one more :" such a practice is enough to starve a whole party! Who could enjoy a hearty meal which must be cut within a pound of the flesh, two ounces of the bread, and the other proportions of a fair allowance, (according to the Doctor's tables,) which such a table would present? The very thought would take away our appetite more effectually than a full feed. Nor do we like his tirade against "the company of bonsvivants,* with whom dinner is the chief business of the day— who merelyLive to eat'-who see the Sun rise with no other hope than that they shall fill their bellies before it sets, who are not satisfied till they are surfeited-or of those Sons of Anacreon who are not entertained till they are intoxicated, and who ridiculously maintain that the restorative process cannot be perfectly complete in old people till they feel as frisky as a four-years old." That the author of the Cook's Oracle, a book of inestimable instructions how to tickle the taste and provoke the palate, should join in the senseless outcry against good living and refined cookery, is utterly out of place and inexcusable; and as for getting tipsy now and then, there are high authorities in its favour-not to mention examples. The Doctor says farther, that"Nothing can be more ruinous to real comfort than the vulgar custom of setting out a table with a parade and a profusion, unsuited not only to the circumstances of the host, but to the number of the guests. "Nothing can be more fatal to TRUE HOSPITALITY, by which I mean the frequency with which we give our friends a hearty welcome-than the multiplicity of dishes which luxury has made fashionable at the tables of the great, the wealthy-and the ostentatious, who are not seldom either great or wealthy. "Such prodigious preparation (as Dominie Sampson would say) instead of being a compliment to our guests, is really nothing better than an indirect * We doubt this French; Bons is not good. Bonvivants are good livers; goods livers are not wanted. offence;-is it not a tacit insinuation, that you think it is absolutely necessary to bribe the depravity of their palates, when you desire the pleasure of their company?--that you think so lightly of them, that you suppose that savoury sauces on your table, are more inviting attraction than sensible society around it!--and that an honest man is to be caught by a slice of mutton, as easily as a hungry mouse is with a bit of cheese." This appears to us to be hard treatment of those who may fall into the kind-hearted mistake of trying to entertain their friends as well as they can, instead of asking them to discomfort, and to just one person's portion more than it is calculated ought to be eaten ! Why might they not fancy. that the pleasures of company would not be diminished by the gratifications of the palate; that sensible society was not likely to be made either less sensible or agreeable by the concomitant presence of savoury sauces ; and that an honest man might really love a slice of rich, tender, and juicy South Down. To cut at the last is the unkindest cut of all, and we wonder that such a cruel idea could ever have entered into the benevolent mind of the much-esteemed author. In truth, his sentiments on this point are precisely fit for the excuses of such worldlings as treat without warmth, feast without plenty, and make show without hospitality or cordiality. as a And there is also another financial error in his estimates: he argues, as if all that remained after guests were entertained, was lost, and speaks of “a whole family's suffering famine for several days after a dinner-party," consequence of its extravagance. But this is the reverse of fact; such a family might have been more cheaply and plainly fed; but we all know that there are very pretty pickings on the days after the feast, when soups are warmed up, version hashed, turkeys limbs grilled, stews re-heated, cold joints broiled, delicacies sought out for which there was not sufficient time in the first grand enterprise, puddings meliorated in the Dutch oven, jellies and custards equal to their virgin sweetness, sups of the best vintages, and the d-1 a drop of beer preserved by crusts of bread! Nay, so well convinced are we of this, that we would not hesitate to take our affidavit, as far as mere gastronomy was concerned, in favour of the plenary and calm indulgence of post-festial enjoyments, especially as Time being the eater of all things (Edax Rerum), we can then have our revenge and take Time to eat. But this sort of pleasure, the author of the Cook's Oracle (of all men!) dares to call making a god of our bellies. Ventre blen, as we say at Dunkirk, it is enough to make a critic swear. Will not he allow the distinction between a glutton and an epicure-between the beast and the man of taste-between the foul and ravenous brute and the commensalist (this may be a new word) who refines upon the almost most exquisite organ with which nature has endowed him? Why, what is it but the cultivation of a valuable sense? A person is praised for being one of the cognoscenti in literature, in painting, in sculpture, in music and shall he be twitted contumeliously who has raised himself above all such, by perfecting a sense at once common, delicate, and complicated; and thus rendering himself an amateur and proficient in the grand art scavoir vivre! Away with these insults-let any one look into his mouth and see how admirably disposed it is for the importance of its functions. Without it, life must become extinct, and it is therefore a daily slave. But are we, on that account, on account of its vital utility, to debar it from every gratification? On the contrary, every good, honest, benevolent being will do more for its satisfaction, the more he is sensible of its services. The ruby, velvet, and wonderful tongue; the inflexible, white, and ivory teeth; the jaws, hung