The Sun.
London, England, 1854-10-23 00:00:00

The Quarterly Revi2,!).—The opening arvi,Ctei-4414.
this number, under the title of " The 41011(1.4
Coinmissariat" affords a vast quantity of amusing I,
and instructive matter on the subject of the
"victualling" of *ilr huge metropolis. A concise,
yet ample, account is given of how and whence the
chief supplies are derived, and much of the infor-
mation is somewhat astonishing to those who are
not prone to dive into the leviathan statistics of
" eating and drinking." After giving a vivid
description of Billingsgate and its traffic, the article
informs us that—
" A few years ago all the oysters were brought by
water to Billingsgate ; but a short time since a great na-
tural bed, called the Mid Channel Bed, which stretches
for forty miles between the ports of Shoreham and
Havre, was discovered, and, the dredging-ground being
free to all comers, a vast field of wealth has been opened
to fishermen, especially as from the proximity 'of the
Briglitonait South Coast Railway the produce can te
seat immediately to town, and escape the clues of metage
and other tolls to which all fish landed at the market is
liable. Seaborne oysters are thus placed at a great dis-
advantage, and the different companies owning them
justly complain at a city exaction which takes a large
sum annually out of their pockets, besides the.oharge
for porterage it entails upon the purchasers. Mr. Alston,
who is, without doubt, the largest oyster-fisher in the
world, sent up last year between 40,000 and 50,000
bushels from his fishery Cheyney Rock, near Sheerness,
and paid 8001. for metage. The whole trade paid no
less than 3,0001., and this for services which their own
men could do as well themselves, were it not fora custom
which enforces idleness upon the smack people."
Relative to herring fishing we learn that "up-
wards of three hundred square miles of net are cast
by the fishermen of the Port of Yarmouth alone,
every fine night of the season," and that above a
billion of herrings are annually sent into the mar-
ket. The revellers in lobster salad—that popular
accompaniment to the equally popular chorus of
"We wont go home till morning"—may like to
know where all the lobsters come from :
" The lovers of this most delicious of the erns-
tacem tribe will probably be astonished to learn
that they are mainly brought from Norway. France
and the Channel Islands, Orkney and Shetland,
do, it is true, contribute a few to the metropa•
tan market, but fully two-thirds are reluctantly,
and with much pinching and twisting, dragged out
of the thousand rock-bound inlets which indent the
Norwegian coast. They are conveyed alive in a screw-
steamer, and by smacks in baskets, sometimes to the
extent of 20,000 of a night, to Great Grimsby, and are
thence forwarded to town by the Great Northern Railway
—another ten thousand arriving perhaps from points on
onr own and the French coast. The fighting, twisting,
blue-black masses are taken as soon as purchased to
what are termed `the boiling-houses,' of which there
aro four, :situate in Duck arid Love-lanes, close to the
market, and here, for a trifling sum per score, they
change their dark for scarlet uniforms. They are
plunged into the boiling cauldron, basket and all, and
in twenty minutes they are done."
e e
* * *

LITERATUBB.;

"The lobster trade is mostly in the hands of one
salesman, Mr. Saunders, of Thames-street, who often
has upwards of 15,000 consigned to him of a morning,
and who causes no less than 15,000/. a-year to flow into
the fishy palms of Norwegians for this single article of
commerce.

Only think of the mountains of meat the Lon-
doners gnaw through, when we hear of about five
hundred thousand beasts, more than two millions
of sheep, with calves and pigs to match, being
annually devoured, without including country-
killed meat at Farriegdon and Whitechapel mar-
kets. The sterling value of this flesh amounts to
fourteen millions. Then we receive six hundred
thousand rabbits from Ostend, not mentioning the
produce of our own warrens. Two millions of
fowls come from Surrey and Sussex ; and the
Aggregate quantity of poultry and game consumed
Is something startling to those ladies who find the
wineof a chicken" rather too much for them—
in public.

Tile account of Covent Garden market and its
supplies is excellently rendered. Speaking of Cu-
cumbers, it is related by Mr. Cuthill that—

_ -------
"He has seen as many as fourteen acres under han I
glasses in a single domain, and has known 200,000
gherkins cut in a morning for the pickle merchants.
Strangely enough they have refused to grow well around
London ever since the outbreak of the potato disease."
As regards rhubarb—
" Rhubarb is almost wholly furnished by the London
markeegardeners. It was first introduced by Mr. Miatt
forty years ago, who sent his two eons to the Borough
market with five bunches, of which they only sold three.
From this time he continued its cultivation, notwith-
standing the sneers at what were called his 'physic
' pies.' As he predicted, it soon became a favourite, and
now hundreds of tons weight are sold in Covent Garden
in the course of the year."

Coming down to vulgar beer, perhaps some of
our readers may be enlightened by the following
anecdote touching our English nectar.
" On countless sign-boards of the metropolis this last
is advertised by the title of entire,' and it is thus that
the liquid and its name arose. Prior to the year 1730,
publicans were in the habit of selling ale, beer, and two-
penny, and the 'thirsty souls' of teat day were accus-
tomed to combine either of these in a drink called half
and half. From this they proceeded to spin 'three
threads,' as they called it, or to have their glass filled
from each of the three taps. In the year 1730, how-
ever, a certain publican, named Horwood, to save him-
self the trouble of making the triune mixture, brewed
a liquor intending to imitate the taste of the 'three
threads, and to this he applied the term ' entire.' his
concoction was approved, and being puffed as good por-
ters' drink, it speedily came to be called porter itself."
The second paper is on "Church Bells," clever
in.its detailed facts, and interesting in its poetic,
legends relative to those "iron tongues of time."
Dear Oliver Goldsmith, whose very name is musio
to our ears, is made the subject of a lengthy article,
which will be read with interest by all who are
capable of appreciating " The Vicar of Wakefield,"
and " The Deserted Village." This is followed by
some theological pages on " The Eclipse of Faith."
For our own part, we think creeds and professions
unfitting subjects for public disputations and we
fear that the espousings and expoundings of the
various schisms and " isms " extant, arise oftener
from pride in man than reverence of God. The
number winds up with some pleasant gossipping
recollections of " Samuel Foote." There are a
great many very familiar "Joe Millerisms " told
us again, but there is much that is very amusing,
and comparatively new. Foote was a rich humorist,
a clever dramatist, a gay companion, applauded by
his theatrical audiences, and flattered by lus table
friends ; yet we find it stated that " he lies in the
cloisters of Westminster Abbey without any memo-
rial either in stone or marble." The common fate
it seems of those who " set the table in a roar."
"Alas ! Poor Yorick !"