The Atlantic Monthly

In that brief catalogue of New Year's queerer names. They give no hostages resolutions which the good American is to fortune except paper, printer's ink, and periodically tempted to construct, the re- time. If you would seek a better analosolve not to talk shop deserves a place gy to the real editorial function, follow of honor. To be silent about one's trade some excellent citizen of Baltimore, or is the beginning of virtue ; but it is diffi- of a foreign city where marketing bears cult for most of us to maintain such reti- as yet no social stigma, as he journeys to cence for long. That an editor of a the public market, with basket upon his magazine should presume to the posses- careful arm, intent upon selecting a dinsion of qualities beyond the compass of ner for his family. his readers is not to be thought of, and Observe him. For all his apparent the present writer proposes, even before leisureliness of manner, the good gentlethe New Year has fairly begun, to break man is carrying the burden of a theory. that fragile resolution of discretion, and He has certain convictions, more or less to turn his yearly greetings to the Atlan- definite, about desirable combinations of tic's company into a discourse upon one food and drink. Convention, which is aspect of his own profession. May the only common sense deposited for long Toastmaster, before the real entertain- periods upon the reluctant mind of our ment for 1904 begins, chat for a moment species, has dictated to him some rude upon the perilous art of catering for the outline of a bill of fare. He has indipublic?

vidual partialities of taste, but he has The best that may be said for Tho- also tolerably distinct ideas of what is reau's regimen of beans is, not that that possible for his purse. Terrapin and immortal diet was merely wholesome or champagne must be for high days only. cheap, or even that it was transmuted And our worthy householder has also into delightful literature, - but that Tho- some fixed notions as to what is best for reau liked it. He was catering for him his family. They will thrive better, he self and to himself. When Byron came knows, upon honest soups and roasts than of age, he provided the conventional upon cocktails and éclairs. Thus, as he roast ox and ale for his tenants in honor makes his way from stall to stall, does of his majority, and then dined alone he select, from the countless appetizing upon his favorite delicacy, eggs and ba- things displayed, the material for a forecon. He catered for his public first, and ordained dinner. He buys it, precisely to himself afterwards. But the only edi- as he would gather harmoniously colored tors who permit themselves such solitary flowers for a bouquet, and tucking it into laxury of personal indulgence are the that ample basket, takes it home in all young men who own, write, and print the innocence of heart. It is his affair, after queer little 5x7 magazines with still all. If he and his family like what is purchased, well and good, provided their but one kept on going there, and paying a tastes do not become a public scandal, or whole franc more a day than was charged their cookery grow too menacing to their at any pension of its class in Paris. For, neighbors' peace of mind. It is a sim- as every one hastened to explain, it was ple matter, this catering for a family really an admirably kept establishment, table, though not quite so simple as Tho- — and then there were the violets! reau's beans or Byron's eggs and bacon. Every night at dinner, in season or out But where is the analogy to editing a of season, there was a tiny boutonnière magazine ? Is it so cunningly hidden of them for each gentleman, and a coraway in this image of the householder sage bouquet of violets was laid by each that one cannot find it at all?

lady's plate. And Monsieur himself, “ Patience a moment,” — to quote the “formerly professor at Lyons,” if you most impatient of poets. We are get- please, always sat at the head of the ting“ warm," as the children say, and in table and addressed his variegated coma minute more we shall discover our com- pany with the most incessant and exquiplete and archetypal editor. He is fore- site drollery. Only a franc more than shadowed in the market-haunting house was charged at the commonplace penholder, but he is the being who keeps sions, and all those violets thrown in! boarders.

It happened that the Toastmaster reIs it not so ? The boarding-house turned to the Pension Doucette very late keeper is no vulgar caterer to the public one night, after witnessing a most dreary in general. He leaves that art to the seven-act tragedy at the Français. In yellow journal and the corner saloon. the little office off the dining-room sat But he does cater for that portion of the M. Doucette in his shirt-sleeves, drinkpublic who have done him the honor to ing sugared water, and looking more become his guests. Individual dietary tragic than Mounet-Sully at his worst. theory may still lurk in his imagination, Something had gone wrong. It was a but it must not be over-indulged. His trivial matter enough, but the former own favorite beans or eggs and bacon will professor at Lyons opened bis whole be too monotonous for his boarders. The heart. Never before or since — save family responsibilities of the householder once in a Vermont woodshed on a Sunlinger in him, too; he must not poison day morning, when my host was morosely his boarders, or subtly undermine their freezing the ice cream for dinner and imfaith in human nature. Yet he has his parting with each slow turn of the crank weekly or monthly bills to meet, and he some darkly pessimistic generalization can meet them only by pleasing his pa- on the subject of summer boarders — has trons. Not what his boarders ought to the Toastmaster seen deeper into the like, if they would grow truly fat and Caterer's professional soul. Oh, the sorwise and good, but what they do like, rows of trying to hold the fickle taste of gradually comes to affect the policy of English and American visitors in Paris ! even the most stubborn-souled Provider. “But there are the violets," I ven

The Toastmaster wonders if any read tured. ers of the Atlantic recall the once fa- “ The violets !” M. Doucette spread mous pension in Paris, kept by M. Al- his palms. phonse Doucette, “ formerly professor at A ghastly suspicion dawned upon me. Lyons?” It was known in the Anglo- Was his love for violets only a pretense ? American colonies, from one end of Eu- “I loathe violets !” he broke out. “ À rope to the other, as the pension des vio- bas les violettes ! The odor and the sight lettes, — spoken with a smile. Yes, one of them are nauseating to me. But it smiled at M. Doucette's amiable vagaries, is too late. If I were to give up the

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