a customer who, after once tasting it, did not lick the
dish clean. Pray excuse me: I am oblivious in bringing into the parlor
expressions belonging to the kitchen. But I scorn to take advantage of
any one—to decoy customers by false colors; _i. e._ by hanging out
signboards which promise what I cannot supply. Thou hast seen my
_signum_ on the title page, where it honestly indicates, as honest signs
should do, the entertainment to be had within; and to convince thee of
the liberal principles on which I am determined to build up my business,
I ask not a doit for the meal of which thou art about to partake—all
that is required of thee is to meet the small charge of the publisher
for this “bill of fare.” Having done that—there is a seat—here comes thy
food—now sit thee down, and in the language of mine ancient brethren of
the spigot and spit, “much good may it do thee.”

There is one thing it behooves me to say, since it will, I trust,
assist in making our acquaintance more lasting than from a temporary
visit it otherwise might be. People of my profession are natural
judges of character. Without knowing how, we become practical
physiognomists—comprehending at a glance a stranger’s disposition, his
station in society, and often the state of his purse—not that the
latter excites my curiosity as it does that of unworthy members of the
craft—men whose attentions are graduated by their ideas of the
repletion or collapsion of a customer’s pockets. Now there are traits
in thy countenance of a cultivated and ingenuous mind—marks stamped by
Nature on her favorite offspring. Hence it is not less my duty than my
desire to make thy short stay with me agreeable.

It was formerly a custom of respectable hosts to entertain an esteemed
guest during his first refection with pleasant stories, traditions,
local news, or other matters; on which account, chiefly, inns or taverns
became known as “houses of entertainment.” Attached as I am to the good
old ways of our forefathers, I will take this chair and relate some
particulars which will not be distasteful to so amiable a spirit as
thine. They will prepare thee for the company of a number of gentlemen,
whom I hope to have the honor of introducing to thee, members of a
society whose meetings are held once a week in my house. If I have not
misjudged thy character, thou wilt be amused with their conversation;
and wilt moreover learn the names of some new dishes, which, with their
assistance, I hope shortly to serve to my customers.

I have here an abridged history of the association, drawn up by the
secretary. It commences thus:

“The society was organized by a few plain individuals whose time was
taken up during the day with the current occupations of life. Men of
moderate capacities and attainments, they united to a little general
knowledge a pretty large amount of ambition, for they determined not to
be overlooked in the general herd of the living, and _not_ to sink into
instant oblivion at death. They had no idea of having their
individualities amalgamated with the myriads travelling with them to the
grave—like drops of rain in a shower, undistinguishable from each other
while falling, and never to be identifiable afterwards. They therefore
cast about for the means of making some noise in the world, or of so
performing their parts on its theatre, that if they could not secure the
applause conferred on first rate actors, they would try to avoid the
silence of contempt, that attends the entrance of poor ones, and the
momentary shrug conferred on the exit of quiet ones.

“Impressed with these views, they concluded to form themselves into some
kind of library or philosophical society, this appearing the most
promising mode of acquiring notoriety. They hoped in this way to
accomplish jointly what they could not do individually, viz. get up
something in the shape of a BOOK, which should make them known while
they lived, and remain a memorial of them after their decrease. It
signified little how poor the performance might be, or how unfit they
were to perform it, for they were aware that the more incapable an
author is the more likely he is sometimes to be remembered; his
unfitness being the very cause of his notoriety. They instanced the case
of W. READ, an English baronet, who published a work on optics, and
could neither write a line of it nor peruse one; or even tell when his
book was upside down—a circumstance by which alone he is still
remembered, and his name renewed in print.

“Then, as for the number of copies sold—should they be many or few—some
stray ones would be almost sure to wander through a century, if not a
longer period; and suppose the leaves _then_ distributed by grocers, as
envelopes of tea, cheese, or soap; or pasted as linings in trunks; they
might perchance call up some recollections of, or enquiries about, the
authors. Nay, if a dozen copies only were printed, future bibliomaniacs
would certainly treasure them up like Queen Anne’s farthings—or like the
twenty-six volumes of sermons by WILLIAM DAVY, a Devonshire clergyman,
of the last century, of which the first and only edition consisted of
fourteen copies. A bookworm prizes one of these as a treasure; and
hence, the members of the proposed association hoped some bookworms of
the twentieth century would cluck over a few impressions of their work,
as brooding hens over their callow young.

“The first thing was to agree on a plan, as success would depend
principally upon the wisdom with which it was drawn up, and the energy
and prudence with which it was carried out. Several meetings were held,
and numerous measures suggested. Mr. Delf thought it would not be amiss
to run over a host of institutions already established. Perhaps, (said
he,) by modifying or by joining one of them, our objects might be
attained. The idea was acted on, but none were found to be precisely
what was wanted. Mr. Digwell remarked, that it would not answer at all
to unite with any. We are (he observed) men of ordinary abilities, of
humble pretensions, and never can attain distinction among abler
persons. Instead of seeking initiation into Lyceums, Academies, and
other bodies of the learned, among whom we can only be hewers of wood
and drawers of water, lighters of lamps and riddlers of ashes—‘helps,’
not members of the family—we ought to establish ourselves on
independent, unoccupied ground. Let us have a field of our own, however
small it may be—one that borders on no other people’s property. [‘A
pretty large field, that,’ observed Dr. Swallow.] I beg pardon; I meant
one so clearly defined, so well enclosed, that there might be no danger
of us trespassing on our neighbor’s grounds, or they hunting on ours.

“I am not prepared at this moment to say where such a field is, but I am
persuaded it is to be had. One to which other associations have no
claim—to which their ‘tracks’ do not lead. It would indeed be unworthy
of us to attempt a location where the title might be disputed; and sure
I am we could not start a new settlement in the vicinity of our
predecessors without being abused as intruders, if not served with writs
of ejectment.

[Illustration:

  _Plate 1_ _Primitive_

  _Lith. of E. Jones 123 Fulton S^t. N.Y._
]

“Look at the hosts of regular associations for the promotion of
_science_ in general, and others to extend its separate departments; the
world is full of them; they swarm every where. It is the same with
_literary_ societies: these are as common as ‘Common Schools,’ and
excite about the same amount of interest. Academies of the _fine arts_,
and institutions for _agricultural_ and _mechanic arts_, abound in every
village. Their name is legion. So it is with _religious_, _moral_, and
_active benevolent_ societies. The best, at any rate the most
attractive, sites are all taken up—not a yard is left between those
cultivated by national institutes, and such as are covered by parish
associations for the gratuitous distribution of soup.”

[These sentiments were evidently approved, but as the evening was far
advanced, a proposal was made to adjourn; when Mr. Jacob Christener rose
and begged leave to say a few words.]

“The gentleman is right, Mr. Chairman, and I thank him for so clearly
opening the way for a motion I have to make. He has strengthened my
convictions of its propriety, and given me the confidence I lacked to
bring it forward. It seems to me, sir, the only plan open to us is the
one I am about to propose, and if we don’t lay hold of it, others will.
It has hitherto been unthought of, but cannot long remain concealed.
Reject it, and farewell to the happiness anticipated from our union
while we live, and to the odor that is to exhale from our names after
death. Adopt it, and this night we become the parents of a society whose
auxiliaries will rise up in every land. In twelve months, we shall want
a travelling agent, a foreign sec—”

[Here the speaker was interrupted with cries of “What is it?” “There’s
no time for a preface to-night!” “Order!” &c.]

“Well, gentlemen, to be short, then: I propose that we organize
ourselves into ‘_The Society of Literary and Scientific Chiffonniers_.’
[On this announcement, an explosion burst forth simultaneously from
every mouth, except the speaker’s, and some good humored remarks were
exchanged. When the excitement had a little subsided, he continued:] I
was prepared for this; I expected as much; but hear me out, and then be
as merry as you please. If a better plan be not brought forward—one
equally original, and less open to objections—why, then it will be my
turn to laugh.

“Here have we been engaged this evening five mortal hours, without
agreeing on the character of the proposed association, chiefly from the
difficulty of steering clear of those already established. We admit the
latter are too numerous to allow an additional one of the same kind any
chance of success. Why, then, excite a competition we lack means to
carry on? It would be folly to attempt it; besides, we are agreed that
no modification of any old institution can meet our wants. Now, the plan
I propose is derived from and indebted to none. It crowds on and
interferes with none, but gives to all a wide berth. There is no danger
of our ever being amalgamated with any. Our identity will be preserved,
for none will be in a hurry to adopt our designation or infringe on our
labors.

“Let us be candid, at least among ourselves. We are, then, philosophical
mendicants. We have no property of our own—not a scrap—and we confess
inability to originate any. Whatever we get must come from other people;
hence, as members of established societies, we could not succeed, or
even be respected, for we have nothing to command respect; and I risk
little in saying, if we made application for admission, nine-tenths of
us would be blackballed. As well expect Chambers of Commerce to offer
scavengers seats and votes at their boards; or extensive dealers in dry
goods to receive the owners of apple stands into their firms. There are
but two ways to realize anything—honestly and roguishly; or, as the
saying is, ‘by hook or by crook.’ Now, as we disavow all ideas of hooks,
(except the small and harmless ones by which chiffonniers raise moist
matters into their baskets or bags,) we must, to succeed in any other
society, give value for the property we acquire—but this we cannot do—or
receive it as alms—which we won’t do. What, then, is left for us, but to
pick up what others throw away? From my experience, gentlemen, I assert
there is more to be thus got, than you are aware of. With industry, we
can acquire wealth—a local habitation and a name—wealth that none will
dispute with us; for it will consist of a mass of minute matters, which,
individually considered, the owners will be ashamed to claim. If we
cannot deal in webs and wholesale packages of fresh goods, we shall
become extensive jobbers in fragments of old goods.

“Pray, who can interfere with our ranging the bye-paths and alleys, the
cellars and garrets of science, in search of lumber—to pick up, as it
were, bits of rags, bones, and glass, with other small matters, which
the wealthy throw out, and the proud step over? None. On the contrary,
we can rake at our leisure the kennels, and stir up heaps of cinders and
street sweepings, without let or hindrance; and, depend upon it, we
shall every now and then meet with a godsend, (as our prototypes often
do, in the shape of a silver spoon or fork, thrown out in slops by
slipshod scullions.) Yes, industrious chiffonniers, we shall bring many
rare and lost things to light—things singularly _recherché_—curious and
useful as those found in historical and antiquarian collections. If we
are true to ourselves, the ‘Chiffonniers’ Repository’ will soon equal in
interest any other.

“Our labors will be pleasant; we can carry off what we fancy, and leave
what is disagreeable. They will be profitable. Many a chiffonnier has
purchased the house in front of which he once looked out for chiffons,
has changed conditions with its owner, thrown off his professional garb
and stepped into the parlor, lounged as a gentleman on his own sofa, and
listened to the warblings of his daughters at the piano! And who knows,
Mr. Chairman, but we shall do so too—shall hold our meetings in stately
buildings now belonging to other societies, compete with the wealthy
Nestors of knowledge in their own halls, and perhaps at last turn them
out of their own doors! [Cries of ‘Hear! Hear!’ interrupted the
speaker.]

“Think, gentlemen, how interesting our meetings will be. When a member
brings in his budget and displays his gatherings, who can sit still? Who
can restrain his curiosity? Verily, not one of us! Then what original,
erudite, and racy remarks will be made! Here, a speaker descanting on
the value of spoons, or the history of gridirons; there, another
relating the adventures of a stocking foot, which he proves once had a
place in Queen Elizabeth’s or Madame Maintenon’s wardrobe. This member
gives a lecture on the value of many simple and primitive devices which
the world never thinks of; and that, shows the claims which the trammel
and tinder-box have on the gratitude of mankind!

“Another word, and I have done: We shall have a jubilee once a year; for
I propose that we offer a collection of chiffons at public sale, every
spring or fall. Then will buyers of miscellanies crowd our marts, and
bring us their wealth in exchange for our wares! We shall make a kind of
Leipsic Fair of it! Gentlemen, our prospects are glorious; they brighten
as we gaze at them. I feel animated by anticipations of success. I see
that as Chiffonniers we shall ascend the rugged mount on which stands
the temple of Fame, and get there before others who are now half way up.
Bless us! what a welcome the old lady will give us to her abode! What a
blast she will blow in honor of chiffonniering!—in praise of a new set
of men who have cut a new path to her dwelling!”

[The speaker sat down amidst much acclamation.]

“The discussion here closed for the evening, and was resumed on the
following one, when an extended and animated debate was kept up to a
late hour. Various slight modifications of the plan suggested were
brought forward. They will be understood from the style or title by
which each speaker proposed to designate the body. The most striking
were: ‘Odds and Ends Association,’ ‘Literary Rag Society,’ ‘Scientific
Scrap ditto,’ ‘Miscellany Club,’ ‘Chiffonniers’ Institute,’ ‘Society for
reviving the claims and preserving memorials of sundry Primitive
Inventions,’ ‘Emporium of Philosophical Small Wares.’ The general
feeling settled on the fourth and fifth. At the first ballot, the votes
stood equally in favor of the Miscellanarians and the Chiffonniers—but
on the second, the street rovers and rag pickers were triumphant.

“The Chiffonniers admitted ‘The Miscellany Club’ would be a more
respectable designation; and the Miscellanarians conceded that ‘The
Chiffonniers’ Institute’ was characteristic and select. By a subsequent
and unanimous vote, the latter was changed to ‘_The Society of Literary
and Scientific Chiffonniers_,’ as at first proposed.

“A constitution was next agreed on. It declares the objects of the
society to be, the picking up of literary, philosophical, mechanical, or
other fragments, from unusual or neglected sources, and to revive the
claims of simple, and what are generally deemed insignificant, devices.
It is the duty of each member to visit odd and out of the way places,
open to him, in search of chiffons. Common subjects of discussion are
excluded at the meetings. A paper on matches or walking-sticks would be
applauded, while one on the strength or other properties of timber would
be a signal for the author’s expulsion. A communication on costume would
be received perhaps with indifference, but if confined to a single
article of apparel, or to a fragment of one, would be hailed with
acclamation. A lecture on any regular manufacture, as glass making, iron
founding, earthen ware, the furniture of a parlor or kitchen, &c. would
hardly be admissible; but one on a bottle, or part of one, on a caldron,
a pipkin, a broken chair, or a cheese grater, would rejoice the hearts
of the members. Every chiffonnier to prepare a paper or lecture on a
chiffon, in his turn.

“At the first meeting under the constitution, the expressive apothegm
‘_Vive la Bagatelle_’ was selected as the Society’s motto. The author of
the plan adopted was chosen President, but as Mr. Christener persisted
in declining the chair, to which he was entitled, the late Dr. Nathan
Swallow was elected, though not by a unanimous vote. No other member
possessed such varied qualifications. His experience with men and
matters was extensive, for he had dabbled in almost every thing, but
succeeded in few.

          “Had been every thing by starts, but nothing long.”

“How he came by his title is a vexed question, as he was never known to
have studied medicine, nor to have dealt in drugs, except one which no
longer holds a place in the pharmacopia. Alchemy was his favorite study,
and he is said to have made a near approach to projection; _i. e._ to
the composition of a powder which, thrown into certain ingredients,
transmutes them to gold. Certain it is, he realized money by a secret of
this kind, while others who tried it were ruined. One person of property
lost his all in two years; and another was beggared in less time, and
consigned, a hopeless maniac, to a lunatic asylum; but the history of
modern as well as ancient alchemy is full of such things.

“He talked on all subjects, practical or theoretical, physical or
metaphysical; on the properties of iron and whiskey, colors and
calicoes, filial obedience and the philosopher’s stone; on the evils of
theatres, and the performance of crack actors. He occasionally performed
Falstaff, and without stuffing, for he was what the French call _chargé
de cuisine_. Columbus himself was not more embued with the spirit of
adventure. Within a fortnight of first hearing the terms geognosy,
hornblende, serpentine, trilobite, and madrepore, in a conversation
between two geologists, he had a person at work labeling a basket of
minerals; and getting the names of a dozen by heart, boldly proposed to
undertake the survey of a state. An extraordinary chiffonnier, he dashed
without hesitancy into every opening where chiffons were likely to be
had—he was not one of those who confine themselves to street sweepings,
but was ever on the _qui vive_ for wholesale speculations. Dryden
certainly must have dreamt of him when describing Buckingham, for

           He was often in the course of one revolving moon,
           Author, actor, artist, cook, chemist, and buffoon:

“And in another month as many more.

“Rich in Apician lore, he could enumerate the famous dishes of old, from
those placed on the table of Heliogabalus to Spartan broth and Athenian
porridge, and could name the ingredients of all. In modern cookery, he
was more at home; nothing escaped his observation, and but little his
palate. His taste was equal to Pollio’s; his knowledge of the mysteries
of the kitchen surpassed that of M. Beaujeu. See him take his seat at a
supper party; watch him draw a laden dish towards him, and you would
shudder from a dread that his eyes were about to drop into his plate—as
if attached like those of the chameleon to the ends of flexible tubes,
so fearfully did they advance and recede. He was at one time known as
‘Spoonie,’ and ‘Eating Nat,’ for he had an appetite equal to Galba’s—a
stomach capacious as that of Vitellius. His spoon, and he had one for
his exclusive use, might apply to him, with a slight alteration, an
epigram by Boileau:

                 Here lies my owner, and heaven knows,
                 Not less for mine than his repose.

“An excellent representative of the god of raillery and ridicule—that
is, if Momus was a short and squab fellow of forty, with a droll leer, a
shambling gait, and a touch of Silenus or Bacchus about him. Exceedingly
facetious, the Doctor told stories equal to Matthews or Hackett, and
rivaled Braham in singing. He was full of first rate though second hand
wit. His physiognomy was prepossessing, though his friends used to joke
him about a devil lurking in his eye, which, they said, appeared sly as
Sancho’s, and mischievous as the solitary one in Ichabod Crane’s nag.

“His knowledge was said by his friends to have been universal. In
science, an Arago; in philosophy, a Newton; in chemistry, a Farraday or
Berzelius; in general knowledge, a Crichton. Well versed in Thaumaturgy,
he certainly could beat conjurers at their own weapons. An adept in
Metoposcopy, he saw at once the various points in human character, and
by some mesmeric influence could always open a communication between
himself and those in whose affairs he wished to take an interest.

“All great men have their enemies, and Doctor Swallow was not without
his. He had to pay the usual penalty exacted by envious detractors.
These insisted that he was a literary Bombastes, in veracity a
Mandeville, in morals a Mephistopheles, in scheming a Machiavel, and in
every thing except humbugging a humbug. A retailer of other men’s ideas,
which (said they) he claimed as his own, and, like all liars, often
forgot himself and claimed them in the presence of those from whom he
received them—that his life was a lie. There is little doubt, that both
parties were wrong. He never was the angel one made him, nor the devil
the other called him; but, whatever he was, he was made President of the
Society; and, all things considered, it was thought a better selection
could not have been made; for, as an old chiffonnier, he had picked up
more chiffons, and knew how to make more of them, than any other artist
who lived by the hook.

“Popular with most of the members, nearly all consulted him on subjects
they brought forward. Ever ready to give advice, and seldom more pleased
than when asked for it. Though he never wrote a paper but one, and of
the authorship of that some doubts have been raised, he was a judge of
what would ‘take;’ or, what often amounts to the same thing, he had that
reputation.

“When conducted to the chair, he rose with smiles playing round his lips
and satisfaction sparkling in his eyes, and thus commenced his opening
address: Gentlemen, I ... I know not how to thank you for this honor.
I ... I ... d—n it, I cannot make a formal speech—I never could—unless I
had it by heart. I tried once before at extempore, but it was no go;
after getting rid of a few sentences, a kind of mental and physical
lock-jaw seized me, and there I stood—my mouth wide open, and without
the power to close it, or to call to mind what I meant to say. It was
said I stood grinning like a Barbary ape, and in my efforts to
articulate might have stood longer, if Medlar had not pulled me down by
the skirt, while saying loud enough (hang him) for half the room to
hear, ‘don’t make an ass of yourself, Nat.’ Gentlemen, that man is now
here, and I never see him without thinking of the predicament I was in,
and the ugly epithet he gave me. I cannot go on unless he goes out, and
I am not sure even then. But, gentlemen, if I cannot thank you as I’d
like to, I can treat you to something better—something to eat. Will not
a member move an adjournment to my house, where we can discuss matters
more at ease, and amuse ourselves at intervals with a cold cut and a
drop of”—[Ere the proposition was finished, the meeting adjourned amidst
cries of ‘Bravo!’ ‘Excellent!’ ‘A first rate speech, that, Doctor!’]

“Rëassembled at his dwelling, the party partook of a substantial supper,
during which a curious conversation arose on variety of tastes for food.
Mr. Milder, an amiable and highly intelligent young man, but rather odd
in some of his views, thought it artificial; others, with the Doctor,
contended that it was natural. Nature, it was said, never designed men
to live on one kind of food; if she had, she would not have furnished
them with so many. She moreover produces no one in sufficient quantities
to supersede all others, nor has she distributed any one over the whole
earth. That’s true, observed the Doctor; if we were designed to have but
one dish, as pork, beef, mutton, or turkey, bread, cabbage, potatoes, or
yams, I should like to know where _enough_ is to come from? The case is
different with drink. Water may be the natural beverage of animals and
men, for it is every where, and every where abundant; but not so with
either animal or vegetable food. It was further observed by the
advocates for variety, that we might as well read only one book as eat
of one dish; for if material palates are originally moulded after one
pattern, so are literary ones. But no, said they; Nature has made both
to vary as much as the minds and persons or faces of men. The Doctor
thought if men had but one dish for the body and another for the mind,
it would save a world of trouble to booksellers and keepers of eating
houses; yet, even with those people, he was sure things were better as
they are, because, said he, different tastes bring into action diverse
talents, and so give employment to hosts of writers, and, what is
better, to swarms of cooks. It is therefore right that what suits one
stomach should not be the thing to tickle all others. Here is my friend,
Sam Tortiller, imagines a connection between the bent of man’s genius
and his favorite food; as if by knowing the general course of a person’s
studies one could tell what he craves for his dinner, and _vice versa_.
I don’t believe a word of it. A writer on morals may love pork, and an
author of romances abhor it; but, to my knowledge, all pork eaters are
not righteous men, nor those who let pigs alone composers of fiction.
Professor Freeling often digests turkey, but it’s not every chemist who
can afford to put that into his digester. Then there is Finelli, a lover
of shell fish—but what then?—if the lady that poets call the Genius of
Song sometimes visits an oyster cellar, she does not confine her favors
to those who either chew or eschew clams, crabs, and lobsters. Mr.
Milder, let me help you to a slice of this ham; I believe you have not
tasted it.”

“Not any for me; I never eat any, Mr. President.”

“Not eat ham! Why, you are neither a Jew nor a Turk, I hope, to
abominate those glorious animals that supply us with the richest of all
relishes?”

“No; but I prefer hams from China, if I must eat any.”

“O! O! I thought you knew what’s good! Well! I can’t say this fine
fellow ever ran through the streets of Canton; but, is the difference of
flavor between your oriental favorites and ours very sensible?”

“Very.”

“Ah! I must get my friend, Captain Drinker, to bring over a Chinaman
grunter, or a few hams; but, will these not spoil on the voyage?”

“No danger of that. The fact is, sir, I am not a consumer of animal
food; the joints I allude too are _vegetable_ ones. They are described
by La Compte and other travellers.”

“You are joking, (observed the Doctor, inquiringly;) Sam, here, says you
are a terrible bore that way!”

“Not at all, (replied Mr. Milder;) I almost hope to see the day when no
other hams will be used. You have heard of _wooden_ ones?”

“Yes! Carved blocks of wood, so neatly sewed up in hog skins, as to
deceive the eyes of the keenest pork butchers! Yes; I have read of
people boiling them, but I never heard of any having been _eaten_.”

“True; but even that is not so unlikely as you seem to think.”

“I pray heaven, (said the Doctor,) the practice may never become
general; the chine of a two year old shote is with me a favorite dish.
What reason have you for supposing it ever will, Mr. Milder?”

“Why, sir, you of course know that a few years ago, a German philosopher
discovered the nutritious elements of wheaten bread in wooden meal—that
he made wholsome cakes out of pine boards, and supported his wife and
five children for seven weeks on dumplings kneaded of dough formed of
fine sawdust and water. The paste, it is said, rose without leaven, and
when cooked was really delicious—especially so, when lubricated with
molasses, or sprinkled with the essence of sugar, extracted by Braçonnot
from old rags and scrap paper. Now, an ingenious friend of mine has been
engaged on a somewhat analogous subject for the last twelve months, and,
from an experiment I witnessed yesterday, I have no hesitation in
avowing my confidence in his assertion that he will shortly produce good
palatable pork out of whitewood, and well seasoned hams from red cedar.”

[Much laughter, during which the Doctor observed, in a suppressed voice,
to the gentleman at his right, “Sam, this fellow is a devil of a quiz; I
cannot believe he is serious, and yet what a solemn phiz he puts on.”]

“Now, sir, (continued Mr. Milder,) where is there a man of feeling who
would not rejoice at the success of my friend, in attempting to change
the world from a shambles for gratifying the carnivorous appetites of
our species—a slaughter house constantly flooded with gore and vibrating
with the shrieks of expiring victims? For my part, sir, I never see a
female cutting up raw flesh, her hands smeared with blood—now killing,
plucking, embowelling, and at last, with perfect nonchalance,
transfixing innocent fowls or sucking pigs on the spit, without
shuddering at the disgusting employment—at the horrible effects of
indulging unnatural appetites! O! how would the spirit of humanity exult
at the abolition of animal diet—or even at the general introduction of
vegetable hams! These would be a consummation in morals and science
devoutly to be wished—to be prayed for; all Nature, sir, would rejoice
at their manufacture—at any rate, sir, you will admit, all PIGS
would—and well they might, as they would (to use a vulgar expression)
then save their own bacon! Yes! Their days of mourning would then be
over.

“And why should they not save it, sir, as well as we preserve ours? Has
not a pig organs, dimensions, feelings, passions, affections? If struck,
does it not cry? If wounded, does it not bleed? If imprisoned and in
bonds, does it not struggle to be free? If driven to the shambles, does
it not refuse to go? When slain, does it not suffer the pangs of death?
In one word, sir, is not life as precious to pigs as to any of us? And
would they not have cause to rejoice were they and their offspring no
longer murdered ere living out half their days? Millions are slain in
their infancy, and their parents in the vigor of life! Upwards of a
century ago, not less than 52,500 sucking innocents were annually
immolated in London alone!

                   Lovely buds—their mother’s pride!

[Here, as at every other pause made by the speaker, excessive laughter
broke out afresh; but, unembarrassed, he continued:]

“There is something else, sir, in connection with this subject, which
every lover of his country should deplore. Slavery is an unmitigated
evil, and we are taught to admire the free States for shaking the
incubus off; it is, however, a melancholy fact, that the citizens of
what is called one of the most enlightened and liberal, are carrying to
a horrible extent, a system almost equally atrocious. As if regretting
their lost dominion over negroes, they seem determined to be revenged a
hundred fold upon a race, between which and ours Blumenbach, in his
remarks on varieties of complexion, has traced many analogies. Yes! The
capital city of Ohio is rapidly rising into power, on the bodies of
slaughtered swine! She is already known as ‘The Emporium of Pork’—a
designation which wicked Nineveh or more wicked Gomorrah would have
shrunk from. Her merchandise is flesh. Her bulletins are occupied with
its sales, and as the market price rises and falls, so does the value of
her real estate. Her merchants are butchers; her staple is stearine; her
palaces are built with the price of blood, and illumined at night with
the fat of her slain! All her lamps are replenished with lard! Like
Babylon, ‘seated on many waters, and drunken with blood,’ so reclines
Cincinnati, on a larger stream than the Euphrates, clothed in scarlet,
and proudly calling herself ‘Queen of the West!’ But let her beware—for,
depend upon it, sir, vengeance will not sleep forever; and when pigs get
their rights, she will meet her deserts!”

[On Mr. Milder concluding his remarks, a shout of laughter arose that
shook both floor and table. Some held their sides, and groaned with
pain; others screeched as they, ever and anon, glanced at the
imperturbable gravity of Mr. M. and the woful appearance of the
President’s face.]

                  *       *       *       *       *

But, indulgent guest, I am trespassing too much on thy patience. I will
therefore lay aside, for the present, this account of the Society, and
the rather since the author presses hard on the late President. They
never were friendly. The Doctor, like other men, had his faults; but he
had good qualities as well. Peace to his ashes! He was one of my best
customers in one respect though not in another; for he never was in a
hurry to wipe out his scores, and, to speak truth, some he never wiped
out. When my turn came round for a paper, I consulted him for a subject,
and submitted to him what I wrote. Desirous of not disgracing my former
profession of schoolmaster, I took particular pains; but the subject was
new, and embarrassed me much. When I left the choice to him, I little
imagined he would take a knife from the table, and insist that _it_
should be my text. However, I made out tolerably well; though he was
sparing of praise. He was, in fact, not altogether pleased with my
“Adventures of a Carving Knife;” but he made ample amends on another
occasion, as will soon be perceived.

My next attempt was a higher flight—a composition half dramatic. There
were passages in it of tragic interest: at least, _I_ thought so. The
subject—an ancient pincushion, brought over in the Mayflower. I had a
presentiment that I should take the Doctor by surprise—snatch him up, as
by a hurricane, into the regions of romance, and extort his praise ere
he had time to descend and recover his self-possession. And, sure
enough, something even more than this took place.

By appointment, I met him at his own house. He was in a happy mood,
having just risen from dinner. We retired to the parlor, and I handed
him the MS. Drawing his arm-chair in front of the fire, and desiring me
to take another, he made a remark about the high price of beef, and
commenced reading the first paragraph; but he made such murdering work
of the sense, running one sentence half way into another, and then
stopping as if brought up by a period, that I wriggled in the chair, and
felt my viscera squirming like eels in a bag. I stopped him to explain,
but he ascribed every thing to what he called my illegible hand. I
proposed to read it myself. To this, he consented; and, for the benefit
of light, I stepped to the window, some distance behind him; a
circumstance which increased my confidence, and left him free to enter
into the spirit of the story, unembarrassed with external interruptions.

I had not got through the first chapter before he gave utterance to some
short but flattering expressions. They encouraged me wonderfully, and
ere the second was finished became more frequent; the words “rich!”
“capital!” dropped from him several times. I felt elated, and went on
trippingly to the end—borne along by the kindness of his manner, and
quite lifted up with the confidence of having fairly gained his
approbation. The reading did not occupy over fifteen minutes; and, when
finished, I remained standing, ready, with pencil in hand, to make such
corrections and alterations as he might suggest. He seemed to be
balancing the merits of different parts; for he said, as if to himself,
“that was overdone;” “the other excellent;” “capital!” He resembled the
gentleman mentioned by Horace,

                Who long imagin’d that he heard the tone
                Of deep Tragedians on an empty stage,
                And sat applauding, in ecstatic rage.

[Illustration:


  _Plate 2_ _Roman_

]

My feelings quickly overcame my politeness, and I cried “Come, Doctor,
what is the sentence? Life or death?” (I had heard enough to know what
it would be.) As I said this, I resumed my seat beside him, and thanked
him for the kind attention he had given to the humble performance; but I
had scarcely finished the last word ere my old friend gave a memorable
proof of the intense interest he had taken in the story—of the fine
sensibilities of his nature, and the depth of his feelings. Now, Sir
Guest, what think you he did? Perhaps you say: ‘I suppose, Mr. Westman,
his cheeks were streaming with tears—his passions, excited by the
incidents of the story, had not recovered their natural tone! Or, did he
spring from his seat and embrace the magician, who had such power to
enchant him? Either would have been very natural.’

He did neither, sir; he was unable to rise.

‘Indeed! Why, what was the matter?’

His mental and bodily powers were prostrated.

‘What do you mean?’

He was dead! th—

‘_Dead!_ did you say, Mr. Westman?’

On my conscience, yes sir; that is, he was, as the saying goes, _dead
asleep_! As for tears, his cheeks were as free from them as the back of
my hand, and his face calm as an infant’s reposing on its mother’s
breast.

‘You really surprise me!’

I was astonished myself sir.

‘And how did you act on making this strange discovery?’

I don’t exactly know what I did, sir—nor what I thought—nor how I felt.
I was paralyzed—deprived of the powers of speech and motion. My
respiration was thick, and at last suspended. I believe I sat gazing on
him five minutes without breathing or moving a muscle, except those by
which the lower jaw is dropped to its farthest extent, and such as push
the eyes out of the head. There was no mistake about his slumbers; to
satisfy myself that they were genuine, I remember stretching my face
towards his till both were nearly in contact. His mouth was wide open,
and I had a full view of the horrible cavern within. What I suffered,
ere I had power to leave my seat, was dreadful. Impalement could hardly,
I should think, surpass it. When at last I rose and stepped in front of
him, heaven forgive me, for, though I say it myself, a quieter man does
not breathe, I felt as much inclined to push the end of my cane down his
gullet as ever I had to send any thing pleasant down my own.

On second thoughts, I took my hat, put the MS. in my pocket, and walked
softly to the door of the room; when I heard him mutter something about
“Betty ... sauce rich; veal ... overdone; rabbits ... excellent.” The
brute, sir—pardon the uncivil word—was dreaming about his dinner; but
that was not all, nor the worst; for it was now clear he had fallen
asleep almost as soon as he sat down, and the expressions of approbation
which I had foolishly taken to myself were in reality compliments to
Betty’s skill in roasting and boiling! When this truth flashed on my
mind, I felt keenly—my wrath rose, and Satan strongly urged me back to
take leave of him by no gentle shake of his person or tweak of his
proboscis—but either my good genius or his own interfered, and I
hastened out of the house, without meeting one of the family. I am
ashamed to say, I felt very unwell during the rest of the day, being
greatly more affected than a sensible mart should have been; but our
feelings are not in our power.

I mentioned the circumstance to a few members the same evening, and
learned the Doctor had been in gay company all the morning, and was
certainly half drunk at the time of my interview with him. I certainly
did notice something strange in him, but my mind was wholly absorbed on
the paper. We were anxious to know how he would face the matter out; for
no one believed he would for a moment acknowledge being asleep. Within a
few days, Medlar, Pickwell, and I, met him in the street; when,—would
you believe it?—without the slightest indication of embarrassment, he
began the following colloquy:

‘Neighbor Westman, further reflection has convinced me your last paper
will never do. It will gain you neither credit with the members nor
custom from their friends.’

_Further reflection_, did you say, Doctor!

‘There’s nothing in it, believe me, (said he,) neither life—’

Rather nettled, I abruptly asked _what_ he wanted in it.

‘I’ll tell you what I don’t want—(he replied;) a tale dull and
monotonous from beginning to end—one without a grain of piquancy in
it—flat and distasteful as buckwheat cakes without salt or sauce.’

Now I thought I had done better than could have been expected; but stop,
did you hear a word of—

‘_Expected!_ (he cried out, as if wanting to hear nothing more;) I
expect, and so will the members, something like the spices and pickles
at your ordinaries, and which you know full well often help an insipid
dish down. The paper has but one quality that can render it of any
service.’

What may that be?

‘It might serve on occasion as a soporific.’

I believe I colored at this, and said sharply, Yes, I understand. It
composed _you_ to sleep quick enough—or something else did.

‘No! not asleep; (said he, unabashed, as with a face of flint—absolutely
staggering me with the audacious falsehood;) I remember feeling a little
drowsy.’

Indeed! Do you recollect anything else?

‘No! nothing particular—ex—except that my strictures were perhaps too
severe; but I did not wish to mislead you by being less pointed.’

_Your strictures, eh!_ Why, you made none, and for the best of reasons!
Look ye, Doctor, you may, for aught I know, be able to catch authors
napping when you’re awake, but not when you’re actually snoring. I’ve
seen further into your head than you imagine.

Mr. Westman, (said he, in a bristling manner,) I hope you don’t mean
to—to—t—t—t—’

Yes, I do! and what’s more Doctor, I felt so confoundedly queer that I
had some difficulty in refraining from—

‘From what?’

Never mind; I’ve got over it now; but you don’t see another paper of
mine, I promise you, unless you will go through it before dinner.
“Further reflection,” as you say, has convinced me the last is yet
defective. I’ll revise, and we’ll read it some evening.

‘Better put it in the fire, some morning, (he said, resentfully, as if
caught in an unpleasant dilemma, and determined to get out with a bold
face; then assuming a patronizing tone, added:) Believe me, neighbor,
you, and others I wot of, will never succeed in life till you let
scribbling alone.’

Then, Doctor, let me tell you tha—

‘Peace, (he interrupted,) I pray you, peace! I know you, and Medlar, and
Fribble, and Delever, well. Your talents are good of their _kind_, and
may be useful in their _place_.’

In their place! Where is that?

‘_In the kitchen!_ Confine your energies to your proper vocations, and
you may do well. Stick to your fires and fuel, your andirons and
hearths, spits and bellows, pots and pans, knives and forks—to your
ladles and spoons—to—’

Enough! Enough! Egad, Doctor, you are right this time! (I exclaimed.)
Yes, we will! We’ll write papers on all of them; and I’ll begin myself
with THE SPOON.

On hearing this, he gazed intently on my face, and, as he turned on his
heel, whispered in my ear, “Habbakuk, thou hast been handling thy
decanters this morning!”

                  *       *       *       *       *

I have no more to add, except to appeal, courteous reader, to thy
judgment. Let me, therefore, entreat thee not to peruse the following
pages directly after dinner, lest Morpheus make his appearance, and thou
shouldst sin, like the President of the Chiffonnier Society, by
ascribing the imp’s visit to

                                                       HAB’K O. WESTMAN.




                              =The Spoon;=

                          ANCIENT AND MODERN.




                               CHAPTER I.

  _Singular Subjects chosen by Authors—The Spoon, a popular and fertile
  one—Sancho Panza, a Spoonmaker—Influence of this Profession on his
  Adventures—Ingenuity of Cervantes—Pedro Garcia’s Purse—Selection of
  the Spoon for a Theme, an Indication of Taste—One of the first things
  wanted on coming into the world, and last parted with ere going
  out—Its Domestic and Moral Influence—Ancient Fracas with Hot Broth._


Singular are the subjects on which authors have written: as Lucian on a
fly, Apuleius on the ass, Virgil on a gnat, and Homer on a pitched
battle between some frogs and mice. One writer is sublime on a flea,
another on the north wind, and a third on nothing. Here, one expatiates
on the social pipe; and there, goes a royal counterblast against
tobacco. Pope has a poem on a lock of hair, Gray wrote lines on a cat,
Prior on the ladle, and Cowper on the sofa. Tasso spun out twelve cantos
on a bucket, and John Heywood, in Henry the Eighth’s time, wrote
seventy-seven chapters on cobwebs and spiders.

The merry Dean of St. Patrick’s wrote an essay on a broomstick; and some
reviewer of a late work on hydraulics thinks the author could readily
compose a homily on pump handles, or a series of meditations on cistern
hooks. A fig for such subjects, and those who discuss them. A person’s
taste is seen in what he writes on, as well as in what flows from his
pen; and small must be the brains that think on such things. Every one
knows Swift’s head was worn out when kind Nature led him to muse on the
stump of a besom—an emblem of himself. As there was always something of
the wizard about him, he naturally selected the same hobby that
accommodates witches in their evening excursions. As for the other
gentleman, he must be a dry soul indeed, since he could hit upon nothing
but water, about which to fill up a book—or some rickety machines to get
at it.

Commend us to something better than either; and on the present occasion
to that which daily inspired the reverend wit, and at which it is very
certain every writer on water-works has labored oftener than at any pump
gearing—_videlicit_, A SPOON. Why, there’s life in the sound! To the
hungry and poor and rich, it conjures up visions of pleasure. Its very
picture moves the salivary glands into action, and sets the lickerish
muscles agog, while thoughts of the good things with which it often is
laden make mendicants draw in their breath and thrust out their lips, as
if about to salute it!

What gentleman cares for a broom, or a cistern pole, except to kick them
out of his way, as a fat neighbor of ours did yesterday? But for a
spoon, ah! how eagerly he seized it at dinner! Like the hand of a friend
for whom he had long anxiously waited, and from whom he could hardly be
prevailed on to part.

As a novel and a popular subject, the spoon is unrivaled—as a fertile
one, its equal never rose in the brains of Will Shakespeare or John
Baptiste Moliere; and that is strange too, seeing the implement so often
entered their heads. A Spanish writer of the sixteenth century, however,
did not let it escape him. His wanderings through various countries, and
in indifferent circumstances, made him too keenly alive to its value to
forget or neglect it. He has immortalized himself by recording the
adventures of a spoonmaker, in an inimitable piece of biography.

‘Indeed! (exclaims some reader.) Pray, of whom do you speak? Who was
this author, and who the mechanic he snatched from oblivion?’

Strange that at this day such a question should be asked! But, Miguel de
Cervantes Saavedra was the writer, and Sancho Panza the artist.

‘Sancho Panza! The short and fat husband of Tereza—the Governor of
Barrataria—he whose simplicity and shrewdness, jokes and proverbs, were
so pleasant; and whose witty conceits fell from him as thick as drops in
a shower—a maker of spoons?’

To be sure he was! And it was from this circumstance he became so expert
in handling them, and which led him to prefer olla-podridas, stews, and
hashes of cow beef and onions, to Milan godwits, Roman pheasants, geese
of Lavajos, and other kickshaws, which Doctor Pedro Rezio Aquero de
Tirteafuera and the steward talked about. Not that Sancho loved good
eating more than other people, but he naturally enough preferred those
kinds of food which were fluid, in the conveyance of which to his mouth
he had become quite familiar from his previous professions and habits.

Cervantes, to elucidate the association of ideas and the force of early
impressions, wittily concealed this employment of Sancho’s, and left it
till the knight was condemned by him of the ‘White Moon’ to refrain for
a whole year from using a sword, or going in quest of adventures. Then
the truth unexpectedly appears. Quixote proposed to pass the time in
pastoral pursuits. ‘O, Sancho! said he; we will turn shepherds for the
time I must live retired. I will buy sheep and all necessary materials.
We will range the mountains, the woods, and the meadows—singing here and
complaining there—drinking the liquid crystal of the fountains, of the
limpid brooks, and the mighty rivers. The oaks, with a plentiful hand,
shall give their sweetest fruit—the trunks of the hardest cork-trees
shall afford us seats, the willows shade, and the roses scent. The
spacious meadows shall yield us carpets of a thousand colors—the air,
clear and pure, shall supply breath, the moon and stars afford light,
maugre the darkness of nights—singing shrill furnish pleasure, and
complaining yield delight! Heaven be my aid! What a life shall we lead,
friend Sancho! What a world of bagpipes shall we hear! What pipes of
Zamora! What tambourets and rebecks!’

‘Before God, quoth Sancho, this kind of life squares with me exactly;
and no sooner will the Bachelor Sampson Carrasco, and Master Nicholas
the barber, have well seen it, but they will have a mind to follow, and
turn shepherds with us; and God grant that the priest have not an
inclination to make one in the fold; he is of so gay a temper, and such
a lover of mirth!’ After arranging about shepherdesses, each amateur
shepherd to have one, except the priest, who, according to Sancho’s
views, ought not to be associated with a lady; but if the bachelor
Sampson was inclined that way, why, his soul was at his own disposal.
Then the knight begins to anticipate the ditties he and his associates
would indite to the charms of their lady loves, when Sancho, mentally
recurring to occupations more agreeable to _his_ taste, and with which
he was more at home, exclaims in a rapture, ‘O! what SPOONS! What neat
WOODEN SPOONS will I make when a shepherd!’ An exclamation which he
never, of course, could have made had he not been engaged in that
business before. Then, like a sound philosopher, who only regards
science and the arts in proportion as they are applied to the purposes
of life, he instantly recurs to the _use_ of spoons, and, very naturally
to the agreeable visions they call up. “What crumbs! What cream! What
olla-podridas! What stews we shall have!”

Having thus shown that the Knight of La Mancha’s squire was, in the
early part of his career, a manufacturer of spoons, the reader will at
once concede the propriety of this reference to his labors; since he is,
beyond controversy, the most famed character of the kind in print. But
that is not all. There are other things in Cervantes which reviewers
never dreamt of. It were an easy matter to show, but would be out of
place here, that the celebrity of his great work is due chiefly to
spoons; for example, had he withheld from Sancho the penchant for
handling them, the history of Quixote might as well have been without
the owner of Dapple; and every body knows what an insipid affair it
would have been then. From what but the free use of spoons were the
jolly face and sly look of Sancho derived? To what else but their
neglect was to be attributed the ghastly appearance of him of the Rueful
Countenance? Silenus and a moving corpse!

Such are the wonders wrought by the Spoon: but, great as they appear,
they are not the greatest. Had the knight lived in the manner of Sancho,
he had never lost his wits; and had the latter dieted as his master, he
never would have had any. The moral of the romance is misunderstood. The
author designed to inculcate this truth—that the proper use of a spoon
can make a sensible man of a fool, and the neglect of it a fool of a
sensible man!

The Spoon is really the nucleus of the romance—the core on which the
party colored threads of the story are wound. Indeed, the whole affair
is nothing else than a mystic account of this useful little implement,
and written by Cervantes, most likely to fulfill a vow made on account
of the services it rendered him on some occasions of extreme
distress—occasions, from the checkered scenes of his life, believed to
have been of frequent occurrence.

These things, to be sure, do not stand up on the surface—they are not
seen at a glance. Cervantes, in concealing them from readers whose
obtuseness of intellect does not suspect them, or who will not take the
trouble to look for them, imitated the conduct of his witty and
ingenious countryman, Pedro Garcias, whose epitaph strangely announced
that his _soul_ lay under the slab. And there it did lay, without
exciting the least curiosity from the crowds walking over it, until a
poor and shrewd student of Salamanca, travelling that way, guessed the
truth, disinterred, and joyfully carried home the Licentiate’s soul in
his pocket. But to leave such matters: As every person on earth loves a
spoon, there are few who cannot relish an essay upon it; and all will
admit its selection for a theme, if no proof of genius, is at least a
strong indication of taste.

The Spoon is one of the first things wanted when we come into the world,
and one of the last we part with before we go out. It is the companion
of childhood, manhood, and age—the great nurse of mankind. It
administers comfort to ladies when they ‘lay in,’ and to every person
before being ‘laid out.’ Without it, no baby takes pap; nor boys and
girls porridge or soup; the man acquires strength by its aid, and it
assists in prolonging the years of the old and infirm. In the hands of
physicians, it drives sickness away; and when the angel of death comes
at last, it soothes the last moments of many.