by the purest and most perfect mechanism; and above all, the glorious palate (furrowed by the plough of providence in order to prolong its enjoyments) claim the consideration of the wise and virtuous, and he is (we beg pardon for declaring plainly) an ass who refuses to do them homage. But if we digress thus, we shall become as desultory as our author; and when we are confoundedly angry with him (as we are upon this point,) we should abhor to be like him. His observations on the silly desire of outshining one's neighbours are very judicious; as are also those on the fashionable folly of coming to dinner long after the hours specified in invitations. If ever this grievous calamity is redressed, which is not probable, it must be done by His most gracious Majesty, and, after him, some of his greatest subjects, setting the example of sitting down within five minutes of the appointed time with such guests as have arrived. We are sure that the monarch who introduced such a reform would receive, as indeed he would merit, infinitely more gratitude from his people than if he originated a reform in Parliament. How many painful minutes are spent in waiting, every one has felt; the “horrid half hour" of a Briton's daily existence. protracted into hours, is a visitation in which we have often had our unhappy share: the sufferings of the cook in the kitchen, and of the company (for so the wretched creatures are still called!) in the waiting room, are known to us ;-the uneasiness of the entertainers, the shifts of a conversation inadequate to dispel any gloom, the violation of fobs, the yawns, the impatient looks, the all which luncheonless sinners betray, render this a fearful epoch. And at last some blundering booby, or illdressed flirt, or empty coxcomb, walks in; and a dozen of punctual, rational, edacious and bibacious mortals discover, that it has been owing to this animal or thing that they shall not eat their victuals properly cooked, or experience the comforts which have been prepared for them. Sincerely do we hope that His Majesty, who is a perfect gentleman, and his ministers, who have the good luck to rule at a period of peace and plenty, will turn their serious attention to this crying abuse; the extent of which, and its everlasting prevalence, need no comment to impress the expediency of an improved system on legislators of feeling and bowels. One instance may be enough. We dined last week where the treat consisted of one half tureen of bad cold soup, cod ditto, roast beef ditto, and some pastry which we never could puff: yet were we kept from six till near eight before the cold soup was ready, and the cold cod served, and the the cold beef cut, and the nasty pastry made visible. By Amphitryon, we would not have stopped so long to dine with Vitellius (or his brother, we believe), who had only nine thousand dishes of fish and fowl in the first two courses. By-the-by, Vitellius was a clever fellow, in spite of all that has been recorded of his gluttony: "a dead enemy always smells sweet," though an unfeeling speech, was not spoken by a fool. But we really do sometimes catch the tone of the authors we are reviewing, and-so no more episodes. Our worthy Doctor gives us many pithy proverbs, and quotations from excellent authors-all to teach prudence, economy, and order. All these, however, we will sum up in his own characteristic peroration: "BEWARE OF "TIS BUTS.' "There are very few of my readers, who if they please to reflect on their past lives, will not find that had they saved all those LITTLE SUMS, which they have spent unnecessarily, their circumstances would be very different from what they are." There are some rules for marketing, which we dare say are very useful, but which we confess we do not understand: for we never went to market for any thing but for Mr. Dickinson's beautiful paper, and that was not to rap Maintenon cutlets in. Into the rest of the minutia we need not enter; but we will tell our readers that, with all its quaintness and oddity, this little work contains (as far as we can judge) a great deal of information, which is calculated to promote the kind design of its author, and render a service to society at large. THE IMPROVISATRICE. BY L. E. L. Concluded from p. 427. One evening I had roamed beside Unconscious where my steps might be ; The whise-robed choristers were singing; And sang while scattering the sweet store. I turned me to a distant aisle, Where but a feeble glimmering came (Itself in darkness) of the smile Sent from the tapers' perfumed flame; 'Twas sacred to unhappy love : 'The flowers—at morn her bridal flowers,— I could but envy her. I thought How sweet it must be thus to die! Your last looks watched-your last sigh caught, As life or heaven were in that sigh! Passing in loveliness and light; Your heart as pure,-your cheek as bright By sun unscorched, by shower unwet; But I was wakened from this dream Poured in a gay and gorgeous throng. But, oh God! who was by her side?— My heart beat high, but could not break. As I were forced by some strange thrall, I saw LORENZO kneel! Methought Was prest to her's-I saw no more! My heart grew cold,-my brain swam round,— I sank upon the cloister floor: I lived, if that may be called life, From which each charm of life has fled- Rust gathered on the silent chords Of my neglected lyre,-the breeze At length I made myself a task To paint that Cretan maiden's fate, Whom Love taught such deep happiness, I drew her on a rocky shore: Her black hair loose, and sprinkled o'er Placed ever, Love! beside thy shrine; What burning tears, false god! are thine. Before her was the darkling sea; Behind the barren mountains rose- A fit home for the broken heart To weep away life, wrongs, and woes! I had now but one hope:-that when Its pulse but in their passion seen,- I felt, in this memorial! It was one evening,-the rose-light |