may be judged by his likening of a succulent, golden-fried oyster to
"a baby's ear dropped in sawdust."

Perhaps it is just as well that no description of the world's first
Golden Buck has come down from him. But we don't have to look far for
on-the-spot pen pictures by other men of letters at "The Cheese," as
it was affectionately called. To a man they sang praises for that
piping hot dish of preserved and beatified milk.

Inspired by stewed cheese, Mark Lemon, the leading rhymester of
_Punch_, wrote the following poem and dedicated it to the memory of
Lovelace:

Champagne will not a dinner make,
Nor caviar a meal
Men gluttonous and rich may take
Those till they make them ill
If I've potatoes to my chop,
And after chop have cheese,
Angels in Pond and Spiers's shop
Know no such luxuries.

All that's necessary is an old-time "cheese stewer" or a reasonable
substitute. The base of this is what was once quaintly called a
"hot-water bath." This was a sort of miniature wash boiler just big
enough to fit in snugly half a dozen individual tins, made squarish
and standing high enough above the bath water to keep any of it from
getting into the stew. In these tins the cheese is melted. But since
such a tinsmith's contraption is hard to come by in these days of
fireproof cooking glass, we suggest muffin tins, ramekins or even