Its influence is felt in every department of life—in manners, morals,
and even in national characteristics. Associated almost as much with the
soul as the body, it seems equally to modify both. It is a healer of
wounds, whether in the person or mind. What tempers has it not
subdued—what passions allayed! For it is always called in after a broil
to promote peace and good will. What evils, too, has it not extinguished
which want has conceived and poverty planned! Hunger and haggard despair
fly before it, while health and hilarity attend it! It is, and justly, a
universal favorite—as well with the savage as the sage—with ladies and
their maids—with children and their grandpapas.

What urchin has not felt more elastic when beholding his mother beating
up eggs for plum-cake with a spoon; or stood by when with it she scraped
out the bowl in which the pudding was made! And where is the youngster
with ‘a sweet tooth’ that has not thrust it with delight into ‘mush and
molasses!’ or with joy almost extatic made it dive into ‘samp,’ through
an ocean of melted butter and sugar! As for grown people, it daily works
the same wonders in them as it did in the Rev. Mr. Sampson when applied
by the hospitable hand of Mrs. Merriless. In barbarous and
semi-barbarous countries, few meals are prepared without it, but in
civilized life it is as regular an attendant at table as plates.

The moral influence of the spoon is remarkable. It preaches contentment,
and fosters no pride. It enters the cottage and comforts those who are
too poor to own either cottage or cot. It ascends into garrets, dives
into cellars, and forces its way into prisons, where, like a Howard or
Frye, it condoles with the children of sorrow. It is all things to all
men, for it adapts itself to the circumstances of all. To the humble or
poor, it appears in homely apparel; to the rich and the proud, it shines
forth in ivory and pearl—in silver and gold.

Some men talk about the ‘social glass’—of the pleasures it imparts, the
agreeable reminiscences it calls up; but what are they, compared to
those associated with the spoon? The former is selfish—men indulge in it
by themselves; but the latter is the innocent companion of both sexes—of
young and old. The glass too often destroys some joys—loosens domestic
ties; the spoon revives the one and strengthens the other. It gratifies
a natural, the glass an artificial, appetite. The one imparts happiness
to the abstemious, the other maddens the brain of the intemperate. Here
sits an industrious laborer at his evening meal; he has reached home
shivering with cold and faint with hunger; he sups the warm pottage his
wife has prepared, and finds his heart strengthened, and his energies
blessed. There carouses an acquaintance at the tavern; his eyes now
rolling with the maniac’s gaze, and now like an idiot’s, fixed on
vacancy. Reason has left her seat, and the character of the man is lost
in that of the beast. Such are the different effects of the ‘social
glass’ and the spoon.

A lover of domestic quiet, family jars cease in its presence; for unlike
the mischief loving ladle, the spoon enters into no broils. An
instrument of peace, it lends not itself to those illegitimate and
unconjugal uses to which enraged housewives are said sometimes to put
its taller associate. No! Instead of stirring up the caldron of family
feuds, the gentle spoon soothes the boiling elements, and, in the
pleasantest way imaginable, silences the squalling of infants, and the
grumbling of older folks.

It took no part in an ancient fray between the scholars of Oxford and
some Reverend companions of the Pope’s Legate, on a feast or saint’s
day; but the soup or rather the broth did. The peace loving spoon
withdrew ere the fracas began. “And at that tyme was maister Edmunde of
Abendon archbishoppe of Caunterbury, an holi man, in the twelff hundred
yere of our Lorde and foure and thritti. And at that tyme come the legat
Oter from Rome, and called a councelle of Bishoppes at London, and went
from thens to Oxenford, to the Abbey of Osney. And as certeyn of the
clerks come to speke with the legat, vppon Seynt Gregoryes day, one of
the legats men _cast hote broth_ vppon a scolore, and then come the
clerkes first, and besett Osney, and slew one of the legats men, and the
legat fled into the steple.” [_Peter Langtoff’s Chronicle_, _Hearne’s
Glossary_, vol. ii. 682.]

This quotation may serve as a little seasoning to the dish before the
reader. If any one questions its pertinence, and that of others
hereafter to be noticed, we beg to observe that what relates to the soup
can hardly be foreign to the spoon.




                              CHAPTER II.

  _The Spoon always an Object of Plunder—Border Thieves—Golden
  Rule—Index of Human Condition—Old English and other Salutations—Lip
  Worship—Spoons formerly Preachers of Temperance—Their Influence on
  Individual and National Character—Beef and Bouilli—Fat Men fined and
  Obesity revered—Steaks and Stews—Effects of Animal Food on Nations—War
  Speech of an English General—Greeks and Trojans—Spoons of peculiar
  Antiquarian Value—Trick of Alexander—Curious use of Spoons, and
  Lessons derived from them—Their Influence in Politics and War—Procure
  Food as well as Cook it—Friends in need—Heir-looms._


The virtues of the spoon have in every age led men to covet it, and, to
gratify their covetousness, to commit burglaries to obtain it. With the
wicked, this is natural; for a _silver_ spoon is a talisman—he who
possesses one can never want. It is chiefly, however, such unfortunates
as are not born with one in their mouths who thus attempt to supply what
nature forgot. But _horn_ and _pewter_ spoons were not despised by
respectable robbers of yore. In Maitland’s “Complaynt against the
Theivis of Liddisdail,” we find them borne off from poor people’s
dwellings, along with bread, fowls, spinning apparatus, bed-clothes,
shirts, &c. The old leviers of black mail seized on every thing that was
not ‘too heavy or too hot’ to be carried away.

               Thay spuilye puir men of their pakis,
               Thay leif them nocht on bed nor bakis;
                     Baith hen and cok,
                     With reil and rok,
                     The Lairdis Jok,
                     All with him takis.
               Thay leif not spindel, SPOONE, nor speit,
               Bed, bolster, blanket, sark, nor scheit.

Many a knife has committed murder, and forks have been guilty of felony;
but what bad thing has the spoon ever done? Kidnapped in all ages, it
never was known to return evil to its evil entreaters: on the contrary,
it has blessed its greatest foes. Like the sun shining on the wicked and
the good, this servant of man has been among all nations, kindreds, and
tongues, a practical teacher of the Golden Rule—withholding its services
from none, but feeding alike the thankless and the thankful. No
implement has done more for man. Almost all others have been turned
against him, but the spoon—never.

The spoon is an indicator of merit and of human condition. It is every
where deemed an appropriate crest for the arms of an alderman, because
every where hailed as the symbol of good cheer. A wooden or a _pewter_
spoon, or one of tinned iron, is an emblem of an author, who seldom gets
a better, unless he borrows it; a _silver_ one, the symbol of a printer,
who is generally “well to do;” and a _golden_ one, of a publisher, who
alone in the book trade can afford to eat turtle. Of all indications of
poverty, a broken pewter spoon is the most distressing—a proof of
wretchedness extreme.

The implement is about the only one belonging to the kitchen that
behaves well in the dining room. Its associate, the angry knife,
sometimes wounds its master, and the sly fork occasionally pricks him,
but the spoon is ‘ever faithful,’ and the ‘most obedient of servants.’
To these amiable qualities it is possible the very common expressions,
“Your humble servant,” “Your most obedient and faithful servant,” may be
allied; for it is a fact that these French forms of address were first
introduced into English compliments and composition on an occasion when
the spoon performed a royal part—at the marriage of Mary, daughter of
Henry IV. of France. The usual British salutations before this were,
“God keep you,” “God be with you;” and with country people, “How dost
do?” accompanied often with a whack on the shoulder; and, if a woman,
with a smack on the lips. (_See Antiq. Repertory_, iii. 43.)

Antiquarians inform us that kissing with a smack was a _Roman_ practice;
for the benefit of future Archæologists, an equally surprising fact may
as well be mentioned of the _Dutch_, who actually relish other earthly
comforts in a similar way! Whenever a glass or spoon leaves anything
agreeable within their lips, the approving smack, it is said, invariably
follows. This sharp and pleasant little sound is so inseparably
associated with their ideas of the good things of this life, that it has
become incorporated with their ordinary salutations. Their usual morning
greeting is “_Smaakelyk eeten!_” So a southern Chinese salutes another
by saying _Ya tan?_ Have you eaten your rice? In other words, have you
handled your chopsticks or spoon?

The spoon is a fine symbol of complaisance. No one takes hold of it
without pleasure, and many lay it down with regret. Its daily appearance
at table is met with smiles, and every guest intimates his or her
unalloyed joy by carrying it to their lips. In some countries it is so
esteemed that when loaned it passes directly out of the mouth of the
owner into that of the borrower. (See account of Esquimaux ladies at
dinner, in the late voyages to the north.) Like the black stone at
Mecca, it is polished with the lips of its admirers. A censorious world
might stigmatize this as “lip worship,” but it flows from the heart; or,
at least, from the neighborhood of the heart, for, according to Chinese
philosophy, the seat of the soul is in the centre of the stomach. So
thought an old statesman and poet:

               From _thence_ she sends out those supplies
               Which make us either stout or wise;
               The strength of every other member
               Is founded on your belly timber;
               The qualms or raptures of your blood
               Rise in proportion to your food;
               And if you would improve your thought.
               You must be fed as well as taught.

Though with some an instrument of gluttony, the spoon was formerly a
preacher of temperance; the lessons it taught being engraved as mottoes
on the handle; while for those on whom words made no impression (and few
who used it in the middle ages could read,) images of death and the
devil were cut on the bowl! _Plate V_ has a figure of one of these
curious inventions for enforcing moderation at meals—one on which is
emblazoned a _death’s head_! Think for a moment how could the most
confirmed gourmand sin with such a tool! Why, the _chef d’oeuvre_ of
gastronomic fluids could not be conveyed to any man’s stomach in excess
by it, unless the owner of the stomach was blind. The most horrible of
_memento morii_ not only staring him in the face, but actually mixing
with his food! If anything could subdue voracious appetites, one might
suppose this would.

The spoon opens the mouth of every dumb person; and, what is sometimes
as difficult to accomplish, it stops the most loquacious one. Its
effects are exceedingly diversified. With most people, eating puts an
end to speaking, according to the venerable precept, “Let your meat stop
your mouth;” but some are more talkative at table than any where else.
We remember an old lady remarkably taciturn except when handling a
spoon. It was a key that unloosed her tongue. Every time she sipped
coffee or tea, a remark dropped from her; but not a word ever came out
till the spoon had first gone in; as if it carried permission to the
imprisoned member to take a moment’s exercise.

Its influence is very observable on nations. It modifies their manners
and customs, affects their arts, sciences, and manufactures; gives tone
to individual character, to modes of thought and action. Who does not
know that the vivacity and other marked attributes of the French people
are derived from the free use of the spoon? They are too wise to follow
the example of their saturnine neighbors, in everlastingly using the
knife and the fork. It is a fact too well known to need repetition here,
that the differences in the temper and habits of the Briton and Gaul are
to be traced to Roasts and Ragouts, to Beef and Bouilli.

The Celts and Gauls fined a fat man, and increased or diminished the
penalty according to the size of his paunch—reversing the doctrines of
India, where Rajahs are respected for their obesity—and of Southern
Africa, where ladies are admired for the width of their waists, and
their beauty determined by the hundred weight.

_Steaks_ make a German or an Englishman portly and dull; _stews_, a
Frenchman light and agile. On one side of the channel, _fries_ render
men heavy as dray horses; on the other, _fricasees_ make them frisky as
genets. It is the spoon that causes one people to be graceful in their
persons and polite in their demeanor, and the want of it another
ungainly in their movements and awkward in their compliments—that fits
this people for natural teachers of dancing, and makes those persons
incapable of appreciating the rudiments of personal accomplishments. So
with other national characteristics. All may be traced more or less
direct to the knife and the spoon.

             Observe the various operations
             Of food, and drink in several nations.
             Was ever Tartar fierce and cruel
             Upon the strength of water-gruel?
             But who can stand his rage and force
             If first he rides, then eats his horse?
             Salad and eggs and lighter fare
             Tune the Italian spark’s guitar;
             And if I read Dan Congreve right,
             Pudding and beef make Britons fight.—_Prior._

Howell says, ‘while Englishmen drank only ale, they were strong, brawny,
able men, and could draw an arrow an ell long; but when they fell to
wine and beer, they are found to be much impaired in their strength and
age.’

An old British commander thus addressed his troops on the eve of battle:
“What a shame it would be to you, Englishmen, who feed upon beef and
drink beer, to let those rascally Spaniards beat you, who eat nothing
but oranges and lemons.” The same intellectual gentleman we presume it
was who supposed a well-known passage in Macbeth had reference to the
dressing of a beef steak or mutton chop:

           If it were done, when ’tis done, then ’twere well
           It were done quickly.

Sir William Temple attributed the bravery of his countrymen to their
carnivorous propensities. According to this doctrine, and it has many
advocates, rice-eating Asiatics can never withstand European feeders on
beef: those nations that excel others in killing cattle for food will
generally be the most successful butchers of men—the most valiant eating
the most bullocks. The principle is certainly illustrated in almost
every page of ancient history—and the most in accounts of those nations
the most known—as the Greeks, Carthaginians, and Romans. So in the
present day—oppressed people are such as are confined to vegetable diet,
as the Hindoos, the Irish, &c. In the Iliad, spits, roasting fires, and
boiling pots are about as common as spears, shields, or clubs: and
enumeration of cattle, sheep, goats, and swine, as troops of men and
horses. The Greek princes were their own butchers and cooks, and were
often half broiled while preparing their dinners. But we don’t read of
Hector or his friends sweating like

              Patroclus, who o’er the blazing fire
              Heaps in a brazen vase three chines entire.

No! the people of Troy were unfortunately more chastened in their
manners, and refined in their appetites, and hence compelled to yield to
their savage and flesh eating invaders!

Spoons possess a high antiquarian interest, not merely as specimens of
the arts, and indicative of the use of hot fluids in former times, but
as bearing on the curious subject of human stature—on the question of
the degeneracy of man’s frame. Egyptian spoons of great antiquity are
preserved in museums of Europe, and are of the same average size as
those now in use; [_see figures farther on_;] proving in the clearest
manner that people’s mouths, between three and four thousand years ago,
were of the same width and capacity as ours. If mummies, therefore, had
never been drawn from the catacombs of the Nile, these little implements
would have been sufficient to show that while the subjects of the
Pharaohs surpassed other people in the magnitude of their works, their
souls dwelt in bodies no larger than ours.

Ancient caldrons were often of enormous capacities, sometimes equaling a
modern brewer’s vat. This was on account of the large households of
princes—their families, like Solomon’s, consisting of hundreds and even
thousands of officers and attendants; but there is no record of the
spoon having ever varied in its general dimensions. Had Alexander, when
he wished to deceive posterity into a belief that his army was composed
of giants, buried on each field of battle a few gross of spoons,
capacious as good sized ladles, the deception would have been as likely
to succeed as by his inhuming bridles and mangers for mammoth horses,
and armor suitable for such men as Goliah of Gath, and the old King of
Bashan.

Is it imagined existing ladles of a former world were possibly used as
spoons, and therefore such reasoning is not conclusive? A little
reflection will show the contrary; or if the reader will turn to _Plate
III_, he will see it would be a very difficult matter to empty an
ancient ladle, or simpulum, into the mouth, in consequence of the
position of the handle; this being perpendicular to the mouth of the
bowl; whereas in the spoon it is on a line or nearly so with it.

In how many ways does the spoon contribute to man’s enjoyments! Besides
its more appropriate business, it often assists in quite different
matters. Its devotion is not confined to the mouth, nor to things for
the mouth, but, like an anxious attendant, is ever ready to lend its
assistance where it can. Most readers can call to mind numerous
occasions on which the value of its presence was felt. Neighbor Windt
can never get up the heels of his shoes till in place of his fingers he
applies the shank of a spoon, and matches were never made in his house
without tipping their ends in brimstone fused in another. Is a person
faint? The spoon is called to revive him. Are you in pain? quoth the
doctor, “three drops from this vial, in a tea-spoon full of syrup, will
relieve you.” You are restless? “Take these pills in a table-spoon full
of wine, and you’ll soon be asleep.” Infants suffer greatly in cutting
their teeth, but by “champering a spoon,” the gums are sooner cut
through; and thus this devoted servant of our species kindly hastens the
period when, in a more legitimate way, it can gratify little innocents.

When influenzas rage, what is the first act of attending disciples of
Galen? To ask for a spoon, that with it they may press down the tongue
to examine the fauces. In epidemic catarrhs, there is scarcely a house
free from the disease, or a spoon from this service. Now, is it not
remarkable that in afflictions of the mouth and throat the benign and
sympathetic spoon should not only administer appropriate medicines, but
he actually called in ere the nature of those medicines is determined!
Its presence required by consulting physicians, as if from its
familiarity with the patient, his habits and manner of life, and its
acquaintance with the bronchial regions—its aid was indispensable!

It serves prince and peasant on some curious occasions. The part it
performs in the coronation of kings will be noticed further on, but we
may here notice how the poor derive from it a valuable lesson. Start
not, gentle reader, at our announcing that spoons have long taught the
children of penury to lay right in bed! Yes; and shown them the only
way, in certain cases, by which either to get in or keep in—solving a
very curious geometrical problem. The custom alluded to is said to be
well known in soldiers’ barracks, lodging houses for mendicants, in
cheap boarding schools for boys, and wherever circumstances require four
or more persons to sleep on one couch. It is obvious uniformity of
position and movement, in such cases, is indispensable to individual
repose.

When half a dozen spoons are laid out separately, they take up
considerable room, but place them edgewise, bring up the mouth of one
close to the back of the next, &c. and the whole will form a compact
mass. Just so with half a dozen tenants of one bed; if laid
promiscuously, they could not find room; that is only obtained by
placing themselves “spoon-fashion”—all turned one way and close fitted
to each other. The oldest occupant regulates the positions and motions
of his fellows. Having the privilege of first laying down, he adjusts
himself to his own liking; drawing up his knees as far as he finds
agreeable, he becomes a model or pattern to which those behind him must
conform. No one can then “turn on t’other side,” without general
consent; and it is only when the chief gives the signal (by exclaiming
“_spoons_,”) that the interesting evolution takes place.

Spoons were formerly used to feed the nose as well as the mouth—_snuff_
being conveyed in them to the nostrils instead of between the finger and
thumb—but this will be illustrated by a cut on a future page. We have
somewhere read of the implement performing the part of a
linguist—interpreting between navigators and strange people. When other
modes failed to make known the want of food, the sight of a spoon,
accompanied with the usual movements in using it, instantly opened the
understandings of savages, and saved Christian travellers from
starvation.

Silver spoons have made their influence felt in the politics of nations.
The enthusiasm of the people of England in supporting the cause of the
parliament against Charles I. may be gathered from the contribution of
the inhabitants of a single town to the republican cause. In London,
enormous masses of plate were heaped up in Guildhall, the gift of the
citizens. We select a few items from the list of donors named in the
History and Antiquities of Great Yarmouth, [Norwich, 1772.]

  “Thomas Goose, seven pieces of plate and _two spoons_.

  “Robert Wakeman, 51 oz. of plate, at 5s. 4d. per oz. and _nine spoons_
  in _coarse silver_, weighing 14 oz. at 4s. 6d. per oz.”

[We leave it to modern smiths to distinguish between the “_coarse_” and
“best” silver.]

  “William Burton, 59 oz. plate, _one spoon, best_, and _four coarse
  spoons_ and a bodkin.

  “George England, 91 oz. and _seven silver spoons_.

  “Robert Huntington, 158 oz. and _one spoon_.

  “William Bridge, 10 pieces of plate and _seven spoons_; and at another
  time, 72 oz. and _seven spoons_.

  “John Thompson, _two cups_ and a _spoon_.”

The above may serve as a commentary on the following lines from a
contemporary poet, by whom the parliament is addressed:

            Our plate, our coin, our jewels, and our rings,
            Arms, ornaments, and all our precious things,
            To you we brought as bountifully in,
            As if they had old rusty horse-shoes been.

Butler, the champion of monarchy, as a matter of course turned this
patriotic ardor into ridicule:

      Did saints for this bring in their plate,
      And crowd as if they came too late?
      For when they thought the cause had need on’t,
      Happy was he that could be rid on’t.
      Did they coin p— p—s, bowls and flagons,
      Int’ officers of horse and dragoons?
      And into pikes and musqueteers,
      Stamp beakers, cups, and porringers?
      A thimble, bodkin, and a SPOON,
      Did start up living men as soon
      As in the furnace they were thrown.—_Hudibras_, _Canto_ ii.

Nor have pewter spoons been behind silver ones in freedom’s cause. Few
kitchen utensils have done more for national independence. Like those in
the house of John Adams, they have been molded into bullets, and sent in
haste to stay the stomachs of mercenary troops attempting to prey upon
their owners. In the war of the revolution, when the spoons in New-York
were used up, a set of men without the fear of God or the King before
their eyes, pulled down the leaden statue of George in the Bowling
Green, and fused him into balls. Then, as the royal officers professed
to honor the king in their hearts, the rebels thought it right to send
him into their bosoms. Here we see how spoons, though designed to convey
victuals to the mouth, can of themselves effectually silence the
cravings of hunger.

In another sense, pewter spoons have entered the field. Essentially of
domestic habits, and brought up to wait on their owners at table, yet
when a country family’s provision has been spent, they have been known
to go in quest of some. Putting on a new form, (being cast into
“buck-shot,”) they have left home, like Esau, “to take venison,” and
have generally returned (in the bodies of the game) with fresh supplies
for the larder. Having done this, they have, in one or two instances,
(when serving a backwoodsman,) resumed their previous occupation, (being
recast,) and assisted to cook and serve up the animals they killed. But
this is rarely the case, for rambling in the woods commonly puts an end
to their household occupations.

In cities, silver spoons often leave home to raise means for purchasing
provisions when the purse of their owner is emptied and his credit quite
gone. Pledged for a loan, they remain in prison without murmuring till
his circumstances revive and he redeems them from thraldom. Money
lenders turn their backs on the poor man’s knife and fork, but never
refuse his silver spoons—_their_ touching appeals cannot be resisted.
Like those heroic Moravian Missionaries, who went into slavery to
benefit perishing heathen, these well disposed little things repeatedly
save Christian families from famishing by acting in a similar manner.
After a prolonged absence, great is the joy on their arrival—then every
one takes them by the hand and greets their return.

Thus the spoon contributes to man’s joys, in prosperity, and diminishes
his sorrows when in pecuniary trouble. It is a friend that sticketh
closer than a brother. Like a Grecian or Roman nurse, its labors cease
not with the death of its master—it continues to serve him in his
descendants. Made an heirloom, it bears his initials or his name, and is
sent down to succeeding generations, a cherished memorial of the
friendship that existed between them.




                              CHAPTER III.

  _Proverb respecting Long Spoons—Attempt to define its
  origin—Female Costume—Trains, Steeple Caps, Fardingales and
  Ruffs—Extract from an old Sermon—Homily on Dress—Enormous cost of
  Ruffs—George Heriot—Oriental long Spoons—Satan’s Household—Other
  Proverbs—Conjurers—Mountebanks—Lotteries—Feats of the Spoon on the
  Stage—Curious Practice of Morris-dancers—Superstition of the
  Goths—Dryden—Gruel—Possets—Spoons doing duty as ferulas—Sir Thomas
  More—The Spoon or Spoon-meat typical of Infancy._


The spoon, as is well known to most readers, gave rise to a once
celebrated proverb, indicative of the advances of sin and the lengths to
which the wicked are led—“_He wants a long spoon who sups with the
devil._” The saying is now nearly obsolete, but it was formerly, like
the implement itself, in every one’s mouth. Thus Chaucer, in the
Squire’s Tale:

              What he answerd it nedeth not reherse;
              Who can say bet than he, who can do werse
              Whan he hath al wel said than he hath done.
              Therfore behoveth him a ful _long spone_
              That shal ete with a _fend_.

Shakespeare, in the Tempest, makes Stephano exclaim, oh beholding
Caliban, “Mercy! Mercy! This is a devil, and no monster; I’ll leave him;
I have no _long spoon_.” And in the Comedy of Errors, the whimsical
mistakes occasioned by the resemblance of the twins to each other, led
the parties to suppose Satan himself was in the performance. Antipholus
of Syracuse is invited by a female to dinner, his servant hints to him
the character of the hostess:

  _Dromio._—Master, if you go, expect spoon-meat, or bespeak a _long
  spoon_.

  _Ant._—Why, Dromio?

  _Dromio._—Marry, he must have a _long spoon_ that must eat with the
  devil.

There was in Shakespeare’s time a more substantial reason why those who
supped with ladies as well as such as partook of Satan’s hospitality,
should have long spoons; and why ladies themselves should have been, as
they actually were, furnished with them. “Indeed!” exclaims some female
reader; “pray explain.” Certainly, madam; but before doing so, it is
expedient to allude to something else.

From the times when primitive British ladies were clad in skins sewed
together with sinews and pinned on the person with thorns, to those when
Anglo-Saxon dames wore tunics and mufflers, and Norman females wrapped
themselves in broidered mantles and copes, and thence to the present
days, every age has been distinguished by innovations in _costume_, and
of a very marked character. Norman fashions were succeeded in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries by the English gown, bibs, aprons,
and corsets. Immense trains were attached to the skirts of gowns. Horned
and also steeple caps for the head made their appearance, thus
lengthening both extremities of the person to a monstrous extent. A
lady, on a visit of ceremony, is said to have sometimes been in the
centre of a drawing-room, while the tail of her dress was still in the
street. Chaucer is severe on this and other parts of female dress. In
the Parson’s Tale, he rails at “the superfluitee of the foresaide
gounes, _trailing in the dong_, and in the _myre_, on hors, and eke on
foot.” In Dunbar’s Poems, they are represented as performing the part of
a besom:

         Sic fartingaillis on flaggis als fatt as quhailis
         Fattit lyk fulis with hattis that littel availis;
         And sic fowill _tailis_ to _sweip the calsay clene_.
 [_Poems by W. Dunbar, from the MS. of George Bannatyne. Perth, 1788, p.
    52._]

Steeple caps towered about a yard above the heads which bore them, so
that ladies in full dress could hardly pass through an ordinary door, or
stand in a modern room. Queen Elizabeth, it is well known, carried her
head pretty high, in more senses than one, but she had sometimes to
bend. Visiting Burleigh, when he was laid up with the gout, she was much
incommoded by her head-dress in entering his dwelling. As the stateman’s
servant conducted her through the door, he cautioned her to beware of
the lintel, saying, “May it please your Highness to stoop.” The haughty
dame replied, she would not incline her body to the Spanish King, but on
this occasion would bend to see his master. For specimens of steeple
caps, see illustrations in current editions of Froissart, copied from
illuminated MSS. particularly Isabella, wife of Edward I. entering
Paris; the Dutchess of Montfort entering Nantes, and Philippa, consort
of Edward III.

The sixteenth and part of the seventeenth century were characterized by
long bodices, puffed sleeves, the famous fardingale, and celebrated
ruff. The huge cylindrical petticoat was projected by hoops as much at
the hips as at the feet, so that the wearer seemed as if she stood
through an opening in the centre of a round table, the linen cover of
which reached down to the ground, and upon which she could arrange a
variety of apparatus, such as a lady’s work-bag usually
contains—strongly reminding one of Chinese pedlars of small wares, who
carry about goods on a somewhat similar looking contrivance. “The great
ladies at Genoa (observes Evelyn) go in horrible overgrown vertigals of
whalebone, which being put about the waist of the lady, and full as
_broad on both sides as she can reach with her hands_ bear out her coats
in such a manner that she appears to be as broad as long.” See a
portrait of Anne of Denmark, wife of James I. usually found in works on
costume.

The stiff ruff round the neck sometimes projected so far that a
plumb-line dropped from its edge would nearly coincide with the
periphery of the petticoat. At other times, it was pinned up round the
ears, forming a fluted and inverted truncated cone or rather, it
resembled the outer leaves of a rose protecting the blushing beauty
within. Portraits of Queen Elizabeth exhibit both modes of wearing the
ruff. A smaller kind was worn by men in like manner, as may be seen in
portraits of Bacon, Dudley, Sidney, Cecil, and others of that and the
following age. See also Dutch portraits, of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries, and illustrated works of those periods—the ruff
is represented enormously thick and proportionally broad. Both it and
the fardingale are noticed by Cervantes.

Few parts of female apparel excited more notice than ruffs, and on none
were bestowed more attention and regard. Cambric was first imported into
England, (from Cambray in Flanders, and hence its name,) for the purpose
of making them, and numerous were the devices for forming and stiffening
the plaits. About the year 1574, an invention of great merit, in the
estimation of ladies, was made, since it rendered the ruff much more
commodious to the wearer, and increased the facility of dressing and
putting it in shape. This was the famous “poking stick”—a polished steel
implement which, when heated, was used for stiffening and plaiting the
starched frills. The ladies had cause to rejoice that “setting pins”
(slips of whalebone, &c. formerly concealed in the plaits in the manner
of fans) were thus superseded. These uncomfortable adjuncts formed a
species of _chevaux de frise_, enclosing the neck, and not only keeping
other people, but in a manner themselves, at arms length. Ruffs were not
unlike the Chinese _cangue_, a thick board like a table, resting on the
shoulders of a criminal, his head being passed through a hole in the
centre—a device often compared to “a frill or collar.” It prevents the
wearer from reaching his mouth, so that unless fed by his friends he
would inevitably perish with hunger.

Now, it has doubtless already occurred to our fair querist that, however
elegant and fashionable ruffs formerly were, they must have been
extremely incommodious at _meal times_. It is manifest no lady could
with an ordinary spoon convey food to her lips without crushing or
otherwise spoiling the most cherished part of her attire. The result
was, long-handled implements came into vogue, and were not disused till
“setting-pins” and “poking sticks” were laid aside, and the dimensions
of ruffs diminished.

For ladies’ sakes, the following enumeration of fashionable articles of
costume is taken from a sermon preached in the fourteenth century to
worldly-minded misses: “Thus the devil farith with men and women: first,
he stirreth them to pappe and pamper their flesh, desiring delicious
meates and drinkes; and so they hop on the pillar of the devil’s
temptation, with their _horns_, _locks_, _garlands of gold and rich
pearls_, _cauls_, _fillets_ and _wimples_, and _riddled gowns_ and
_rockets_, _colors_, _laces_, _jackes_, _paltockes_, with their long
_crakowes_; and thus the devil beareth them upon the pillar to teach
them to fly above simple folk, and saith they shall not hurt
themselves—but he lieth falsely, for unless they are as sorry therefore
as ever they were glad, they shall leap down from the pillar into the
pit of hell!” Horned caps were too conspicuous objects to escape the
good father’s censure. The _wimple_ was a species of hood that covered
the head, neck, and shoulders. _Paltockes_—doublets, and probably
pantalettes; such as worn by Turkish females. _Crakowes_, long pointed
shoes.

Of the homilies appointed by Queen Elizabeth to be read in churches, the
one on excess of apparel has some warm denunciations against wimples,
mufflers, head-bands, crisping pins, ladies mincing as they went, and
nicely treading with their feet. The gentlemen catch it also, with their
_velvets_, _furred gowns_, _corked slippers_, _trim buskins_, and the
multitudes of _changes of dress_—_one of this colour, another of that_,
one for _morning_, another for _afternoon_, this in _Spanish_, that in
the _Turkish fashion_, &c. The evil had risen to such a height that
“neither Almighty God by his word, nor godly and necessary laws, could
stop it.” “One spendeth his patrimony in _pounces and cuts_, another
bestoweth more on a _dancing shirt_ than might suffice to buy apparel
for his whole body. _Some hang their revenues about their necks,
ruffling with their ruffs!_” All the world knows immense wealth, in the
shape of jewels, is often pendant from a lady’s neck, but few persons
are aware that gentlemen formerly laid out fortunes on _frills_, and had
peculiar _shirts_ to dance in.

George Heriot, goldsmith to James I. is figured with a ruff consisting
of plaits piled one over another, the whole being at least six inches
thick, and projecting in proportion. He never could have conveniently
fed himself with “cock-a-leekie,” or “crowdy,” the favorite dishes of
King Jamie, with anything like a modern spoon, without deranging if not
defiling his frill. Yet his and his master’s were of moderate dimensions
compared with those of the gallants of their days.

Long spoons are common with the Turks, Persians, and most Asiatics. They
are mentioned by old travellers as “reaching a great way.” The proverb
associated with them no doubt arose from the primitive custom, still
prevalent over the greater part of the earth, of the inmates of a house
eating out of one dish. The tables on this account approaching a
circular form, so as to give every individual an equal chance at the
provision; like the knights at Arthur’s Round Table. In large
households, the tables were necessarily made in proportion, and as the
dish was placed at the centre, the implements were adapted to reach it
without rising. An idea has always prevailed that Satan’s household
never was a small one; spoons therefore much longer than common were
supposed to be required by those invited to a seat at his table.

Other proverbs are connected with the subject. Henry IV. quoted one,
when rebuked for his clemency to his foes—“More flies are caught by a
_spoon_-full of honey than with a hogshead of vinegar.” Perhaps the best
description of a vain-glorious person is one in which he is represented
as taking in praise like porridge, and “_licking the spoon_!”

Silver spoons, almost as much as anything else, afforded employment to
conjurers and wise women of yore. Frequently stolen, their disconsolate
owners had recourse to rustic oracles, who, with ‘wand,’ ‘magic mirror,’
‘key and book,’ ‘sieve and sheers,’ or other cabalistic implements,
found out the rogues. Sometimes the more learned professors of occult
sciences were employed—men who consulted the stars on the fate of
kingdoms, stray cattle, lost keys, and goods of every description and
value.

        They’d search a planet’s house to know
        Who broke and robbed a house below;
        Examine Venus and the moon,
        Who stole a thimble or a _spoon_.—_Hudibras_, _Canto_ I.

Another class of men, whose glory has also departed, found a source of
profit in spoons, viz.: _Mountebanks_, who were originally travelling
venders of physic—a species of merchandise associated with rather
unpleasant ideas—one ill adapted to form the staple of a lucrative
trade. But, shrewd and observing, the itinerant quack knew the weak
points of the species, and that to succeed he had only to keep his
customers in good humor. Like a nurse coaxing sick children into love
with the doctor’s prescription, he tickled his hearers with the wonders
his nostrums had wrought, and sold pills out of the same package for
every complaint of man or beast. As people, however, are not always
sick, he reminded them that they were daily in danger of being so; and
hence the wisdom of buying pills which not only removed disease but
prevented its approach. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, he
added to his stock various light articles, as tapes, rings, ribbons,
bodkins, scissors, spoons, knives, razors, tea-pots, trays, calicoes,
and eventually introduced them in lotteries—expatiating on their
superior qualities with a fluency which rivaled that of ‘Kikero’—as a
country pedagogue of our acquaintance insists on pronouncing the name of
the Roman orator.

The poets of the last century often complimented these amusing artists,
as Gay in his Sixth Pastoral:

           The mountebank now treads the stage and sells
           His pills, his balsams, and his ague spells;

                  ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

           Of lotteries, next with tuneful note he told,
           Where _silver spoons_ were won, and rings of gold.

The same gentry were very numerous in ancient Greece and Rome, and quite
as clever as their present representatives. They dealt in trinkets and
small wares, whose virtues were fully equal to modern ones. Eudamus,
mentioned by Aristophanes, peddled finger-rings, for protecting the
wearers from the bite of serpents or other venomous animals! Like recent
artists of the same profession, he probably sold razors so sharp as
would shave sleeping cats without wakening them, and spoons which
rendered loathsome food pleasant, and poisoned food innocuous.

Modern mountebanks sometimes wound up the business of a lottery with
general satisfaction, by providing from two to six bowls of _hasty
pudding_, to partake of which an equal number of their patrons were
invited to step on the stage. The food was scalding hot, and being
retained in wooden bowls lost little of its heat ere passed to its
destination. He who transmitted the contents of one bowl to his stomach
in the shortest time was the victor, and bore off the prize; which was
sometimes the spoon he had used. When every thing was prepared, the
contest began on a signal given by the generous provider of the feast,
and instantly accompanied with acclamations of the bystanders. The witty
remarks of Mr. Merryman caused roars of laughter to become, like
approaching thunder, louder and louder, until the rain descended, and
the faces of the multitudes were fairly washed in their own tears.
Before the performers half finished the task, their visages acquired the
temperature and color of fire, in spite of streams of perspiration with
which they were flooded.

This employment of the spoon was at one time so common as to have given
rise to the soubriquet by which the principal performer was, and still
is, distinguished—_Jean Potage_ in France—_Jack Pudding_ in England.

Here we see the spoon taking an active part in the _public sports_ of
the people, as well as in furthering their private pleasures. It entered
into an _innocent_ contest, which the knife or the sword never did. It
achieved a bloodless conquest, and as an emblem of victory was often
stuck on one side of the hat, by way of cockade. And let not the
disciple of Chesterfield sneer at these rustic entertainments of
ignorant times, for the effects on both actors and spectators were more
beneficial in shaking off the gross humors of the system than cart loads
of physic or wagon loads of sermons.

The spoon in another respect assisted old charlatans, and in that part
of their performances most interesting to themselves and trying to
spectators—viz. in making the collection. The morris dancer, at the
close of every act, put a large spoon or ladle in the mouth of the
hobby-horse and made it career round the ring to solicit donations, when
we may suppose few could resist the moving appeal. [_See Douce’s
Illustrations of Shakespeare._]

The caldron and ladle have been employed in forbidden matters. Witches
made ‘hell broth’ in one, and stirred up the ingredients with the
other—making the gruel thick and slab—but the food entered no mortal
stomach, and hence no mortal spoon was wanted. This may be inferred from
older writers than Shakespeare—from Saxo Grammaticus and Olaus Magnus.
They tell us about the practices of ‘women witches of the North, where
the devil truly hath his seat’—of the ‘gruel’ and ‘earthen pot wherein
the juices, herbs, worms and entrails’ were boiled, &c. but not a
whisper about the spoon. Eventually the law of nature taught the Goths
to detest devils and their dams, for it often happened that famines
ensued when men obeyed them: ‘birds and beasts forsook the woods, and
fish the waters, and would not come back again [to be eaten] until such
time as the Divine Majesty was pacified by prayers and benedictions of
the sacred clergy.’ So says the Reverend Archbishop of Upsal.

In satirical writings, allusions to _spoon-meats_ were formerly common.
When a passionate combatant had no other resource, he too often vented
his wrath in gross personalities. Thus Dryden: ‘Go back to where thy
infancy began, eat pap and _spoon-meats_;’ or when a fling was made at
people’s diet, as in the Scornful Lady of Beaumont and Fletcher: ‘Faith,
sir, here are no _oats_ to be got, unless you’l have ’em in porredge;
the people are so given to _spoon-meats_.’ A similar allusion to oatmeal
gruel is made by Du Bartas:

               And in a dish, for want of plate or glass,
               Sups oaten drink instead of hippocras.

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries oatmeal gruel constituted the
regular breakfast and supper of children. Dryden has an allusion to it
in the ‘Wild Gallant’:—‘_Boy_: These last three weeks I have almost
forgot what my teeth were made for. Last night good Mrs. Bibber took
pity on me, and crammed me a mess of gruel _with the children_, and I
popt and popt my spoon three or four times to my mouth before I could
find the way to it.’

If the spoon was the first thing wanted in a morning, it was often the
last thing laid aside at night; for when youngsters broke their fast
with porridge, old people wound up the day’s labor with posset,—a hot
mixture of milk and mulled wine, and frequently taken in bed. The custom
is repeatedly mentioned in old writers. Page promised Falstaff a posset,
and Mrs. Quickly cheered Rugby with the hopes of another. Lady Macbeth
drugged the posset of Duncan’s grooms. Thomas Heywood, a contemporary of
Shakespeare notices the custom: “Thou shalt be welcome to beef and
bacon, and perhaps a bag pudding; and my daughter Nell shall pop a
posset upon thee when thou goest to bed.”

Besides feeding boys and girls, the spoon has been known to remind them
when they do ill, its bowl being now and then applied to their pates, to
teach them better manners. Among refined people or with mild housewives,
this of course never occurs; but passionate cooks, when teased by young
impertinents, seldom stop to reflect on the impropriety of using the
same implement to baste a boy’s head and a roasting pig. In country
parts this practice is probably more frequent than in cities, _one_
thing there being often necessarily put to _many_ uses. Like a faithful
nurse, the spoon goes out of its way to benefit young folks by
performing duties towards them that do not belong to it.

In some regions, poor people are not over-nice in their tastes—it’s a
merciful dispensation they are not. When the Highland hostess took her
son’s cap off his head, and immediately boiled in it a pudding for Sam.
Johnson’s dinner, she made the most of her resources, did the best her
limited stock of dry goods would permit, and displayed as much ingenuity
in the application of an old thing to a new purpose, as one half of
those do who secure their inventions by patents. There is no doubt that
such a lady, when busily engaged in making “stirabout” for her family,
would hasten the movements of a desidiose boy by applying the implement
she was wielding to his sconce, as well as by threatening to withhold
the contents of the kettle from his lips. To be sure, such a practice is
not very cleanly; but what can a country matron in like circumstances
do? She cannot leave the porridge to “burn” or “boil over,” in order to
seek a suitable rod; if she did, in all probability the individual for
whose benefit it was sought, would be _non est inventus_ when she
returned.

During the fierce contests between the advocates of faith and the
champions of works, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the
spoon was sometimes introduced. On one occasion it proved a powerful
weapon in the hands of Sir Thomas More. See how skillfully he wields
it:—“I would wene one _sponeful_ of good works should no more kill y^e
soule, then a potager of good wurts should kill and destroi y^e bodie.”
Wurts is the old name for unfermented beer—a sweet infusion of malt—and
is an aperient. This was an argument _ad hominum_, or rather _ad
stomachus._ In it the Chancellor administered, and in a very quiet way,
a medicine that could not help moving their bowels; and it did move
them—for those whom he thus addressed at length slew him. But such
occasions are not the only ones where the spoon was associated with
religious controversies or ceremonies, as the sequel of this essay will
show.

The spoon, or ‘spoon meat,’ and ‘strong meat,’ have ever been typical of
infancy and manhood—of weak and vigorous intellects. Paul tells the
Hebrews they could only digest pap or spoon meats of children, instead
of the strong food of men. “Ye have need of milk, and not of strong
meat. Every one that useth milk is a babe, but strong meat belongeth to
them that are of full age.” Solomon has the same idea: it is in fact
common as the spoon.




                              CHAPTER IV.

  _Heraldic Emblems—The Spoon neglected—Families of Spooners—Dutch Coat
  of Arms—Crest for Bishops—Warriors—Punishment of Death—Discontented
  People subdued by the Spoon—Peace made by it lasting—A Teacher of
  Military Tactics—Waterloo—Manual Exercise—The Spoon once a
  Side-Arm—Ancient Tenures—Curious Deed of Land—Bishop of
  Exeter—Sheep-Walk and Wooden Spoon—Tears collected by Spoons—Heaven
  opened by them—Property given to the Church—Mahommedans use Spoons in
  Paradise—Wash-Basin—Rebuke and Malediction._


Looking over some works on Heraldry, we were surprised at the multitude
of culinary utensils adopted into that ‘heavenly science,’ as one of its
professors calls it. As we proceeded, the reason became plain; for
everything _eatable_, whether fish, flesh, or vegetable, being portrayed
on escutcheons or crests, nothing was more natural than to introduce
apparatus for cooking. As a symbol for beef, veal, mutton, lamb, pork,
or venison, a gentleman selected for his crest, (as his palate preferred
one dish or another) a bull or cow, a calf, a sheep, or goat, a lamb,
boar, or stag. Those who lived more delicately chose a fowl, hare, or
rabbit;—others, pheasants, partridges, pigeons, snipe, quails, wild
ducks, geese, herons, and every kind of game. Such as loved fish,
selected perch, pike, flounders, salmon, trout, and so on, up to
sturgeons and dolphins. Some had painted on their armorial ensigns,
cockles, muscles, crabs, lobsters, and turtles. Those who relished
vegetable diet, had sheafs of barley, rye, and wheat, beans, peas,
asparagus, celery, turnips, cabbages. People fond of pies and desserts,
had apples, pears, pomegranates, cherries, and grapes; and such as had
more pleasure in handling the tumbler than the knife or spoon, selected
for their crests, barrels [for beer], urns or vases [for wine], drinking
cups, horns, goblets, mazars, &c.

Of devices taken from kitchen paraphernalia, we cannot name half; here
are a few: The hearth and fire, being essential for preparing dinner,
often occur; so do torches to light the fire, billets of wood to feed
and bellows to blow it. A spit to roast meat, and sometimes the roast on
it. Fire-dogs or andirons, caldrons, skewers and flesh-hooks. (Heads,
limbs, and joints of animals, ready for the spit or kettle, are quite
common.) Colanders, watering-pots, cleavers, carving-knives, plates and
dishes, salts, cups and tankards. Stools to sit on, tables to eat off,
hand-bells to call waiters, buckets of water, basins and ewers, to wash
after dinner; combs to dress the hair before sitting down, scissors to
trim the beard, and caps to place on the head.

“Well, but where is the spoon?” To tell the truth, we have not been able
to find it! A disgrace to the science of heraldry it is not emblazoned,
or if it be, it has escaped our notice. The ingrates! Or, were they
ashamed of adopting it to conceal their love of spoon meats? As if the
world perceived not their design in concealing a round of beef under the
figure of an ox, a chine of pork under a boar, a haunch of venison under
a fat buck, a loin of veal under a calf—or as if the reverend gentleman
who adopted “two shin-bones” for his crest, could by such an affectation
of abstinence hide from a prying world his attachment to marrow and
strong broth. [_See Kent’s Grammar of Heraldry, Lond. 1724, and also
Guillim, where the above “devices,” and hundreds more, may be found._]

There might be some excuse for Messrs. Fish, Flour, Bull, Bacon, Cook,
Sprat, Drake, Taylor, Miller, Smith, Potts, Sadler, Wheeler, Fisher,
Drinker, Baker, Carter, and others, rejecting from their coats of arms
the object of our research; but surely the ancient and honorable
families of the SPOONERS should have known better. They, at least, might
have had the grace to acknowledge and adopt the implement from which
their patronymic is derived. What could have been more proper? But alas!
the earth is as full of pride as ingratitude, and many besides the
Spooners are indifferent about inquiring into the condition and deeds of
their ancestors.

