I do not remember who was the author of the observation that a great
nation in a state of decay betakes itself to the fine arts. Perhaps
no one has made the observation yet. It is certainly among the
records of my brain, but I may possibly have put it there myself. If
so, I make it now, for the possibilities of originality are getting
scarce and will soon disappear from the face of the earth as
completely as the mastodon. The present application of the saying is
to the people of Goa, who, while they carry through the world
patronymics which breathe of conquest and discovery, devote their
energies rather to the violin and the art of cookery. The caviller
may object to the application of the words "fine art" to culinary
operations, but the objection rests on superficial thought. A deeper
view will show that art is in the artist, not in his subject or his
materials. Perusal of the Codes of the Financial Department showed
me many years ago that the retrenchment of my pay and allowances
could be elevated to a fine art by devotion of spirit, combined with
a fine sense of law. And to Domingo the preparation of dinner is
indeed a fine art. Trammel his genius, confine him within the limits
of what is commonly called a "plain dinner," and he cannot cook. He
stews his meat before putting it into a pie, he thickens his custard
with flour instead of eggs, he roasts a leg of mutton by boiling it
first and doing "littlee brown" afterwards; in short, what does he
not do? It is true of all his race. How loathsome were Pedro's
mutton chops, and Camilo could not boil potatoes decently for a
dinner of less than four courses. But let him loose on a burra
khana, give him carte blanche as to sauces and essences and spicery,
and all his latent faculties and concealed accomplishments unfold
themselves like a lotus flower in the morning. No one could have
suspected that the shame-faced little man harboured such resources.
If he has not always the subtlest perception of the harmonics of