In an ancient and imperfectly depicted coat of arms, the supporters are
a man and a woman: one flourishes what appears a ladle, and the other
holds something like a spoon; but Guillim, or some one else, explains
the hieroglyphics in a different manner. With this exception, the arms
of an old Dutch family come nearest the mark. Their crest was a
_Spoonbill_, the most singular looking of European birds, and a native
of Holland; but whether it was selected on account of its name, the form
of its mouth, or the length of its neck, we are not informed. If the
gentleman who chose it was a ravenous feeder on soups, and a believer in
the doctrine that the pleasures of eating and drinking are proportioned
to the length of the channel through which food reaches the stomach, his
heraldic ingenuity surpassed that of any gourmand on record; that is,
unless the musician mentioned by Aulus Gellius adopted it as an armorial
ensign, which is not unlikely, since he used to wish for a neck as long
as a crane, that he might _longer_ enjoy the victuals he ate.

As an heraldic device, the Spoon is infinitely more becoming Christian
men than spears, daggers, bows and arrows, catapults, hatchets, clubs,
knives, and other murderous weapons, which knights and even bishops
sport on their plate and the panels of their carriages. To church
dignitaries it seems peculiarly appropriate—a symbol of benevolence, of
a disposition “to feed the hungry.” Charity, however, has always been at
a discount, and the spoon, as its emblem, is neglected by heralds and
bishops.

O, that warriors would adopt it! It would be consistent with sentiments
many of them affect. Besides, the times are rapidly approaching when
conquest in battle—the subjugation of nations by brute force—will no
longer make a hero; when people cannot be treated by their rulers like
cattle, and slain in hordes by professional butchers; by men whose acts
fools vaunt and idiots gloze over. It had been well for the world had
soldiers never handled any weapon but the spoon. As kindness is, and,
from the constitution of the human mind, ever must be more effective
than compulsion to overcome the wayward, victories more glorious and
permanent than any attained by the musket and cannon would have been the
result. Is this doubted? Let the plan be tried: it is based on
philosophy, on principles implanted in man’s nature; whereas the other
conflicts with them all.

Public sentiment is fast demanding the abolition of the punishment of
death in civil communities—a punishment which does not and cannot
protect society from crimes, because it is itself a violation of the
laws of humanity. Vindictive in its nature, it deliberately commits that
which it condemns. If one man kill another in a passion, who can
innocently put him to death in cold blood? But what, then, shall those
scenes of wholesale slaughter be deemed where human beings, reeking with
gore, are butchering one another—not that they are at enmity, but
because their employers require it of them?

The murmurings of a discontented people may be silenced by thrusting
bayonets into their bodies—’twould be a better way to put spoons in
their mouths. Starving people have long enough been conquered by killing
them; why not stifle their complainings by feeding them—by killing them
with kindness instead of with cannon? The spoon not only subdues the
rebellious but makes them good citizens. While conveying food to their
stomachs, it transmits love of country, and admiration of its products,
to their hearts. This the bayonet never did and never will. No peace can
be lasting, and no people content, without the spoon. It is ridiculous
to expect patriots in those deprived of one, or, what is the same thing,
who cannot get sufficient employment for one. How can such dispose their
hearts or their throats to sing a Te Deum, or with what kind of stomach
can they join in a national anthem?

Captain Shandy carried on the siege of Dendermond in his garden, using
pickets for men, and the dense volumes from Corporal Trim’s pipe for the
smoke of his cannon; but Joel Barlow, or some one else, has shown how
military tactics may be more agreeably taught with a spoon; a platter of
hot hasty pudding being the fortress attacked; and the citadel to be won
the lump of sugar or butter ensconced in the centre.

After reconnoitering the thick circular wall to determine the point of
attack, the spoon is brought to play; when, like a battering-ram applied
to new buildings, it quickly makes an impression, and to keep the ground
clear, bears off the materials broken down. Repeating the operation, an
attempt is at length made to penetrate the centre in a radial direction;
but no sooner is a practical opening formed, than the adjoining masses,
as if endowed with instinct, rush down from both sides and make the
breach good. A short breathing spell follows, and then a furious onset
is made; the barriers give way, and a dashing effort carries the war
into the bowels of the besieged; but the heat of the smoking ruins
becomes insufferable, confusion ensues, and a retreat the only
alternative. The destructive engine is now brought to bear on one point,
and now wheeled to another, without any decided effects, till the fatal
plan is adopted of weakening the enemy uniformly all round; thus slowly
but surely diminishing the distance from the besieged. This is pursued
until, by a little manœuvring, a passage is suddenly forced to the
centre, and, by a _coup de main_, the greater part of the treasure borne
off at a swoop! Such are the innocent sweets which victory confers on
the spoon.

If the horrible contest at Waterloo had been settled by the same weapon,
it had been well for blushing humanity. Had the opposing heroes been
seated on opposite sides of a sufficiently extended table, and entered
into battle in the manner of hasty pudding heroes on a mountebank’s
stage, the victors would have acquired as much _true_ honor as they
have, and indeed a great deal _more_. Such would be quite as
philosophical, and almost as Christian-like a way of ending national
quarrels as that of stimulating combatants to shoot cold lead into each
other’s stomachs. There is also reason to believe it would be an
acceptable one to a majority of troops; besides, kings, and even queens,
could safely fight with commendable eclat at the head of their armies,
and set them a royal example. Some, it is well known, could have rivaled
the best field-marshals, and given additional evidence of “_divine_
right” to their crowns. There would be fine opportunities, too, for
military engineers to display their skill and secure promotion: _e. g._
in devising the best means for diminishing the sensibility of the gullet
and thorax; or, in the language of old Morton’s cook, in “causewaying
the thrapples” of warriors—in ascertaining the shortest modes of
preparing ammunition, and the readiest methods of using it.

The ‘manual exercise’ might be taught in a more gentle manner than by
the musket—in a way more agreeable to nine-tenths of living soldiers;
and, could they be consulted, to ten-tenths of deceased ones. Thus,
‘Prepare your spoons’—‘Charge your spoons’—‘Discharge and charge again.’
How pleasant! Females could take part in the good work, to encourage the
timid and cheer the mighty. Officers might address them in the language
of Todelet, (in Davenant’s comedy, ‘The Man is the Master,’) “Ladies,
pray take your spoons.” Adopt this plan, and who would desert? Verily,
there would be few absentees at roll-call—few would wilfully neglect the
morning and evening parade, or be remiss in keeping their weapons in
trim.

The spoon might with propriety be worn as a ‘side-arm.’ Enclosed in a
sheath and suspended from the belt, or stuck in the sash, it would be as
becoming an ornament for Christian heroes as a poignard. It would afford
equal room for variety in the qualities of its material and case: both
could be plain or enriched according to the rank of the wearer, from a
brigadier to a drummer. The fact is, it has often been efficacious as
the sword in securing victory, viz. by demolishing the provisions of an
enemy—the best way of fighting, and the only things worth fighting for.
Does some mustached martinet bluster, or do young Hotspurs feel their
pride wounded by the proposition? What will they say if we tell them,
one of the most warlike legions of ancient or modern times carried the
spoon in the way indicated, and afterwards stuck it in front of the cap
in place of a feather—that a soup-kettle was their banner, and the
titles of their officers derived from kitchen utensils and scullion
duties! But we are anticipating what belongs to another part of the
subject; meanwhile, we would recommend those who think of selecting war
as their profession—as the theatre of their labors through life, and who
long to rival the glory of successful plunderers of the species—to study
a certain chapter by Agrippa, upon the value of soldiers’ services to
mankind.

The spoon is occasionally mentioned in the curious tenures by which land
was held in former times. Many domestic implements, duties, culinary
dishes, &c. are enumerated, as well as some singular customs. Let us
notice one or two: In the time of Edward I. a noble family held their
lands on condition of furnishing “rushes to strew on the king’s
chamber,” (in place of the modern carpet) and “_two green geese_” for
his dinner at Christmas. Under Edward IV. a manor was held by
furnishing, at the feast of St. Michael the archangel, “_a goose_ fit
for the lord’s dinner.” Others paid _twenty-four pasties of fresh
herring_. Some, _a mess of pottage_—_a mess of meat_. The yearly rents
of other rich estates were a _bottle_ or _jug_, a silver or maple
_cup_—a _whittle or little knife_—a _pair of spurs_—a _pair of tongs_—a
_washbowl_ and _ewer_—a _spindle_ and thread on it—a _tub of butter_—a
_silver tankard_, &c.

The manor of Creswell was held by the service of carrying a _bottle of
wine_ for the king’s breakfast. Fulk Fitz-Warren held lands in
Gloucester by carrying a _hunting-horn_ whenever the king hunted in the
vicinity. The Hastings family held a manor in Sussex for this service:
they were to find _an oar_ by which to row the king over the haven at
Hastings. Henry VIII. granted to Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, the site
and precincts of a monastery, on condition of “finding the king a
right-hand _glove_ at his coronation, and support his right arm that day
while he held the sceptre.” To Walter de Marisco, was given a rich manor
in Nottingham, “on condition of his presenting the king yearly _a pair
of scarlet hose_.” Lord Stafford, in Edward the First’s reign, held land
in Warwick, for the service of _three shillings_ and a _pair of red
stockings_ yearly furnished to the king. One manor was granted by Henry
VIII. to whom the grantees were to pay one pound of cummin seed, _two
pair of gloves_, and _a steel needle_. Lands were held in Essex by
paying a _silver needle_ into the Exchequer.

The rich manor of Hopton was given to the ancestor of the family of that
name by William the Conqueror, on condition of being supplied with _a
bow and arrow_, whenever he hunted in the neighborhood. The grant, in an
ancient black letter MS, is in verse, and is brief and curious. The mode
by which the king confirmed the gift, by leaving the impression of _his
teeth_ on the seal, instead of “making his mark”—his sign _manual_—may
be considered characteristic of the grantor and of the times.

   _“To the heyrs male of the Hopton,” &c._

     “To me and to myne, to thee and to thine,
     While the water runs, and the sun doth shine,
     For lack of heyrs to the king againe,
     I William, king, the third year of my reign,
     Give to the Norman Hunter
     To me that art bothe line and deare,
     The Hoppe and Hoptoune,
     And al the bounds up and downe,
     Under the earth _to Hell_,
     Above the earth _to Heaven_:
     From me and from myne
     To thee and to thine,
     As good and as faire
     As ever they myne were.
     To witness that this is sooth,
     I _bite the white wax with my tooth_.
     Before Jugg, Marode, and Margery,
     And my thirde son Henry,
     _For one Bow and Arrow,
     When I come to hunt upon Yarrow_.”
                             [_Blount’s Ancient Tenures, Lon. 1679._]

Sometimes a lord acted once a year as hostler, “holding the king’s
stirrup till he mounted;” others performed the duties of butler,
cup-bearer, carver, valet, cook, taster, &c.

Sir Hugh Courtenay, in the fourteenth century, held lands of the Bishop
of Exeter. Some controversy having arisen respecting the service, it was
determined, A. D. 1308, that when a bishop first came to take possession
of the see, Courtenay or his heirs should ride to the east gate of the
city to meet him; and at the feast in honor of his installation, carry
the “first mess to the table. In consideration of which service,
[besides the lands,] the said Courtenay and his heirs shall have, for
their fee, four silver dishes of those carried to the table with the
first mess—two salt cellars, one cup, wherein the bishop shall drink at
that meal—one wine pot, _one spoon_, and two basons, wherein the bishop
shall then wash—all which vessels are to be of silver.”

In one old English tenure, by which a right of sheep-walk was held, the
spoon was indispensable. Every shepherd presented on New Year’s Day an
apple-pie, (the crust of which contained a peck of flour) and a sweet
cake to the lord of the manor, and carried with him “_a wooden spoon_.”
The bailiff of the manor provided furmenty in a large dish, sunk level
with the ground, on an open space near the manor house. Each shepherd
was required to sit down and eat of the dish—taking a spoonfull in his
turn. If any neglected to bring his spoon, he was required to lay down
on the grass and put his lips into the dish, or forfeit the right of
pasture. [_See an account of this ‘Jocular Tenure,’ in Hone’s Every Day
Book_, vol. ii. 24.]

Another alleged application of spoons is too singular to be omitted in
this enumeration of their uses. Every person has read of the ancients
collecting _tears_, shed by friends of a deceased person, and burying
them in a bottle with the corpse. The custom is alluded to by the
Psalmist: “Put thou my tears in thy bottle.” (Ps. lvi. 8.) Now, it is
very natural to enquire—In what manner was the fluid collected and
conveyed into lachrymatories? as the little bronze and glass or
earthenware phials were named. Many of these are extant; all have narrow
necks, but some have in addition a concave mouth or lip, intended (as
has been alleged) to embrace the eye, and consequently to catch the
tears as they gushed forth. Other antiquarians think the precious drops
were gathered first in narrow _spoons_ and transferred by them into the
phials! Pennant has engraved a figure of one. It resembles a marrow
spoon, (_See Plate VIII._) and from its form was well calculated for the
purpose. Perhaps both modes were in vogue—if either.

Something odd is forcibly associated with ideas of the custom. Suppose
it were revived—would it not be a hard matter sometimes to get a
moderate spoonfull of genuine tears? and would it not at all times be a
curious sight to witness their accumulation? We know not how the
ancients acted; whether, when the friends of the deceased were
assembled, a slave handed round to each a lachrymatory on a salver, that
every mourner might bottle his own tears as he brewed them—or whether an
attendant waited with a spoon, and, on a signal from a weeper, applied
the instrument to the cheek and neatly caught the descending pearl. It
is very certain no mourner could use the spoon himself, because he could
not direct it with sufficient celerity and precision to intercept the
limpid stream—he would lose more than he could secure. The whole
subject, although about tears, is fraught with matter for enticing
speculation. We must leave it, however, lest entering farther upon it,
we should forget or be unwilling to return.

The spoon has greater claims on the gratitude of mankind than any yet
named. Not satisfied with comforting its owner through life, and
assuaging his pains at death, it used to assist in opening the gates of
heaven to his spirit! Churches were formerly crowded, like pagan
temples, with altars, dedicated to different saints or demigods, and
many are so still. On the walls were suspended every variety of votive
offerings, exhibiting an assortment of goods not much unlike those in a
modern pawnbroker’s shop. A vast amount of plate, jewels, table linen
and furniture was accumulated by officiating priests. Spoons often
figure in catalogues of this holy merchandise; hence they not only fed
the bodies of men, but were believed to contribute to the salvation of
their souls. If there are people now-a-days who doubt the efficacy of
such donations to the church, on their own heads be the effects of their
infidelity. Houses, land, mines, manors, fish-ponds, and all kinds of
real estate, were given to the church with the same view.

Thomas Caupemanura gave “to God and Saint Mary of Furness an oxgang of
land,” A. D. 1269. “Radulph de Bethum gave to the Abbey of Furness, for
the good of his own soul, and his wife Ingrith’s soul, a saltwork,”
&c.—Adam de Asmunderlawe left funds to provide two pounds of wax for the
church, at the feast of the Purification, for ever. Margaret de Boyvill,
with the consent of her children, confirmed to the monks of Furness a
rent of eight shillings “for the good of the soul of Robert her
husband.”—[_Antiquities of Furness_, 1774.]

Richard Qwykke, surgeon, by will, dated November 18, 1501, ordered his
body to be buried in the cathedral, before the image of St. Ursula; and
bequeathed (_pro salute animæ_) “to the altar of St. James, in the said
church, a cloth of diaper; to the altar of St. Ursula, a plain towel
marked with black silk; to the altar of Jesu and of St. Ursula, to make
either of them an altar-cloth, a fyne shete; to the gentlemen’s table in
the hall, to wash daily therein, a bason of laton [brass] and an ewer
with a rose in the middle. Item, _three sylver spones_, an ownce of
broken sylver and three shillings in money, to make the _spones_ in the
fratrie, an _honest dosyn_:—item, to our Lady Jeson, a purse of gold and
beryl, and coral stones to be broidered about it, and five pence in
money:—item, six shillings and eight pence to buy a marbyl stone to lye
upon his grave.”—[_History and Antiquities of Rochester, Lon. 1772._]

The vessel with a rose in the middle was probably similar to the brass
basins still used in Egypt and other parts of the East. At the bottom is
a cavity, covered by a rose or strainer. At the beginning and conclusion
of a meal, a person washes his hands by holding them over it, while a
servant pours water upon them. The liquid instantly disappears beneath
the strainer, and the attendant presents the purifying apparatus to the
next person, who makes his ablutions without perceiving any of the fluid
used by his predecessor.

According to the Koran, the spoon is not confined to the earth, but
contributes to the joys of the faithful in heaven. The disciples of the
Prophet are to imbibe nectar, and take electuaries from it there as they
do here:—but it is time to end the chapter; and if the reader’s anger
will not be excited, we will close it with a malediction.

Every person who handles a pen is indebted to the spoon—indebted to it
for his daily food; and yet, who among them has ever written a line in
its praise? Shame on ye editors, poets and moralists, who prate against
ingratitude while wiping your mouths, and superciliously pushing aside
the old servant that feeds you—preaching against that which you practice
in the act of your preaching! How long has this industrious and
unobtrusive contributor to your health and your comforts been sailing,
like an argosy, from you empty, and returning laden with treasure!
Treasure which you have eagerly seized and enjoyed, without bestowing a
thought on the bearer! May you, then, have the grace to peruse these
pages with profit, and may your improvement be made manifest by
appreciating other household slaves to your pleasures, for whom you have
never spoken a good word, nor even thought of the obligations you owe
them. If you do not this much, may you never eat rice or any other
pudding again, except _a la Turke_—with your fingers; and when sore
pressed with hunger, pick up single grains with a Chinaman’s chopsticks!




                               CHAPTER V.

  _Trifling—Publishers’ Rebuke—Habits of Animals and Men—Their
  Organization—Man designed for a Mechanic—Arts—Origin of
  Spoons—Descended from the Ladle and Caldron—Original pottage—Defects
  of Recorded History—Spoons coeval with Soup—Adam and Animal
  Food—Artificial Forms—Natural Utensils—Spoons of Marine Shells—Who
  first beheld the Ocean—Primitive Spoon-Handles—Devices common to all
  Times—Chowder Parties—Visit to the Sea—The Cockle an ancient Symbol._


It is now time to attend to the more serious part of the subject. When
schoolboys have consumed their allotted hour at noontide in sport, their
attention is required to less diverting studies in-doors; and we, after
wearying grave readers with trifling, must endeavor to gain their
forgiveness by closer attention to the lesson before us. We confess
proceeding to the remainder with reluctance, and a wish that it was
over; because we regret to part from those congenial spirits with whom
we have hitherto frolicked. It were unreasonable to hope for their
company to the end of our task, and presumptuous to press them to stay,
lest entering on the following chapters should be to them like passing
into school after play. We hope, however, like a veritable truant, to
meet them again ‘as soon as school’s out,’ and sooner, if the master’s
back should be turned.

While closing the last sentence, the bell wires suddenly lashed the
walls of our humble domicil, making one start like an idler whose back
unexpectedly tastes the pedagogue’s cane. A presentiment came over us
that all was not right; and sure enough, the postman handed in a note
from the publishers, reminding us that they dealt in sterling works, and
had no intention of vending ephemeral brochures—and that unless the rest
of ‘the copy’ was divested of such volatile matter as pervaded the pages
already printed, they should not risk any more of their money in setting
up the type, and none of their reputation in selling the work! As there
is no withstanding these men, the reader will bear in mind, when the
subject becomes remarkably dull, that it is so in obedience to orders,
and whenever a little life or pleasantry appears, the writer has for a
moment slipped off the shackles so cruelly imposed upon him.

The history of man is more fluctuating than waves or the wind; its
aspect is never the same for an hour. That of animals is uniform,
because they pursue the even tenor of their way undiverted by unnatural
or visionary speculations; they live, rear and educate their young, and
die, as they ought to do; hence the annals of a tribe serve for the
species wherever located, and for that species forever. Their ideas of
propriety, (they certainly have such, for a matronly cat slaps her
kitten when it does wrong, as neatly, and frowns on it as demurely as a
lady correcting her boy—so a monkey pinches the ear of its baby and
grins its rebuke as intelligibly as ever did M. Picard,) their manners,
customs, vocations, and devices, never vary, except where climate and
peculiar circumstances require slight modifications. Pursuing the same
course through life, one which experience has established as the best,
the present races enjoy the blessings of existence in a degree equal to
their ancestors, nor will their descendants partake of them in a
greater.

But not so with man. Here, one people riots in luxury; yonder, groans
another with the pangs of penury. There, science develops new motive
forces to supercede human labor; here, men toil like cattle, and not
even for themselves. This community is enlightened; the inhabitants of a
thousand others are ignorant almost as the beasts among which they
dwell. In one place, man is a philosopher; in another, a savage. Yonder,
he exists in primeval forests, clothed with skins, sheltered in huts,
and destitute of the commonest conveniences; here, he rolls through
streets in chariots, his raiment silks and brocade—he banquets in
palaces, taking his food from plates of porcelain, with forks of silver
and spoons of gold.

The _origin_ of spoons, like that of every primeval device may be traced
to man’s organization. Though lord of this planet, he is destitute of
many physical endowments conferred on inferior beings; but, in the
superiority of his reasoning powers, he finds a thousand substitutes for
every deprivation; hence, with a tender, a comparatively feeble, and a
naked body, one unfurnished with defensive or destructive weapons, he
overcomes the largest animals, subdues the fiercest, overtakes the
fleetest, and brings to his feet both the feathered and finny tribes.
Except him, all things living have natural apparatus or appendages to
seek and seize their food. Such as live in liquids, or which frequently
imbibe them, are equally provided for every emergency. The leech tribe,
and myriads of insects, extract blood by natural lancets and cupping
implements. Dogs, and the feline race, lap or scoop up water with their
tongues. The elephant draws it through his trunk, as through the hose of
an engine, while other quadrupeds plunge their mouths into a stream.
Some birds pump it up as by a sucking syringe, and others hoist it
mechanically in their bills—that is, in spoons attached to their heads.

[Illustration:

  _Plate 3_

  _Roman_

  _Lith of E. Jones 128 Fulton S^t N.Y._
]

There is, then, a marked line of separation between man and other
inhabitants of the earth, in this—he fabricates for himself artificial
tools; they possess in their bodily organs natural ones. In other words,
he was intended to be, _par excellence_, a mechanic—an inventor and
maker of machines. Here we see the arts in their origin and design are
of God; being based on the deficiencies of our natural organs, and on
our capacities for devising substitutes. No truth shines so clear on
Nature’s page. Without arts, man could not, as an animal, exist; the
wolf, lion and bear would hunt him as their certain prey; but if none of
these prowled in forests, the simplest of his wants could not be
realized without implements of some form or other; he could neither
procure water from pits, nor fruit from trees—nothing beyond the reach
of his hands. He could have no beds to repose on, no clothes to cover
nor fire to warm him. He would be the most loathsome and helpless of
beings. THE ARTS make him what he is. Essential to animal life, they
also form the ladder by which alone he rises in the scale of
intelligence. They are the foundation of all his greatness; and while
the world endures, those people who cultivate them the most will be
found the most wealthy, powerful, and intelligent.

Man has no natural appendage for carrying fluids to his lips. The
half-closed hand is at best a leaky and a poor substitute for a ladle or
spoon; consequently never made for either. With hot liquids, it is
wholly inapplicable. If the Creator, therefore, designed our species to
cook food and feed on warm fluids, he also designed us to invent ready
means of heating and convenient apparatus from which to receive them.
Let us see how this duty has, in part, been performed; for the history
of the spoon, so far as it goes, is, as well as that of the caldron, the
history of man.

There are two views in which the origin of the implement may be
considered: 1st, as a convenient device for taking a mouthful of hot
fluids; 2d, its like employment for cold ones. Though now often used
with food at natural temperatures, the spoon proper was not invented
till victuals were boiled. It is a genuine descendant of the caldron:
but comes more directly from the ladle. Another member of the family may
here be mentioned—the basin or bowl—for the spoon is to the latter what
the ladle is to the kettle or pot. The spoon is known in some countries
as the bowl-spoon, and the ladle as the pot-spoon—‘_cuiller à pot_.’

These cognate companions are so proverbially fond of each other’s
company that wherever one is, the others are sure not to be far off.
When one is mentioned, the rest are implied—a fact of material benefit
to us in pursuing the subject. Thus, when the servant of Elisha put on
the great pot, as directed, ‘and poured out the pottage for the young
men to eat,’ we are as certain he furnished each with a spoon, as if the
fact had been particularly detailed. The order of precedency, then,
according to seniority or birth-right, stands thus: the kettle, the
ladle, the bowl, and the spoon.

Is it asked—When was the first pottage made? We cannot tell. All similar
questions bring antiquarians and historians to a stand, and for the
simple reason, the annals of the early ages are lost—or rather, were
never written. If we look back three thousand years—and what are thirty
centuries in this planet’s history?—we find little else than monstrous
fables, puerile legends, and incredible traditions, in which scarcely a
ray of truth can be perceived. The early history of man is a blank; that
of succeeding ages, a chaos. The mythologic or legendary lore of
antiquity is of the same character as modern barbarians give of their
ancestors and country, and about the same reliance may be placed on one
as on the other. All savages are ignorant of their origin as a people,
and on the same subject enlightened nations are little better informed.

Take what is called ancient history, and what is it but a few isolated
scraps relating to minute portions of the earth, and, comparatively
speaking, extending back but to yesterday? What men were doing
elsewhere, absolutely nothing is known—there is not a whisper about
them. Unheard of nations have agitated the surface of this planet, have
been tossed to and fro by political and civil commotions, and have sunk
into the fathomless depths of the past. Of them, neither we nor all who
come after us can learn anything. In fact, we are wholly ignorant of the
early adventures of our species. Oblivion has swept away all memorials
of the first races of men, while the arenas of their exploits are, for
aught we know, covered by the ocean.

If the first chapters of Genesis are to be taken in their literal sense,
and the first pair of Moses for the original progenitors of mankind,
(_i. e._ not of a race only, as some writers suppose,) spoons may be
dated from the epoch of Adam. They are certainly coeval with soup, and
soup with the boiling of liquids. ’Tis true the idea of flesh meats not
having been used in Adam’s time is commonly entertained, notwithstanding
animals were offered in sacrifices, their skins used as clothes, and the
strange fact of his second son being a breeder of cattle, (strange,
indeed, if vegetable food, only was used); but we are fully persuaded
the old gentleman, at least during the latter part of his life, ate
venison with a relish equal to Isaac’s, and conveyed pottage to his
mouth with a spoon, in the manner of Esau. Meat broth was a favorite
dish with the patriarchs, and there is little reason to suppose
antediluvian farmers and keepers of sheep were not as fond of it as
Abraham, Jacob, or Job, or those who in later times prepared soup for
the ‘sons of the prophets.’

The same instinct which leads man to seek food leads him to cook it;
that which induces him to quench his thirst suggests the means of
carrying fluids to his lips. Every close observer knows that the
primitive contrivances of men were counterparts of Nature’s. In all he
received the first hint from her, while in many she supplied him with
the object he wanted ready formed, or nearly so, to his hands. This
might have been expected _à priori_; for, as an ignorant pupil, placed
in her school, it was necessary that he should have examples to
imitate—patterns to copy. Without these, what could he have done or
known? He might have felt wants, but could not tell how to remove them.
If natural objects had not, like types, impressed their images on his
mind, and their adaptation to various purposes become obvious to his
senses, a knowledge of the properties of matter, of the principles of
fusing, forging, modeling and carving it, and the influence of _figure_
in its modifications, would have been slowly acquired, if acquired at
all. The development of the intellect depends on external things;
without these the mind would be a receptacle of dark and shapeless
visions—a chaos. If innate ideas existed, they would have been useless,
for they could have no relation to physical creation unless derived from
it.

It would be a curious speculation to inquire what might have been the
forms of the current productions of our workshops, if the Creator had
molded every object after one figure. Could the human mind have produced
the exquisite goblets and vases of Greece and Etruria, if beauty in
these and endless other shapes had not been displayed in the vegetable
kingdom? Where would have been the stately column, the wreathed shaft,
Corinthian capital, and their appendages? And but for mineral and marine
productions, could the primitive savage have developed the implements
upon which his existence depended—tools, the parents of those on which
the happiness of civilized society rests? We believe he could no more
have invented the bow or sling than the musket—the spoon than the
smokejack.

In utensils adapted for culinary purposes, nature is lavish of her
gifts. Vessels of capacity, from a mug to a barrel, she supplies in
abundance; leaving man simply to determine the uses to which to put
them. Pitchers, pipkins, ladles, buckets, plates, &c. of all sizes, are
derived from the vegetable world—from husks of cocoa-nuts, joints of
bamboo, from the calabash and other varieties of the gourd. In the East
Indies, says Dampier, ‘cups, dishes, ladles, spoons, and in a manner all
eating and drinking vessels, are made from the shell of the cocoa-nut.’
Marine shells are distinguished by naturalists, from their resemblance
to artificial devices. One genera is named Patella, from their likeness
to a _dish_; another is known as the _Dippers_. Of species, there is the
Haustrum or _Bucket_, Urceus the _Pitcher_, Trocus the _Cup_, &c. Others
are named after the _Razor_, _Rasp_, _Lancet_, _Awl_, _Bell_, _Bodkin_,
_Needle_, &c. [_See Wood’s Catalogue, Lon. 1828._]

The first spoons were all natural ones. A large class of prototypes were
shells of the limpit, (a univalve) those of the cockle, muscle, clam,
and similar bivalvular inhabitants of salt and fresh waters. They are so
obviously adapted to convey small quantities of liquids to the mouth, so
numerous and accessible, so neat and cleanly, that people in all ages
have used them for such purposes. [_See Plate I._] The choicest liquors
of the old Picts and Scots were served in cockle shells; hence,
“rejoicing in the shell,” was a term with them equivalent to modern
expressions respecting the glass. Till recently Highlanders drank
whiskey in the same way, holding the shell with the thumb on the thick
part. Of late years, natural shells have given place to artificial ones.
[_See Scottish Gael, 349._] Pearls were formerly found in fresh-water
muscles of the River Ban, in Ulster, Ireland. The shells, says an old
gazetteer, “are used by the poor as spoons.”

People now sip tea with a spoon to which the name of the decoction has
been given; but formerly northern ladies took it from the same kind of
vessels as their lords used for usquebaugh. Scott has an allusion to the
practice in ‘St. Ronan’s Well’—the old nabob ungallantly describes the
ladies as sipping catlap out of cockle shells.

An interesting question, could it be answered, is here suggested: Under
what circumstances were shells originally used for artificial purposes?
Perhaps not till the ocean had been seen by human eyes; but no one has
told us where, nor at what epoch, this took place, nor who the
individuals were. In fact, we are ignorant of the physical condition of
the earth at the time, and of the location of the progenitors of our
race with regard to the sea. Ages may have elapsed ere the grand
terrestrial reservoir was made known. Who can imagine the feelings of
those who first approached the coast, and their amazement when they
reached it! How intent they gazed upon the rising and receding waves,
and marvelled at the breakers—at the roaring surf, as it rushed in foam
towards them! But when their emotions had somewhat subsided, with what
rapture did they bound along the white and glistening shore, and seize
the strangely formed and variously colored objects! With what volubility
did they descant upon them, and the uses to which to apply them! And how
gladly were these primeval travellers hailed on returning to their
homes, laden with knives, saws, cups, spoons, and other natural
utensils! Immense treasures must have adorned the virgin borders of the
oceanic basin at the birth of man. Shells of every shape, and size, and
hue, accumulated through unknown periods, had laid undisturbed until our
species came.

Shells have been incorporated with the arts. Vessels for a thousand
purposes are modeled and decorated after them. Some are perfect spoons,
including the handles. [_See Plate I._] Such are used where they abound,
and of course were much more in demand in early times. When a muscle,
cockle, or similar shell, was required for scooping up heated fluids, an
artificial handle was necessary, to avoid scalding the fingers: now, of
what material were the handles, and in what manner were they attached to
the bowls? These questions may appear unanswerable, but we think we can
solve them as certainly as if we had lived among the first spoon-users:
Man, under the same circumstances, always adopts the same or similar
devices. This is a general—a universal truth. It is the result of a
species of instinct, invariable in its impulses as in the lower tribes;
and hence, we are sure the original mode of putting handles to limpit,
cockle, and clam shells, was identical with that now practiced by
African negroes, American Indians, Arabs, Malays, and mountaineers, viz.
by forcing the split-end of a short stick over the edge, as represented
in the plate. Shells of the cockle and soft clam thus make capital
spoons, and fastidious indeed must he be who cannot relish his food from
them.

Such contrivances are common to man—made patent from the beginning, and
repeated in every age and clime. In them the origin of many useful arts
and devices may be traced. They are among the ‘early lessons,’ the ‘easy
problems,’ printed by nature in her horn-book for mechanics; and simple
as they are, they offer delightful matter for reflection on the process
by which man was led, step by step, to explore and beneficially employ
the wonderful sources of pleasure and wealth placed at his disposal—in
other words, to accomplish his destiny here.

Civilized parties of pleasure, when thrown upon their own resources to
prepare food on the beach, or inland, &c. insensibly copy the devices of
untutored children of the forests—making spoons of shells, forks and
flesh-hooks out of pointed sticks, knives of flint or sharp-edged
shells, and handling hot coals with tongs formed of a couple of twigs.
By placing ourselves in such situations, we can study our species in
times of which no record remains, and perceive how invention began and
progressed. A sketch of an Indian “chowder party,” to illustrate more
fully the use of shell spoons, was prepared, but subsequent arrangements
required its exclusion and our lucubrations with it.

Perhaps no recreation, for people whose lives are spent in cities, is so
beneficial as occasional fishing trips to the sea. The fresh air, the
new feelings which floating on water gives rise to, the excitement
produced by sly fish nibbling, the palpitation consequent on ravenous
bites, and the fluttering at heart when the biter is fairly hooked, &c.
salutarily agitate both body and mind. The appetite created by the sea
breeze and the exercise—the hoisting of the anchor and sailing to the
shore to cook what is caught—one preparing the pot; another gathering
fuel; a third, head cook; and a fourth converting shells into spoons,
&c.—is real enjoyment. On such occasions the blessings of life are felt,
uncontaminated with drawing-room rules and parlor distinctions.

To persons dwelling far inland, a visit once in their lives to the ocean
constitutes an epoch in their existence, and a never-failing theme of
grateful recollection and discourse. If such do not now wear scallop
shells in their hats as emblems of having had a glimpse of the wonders
of the deep, they retain vivid impressions of the scene in their heads.
The adventure forms a pleasing reminiscence—its history a little romance
and the gem of fire-side tales.

Much learning has been expended on the cockle as a badge of pilgrims in
the middle ages. Worn in the hat, it indicated that the wearer had
visited the shores of the Mediterranean and the Holy Land. But it was an
emblem of Astarte, the famous Syrian goddess. Possibly its symbolical
application originated from its primitive use as a spoon, and as such,
carried about the person.




                              CHAPTER VI.

  _Other natural Spoons—Debris of Animals—Horns—Ancient uses of
  them—Horn Spoons—The Earth given to Mechanics—Indian
  Spoons—Laplanders—Custom at Highland
  Christenings—Horners—Proverbs—Ivory—Wood, and its importance to
  Man—Wooden Spoons—Invention scarcely a human attribute—Wooden Spoons
  from Africa and Oceanica—American Indian Spoon._


Another class of natural spoons was, and still is, derived from the
animal kingdom; from _horns_ of goats, sheep, the bison, buffalo, ox,
&c. Animals are the oldest occupants of this planet, and man the
youngest. Their previous existence through countless ages was necessary
to prepare the earth for his reception; to impart to it a suitable soil
for the growth of grain and every kind of vegetable food—to put it into
a condition, that when he appeared, he might become “a tiller of the
ground.” Having done this, unknown multitudes retired forever from the
scene: probably the changed condition of the earth was no longer fitted
for their continuance.

Bones, horns, and other organic debris must have been exceedingly
numerous at the birth of our species. Scattered on mountains, strewed
over prairies and forests, they were met with every where, for ere man
appeared they lay unmolested till dissolved by the elements. At first,
they would be viewed as mementos of death—curious relics of beings which
had careered in life, and had laid down and died. Strange must have been
the remarks made on them, singular the reflections they suggested. But
when time and familiarity with them overcame a natural repugnance to
handle such relics of mortality, the properties of buffalo and other
horns would become obvious, and eventually implements and utensils be
formed of them. The ancients had altars built wholly of horns, and
Plutarch (in Theseus) mentions one formed of “_left-sided_ horns.”

Horns were the first trumpets: perhaps the first musical instruments, of
which some are still named after them, as the French-horn, bugle-horn,
&c. Primeval cups were natural horns. The Greeks, Romans, Celts, and all
the people of antiquity drank out of such. To ‘take a horn’ was, and
still is, an expression equivalent to quenching the thirst. Tumblers and
other drinking vessels are yet occasionally called horns. Bows were
anciently made of horn, and archers wore ferules of the same material on
their thumbs. Ink-_horns_ have been used since writing was practiced,
while combs, pins, needles, lanterns, knife-hafts, and spoons, &c., have
been formed of the substance since such things were invented. As with
other materials, its adaptation for one purpose quickly suggested its
appropriation to another.

Little art was required to cut or carve spoons out of horn. The
substance is soft, and by holding it to the fire, or immersing it in
warm water becomes more so, and susceptible of being bent into any
position or receiving any impression. From its plastic properties, it
was well calculated for man to practice on in the beginning of his
apprenticeship to the arts. The lessons he learned by it prepared him to
undertake less pliant materials, as bone, ivory, wood, metals, &c. Every
advantage gained from one acted as a stimulus to proceed to others. In
this way the useful professions began and progressed till they became
what they are at this day.

Horn spoons are small matters, but their material was the first animal
substance employed in the fabrication of implements, and they themselves
were among the first things made of it. When it is remembered that man’s
existence and improvement through all time was to depend on the
development of his character as a mechanic; that this was to be his
distinguishing attribute, one in which he approaches the nearest to the
Creator—for what are the useful and ornamental arts but sources of
physical and mental refinement, and what the universe but tangible,
beneficent mechanism—it certainly is not useless to recur to those early
lessons which contributed to form that character.

If the earth was given into the charge of one class of men more than
others, it was to intelligent artisans—a term including farmers—they
support all. Without them no other class could exist, and nature would
resume the phase she wore before our species came. If our first parents
were located, as generally imagined, at a distance from the sea, horn
spoons were probably in use before those made of shells. Dispersed over
the earth wherever animals roamed, horns were always at hand, and no
doubt were often used in their natural forms, as exhibited in _Figures
1, 2, 3, Plate I_, or with slight alterations. The _Figures_ marked _4_
and _5_ are American Indian spoons, in the Philadelphia Museum. They are
made of buffalo horns, but present nothing remarkable. The first is
plain and about seven inches long. The other is much the same in size;
the end of the handle being the natural termination of the horn, which
was probably that of a cow or calf. The horns of the buffalo cow are
much smaller than those of the bull. The bowls of both implements are
shallow. Northern Indians have spoons, which hold several quarts,
obtained from the animal named _Gros Corne_, or “Big Horn.” In
travelling they scoop up water with them to quench their own thirst and
that of their dogs, which drag their sledges or carry their packs. Pliny
(xi. 37,) mentions barbarians of the north drinking out of buffalo horns
which contained several gallons, and were probably used as with our
Indians, for buckets, scoops and spoons.

The natives of Nootka Sound prepare a species of broth by putting flesh
of the dolphin in a square wooden trough containing water. Heated stones
are then thrown in, by means of cleft sticks, till the meat be
sufficiently stewed. They sup the broth “with a large spoon or scoop,
made of horn.” [_Cook’s Voyages._] The Greenlanders boil meat in wooden
dishes of fir wood, and “drink the soup or eat it with spoons made of
horn or wood.” In the regions of Behring’s Straits flesh is stewed in
cylindrical caldrons, formed of the rind of the birch, the only tree
that withstands the rigor of arctic winters. The liquid is heated by
stones, and the decoction supped with “large horn spoons.”

Laplanders carry a little bag hanging over the breast. Divided into two
compartments, it contains in one tobacco and a pipe, a tinder-box and a
spoon in the other. Some of the rich possess two or three pewter dishes
and a few silver spoons, but the general household furniture consists of
a brass or copper kettle, often a stone one, wooden bowls of birch wood,
a basket, “and horn spoons.” Infants are fed with milk through a small
opening made in the end of a horn. The flesh of the rein-deer is the
principal food, and generally boiled: it is previously cut into small
pieces, which, when eaten, are dipped into liquid fat and “washed down
by a ladleful of broth taken occasionally during the repast.”

An old account of the Scotch Highlanders states that when a child was
christened, it was put in a basket along with bread and cheese, and
handed across the fire or suspended on the pot-hook or trammel!
Immediately afterwards a dish of “crowdie” (a mixture of oatmeal and hot
water) was handed round, and each person present “took three horn
spoonfuls.” This was designed to counteract the power of evil spirits
and witches! The custom of passing the child over a fire is analogous to
one common in China. When a bride first reaches the residence of her
husband, she is lifted by matrons over a brazier of charcoal. Horn
spoons were considered in old times as “the meetest instruments to eat
furmenty and porage withall.” [_Nichol’s Progresses of Elizabeth._]

The working of horn is one of the old professions descended to us
through the Romans. Pliny enumerates a variety of uses to which the
material was put in his time; one was inlaid work, for which purpose it
was stained with different colors. It was also, he says, much used for
lanterns, being “cut into thin plates:” (xi. 37.) In the early acts
passed by the English Parliament for the protection of trades and
handicrafts, ‘horners’ are often mentioned. At their solicitation the
importation of ‘horns for lanthorns’ was expressly forbidden by an act
of Rich. II. A.D. 1480. Adam Smith, in his Wealth of Nations, speaks of
the exportation of horns being prohibited for the benefit of two
insignificant trades—that of the _horner_ and comb-maker.

[Illustration:

  _Plate 4_ _Middle Ages_

  _Lith. of E. Jones 128 Fulton S^t. N.Y._
]

The antiquity of proverbs goes back to the infancy of our race. One of
the oldest extant, though only occasionally now met with, may here be
mentioned, as it shows how common horn spoons at one time were. ‘_To
make a spoon or spoil a horn_’ was an ancient mode of expressing a
determination to accomplish an object at whatever risk or however
thwarted. The incident on which it is based must have been constantly
occurring in primitive times, and to some extent it occurs in all times.
In attempting to make a spoon, the horn was often frittered away by
bunglers, until sufficient material was not left for the smallest
object. A farmer selected a log of timber to make a gate, but he sawed,
chopped, and planed, until what barely sufficed for a rail was
left—hence the saying, ‘To spoil a tree or make a rail.’ Spaniards have
the idea in another form: they say, in shaping the skirts of a gown, the
material was cut down to a sleeve—cloth for a coat to a cuff. The Romans
took the maxim from a potter, who, undertaking to make an enormous jar,
turned out a small saucer.

The leisure incident to rural and pastoral life elicited the art of
carving—one of the earliest of human arts, and what can be said of few,
one that has been practiced in considerable perfection by most savages.
It necessarily developed the peculiar properties of solid materials, and
in so doing, must have originated many inventions. It is the most
prominent mechanical profession mentioned in the Old Testament, and was
carried to a wonderful extent by people of old. After horn, _bone_ and
_ivory_ were used for personal ornaments and useful implements in the
first ages; for pins, knives, spoons, and a hundred other matters.

Ivory formed a large item in the commerce of Tyre. (Ezek. xxvii.)
Solomon imported it from India. We read in both sacred and profane
authors of beds, thrones, and even houses built of it. It seems to have
been as much used for _spoons_ as it is at this day. Some ancient
Egyptian ones will be shortly noticed. The famous Curule chairs were

    Wrought from those valued tusks Syene lends,
    Which the swart Moor, or swarthier Indian sends
    From Nabath’s forest, where the unwieldly beast
    Drops his huge burden of its weight released.
                                  [_Juvenal_, xi. _Sat._—_Badham._]

A material difference in the properties of horn and ivory must quickly
have been seen by the patriarchs of the arts. The former softened by
heat, retains when cold, impressions stamped on it; but the latter and
bone must be carved in detail. Spoons formed of marine shells are not
used by all people, but those of bone, ivory, or horn, are everywhere
met with.

How beneficial to men have the horns, &c., of quadrupeds been. More
durable than the rest of their bodies, and possessing peculiar
properties, they would seem to have been ordained as a material for
useful manufactures. We forget half the obligations we owe the lower
tribes, when we forget the numberless uses to which their skins, hair,
bones, &c., are put.

Another substance of primitive spoons was _wood_.

The earth, as one of Nature’s workshops, is stored with every kind of
stock its occupants can require. It is the same throughout the Universe;
for all physical beings are artisans, and every orb an _atelier_ in
which they are at work. The proprietor of these wonderful establishments
employs, we may presume, in each a distinct order of intelligent
laborers, and supplies them with materials adapted to their capacities
and wants. Compared with the magnitude of others, this globe is one of
the Creator’s minor establishments, and we, in whose charge it is
placed, may be among the least intellectual and skillful of his
artificers. When first man took possession, the development of his
energies, and the direction given them depended upon the natural
productions around him. These necessarily arrested his attention,
excited his curiosity, and became identified with his existence, his
habits, thoughts and pursuits.

Of terrene substances, none has exercised a greater influence over human
destiny than _wood_. None is more indispensable—hence we find it
diffused over all lands. Its consumption is enormously large, and as an
indication that it was designed to be so, provision is made, in the
reproductive powers of plants and trees, to secure a supply for all
generations. Without wood, man had probably never used fire, nor known
what artificial light and heat meant. He would have been a troglodyte.
The metals had not been worked: for want of fuel ores had not been
reduced. Wood is the basis of the arts, savage or refined. It is the key
which first unlocked the agricultural and mineral treasures stored away
in the vaults of this terrestrial factory. No substance is more
extensively used, and few, if any, possess so rich a variety of
qualities, or have been applied to such a multitude of purposes.
Essential in the construction of the palace as the hut; the primitive
bridge as well as ship or canoe; the great agent of domestic
conveniences to rich and poor; it constitutes the elaborate furniture of
the one and the homeliest utensil of the other—_the spoon_.

Unlike those made of vegetable, of horn, or marine shells, every feature
of wooden spoons is brought out by art. Still they can hardly be deemed
a human _invention_, since they are but imitations (in another material)
of natural types. Indeed, so far as relates to _figure_ man has little
claim to originality—it is not in his power to produce a purely new
form—all that he has done or can do is to copy, modify, combine and
apply those which nature has given. Every artificial object, no matter
how irregular or uniform its contour, is a proof of this—the stately
column or elaborate capital, an ordinary goblet, a pipkin, a pyramid, or
a spoon.

As regards natural utensils, little mental effort was required to
determine or extend their application. Their fitness for certain
purposes—as shells for cups, scoops, and spoons; gourds for buckets,
bottles, vases, ladles, caldrons, &c.—was so obvious that they were
adopted at once; and when artificial ones were introduced, they only so
far deviated in figure and dimensions as change of circumstances
suggested. All our vessels of capacity retain a resemblance to their
originals—art may disguise the likeness, but cannot obliterate it.
Invention in its strictest sense is applicable only to God—with man it
merely signifies imitation and combination—all his works are reducible
to these, and he can never exhaust them.

We have no accounts of wooden spoons in very remote times. History
descends not to such things, and no important fact is recorded with
which they were associated. But what could history have told us about
them which we do not know? We are sure they bore a general resemblance
to those now made, were applied to the same uses, and fabricated,
chiefly, by the same class of men. Specimens of Egyptian and Roman ones
are extant, but before referring to them we shall notice a few produced
by modern barbarians, to serve as samples of those made by uncivilized
man in the first ages. In mechanical devices, in tools, modes of
operating, taste for, and style of ornament, the untutored child of
nature is ever the same.

_Figures 6_ and _7_, _Plate I_, are African wooden spoons. The first is
from _Tome V._ page 188, of _Histoire Générale des Voyages, Hague,
1748_. It is represented along with jewelry, furniture, pots, knives,
&c. made by negroes on the western coast of Africa.

_Figures 8_ and _9_ are from the Fejee Islands, They are made of a light
wood resembling beech, and are as neatly finished as the ordinary wooden
spoon of civilized countries. The bowls are nearly circular and 2½
inches over—the handles 6½ and 7 inches long. Both are ornamented, but
_Fig. 9_ the most. The front and back part of the handle are stained of
a dark brown color—the effect of scorching the surface by drawing a hot
stone or other smooth body over it. Waving, dotted, and other lines of a
light color are then produced by cutting through the dark surface—a
species of ornament affording room for great variety of patterns, and
skill in working them out.

_Fig. 10._ Another spoon from the South Sea Islands, and preserved in
the Philadelphia Museum. The bowl is round; the handle of a peculiar
form, and not inelegant. The ornamental spots, at the lower part, are
openings cut entirely through—a feature common in Persian spoons. The
entire length is about six inches.

_Fig. 11._ A very neatly made spoon, deviating considerably from ours
both in the bowl and handle. The former is oblong, pear-shaped, and 3½
inches in length; the latter, attached to the smaller end, is an inch
longer. This spoon is of sandal wood. Both it and _Figs. 8_ and _9_ are
from Dr. Chilton’s cabinet, New-York.

_Fig. 12._ A singular specimen of American Indian spoons in the
Philadelphia Museum. It is of a dark colored wood, and about eight
inches in length. The handle terminates in a wolf’s head, upon which
stands a human figure with a high cap, in a bent position, and with the
arms raised in front of the breast, somewhat as in the attitude of
prayer. It has been supposed that the natural form of the root or branch
of which the spoon was made, suggested the figures. This may have been
true; but there is a beautiful moral in the characters given them,
whether intended or not. The animal, whose head is here carved, is the
universal emblem of hunger. To ‘keep the wolf from the door,’ is to keep
famine from a house. Now, no people on earth are more familiar with the
literal and metaphorical wolf than the Indians of North America, and
none are more accustomed to invoke the ‘Great Spirit’ for power to keep
them at bay. What device, then, more expressive, and, of all things in
the world, more appropriate for a _spoon_, than a man praying for bread
on the head of a wolf! The idea is in character with the symbolic
imagery of the aborigines, and we question if a more comprehensive and
beautiful one can be drawn from the works of classical artists.

The few spoons on _Plate I._ are, of course, mere specimens. Savages are
known to vary their forms, proportions, and ornaments, as much almost as
educated artists. In some respects they display a tact and resource
which enlightened mechanics would hardly think of.




                              CHAPTER VII.

  _Spoons unknown in Polynesia—People of Guinea at Dinner—Spoons of the
  Peruvians and Astecs—Caldron and Spoon indigenous to Northern
  Climes—Hot Fluids and Ultra Dietists—Warm Drinks sold in
  Pompeii—Chinese Opinion—Natural Aliment of the Esquimaux—A Fuegian
  eating Fresh Fish—Cooking—Original Sin—Sacrifices—Athenian Boiling
  Feast—Anglo-Saxons—Unsavory Superstitions—Persians—Guatamalian
  Kitchen—Tartar Cookery—Laplanders—Greenlanders—Cosmetics and Domestic
  Economy in the Polar Regions._


It should be remarked that, notwithstanding the preceding specimens of
spoons from the South Seas, there is no question of the implements being
in many parts of Oceanica a modern innovation. In the Sandwich and other
islands of Polynesia they were unknown till introduced by whalemen or
national navigators. The inhabitants did not use them, because they had
no use for them. They had no idea of heating liquids, and no vessels
(except a small wooden bowl) in which to heat them. It was the same with
most if not all the people of Australasia. Their cookery was confined to
roasting and baking. Rutherford says the New Zealanders never drank any
thing hot or warm. Their only vessel for holding water was the calabash
which they never dreamt of turning to a boiler or skillet.

Some African tribes use the spoon, but many do not; yet all are
acquainted with the process of making pottage. Villault, speaking of
Negroes on the coast of Guinea, says: ‘Ils mangent avec beaucoup de mal
propreté. Leurs ongles leur servent de couteau; et n’ayant ni
fourchettes ni cuillers: ils se lancent avec les doigts chaque morceau
dans le gozier. On les voit porter tous ensemble la main au plat, et
prendre leurs ragouts a poignées.’ [_Histoire Générale, Tome V._ 197.]
To take up solid and even semifluid food (as boiled rice) with the
fingers, is of great antiquity. The custom prevails universally in the
Eastern world, except China; but this is not owing to ignorance of the
spoon, either with Africans or Asiatics. If neither use the implement in
eating rice, it invariably assists them to cook that great pabulum of
life.

Perhaps it may be doubted whether the aborigines of America had the
spoon previous to the arrival of white people: most of them certainly
had. Here, as in other parts of the earth, wherever the caldron was
known, spoons were in use. The Peruvians had them of silver and gold; so
had the Mexicans. The Astecs, in their feasts, ablutions, and table
furniture, approached in many respects to Asiatic customs. They kept
meats warm with chafing dishes. The tables of the wealthy were
ornamented with vases of silver and sometimes of gold; ‘their drinking
cups and _spoons_ were of the same costly materials.’ Montezuma took no
other beverage than chocolate flavored with vanilla and other spices, so
prepared as to be reduced to a froth of the consistency of honey, which
gradually dissolved in the mouth. This beverage, if so it could be
called, was served in golden goblets, with spoons of the same metal, or
of tortoise-shell, finely wrought.’ [_Prescott’s Mexico._]

But the less refined people, of both continents were found in possession
of the caldron and spoon. The brutalized Brazilians boiled victuals in
earthen vessels, and used knives of flint and spoons of wood and horn.
[_See Lafitau’s Mœurs des Sauvages, Tome I._ 572, _Plate 19_, and _Tome
II._ 114.] The Virginia Indians had clay pipkins of a very superior
quality, and wooden bowls, &c. of their own manufacture. [_Phil. Trans.
Abrid. III._ 572, and _IX._ 474.] The Mandans, a tribe now nearly
extinct, still fabricate earthen caldrons as their ancestors did. They
alone, of those occupying the Missouri valley, are believed to make
them.

The boiler and spoon would seem to be indigenous and indispensable to
northern climes. The former, made sometimes of a skin, at other times of
wood, and the latter of horn, bone, &c. are used at this day, as they
ever have been since man first took possession of the arctic regions. A
few Indians about Hudson’s Bay purchase brass kettles at the factories,
but the greater part prepare their food in the large upright boilers of
birch already mentioned. When animal food is scarce, and it often is so,
they have no resource but to make pottage with a species of moss that
collects on stones. To render it palatable or nutritive boiling is
essential.

The utility of hot fluids is a mooted point, but it is not our intention
to discuss it. If they are not natural to people in high latitudes, they
are to none, and the caldron and spoon, as vehicles for preparing and
receiving them, must be denounced as injurious devices. If heated
decoctions are violations of nature’s laws, warm or hot food of every
description must be deemed such, whether taken in sickness or in health;
but who, except the most ultra of dietists, will believe this—men that
not only reject animal food but every artificial preparation of
aliment—who insist that we should eat only raw fruit and unground grain,
and drink nothing. Of course, mills then should be abolished as
enervating inventions, preventing people from grinding their own grist
with their natural grinders. On the same principle, clothing, dwellings,
and fire might be dispensed with; for within the tropics people make
little use of the first, and not much of the second; while the Terra del
Fuegians can endure their severe climate apparently without the other.
Abandon the use of fire in cooking, and there would be little demand for
fuel even within the temperate zones. Probably three-fourths of the arts
connected with the working of metals are more or less allied to the
dining-room, kitchen, and toilet.

Nearly every device characteristic of civilization might with equal
propriety be abolished; not trifling things only, as knives and forks,
in place of teeth and fingers; plates and dishes, for leaves and slabs
of slate; napkins, instead of wiping the mouth with the hand; but
articles of dress, as shoes, that supersede the thick and more elastic
soles which nature bestows on those who go barefoot; straw, beaver and
other fancy coverings for the head, when she is ready to furnish gratis
matted or felted caps to all who have no dealings with the hatter.

Beneficial or not, the ancients had shops expressly fitted up for the
sale of hot drinks. Several _Thermopolia_ have been discovered in
Pompeii, with the urns in which the decoctions were made, and furnished
with metallic heaters and cocks, like our tea and coffee urns. The
Chinese (a pretty good authority as far as relates to antiquity of
customs connected with domestic life) drink all their beverages warm.
Cold liquids, even pure water, they say, engenders disease. Ice is
employed by them to cool meats and fruits, but not to refrigerate water.
[_Chinese Repos. III._ 464.]

Animal diet and warm fluids may be dispensed with in some countries, but
not everywhere. It is as absurd to suppose that man can in civilized
society live in the manner of the savage, as that he could in all
climates exist on the same food. Under the influence of science and the
division of labor consequent upon an advanced state of the arts, the
physical as well as the mental constitution is changed, and a different
aliment required to sustain the one as well as the other. If the Creator
designed the arctic regions of our planet to be inhabited, he designed
man to sustain himself there on animal food, since, generally speaking,
no other is within his reach, and in some parts absolutely no other.
Besides food, the Esquimaux derive material for clothing, dwellings,
light and fuel from the whale, seal, and a few land animals. Olaus
Magnus, speaking of the wild people of the north in his time, says,
“they dwell in caves made of the bones and ribs of sea-monsters; they
live without bread, but only on fish and deer.” Pulse, grain, fruit or
roots are not to be had; but if they were actually produced by the soil
the natives could not live upon them there.

With these people, then, the use of animal food cannot be wrong, nor the
cooking of it a crime. Indeed, so far as they are concerned the kettle
and spoon may be considered of divine origin; though like more valuable
gifts in more favored climes, these implements are too often neglected;
for the brutalized men and women of the north frequently feed, like the
bear, on raw flesh; while at the opposite extremity of the continent,
the Fuegian, on catching a fish, is in the habit of taking it by the
gills and instantly making a repast on the struggling victim—lowering
the tail into his mouth somewhat like a Neapolitan swallowing strings of
macaroni: thus literally obeying the injunctions of those reformers who
denounce “every species of cookery as polluting the food which the God
of our natures has provided for the sustenance of man.”

So far as history goes, people without cooking have ever been savages,
and no refined nations ever eat their food raw. Individual and partial
exceptions may of course be found. Cato, the censor, seldom drank
anything but water, and often ate dinner prepared without fire. Epicurus
is slandered as a voluptuary, for his ordinary diet was bread and water,
pulse, milk and cheese. The cynics lived austerely, water being their
beverage, and the ground their bed. Diogenes, it is well known, lived
more like a brute than a gentleman: his manners too were allied to those
of a Hottentot. But some modern ascetics leave the most eccentric of the
ancients behind, for they reject not merely flesh meats, but bread,
salt, milk, and even water itself! contending that juices of fruits and
herbs yield fluid sufficient for the human system; and as animals bake
not nor boil, make neither puddings, porridge nor pies—they conclude
such things are superfluous to us: nay, some look on cooking as original
sin—as the very crime for which Adam and his consort were driven out of
Eden!—not satisfied with celestial food, it is said they began to
improve (_i. e._ to spoil) it by art, and were therefore expelled, that
they might carry their wicked devices elsewhere. Hence the nature of
their punishment, and why so large a portion was inflicted on Eve; she
being the original transgressor and the greater sinner of the two, just
as all her daughters, in the same respect, have been since; for where
food is spoiled by cooking, it is woman generally who still commits the
crime.

Boiled meats have been common from the earliest periods which history
has noticed, and according to the scriptures, with divine approbation.
Sacrifices were so frequently boiled that capacious caldrons were
permanently erected near temples for the purpose. As the virtue of the
flesh was extracted by the soup, spoons must have been in as great
demand at Jewish and heathen festivals as knives, fleshforks, or any
other implement of the table. [_See Ewbank’s Hydraulics_, p. 392.]

The Athenians had an annual boiling-feast, dating back to the times of
Theseus and the fabulous Minotaur. It was instituted, according to
Plutarch, to commemorate the return of the hero and his companions from
their perilous adventure at Crete, and arose from the fact of their
having made a species of olla-podrida the moment they got safe
ashore—mixing the remains of their provisions, “and boiling them in one
pot.” Theseus is supposed to have been contemporary with Gideon, and to
have flourished 1350 B. C. about 1400 years before his ancient
biographer.

The Anglo-Saxon and contemporary people chiefly boiled their meat. Large
houses had “a boiling place for small meats and a boiling house for the
great boiler.” One resistless argument that nature designed men to
prepare food by fire is derived from the fact that some roots, upon
which large portions of mankind live, are positively noxious if eaten
without being cooked—the _potato_ is a sufficient example. In some parts
of the earth water for drinking requires to be boiled to render it
wholesome. Several ancient people besides the Persians found this
necessary.

Most northern nations have been noticed for a want of cleanliness,
especially in cooking. The further northward we proceed, the less regard
for this virtue appears. It diminishes with degrees of longitude, and
within the arctic may be said to have vanished. But it is not confined
to one people or one continent. We shall conclude this chapter with a
few examples of unsavory superstitions, of which some have direct
reference to the ladle and spoon. Let not the reader who is particular
in his tastes turn sick at the manners of his species, for not many ages
have elapsed since his forefathers became freed from practices as filthy
and foolish as any about to be noticed.

The polite and effeminate Persian grandee, so scrupulous in his
ablutions and personal purity, takes up his food with his hands, and
dreads to change his table cover. “On the ground before us,” observes
Mr. Morier, in describing a dinner given to the British embassy by the
governor of Bushire, “was spread the _sofra_, a fine chintz cloth, which
perfectly entrenched our legs, and which is used so long unchanged that
the accumulated fragments of former meals collect into a musty paste and
emit no very savory smell; but the Persians are content, for they say
that changing the sofra brings _ill luck_.”

Irish women were formerly described as very “unmannerly [unwomanly] in
making butter,” because they held it extremely unlucky to wash their
milk-vessels! But the daughters of St. Patrick were not alone addicted
to this filthy superstition. In some parts of Scotland the same
prejudice to soap and water exists or did recently exist. It is
humorously referred to in the Cottages of Glenburnie: “‘Don’t you clean
the churn before you put in the cream?’ asked Mrs. Mason. ‘Na, na,’
returned Mrs. McClarty; ‘that wadna be canny ye ken. Naebody hereabouts
wad clean their kirn for ony consideration. I never hard o’ sic a thing
in a’ my life!’”

‘Dirt bodes luck’ is an old Scottish proverb.

In the middle ages in Europe, candle-bearers in large houses were
allowed, among other perquisites, the broken meat which the _king_ or
_lords_ spilt on the floor from their plates! No wonder that kings’
houses were then littered with straw like modern stables.

Most travellers complain of South American cookery. Among others, Dunn,
in Guatamala, observes, “The whole of these messes were prepared under a
shed, in a large dirty yard, which served as a kitchen, and was full of
filth of all kinds. The knowledge of this, with the sight of the
servants had no tendency to quicken our appetites. The _spoons_, cups,
knives, and forks were of silver.”

Bell, in passing through Tartary, in the suite of the ‘Russian
Embassador to Pekin,’ mentions a hospitable matron, whose cooking was
not quite to his taste. Entering a tent, the mistress immediately set to
work to make him and his companions some tea. After placing a large iron
kettle over the fire, she wiped it out with a horse’s tail which hung in
one corner of the tent. Then some water was put in, coarse bohea tea,
and a little salt. When near boiling, she took a large brass ladle and
tossed the tea till the liquid became quite brown. It was next taken off
the fire and poured into another vessel. The kettle was now again wiped
out with the same implement as before, and a paste, made of meal and
butter, put in and fried; some cream taken from a sheep-skin was added.
The tea previously made was poured in, and the whole beat together with
the ladle. After being allowed to cool, it was handed round in wooden
bowls.

Maundeville, who 500 years before, seems to have passed through Tartary
on his way to or from China, says: “The Tartarienes han gret conscience,
and holden it for a gret synne to casten a knyf in the fuyr, and for to
drawe flessche out of a pot with a knyf.... Thei eten but littille bred,
but zif it be in the courtes of gretr Lordes. And thei han not in many
places nouther pesen ne benes, ne non other potages, but the brothe of
the flessche. For littille ete thei ony thing but flessche and the
brothe. And whan thei han eten, thei wypen hire hondes upon hire
skirtes; for thei usen non naperye ne towayelles, but zif it be before
grete Lordes.... And whan thei han eten, thei putten hire dissches
_vnwasschen_ in to the pot or cawdroun with remenant of the flessche and
of the brothe, til thei wole eten azen.” [_Travels_, _cap._ xxiii.]

The cookery of the Laplanders is generally performed by men, and in the
dirtiest manner possibly. It is said “the dishes and spoons are seldom
washed, or at most, only by squirting water upon them from the mouth,
and rubbing them with their fingers!” A favorite dish is made by boiling
in a deer’s paunch a mixture of minced meat, blood, and fat; “but the
fat is previously chewed by the men and boys to prepare it for mixing
more intimately with the other ingredients!” [_Ed. Encyc. Arts.
Lapland—Hudson Bay._]

With the Greenlanders, “the color and odor of the last dish are left to
remove those of a former one.” When a stranger is present, the woman of
the house takes a piece of meat from the kettle, _licks_ off the scum
and blood, and presents it to him in her hands. This is considered a
mark of respect—to decline on his part an insult! The inhabitants of the
Marquesas are still more polite: at San Christina it is considered an
act of civility to offer the food already chewed, to a friend, that he
may have no other trouble than that of swallowing it! Verily, there is
no accounting for tastes. The aboriginal women of Brazil prepared an
intoxicating drink by masticating manioc, and boiling the substance thus
reduced to a pulp. So the ladies of Otaheite made a beverage for their
lords by chewing yava and spitting the juice into a bowl, when it was
mixed with cocoa-nut liquor, and left to ferment.

All the inhabitants of the polar regions resemble each other in their
manners and customs. Their bodies are coated with a varnish of dirt and
grease, the accumulation of years—the color of the surface beneath being
as effectually concealed as in articles covered with paint or japan.
With regard to the kitchen, Esquimaux dames would seem to bear off the
palm, since they cleanse every culinary utensil, the caldron as well as
the spoon, with their tongues; continuing the operation as long as a
particle of blubber remains. When Captain Parry bought a lamp of a
matron, the economical owner _licked_ it quite clean, devouring the soot
and oil with which it was covered, as forming no part of the bargain,
and too precious to be given away.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

  _Antiquarian Value of Ancient Table Furniture—People of
  Egypt—Specimens of their Spoons—Humorists—Other Spoons of Ivory,
  Bronze and Wood—Salt and Salt-Cellar—Roast Goose in Egypt—Golden
  Spoons of the Tabernacle and Temple—Simpula of Wood, Bronze and
  Gilt—Reflections._


Having given samples of primitive spoons formed of shells, horn, and
wood, we might proceed to the introduction of those made of pewter,
brass, iron, silver and other metals—of which some were undoubtedly made
in ages anterior to those of history; but all would be sheer conjecture.
The fortunes of the first races of men have not been recorded—much less
the adventures of their spoons. We shall therefore confine our future
observations chiefly to actual specimens, arranged in chronological
order and beginning with the oldest extant.

It would have been an agreeable task to have traced a connection in the
table utensils of the famous nations of old—in those exported from Tyre,
and such as were produced in the silversmith shops of Persepolis or
Troy; but no pattern-card of Tyrian or Sidonian spoonmakers has reached
us, nor, any specimens placed on the sideboards of Priam or
Nebuchadnezzar. The blank might indeed be in a great measure filled by a
few from the neighborhood of Memphis and Thebes—such as old Egyptian
artists supplied their own and other countries with, when the useful and
ornamental arts flourished in the Nilotic valley. Such would have given
us an idea of prevailing tastes in the forms and decorations of the
implement. We could at a glance have compared them with our own, and
told in a moment whether Moses and Joshua, Nehemiah or Ezra—whether
Egyptian gentlemen or Jewish maidens took pottage with implements
fashioned like ours. How interesting would a sight of such spoons have
been! What would not lovers of antiquity give to behold them, or for
drawings and descriptions of them! Does the reader enter into the spirit
and feelings of such philosophers? Does he take pleasure in tracing the
characters of remote people in vestiges of their arts—ascertaining their
domestic manners in their culinary utensils, and the state of the useful
professions among them in products of their workshops? Well, spoons made
and used by the old inhabitants of Egypt _are_ in existence! The
assortment is limited, but it might have been less; and small as it is,
we are enabled to produce drawings of ‘a round dozen.’

What a wonderful people were these children of Ham! The greatest
benefactors of their race the world ever saw, they seem to have lived
only for posterity—to perpetuate the useful arts—to hand to their
successors their knowledge; and lest future physiologists should dispute
about their persons, they have come down themselves, and submitted their
bodies to our inspection—not in small numbers, but in millions! The
catacombs have for ages been quarried like coal mines for fuel, and are
yet said to contain more mummies than Egypt living men. How surpassing
strange is it, then, that we should have before us spoons used (perhaps)
three or four thousand years since, with the men and women they
nourished—the identical hands that handled them—the very mouths they
entered! What people but one ever did this much for posterity; and what
people will ever repeat it? Four thousand years hence (or even one
thousand) antiquarians, on referring to our days and our arts, might as
well search the soil for our souls as our bodies.

Is the reader anxious to look on spoons made under the Ptolemies or
Pharaohs? Let him exercise a little patience, and, ere he casts his eyes
on the next illustration, think within himself what can they be like—of
what forms are the bowls—do they resemble shells—are all of one
shapes—how decorated, if decorated at all? Then the handles—are they
flat like modern ones, round or square, plain or carved? And of what
materials are these relics of ancient days?

[Illustration:

  ANCIENT EGYPTIAN SPOONS.
]

See! there is half a dozen—each of a different pattern, and of assorted
sizes, too; unless, as is most likely, the artist who copied them has
not drawn all to the same scale. The originals are in the British
Museum. Do not they, few as they are, present about as much variety as
every species of modern spoons? But if they do—if these stragglers,
picked up among tombs or ploughed out of the soil, exhibit such
fertility of design, what rich displays of the article must the shelves
of goldsmiths, hardware and fancy stores in Memphis, Thebes, and On have
afforded!

[As we have unfortunately little or no specific information respecting
the originals of several of our illustrations, the reader will, we
presume, be better pleased with some reflections than with absolute
silence. It is awkward to introduce specimens without comment; hence,
where descriptive data are not within reach, we shall occasionally offer
such remarks, serious or otherwise, as the figures themselves may
suggest.]

Not two of the bowls in the preceding spoons are alike; and as for the
handles, they are as different as they well could be. In _Fig. 1._ the
bowl represents a slightly scolloped shell, supported on the head of a
human figure, which serves as a handle, and whose feet rest on the
capital of a column. The handle is short compared to the size of the
bowl, (a remark applicable to others,) but it was no doubt proportioned
to the particular purpose for which such spoons were made. The pattern
seems to have been borrowed from architecture; but there is something
bizarre in making Atlantes bear spoons instead of entablatures or domes
of temples. The Egyptians were great humorists, and freely indulged in
burlesque. If we could suppose a joke was intended in the design, the
figure might be taken for a caricature of Atlas or Hercules bearing the
celestial or terrestrial sphere, as an intimation that the spoon was all
the world to gastronomes, its effects a heavy burden fat men groaned
under, and its pleasures their highest delight. In this respect the
figure is not an inapt representation of some people’s achievements in
life.

In _Fig. 2._ the handle appears as if turned in a lathe: where it joins
the bowl it assumes the form of the lotus flower, out of whose leaves
the bowl like a ripe fruit is seen to rise. The shape of the bowl is
precisely like that of ours, viz: a longitudinal segment of an egg
shell.

_Fig. 3._ is of wood, and very unlike a modern one in shape, unless
compared to a marrow spoon. The bowl resembles the cartouche or royal
oval, in which the names of the kings of Egypt are inscribed in
hieroglyphics on the monuments. It obviously could only have raised
fluid matter from shallow dishes or plates. The ornaments may be
arbitrary, but we should rather suppose they had an allegorical meaning.
The ibex or gazelle, an animal which supplied the chief material for
broth; and the fish, with sprigs of parsley or other herbs, in their
mouths, as if ready for the table, were certainly not inappropriate
decorations of an implement employed in transmitting portions of these
victims to the human palate.

_Fig. 4._—a bronze spoon, and more nearly resembling the modern one than
any of the preceding. The shank is made to represent the human hand and
arm—a copy of the _first_ spoon handles, when cockle and muscle shells
only were in use. Perhaps there is an allusion to that custom in this
ancient implement; but the artist did not forget to introduce a victim
of the caldron or spit: he has made the handle terminate with the head
of a goose, a bird in much repute with the Apician literati of Egypt,
and as such often figured on spoons.

_Fig. 5._ Here we have a spoon representing a fish swimming into a
kettle, as if anxious to be macerated and served up at table. The
material is wood, and the bowl circular. One part of the fish is made to
turn on a pin near the tail, so as to expose a small cavity or box in
the thick part of the body. This was probably a sportman’s or
traveller’s portable spoon, and the cavity occupied with salt or other
condiment—a feature of some interest, since it shows us that ingenuity
in such matters dates back to remote periods. In _Plate V._ is a spoon
with a concealed toothpick, an instrument more appropriate to a knife or
fork. The Egyptian artist adhered more closely to propriety in
introducing a receptacle for seasoning, especially in an utensil
employed only with fluid aliments.

_Fig. 6._ is the plainest of the whole, but not devoid of ornament: the
handle, which is long and stout, having one extremity carved into a
horse’s head, and the other a projecting piece or shoulder that unites
it to the bowl.

Another group, taken from Wilkinson’s ‘_Manners and Customs of the
Ancient Egyptians_,’ will be found on the following page.

_Fig. 1._ is of ivory, about four inches long, and preserved in the
Public Museum at Berlin. It was discovered at Thebes along with a deep
stand or chest containing a number of small jars or bottles—supposed to
have been part of the stock of an apothecary, or to have belonged to the
toilet of a Theban beauty. The style of the handle of this spoon is
unique, and independent of the carved head, displays much taste.

[Illustration:

  ANCIENT EGYPTIAN SPOONS.
]

The implement itself is not unlike some of our small spoons—possibly it
belonged to an ancient salt-cellar. Salt, it will be remembered, was
used at table in remote antiquity just as it is at this day, and several
superstitions were associated with it. Omens drawn from spilling it,
observes Fosbroke, are equally antique with its use. The salt-cellar was
placed on the table with the first dish containing offerings to the
Gods. Its presence was supposed to sanctify the food, and great
importance was attached to keeping it bright and clean. Fabricius, the
conqueror of Pyrrhus, was distinguished for the simplicity of his
manners: history informs us that a small salt-cellar, with horn feet,
was the only article of silver in his house.

_Fig. 2._—of bronze, eight inches long, and with a flat handle; perhaps
the common table-spoon of the people, occupying the place of the modern
iron or pewter one. The form of the bowl is very like that of wooden and
pewter spoons of the last century. Here we have the head of the goose
again, one of the favorite, though certainly not most healthy viands of
both priests and people. The occupants of the temples, says Herodotus,
were not obliged to live on their private means, but each individual had
sacred victuals ready dressed assigned him, and in addition a daily
allowance of beef and _goose_, (ii. 37.) In the tombs near the pyramids
are representations of dinner parties, at which the goose figures as a
prominent dish. Other scenes exhibit Egyptian cookery in detail, where
the victim is undergoing the various operations preparatory to its
appearance at table. The end of the handle of _Fig. 2._ being curved was
doubtless designed to suspend the spoon over the edge of a vessel, or
over a nail or cord. Several utensils are seen hanging from lines in an
Egyptian kitchen, portrayed in the tomb of Rameses III. at Thebes.

_Fig. 3._—another bronze table spoon. The handle is round and tapered,
partly formed in the lathe, enriched with carving, and having on the
whole a tasteful appearance.

_Fig. 4._—also of bronze, found at Thebes by Mr. Burton: smaller than 2
or 3, it was probably a child’s spoon. It is the plainest of Egyptian
spoons yet found.

_Fig. 5._—a small wooden spoon, formed like a spade—a shape so singular
that it has been refused a place at the dining table. It is, however, a
genuine spoon. The Romans used such, (_See Plate II._) and similar
formed implements are not uncommon with the Chinese, as will be noticed
in a future page,—a people among whom many primitive arts and implements
are preserved in their purity.

[Illustration:

  ANCIENT EGYPTIAN SPOONS.
]

In the first two figures above we have another elegant variety of the
spoon. They represent the back and front of a wooden one. The handle is
round, straight, and short, and handsomely set off with a wreath,
terminating with leaves at the junction with the bowl. The latter is
long and pointed, and seems well calculated for a pap spoon for
infants—a purpose for which it was probably designed. In comparing this
implement with those which have preceded it, some readers will be
agreeably surprised at finding so great a diversity of forms in so
simple a thing; but ere they arrive at the end of these pages the
feeling will probably rise into wonder; and yet the whole of the
illustrations embraced in this essay are but part of what might have
been introduced.

_Fig. 3._ resembles one figured on page 126; but it is not like that
formed of metal, but of ivory—a circumstance from which we may infer
that the goose and human hand were staple ornaments of Egyptian spoons,
and frequently adopted with every material of which the latter were
made.

[Illustration:

  ANCIENT EGYPTIAN SHELL AND SPOON.
]

The relationship between spoons and their natural originals is exhibited
in the above figure. The shell is an artificial one, of alabaster, and
is among the antiquities preserved in Alnwick Castle. Its dimensions are
those of an ordinary mussel shell or table spoon. The minikin spoon
figured within it is supposed to have belonged to a lady’s toilet. Where
the handle unites with the bowl it assumes the form of the favorite
lotus.

No better proof could be adduced of the refined taste of Pharaonic
artists than this copying after nature; for it is the perfection of
skill to follow her instructions. In the infancy of the arts man runs
from her, preferring puerile conceits and monstrous figures; but as the
mind ripens and the judgment matures, he returns to the only true
teacher and guide.

We are not aware of any _silver_ or _golden_ spoons having been
disinterred. It is certain the wealthy classes had such, and as the
richest taste and greatest skill were lavished on them, it is to be
regretted that none have been discovered. The first spoons mentioned in
history were golden ones, made by Egyptian artists, viz: those furnished
for the Tabernacle. (Exod. xxv. 29.) So were those presented by the
princes of Israel at the dedication of the sanctuary. (Numb. vii.) Is it
said they were fabricated by Aholihab and Bezaleel, or workmen employed
by them, that is, by Israelites? True, but in every sense of the word,
except as regards religion, and even that need hardly be excepted, these
men were Egyptians—natives of the land, both they and their fathers, for
many generations. What did the people whom Moses led out of Egypt know,
except what they learned there? And what had they, but what they got
there? If he himself was learned, it was with ‘the wisdom of Egypt.’
Neither had they nor their ancestors any other country. In Egypt they
were born and brought up, and when they entered Canaan, it was to them a
foreign land.

The Jews always neglected the useful arts. The splendid mechanics who
left Egypt with Moses died, and all their generation, in the wilderness.
With them the arts were buried, and were never resuscitated on the other
side of Jordan. When Solomon built the temple he had workmen from Tyre;
it was a Phenician founder who made the bronze and golden bowls, basins,
snuffers, spoons, &c. required. (1. Kings vii.—2. Kings xxv.) Both
spoons and ladles, or simpula, were extensively used in Pagan worship. A
few of those of ancient Egypt are figured below.

[Illustration:

  EGYPTIAN LADLES OR SIMPULA.
]

Simpula have been found of great variety of forms and materials. Those
of bronze were frequently _gilt_, which made them richer in ornament,
and prevented wine or acids retained in them from being contaminated
with solutions of copper. They were used chiefly for dipping fluids from
amphoræ or jars. The two upper ones in the cut are of bronze, in the
Berlin Museum. The first has a _folding joint_ in the middle of the
handle; and the next one has its handle lengthened or shortened
(according to the depth of the vessel) by one part sliding behind the
other. _Fig. 3_ represents an extremely small wooden ladle; the fixed
part of the handle being only five inches in length, and the sliding rod
which rises and falls in a groove extending down the centre, about the
thickness of a darning needle. The last (_Fig. 4_) in Mr. Wilkinson’s
possession, is eighteen inches long, the bowl three inches deep and
nearly the same, in diameter. It is of bronze and has been gilt.

In taking leave of Egyptian spoons figured in this chapter, one can
hardly avoid thinking of the persons they belonged to, of the families
of their owners, the mouths they fed, the food they assisted to cook and
serve up, of the scenes of festivity, of sickness and sorrow, of high
life and low life, in which they took a part; of the workmen who made
them, the merchants who sold them, and the many strange conversations
held in their presence! In their forms we have the turns of thought of
old artists; nay, casts of the very thoughts themselves; such as
inspired the cunning artists, companions of Bezaleel or of Hiram, and
like them, skilful to devise curious works in gold and silver, brass and
iron, ivory and pearl. We fancy we can almost see a Theban spoonmaker’s
face brighten up as the image of a new pattern crossed his mind; behold
him sketch it on papyrus, and watch every movement of his chisel or
graver as he gradually embodied the thought, and published it in one of
the forms portrayed on these pages—securing an accession of customers
and a corresponding reward in an increase of profits. We take it for
granted that piratical artisans were not permitted to pounce on every
popular invention which the wit of another brought forth. Had there been
no checks to unprincipled usurpers of other men’s productions, the
energies of inventors would have been paralyzed and the arts could
hardly have attained the perfection they did among some of the famous
people of old.

What a transient, ephemeral being is man! How short is his life compared
even to that of a spoon! Notwithstanding his pride and his power, the
grasp of his intellect, the noise he makes in the world, and the lasting
wonders he works, he is himself a bubble—no sooner inflated than burst!
The meanest of his labors survive, while he vanishes as vapor. Probably
not less than one hundred generations, including some of the mightiest
spirits of Egypt, have passed away since the implements delineated above
were made! Strange that a thing should endure longer than the head which
conceived and the hands that formed it; that a pot should live longer
than a potter. Here have we the identical spoons which, twenty or thirty
centuries ago, men, women, and children handled at dinner!—individuals
perhaps contemporary with those who encamped with Moses at Elim, or
fought under Joshua at Jericho; or, it may be, such as were acquainted
with Plato or Solon, with Helen and Herodotus, when these Grecian
wanderers were in the land of Mizraim.




                              CHAPTER IX.

  _Roman Spoons—Useful Arts in Athens, Sparta and Rome—Mamurius the
  Brazier—Downfall of the Romans—Military and Mechanical
  Professions—Discovery of Herculaneum—Silver Spoons—Pompeii
  Disinterred—Kitchen Utensils and Spoons of Silver, Brass, Wood and
  Ivory found—Reflections on Pompeii—Street of the Silversmiths—Few
  Ancient Spoons described in Print—Antique Plate—Description of Plates
  II and III—Latin Name of the Spoon—Shell Spoons and Garum
  Sauce—Mercury Spoon—Soldiers’ Iron Spoons—Specimens from
  Piranesi—Simpula—Indian Ladles, &c._


Having noticed a few spoons made under the Ptolemies or Pharaohs, let us
next refer to some fabricated in Rome or its provincial towns, under the
Cæsars. We have no particular specimens from ancient Greece to lay
before the reader, but the deficiency is not material, since a manifest
conformity prevailed in the social economy of the Greeks and Romans.

The ancients generally paid little respect to mechanical professions;
where one people fostered them a hundred treated them with contempt.
This was the case even in Greece; the Lacedemonians and others despised,
the Athenians alone respected them. Lycurgus forbade his countrymen to
become artisans, but Solon made a law that no son should be compelled to
support a destitute parent, if the latter had neglected to teach him a
trade. The Athenian lawgiver rendered the useful professions honorable;
the goddess of the arts was adopted as the protectress of the city, and
a distaff and spindle placed in her hands. Every school boy knows how
much more the world is indebted to Athens than to Sparta. It is the same
now—the most enlightened people are those who cultivate the arts most,
and the weakest and rudest such as neglect them. There can be no science
where there are no arts, and for the future there can be no national
power but in proportion as they are cultivated. The age of the sword and
brute force is passing away; that of the arts and intellectual power
beginning to dawn.

In the infancy of their career the Romans promoted the useful
professions. Numa, their second king, was incomparably the best they
ever had. A philosopher, he preferred peace to war, and set himself to
tame the ferocity of the people, by infusing into them a taste for
agriculture and the arts; to induce them to rely on the fruits of honest
industry rather than on the plunder of their neighbors. The people, says
Plutarch, were divided into classes or corporations, according to their
trades. Those of each profession had their respective halls, &c. a
practice derived from the East. He mentions goldsmiths, dyers, tanners,
coppersmiths, &c. Publicola also fostered domestic manufactures by
exempting artificers from tribute.

That workers in metals were expert in Numa’s time is evident from the
story of the buckler reported to have fallen from heaven, and the eleven
copies of it made by Mamurius. But mechanics in those days were not the
ignorant and sordid beings their enemies have generally represented
them. Pliny, deploring the deteriorated workmanship of his time,
observes, that every man labored only for money; whereas, in the days of
our forefathers, says he, they worked for _fame_. The celebrated brazier
just named asked no other reward for making the sacred shields, than to
have his name mentioned in the hymns sung during the feasts of the
Ancylia. Plutarch intimates that an ode was chanted to his memory by the
Salians along with the Pyrrhic dance.

Twenty centuries have elapsed since the Romans were in the height of
their power. As a nation war was their profession, and pillage their
wealth; they rose by the sword and by it they fell—a righteous
Providence having meted to them the measure they meted to others.
History is full of recitals of their conquests, of the victims they
slew, and the terror their armies spread among nations, the triumphs
accorded to their generals, with kings and spoils of kingdoms dragged in
their trains; but not a page is devoted to those arts and professions
which contribute to the permanent happiness of men. The world yet
resounds with their feats of arms; but of the more useful and honest
occupations of the _people_, all writers are silent. Of the click of the
hammer, speed of the shuttle, creaking of the file, buzzing of lathes,
roaring of bellows, of manufacturing machinery driven by men, horses,
water or wind, Tacitus and Livy, Sallust and Suetonius have nothing to
say. Ancient annals may be said to give no more idea of the manners and
customs, social habits and general employments of the people, than
descriptions of modern battles do of the nations to whom the contending
idiots belong. What Olaus Magnus said of the Goths was true of all
nations, and is still true of too many: “They supposed all other arts
nothing, when compared with military arts.” The world is yet crowded
with Goths.

Although the Romans formed the last link in the chain of nations, which
connects us with the people of remote times, and as such should be
somewhat familiar to us, yet so long and dark a night of turbulence and
barbarism set in on their fall, that the knowledge of their arts and
manufactures has in a great measure been lost. From the number of their
colonies, a few products of their workshops have occasionally been
picked up in various parts of Europe; but with all the collections and
labors of antiquarians, comparatively little is known of the extent, and
less of the processes, of mechanical manipulations among the classical
ancients.

A very trivial circumstance occurred in the beginning of the last
century (in 1711) which led to a discovery unexampled in the annals of
our globe—one which reflected more light on ancient private life and on
some branches of the useful arts than any thing else:—An Italian
peasant, digging a well near his cottage, found some fragments of
colored marble. These attracting attention, led to further excavation,
when a statue of Hercules was disinterred, and shortly afterwards a
mutilated one of Cleopatra. These were found at a considerable depth
below the surface, and in a place which subsequently proved to be a
temple situated in the centre of the ancient city of Herculaneum. This
city was overwhelmed with ashes and lava, during an eruption of
Vesuvius, A. D. 79, being the same in which the elder Pliny perished.
Herculaneum therefore had been buried 1630 years! and while every
memorial of it was lost, and even the site unknown, it was thus
suddenly, by a resurrection, then unparalleled, brought again to light;
and streets, temples, houses, statues, paintings, jewelry, professional
implements, kitchen utensils, and other articles connected with ancient
domestic life, were to be seen arranged, as when their owners were
actively moving among them.

There are some interesting letters in the early volumes of the
Philosophical Transactions, from which it appears that slow progress was
made in excavation at Herculaneum for several years. One from Mr.
William Hamilton, dated Naples, March 1731, runs thus;—“At _Resina_,
about four miles from Naples, under the mountain, within half a mile of
the sea-side, there is a _well_ in a poor man’s yard; down which about
thirty yards there is a hole which some people have the curiosity to
creep into, and may afterwards creep a good way under ground; and with
lights find foundations of houses and streets, which, by some, it is
said, was in the time of the Romans, a city called _Aretina_, others say
Port Hercules, where the Romans usually embarked for Africa. I have seen
the well, which is deep, and a good depth of water at the bottom that I
never cared to venture down.”

Signor C. Paderni writes from Rome in November, 1739, to Allan Ramsay,
that the king of Naples had appointed an artist to take charge of the
articles found. Of these there were thirty or forty paintings, a chariot
and horses in brass, several statues and basso-relievos, eight rings,
containing engraved cornelians, a golden bracelet, a large brazen dish,
&c. “They enter the place by a pit, like a well, to the depth of 88
Neapolitan palms, and then dig their way under the bituminous matter.”

M. Geo. Knapton says, the ancient city of Herculaneum is now under a
town called Portici, a quarter of a mile from the sea, at the foot of
Vesuvius, and has no other road to it but that of the _town well_, [the
same begun by the peasant in 1711] which is none of the most agreeable,
being in parts very straight, in others wide, and cut in a most rude
manner. Towards the bottom, where you go into the city, it is very
broad, which they have made so to turn the columns which were brought
up.... The entrance is 82 feet from the top of the well.... It is
difficult for the first person let down to get in, but when once landed
at the opening, “he pulled us in by the legs as we came down.” This
writer does not mention how far above the bottom of the well the opening
into the city was, but the depth of water was considerable, for on
account of it, excavations were not made to the foundations of the
buildings.

Mr. Crispe, writing from Rome in April, 1740, after mentioning
paintings, houses, statues, busts, &c. observes: They have found several
antique rings, with cameos and intaglios set in them, a case of surgical
instruments, a triumphal car of bronze, vessels full of rice, mouse
traps, several kitchen utensils, a fork, and a _silver spoon, made in
the handle like a modern one_, and the bowl pointed like an olive leaf.
[_See Phil. Trans. Vols._ xli. xliv. xlix.]

Excavations were continued for several years, and vast treasures found,
with which several museums have become enriched, besides those of Italy.
As it would have been an immense undertaking to raise through the well
all the materials displaced, the plan was adopted of filling up old
excavations with the rubbish of fresh ones, and thus no series of
buildings or streets are to be seen. The theatre only is open, and it is
very imperfectly viewed by torch light, at so great a depth below the
surface.

In 1755, another city, overwhelmed at the same time with Herculaneum,
was discovered. This was Pompeii, the very name of which had been almost
forgotten. As it lay at a greater distance from Vesuvius than
Herculaneum, the stream of lava never reached it. It was inhumed by
showers of ashes, pumice and stones, which formed a bed of variable
depth from twelve to twenty feet, and easily removed; whereas the former
city was entombed in ashes and lava to the depth of from seventy to a
hundred feet. With the exception of the upper stories of the houses,
which were either consumed by red hot stones ejected from the volcano,
or crushed by the weight of the matter collected on their roofs, we
behold in Pompeii a nourishing city nearly in the same state in which it
existed eighteen centuries ago! The buildings unaltered by newer
fashions; the paintings undimmed by the leaden touch of time; household
furniture left in the confusion of use; articles even of intrinsic value
abandoned in the hurry of escape, yet safe from the robber, or scattered
about as they fell from the trembling hand which could not stop or pause
to pick them up.

The work of disinterment has been prosecuted to the present time, and
every year adds to the treasures of the Portician Museum. Cooking
utensils and kitchen furniture in great abundance, found in both cities,
are very similar to our own, but generally of more durable materials and
better finish; sauce-pans being lined with silver instead of a thin
coating of tin; colanders, strainers, fish-slices, water-pails, of
brass, and elaborately finished. Some sauce-pans have been found wholly
of silver. Fire grates like ours were not used, but large braziers
placed in the middle of the kitchen; and ranges of small furnaces, of
brick-work raised breast high, in which charcoal was used; identical
with those often seen in the kitchens of the wealthy, and which have
been almost universal in Europe to the present century; fixed and
portable ovens, oil-flasks, bottles and glasses of every variety, glazed
plates of earthenware packed in straw, cups and saucers of silver, like
those now used for tea, gridirons, frying-pans, dripping-pans, molds for
pastry, caldrons, graters, mortars, knives, and SPOONS of _bronze_,
_ivory_ and _silver_.

Here is a female’s toilet, essences, tortoise-shell combs, bracelets,
mirrors, needles, a box of pins, ear and finger-rings, broaches, &c. as
she left them, perhaps to visit the theatre, whence, with hundreds more,
she never returned. (It was an opinion of the ancients that the
inhabitants were surprised by the volcanic storm while in the theatre.)
Few of the antiquities possess so melancholy an interest as those
relating to children. It is obvious from Pliny’s letters to Tacitus, and
from the nature of the catastrophe, that numbers of these innocents
perished; trod down by distracted crowds rushing out of the city, and
seeking to fly from the supernatural darkness that enveloped it; killed
by showers of falling stones, from which some few grown people
fortunately protected themselves by tying pillows on their heads;
suffocated by an atmosphere of ashes and cinders; their shrieks after
their parents, as well as their mothers’ cries after them, were
gradually stifled with noxious vapors and dust. _Toys_ have been found
in some houses—the domicils, we may suppose, of benevolent couples, who,
like Plutarch and his wife, were delighted in beholding their young
offspring play and chatter ‘with babies and dolls.’ These, only relics
of their romping little owners, thrown down in alarm when the terrors of
the calamity entered each dwelling, have been picked up where they were
left. The Pompeians moreover had not only toys to please their children,
but pictures and stories to frighten them, similar to such as have
reached us through the middle ages. There is a dark looking personage
roughly drawn with black paint on a wall; he has horns, cloven feet, and
altogether resembles modern portraits of the wicked one.

A solitary wanderer in the avenues and alleys of Pompeii might almost
anticipate the feelings of the “last man.” It is awful to walk alone
through a city in which no human being has moved for so many centuries;
through dwellings fitted up with every convenience for large and small
families, for rich and poor ones; through streets deeply rutted with
carriage wheels, and on side-walks worn by foot passengers; to read the
names of tradespeople on the doorposts and observe articles on counters;
enter palaces of patricians and apartments of plebeians, the studios of
sculptors and painters; and find every where household goods, utensils
and tools, arranged as if their owners had just stepped out, and might
be expected every moment to return.

In one house we find the chief rooms decorated with exquisite paintings
and statuary; sleeping apartments appropriately adorned, and the kitchen
furnished with every requisite; loaves of bread in one oven, a pie in
another, flour in the kneading-trough, pickles and sauces in jars and
glass bottles, oil in flasks, wine in amphoræ, and wine-glasses in
abundance; here a pail half full of water, there a row of small furnaces
with charcoal in them ready for kindling: a caldron close by, a sauce
pan, a frying pan for eggs, a knife, a silver bowl, several ladles and a
spoon;—all laying as if the cook, about to prepare dinner, had stept
into the adjoining garden for esculent roots or pot herbs. It is almost
impossible to look on, think on or handle such things, without being
startled by the least noise, turning round and imagining the owner
rushing into his dwelling and demanding the cause of one’s intrusion.

In 1826 were found in an arched cellar the skeletons of two or more
persons who had taken refuge there, carrying with them four gold rings,
a pair of ear-rings, many coins of gold and silver, and _four silver
spoons_. Subsequently we, find enumerated vases, basins with handles
formed of the wings of swans, pateræ, bells, inkstands, locks, an oval
caldron, hundreds of common glass bottles, besides decanters, fluted
tumblers and cups of green glass. In another place were found an oval
ball, a pair of golden ear-rings, together with a _silver ladle_ or
_spoon_.—[_Gell’s Pompeiana, I._ pp. 6, 41–2.]

The handsomest avenue yet discovered in Pompeii is known as the ‘street
of the silversmiths,’ a designation given it from quantities of plate
found in the shops. The practice was universal of old for mechanics of
one profession to locate together, and it is still kept up throughout
the east. It would have been better to have named the street after ‘the
goldsmiths,’ for under this designation workmen in the precious metals
have always been included. They are so in old French and English
statutes and in the Scriptures. ‘The goldsmith spreadeth it over with
gold, and casteth silver chains.’ [_Isaiah._] ‘They lavish gold out of
the bag, and weigh silver in the balance, and hire a goldsmith’
[_Ibid._]—literally exemplified daily in Cairo and other oriental
cities. That this class of artisans were influential and wealthy in
Pompeii may be inferred from a notice of a gladiatorial show, got up at
their cost, in honor of ‘Caius Cuspius Pansa, the Ædile.’

We believe few silver and other spoons found in Herculaneum and Pompeii
have been described in print. Gell complains bitterly in his preface and
appendix of the difficulties thrown in the way of foreign artists, and
the unworthy policy of prohibiting sketches to be taken of antiquities
found. They have yet to learn at Naples, he observes, that the only use
or glory in the possession of these things consists in the promulgation
of them to the world. The examination of antique works in metal by
practical men can alone determine the modes of their manufacture. For
want of this, the question whether sheet iron, copper, &c. was laminated
by _rollers_ is not determined, nor whether dies were used in producing
ornamented hollow-ware; besides other questions of interest.

Allusions in classic authors to table furniture, and specimens extant,
are calculated to impress us with high ideas of the skill of Roman gold
and silver smiths. Besides models furnished by Etrurian, Grecian and
oriental workmen, luxury and a general taste in the patricians for
objects of _virtu_ tended to foster these professions. The younger Pliny
speaks of the frugal repasts of Spurinna being served ‘in antique plate
of pure silver,’ which he preferred to a more fashionable and ‘complete
service of Corinthian metal’ in his possession. (The composition of this
alloy is wholly unknown. It was esteemed vastly more precious than
gold.) That spoons were elaborately wrought, so as to keep pace with
more splendid appendages of the beaufet, there is no doubt; but few, if
any such, are extant. Perhaps the best of those to which we are about to
refer were in no respect superior to silver ones in ordinary use.

DESCRIPTION OF PLATE II.—_Figures 1, 2, 3_, are Roman _pateræ_, or
rather scoops. They clearly show how the classical ancients preserved
the form of shells in utensils allied to the ladle and spoon. But the
marine origin of the latter was preserved by the Romans in its _name_,
for _cochleare_, a spoon, is derived from _cochlea_, a shell or cockle.

_Fig. 4_—an antique spoon fashioned after a peculiar shell, and having a
row of minute dots or openings as a border—perhaps in imitation of those
in the haliotis and kindred productions of the deep. The short handle is
modeled after the tail of a fish, and the interior of the bowl
ornamented with a figure of a dolphin swimming in his native fluid—an
indication perhaps that the implement was used at table with fish; for
the ancients were often exceedingly happy in rendering their ornamental
devices appropriate. This spoon could only have been employed for
removing fluids from shallow dishes or saucers. It was probably an olive
spoon, or belonged to the small dish or cup containing anchovy or the
famous _garum_ sauce, both used at Roman tables, and the latter one for
the manufacture of which Pompeii was celebrated. It was, says Pliny, (B.
xxxi. 7, 8) the most exquisite and dainty of all condiments, “so costly
and so much in request that every two congii thereof might not be bought
under the price of 1000 sesterces,” [about five dollars a quart.]

_Fig. 5_—another Roman spoon with a handle little longer than the bowl,
but one displaying much taste. It is unique of its kind, and equals any
other in elegance we have seen. The bowl is perfectly modern in its
outline. Montfaucon is remarkably barren on this and _Fig. 4_: three
words, ‘found at Autun,’ comprehend all he says. Hence we know neither
their dimensions nor materials, nor how they were made. From the general
appearance of _Fig. 4_, one might suppose it was struck up in a die from
sheet metal.

_Fig. 6_—a very elaborate silver spoon—the bowl pointed like a French
one, and the turned handle not unlike such as formerly prevailed in
Europe. The notch or bend near the bowl is a common feature in Roman
spoons—supposed to have been designed to rest the implement against the
edge of the dish. The ornaments in the bowl are mythological. Mercury,
seated on a rock, holds in his right hand a purse, and in his left the
caduceus. His winged hat lays at his feet, and before him stands a cock,
a goat, and a tortoise—animals often represented on temples and
monuments dedicated to him. The whole of this spoon must have been cast
unless the bowl and the figures on it were chased or stamped. The handle
is short but strong, increasing in substance as it approaches the bowl.
Chinese spoons were noticed by Van Braam as having very short handles.
From the great beauty of ancient medallions, we may be sure articles of
plate, if ornamented with the die, were sometimes equally well finished.

_Figs. 7_ to _12_, inclusive, are from the second volume of Montfaucon’s
antiquities: 7 and 8, spoons four inches long, and hence about the size
of modern mustard spoons; their handles plain and tapered to a point;
their section a square. Their material is not mentioned; but in the
second volume of his supplement the learned father has figured three
similar spoons which he says were of silver, and used, as he supposed,
for taking incense out of vases. In Recueil d’Antiquities Egyptiennes,
Etrusces, &c. Paris, 1752, p. 325, a similar spoon is described. It was
of _silver_, and between six and seven inches in length. _Fig. 9_—a
utensil more like a shovel than a spoon, and from that circumstance
conjectured by Montfaucon to have been employed in putting incense on
the altar. He does not seem to have known that spoons of this shape have
been used in the east from remote times. Modern salt and mustard spoons
of the same form are quite common. In _Fig. 8_ the handle is attached to
the smaller end of the bowl—a very common feature in ancient spoons.

_Figs. 10, 11, 12_—ordinary household spoons. The handles are all square
or nearly so, and the tip of No. 11 is molded into a minute spoon,
perhaps designed to extract marrow from bones—a good idea and one worthy
the attention of modern manufacturers. Of what substance these spoons
were made we are not informed. _Fig. 13_—an iron one from the first
volume of the Antiquarian Repertory, Lon. 1775. It was found with other
antiques in Gloucestershire, Eng. and is perhaps the same kind as used
by Roman soldiers. The long pointed handles, Grose thinks, were designed
to open shellfish and doubtless for several other purposes. Stuck in the
wall, or side of a tent, they answered for nails or pins, on which the
inmates hung their armor or arms, and when required at meals performed
the part of our forks in toasting or handling hot morsels.

_Fig. 14_—from Stukely’s Stonehenge, and supposed to have been used for
measuring small quantities of liquids—perhaps the cyath, which held the
contents of an ounce vial. As a vehicle from which to take medicine, as
well as to determine the quantity, the spoon was as much used by the
ancients as by us. For both purposes it is repeatedly mentioned. To
remove pains in the abdomen, Pliny says, “two spoonfuls of plantain, and
of poppie one spoonful, mixed with four cyaths of wine,” and taken night
and morning, is an effectual remedy. [B. xxvi. 8. _Holland’s Trans._]

The figures in this and the following plates being derived from
different sources, and the articles themselves having been discovered at
various times and portrayed on every scale, it is impossible to present
them properly proportioned. Generally speaking, the _form_ is all for
which we must be held responsible.

DESCRIPTION OF PLATE III.—_Fig. 1_—a silver table spoon ‘found at
Autun.’ The bowl is almost a fac simile of _No. 6_ in _Plate II_, both
in form and decorations. The handle is peculiar, consisting of two
separate bars, suggesting an idea that the smaller and lower was
intended to stiffen the upper one. Both terminate in a neat button or
cap. This implement we may suppose, was named a ‘Mercury spoon.’ If it
did not belong to some temple of that god, it would seem as if a variety
with staple ornaments and designs were kept on hand by manufacturers, so
that every purchaser could select his spoons (and other utensils)
decorated with the established emblems of his patron saint or deity. If
such was the practice—and there is much in history to confirm it—it must
have been a great source of profit to gold and silver smiths, and may
serve to account for that amazing variety of design and decorations
which characterized their works. A similar custom was continued down to
mediæval times, as will be seen in our notice of ‘Apostle spoons.’

_Figs. 2_ to _7_ are from Piranesi’s great work, the ‘Antiquities of the
Kingdom of Naples,’ Paris, 1804. The first three are beautiful
specimens. The handles of two are elegantly turned, and in quite a
modern style of ornament. They present the remarkable bend near the
bowl, before alluded to; the metal is there made deeper than at any
other place, thus imparting strength where it is required. Plain and
modern in the bowls, they might be almost taken as products of a living
silversmith. It is not improbable that handles formed like these will
again be in fashion. _Fig. 5_ more resembles a patera than a spoon, and
one like it is figured by Montfaucon; but it is impossible to determine
in all cases where the one ends and the other begins. It is more like a
spoon than some utensils acknowledged to be such. The general form is
pleasing. The handle terminates in a ram’s head. _Figs. 6_ and _7_—small
bronze spoons for unguents. They are the only ones figured in the last
French edition of the Antiquities of Herculaneum, in eight volumes
octavo.

We have occupied the remainder of the plate with a collection of ancient
ladles, spoons, &c. from various authorities, principally Piranesi and
Montfaucon. The originals were chiefly bronze. Nothing is said
respecting them, so that the forms only are left to remark on. Those
with perpendicular handles were generally used to draw wine from
amphoræ. Some of the smallest were liquid measures, &c. One with a
cylindrical bowl or cup, marked 18, is identical with those used by our
milk men, and with Egyptian simpula on page 135. Those numbered _13_,
_14_, _15_, and perhaps _16_ and _17_, are mere variations of the spoon.
_Fig. 8_—a rich ladle, while 9 is nearly a literal copy of a modern
cream spoon. _Figs. 10, 11, 12_—other varieties; _19_ is remarkable for
the turn of the handle, and _20_ has so clumsy an appearance as to
suggest the idea of its having been carved out of wood by an ancient
Calabrian peasant. We know the ancients had simpula of earthen ware, and
also of wood as well as of metal.

American Indian ladles of considerable antiquity are not very rare. An
oblong one with a short pointed handle, and rudely carved out of wood,
and excessively deformed, is in the Boston Museum. They are occasionally
met with of _stone_, and so are spoons. Of the latter some are neatly
formed and well polished, while others have a bowl at each end of the
handle. Canadian Indians frequently make the bowls of their spoons and
ladles out of _bark_—folding smooth pieces into the form of the common
tin scoop, and tying to each a short stick as a handle. They carve
spoons of the same shape out of solid wood.

By the way, it is not a little singular that beautifully formed spoons
have been made for ages by people who never thought of employing such
things in connection with food. They developed them for a very different
purpose. Specimens are now before us—to be sure, their dimensions render
them more suitable appendages to the breakfast table of Polyphemus, or
for Goliath to take his porridge withal, than for feeding modern
gentlemen or ladies. Has the reader never observed in public or private
collections of curiosities, elaborately wrought wooden spoons, the bowls
of quite a modern shape, but varying from 12 to 18 inches in length,
from 4 to 6 in width, and of a proportionate depth—the handles also
tastefully designed, richly ornamented and two or three feet long? Such
are the _paddles_ of many South Sea islanders—the concave side of the
bowl holding the water and more effectually propelling a canoe than the
ordinarily formed blade of an oar. Certes, if these paddles had been now
unknown, and a few specimens were dug out of the soil, among other
relics of past ages, archeologists could hardly avoid receiving them as
samples of the kitchen furniture of the Titans.




                               CHAPTER X.

  _Description of Plate IV—Anointing of Kings and the Process—Miraculous
  Utensils—Oil Bottles brought from Heaven—The Spoon among
  Regalia—Relics of Becket—Coronation Spoon described—Its
  Antiquity—Spoons of Henry VI—Cadenat—Apostle Spoons—Ancient Customs at
  the Naming of Children—Christening Shirts—Scripture Biography taught
  by Spoons—Anecdotes of Henry VIII. and Cranmer, of Ben Jonson and
  Shakespeare—Plate presented to Guests—Spoons carried off—Sacramental
  Spoon—Sanguisuchello—Snuff Spoons—Chinese, Scotch and Malagasy Snuff
  Takers—Snuff an Ingredient used in Witchcraft._


It may not be generally known that the spoon takes part in the most
pompous of national pageants. We have spoken of exhibitions of
mountebanks, wherein it amused common people: let us now refer to the
part it performs in the hands of political raree-showmen for diverting
another class of spectators.

_Anointing_ monarchs at their coronation has always been deemed
indispensable. Barely to touch royal sconces with the holy unguent, as
sometimes now practiced, was formerly insufficient. Baker, in his
Chronicles, says Richard I. the hero of the Crusades, “put off all his
garments from his middle upwards but only his shirt, which was open on
the shoulders, that he might be anointed. Then the Archbishop of
Canterbury anointed him in three places: on the head, on the shoulder,
and on the right arm.” The same writer gives the particulars at the
ceremony of crowning Richard II.—a child of eleven years: “After a
sermon the king took his oath, (!) and then the archbishop blessed the
king, which done, he took off his garments and stripped him into his
shift; then he anointed his hands, head, breast, shoulders, and the
joynts of his arms with the sacred oil.” Henry IV. (of England,) says
Froissart, was “stripped of all his state before the altar, naked to his
shirt, and was then anointed and consecrated at six places, that is to
say, on the head, the breast, the two shoulders before and behind, on
the back and the hands.” [chap. cxvi.] Henry’s title to the crown was a
very dubious one—perhaps on that account a greater quantity of the
consecrating ointment was expended on him and a larger portion of his
body exposed to its influence.

It seems that much the same process was gone through with in the case of
queens! Mary, of Smithfield memory, was crowned and anointed by Gardiner
“with all rites and ceremonies of old accustomed.” Similar language is
used by Baker in the case of Elizabeth; so also of King Jamie and his
wife: they were “crowned together and anointed at Westminster.” The
pageant of Charles I.’s coronation, got up by Laud, was, as may be
supposed, a great affair. Obsolete customs were introduced, as well as
old forms of prayer. When the king had taken an oath “to protect and
defend the bishops and the churches under their government,” his robes
were taken off “and _offered at the altar_; the king stood for a while,
stripped to his doublet and hose of white satin; then, led by the
archbishop and the Bishop of St. David’s, he was placed in the chair of
the coronation, having a close canopy spread over him; and while the
archbishop anointed his head, shoulders, arms and hands with a costly
oyntment, the quire sung an anthem of these words:

             ‘Zadock, the priest, anointed King Solomon.’”

So Charles was stripped to his hose and doublet when the crown was put
on his head, as well as when he lost both his head and his crown. In him
the magic shield which the scriptural passage ‘touch not mine anointed’
had for ages thrown around kings, and which some of these gentry used
with effect in silencing the murmurings of their oppressed people, was
shattered to the winds.

The blasphemous application of such passages of scripture as the
foregoing to the vilest tyrants, was but a small part of that atrocious
system of ecclesiastical delusions which prevailed through the dark
ages. The monarch swore when crowned to ‘protect bishops,’ and they,
from Dunstan downwards, returned the compliment. To preserve their
immunities and extend their influence, they performed the part of pagan
priests and made the oracles speak what they and the king pleased. But
they did more: through their instrumentality it was that almost every
utensil employed in coronations had a miraculous origin—was fabricated
in heaven by angelic artists or beatified saints, and sent direct for
the use of ‘his sacred majesty’ by a special embassy, consisting of one
or more celestial messengers! The _ampoule_ or small bottle containing
the holy oil seems to have been most distinguished in this respect.

When Clovis of France embraced Christianity, he was baptized in the
Church at Rheims in a consecrated lavatory, (on Christmas day, A. D.
496.) Three thousand of his people followed his example, and with him
wore white robes for eight days. Now so great was the joy in heaven at
their conversion that an angel appeared to a holy hermit, and deposited
with him for the king’s use, “a royal standard adorned with the
oriflamme, a shield sown with the fleur de lis, and an ampoule of sacred
oil.” This celestial bottle is (or was in the last century) preserved in
the cathedral church of Rheims, and is still used in the coronation of
French kings. “On appelle la Sainte Ampoule, certaine petite bouteille
venue du ciel, où il y a de l’huile qui sert à sacrer les Rois de
France, laquelle on garde bien soigneusement dans l’Abbaye de saint Remi
de Rheims.”—[_Dict. de Trevoux and Mazeray._]

[Illustration:

  _Plate 5_ _Middle Ages & Oriental_

  _Lith of E Jones 128 Fulton S^t N.Y._
]

When Charles was conducted by the Maid of Orleans to Rheims and crowned
in her presence, the holy oil and miraculous ampoule performed their
part in the ceremony, as historians have taken care to inform us.

Hincmarc, Archbishop of Rheims, in the time of Charles the Bald,
declares (in his life of St. Remi) that the precious vial was sent from
heaven by a white dove. Many French disputations have been written on
the miracle, pro and con! The English ampoule (still used) was also of
celestial origin, having been brought down by the Virgin Mary herself,
and presented by her ‘to St. Thomas of Canterbury [Becket] when he was
in France.’ It was, observes Mazeray, of lapis, with a golden eagle on
the top and enriched with pearls and diamonds.

Now the consecrated fluid was not poured directly from the ampoule on
the candidate for royalty, but into a _spoon_, whence it was transferred
to its destination. As we presume our readers may gather a few facts
from these speculations, with which they were not previously acquainted,
it may be that some now learn for the first time, that besides crowns,
orbs, sceptres, swords, globes, spheres, staffs, cups, plates, rings,
and other royal rattletraps, which constitute what is known as ‘the
regalia and crown jewels,’ the spoon holds a distinguished place! To
those who admire such things it is shown, with the articles enumerated
above, in the Tower of London at a shilling a head, and indeed to those
who admire them not, at the same price.

Lord Herbert in his history of Henry VIII. mentions among other ‘notable
trumperies’ by which the public were deluded, ‘the _penknife_ and
_boots_ of Becket, with a piece of his _shirt_.’ Large sums, it seems,
were received from ladies in a certain condition for permission to
handle the last article.

The reader will now turn to Plate IV. _Figs. 1, 2_, represent the
English coronation spoon, [from Shaw’s splendid work, “Dresses and
Decorations of the Middle Ages, from the seventh to the seventeenth
centuries.”] If drawn by Shaw to the full size, its length is 9 inches,
that of the bowl 2¼, and its width 1¾ inches. The whole is of gold, and
whether made by a mortal goldsmith or not, a fine piece of work. The
bowl is thin, with an elegant arabesque pattern engraved on its inner
surface. At the broadest part of the handle are four pearls. The enamel
with which it was once enriched is destroyed. There is a slight
elevation or ridge dividing the bowl. When used a portion of the
consecrating fluid being poured into it, the officiating bishop dips two
fingers, one into each cavity of the bowl, and transfers what sticks to
them to the head and other parts of the royal neophyte, who thus
receives unction as a sign of investiture of regal power.

Hence the spoon is not the least useful of the numerous insignia
employed on such occasions, and we may fairly presume it performs a more
laborious part than any of them when the ceremonies are over and the
actors are seated at dinner. In unison with this there is one feature in
the official implement which we must be excused for noticing. It will be
seen that the upper part of the handle is twisted and the end terminates
with a hemispherical button precisely like a punch spoon. This beautiful
specimen of ancient art is in truth the oldest spoon of that kind known.
Whether the maker designed a practical joke or not, it is not a bad one,
considering the history of royal carousals, from Belshazzar and
Alexander to George IV—the accomplished companion of modern Falstaffs,
Pistols and Quicklys. Of all men, kings have been least stinted with
punch or sack; few persons are known to have indulged more in it or got
it on easier terms.

There is some uncertainty respecting the date of this royal spoon.
Cromwell and the Long Parliament made sad havoc among ‘the baubles,’ as
that irreverend man named the regalia. It seems most of them disappeared
during the civil wars—probably melted down and the proceeds applied to
the public service. When Charles II. returned, it is said, his
inauguration was delayed on account of the absence of these necessary
articles belonging to the ceremony! Shaw thinks some of the old ones
were concealed and recovered, and among them the spoon. Its antiquity he
says is undoubted. He supposes it to have been in use since the twelfth
century.

Of coronations, their expense, inutility and puerilities, an English
writer has well remarked, that they are only calculated to superinduce
in the individual vanity upon vanity, and are characteristic of
imperfect civilization.

We have not done with royal spoons:—In 1422, Henry V. the Hal of
Shakespeare, died, and was succeeded by his son, an infant. As Henry VI.
grew up he exhibited indications of a feeble mind. Harmless and passive,
he was wholly unfit for controlling the destinies of his country and the
ambition of its warlike nobles. His reign was one of perpetual domestic
war. He had, says Sir R. Baker, virtues enough to make him a saint, but
not to make him a god, as kings are said to be gods. He was fitter for a
priest than a king, and for a sacrifice than a priest. A mere instrument
in the hands of the ministers and his masculine wife, Margaret of Anjou,
his fate was that of a shuttlecock, tossed to and fro and treated with
contempt by the adherents of both the white and red roses. Repeatedly
taken prisoner by one party or the other in battle, he at last ended his
melancholy life in the Tower.

After the sanguinary battle of Hexham, in Northumberland, the fate of
his family was distressing. Margaret with their son fled into a wood,
where they were rudely seized and plundered of their jewels by thieves.
While the robbers quarreled about the division of the plunder, the
miserable captives crept unperceived into the thickest of the forest,
where they sank down overcome with darkness, distress and fatigue. One
of the robbers subsequently found them; to him Margaret made herself
known, and appealed to his generosity for protection, especially for the
son of the king. He was amazed at the strange occurrence, swore to
protect them, and kept his word. He concealed them until an opportunity
offered for conducting them to the coast, whence they sailed to
Flanders.

How Henry escaped is not very well known. By the vigilance of friends he
lay concealed in different parts of the country for twelve months.
Shifting from place to place, he at length was seized while at dinner at
Wadington Hall, in Lincolnshire, and carried to the tower. Ere being
taken away he left with his host his _inkhorn_, one of the last articles
retained about his person. It is of leather, like a knife sheath, with
three cells, one for the ink and two for pens. It is ornamented with
much elegance, and was worn suspended from the girdle. Before reaching
Wadington, he was hid nine days at Bolton Hall; and here he left with
the proprietor, as a token of his friendship, his boots, one glove (or a
pair) and _his spoon_. [_See Antiq. Repertory, III._ 168.]

_Fig. 3_, _Plate IV._ represents this interesting relic of the fifteenth
century. It was we presume of gold, though the account does not say so,
but merely that its length was 6¼ inches. The handle is short, and in
its union to the small end of the bowl resembles both Roman and Egyptian
spoons. The handle is a plain cylinder capped at its extremity with a
molding and a hexagonal finial. Although void of ornament, this spoon
exhibits considerable taste in its contour. Its dimensions, as will have
been perceived from its length, did not exceed those of a modern dessert
spoon. If made for Henry, it dates from the time of Jack Cade, Joan of
Arc, the great Earl of Warwick, and the introduction of Printing. The
circumstance of a king carrying his spoon about with him may strike some
readers as singular, but the practice was not uncommon in olden times.
Almost every wealthy individual had a portable case containing one and a
knife, to which in after times a fork was added. Even guests took their
own implements when invited to a feast. Kings more than other people
have always been particular in having feeding apparatus exclusively for
their own use: the custom is an eastern one. Spoons which nourish royal
palates must not enter meaner mouths. _Cadenat_ was the old French term
for the portable case in which was secured a prince’s knife and spoon.
It was afterwards written _cadenas_. The case was often of gold or
silver gilt, and contained minute receptacles for salt, pepper, and
other condiments. From the following extract it will be seen that kings
and nobles used such pocket conveniences in the beginning of the last
century, as well as in the previous ones:—

“Cadenas est aussi une espèce d’assiette carrée ou l’on serre la
cuillière, la fourchette et le couteau. Un des côtés est retroussé et
élevé de deux doigts, avec un petit courvercle où l’on met du sel, du
sucre et du poivre. On s’en servoit _autrefois_ chez les Rois et les
Princes. C’est _maintenant_ une espèce de coffret d’or ou de vermeil
doré, où l’on met le couteau, la cuillière, la fourchette, &c. qu’on
sert à la table des Rois et des Princes.” [_Old Dict. de Trevoux._]

_Figs. 4_, _5_, and _10_, _Plate IV._ are from ‘Ackerman’s Designs for
Gold and Silver Smiths,’ publish-without any description. We know not
the source whence they were derived, but as they were associated with
‘Apostle Spoons,’ known to be ancient, we suppose they are of the same
character. The handle of _Fig. 4_ is of twisted wire, folded into two
knots, as in _Fig. 6_. The bowl, of a fanciful form, differs from every
other we have met with. _Fig. 5_—an elaborate specimen, and well suited
to a monastery or abbot. The heart at one extremity and the cross at the
other are quite in character with the ecclesiastical tastes of the
middle ages, and would afford matter for interesting reflections. _Fig.
10_, a salt spoon, partakes of the same religious character. It presents
a motto, the initial and arms of the owner—acknowledged features of many
ancient “=spuuns=.” Moral sentences and maxims of prudence are painted
by the Chinese on most of their furniture and utensils—on tea pots, chop
stick cases, combs, apparatus for striking fire, cups, lanterns, vases,
&c. and might be advantageously imitated. _Fig. 6_—an ivory spoon of the
sixteenth century. It is French, and preserved along with a knife and
two pronged fork in the collection of the Louvre.

APOSTLE SPOONS.—_Fig. 7_, _Plate IV._ represents a class of implements
intimately allied with the social and religious customs of former times.
Nothing smooths the asperities of life like friendship. When evinced by
kind offices and gifts, it unlocks the human breast and excites within
it the holiest affections. All people learn this truth, and no lesson is
more readily understood by juveniles; the pure and buoyant joys they
feel on receiving novel or rich presents, may be portrayed on the mental
tablet but not on paper. Now it is a fact that for ages the very _first_
gift which boys and girls received, consisted of one or more
spoons—these being the established presents of sponsors at christenings;
hence the implements may be said to have not only fed the bodies of
children but to have given them a taste of the sweetest of mental
pleasures—indicating to the young travellers that enter this rugged
world one of the pleasantest means of passing through it.

The Greeks, Romans, and older people than either, held family feasts
when a child was named. Relatives and friends attended as witnesses, and
made presents of various articles to the little stranger. The pouring
on, or immersion in, water, (baptism) at the nomination of children, is
also of heathen origin. It was practiced both in the old world and the
new. When a child among the Astecs was to be named, a priestess
sprinkled its lips and bosom with water, and invoked the goddess
Cioacoatl that original sin might be thus removed and the child born
anew. On these occasions friends and relatives brought presents of
dresses and ornaments suitable to the circumstances of the parents and
wants of the child.

In the earlier ages of Christianity sponsors provided a frock or shirt
in which the infant was christened—hence named the ‘christening shirt.’
Its value of course depended on the circumstances of the donor: when he
or she was wealthy, it was often trimmed with silk and gold. The Anglo
Saxons continued this custom for many ages, but it subsequently went out
of fashion, and the older one of giving small articles of plate
succeeded.

When spoons were given they were called _Apostle spoons_, because the
handle of each was carved into the figure of an apostle with his
appropriate symbol, as Peter with the keys, Andrew with his cross, &c.
Wealthy godfathers generally gave a _dozen_, each being named after one
of the twelve it was designed to represent. People, whose circumstances
did not admit of giving so many, or who were penurious, compounded by
sending the _four_ evangelists; while those who could not do better
ingeniously presented a _single_ spoon, with the effigies of the saint
after whom the infant was named, or under whose protection it had been
placed by its parents.

This practice was in imitation of the heathen, who introduced figures of
their gods upon almost every utensil—spoons, as we have seen, as well as
the rest. The idea as adopted in the middle ages was excellent. A child
no sooner learned to feed himself—to use his own spoons—than he began to
acquire a knowledge of scriptural and ecclesiastical biography. Every
spoonful of food he received, conveyed, or might convey a useful lesson
to his mind. The custom might be revived with advantage—at any rate
important truths or facts connected with scientific individuals or with
science and the arts, might thus be communicated to, and indelibly
impressed upon the minds of the young.

Allusions to Apostle spoons are common. In the play of _Henry VIII. Act
5, Scene 2_, Shakespeare makes the king say to Cranmer that he must
stand godfather to the young princess, Elizabeth. The Archbishop
expresses his unfitness for so great an honor, upon which Harry,
bantering him, says he is afraid of the expense of the usual gift to a
godchild: “Come, come, my lord, you’d spare your _spoons_.” In _Scene 4_
the directions are, “Enter trumpets, lord mayor, Cranmer, dukes, &c. two
noblemen bearing great standing bowls for the _christening gifts_.”

In a manuscript of L’Estrange, preserved in the British Museum, an
anecdote is related of Shakespeare himself and Ben Jonson directly in
point. Shakespeare was godfather to one of Ben’s children; and after the
christening, being in a deep study, Jonson cheerily asked him why he was
so melancholy? “Ben,” said he, “I have been considering what would be
the fittest gift for my godchild, and I have resolved it at last.” “I
pri’thee, what?” said Ben. “I’ faith, then, Ben,” answered Shakespeare,
“I’ll give him a good dozen of _latten spoons_, and thou shalt translate
them;” an example of friendly pleasantry betwen the two wits—the word
‘latten’ being a play upon Latin. Latten, sometimes written _laton_, was
formerly applied to tinned iron, or articles made of it, but more
generally to brass, of which examples will be found in these pages.

Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, and other dramatic writers, refer to
christening or Apostle spoons. Thus also Congreve:—“_Angelica_—Will you
lend me your coach or I’ll go on—nay I’ll declare how you prophesied
popery was coming, only because the butler had mislaid some of the
Apostle’s spoons, and thought they were lost—away went religion and
spoon meat together.”—[_Comedy of Love for Love, Act 2, Scene 1._]

Mr. Hone, in his Every Day Book, [vol. i. 177,] has given a
representation of a dozen in his own possession, and besides the
anecdote of Shakespeare just recited, quotes the following lines from a
poem published in 1666, in which the custom of giving spoons is stated
to have been on the decline:

              “Formerly when they used to troul
              Gilt bowls of sack, they _gave_ the _bowl_,
              _Two spoons_ at least—an use _ill kept_;
              ’Tis well if now our own be left.”

The spoon figured on Plate IV. is in the writer’s possession. It is
larger than those described by Hone, the bowl being 2¼ inches wide and
nearly 3 inches long. The handle is 5¼ inches in length, including the
figure of the apostle which is _gilt_. The hat or flat cap is common to
this class of spoons, and was probably designed, as Hone suggests, to
preserve the features from effacement; but this was not its only use;
when the figure was not sufficiently characteristic of the particular
_one_ of the twelve whom it was intended to represent, an additional
symbol of him was impressed on the crown of the cap; as an eagle, a
dove, an ox, &c. emblematical of the evangelists. The weight of this
spoon is 2¼ ounces. The only mark stamped on it is an X with what appear
the remains of a crown above it, but it is very illegible. The face of
the punch was a circle three eighths of an inch in diameter. The
impression has been struck twice on the back of the handle and once
inside of the bowl, (the usual place in old spoons.) The implement was
forged, except the image of the apostle, which was cast and soldered on
the handle. It is not of English manufacture, since neither three
leopards, the ancient government stamp, nor a rampant lion, the modern
one, is impressed upon it.

These implements are interesting, as showing the influence of religion
on the arts in mediæval times—how ingeniously ecclesiastical matters
were interwoven with almost every thing—how even a spoon was made to
infuse religious truths into the minds of children while it conveyed pap
to their mouths.

Without being aware of the origin of the custom, says Hone in his
entertaining miscellany, many persons in Europe continue to present
spoons at christenings, though no longer adorned with imagery.

One remark more ere Apostle spoons are dismissed: It was a custom of
remote antiquity to get up convivial feasts at the common expense of the
guests, each individual contributing his proportion either in money or
victuals. There is an allusion to it in the first book of the Odyssey:—

            * * * * * Behold I here
            A banquet or a nuptial? For these
            Meet not _by contribution_ to regale.—_Cowper._

The custom may be traced down to present times. There is a direct
reference to it in the Spanish proverb: _Huésped tardio no viene
manivacio_—‘a late guest comes not sluggishly nor empty handed;’ the
presents he brings will account for his delay. In the middle ages
donations were invariably sent by friends to feasts, whether social or
religious. Another pleasing trait of primitive manners was the exchange
of tokens of friendship between a host and an esteemed guest at parting.
Sometimes a piece of money or other small article was broken in two, one
piece being retained by each individual as a symbol and pledge of mutual
hospitality. From wealthy houses a stranger of rank was seldom allowed
to depart without a valuable gift, such as his condition or the
disposition and ability of the donor might suggest; as a faulchion, a
walking stick, vest, or tunic, &c. but more generally a golden or silver
vase or cup. Instances abound in Homer.

It was also a practice for princes to present to each guest the goblet
he drank from at table. Of the nine thousand individuals who feasted
with Alexander at Susa, every one received a golden cup. The Roman
emperors and patricians occasionally complimented their friends in the
same way. Suetonius informs us that Claudius having suspected a visitor
of stealing a golden cup, caused him to be served at another time with
an earthenware one. Sometimes the plate used by visitors at a feast was
sent home to them on the following day—one of the most acceptable tokens
of the host’s regard.

In later times guests did not wait to be presented with, but actually
helped themselves to articles of plate! At entertainments given on the
installations of civil or ecclesiastical dignitaries, scrambles for
silver cups, dishes, salt cellars and spoons occurred just as they have
in recent times at coronations. The practice became so common that it
was at last claimed by the robbers as a right, and was positively
recognized as such by law! It became interwoven with the tenures by
which lands and privileges were held! We have an example at page 80 of a
lord of the manor being entitled to carry off four dishes, two
salt-cellars, a cup, a wine pot, a spoon, and two wash bowls (all of
silver) from a bishop’s table; to which may be added a much later one:
When Dudly North was elected Sheriff of London (in the last century) and
knighted, he gave the usual official banquet, and selected for the
purpose one of the largest halls in the city. Several public bodies
contributed to the expense. The Middle Templars presented one hundred
guineas. In North’s life it is said, “he had diverse very considerable
presents from friends and relations, besides the compliments of the
several companies, inviting themselves and wives to dinner—dropping
their guineas, and _taking Apostle spoons_ in the room of them; which,
with what they ate and drank, and such as came in the shape of wives,
made but an indifferent bargain.”

Another application of the spoon will hardly be anticipated by every
reader—its employment in the administration of the sacrament. The
introduction of the implement for this purpose is ascribed by old
ecclesiastical writers to St. Chrysostom; who, it is said, designed it
to prevent effusion of the chalice. The Greek Church does not allow of
_pouring_ wine into the cup; it is therefore transferred in _spoons_.
The practice is different at Rome, but as the pope claims to be the head
of both Greek and Latin churches, he combines in his person the peculiar
customs of both.

_Fig. 11_, _Plate IV._ represents the golden spoon used when he
celebrates high mass ‘in both languages,’ and with the ceremonies common
to both churches. It is from the first volume of Motraye’s Travels,
where it is figured of full size. The bowl is 2¼ inches wide and 3 long;
the length of handle and bowl 11½ inches. With this spoon the deacon and
sub-deacon, who are generally cardinal priests, sup what remains in the
chalice after the pope has communicated.

There can be no harm in stating here how the pope conveys the wine to
his own mouth, since he neither puts the spoon nor the cup to his lips.
As the wine is believed to be transubstantiated into real blood, it is
deemed more seemly to suck than drink it; and hence the ‘sanguisuchello
or blood-sucker,’ a small golden and highly ornamented tube, 13 inches
long, through which his holiness imbibes the consecrated fluid. [See its
figure and description in Ewbank’s Hydraulics.] At the celebration of
high mass in the cathedral church of Paris, a similar instrument is
used. [_Dict. de Trevoux, Art. Chalumeau._] But the honor of using it is
deemed so great that permission to do so is scarcely ever obtained.
Motraye tells us the king of Portugal was exceedingly zealous in
promoting the splendor of the church, but it was not till after many
solicitations that Clement XI. consented that the Archbishop of Lisbon
should celebrate mass pontifically with papal paraphernalia, but the
spoon and sanguisuchello were expressly excepted!

This curious instrument is not of modern date. The Queen of Oviedo and
Asturia, A. D. 777, presented to one of the churches in Spain, dedicated
to St. Thyrsus, ‘a silver chalice and paten, a wash hand basin and a
_pipe_;’ which last, says Butler, in his lives of the Saints, was ‘a
silver pipe or quill to suck up the blood of Christ at the communion,
such as the pope sometimes uses; it sucks it up as a nose draws up air.’
The use of the instrument was not formerly confined to priests; _i. e._
not until the council of Constance took away the wine altogether from
the laity and gave it exclusively to the clergy. Peter Martyr,
complaining of the wealth and pride of the Roman clergy, quotes Beatus
Rhenanus respecting ‘certaine silver pypes, by the which prophane men,
whom they call the laitie, sucked out of the challice in the holy
supper, as though, forsooth, out of the challice itself the faithful
might not drink.’ The device was probably designed as a check—and an
ingenious one it was—to rude and ignorant converts in the dark ages, to
prevent them from taking too freely of the cup.

[Illustration:

  _Plate 6_ _Middle Ages & Modern_

  _Lith of E. Jones 128 Fulton S^t. N.Y._
]

We have seen the spoon treasured up among the regalia of kings, and here
we find it with crosiers, tiaras, sacred slippers, pastoral staffs, the
sword of St. Peter, keys of heaven, and other holy matters belonging to
the head of the church.

The next spoon was for a different purpose than any yet described; and
so far from being a religious application of the implement, many persons
consider it a wicked one; but sinful or not, it is our duty to notice
it. Perhaps the reader’s attention in arriving thus far in this long
chapter begins to flag, and he mentally exclaims ‘would it were ended.’
Well, there is little to add, and if he will but imitate some drowsy
people at church, by taking a sternutatory, he will arrive at the close
without feeling fatigue or ascribing his heaviness to the writer. There
are persons whose physical constitutions are so delicate that mere
thoughts of taking snuff, (and medicines generally,) produce the same
effect as inhaling the powder itself: now, if the imagination of the
reader has a similar influence over his system, he can have no
disposition to oscitate while finishing the chapter; on the contrary,
the greatest obstacle to his progress will arise from a disposition to
sneeze.

Spoons were formerly much in vogue for taking _snuff_! Gentlemen carried
the powder in a small bottle, the neck of which was closed by a cork or
stopper, through which passed the shank of a small spoon. Sometimes the
handle of the spoon formed the head of the stopper. See _Figs. 8_ and
_9_, _Plate IV._ for a specimen of these precursors of the snuff-box. In
those days the expression was, ‘take a _spoonful_,’ instead of ‘a
_pinch_.’ Old people yet living remember this use of the spoon. The
stopper in the cut was screwed into the neck.

The practice was most probably derived from China, for snuff is there
generally carried in vials or cruets by the wealthy, and drawn out with
a spoon. In Mr. Dunn’s celebrated Chinese collection, recently in
Philadelphia, but now in London, there is a porcelain snuff bottle of
great beauty, with a stopper of red cornelian, and a spoon of tortoise
shell. [_Descriptive Catalogue, Phila._ 1839, p. 68.] ‘A mandarin,’ says
Staunton, ‘is seldom without a small ornamented vial to hold his snuff,
of which he occasionally pours a quantity equal to a pinch upon the back
of his left hand, between the thumb and index, and carrying to his nose,
he snuffs up several times a day.’ Powdered cinnabar is often employed
for the same purpose, as opium and odorous ingredients are for smoking.
The emperor of China distributed among other presents to the members of
the Dutch embassy (of 1799) ‘little bags for tobacco, and little glass
bottles to hold snuff.’ One of these would be taken by an American or
European as a smelling bottle. With the spoon, says Dunn, they take out
the pungent dust and place it on the back of the left hand, near the
lower thumb joint, whence it is snuffed up by the olfactories to perform
its titillating office.—[_Catalogue_, p. 11.]

With the bottle, snuff-taking was a more cleanly practice than the
present one of thrusting the finger and thumb into a box, and besmearing
the person and pockets with the contents. Laws had not then been thought
of, by which, as was subsequently enacted in some parts of Europe, those
were to lose their noses who ‘fed them with the prohibited food.’

Howell mentions in his letters that rustic laborers and even
maid-servants in his time were accustomed to snuff, taking out their
boxes of ‘smutchin’ and conveying it to their nostrils by a _quill_. The
Scotch highlanders take great pride in the ‘mull’ or spiral horn, which
is supported as a personal ornament from the neck or belt, and from
which they take the snuff either with a pen, quill, or _spoon_ of tin,
brass or silver, suspended by a small chain from the mull.

Pocket handkerchiefs were never very common with the Gael, and yet
something of the kind seems indispensable to inveterate snuff takers;
but men in every clime, when destitute of artificial conveniences, are
soon furnished by nature with appropriate substitutes. It is so with the
people of North Britain. Along with the spoon there dangles at their
breast a _hare’s foot_, with which they brush off superfluous particles
from the regions of the nostrils and lips. The sensations produced by
the use of this natural duster, it is said, are far more delicate and
pleasing than the application of a bandana.

The people of Madagascar use snuff, but in a manner very different from
inhabitants of the western world. These take it at the nose, but the
Malagasy prefers the mouth. Putting a spoonful between the under lip and
the teeth, he sucks it at leisure, affirming that a more lasting and
exquisite pleasure is derived from it _there_ than from momentary
sniffs. Snuff was used by the ancient Mexicans.

_Nose powder_ or snuff is mentioned in an ancient burlesque poem, on the
laying of a ghost, inserted by Walter Scott, in the appendix to his
introduction to the minstrelsy of the Scottish border. The ingredients
required by the exorcist were as numerous and select as those used by
the witches in Macbeth. Besides plants and holy water, there were
fox-tails, teeth of an old horse, crabs’ claws, a dog’s ear, blue wool,
a pig’s tooth, the tail of a sow, &c. and “of _neis powder_ ane grit
loik.”




                              CHAPTER XI.

  _Old Pocket Spoons—Costume—Cutlers and Tailors. Pockets—their Origin,
  History and Influence—Derived from the Poke. Pocketing Sleeves.
  Valets. Ladies’ Pockets—Reticules—Capacity and Strange Contents of Old
  Pockets—Material and Manufacture. Curious Old Folding
  Spoon—Conjectures respecting its owner. Forks—Of Uncertain Origin and
  Date—Ancient Egyptians at Dinner—Boarding Schools—Washing before and
  after Meals, and why—Anglo Saxons at Dinner—Forks denounced by the
  Clergy—Combined with the Spoon—Historical Notices of them._


PLATE V. _Figs. 1_ and _2_ are French spoons of the sixteenth century.
The style of _Fig. 2_ (a shell and wreathed handle) is occasionally
adopted in modern specimens. _Fig. 1_—of silver gilt, and designed for
the pocket. It consists of three distinct pieces, which joined together,
form a spoon as in the figure, but when separated each serves a
different purpose. The lower part of the handle forms a _fork_, the
prongs of which fit into loops soldered on the back of the bowl; the
upper extremity unscrews, and when taken off, presents a toothpick. A
little above the bowl there is a joint by which, on removing a small
ring that covers it, the whole may be folded up so as to occupy a very
small space.

‘Folding spoons,’ as they were named, were not rare in the 16th and 17th
centuries. In the Progresses of Elizabeth we read of a golden one, and
numerous specimens are still extant. They were, we believe, like clasp
or folding knives, one of the results of a change in costume. Does the
reader smile at this, and ask what they could have to do with dress? At
the first glance we admit the connection is not obvious; nevertheless
they really were, and are, as much allied to POCKETS, as ever were
long-handled ones to ruffs. In other words, if pockets had never been
known, folding spoons like folding knives had never been made.

When knives had no joint at the junction of the handle and blade, they
were worn pendant in sheaths at the side, as cooks, stevedores and
sailors still wear them. Rich men and scholars sometimes attached them
to silver or gilt chains that went round the neck. Chaucer thus carried
his penknife, as seen in some of his portraits. Ladies now wear watches
much in the same way, and so do gentlemen reading glasses. But when the
tunic and toga gave place to the coat, and the modern vest superseded
the doublet, multitudes of portable implements were expressly designed
for and named after the novel receptacles which the new garments brought
into vogue—as pocket-books, pocket-glasses, pocket-knives, pocket-combs,
&c. &c. Then came in also snuff-boxes in place of the old bottle, with
hundreds of other pocket devices, which a dealer alone can
enumerate—devices that never were thought of before. Where pockets have
been made for one thing, a thousand things have been contrived for
pockets. To the _tailor_, therefore, manufacturers of small articles in
hardware, tortoise shell, ivory and pearl, are more indebted than they
probably imagine. As for spoons, it is clear the same artist had a hand
in bringing jointed ones into fashion, just as mantuamakers once caused
the handles of ordinary ones to be lengthened.

One might almost suspect collusion between knights of the file and those
of the scissors! Did ancient Sheffield workmen furnish contemporary
shapers of apparel with bodkins, needles and thimbles, with shears and
smoothing irons _gratis_, on condition of bringing pockets into fashion,
and multiplying their variety? The offer of such a bribe would have been
a proof of far-seeing sagacity, since every species of pocket, from
those of an overcoat to the latent watch-fob, has made fortunes for
fancy cutlers, for ages, and will make them for ages to come.

POCKETS.—In noticing pocket-spoons, perhaps we are expected to say
something on pockets. Of all tasks, such an one would be to our taste;
but it would be digressing too far to enter on so diverting, instructive
and copious a subject; or even give a sketch of these curious
contrivances, of which it is supposed the classical ancients knew
nothing. Still it is scarcely proper to pass them wholly without notice,
since their connection with spoons is already apparent, and must as we
proceed become more so. Shades of Demosthenes and Cicero, of Quintilian
and Burke! what a subject for eloquence and sublimity is here! One
fraught with materials for the richest paper ever read before a society
of Chiffonniers—one charged, like pockets themselves, with entertaining
miscellanies with gems and gimcracks, treasures and trifles, antiques
and uniques! A dish flavored with spices, one over which the eyes of
literary gourmands would glisten and their pulse throb quicker as they
seated themselves to enjoy it!

We know not how sufficiently to admire the ingenuity displayed in the
origin and disposition on the person of these flexible little cupboards,
for hiding what we wish to conceal, securing what we are anxious to
preserve and for having always at hand what may every moment be wanted.
To deduce their descent from the primitive girdle, oriental sash,
philosopher’s red scrip, pilgrim’s wallet, and beggar’s unctuous
pouch—to trace them through every shape and disguise, and enumerate the
diverse uses to which they have been put, would indeed be a feast of
good things and of queer things. But, alas! no literary cuisinier can
now procure the necessary ingredients. Such has been the inconsistency
of historians that the annals of pockets have never been written, while
memorials of old pocket-makers have been suffered to perish. Some
valuable matter may of course yet be collected, and among other sources
from Newgate calendars—from the lives and exploits of scientific
analyzers of pockets—a class of men profoundly versed in their
capacities, secret locations, approaches and uses. This branch of
biography, we opine, must be studied ere a standard and luminous
treatise on the subject can be written.

The history of a pocket would be a journal of the owner’s thoughts—a
record of his motives; for in this adjunct to his dress lies coiled up
the spring of his actions—the secret power that moves him. ‘The pocket’
is every thing to man—from it comfort and consequence proceed. He who
hunting the dark recesses of one finds nothing, is nobody; but to the
pocket of the rich annuitant all do reverence. Strange that this little
sack should be the fount of men’s hopes and despair, the source of their
sorrows and pleasures, the subject of their thoughts by day and dreams
by night—they flourish with it and sicken as it dries up. When it
expands so does their joy; when it shrinks their pleasures are fled. The
highest enjoyment is to fill it—the deepest distress to feel it void.

All the excitement in the world is about pockets! One party putting
their hands in, and the other striving to keep them out—some going
deeper than the owners think right, and others appealing to the law to
make them submit. Yonder fat publishers laugh at the profit they make,
and here sits a lean author, shedding tears over the pittance they give
him. The former are at peace with themselves and the world; the latter
is at war with his tailor and dreads the sight of his butcher and baker.
A history of pockets would make startling disclosures and correct many
errors. Some would be found empty which rumor crams full, while in
others supposed not to contain a maravedi a plum lies concealed.

Abolish pockets and the world will stand still, for every man lives by
putting his hand into his neighbor’s. It is his business—the only one by
which he gets breads. To facilitate this reciprocal attention to each
other’s purses, merchants meet on ’Change, shops are furnished, stores
erected, markets established and ships put afloat. For this, worshippers
of Mercury adore him, and disciples of St. Nicholas pray. All the
inequalities in human condition arise from the various modes of
performing the operation: to do it adroitly is the science and
apparently the sole purpose of life. Few minds can comprehend the
multiplicity of devices by which pockets are exhausted, replenished and
made to run over; nor is the genius yet born who can unravel them
all:—but a truce to such thoughts and let us glance for a moment at
pockets themselves.

Their name, as every body knows, is derived from the _poke_—a sack for
carrying grain to feed cattle, and sometimes small animals to
market—hence the expression “to buy a pig in a poke.” Reduced in
dimensions, it was adopted for holding victuals for men, and
subsequently implements to eat with. It soon assumed a great variety of
shapes, sizes and names. As a wallet both ends were closed, with an
entrance through a slit in the middle, so that when slung over the
shoulder, one moiety of the contents was suspended before and another
behind—a species of biped saddle-bags. As a simple purse it was still
more reduced and carried in the hand like a satchel or hung over the
wrist. The next form was by far the most common, and we may safely infer
the most useful—that of the _pouch_. This ancient and most favored of
all forerunners of pockets was located at a different part of the
person. Suspended from the girdle by strings or over the shoulders by a
strap, it hung at the hips, either on the right side or left, (though
sometimes in front,) so that the hand could enter, remain in, or be
withdrawn, without inconvenience and with little effort. It is to the
pouch we are indebted for outside coat pockets and ‘poches des
culottes.’

As a bag or purse, the material was commonly linen or silk, and the
mouth drawn close with strings; but as a pouch it was leather, sometimes
prepared with the fur on, and the entrance left _open_—a serious
inconvenience, since the opening became wider as the contents
increased—inviting the notice of inquisitive people, and leading the
patriarchs of pickpockets into constant temptation; moreover, in wet
weather rain dripped in from upper parts of the dress, as into a gutter
from the eaves of a house. These evils were removed by the invention of
covers or _flaps_—an ingenious device for turning off water and shutting
out from public gaze the treasures within.

The epoch of flaps is not well ascertained, but their antiquity is
beyond cavil. In old cuts they are not always distinguishable, because
artists were ignorant of the importance of delineating them distinctly.
Clovis, who flourished in the fifth century, is represented with a purse
or pouch at his girdle, very like a modern lady’s work bag. In 1285 we
find a French gentleman with one shaped like the curved blade of an axe
or a leather-cutter’s knife. Another specimen of the same century is
plain, six or seven inches deep and nearly as many broad. A Parisian of
A. D. 1400, sports one of a hemispherical shape, handsomely fluted or
crimped; but these, belonging to fashionable people, deviated from
flapped pouches of the commonalty. [See _Art du Tailleur, par Gausault_,
published by the Academy in Arts et Metières, and numerous examples of
the Anglo-Saxon pouch in Strutt.] Leather pouches were staple articles
of the shoemaker or cordwainer’s art. In the ‘Orbis Pictus’ of
Commenius, the professor of those mysteries is at work, making them with
pointed and other fashionable formed flaps and bodies. They were
universally worn by people in the middle ranks of life, down to the
seventeenth century, and by the poor in the eighteenth. We believe they
are not yet wholly laid aside.

The next improvement was to secure the flaps. This was sometimes
accomplished by a simple button: careful people had often two, and at
one time three were quite common, just as outside coat pockets were
fitted fifty years ago. These were indeed literal pouches fastened near
that part of the person where they formerly hung, and with covers larger
than those of a cartridge-box. Flaps were often edged with wrought
borders and adorned with a row of gilt buttons. The pouch was sometimes
provided with a minute padlock, like those used with valises, a
precaution for keeping strangers’ hands out, which we do not remember
having seen adopted by tailors.

As coats, vests, and culottes rose into favor, wallets and pouches died
off; but they left ere they vanished a prolific brood of hybrids behind.
These are now classified under the generic names of the garments to
which they belong; as cloak, coat, waistcoat and overcoat pockets,
pockets for jackets, pantaloons, &c. Some are named from their location;
as outside, inside, right and left handed pockets; and others again
after the articles they are intended to hold. One is devoted to the
handkerchief, a second to the gloves, a third to an eye or ogling glass,
a fourth to a tooth pick, pencil case and knife. Some are for money and
memoranda, watches, snuff boxes, small change, and indescribable
sundries. Professional men have professional pockets; as surgeons,
mechanics, and sportsmen; the first for their instruments, the second
for rules and measuring tapes, the third for ammunition and game.
Pockets for the last article are as capacious as knapsacks, and when
full often weigh down the owner, like Issachar’s ass under a couple of
panniers. Ere pockets were invented, sportsmen were content with less
elaborate arrangements. Strutt has engraved the figure of an Anglo-Saxon
gentleman, scouring the fields without a hat or any covering to his
head; his arms are a quiver and bow, while his game (which he shot
flying) are strung round his belt, forming a picturesque fringe composed
of brant, snipe and quail.

Instead of the solitary pouch of our forefathers, pockets have become so
very numerous that it is difficult to tell how many some gentlemen
carry; always a pair, but often from three to five in the coat, two to
four in the vest, as many in the pants, while in stormy weather an equal
number in the great coat or surtout—and yet these are not enough, since
we often see people stow away in their hats what they cannot find room
for any where else—imitating prudent skippers who pile freight on deck
for want of room in the hold. A person is now enveloped in pockets; they
are suspended so thickly about him, that he would formerly have been
taken for an itinerant ‘pochetier,’ or a merchant of new-fashioned
‘escarcelles.’

As fashion is governed by whim, some whimsical pockets have come into
fashion—as the ‘pocketing sleeves’ of the eleventh and twelfth
centuries. These did not resemble the modern ‘bishop sleeve,’ but were
long pendant pokes, which hung from men’s arms like orioles’ nests, and
from ladies’ wrists like carpet bags. Modifications of them are yet worn
by Spanish and Portuguese monks. Head, in his notes on the Pampas,
mentions supping at an apology for an inn with a travelling priest.
After finishing the meal, the reverend gentleman thrust his hand “into
the large sleeve of his white serge gown and pulled out some cigars.”
Old writers state that these pockets were usually searched before their
wearers could be admitted into kings’ houses, and in some cases before
retiring; the conveniences which they presented for concealing things
surreptitiously acquired, gave rise to some strange petty larcenies.

Richard Brathwait, in his ‘Rules for the government of the house of an
Earle,’ charges the usher of the dining hall to give a sharp look out,
lest those who wait at table pocket the victuals; ‘and I very well like
the order I have seene in some noble houses, that neither yeoman,
groome, nor gentleman’s man, must be suffered to wait in a cloake, but
in their livery coates, [garments fitted close to the body,] for so were
they easier to be seene if they carried forthe any meat that they ought
not to doe.’ Hence there was after all nothing very extraordinary in
Hudibras securing bread, black-puddings and cheese in his trunk hose, or
Sancho stowing away in similar cavities boiled capons and sausage. Those
who kept porters’ lodges, [entrances to castles,] Brathwait observes,
“should be men tall and stronge; they are to looke diligently that none
filch and carry out at the gates meate or any thing else.” For the same
reason Roman slaves who served at table were clothed only in tunics and
girt with a towel. Visitors used their own napkins which a servant
carried to the feast and took back, and in it generally part of the
victuals—sometimes they were detected carrying off articles of plate.

So much for men’s pockets: those of the ladies are more interesting
affairs; but having been admonished to let them alone, at least to
refrain from all remarks on modern ‘poches des dames,’ we shall only
take a peep at such as our grandmothers wore. Indeed it would require a
more inquisitive disposition than ours to detect, and more assurance to
describe the devices by which young ladies avoid carrying the enormous
pouches in fashion a century ago. We have neither the requisite
knowledge nor nerve. To be sure, we have occasionally seen belles, when
preparing for shopping, thrust their money between the glove and palm of
the hand, and others use cuffs of the pelisse for the purpose; while in
cold weather they carry small parcels in muffs. Billets-doux and
souvenirs are concealed in the bosom—a favorite place for favorite
things—a convenient one too for papers of thread, and other things of
that sort, in the absence of a work-bag—as Grecian and Roman ladies well
knew.

But there never was half the subtlety employed in concealing the pockets
of females as those of the ruder sex. The French lady’s apron is
provided with two pockets in front, as if inviting inspection.
Originally devised by ‘une marchande’ as a substitute for the till, it
was found so convenient for other things besides change as to become
adopted by those who had nothing to sell. The famed reticule is carried
in the hand, in every one’s sight, and even laid like the bonnet aside
when its owner is not disposed to walk out. Its materials and
decorations are surprisingly varied; sometimes formed of net work (hence
its name) of links of silver or steel, like flexible armor of old; now
made of shells, of seeds and glass beads, of rich colored velvets and
silks, and enriched with lace. In public promenades, swinging to and fro
from the arms, these beautiful things reflect rays tinctured with azure,
crimson and gold, reminding one of the plumage of tropical birds in the
sun.

In articles of taste ladies take the lead—reticules are examples; for in
them pockets have got back to the old pendant pouch. Having run through
the entire circle of fashion, they have reached the point where they
began, and are ready to run it again. This is an advance which the male
sex has not attained; as in other circles, the beaux are here doomed to
follow the belles.

But we are forgetting our promise to let pockets of living ladies alone,
and notice simply such as belonged to frugal housewives in days gone by.
Of a truth, theirs _were_ pockets!—receptacles, redolent of other
perfumes than camphor or musk, and replete with other things than ladies
now carry. Characteristic of rude times, they were doomed to hard
service. At first they were made of the most durable of woven fabrics,
but so great was the wear and tear that eventually well tanned leather
superseded every other material. In shape many of them resembled an
inverted heart, but more were like a violin and in size a violoncello.
Into one of these capacious _cul de sacs_ a dozen reticules might have
been put, a muff thrown in, and room be left. Let those who doubt this,
if any such there be, enquire of an ancient farmer’s wife, and they will
doubt no more.

Besides doing duty as a purse or money drawer, we have known one hold a
clasp-knife for paring apples and ripping up seams, half a dozen silver
spoons, supposed to be safe no where else; a bunch of keys, bits of
ginger, cinnamon, and straggling cloves, metallic tractors, a box of
salve, a pincushion, thimble, scissors, a leather case well stocked with
bodkins, needles, tape and hanks of thread. The marbles of the owner’s
favorite boy were thus secured each day, till he returned from school. A
set of knitting needles with their sheath found lodgings there, and
often folded in a half formed stocking, with the ball of yarn to finish
it. There were other matters, but we forbear to specify them. It would
be difficult to do so, because into this _omnium gatherum_ all things
were placed for which no other place was found—a kind of moving closet,
into which, in sweeping round a house, the odds and ends were
swept—things so various and select as would suffice to stock a curiosity
shop.

It will at once be understood that pockets such as these were not
suspended to any part of the attire: no gingham gown, nor silk, nor
cotton stuff could long support the load without being rent to tatters.
No! they were strapped round the person independently of the dress—a
necessary precaution! They were worn at the right side, except the fair
owner was an ambidexter, when they took the left. In large households a
lady preferred _two_, thus dividing the load and making one half balance
the other; at the same time preventing the wearer from the risk of being
dragged down on one side and becoming deformed in the spine. It was at
one time common to wear them on the outside of the gown, when they were
generally ornamented with stars, rings and lovers’ knots, in various
colored leather. Sometimes the owner or the donor’s name was wrought in
‘chain stitch,’ and like samplers with a motto underneath.

Justice to a class of scientific artists, now no more, requires us to
state that these pockets were not the work of women. The severe labor to
which they were subjected when in use, required a corresponding amount
to be expended on their fabrication: this, as in the case of shoes,
saddlery, and other departments of the leather trade, was deemed too
great for females; hence housewives were indebted for their pockets, as
well as corsets, to old ‘stay makers.’

A marked relationship in the dress of the sexes is ever observable. If
the costume of one sex be neat, elegant, or bizarre, so is that of the
other. They partake of each other’s character, and are assimulated,
though in a way not easily described; but look at works of costume from
Roman times to our own, and this curious fact will be apparent. It is so
to some extent even with pockets. When those of our grandmothers were
all but fathomless, our grandfathers had theirs made of equal
dimensions. When ladies wore high caps and copious gowns tucked out
behind, gentlemen had their hair worked up in crests like cockatoos, and
clad themselves in coats whose skirts were not like ours,
“swallowtailed,” but broad and projecting, _a la_ fan-tailed pigeons.

Let us now return to spoons: _Fig. 3_, _Plate V._ is another old pocket
or folding one. The original, lying before us, is of silver. Like the
one already described, its handle forms a fork. Having been purchased by
a silversmith with other worn out plate, its history is unknown. From
the style of the workmanship and other more obvious marks of antiquity,
it would seem to date from a much earlier period than _Fig. 1_. The bowl
is 2¾ inches long and 1¾ wide, and of a moderate depth; the length of
bowl and handle when united, 6½ inches. Folded, the whole is comprised
in less room than an ordinary snuff box. The jointed handle is shown
separately at _Fig. 4_. The lower part, where united to the fork, is
plain and square—a portion of which is removed on one side, leaving a
recess into which the small shank of the fork is received; so that when
the little sliding and ornamented tube is slipped over both, a perfect
fork is made. _Fig. 5_—the back of the bowl, showing five oblong loops,
through which the prongs were pushed when the owner wished to transfer
liquid food to his lips.

An interesting feature, and one indicative of considerable antiquity, is
the _death’s head_, and round it the well known admonition, ‘_memento
mori_,’ engraved on the bowl—the initials of the melancholy owner
standing on each side like armorial supporters to this graveyard
emblazonry. The letters and writing are rudely executed, much more so
than appears in the cut.

Possibly the implement belonged to some pious recluse who doomed himself
to self-torture, and took this mode of mortifying his flesh—causing an
image of the grim monster to stare him in the face with every mouthful
he swallowed—a device by which the horrors of the charnel house were
associated with the dining table! Quite a refinement on the practice of
the ancient Egyptians—a people naturally lively and jocose, and whom the
priests, as guardians of their morality, had considerable difficulty to
keep within bounds. At convivial parties, Herodotus informs us (ii. 78)
a coffin containing a perfect image of a dead person was carried round
to every guest, the bearer requesting him to look on, and remember he
would soon resemble it—an ingenious contrivance to keep people sober—but
the owner of the spoon went further; he actually put into his mouth a
grinning death’s head when he tasted his food, and repeated the
operation with every morsel he ate. Custom is all powerful, or such a
mode of taking dinner would stay some people’s stomachs ere dinner
began.

Numerous were the inventions in past ages for conquering rebellious
appetites. Most of them had relation to abstinence; as with the Yogees
and other sects of India, of which some individuals, though watched
closely, were never seen to eat, and were therefore esteemed most holy.
There is certainly nothing like fasting for subduing the passions, and
it is really astonishing how far it has been carried. Red lettered
eremites, in whose constitutions a craving for food predominated,
heroically endured the constant pangs of hunger and thirst, with the
view of fairly starving the wicked ones out. Some limited themselves to
two or three spoonfuls of thin pottage a day, and with it actually
‘mixed dirt’ to punish the palate, or sprinkled in ‘grit’ to set the
teeth on an edge! They sorrowed because they could not exist without
eating. From some accounts it would seem as if each spoonful was
accompanied to the mouth with a groan, while streams of tears often made
it run over! No wonder that such men checked indulgence in themselves
and other people by engraving emblems of death on table utensils.

Perhaps it will be said, severe disciplinarians used simple spoons of
wood or horn, while the one under consideration, being of silver, was
not suited to a sorrowful penitent. True; hence if it really belonged to
a monastery, it perhaps had a place in the abbot’s buffet. These men, we
know, ‘lived well,’ bodily as well as spiritually; they were no
strangers to creature comforts. ‘Table d’Abbe’ was a proverbial
expression for a splendidly furnished board. They were served in plate,
and with considerable state too; so were lady abbesses also; but we
cannot think this spoon was ever owned by a nun—no female could of
choice love to contemplate (in the ornament on the back) the figure her
face was destined to make, nor did any one ever wish her beauty to fade.
The lady of the cloister no more than her sister of the ball room was
ever insensible to personal charms or indifferent about her appearance
in the eyes of mankind.

With the implement, then, we may suppose some superior of a convent
moderately cherished his body, especially on meagre days; and as an
exterior sign of interior grace had a symbol of mortification cut on
the outside of the bowl. Perhaps many a lesson on fasting was given to
his attendants with this spoon in his hand—serious homilies on the
evils of good cheer, and the blessings heaven bestows on the
abstemious—blessings, we may presume, evinced in the shining face, the
_en bon point_ and comely appearance of his reverence. But other
thoughts were indulged and other scenes enacted when his table was
cleared, and the spoon, with the dishes, found their way to the
kitchen or refectory, where the lay brethren dined, out of his sight
and out of his hearing! Verily, all the stories extant about
monasteries and monks would be well nigh eclipsed by a week’s
table-talk held in the presence of an old abbot’s spoon.

Possibly some reader exclaims, ‘this is all well enough, if the
implement ever had a place in a convent—it more likely was owned by a
layman; the initials imply as much, while the female bust on the handle
was not by any means appropriate for a priest either to handle or look
on.’ There is some force in these remarks. Well, let us see to whom it
could have belonged—not to an Englishman certainly, since neither the
maker’s nor the government stamp is impressed on it. It is from
continental Europe, and if made to order was designed for a gentleman
acquainted with mythology and versed in the classics. The handle,
representing a nymph and twisted serpents, indicates this. Now who could
he be? The initials are A. L.—perhaps Alphonso Ledesma, the Spanish
poet, who died in 1623; or Andrea Lanzano, the Italian painter; but
poets and painters are generally poor, and many, like Cervantes and
Morland, never owned any plate; we shall therefore conclude that Andrew
Laguna, the rich and favorite physician of Charles V. once owned it. If
such _was_ the fact, this spoon was, probably often in the company of
the most famous men of the age. It may have been even handled by
Columbus himself, after returning from his immortal adventure.

Other readers may think the implement was originally made for the
_special_ use of an individual: very possible, and on second thoughts we
may be sure none but a niggard, afraid of his victuals, or a miser like
Elwes could have made a practice of putting such an one into guests’
hands.

After all it is no great matter who the owner was. It has obviously
existed through two, possibly three or even four centuries, and has seen
much service. Many are the mouths it has opened, the palates it has
tickled, the stomachs it has comforted, the tongues it has silenced, and
peradventure blistered by hastily leaving scalding pottage in the mouth.
But alas! where now are the eyes that once glistened over it, the wits
seated at tables it has graced? Having outlived them all, it appears in
a land of strangers; a wanderer in another hemisphere. Could this
venerable relic give an account of its former proprietors, tell us who
and what they were, how they lived and where they died, how it came
among and why parted from them—could it describe their persons, tempers,
and conditions, the friends they entertained and the families they
visited—few novels would surpass, perhaps none equal the story in
interest.

FORKS.—As the handles of some old spoons were separable from the bowls,
so as to be used as _forks_, we may as well devote the concluding pages
of this chapter to the latter. The transition from pocket-spoons to
pocket-forks is easy enough, but when both implements are joined
together, their descriptions should not be apart.

There is something singular in the history of forks. Though of modern
date, as little is known of their origin as that of spoons. The author
of one is as much lost to fame as the inventor of the other. It is
certain that people of the ancient world took dinner without forks. All
raised victuals to their mouths as orientals do now; hot and thin
liquids with spoons, and butcher’s meat with the fingers. Even in the
advanced state of society and manners under the Pharaohs, Egyptians held
cooked joints and roasted fowls in one hand while shaving off slices
with a knife in the other. In one of the paintings copied by Rossilini
representing a feasting party, a gentleman flourishes a joint of venison
or lamb, two are eating fish which they retain in their fingers, while a
fourth is actually separating the wing of a goose with the same
instruments. This may have been an exception to the general practice,
though if so, why it should have been selected for record on eternal
tablets of stone, it is not easy to divine. These tablets present the
most ancient pictures in existence of feasts. It is not till some four
thousand years later we meet with table forks. These are not found
portrayed in sculptures, nor paintings or engravings till the 17th
century, yet pictorial delineations of Roman, Asiatic, Norman, and
Anglo-Saxon domestic life abound.

The absence of forks at Jewish tables is sufficiently evident from the
affecting declaration of the Savior: ‘He that dippeth his hand with me
in the dish, the same shall betray me’—the identical mode of eating
still followed in Palestine. We know from Roman writers, that to take
food from a dish without unnecessarily immersing the fingers, was a part
of the education of youth of both sexes. Ovid has versified the lesson:

        “Your meat genteelly with your fingers raise;
        And, as in eating there’s a certain grace,
        Beware, with greasy hands, lest you besmear your face.”

The same advice was imparted to boys and girls of ancient Greece. It is
now impressed upon their offspring by the polite Persian, Turk and
Hindoo. Boarding schools are of extreme antiquity, (ii. Kings, iv. 38.)
and Pharaonic as well as Jewish proprietors taught young masters and
misses to behave not unseemly at table. Chaucer mentions a school at
Bow, where girls were initiated in the arts of fashionable life; among
other acquirements they were taught how to avoid putting their hands too
deep in the dish. Somewhat similar advice was given to European ladies
in the seventeenth century, and Quixote praises Sancho for his
attainments in this branch of politeness.

It was the want of forks which gave rise to the old practice of washing
before and after meals—one for which the ceremonious Pharisees were so
tenacious, and with which they combined many ridiculous superstitions.
The custom was demanded by decency, when plates were not in use and each
person at dinner thrust his hand into one common dish. What could be
more offensive to natural propriety than an individual fishing up from
that dish gobbets of flesh with fingers only washed with the soup! To
the decent as well as the delicate, the sight must ever be abhorrent. A
subsequent ablution was as necessary to personal comfort as the first
was to the company’s enjoyment of their food. When pocket handkerchiefs
were not in vogue, what else could a lady or gentleman do while their
fingers were streaming with the fluid material of a ragout, or coated
with the glutinous remains of a bowl of rich cuscous? They must either
have wiped them dry on the hair of their heads, or rubbed off what they
could on their garments. The process of washing the hands, and the
utensils employed, are described at page 83, as used in Europe in the
sixteenth century. Later still the custom was common. In Commenius’
Visible World there is a cut representing a feast. The guests being
brought in, wash their hands by holding them over a basin presented by a
servant, who pours out water from an ewer. The reader who is desirous of
beholding orientals dining on the favorite ragout may consult the cuts
in Lane’s Modern Egyptians, and illustrated works on Eastern manners. If
he wishes to see how occidentals formerly managed roasted joints let him
cast his eyes on the cut below, copied from Strutt:

[Illustration:

  ANGLO-SAXON NOBLES OR PRINCES AT DINNER.
]

Three Anglo-Saxon nobles or princes at dinner! Their rank is indicated
by being served on the knee. The number was one most preferred in
classical eras for convivial parties. These, it was said, ought never to
consist of fewer persons than the Graces nor more than the Muses. The
round table is covered by an ample cloth upon which are placed bowls or
deep dishes, but no plates. One of the party only is supplied with a
spoon; he seems in the act of calling to his attendant, perhaps for
soup. His associates amuse themselves with solider things; one is
engaged in separating a slice from a joint presented on the rod on which
it was roasted. To facilitate the operation, he grasps one end of the
spit while the waiter holds fast the other. The gentleman with a beard
appears indetermined whether to follow the example or first finish the
fish in his hand.

Here is ocular proof how indispensable was the washing of hands _after_
dinner, and this old painting is in all essential points a mere
fac-simile of others which might be produced, of earlier and later
dates. The reader may find specimens in D’Agincourt’s History of the
Arts. Plate 71 shows a royal party at a table furnished much in the same
style as the foregoing. To assist digestion and gratify two senses at
once, a fiddler stands by, playing a favorite air. The date is about the
11th century. But so late as the middle of the 17th century, it was
common for carvers to _handle_ flesh meats at table. In 1641 a festival
was held at Paris by the _Savetiers_. One gentleman grasps the shank of
a leg of mutton while cutting it up, to supply the plate of a lady
beside him. It is hence obvious that the unbecoming practice of ‘licking
the fingers,’ attributed as a crime to ancient turnspits, was not
unknown to their betters—that kings as well as cobblers were guilty of
it daily.

The attendants in the cut wear tunics, and apparently are girt with
towels. Each holds a trencher, the essential requisite of an Anglo-Saxon
page. He was never allowed to wait at table without it; a good reason
for which is furnished by the illustration: held under the smoking
joint, it caught the dripping gravy and such pieces of meat as a guest
when carving might let fall. [The rich subject of _spits_ must be left
for future papers which the Society of Chiffonniers intend to issue.]

Perhaps some readers imagine the want of forks was sensibly felt in old
times, and that they were eagerly adopted as soon as they appeared. No
such thing. We regret to say their introduction was violently opposed,
and a storm of abuse poured on the heads of their users. Even the
clergy, who ought to have known better, preached against them as a
wicked innovation. Among others, the Benedictines of St. Maur declared
them inconsistent with the scriptural mode of living, as exemplified by
the patriarchs, prophets, and especially by the great exemplar and his
apostles—an abominable violation of primitive manners! But
notwithstanding the denunciation of table forks by friars and monks, the
very people among whom the pope had his seat were the first to receive
them. They were first domesticated in Italy in the 16th century, but
were certainly known there before, either as luxuries or curiosities.

As early as the 11th and 12th centuries they were occasionally used by
the wealthy. Peter Damiani, who died A. D. 1073, mentions in one of his
letters a lady of Constantinople, married to a doge of Venice, and who,
among other strange fancies, required rain water to wash in, and used a
_golden_ fork to eat with. But this does not determine the date or place
of their invention. It does not appear that they were quite novel things
then—nay, a silver fork has been found at Pompeii; so that they were not
absolutely unknown to some of the fashionables of antiquity.

Forks are mentioned in a charter of Ferdinand I. of Spain, A. D. 1101.
In the wardrobe account of Edward I. king of England, ‘a pair of knives
with sheathes of silver enameled, and a forcke of chrystal’ are
specified. In 1595, Queen Elizabeth dined at Kew, at the house of Sir
John Pickering, who presented her with a rich fan, the handle of which
was set with diamonds; an artificial nosegay composed of jewels, “and to
grace him the more, she, of herself, took from him a salt, a spoone, and
a forcke of fair agatte.” At the same period they were looked on as
curiosities in France. Brathwait, who wrote his ‘Rules’ in the early
part of the reign of James I. is silent on forks, though full on the
minutest matters. The groom of the pantry was “to keepe the saltes,
spoones, and knives very faire and cleane.”

It was owing to their being made portable that eventually brought forks
into vogue. Travellers, gentlemen, delicate ladies, young beaux, and all
who disliked to feed out of dishes into which the fingers of a company
were unceremoniously thrust, carried their eating apparatus in a case or
cadenas. The eighty-second proposition of the Marquis of Worcester’s
famous Century of Inventions is a proof in point;—“A knife, spoon, or
fork, in an _usual_ portable case, may have the like conveyance in their
handles;” i.e. secret devices might be concealed in them. Nichols
mentions knives with ‘conceytes’ in the handles—a toothpick for example,
as in a spoon already described. Great ingenuity was displayed in things
of this kind and not a little pride indulged in them by the wearers—like
the conceited fop in Gil Blas who carried his gloves and handkerchief in
the hilt of his sword. The oldest forks were generally of silver. Henry
IV. of France had one of steel. Heylin attributes their introduction
into England to young men of fashion, but errs, we think, in ascribing
them to the Chinese: “The use of silver forks with us, by some of our
spruce gallants taken up _of late_, came from China to Italy, and from
thence to England.”—[_Cosmog._ p. 865.]

In the cut of a feast in Commenius, besides trenchers, cups, glasses,
knives, and other table furniture, there are “=little forks=,” not much
unlike those figured on Plate VI. which date from an earlier period. In
1611, Coryatt, the eccentric English traveller was ridiculed by writers
and wits for using forks. Their introduction into Britain has been
erroneously ascribed to him. They were previously known there as we have
seen, but the book of his travels made the public more familiar with
them:

“I observed,” he says “a custom in all those Italian cities and townes
through the which I passed, that is not used in any other country that I
saw in my travels; neither do I think that any other nation of
Christendome doth use it, but only Italy. The Italian and most strangers
that are commorant [dwelling] in Italy, do alwaies at their meales _use
a little forke_, when they cut their meate. For while with their knife,
which they hold in one hand, they cut the meate out of the dish, they
fasten their forke, which they hold in the other hand, upon the same
dish. So that whatsoever he be, that sitting in the company of any
others at meale, should unadvisedly touch the dish of meate with his
fingers, from which all at the table doe eat, he will give occasion of
offense unto the company, as having transgressed the lawes of good
manners; insomuch that for his error he shall be at least brow-beaten,
if not reprehended in words. This forme of feeding, I understand, is
generally used in all places in Italy, their forkes being for the most
part made of yron or steele, and some of silver; but these are used only
by gentlemen. The reason of this their curiosity is, because the Italian
cannot by any means have his dish touched with fingers, seeing all men’s
fingers are not alike cleane—hereupon I myself thought good, to imitate
the Italian fashion, by this forked cutting of meate, not only while I
was in Italy, but also in Germany, and oftentimes in England since I
came home: being once quipped for that frequent using of my forke, by a
certain learned gentleman, a familiar friend of mine, one Master
Laurence Whitaker, who in his merry humour doubted not to call me
_furcifer_, only for using a forke at feeding.”

In the preceding extract, we have a view of Italian gentlemen ‘feeding’
in the beginning of the 17th century. In the following passage we obtain
an insight into British manners during the middle of it:—“A gentlewoman
being at table, abroad or at home, must observe to keep her body
straighte, and lean not by any means upon her elbowes—nor by ravenous
gesture discover a voracious appetite. Talke not when you have meate in
your mouth; and do not smacke like a pig—nor eat spoonemeat so hot that
the tears stand in your eyes. It is very uncourtly to drink so large a
draught that your breath is almost gone, and you are forced to blow
strongly to recover yourselfe. Throwing down your liquor as, into a
funnel, is an action fitter for a juggler than a gentlewoman. In carving
at your own table, distribute the best pieces first, and it will appear
very decent and comely to _use a forke_; so touch no piece of meat
without it.” This elegant extract is from ‘_The Accomplished Lady’s Rich
Closet of Rarities_.’ London, 1653.

To conclude: That forks were known in Spain when Cervantes wrote, is
obvious from the address of Quixote to Don Antonio in praise of Squire
Pansa: ‘In truth, Sancho’s temperance and cleanliness in eating deserve
to be engraved on plates of brass, to remain an eternal memorial for
ages to come. I must confess when he is hungry, he seems to be somewhat
of a glutton, for he eats fast and chews on both sides of his mouth; but
for cleanliness he always strictly observes it. When he was a governor
he learned to eat so nicely that he took up grapes and even the grains
of pomegranates with the point of a FORK.’




                              CHAPTER XII.

  _Oriental Manners—Semifluids and Fingers—Spoons of Gold
  and Silver prohibited—Church Plate—Quibbling Evasion of
  Mahomet’s Precept—Modern Oriental Spoons—Substitutes for
  Tumblers—Arabs at Dinner—Revenge of Hasan—Persian Spoons—A Vulgar
  Ambassador—Cakes used as Napkins—Frolic of Tavernier and the King of
  Persia—Proverbs—Sherbert Spoons—Curious Article in the Persian
  Creed—Repartee—Chinese Spoons—Chopsticks—Sheathed Knives and
  Spoons—Worn by Janizaries—‘Standard and Caldron’—Military
  Romances—Ancient Beggars—Clack Dish and Spoon—Interesting
  Family—Beggars and Lent—St. Giles._


A cursory reader of travels might imagine spoons unknown in the greater
part of the earth, so frequently are unguarded expressions to that
effect met with. We may therefore as well premise that the practice of
conveying _semifluid_ food to the mouth without them was formerly as
universal as handling flesh, meats at table without forks. With the
exception of Europe and European descendants, it is so still. Boiled
rice is the great pabulum of life to a majority of our species—with
millions it is the only food. Now, whether eaten by the scrupulous
Hindoo, delicate Persian, or fastidious Turk—people with whom
cleanliness is godliness, whose daily ablutions are religious duties—or
by the revolting Hottentot, the wild Arab, or revengeful Malay, it is
conveyed to the mouth with the hand alone. So general is this filthy
custom among people on opposite parts of the globe that it can hardly be
looked on in any other light than as a relic of times when mankind
formed one family—times when no forks were used but fingers, no other
knives than finger nails, and spoons had not been thought of—when men
and women clutched their food as parrots do, and raised it to their lips
like squirrels.

Suppose we add a few examples of the custom—not drawn from people
ignorant of spoons, but such as follow it from choice. The reflecting
reader will need no stronger proof of the still prevailing influence of
antediluvian usages, and of the humiliating fact, that like other
creatures, men are creatures of habit—that tenacity to the rude
practices of our forefathers is not always to be overcome by refinements
or reason.

The Hindoos use neither knives nor forks at table, ‘nor spoons except
with soup.’ Rice is served on banana leaves cut in the form of plates,
and fresh ones are had for every meal.

M. Loubere, ambassador to Siam in 1687, and the author of two volumes on
that country, says:—‘Ils n’ont à table, ny nappe, ny serviette, ny
cuillière, ny fourchette, ny couteau.’ [_Tome_ i. 101.] But that spoons
were known there, is clear from the oriental jewelry and plate presented
to the king of France by his royal brother of Siam, in 1685. Among other
things was ‘une _cuillière d’or_, au plus bel ouvrage du Japon.’—[_His.
Gen. Tome_ xii.]

One traveller says the natives of Madagascar use no spoons; another,
that they find substitutes for them and for dishes and ladles in the
leaves of the raven plant. According to a third, spoons are not
uncommon, while some of costly materials are occasionally to be met
with. Rice is considered the best of all dishes; and beef, mutton, fowls
and fish mere adjuncts. These, when cooked, are cut into small pieces,
and invariably served up on boiled rice, into which ‘horn spoons are
stuck,’ and for it alone used. The fore finger and thumb—a pair of
natural forceps—pick up the meat and deliver it into the mouth. When
Radama, king of the Island, died in 1828, immense treasure was buried
with him. His coffin was silver. To make it, fourteen thousand dollars
were melted and beaten into plates, which were fastened together with
silver rivets. Besides other valuables buried with him were a silver
_ladle_ and a _golden spoon_, for his use in another world.

The people of Barbary make no use of knives and forks, ‘and very rarely
of spoons.’ Like other orientals, they take up their food with the right
hand, and dexterously jerk it into the mouth. Caffres use neither
tables, knives nor plates, but sometimes call in the aid of forks and
spoons. Squatting round a boiling pot, each spears with a pointed stick
a piece of flesh, and leisurely eats it from the hand; When a missionary
arrived at Lattakoo, some colored ladies sent his party a present of
porridge in the pot in which it was made, but unaccompanied with
implements to eat it with; they never thought of spoons being used with
semifluid food, but naturally supposed that white as well as black men’s
fingers tasted every morsel swallowed. The Negroes of the Gambia, says
Moore, are not very proud in their furniture, for the greater part have
only a mat raised on a few sticks to sleep on, a jar for water, a
calabash for drinking, two or three mortars to pound rice, and
calabashes out of which they eat rice with _their hands_.

The Sumatrans, says Marsden, use at table neither knives nor spoons, nor
any substitute for them. They take up rice and other victuals with the
thumb and fingers, and dexterously throw it into the mouth. Rice is
boiled generally in a joint of bamboo, and by the time it is cooked the
vessel is nearly destroyed. Their manner of boiling the grain is to let
it simmer over a slow fire, drawing off the water by degrees ‘with a
flat ladle or spoon.’

The Bashee Islanders take meat from the pot in which it is cooked with
their fingers, as the Moors do pillau, using no spoons. At Mindanao the
common food is sago and rice. When served up, each person dips his
fingers in water, to prevent the glutinous food from sticking to them;
then taking a handful out of the platter, squeezes it into a lump, and
crams it into his mouth. [_Dampier._]

When Kotzebue was at Owhyhee, Tamaahmaah, the king, who possessed
European table utensils, including spoons, used a gourd for a basin at
dinner, and fed himself like an Asiatic, dipping his fingers into the
taro dough, and conveying it to his mouth with the same implements. He
observed to the Russian navigator: ‘This is the custom in my country,
and I will not depart from it.’ The same slovenly way of eating was
observed from the king to the lowest menial. Mr. Farnham, in his ‘Scenes
in the Pacific,’ is more particular: “The mode of conveying _poi_ to
their mouths was quite primitive. The fore and middle fingers served
instead of a spoon. These they inserted to the depth of the knuckles,
and having raised as much as would lie upon them, and by a very
dexterous whirl brought it into a globular shape upon the tips, they
thrust it into their mouths and licked the fingers clean for another
essay.”

When Captain John Smith, the hero and historian of Virginia was a slave
among the Turks, his stomach was sorely tried. In his chapter on Turkish
diet, he says pillau was served out to his captors in great bowls; they
sat ‘round it on the ground, and after they have raked it thorow so oft
as they please with their foule fists, the remainder was for the
christian slaves.’

Nearly 200 years have elapsed since Van Sleb visited Egypt. He was once
entertained at an extraordinary banquet given by a rich Arab; but ‘wine
was wanting, and spoons, knives and forks.’ ‘The modern Egyptians;’ says
Lane, ‘seldom use at table either knives or forks; the thumb and two
fingers of the right hand serve for every thing not fluid. Spoons are
used for soup and thin rice, or other things not easily conveyed to the
mouth without them.’ The same writer, speaking ‘on meals and the manner
of eating,’ in a note to his translation of the ‘Thousand and One
Tales,’ remarks: ‘The table is usually placed upon a round cloth spread
in the middle of the floor, or in a corner next two of the deewáns or
low seats, which generally extend along three sides of the room: it is
composed of a large round tray of silver, or tinned copper or brass,
supported by a stool commonly about 15 or 16 inches high, made of wood
and generally inlaid with mother of pearl, tortoise shell, &c. The
dishes are of silver, of tinned copper or china; several are placed upon
the tray, and around them are dispersed some round flat cakes of bread,
with _spoons_ of _box-wood_, _ebony_, or other material.’

The leading customs through all the East, with regard to eating, are in
fact similar. When people sit at table their legs are crossed under
them. They perform topical ablutions before and after meals, at which
knives and spoons are seldom seen. When the master of the family is
present, he first puts his hand in the dish, and the rest in order after
him. There is another particular with which the reader should be
acquainted, in order to understand why _wooden_ spoons chiefly are used
by wealthy orientals. The poorer classes have spoons of horn, wood,
brass, and iron; and a few silver and golden ones may occasionally be
found on the tables of princes and rich men; but such are not common,
and for this reason: _they were prohibited_ by Mahomet. “Verily, [said
he,] the fire of hell will roar like the bellowings of a camel in the
bellies of those who eat and drink from vessels of gold and silver.” No
articles of plate are allowed in mosques, and formerly they were
excluded from christian churches. “Exuperius, Bishop of Tholose,
ministered the holie supper with a glasse cup and a wicker basket. The
Triburien Council disputed whether golden or woodden vessels should be
used. Boniface, the martyr, said when they were golden priests, they had
woodden cups, but now being woodden priests, they will have golden
challices.” [_P. Martyr, on ‘Ornaments of Churches.’_]

Some rich Mahommedans, however, like other rich people, contrive, while
obeying literally a precept they do not like, to depart widely from its
spirit. Indeed no law, divine or human, can repress the love of
distinction. Hunger breaks through stone walls, but pride bursts through
brass ones. Believers in the Koran are forbid to eat of drink out of
gold or silver utensils. ‘True,’ quoth a worldly-minded mufti; ‘_that_
applies only to things put to the lips, not to trays, dishes,
wash-basins, knives, nor yet to the _handles_ of spoons, for none of
these things come in contact with the mouth.’ Awful would be the fury of
the prophet, could he hear his doctrines thus explained away; and how
would his indignation boil could he read the following extract from a
travelling giaour’s remarks on the manners of his people: ‘As for
pillau, and other soft and liquid meats, the Turks have spoons, though
not of gold and silver, which they are forbidden by the law to put into
their mouths. Those at the tables of persons of distinction are
generally of _agate_, _amber_, or other scarce material, with _handles_
of gold or silver gilt, and set with _jewels_; for the parts which enter
not the mouth _may be_ of those metals!’ [_Motraye._]

In the ‘Grande Description,’ tome ii, E. M. are two Egyptian spoons of
the kind, being richly ornamented. They are shown in _Figs. 6, 7, Plate
V._ ‘Cuillers en ecaille, ornées d’ambre, de corail et de nacre.’ [_Fig.
8_ is enlarged from a cut in Jacob Cat’s works.] _Fig. 9_—another
Turkish spoon, elaborately enriched in both bowl and handle.

The Turks and other orientals seldom drink at meals, but when they do it
is out of spoons; hence if they do not employ them always as we do, they
put them in requisition where we do not. The wealthy have a variety of
pleasant drinks, consisting of diluted peach, cherry, and raspberry
syrups. Each person has by him a _wooden spoon_, with which he lades the
syrup out of bowls, taking ever and anon spoonfuls of it, and so
suspends his thirst. [_Tavernier._] A sweet drink, composed of raisins
boiled in sugar and scented with rose water, is drunk by ladies out of
ladles, or spoons of tortoise shell, and sometimes of cocoa nut.
[_Lane._]

Near the custom house, says Commodore Porter, is the most famous eating
place in all Constantinople. Persons who like what is good go there to
regale themselves with kibobs, a dish in great favor with the Turks. It
consists of pieces of mutton or lamb cut into small mouthfuls and
seasoned; then strung on an iron skewer and exposed to the heat of an
oven of peculiar construction. They are, when done, served up in their
own gravy, or in kaymar, which is cream. There is also served with them
a soft flat kind of bread or pancake, which, as no knives or forks are
made use of, suits admirably as a means of conveying the kibobs and
kaymar to the mouth, whence they soon find their way into the stomach.
The bread is called Firna Pidésé. With this mess they give you a large
vessel filled with sherbet, or a drink prepared from dried grapes, and
to each person is given a _large spoon_ to sip it.

The manners of Arabs at table are repulsive. ‘They use neither knives
nor forks, nor even spoons, unless for food wholly liquid.’ They have
been observed to plunge their filthy hands into milk placed before them,
and thus raise the liquid to the lips. Before sitting down they repeat a
short prayer beginning thus:—“In the name of the most merciful God.” The
instant it is finished all hands are in the food—and lo, it has
vanished! “In the middle of all was a large wooden bowl, in which were
the camel’s bones and a thin broth in which they were boiled. Knives,
forks, and spoons are silly, impertinent things in the esteem of Arabs;
however, being known to use such things, we had large wooden spoons laid
before us.” [_Jour. to Tadmor_, 1691.]

Having no arabesque spoon, plain or jewelled, to lay before the reader,
we present him with a gem of another kind—one first brought to light as
an Ishmaelite sat down to dinner. It is an old remark that hunger
induces ill humor—that men are more disposed to anger when waiting for a
meal, than when rising from the table. As Hasan, the son and successor
of Ali was one day about to dine, a slave let a dish of hot pillau drop
on him! An unprecedented insult to the dread leader of the faithful!
Now, how did the startled caliph, as his eyes glistened and his face
assumed the color of fire, act—he at whose nod the heads of a dozen men
would have flown for a less offence from their owners’ shoulders? We
have seen a servant of the pope’s slain for spilling hot broth on a
scholar, and an ambassador of his holiness flying for his life on that
occasion to a steeple; we know too how a pagan Roman acted when one of
his servants let a porcelain dish fall, at a supper given to
Augustus—viz: ordered the offender to be sunk in a fish-pond wherein the
monster fattened lampreys on human flesh! an order which thrilled
Octavius with horror.

The revenge of Hasan exceeded them both; and it was based on a verse of
the Koran! In the third chapter of that book is the following
passage:—“Paradise is prepared for those who give alms in prosperity and
adversity; who bridle their anger and forgive men, for God loveth the
beneficent.” Dreading the caliph’s resentment, the poor slave dropped on
his knees, and in an agony exclaimed, “Paradise is for those who bridle
their anger—” “I—I am, not angry,” was the unexpected reply. The
trembling supplicant proceeded—“and for those who forgive men—” “I
forgive you,” was the life-sparing answer—thus emboldened, the youth
meekly added, “for God loveth the beneficent.” “Since it is so,” said
Hasan, whose brow the angel of forgiveness had now smoothed, and lit up
his face with virtue’s own smile—“I give you your liberty and four
hundred pieces of silver”!

If there is a more beautiful episode in human annals, we have not met
with it. Who would compare Alexander to Hasan—who is not enraptured at
the intelligence and ready wit of the young Arab slave; at the
inspiration which led him to quote and beautifully invert the order of a
passage so suited to the exigencies of the moment—and who does not envy
Hasan the heavenly feast he enjoyed in the place of the dish he had
lost?

PERSIAN SPOONS.—The Persians, says Tavernier, eat their broths with
wooden spoons. Their rice, which is made thick, they take up with their
fingers, and wipe their hands upon handkerchiefs. Invited with the
Venetian ambassador to sup with a Persian grandee, the representative of
the doge, he remarks, ‘committed an absurdity, for there are no [few]
silver or gold spoons in Persia, but only long wooden ladles that reach
a great way. Now, the ambassador, reaching his ladle to a porcelain
dish, full of scalding hot pottage, clapped it presently into his mouth,
but finding it so hot that he could not endure it, after several scurvy
faces threw it out of his mouth into his hand, in presence of all the
company.’

John Bell says an entertainment given to the Russian ambassador at
Ispahan consisted of sweetmeats, ice water in golden basins, rice boiled
with butter, fowls, mutton, lambs, &c. The whole was served in gold and
china dishes. ‘But according to the custom of the country, we had
neither napkins, spoons, knives nor forks. The shah himself eat with his
fingers, and every one followed his example. Thin cakes made of wheat
flour were used to _wipe our fingers_.’—a practice of the Romans, whose
slaves afterwards ate the cakes. Fryer visited Persia 170 years ago, and
observed the wealthy drink wine out of ‘long thin wooden spoons,’ but he
was in error in saying ‘spoons are not in use, unless to drink sherbet
with.’

Tavernier is one of the most interesting of old travellers. His details
of oriental life are vivid and fresh as if drawn yesterday. He had, from
his profession as a merchant-jeweller and goldsmith, access to every
court. Haying spent forty years in his travels, he was personally known
to most Asiatic princes, and his arrival was often hailed by them with
joy. On his sixth and last visit to Ispahan, he was warmly greeted by
the king, who seems to have been a real toper. Two days after reaching
the city, the traveller was waited on early in the morning, by a chief
officer of state, accompanied by a jesuit and two Dutchmen, (favorites
of the monarch,) and requested to attend them to the palace. Upon
entering, they found his majesty seated upon a low-pallet; before him
were fruits, sweetmeats, two bottles of Schiras wine and a golden cup.
There was also a small wooden vat or cistern full of wine, and a golden
spoon or ladle which held nearly a pint. The bottles and cup were for
the king; the vat and spoon for his guests.

It would be disagreeable to many readers, were we to recite the
particulars of the succeeding debauch—one in which the spoon acted so
prominent a part, despite of every precept of the Koran. Suffice to say,
‘the entertainment’ was kept up for seventeen hours! being diversified
with feasting, music and dancing. At short intervals ‘the great ladle
went about smartly,’ the king insisting that ‘no man should leave a
drop.’ Tavernier thus winds up the account:—“We had droll’d together
till eleven o’clock at night, when the king started another
question—whether any one present could sing? It happened that there was
one Monsieur Daulier there, who played on the virginals, and pretended
to sing a court air. His voice being high-pitched, the king did not like
it, as the Persians prefer the base. Perceiving this, and being in a
merry vein, though I knew not a note, yet having a deep and clear voice,
I sung an old air, beginning thus:—

                ‘Fill all the bowls, then—fill ’em high!
                Fill all the glasses there—for why
                Should every creature drink but I?’”

The king was ravished, crying out, ‘Baricala! Baricala!’ an exclamation
equivalent to ‘Oh! the works of God!’

Wine, as well as ‘plate,’ is prohibited, but rich Persians make no
scruple about either. They excuse themselves when overtaken by liquor,
by quoting a proverb which certainly was not designed to encourage
drunkenness:—‘Equal sin in a spoonful as in a potful.’ Hence, after
tasting a small quantity, they have no compunction about swallowing the
largest. But such reasoning is not confined to oriental sinners; we have
too many who exclaim, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound’—‘As well be
hanged for a sheep as a lamb.’

Morier, describing a dinner given to the British embassy, says, there
was placed before each guest a tray, on which stood three china bowls,
filled with sherbets; two made of sweet liquors, and one an exquisite
species of lemonade. There were besides, fruits ready cut, plates with
elegant little arrangements of sweetmeats and confectionery, and smaller
cups of sweet sherbet; the whole of which were placed most
symmetrically, and were quite inviting even by their appearance. In the
vases of sherbet were _spoons made of the pear tree_, with very deep
bowls, and worked so delicately that the long handles just slightly
_bent_ when carried to the mouth.

If the reader has any curiosity to behold a Persian sherbet spoon, let
him turn to _Plate V. Figs. 10, 11_, represent one, preserved with
others of a similar form and different sizes in the Philadelphia Museum.
It is fifteen inches long, and made of box-wood or pear tree. The handle
is thin and ornamented with designs formed by openings cut entirely
through. The junction of the handle with the bowl is strengthened by a
pierced semicircular piece, shown in _Fig. 10_, and exhibiting a very
novel feature.

From what has been said, the reader will be no longer surprised at
Mahommedans associating the spoon with the pleasures of heaven; yet
unless he had been informed of its employment in drinking wine upon
earth, he could scarcely comprehend that part of the Persian creed which
states that Rusuen, the porter of paradise, opens to faithful
Mahommedans the gates of heaven; and when seated on the banks of the
fountain Kauser, the great camel driver himself hands round to each _the
water of life in a_ LADLE.

As a specimen of Persian repartee, we may here introduce an anecdote,
which, if not associated with the spoon, is at least connected with one
of the ingredients of soup. An Ispahan dealer in pot-herbs,
remonstrating against the imposition of an exorbitant tax, was ordered
by the governor to pay it or leave the city. “I cannot pay it, and
whither can I go,” ejaculated the poor man—knowing no place where he
could live, out of the reach of the oppressor, or his equally rapacious
relatives. “You may proceed to Schiras or Kashan, if you like those
cities better than this.” “Yes; but your brother is in power in one, and
your nephew in the other; what relief can I expect in either?” “Proceed,
then; to court, and complain to the king,” replied the extortioner.
“Alas! your brother, the Hajee, is prime minister.” “Well then,” said
the irritated minister, “go to the _devil_, and trouble me no more!”
“Ah! but the holy man your deceased father is with _him_”! said the
persevering dealer in esculents. The spectators laughed, the governor
followed their example, and promised to examine and redress the bold
green-grocer’s wrongs.

CHINESE SPOONS.—In China and neighboring countries, spoons are often of
earthenware. At an entertainment given to the British embassy in Cochin
China, the table was loaded with every imaginable delicacy. The number
of dishes piled in three rows, one above the other, exceeded a hundred.
Before each person was placed boiled rice in place of bread, and two
porcupine quills by way of knife and fork. ‘The spoons were of
_porcelain_, and somewhat in the form of small shovels.’ [_Staunton._]
‘We were in want of every accommodation, even of forks and spoons, for
the former are not used in China, and the latter are made of porcelain,
with very short handles.’ [_Van Braam._]

CHOPSTICKS.—But of Chinese peculiarities, few things have excited more
interest than chopsticks—two small rods or wires, which at table perform
the same duties as our forks and spoons. Enclosed in a sheath along with
a knife, they are suspended from the sash of every gentleman. See _Fig.
12_, _Plate V._ for the sheath. The original is before us. It is 7
inches long, and half an inch wide, made of bamboo, and neatly covered
with tortoise shell, in which no joint can be detected. A minute brass
band goes round the middle and each end. A ring is attached to the upper
one, and on a strip of metal is a proverb or moral sentence. An ivory
handled knife, (left out in the cut) with a strong blade, and rough as
the grindstone left it, occupies one half of the sheath. As both sticks
are alike, one only is figured. They are square rods of ivory, eight
inches long, one-fifth of an inch thick at the smaller ends, and rather
thicker at the other, which are held in the hand. The thick parts, like
the handle of the knife, project out of the case. Sometimes they are
round and have their ends pointed with silver. When used, they are held
in the right hand, between the forefinger and thumb. A toothpick
occasionally finds a place in the sheath.

The dexterity with which chopsticks are used, and the celerity with
which food disappears before them, show how appropriate is their
name—_kwae tsze_, ‘nimble lads.’ A native readily picks up objects small
as pin heads, while fruitless attempts of foreigners to convey with them
a piece of edible bird’snest to the mouth, often afford amusement to
Chinese hosts. The eating apparatus of the poorer classes consists of
chopsticks and bowls. If they possess no table or bench, the large pot
of rice is placed on the floor, and they squat round, with their feet
inwards, just the contrary way from the Jews and Romans. A portion of
rice is transferred by a ladle to each member’s bowl. This he holds in
one hand close to the chin, and with the ‘nimble lads’ pushes the food
into his mouth till the latter is crammed; then wiping the sticks across
the edge of the bowl, he takes up with them, as with forceps, a piece of
fish, meat, or whatever else is on the table, and thrusts it in edgewise
as a relish. After a while the mouth is ready for more, and the nimble
lads are again set to work. [_See Chinese Rep. Vol._ iii.]

Chopsticks are interesting relics of antediluvian days; for their origin
is to be traced to the twigs by which barbarians scrape semifluid food
from natural cups into the mouth; such as travellers use when dining on
cuscous, while far distant from dwellings and destitute of artificial
spatulæ. South Sea islanders thus gather taro dough out of cocoa shells,
and American Indians scrape samp out of baskets.

A sheathed eating-knife was worn at the belt by the Celts, Gauls,
Germans, Saxons and Anglo-Saxons, and by their descendants down to
recent times. It was an essential part of the personal equipment of
gentlemen, laborers and artisans. Even ladies wore them as they wear
scissors now. An old saying arose from the practice, intimating that
appearances are often deceptive:—“In a sheath of gold may be a knife of
lead.” ‘Among the Celts,’ says Macpherson, ‘as at this day in France,
guests carried their own knives and _forks_ [?] enclosed in the same
sheath with the dagger.’ Highlanders carry the _skene dhu_ or knife, and
a fork, in a horn or other sheath—the handle of the knife being
sometimes hollowed out for the reception of snuff. _Spoons_ also were
worn in like manner. Every Janizary had one, and there is no reason to
suppose the custom originated with them.

_Fig. 13_, _Plate V._ represents a brass sheath holding three knives and
a spoon, such as the warlike infantry of the Turks formerly were
furnished with, and which they wore pendent from, or stuck in, the
girdle. At the time Motraye wrote, the spoon had been removed, being
then worn in a perpendicular sheath in _front of the cap_, occupying the
place of the head dress of modern troops, where we may suppose it
sometimes warded off a blow aimed at the head of its owner, as well as
refreshing him when a battle was over. This prominent disposition of the
spoon by the Janizaries was appropriate enough, since each regiment had
its own _soup kettle_, which in process of time acquired a sort of
prescriptive sanctity, and formed as it were the _chief standard_ of the
regiment; while the officers and other military functionaries derived
_their titles_ from their various supposed employments as cooks,
waiters, or scullions! The Spaniards have a proverb which reflects light
on this strange custom:—‘Pendon y caldera’—the standard and caldron. In
the Moorish wars, a Castilian who undertook to raise a regiment, was
privileged by the king to carry a standard as the sign of his authority
to enlist troops; while a caldron figured on it indicated that he fed
them at his own cost.

Let not modern warriors laugh at this; for if posterity judge them from
‘Tableux,’ ‘Military Adventures,’ and other fashionable novels,
descriptive of the foraging and bivouacing of epauletted gourmands and
legal bucaniers, which constitute so large a portion of the light
literature of the day, the old Turkish legions, God wot, will lose
nothing in the comparison; for knives, forks, plates, spoons, the bottle
and the glass, are infinitely more conspicuous than such things ever
were with the Moslem. But it is a new thing under the sun for the most
horrible of all crimes—that which includes every other, and surpasses
the power of devils to commit, to be treated in books as a bagatelle,
for the amusement of drawing-room loungers and boarding-school misses.
Would that these literary warriors electrified the reading world with
equally vivid details of the blessings their own countrymen have derived
from their valor—how every victory has lessened the laborer’s toil and
increased the artisan’s comforts, diminished the price of bread, and
poured abundance among a happy population—how their liberties have
increased with their armies, and taxes been reduced with their
conquests—how—but we are digressing.

_Fig. 14_, _Plate V._—one of the numerous illustrations of the ‘Romance
of the Rose,’ a French poetical satire, written by Guillaume de Lois,
and translated by Chaucer. As a portrait of a female mendicant of the
middle ages, it is not without interest, independently of the spoon
which ornaments the felt hat. The distressed condition of the lady’s
wardrobe and her famishing looks are described in the poem:—

                  “She was like thing for hanger dede,
                  That lad her life onely by brede,
                  Kneden with eisel stronge and egre,
                  And thereto she was leane and megre;
                  And she was clad ful poorely,
                  All in an olde torne courtpy,
                  As she were all with dogges torne
                  And botn behind and eke beforne.
                  Clouted was she beggerly.”

The poet is speaking of avarice, which the ancient illustrator depicts
in the aspect and costume of a beggar. The alms-dish, suspended from the
wrist, was the professional badge of mendicants in the remotest ages,
and has continued to be one to the present day. It dates back to the
fountain-head of Hindoo mythology. ‘Gunga was produced by the sweat of
Vishnu’s foot, which Brahma caught in his _alms dish_.’ The Pandaroons
and other beggars of India eat from it the rice given them. Fryer,
describing the Fakirs, says, ‘they beg up and down like our bedlams with
an horn and a bowl.’

The spoon is also carried by Asiatic as well as old European beggars.
‘Persian Durweeshes in Egypt have oblong bowls of cocoa-nut or metal, in
which they receive alms and put their food. They carry also a wooden
_spoon_.’ [_Lane._]

It was a daily custom to distribute victuals at the gates of monasteries
and rich houses. Of such, we often read, ‘Pottage was given to every
poor person who begged.’ ‘All dinners being ended, the Vsher and Groome
of the Hall are to see the broken meate and drincke safely put into the
almes tubbes.’ [_Brathwait._] Every recipient was required to provide
his own bowl and spoon—a prudent precaution, since lepers or other
diseased persons were commonly among the applicants. It does not seem
possible that more appropriate symbols of want could have been adopted,
than those carried by ancient children of sorrow. What more touching
devices for moving the bowels of the compassionate than an empty bowl
and an unemployed spoon? There was even something expressive in the way
they were carried—the spoon as near the mouth as could be, and the
vacant dish in front of the empty stomach.

As the lady figured on _Plate V._ represents a class of old artists
allied to modern chiffonniers, we trust no reader will take offence at
her presence. Having described spoons belonging to kings, why should we
not mention those owned by people, who, like kings, are fed at the
public expense? Every part of her gabardine seems ready to bid ‘good
bye’ to its neighbors, while many have already gone off, as certain
rents and gaps too plainly declare. Still, there is philosophy in the
disposal of the dress. If her organs of motion are wofully exposed, the
more noble parts of her person are carefully guarded from the
weather—perhaps on the principle of keeping ‘the head warm and feet
cold;’ an aphorism which Boerhaave acquired, praise for inverting,
though against the experience of swarms of young urchins, who scamper
about summer and winter with bare legs and feet; and contrary to the
advice of Locke, to bore holes in the soles of new shoes, that wind and
water might always have free ingress and egress! There was policy if not
humor in exhibiting the parts which the figure represents as denuded: in
approaching a mansion for alms, the wretched toes enforced the appeal,
and where their owner received nothing but curses, she quickly showed
the churls ‘a clean pair of heels.’

Beggars were not allowed to enter a house when they sought alms—a
circumstance from which a proverbial expression of ‘poor Richard’ is
derived:—‘Hunger looks in at the working-man’s door, but dares not
enter.’ Various devices were in vogue for giving notice of their
presence; sometimes a horn was blown, or other rude instrument played
on; but the usual music was produced by striking the dish with the spoon
or a cup. From this clattering the principal utensil became known as the
‘clap-dish,’ or ‘clack-dish.’

The useful arts arose in Asia; and poetry, painting, and music were born
there. Thence came the trumpet, harp, drum, cymbals, and what is older
than all, the musical clack-dish. The begging friars of Fo enforce their
demands by beating two pieces of bamboo, ‘or hammering a hollow piece of
wood with a stick.’ With similar instruments Chinese mendicants get up
such powerful solos and duets in front of shop doors, that the inmates,
whose organs of harmony sympathize not with the sounds, relieve the
musicians to get rid of the music. Lepers, when they attended markets to
beg corn, carried a rattle to warn people from touching them.

[Illustration:


  _Plate 7_ _Modern_

]

There is an Italian female mendicant in one of the illustrations of
Ackerman’s ‘Forget me Not’ for 1843, which shows how little the
accoutrements and costume of this class have changed. With the exception
of a crutch, she of Italy might be taken for the ancient French damsel
on _Plate V._ An equal lack of covering is equally obvious about the
regions of the toes, and opposite extremities of her feet. The mantle
and skirts of an inner garment are ornamented with the same picturesque
fringe; a species of muffler or band holds up the chin, and kept the
miserable mouth shut when there was no occasion to open it; a tapered
hat covers the head; a _spoon_, stuck through the band, sets off the
hat, and an alms-dish hangs from the waist.

In a volume of ancient engravings now before us, one dated A. D. 1470
represents an itinerant charlatan, with his family and stock in trade.
He is playing on bagpipes, and bears two children in a basket strapped
to his back. His wife carries a young cherub and leads an ass laden with
panniers, out of which peep a couple of boys who have not learned to
walk. The eldest son, accompanied by the dog, goes before with an owl on
his shoulder. In the man’s hat are stuck a couple of _spoons_.

In the days of ecclesiastical rule, when monks were monarchs and lay
people could neither eat nor drink but as the Church pleased, a merciful
clause was at length introduced into the canons respecting lent, with
the view of removing a very serious obstacle to the salvation of those
who lived upon alms—a pleasing proof of the anxiety of ghostly fathers
to save (though only at the last extremity) the ghastly sheep in their
flocks. It was to this effect:—“Beggars, _when ready to affamish_ for
want, _may_ eat in lent time what they can get.”




                             CHAPTER XIII.

  _Pewter or Tin—Vulcan a Pewterer—Tin Armor—Ezekiel—Roman Pewterers and
  Vitellius—Tin Idols—Singular Imposture of Durand, a French
  Carpenter—Louis XI—English Pewter Ware—St. Peter’s Chalice—Mexican
  Pewterers—English Laws respecting Pewter—Cheats, time of Richard
  II—Pewter Articles, under Henry VIII—Pewter Money and James
  II—European Manufactures, A. D. 1483—Pewter Spoons described—Anecdote
  of one—Charles XII—Singular Property of Pewter Mugs—Extension of the
  Principle suggested—Authors likened to Cabmen—Brass Spoons—Tinned iron
  ones—Tinning—Tin Plate—Andrew Yarranton—Wooden Spoons—Forks—Cutty
  Spoons—Relish of Food—Spoons at Work—Dance of Death—End of the
  World—The Last Spoon._


Of metallic spoons, those made of tin or its alloys were perhaps the
first; but it is not to be supposed that proofs of this can be found in
the material or mental relics of a former world. Such things were too
easily defaced and too insignificant to be noticed or preserved, where
others infinitely more durable and valuable have perished. Before
describing _pewter_ spoons, a few references to the employment of this
factitious metal in early times may gratify some readers. Its base is
_tin_, a white and bright metal, lighter than iron and soft almost as
lead. It is generally hardened by the addition of a little antimony, as
silver is with copper; and there was no more reason to give a new name
to the mixture in one case than in the other. The name of tin is not
only withheld from articles formed of it, but given to others only
washed with it. That fine material known in commerce as ‘tin plate’ is
sheet iron coated with tin. The French distinguish it from untinned
plate by the appropriate term ‘_fer blanc_,’ or white iron. Old English
writers made a similar distinction.

From the facility of working tin, the low temperature at which it fuses,
its ductility, brilliancy, and unquestionable employment in remote ages,
we may safely infer that articles were made of it long before the
refractory ores were reduced. That implements of iron preceded those of
bronze is the uniform declaration of history; but bronze was itself an
alloy of copper and tin. The latter is the natural solder of lead, for
which it has probably been used ever since the heavier metal was
wrought. Tin was among the spoils taken from the Midianites. Articles
formed of it were to be melted down and recast; hence the antiquity of
the pewterer’s art.

Whoever Vulcan was, or however remote the times in which he lived, he
was a pewterer as well as a blacksmith and brass founder. Bucklers,
greaves, and other defensive armor were in his time made of and adorned
with _tin_. The herd of cattle and other raised work on the shield of
Achilles were executed in this metal. The corslet of Agamemnon was
composed of alternate bars or scales of gold, steel and tin. The central
stud of his shield was encircled

              ‘With twice ten bosses of resplendent tin.’

In the form of wire tin was also used for binding different parts
together; as the lining of Sarpedon’s shield was stitched with wires of
gold. Defensive armor of so soft a material may excite the smile of
modern soldiers, and induce incredulity in Homer’s statements, or an
impression that he is misunderstood; but independent of the remarkable
fact of the word used by him to designate tin being the same by which
the metal is still known in the East, the material is still used for the
very same purpose at this day. The Calmucks, we are told, when equipped
for war often protect their persons ‘with armor made of scales of tin.’
Lapland women make ornaments of it to decorate their own and their
husbands’ dresses. They produce beautiful wire for embroidery, &c., by
drawing the metal through holes drilled in horns or bones of rein-deer;
a practice probably dating from the age of Homer. The ‘shining
canisters,’ in which bread was served to guests, often mentioned by the
father of poets, were very likely the work of the pewterer. Frontlets,
anklets, bracelets, and other personal ornaments of tin, still worn in
the East, are of extreme antiquity. Pausanias mentions an antique tablet
of tin connected with the Messenians.

When Ezekiel wrote, tin was a staple article of import at Tyre, and we
have sufficient evidence that its consumption anciently must have been
as great as at present. Whether the slabs piled on the docks and in the
stores of Phenician merchants in the prophet’s days were drawn from
India, Spain or Britain, is uncertain, but within two, if not one
century of his death, the greatest navigators of old drew part of their
supplies from Cornwall. It is pretty evident that English mines were
wrought before iron was known on the island, for pickaxes of stag’s
horns, hard wood, and flint, have been found embedded in ore, as well as
wooden shovels and buckets; the latter without any kind of hoops. A
plate of tin was disinterred in the time of Henry VIII. inscribed with
unknown characters, supposed to have been Druidical precepts. In 1635,
tablets with strange inscriptions were found, which Stukely ascribed to
Britons of a remote age. Posidonius says the ancient Celtæ had pewter
platters.

The pewterer’s art was extensively carried on in old Rome, and most
articles current a century ago were made there. It would seem from
Pliny, (xxx. 7.) that what he calls an ‘instrument of tin’ was the
common pewter syringe. From Suetonius we infer that goblets, dishes,
pitchers, cups, urns, and other utensils of gold and silver, dedicated
to the gods, were imitated in pewter, as such things are now. Vitellius,
he remarks, rifled the temples of their treasures, substituting articles
of pewter and copper for those of silver and gold. The successor of Otho
imitated in this respect another military ethnic, who, wanting money,
took a golden robe from the statue of Jupiter, and replaced it with a
woollen one, philosophically observing that the latter would keep the
deity warmer in winter, and press lighter on his shoulders in summer.

In the dark ages the worship of heathen deities was transferred
unaltered to christian saints. The Virgin received the same compliments
that her half-pagan adorers previously paid to Diana; whose shrines,
numerous as they were, never equaled those of her successor. As the
precious metals were not so abundant after the fall of the Romans, tin
offered a good and cheap substitute for one of them; and pewterers in
Germany, Britain and Gaul, drove a brisker business in making portable
idols than ever did Demetrius and his fellow craftsmen of Asia Minor.

The feudal contests of the old barons were a scourge to Europe for many
ages. Declaring war against each other at will, arson, rapine and
murder, stalked unchecked through the land. The Church launched her
thunders in vain; she was unable to correct an evil which kings could
not cure. At length a cunning carpenter, named _Durand_, conceived a
plan (if indeed it was his own) which succeeded in France, and made the
inventor’s fortune. He solemnly gave out that God appeared to him in
Auvergne, and commanded him to proclaim an instant peace between all
contending parties. For proof of his mission, he exhibited an image of
the Virgin, which he had the impudence to say was left with him for that
purpose by the Almighty. The astonished nobles accordingly assembled in
the City Du Puy, and after listening to opinions of churchmen, hearing
the asseverations of the bold artisan, and examining his celestial
image, agreed to lay aside their animosities and swear on the holy
evangelists to entertain love and peace for each other! As a proof of
sincerity and faith in the revelation, they wore “an image of our lady
in _pewter_” on their breasts—copies of the one in Durand’s possession,
and most likely cast in the same mould—with capuches of white linen on
their heads, which articles _the carpenter sold them_!

That son of Apollyon, Louis XI. constantly wore a madonna of lead or
pewter in his hat, which he would take off and invoke when about to
commit some horrible crime, so as to be sure of pardon beforehand. It is
pleasant, says Mazeray, to notice his pranks when his own death drew
near—sending all over Europe for relics of saints, to Rheims for the
holy ampoule and oil, ordering processions and masses in his behalf, and
not forgetting prayers that God would prevent certain winds, which
incommoded him, from blowing! But there are people now-a-days who send
up official requests to the Virgin for rain or fair weather.

In the Northumberland Household Book are allusions to pewter ware:
“Item—to be payd to the saide Richard Gowge, and Thomas Percy for the
bying of vj dossen rugh pewter vessels for servynge of my house for oone
hole yere, after vj shillings the dossen.” ‘The groom of the squillery
is to be careful after every meal to gather into his office the silver
and pewter vessels, and before they goe to the scowring or washing
certainly to number them.’ [_Brathwait._] In the United States the
communion service plate is as often the work of the pewterer as of the
silversmith. It was so in the primitive church. Among the relics
preserved in St. Lateran’s at Rome, are a wooden altar and a pewter
chalice—both said to have been used by St. Peter. Coffins were formerly
made of pewter: see accounts of several in Nugent’s travels. Block tin
or pewter worms for distilling are ancient. Alchymists used them and
denounced leaden ones. Van Sleb mentions pewter mortars in Egypt.
Mexican pewterers, like other mechanics, exhibited their goods for sale
in the great market. Cortez who mentions this fact in a letter to
Charles V. does not particularize the articles. Anklets, bracelets, and
other ornaments of tin, have been worn by Negroes, Arabs and others,
from time immemorial.

The process of making pewter goods differs from that of working most
metals. Articles are formed complete, or nearly so, by running the fused
material into clay, brass or other moulds. A spoon, for example, is cast
in a moment, whereas a gold or silver one has to be forged into shape.
The importance in which pewter was anciently held in England appears
from the laws made to preserve its purity, and reputation abroad. As
spoons are enumerated we shall notice some of the enactments. Previous
to the reign of Henry VII. all articles were to be compared with
standard metal and stamped; but the law had been disregarded, since he
issued a fresh edict, forbidding under certain penalties any pewter or
brass article to be sold without the maker’s name and the assay
officer’s mark. In the time of Richard II. the pewterers complained of
their business being injured by pedlars and tinkers going round the
country and recasting worn out articles, but which they mixed with lead,
“so as to be not worth the fourth part sold for.” These pedestrian
gentlemen were charged with stealing and encouraging others to steal old
brass and pewter, and selling them to go out of the country; thus
letting foreigners into the secrets of the trades. They also robbed the
people whom they dealt with by using false weights and beams. One of the
latter, says the statute, “will stand even with twelve pounds weight at
one end, against a quarter of a pound at the other end, to the singular
advantage of themselves.” (!) This equals the morality of our old Dutch
traders, who, in buying furs by weight from their Indian brethren, are
said to have put their left hand into the scale for one pound, and their
right foot for two.

The act of Richard was renewed by Henry VIII. with severer penalties,
and new sections added. _Spoons_, as well as more important articles,
were required to be of standard workmanship and assay—all below them
were forfeited. No foreigner was to be taken as an apprentice, or in any
way to learn the trade, lest going abroad the art should go also.

Section 7, cap. 8, of the first act of Henry VIII. enumerates the
following articles; if any were found below the standard, they were to
be seized:—“Platters, chargers, dishes, saucers, porringers, trenchers,
basons, flaggons, pottles, pots, saltsels, goblets, _spoons_, cruets or
candlesticks, or any such wares of tin or pewter.” Twenty-one years
afterwards pewterers again petitioned the king. They said the trade was
ruined by foreign manufactures, which they prayed might be prohibited.
It was therefore enacted that foreign tin or pewter “platters, dishes,
saucers, pots, basons, ewers, flaggons, goblets, salts, saltsellers,
_spoons_, or any thing made of tin or pewter, might be seized, in whose
hands soever it may be found.”

A dinner set of pewter plate comprised three dozen dishes and plates,
one dozen saucers, a tankard or flagon, salts, mustard pot, pepper box,
half a dozen mugs, and one or two dozen spoons. The whole was arranged
on a kind of sideboard or dresser with shelves, called the pewter rack.
Women prided themselves in keeping the whole brilliant as silver. In
some parts of Europe they are yet to be seen, but are rapidly
disappearing.

London pewterers were incorporated in 1474. The company was designated
as ‘The master, wardens, and commonalty of the art and mystery of
pewterers.’ Their motto, “In God is all my trust;” their crest, two
hands holding a pewter dish. The best pewter was for plates and dishes,
and known as ‘plate pewter;’ it was composed of tin and from 8 to 17 per
cent of antimony, and a little copper. ‘Ley pewter,’ often denounced in
old statutes, consisted of tin with a large proportion of lead,
one-fifth, and sometimes one third! But English did not equal Roman
cheats. Pliny speaks of culinary utensils made from equal quantities of
tin and lead! Desire for wealth is a universal passion, and to get it by
the shortest methods a universal temptation. Lead costs three, and tin
sixteen cents per pound. We have heard a wealthy pewterer boast of
supplying plantations in the West Indies with worms for distilling, made
from an alloy of 100 lbs of tin to a ton of lead! ‘Pewter, (he would
remark) is tin and lead, and so were the articles I made.’ He sold them
by weight.

Making base money out of pewter has always been in vogue, but not always
by men that wore aprons. It has been practiced by some who wore crowns.
James II. of England, ‘cast all the brass guns and all the brass and
copper vessels of [Irish] protestants that he could seize, into
half-crowns, shillings and sixpences,’ and ordered them to pass current
at the value of the same denominations in silver. Continuing to want
cash, and unable to get copper, he seized the people’s pewter dishes,
plates and spoons, and converted them into _silver_ crowns. Roman
counterfeiters carried on a heavy business. Numbers of their molds have
been dug up in England. Some are of clay and so arranged that a number
of pewter coins could be cast at one operation. [_Phil. Trans._ vols. 44
and 24.] According to Tavernier, the king of Cheda and Pera coins no
other than tin money. In Sumatra such was and probably is still in
circulation.

In 1483 we have, in a list of foreign goods, the importation of which
into England was prohibited, a better account of the state of the
mechanic arts at that time in Europe than is any where else to be found.
In consequence of a moving appeal from the parties interested it was
“ordained that no merchant-stranger, after the feast of Easter next
coming, shall bring into this realm of England, to be sold, any manner
of girdles, nor harneys wrought for girdles, points, leather laces,
purses, pouches, pins, gloves, knives, hangers, tailors’ sheers, sysors,
andyrons, cobbards, tongs, fire-forks, gredyrons, stocklocks, keys,
hinges and garnets, spurrs, painted glasses, painted papers, [paper
hangings?] painted forcers, painted images, painted clothes, beaten
gold, or beaten silver wrought in papers for painters, saddles, saddle
trees, horse harness, boots, bits, stirrups, buckles, chains, latten
nails with iron shanks, turnets, hanging candlesticks, holy water
stopps, chaffing dishes, hanging lavers, curtain rings, cards for wool,
roan cards, sheers, buckles for shoes, broches or spits, bells, hawks
bells, _tinn_ and _leaden spoons_, wyre of latten and iron, iron
candlesticks, grates, horns for lanthorns, or any of the said wares.”

_Figs. 1, 2_, _Plate VI._ represent the oldest fashioned pewter spoon we
have met with. It is cast from a brass mold before us, and dates from
the time of Elizabeth, whose head and crown are figured on the handle.
Raised scroll work covers the entire back and front, except the interior
of the bowl, which was burnished. Such spoons were all but finished when
cast, so that a pedlar or tinker possessing the mold, could renew the
spoons of a family in a trice. The dimensions are those of a tea spoon,
but it must not thence be concluded that such diminutive implements were
not in use before tea was introduced. They were employed for various
purposes as now, for eating eggs, taking up preserves and such like
dainties, for pickles, salt, &c. The vinegar cruet, we know, had a place
in Roman buffets, and occasionally on the tables of Anglo-Saxons; but so
late as the 16th century, that pungent fluid was often placed on the
table in pewter saucers, whence it was transferred by small spoons.

Pewter spoons of this style were more or less common in the middle ages.
In the 17th and 18th century a less profusion of ornament prevailed,
being confined chiefly to the front part of the handle. Fifty years ago,
a row of beads round the edge, as in _Fig. 3_, and a single or double
row of engraved work (as in _2_, _Plate VII._) were common. An open
space at the top for the initials in the form of an armorial shield or
other device was also left, in imitation of silver spoons of that day. A
dozen different patterns might here be added, but the variations are too
slight to interest general readers. _Figs. 4_ and _5_—modern pewter or
Britannia metal spoons, as they are called, from the superior hardness
and color of the metal. Being _buffed_, (that is, polished on the wheel)
they are better finished than ancient spoons burnished by hand. The
handle of _Fig. 4_ resembles old patterns—that of _5_ is of more recent
date.

With an anecdote and reflection or two we will dismiss pewter spoons. A
pleasing incident is mentioned in the journal of Capt. King, the
companion of Cook, and the continuator of that great navigator’s last
voyage:—“Whilst we were at dinner in this miserable hut, on the banks of
the river Awatska, the guests of a people with whose existence we had
before been scarcely acquainted, and at the extremity of the globe, a
solitary half-worn _pewter spoon_, whose shape was familiar to us,
attracted our attention, and on examination, we found it stamped on the
back with the word ‘London.’ I cannot pass over this circumstance in
silence, out of gratitude for the many pleasant thoughts, anxious hopes
and tender remembrances it excited in us.” Captain King, like Captain
Cook, did not live to see England again, and this poor spoon probably
furnished him with the last vivid recollections of home.

Charles XII. of Sweden banished silver from his table, and replaced it
with pewter! The circumstance that led to the determination occurred on
this wise:—Returning from his long captivity among the Turks, he passed
through Lund, where the workmen of a tin mine in the vicinity waited on
him to offer their congratulations and present him specimens of various
articles formed of the metal. Charles treated them to wine, and made
them carry home the silver goblets out of which they drank it. To
encourage the new manufacture, he forbade the use of silver in future at
his own table, and ordered “all his cups, dishes, plates, _spoons_, salt
cellars and candlesticks to be made of _tin_”—an act more honorable to
his memory than any battle he won.

It is known to the learned in porterhouse lore that pewter pots impart a
peculiar flavor to ale, beer, and cider. The phenomenon is due to an
electro-galvanic influence, excited by contact of the metallic alloy
with the liquids; but the same curious savans are not known to give an
equal preference to pewter spoons, although the same principle must be
equally developed in them while delivering liquids with which they are
charged. The subject is an interesting one, and has, we presume, been
accidentally neglected. When cultivated it may lead to incredible
results, for it points to sources of human enjoyments which the most
enthusiastic could hardly hope for ere the millenium set in.

That the sense of taste depends chiefly on electricity there is little
doubt; though the modes by which this most subtle of fluids acts, and
the means of diversifying its effects on the palate, are yet among the
arcana of nature. Its fearful activity at the breakfast and dinner table
is shown by a calculation based on ascertained data:—“The largest charge
of a Leyden battery does not equal in quantity the electricity which
passes between the tongue and a silver spoon, during the simple act of
eating an egg. Indeed, if the quantity developed in the latter case were
free to assume the form of that obtained by friction, the result would
be a lightning flash of no small power.”

If then, a mug composed of tin, antimony and lead, can impart an
etherial flavor to fluids brewed from apples and malt, why may not
spoons (by varying, multiplying, and properly proportioning the elements
of their composition) be made to give the taste of roast beef to rice
pudding, and of fashionable soups to onion broth or water gruel? The
idea is not so visionary as those who never laugh may suppose. Bread
from boards, sugar from starch and old shirts, the most intense sweet
from the union of two disgusting bitters, (nitrate of silver and
hypersulphate of soda) show with what magic effect the modern chemist
plays with our palates, and how he challenges imagination itself to
limit his powers over the organs of taste.

[Illustration:

  _Plate 8_ _Modern_

  _Lith of E Jones 128 Fulton S^t. N.Y._
]

Will the reader wait one moment, while we catch another glimpse of a
subject, perhaps destined to occupy a large space in future annals of
science and patents, and which, when fully explored, may go a great way
towards driving hunger and alm-houses out of the world? When people
constantly dine on one food they long for a change; unless seasoned with
St. Bernard’s sauce, [hunger] both chicken and cheese, pudding and pie,
will pall on the sense. Now, by extending the electrical principle to
all kinds of eating apparatus, the time may come when a family sitting
down to the plainest food, shall derive from it the flavor of the
richest the markets afford—turkey this day, venison the next, and on the
following one canvas-back ducks, or any thing else, indigenous or
exotic, the stomach may crave. A few dozen of electro-galvanic plates,
knives, forks, spoons, bottles and cups, &c. would only be wanted; for
if properly made, each would be equivalent to a distinct dish, and
should be marked with the name of the aliment whose taste it imparted.
But a more surprising and economical feature of the system is this: when
a company cloys on one food, by simply interchanging their spoons and
plates, ladies and gentlemen might multiply, as in the permutation of
figures, their gustable dainties nearly _ad infinitum_!

Early fruits and asparagus could be had from dried apples and clover.
Poor people would sip tea when they had none in the house, and enrich it
with cream that never came from a cow. Fresh steaks could be sliced from
jerked beef or salt pork—thus enabling old sailors to laugh at the
scurvy. To wash down a dinner, any kind of wine might be got from
lemonade or root beer, by imbibing those fluids from electrical goblets;
the—but serious readers frown at what they miscall our levity, and
others are perhaps restless as stage passengers, who, anxious to get to
the end of their journey, find fault with the driver at every little
delay; hence we must forego the pleasures of a ramble in this
Hesperidian field of research, until our engagements to those who have
patronized us on the present excursion be fulfilled: for, authors are
cabmen, and books are their cabs: title pages are advertisements
soliciting the public to take trips with the Jehus whose names they
display. Some of these gentlemen furnish accommodations so elastic and
pleasant that travellers at the end of a journey leave with regret—the
vehicles of others are so rudely put together that in lumbering along,
those embarked become jolted till they are glad to get out and give up
their fare. Nor are drivers alike. Some urge their nags only over
regular routes, hurrying at a uniform speed over grass, gravel or mud,
not allowing their patrons a moment to look but till they come to the
FINIS. But some gentle spirits there are who willingly strike into new
paths, to give their customers a sight of every thing interesting or
rare; sweeping down this avenue, now wheeling over yon lawn, and anon
trotting into the turnpike again, with perfect good humor. These are the
men we try to imitate, well knowing our accommodations are poor and the
road we are traveling so rugged that, unless determined to please, we
might crack our whip for customers till doomsday and never succeed.

If the first metallic spoons were pewter or tin, the second were copper
or brass. Copper was the precursor of iron, and bronze of steel. The
world has never been, and perhaps never will be uniformly advanced in
metallurgy. The age of iron had not dawned on these continents four
centuries ago. Brass or bronze spoons are relics of the brazen age.
Several ancient ones have been described, and some of recent days
alluded to under the name of _latten_ spoons. [Laton, leton, and laiton
are French terms for brass.] _Fig. 6_, _Plate VI._ is an old English
brass spoon, with a round handle, resembling those worn in their caps by
janizaries. These implements were no doubt tinned or silvered by the
ancients. Most of their cooking utensils were. Having detected the
injurious effects of food cooked in plain brass pots, they of course
knew it was not improved when taken into the mouth from untinned brass
spoons—verdigris being equally generated by both.

_Figs. 7, 8, 9_—_Iron_ spoons; the most durable of all, and of immense
antiquity. The specimens are more clumsy in appearance than those now
made, which resemble _Fig. 4_. Tinned iron spoons certainly formed part
of the invoices of ancient hardware men. They have had a place in
English manufactures ever since ‘Sheffield whittles’ were forged. Some
ancient iron spoons had pointed handles, as shown on the second plate.
The art of tinning pots and pans, as well as plating buckles and other
articles of harness and carriage furniture, Pliny ascribes to the Gauls,
and he mentions the workmen of Bourges as excelling in the art. [xxxiv.
17.]

Iron spoons were at first forged, next cut out of thick sheets, pressed
into shape by dies, and then tinned. They have also been stamped out of
_tin plate_—one of the finest of metallurgical productions, and of whose
origin so little is known. A word or two (our limits will not allow
more) on an invention which has so greatly contributed to domestic
comfort: It can be traced only three or four centuries back to Germany
and Bohemia; how much older it may be is uncertain. There is nothing
improbable in supposing it to date from Roman or even earlier times. A
passage in Chaucer has escaped the notice of writers on the subject
which seems to refer to tin plate—if so, the article was then common:—

          Tho saw I stand on a pillere
          That was of _tinned iron clere_.—[_House of Fame._]

England now supplies a great part of the world with tin plate; yet 130
years have not elapsed since the first sheet was made there, nor is the
name of the man who introduced it known to one in a hundred of her
citizens. This was Andrew Yarranton, an individual of a singular genius
and great enterprise. Little of him is known, except what he tells us in
a remarkable book entitled ‘England’s Improvement by sea and land, to
out-do the Dutch without fighting, to pay debts without moneys,’ &c.
Lon. 1677. He was put apprentice to a linen draper, staid some years,
then ran away and became a soldier in the civil wars. In 1652 he
‘entered upon iron works and plied them several years.’ He practiced as
a surveyor and civil engineer. ‘Being employed by twelve gentlemen of
England to bring a manufacture out of Saxony and Bohemia, made of iron
and tin, there I did see what I here set down,’ &c. When Van Tromp
defeated the English fleet, Yarranton was in Saxony collecting
information relative to the manufacturing of ‘linen, thread, tape, and
_tin plates_,’ which, once introduced into England, with other
improvements derived from Holland, would enable his countrymen “to beat
the Dutch without fighting them;” viz. ‘by securing the mistress called
_Trade_’—the greatest prophet of his age.

About 1720 the manufacture was begun in England, but the importation of
tin-plate continued for some years after. Dr. Rutty, in the 35th volume
Phil. Trans. quoting the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences for 1725,
observes:—“The making of tin plates, or latten as it is called, being
not commonly practiced in England though there is so great a consumption
for it ... whereby we are obliged to export our tin to Germany, and
receive it back again manufactured.”

_Figs. 10, 11, 12_—modern wooden spoons, as now sold in furnishing
stores. The one with a turned handle is the common French spoon. _Fig.
13_—the old spoon and ladle rack of rustic dwellings and kitchens. The
‘little forks’ are from a cut of the latter part of the 16th century,
showing the form of these implements when first brought into fashion.
Ladies at table held them between the finger and thumb, and knives were
not used—meat on the plates being previously cut into small pieces. The
first direct allusion to table forks we have met with is given by
Diogenes Laertius in the proem to his ‘Lives.’ The Magi, he says, used
reeds at meals, ‘with the sharp ends of which they took up their cheese,
and put it to their mouths.’ Shetland islanders used sticks as forks
when eating the flesh of seals. The old horn or wooden spoon was short,
as figured on the wall. The Gaelic word _cutag_, scottice _cutty_, was a
short hafted spoon. One of these was devoted to scraping out the
‘_kail-pot_,’ and then distinguished by the euphonius title of
_kail-gullie_. Such are the things employed,

                   ‘When rural life o’ ev’ry station
                   Unite in common recreation.’

Scottish drovers carried a wallet of oatmeal and a wooden bowl. When
arrived at a brook and hungry, they mixed a little meal and water,
stirring the mixture with one end of a cutty spoon; and, when duly
compounded, eating it out of the other. The relish of food is from
heaven, and does not depend upon knives and spoons. In this respect, and
in ten thousand others, life is redolent of blessings. Had not the
Creator consulted man’s felicity, he might have made the taking of food
and every essential act of life disagreeable instead of a pleasure.
Wooden spoons no more spoil the appetite of the poor than golden ones
improve that of the rich. Forster, after living on the luxuries of Asia,
returning home by the Caspian sea, enjoyed the sweetest regale of his
life, when sitting down with the crew of a small Russian vessel—each
helping himself out of one common dish of fish broth with a wooden
platter and spoon. Servants in lord’s houses as well as rural laborers
made their own spoons and plates. None, says Brathwait, were permitted
to use trenchers but such as they made for themselves.

Simple as the spoon is, no talisman ever equaled the miracles it works.
It transforms infants into youth and youth into manhood; infuses
strength into the limbs and marrow through the bones; expanding the
person, imparting symmetry to the frame, health to the body and
intelligence to the soul. A child cannot arrive at maturity without it.
See the usual process by which it works these wonders at the foot of
_Plate VI._ There half a dozen are in active operation, and as nature is
always the same, we see how boys and girls have eaten porridge, since
porridge was made. With the exception of costume the scene represented
belongs to all times. The children of Leah, Rachel, and Niobe fed
themselves like the group of Dutch youngsters the reader beholds. They
handled their spoons in the same way, blew on the food when it was hot,
made wry faces, and shed tears when they swallowed it too soon.

The design is no fancy sketch; there is no poetry in the composition—no
got-up attitudes. Dame Nature herself arranged the figures for the
painter to copy. To be sure, the girls do not rival the graces nor the
boys Belvidere Apollos. No lady at court would imitate the posture of
either of the girls to the right. The gentleman at the back, with his
spoon in the dish, seems indetermined whether to raise it while the eye
of the reader is on him. His sister at the extreme left looks as if
ashamed to eat before strangers, and in the act of requesting the
beholder to turn his attention elsewhere—but it is unnecessary to dilate
on each figure; the rest are acting in accordance with the injunction of
Solomon:—‘Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.’ The
good dame points with pride to her thriving cherubs, and rejoices in
seeing them so agreeably amused with their spoons. To anticipate their
thirst she has placed a pitcher of water beside them.

The most touching design in Holbein’s Dance of Death is ‘The Infant.’ A
poor widow prepares a meal for her two orphans; before it is ready Death
steps in and leads out the youngest. While passing the threshold, the
romping little innocent looks back towards its mother and its spoon,
(the latter lying on the floor,) and seems to long for something to eat
before going off with the stranger.

In a curious account of Death’s doings, published in the 16th century,
the grim monster under various disguises takes away all sorts of people,
and at the most inconvenient seasons. Misers, merchants, friars, nuns,
cardinals, bishops, soldiers, beggars and belles are interrupted in the
midst of agreeable occupations, and while accompanied with things they
most valued. A _bon vivant_ carries a spit laden with trussed fowls in
one hand, and grasps in the other a jug and a spoon. The monarch of
Hades approaches and solicits his acquaintance—this is refused—a
struggle ensues; and soon, stripped of his goods, the portly sinner is
led an unwilling guest to the mansions below.

The end of the world has been symbolized by Death breaking an hour
glass; the moral would be quite as striking were he represented
destroying the last spoon. The last spoon! Bless us, what thoughts does
that call up—thoughts of its maker, state of the arts and of the world
at the time—of its owner, his profession and place of abode, his
feelings when his contemporaries drop off, and finally leave him the
last of living men—the universal heir of his species. Where, and of what
will he prepare his last meal; and what will be his reflections when he
swallows the last spoonful!




                              CHAPTER XIV.

  _Plate VII—Silver Spoons—Chocolate, Coffee and Tea—Japanese
  Spoon—Old Dessert Spoons—A mark of meanness to be without
  Plate—Northmen—Prizes at Races—Necklaces of Spoons—Plated and German
  Silver Spoons—The World full of Plated Characters—Cheating—Swearers
  and the Devil—Laws prohibiting Plating and Transmutation—English
  Assay and Stamp—Proverb—Perpetual renewal of Forms—Brazen
  Girdles—Shackles—Spoons bewitched—Salad Spoon—Knife, Fork, and
  Spoon—Swiss—French—Shanks of Hams decorated—Carving—Boarding School
  Usages—Presents—Whittling—Mat weaving Legislators._


PLATE VII.—The first eight figures are silver spoons, such as were in
fashion 300 years ago. _Figs. 1_, _2_, are English, and _3_ French. The
style of ornament on _2_, _3_, continued in vogue to the present
century. Armorial shields, as in _3_, and other ensigns were anciently
engraved on spoons. The Greeks and Romans had their initials cut on
them, as we have. In the middle ages quaint devices, and with churchmen
an Agnus Dei, or similar emblems were adopted. [Hogarth, it will be
remembered, began his career with engraving arms and cyphers on spoons
and plate.] The shape of _Fig. 4_ is quite modern—the fiddle head,
molding of the handle, reversed bend of its tip, are now in fashion, but
the figure is copied from an engraving a century old. A plain silver
spoon of a like form is portrayed on Planche 8, of the ‘Distillateur and
Liquoriste,’ in Arts et Metières, of the French Academy. _Fig. 5_—the
ordinary spoon of the present day, and almost identical with _4_. _Fig.
6_—a recent pattern; the handle more ornamented and the point of the
bowl rounded off. _Fig. 7_—modern French, from the pattern book of a
Paris manufacturer. _Fig. 8_—a fancy tea spoon, from a set belonging to
an antiquarian collector, and of English manufacture of the last
century. [As table, dessert, and tea spoons differ only in size, each
kind is sufficiently represented by the figures on the plate.]

Speaking of tea spoons—what a revolution in manners and customs have
three beverages wrought in three centuries—chocolate, coffee, and tea!
The first, an ordinary drink of Astec princes, (see page 113) was
derived from Mexico in 1520. The second was unknown in western Europe
till the close of the 16th century. Its early history is involved in
fable. Employed by Arab monks to drive off sleep, and enable those
insensates to spend their nights in watchings, it at length was
universally adopted by Mussulmen for its refreshing properties. It was
carried from Turkey to England in 1641, and the first coffee house
opened by a Jew of Oxford, in 1650. A Greek set up another in London in
1652. Henry Blount, describing the diet of the Turks in 1634, observes,
‘They have another drinke, not good at meat, called _cauphe_, made of a
berry as big as a small beane, dryed in a furnace and beat to powder, of
a soote colour, in taste a little bitterish: they seethe and drinke it
hote as may be endured ... it is thought to be the old _blacke broth_
used so much by the Lacedemonians.’ [_Voyage to the Levant_, p. 105.]
The consumption of coffee throughout the world during the past year has
been estimated at 453 millions of pounds.

But an infusion of leaves of the tea plant has eclipsed all other
potations. Imparting tone to the stomach, soothing the irritated system,
removing languor and slightly exhilarating, it has become a favorite
beverage of civilized nations. Tea was first imported from China by the
Dutch, and in the middle of the 17th century sold in England at sixty
shillings per pound—a price equivalent to twenty dollars now.
Notwithstanding the denunciations of dietists, the moral influence of
tea has been manifestly beneficial. It has introduced elegance at meals
and politeness at table, diminished gross feeding and abolished the
grosser manners of former times. What barbarian would rob ladies of
tea—what substitute could he propose—does he wish the fair sex to live
as in times ere an infusion of the tea plant was known—to breakfast on
beef, pork, and beer, and sup on pork, beer, and beef? The meal known as
‘tea’ is the most intellectual of repasts; no excess attends it; it
rather invigorates the spirits than pampers the appetite. Coarse feeders
eschew it, for the fluid is but slightly nutritive. No drunkard loves
it, for it is the soberest of potations. To refined minds it is nectar
which drives away gloom and makes the soul sparkle with joy—a divine
cordial, the reverse of beastly malt liquors which the sensual guzzle.
Doubtless Circe kept a porter house, and Hygeia drank hyson and bohea.

A fig for those philosophers who denounce tea and modestly ask us
to take to cold water—requiring us to renounce that which has done
so much towards polishing our manners, and rendering home
attractive—pseudo-reformers, who start at a tea-pot and groan at
the sight of a saucer. The tea spoon is justly caressed by old
ladies, and more fondled by young ones than any thing else. It is
to these the bearer of sweets and the medium of taste. Without
coyness they reach out their mouths to meet it half way and pout
with their lips till they give it a kiss. As they laugh and play
with it, the vermillion of their lips is deepened in tone, and
vivacity darts from their eyes.

Tea table equipages, and adjuncts in the form of cabinet, china, silver,
iron, japanned and copper and other wares, give employment to millions
and wealth to thousands. The original tea spoon came from Asia, where
its shape often deviates considerably from ours. In the appendix to
Kempfer’s Japan is figured a portable case about a foot square,
containing every requisite for making tea, including a kettle, canister,
cup, and a singular looking tea spoon. It may be compared to a curved
and tapered marrow spoon, the small end being the handle. A tea
apparatus is carried by the Japanese ‘on their journeyings, and wherever
they go.’

It has already been stated that implements small as tea spoons were used
in Europe long before tea: besides other duties, they performed those of
modern desserts; were used in eating honey, sugar, and fruits preserved
in sugar; sweetmeats were favorite dainties in former days. Paul
Hentzer, who travelled in England in 1598, gives some interesting
particulars relating to the English court and manners. Visiting the
palace at Greenwich, he found the presence chamber hung with tapestry
and strewed with hay or rushes. He noticed the servants carrying dishes
into the queen’s dining room, and prostrating themselves before her
empty chair. Of Elizabeth herself he observes, “Next came the queen, in
the sixty-fifth year of her age, as we were told, very majestick; her
face oblong, fair but wrinkled; her eyes small, yet black and pleasant;
a nose a little hooked, her lips narrow, and her _teeth black_; a defect
the English seem subject to from their too _great use of sugar_.” In
Nichols’ progresses of Elizabeth mention is made of comfit or preserve
boxes, with “a litill spone of gold.” Aaron Hill, in his ‘Ottoman
Empire,’ says the Turks take up sweetmeats ‘with little spoons like
those we use for tea.’

With the ancients it was an indication of poverty or meanness not to
possess spoons or some articles of plate. Suetonius observes of Domitian
that he was born in Pomegranate street, and so reduced in his younger
days as not to own a single utensil of gold or silver. Vespasian drank
on solemn occasions out of a silver mug which belonged to his
grandmother. She was probably poor, for the family was an obscure one,
having no ancestral statues. The emperor himself once let out horses and
mules for hire, and hence nicknamed _the muleteer_.

Silver, remarks Olaus Magnus, was anciently in great plenty with the
Northmen. Household utensils and even cradles were made of it. Ladies
wore chains, bracelets, and round their heads bands of silver four
fingers broad. The men had girdles and buttons of the same metal. This
display, the reverend historian rather uncanonically observes, did honor
to the prince who thus ruled over a gallant people, and not over “poor
indigent fellows that are but scabs and pilfering knaves.” [B. vi. cap.
12.] Gold and silver smiths, he says, exhibited their goods at the great
annual fairs, held on the ice by the Goths, time out of mind. They
furnished the prize cups and spoons distributed at the horse and foot
races held yearly on the ice. The footmen wore skates made of the shank
bones of the rein deer, and ran over a distance of from eight to twelve
miles. The successful competitors were presented with “silver spoons,
brass vessels, swords, new garments, and young horses.”

In northern Europe, young females on festival days adorn themselves with
rows of silver spoons strung together and worn as a necklace or girdle—a
singular proof of imperfect civilization.

To accommodate all tastes and purses, iron, brass and copper spoons are
plated with silver, and silver ones with a coat of gold, fine as those
ancient ladies’ dresses which were compared to woven wind. Plating and
gilding are of unknown antiquity. In modern times a new and cheap
factitious substance has been introduced, named _argentane_ or _German
silver_. It is composed of copper, zinc and nickel, to which some add a
dose of arsenic or antimony. It constitutes a tolerable imitation of
real silver. Though slowly oxidized in air, the alloy rapidly corrodes
in acids, and injurious effects have resulted from its employment in the
kitchen and at the dining table. Recently its color and exterior
qualities have been much improved. German silver and plated wares enable
poor and economical people to imitate their betters in display, but the
cost laid out in sterling goods is the true economy. ‘A poor squire,’
said a Spanish Æsop, ‘should have his cup of silver and his kettle of
copper.’ Though they cost more than others, they last longer, and when
worn out will buy fresh ones.

It is with men as with their jewels; all is not gold that glitters. Some
put so thick a coat of virtue on that few detect the base material
underneath—others wear so thin a film that the slightest friction rubs
it through. The world is full of plated wares; streets are crowded as
well as tradesmen’s shelves. With spoons and with their owners, iron,
brass, lead and copper gilt, ape sterling metal. A like variety in both
prevails—from tinseled things to catch the vulgar eye, to tasteful forms
and ornaments that captivate politer circles. At the best, men are only
like their buttons, _i. e._ single, double or treble gilt. Artists have
a rule to distinguish between the true and false, and it applies to
moral as well as to material merchandize. Plated goods, it is said,
exhibit a darker hue, a stronger glare than native gold and silver;
hence where there is excessive gloss, be sure there’s brass below. The
art of plating human character preceded that of gilding metals. It soon
reached perfection. Recent ages have added nothing, nor will future ages
find aught to add.

Tricks of old roguish pewterers were noticed in the last chapter; the
reader will be grieved to see in this that the morals of their
contemporaries who wrought in finer metals were no better. That ancient
Scottish poem, ‘_The Sweirers and the Devill_,’ gives a graphic account
of the manner and wiles of tradesmen to sell their goods. The fiend is
described perambulating a town _incog._ on a market day, and chuckling
at the oaths and imprecations of dealers with a view to deceive
purchasers. One wished “the devill mot stik him with a knyfe,” if what
he said respecting his goods was not true. The malster renounced God,
and hoped the ‘devill of hell might taik him, gif ony bettir malt may
be.’ The tailor gave himself ‘to the feynd’ if bettir cloaks were ever
made.

             Ane merchand, his geir as he did sell,
             Renuncit his part of hevin and hell.
             The fleshour [butcher] swoir be the sacrament,
             And be Chryst’s bluid maist innocent,
             Nevir fatter flesch saw man with ee.
             Ane _goldsmith_ said the gold’s sa fyne,
             That all the warkmanschip I tyne, [lose]
             The feynd ressaif me gif I lie.
             ... Quoth the devill, thow art mine.

Since the discovery of the electrotype process of coating one metal with
another, spoons of German silver are made to appear so much like those
of sterling silver as to be sold by cheats for such. Similar frauds were
formerly practiced with plated goods. An English statute of 1403 is to
this effect: “Whereas many fraudulent artificers, imagining to deceive
common people, do daily make locks, [lockets] rings, beads,
candlesticks, harneis for girdles, hilts, chalices and sword pomels,
powder [pouncet] boxes, and covers for cups, of copper and of latin, and
the same over gilt and silver, like to gold and silver, and the same
sell and put in gage to many men not having full knowledge thereof, _for
whole gold and whole silver_, to the great deceit, loss, and hindrance
of the common people, and the _wasting_ of gold and silver; it is
ordained and established that no artificer, nor other man whatsoever he
be, from henceforth shall gilt nor silver any such, &c. upon pain to
forfeit to the king one hundred shillings, and to make satisfaction to
the party grieved for his damages.” Chalices and ornaments for the
church were excepted—they might be gilt or plated with silver, but at
the foot or underside the real material was to be exposed, “to the
intent that a man may see whereof the thing is made, for to eschew the
deceit aforesaid.”

By an act of the same year it was made felony to transmute lead, iron,
copper, &c. into gold and silver! “It is ordained and established that
none from henceforth shall use to multiply gold and silver, nor use the
craft of multiplication; and if any the same do, that he incur the pain
of felony in this case.” The 5th of Hen. V. allowed gilding but only on
sterling silver; no inferior metal was to be covered with silver except
“knight’s spurs and all the apparel that pertaineth to a baron.”

A. D. 1300, an act required all articles to be ‘of good and true
alloy—of no worse gold than the touch of Paris,’ and silver to equal the
current coin; no article to leave the workmen ‘untill it be essaied by
the wardens of the craft, and marked with the leopard’s head.’ Under
Edward III. every master was to stamp his own mark on the articles
before submitting them for assay to the king’s officers. In 1423,
another act required gold and silver vessels ‘to be essaied and touched
by the keeper of the touch,’ then marked, if found good, ‘with the
leopard’s head.’ No more ‘sowder’ was to be used than necessary—an
intimation that it was not spared when every article was sold by weight.
In 1294, Phillippe le Bel published regulations and renewed others, for
the guidance of Paris gold and silver smiths.

The goldsmith’s profession furnishes a cutting rebuke to simpletons and
impudent boasters:—“A fool of 24 carats” is one whose folly is without
alloy: “a philosopher of 25 carats”—nature has exceeded herself in
producing him.

Silver spoons are emblematical of that renewal of forms which organized
matter perpetually undergoes. Vegetables, animals and men are composed
of the same ingredients—alternately nourishing and imbibing nourishment
from each other. Their figures and condition, not their substance,
change. A portion of the reader’s person may have nerved the right arm
of David, swelled the stature of Goliah, blushed in the cheek of
Lucretia, handled the Crayons of Zeuxis, hunted with Meleager, or even
been part of the wild boar he slew! Start not, gentle reader, for that
which was a calf or pig, an ox or sheep, yesterday, is veal or pork,
beef or mutton to-day, and to-morrow becomes assimilated to its human
consumer; bone of thy bone, and flesh of thy flesh. It is humiliating to
human glory that the proudest individuals are composed of such vile
materials;—a courtier’s body may have toiled at Babel, and may again be
a bricklayer’s clerk. The skull of a king may once have been a calabash,
his nose a pullet’s gizzard; his blood may through a goose have trilled,
his heart have panted in a deer; his lips may once have jabbered on a
baboon’s face, and ages hence may do the like again: he yet may serve to
grease a carriage axle, manure a cabbage or a radish bed, and be served
up to clowns in salad. Princes, when sick, are fed sometimes on asses’
milk, or draw their nourishment from dugs of goats, and thus incorporate
these animals with themselves.

If there never was a transmigration of souls, there has always been one
of human bodies and of—silver spoons! As the elements of our ancestors
exist in us, so do tons of ancient plate in our buffets. Human beings
are dissolved in the grave, and the precious metals in the crucible; but
the operation in both cases is preliminary to the reäppearance of the
substances in new forms. The gold coin in the reader’s pocket may have
constituted a part of the chain which Pharaoh put round Joseph’s neck,
or of the bodkin which Fulvia thrust through Cicero’s tongue. Spoons
used at our tables may once have been shekels of the sanctuary, or paid
by Abraham for his field at Hebron. They may have entered the lips of
Cleopatra, and been employed by Andromache or Artaxerxes at dinner. The
ingenuity of antediluvian artists was perhaps expended on the substance
of that goblet. Noah may have handled it, and Judas bore it in his
scrip. A monarch’s table fork may once have picked the teeth of rebels,
or in a surgeon’s hands punctured boils and sores. As with the past so
with the future: Reader! ages hence thy silver plate may form the spoons
of an individual, a portion of whose body may be identical with thine,
and who, like thee, may sit speculating on the metamorphoses terrestrial
beings undergo.

Before leaving this very curious subject we may be permitted to suggest,
that the often quoted contest between two individuals of the feline
race, at Kilkenny, which ended by each party eating up the other, _may_
be less akin to an Irish bull and more allied to a philosophical truth
than is generally surmised.

As devices for diminishing a craving for food have been mentioned, some
moral prescriptions for moderating a longing for rich furniture might
here be quoted, but they would be of little avail. Neither one appetite
nor the other can be tamed by medical or sacerdotal doctors. Few persons
now prefer eating sand to filling the stomach with good things; yet
except to such, table equipages, if emblazoned with fiends, snakes and
toads, would exert no lasting influence. Though table cloths were
winding sheets, knife hafts dead men’s bones, and spoons, cups and
butter boats made of human skulls, the generality of mankind would soon
eat and drink as heartily as if the service were of silver, and no
arguments had been adduced against intemperance.

One device to make people stop when they had sufficient has not been
noticed; it was the last mechanical resource, viz: a broad brass or iron
band fitted to and worn around the abdomen; so that when the wearer
could not stop putting food into his mouth there was not room for it
below—the stomach no longer resembling an elastic sack, capable of
extension, but a non-elastic barrel which could not be surcharged. An
abbot in the 11th century, inordinately given to creature comforts, had
his trunk thus cased with a brazen band. With these girdles, neither
penitents nor those who loved short masses and long dinners could eat

               ‘Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
                                   Were bent like drums.’

It often happened that those who indulged an inordinate taste for gold
and silver plate wore shackles of another kind—according to the saying,
‘men of small means who eat from silver, fast and die in iron.’ Living
beyond their income, they end their days in jail. A fondness for
display, whether in the house or out of it, has caused no small share of
human misery. Many a female has ruined her husband by longing for plate.
The Italians say, the smiles of a woman are the tears of the purse—a
rich sideboard and a fat kitchen make a lean will.

When those capricious goblins yclept ‘fairies’ used to assist their
rustic friends, by kindling kitchen fires at early dawn, sweeping
floors, milking cows, and churning butter, they played less pleasant
pranks to those who slighted them. Puck scared dairy maids, skimmed
their milk, and would not let their cheeses curdle nor the butter
‘come,’ “if a bowle of curds and creame” had not been offered him. Often
he slipped boys’ stools away as they sat down:—

          And then the whole quire hold their hips and loffe.
          Sometimes he lurk’d in a gossip’s bowl,
          In very likeness of a roasted crab, [apple]
          And when she drank, against her lips he bobb’d,
          And on her wither’d dew-lap pour’d the ale.

Worse things mischievous genii did to those obnoxious to their wrath.
Spoons at supper time denied their aid, and either vanished in the
steaming porridge or refused to leave the bowl or dish—more appalling
still, they have, on entering a hungry boor’s mouth, stuck fast, and
defied all human power to draw them thence, until the offended spirit
was appeased, and ceased to press the rustic’s upper and under jaw
against the implement! Legends such as these were often based on facts,
and demons more tangible than ‘Pucks’ or ‘Robin Goodfellows’ were the
authors. Fusible spoons are not of recent date, nor are metallic bowls
with spoons cast to them and made to resemble earthenware. Moreover,
spoons were as easily made to enter the mouth and remain a certain time
as those “untoothsome pears,” cherries and plums, mentioned by old
writers, “which being put into a body’s mouth, shall presently shoot
forth such and so many bolts on every side, that without the owner’s key
cannot be got out again.” The Cathayans had magical cups and we presume
spoons too, which filled themselves and then went of their own accord
“ten paces through the ayre into the hands of the Great Khan, and when
he hath drunke, in like sort they return to their place”! [_Ewbank’s
Hydraulics._]

_Fig. 9_—a French device, resembling a large pair of scissors; one blade
being a fork, the other a spoon—a singular union. The screw or pivot is
made to take out, that each implement may, when desirable, be separately
handled. The whole is of ivory or buffalo’s horn and designed to
transfer salads at table. The usual dressings, as vinegar, salt, oil,
mustard, &c. corrode metallic substances. When used, the spoon or fork
is held downwards, accordingly as a part of the fluid is required to be
raised or not. That Warwickshire wizard who ranged through all nature
and every art to cull flowers and collect ingredients for those spells
by which he has bewitched the world, did not pass by salads:

  ’Twas a good lady; we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such
  another herb.

  Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or rather the
  herb of grace.—[_All’s well that ends well._]

_Fig. 10_—a pocket knife, fork and spoon united in one handle.
Implements of this kind were formerly much in fashion; at present they
are occasionally carried by travellers and by individuals on gunning or
fishing excursions. Captain Head used one when traversing the Pampas and
Andes. Supping at a wretched post, where table furniture was scarcely
known, a black girl held the light in one hand and furnished salt with
the other—artificial candlesticks and salt-cellars forming no part of
the establishment. He drew from his pocket, ‘a clasp knife and fork,’
and picked up with the latter chopped pieces of beef from a pewter dish
to the no small delight of the living candelabrum.

Peasants in Switzerland and other parts of the European continent,
commonly carry a device like _Fig. 10_, or a sheath containing the
separate implements. Before the revolution in France, it was customary
when a gentleman was invited to dinner, to send a servant with his
knife, fork and spoon; if he had no attendant, he took them in his
breeches pocket, as a carpenter carries a rule. “A few of the ancient
regime still follow the good old custom, because it is old.” Has not the
reader noticed at public dinners, or when making ‘New-Year’s calls,’ the
shank of a ham or leg of mutton tastefully decorated with gilt or cut
paper and ribbons? This was a custom somewhat general before forks were
introduced, and still is common in Germany and Italy. The carver grasped
that part of the joint in his left hand while he shaved off slices with
a pointed knife in his right. That he might hold it firmly and perform
his duty more expeditiously and seemly, a piece of paper was neatly tied
round the shank, and on great occasions set off with ribbons. Each slice
as cut off was raised on the point of the knife and laid on a thin piece
of bread, a pile of which was placed near the carver, who thus served
the guests in rotation. Ovid has observed there was grace in using the
fingers at table; so there is in handling a fork. In old engravings we
see ladies holding it between the finger and thumb, as if afraid to
touch it, or as people take snuff; others retain it in the hand in the
manner of a pen, and some grasp the handle with a clenched fist, as a
boy clutches an apple or a gentlemen the head of his walking cane.

Portable cases of morocco containing a separate knife, fork and spoon
are for sale in our silver smiths’ shops. It is said gentlemen of the
_ton_ would as soon go a journey without their dressing cases as some of
them would take their seats at a _table d’hote_ without their own spoons
and forks. In public gardens visitors sometimes take ice cream and other
refreshments with their own apparatus; but a certain class prefer the
proprietor’s spoons, which, when of silver, they have forgotten to
return. We have heard of knives and forks being chained to plates, and
spoons to bowls, in London chop and soup houses—imitating a practice
introduced by Edwyn in the 7th century, of fastening by the same means
iron cups to wells and springs, for the use of honest and dishonest
travellers. As the ‘Transactions’ of the Society of Literary and
Scientific Chiffonniers will no doubt be consulted in future times, the
following extract from the circular of a fashionable female boarding
school may interest young ladies and teachers a century hence:—“Parents
to furnish each pupil with bed and bedding, six towels, napkins and a
knife; a silver fork, _spoon_ and mug; a thimble and a pair of scissors;
all to be marked in full: washing seven dollars a quarter.”

A portable knife has always been an acceptable present to boys. The
first one is examined with rapture, and its possession sometimes forms
an epoch in the life of its owner, as was the case with young Achilles.
When disguised as a girl, and placed among the daughters of Lycomedes,
the wily pedlar of Ithaca took an effectual mode to discover him. The
pretended merchant unslinging his pack, displayed before the family of
Lycomedes thread, tapes, ribbons, scissors and needles, with an
assortment of neat daggers and knives; the females confined their
purchases to articles appropriate to them, but the youth, forgetting the
part his concealment required, eagerly pounced on the knives, &c. thus
revealing the secret of his sex, and to the man above all others
interested in finding him out. The Germans make annual presents to their
godsons, till the lads reach the age of fourteen, when the last gift,
invariably a pocket knife, is made. The instrument is considered
symbolical of a youth cut loose from leading strings, and thenceforward
accountable for his acts. Girls, we suppose, are treated with a pair of
scissors.

Not a few modern devices are ancient inventions. There is one
universally ascribed to Yankees, but which, so far from being of
republican origin, is descended from royalty. An ancient writer,
describing the manners and magnificence of the Persian king, says, when
he rode in a chariot, instead of occupying his thoughts in reading or
conversation, he spent the time “in whittling with a knife.”
[_Purchas._] Major Harris, in his ‘Highlands of Ethiopia,’ mentions
Arabian legislators platting date leaves into mats while sitting in
council—the most useful, in his opinion, of their acts.




                              CHAPTER XV.

  _Plate VIII—Tea Caddy, Salt Spoons, and Salt—Salt-Cellar—Monks of La
  Trappe—Egg Spoon—Paschal Eggs—Poultry raised by Steam—Mustard
  Spoons—French Prayer—Celestial House Movers—Beef and Mustard—Punch
  Spoon and Ladle—Wassail Bowl—Burns—‘Arts et Metières’—Sugar
  Tongs—Sifter and Snuff Spoons—Cream, Marrow, and Physic Spoons—Human
  Life—History and Influence of the Spoon—Author’s Request—His Parting
  Bow._


PLATE VIII.—a miscellaneous collection. _Figs. 1, 2_—tea caddy spoons,
for transferring the dried herb from small canisters to tea-pots. They
are of the last century; but being imitations of nature, will be more or
less in fashion while refined taste prevails. _Figs. 3, 4, 5_—salt
spoons of silver, pearl and ivory, but sometimes made of tortoise shell,
horn and bone, and of diverse patterns. As salt has been used at table
from primitive times minute implements for taking it up are of undoubted
antiquity, though particular descriptions of them have not reached us.

Of all condiments salt is the chief, both for animals and men.
Quadrupeds relish it as well as bipeds. One of nature’s own preparing,
it is furnished in profuse abundance. Millions of tons are annually
consumed by horses, sheep and oxen in Europe and the United States.
Ancient farmers gave it to their stock, for which Plutarch (in _Nat.
Ques._) assigns the same reasons as modern agriculturists. What
philosophical husbandman is not gratified as his cattle crowd around him
for it? The mild eyes of his oxen looking grateful for a relish and
watching his movements in hopes of another. The timid ewe takes the
treat from his hand, and licks up every stray atom, while the colt, more
familiar, smells his pockets and whinnies for more.

Salt not only seasons unsavory meat but preserves it from putrefaction.
In view of these admirable qualities, Homer calls it ‘divine.’ It was a
symbol of incorruptibility and fidelity—a pledge of friendship and
hospitality which nothing but death was allowed to cancel. No social
feast was perfect without it, and oblations were seldom offered unless
it was an ingredient. ‘No sacrifice,’ says Pliny, ‘was presented to the
gods without salt.’ ‘Every oblation of thy meat offering shalt thou
season with salt.’ [_Levit._] At the ceremony of circumcision the Turks
place, or used to place, a few grains in the boy’s mouth, saying,
‘Heaven make thy name savory as salt among men, and mayest thou live to
enjoy the fruits of the earth.’ Can that which is unsavory, exclaims
Job, be eaten without salt? Even bread, says one of the ancients, is
unpalatable without it. Its enormous consumption was a fruitful source
of revenue to ancient as well as modern governments. On one occasion
Demetrius rewarded the fidelity of the Jews to him by remitting the
gabel.

The salt-cellar was held in great veneration of old, and from
superstitious motives, kept remarkably bright and clean. Placed on the
table near the images of the presiding deities (as already observed) its
presence consecrated the food. In the middle ages it was generally of
silver and elaborately wrought. A gilt one is extant modelled after the
white tower of London.

To be placed at table above the salt was a mark of honor—to desire a
guest to seat himself below it an indication of inferior rank, or of
disesteem. In the latter case the mortification was not altogether
imaginary, as the following account of an old English hall, the scene of
feasting and hospitality, will show:—“At the upper end was placed the
orsille, or high table, a little elevated above the floor, and here the
master of the mansion presided with an authority, if not a state, which
almost equalled that of the potent baron. The table was divided into
upper and lower messes _by a huge salt-cellar_, and the rank and
consequence of the visitors were marked by the situation of their seats
above and below it—a custom which not only distinguished the relative
dignity of the guests, but extended to the nature of the provision—the
wine frequently circulating only above the salt-cellar, and the dishes
below it being of a coarser kind than those near the head of the table.”
From the correspondence of the younger Pliny, it appears that a similar
practice prevailed among the Romans. [See Letter vi. Book 2.]

The fabrication of carved spoons was an employment of religious
recluses; they brought higher prices than when made by worldly minded
workmen. The monks of La Trappe were prohibited from using their
tongues—all communications being made by signs. They were forbidden to
read, write, or raise their eyes above the ground unless to direct their
steps. Their teeth too might as well have been drawn, for neither fish,
flesh nor any thing like solid food was given them to grind;—but
absorbed as these men were with celestial matters, and having no need
themselves of eating apparatus, they thought it no sin to provide them
for other people. Such of the brethren as could not endure the fatigue
of the mattock (observes Motraye) were employed in turning, carving, &c.
The traveller was presented “with an ivory spoon and fork wrought as
well as possible.”

_Fig. 6_—an egg spoon, rather larger than a ‘tea,’ and having the handle
joined to the small end of the bowl. Such kind of implements have been
in use since hens laid eggs and women boiled them. The Romans were great
consumers of eggs; hence the saying ‘_ab ovo usque ad mala_,’ from eggs
to apples—an elliptical expression for a feast—eggs being the first, and
apples the last dish served up. Eggs played important parts in monastic
feasts and farces. The tenth of all produce of land, fowls and cattle
kept monks’ larders well supplied, and woe to him who robbed the church
of tythes, or ‘stole eggs from a cloister.’ “If a peeter penny or an
housle egg were behind, or a patch of tythe unpaid, then beware of
spirits.” At Easter, eggs were boiled hard and stained of various colors
with onion peeling or broom flowers, and sometimes gilded. They were
consecrated according to a ritual of Pope Paul V. and presented to
children and friends, under the name of _pace_ or _paschal_ eggs. The
practice of boys striking eggs against each other, the shattered
becoming the property of the owners of the sound ones, is descended from
mediæval times.

The egg was an ancient emblem of the universe, and has been symbolized
in a thousand things. An envious man thinks his neighbor’s fowls lay
more than his. Eggs are now hatched by steam, and chickens reared
without the aid of clucking hens. Released from anxious care about their
young and from the debilitating work of incubation, matronly fowls have
now nought to do but quietly lay their eggs and pass their time in
pleasure. Cooks with poultry can be supplied without tearing screaming
pullets from their parent’s side—sundering the finest fibres of
affection. Then the ‘_Eccaleobion_,’ it is said, will shortly place
within the poor’s reach luxuries hitherto denied them. The destitute are
not long to remain ignorant of the taste of chicken broth and plovers
fricasseed, of broiled partridge, quail and meadow hens; of roasted
geese, and ducks and turkeys.

_Fig. 7_ a silver and _8_ an ebony mustard spoon. Forms of the ancient
implements have not reached us, but some sayings to which the condiment
gave rise are still in use:—‘’Tis mustard after dinner,’ indicating that
the time for using a thing has passed, or that the thing itself is of no
consequence; ‘a man amused with mustard;’ one that makes great things of
trifles. It has ever been deemed essential to beef, especially salt
beef; hence an old French prayer:—

                    De trois choses Dieu nous garde,
                    _Du bœuf salé sans moutarde_,
                    D’un valet qui se regarde,
                    D’une femme qui se farde.

‘Dijon mustard’ was renowned in the time of Philip the Fair, during
whose reign the reader will recollect two important transactions took
place—the introduction of the mariner’s compass into modern Europe, and
[in 1291] the transportation by angels of the Virgin Mary’s dwelling at
Nazareth into Dalmatia; whence it was conveyed three years afterwards
(by the same celestial house movers) to the opposite coast of the
Adriatic, and located on land belonging to a widow named Loretta. There
it has remained for the edification of pious pilgrims, and the maturing
of grace in the hearts of its reverend proprietors.

     _Grumio._ What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

     _Kath._ A dish that I do love to feed upon.

     _Grumio._ Aye, but the mustard is too hot a little.

     _Kath._ Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest.

     _Grumio._ Nay, then I will not; you shall have the mustard,
               Or else you get no beef from Grumio.

     _Kath._ Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt.

     _Grumio._ Why then, the mustard without the beef.

                                           [_Taming of the Shrew._]

_Fig. 9_—a punch spoon, and _13_ a punch ladle—two of the least
beneficial applications of a valuable thing.

           Many estates have been spent in the getting,
           Since women for tea forsook spinning and knitting,
           And men for _punch_ left off hewing and splitting.

Few things have better exemplified the truth of another saying of ‘Poor
Richard’ than punch and punch spoons:—‘What maintains one vice would
bring up two children.’ The old ‘wassail bowl’ and its accompanying
spoon were not such promoters of dissipation as their modern
descendants, nor did they accommodate such pernicious liquids. Families
took wassail at home on festivals, when innocent hilarity reigned; but
to indulge in punch, men meet at taverns, where they ply the ladle till
they perform antics rude and grotesque as those for which that hero is
known whose name is the same as the liquor. After supper at Christmas
“the wassail bowl was brought in, of which every one partook, by taking
with a spoon a roasted apple out of the ale and eating it, then drinking
the healths of the company out of the bowl, wishing them a merry
christmas and a happy new year.” With the Greeks and Romans wine was
carried to the dining room in large vases, and poured into bowls, whence
it was drawn by ladles into cups and tumblers. See figures on the second
plate.

             O whiskey! saul o’ plays an’ pranks!
             Accept a bardie’s humble thanks!
             When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks
                                       Are my poor verses!

Unfortunately for Burns he did not confine himself to invocations of the
spirit, or even to moderate draughts at her fountain. His punch bowl of
Inverary marble and its attending ladle were too often put in
requisition. Under their influence he produced his poem called ‘Scotch
Drink,’ in which he thus humorously blesses every total abstinence man:

               May gravels round his blather wrench,
               An’ gouts torment him inch by inch,
               Wha twists his gruntle wi’ a glunch
                                         O’ sour disdain,
               Out owre a glass o’ _whiskey punch_
                                         W’ honest men.

How opinions change! With the laudable view of preserving a knowledge of
the arts and of innocent comforts, and to guard, as far as human power
can, against a second deluge of barbarism, the old French Academy
published descriptions, in great detail, of the most valuable
manufactures and professions. In ‘L’Art du Distillateur Liquoriste’ is
figured and described a Paris coffee room with its appendages, including
a “grande jatte de porcelaine _pleine de punch_, un cuiller de buis pour
puiser cette liqueur, et la verser dans les verres.”

_Figs. 10_—sugar tongs; a singular application of the spoon, which,
instead of scooping up fluids or semi-fluids is here designed to take up
solids. When loaf sugar was introduced, (the period of which is
uncertain, for it was made several ages before its alleged discovery by
Venetians in the 16th century,) the ordinary spoon could not readily
plunge among the lumps nor be secure of catching one, or of retaining it
when caught; hence _two_ spoons were joined in the chase, and as one
heads the game while the other closes up the rear, they seldom lose
their destined prey. Two spoons inseparably linked in a pair of sugar
tongs are like those married couples, who none but mutual pleasures
know, and whose time is spent among the sweets of life.

_Fig. 11_—another curious transformation. We have seen the spoon
resemble a pair of shears, then a pair of tongs—here it is a _sifter_.
Copiously perforated, the bowl is used to sprinkle refined sugar over
the crust of pies, custards and other delicious dainties. Strange, how
one thing glides into another! What primeval artist ever thought that
spoons would be converted into riddles—made as useless for lifting
liquids as the buckets of the Danaides! The bowl is also sometimes
flattened and pierced for a fish slice, and, when half covered, is made
into a basting ladle! By the way, we forgot to mention at page 177, that
snuff spoons were also punctured, because they could not properly
discharge their contents otherwise. When held laden to the nostrils, the
sudden withdrawal of the superincumbent air by the snifter draws up the
spoon itself if the bowl be not perforated, just as a piece of paper
held near the mouth is sucked in by an inspiration. But when two or
three minute holes are made in the bowl, no sooner does the owner set
his nasal pump at work than the atmospheric air, ascending through the
openings, drives up the powder in a trice, and scatters none in lateral
directions.

_Fig. 12_—a cream spoon, invented on the labor saving principle. It
supersedes the necessity of lifting the pitcher with its contents every
time a modicum only of the fluid is wanted—exhibiting the advantages of
economizing force, though in a less degree than the tea or coffee urn.
Fifty cups can be filled from one of these by simply opening a tap which
the little finger can effect; whereas no lady could charge half that
number from a tea-pot without her arms and shoulders complaining of the
labor. _Fig. 14_ is the well known marrow spoon, of the history of which
we are uninformed. It is however an emblem of many good things. O! for
the salt of wit, cream of pleasantry, and marrow of rich stories!

The last spoon figured on the plate is not the least appropriate to
finish with. The others are for taking food, this for taking physic;
they to comfort people when in health, this to cure them when sick.
Having furnished so many devices by which the stomach is often
overloaded, it may be expected that one at least will be given to assist
in recovering its natural tone. Every person knows that pills were
formerly _gilded_ with the view of preventing their substance from
annoying the sense while passing the gullet. Roman apothecaries supplied
squeamish patients with such; as a box half full with the gold leaf
remaining has been found at Pompeii. The spoon _Fig. 15_ is designed for
much the like purpose, viz: to send fluids down the same passage with as
little delay and annoyance as possible. To patients in a recumbent
position, and to such as are disposed to resist, it is a capital thing.
The handle is hollow and communicates with the bowl. When the latter is
charged (through the lid which is shown open) the thumb of the nurse or
attendant is placed over the aperture of the handle and the lid closed.
The contents are then prevented, by the exclusion of air, from escaping.
The spoon is next properly placed in the patient’s mouth, and the thumb
removed, when the liquid necessarily goes to its appointed place, for
air cannot pass to the lungs but through the handle and bowl. This
contrivance is modern, but covered spoons for administering broths to
sick people, and medicines to children, are old.

Roman _bon vivants_ took a vomit before dinner, as well as one after,
and even now there are persons who prepare for the principal meal by
exciting an artificial craving with ‘dinner pills.’ There have been, and
perhaps always will be, men who live only to digest, and many more with
two stomachs to eat and not one to work.

The different states of human life—infancy, adolescence, manhood,
senility and second childhood, are represented by pap, dessert, table,
tea and physic spoons. The spoon is the first artificial thing an infant
studies, the earliest one he handles and knows. As intelligence dawns it
is recognized, and at its sight he flutters like a nestling impatient
for aliment. In time he leaves the nurse’s arms and tries to feed
himself; ambitious to manage his spoon alone, he scatters half the food
upon his bib, and smears his hands, his face and throat with porridge.
Next a youth, he handles it with ease and plies it with dexterity; a
stranger to artificial appetite, he relishes the food it bears, and
grows in strength and beauty. A strong man now, his breasts the
implement has filled with milk, and made his bones abound with marrow.
But quickly the noon of life is past; age and infirmity with rapid
strides approach, and take his relish and his strength away. An
octogenary now, he feeds himself with pain. Next, helpless as when born,
he stares in idiot vacancy and recognizes nothing—save a spoon. The
nurse now feeds him as at first, and tends this fitful being, till he
goes wailing out of life as he came crying in.

Lest the reader should feel symptoms of a surfeit, we will now make an
end, although many things are left untouched, especially such as relate
to the statistics of spoons, their diversified materials, processes of
manufacture, their cost, numbers annually worn out, hosts of artists
employed in making them, talents they have exercised and skill
displayed; the myriads incessantly engaged in using them, the daily
influx into our world of fresh beings that want them, and a probably
increasing demand to the end of time for them—for though science
supersedes many things, and the progress of the arts renders old
machines useless, neither science nor arts, nor fashion to boot, can
ever banish spoons from the earth, or make much alteration in them.
While men’s mouths are not placed at the ends of flexible trunks,
manufacturers will find work; and the last spoons will differ as little
from ours as the persons of the present and the latest spoonmakers. Nay,
if people in Venus and Mars eat like us, as they probably do, a
deputation from each at one of our public dinners would be at no loss in
applying these table utensils.

An extended account of the spoon; of its influence on food, manners, and
imagination; of its virtues, the pleasures it imparts and sorrows it
soothes, would be a history of all times and people. Looking at the
excitement it produces, how seas are crossed, lands ploughed, rivers
dragged, fish ponds made, cattle slain, birds ensnared, caldrons cast,
mines exhausted and forests burnt for fuel; mountains of clay used up
for pottery, kitchens built and cooks employed, &c. to supply materials
and prepare them for it—one might suppose the spoon was the spring that
keeps all things in motion—the source of genius and parent of the useful
arts.

We trust the reader, now he has arrived at the close, will admit that he
is more familiar with the subject than when he began it. Few persons
would refuse a modest author so slight a reward for his toil, since he
could hardly solicit a less one. But there are envious critics, we fear,
who, without perusing our work, will condemn it; perhaps declaring there
is nothing novel in its spirit or its plan, and that the best things in
it were written years ago! If they do, and if, which heaven forefend,
they should prove it too, we shall, with the feelings of injured
innocence, fervently pray that those impertinent plagiarists may perish
who said _our_ good things before us, and that memory may fail all who
remember them!

[Illustration: An upside-down teacup sitting on a saucer with a spoon
balanced horizontally across its base. The word "FINIS" is written
across the side of the cup.]

RESPECTED GUEST:—Perceiving by the inverted position of thy bowl and
spoon that thou hast not despised the plain food set before thee, but
hast relished it so well as to leave none, I, HAB’K O. WESTMAN, present
myself in _propria persona_, as in duty bound, to make my parting bow,
and acknowledge my sense of thy patronage. It is also my wont, when an
agreeable customer is about to leave me, to request him, if the
entertainments have been to his liking, and the charges no more than
they should be, to invite his friends to take an opportunity of judging
of my cookery, and my conscience in making out bills. Adieu, kind
patron! Heaven send thee pleasant adventures and a speedy return to “The
Globe,” when I hope to have a better dish awaiting thy reception—one
preparing under the auspices of our society, and the recipe of which was
commended by Dr. Swallow himself—who was, as thou art aware,

                 “Of palate exquisite, of labor free,
                 A kitchen doctor of the first degree.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 ● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
 ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
 ● Enclosed blackletter font in =equals=.
 ● The caret (^) is used to indicate superscript, whether applied to a
     single character (as in 2^d) or to an entire expression (as in
     1^{st}).
 ● Images without captions use HTML alt text provided by transcriber.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79020 ***