stocks in the cellars of the East India connoisseur, there is no England.-If Madeira is but little understood in this country, Madeira equal to that to be met with in every island in the that amphibious delicacy, the turtle, is still less. I can fancy West Indies, and to have it in perfection it should be drunk the uplifted hands and incredulous gaze of an apoplectic alupon the spot. derman on reading such a startling announcement. RegardAnother popular error, and one which makes a thorough-less of offending the whole corporation, I assert it as a factbred West Indian shudder, is that of decanting old Madeira mind, I do not say that the soup, miscalled turtle-soup, is not wine, and leaving the stopper out: it is a barbarous system a good soup; I am not so devoid of taste-it is an excellent and cannot be sufficiently reprobated. The fine nutty flavor soup, but it is not turtle-soup. I admit it to be a rich and saso prized by the gastronomic planters, the indescribable aroma, vory compound, in which some savory morceaux of its godfathe nosegay in short, is destroyed by this senseless process ther may occasionally be found floating; but the suscitating your pseudo judge says it renders the wine soft and silky, for | juices with which the occidental luxury is presented to us, are which read flat and vapid. What would the genuine porter- extracted from the hinder legs of a calf and an ox; the foundswigger say to having his favorite beverage left standing ex- ation, in fact, is composed of veal and beef, with a masterly posed to the action of the air for some three or four hours introduction of appetizing condiments, which are both palatabefore his dinner? Why, he would write the man down an ble and pleasing; but, believe me, it is no more like the turass who committed such an atrocious act. The cases are tle-soup of the western hemisphere, than pea-soup made from parallel, and in both instances the spirit and flavor of the li- that delicate vegetable in the spring is to a nankeen-colored quid are destroyed. mess concocted in the winter, bearing the same name. truth is, the turtle is too expensive a delicacy to warrant such a lavish expenditure of its succulent nourishment-too precious to waste-Messrs. Birch, Belden and Lovegrove know it, and husband the luscious treasures accordingly. The The principal firms of Madeira have adopted the plan of giving their wines the benefit of the motion of a vessel by manual application. Whole gangs of Portuguese are employed on the beach in rolling pipes and hogsheads of Madeira, thus saving the expense of a voyage, and with the same beneficial In the West Indies, c'est une autre affaire; the turtle are result-the undulating motion of the vessel being tolerably too plentiful to require the meretricious aid of stock and gravy. imitated on this vine-flourishing island. The merchants there There the whole is consumed for soup, excepting the callipee also bring on premature age by means of artificial heat, and it—and, I need scarcely add, it is exquisitely delicious. A turis astonishing how soon the wines ripen under the sweating tle of eighty to a hundred pounds is considered by all rightprocess, as it is termed. In the West Indies, as soon as a judging epicures to be the proper size and growth for perfect pipe of Madeira is bottled off, the planter stores it in a loft of eating, and will furnish a satisfactory repast for some ten or a his dwelling, with nothing between his dearly-prized super- dozen lovers of this delicacy, although I have known three Baculum,and the broiling sun but the shingled roof. The heat turtles to be slain for a regular turtle-feast, during my resiin these lofty cellars is intense beyond conception. In two dence in one of the Caribbean Islands, viz: a chicken-turtle years the wine is ready for drinking-rich, and ripe, and of a for steaks, than which a juvenile fowl is not more delicate; flavor unimaginable to those who have never visited the An- one of a hundred, for soup and stewed fins; and a large hentilles. turtle for eggs, and calipash or stew, and from which also the never-to-be-sufficiently-lauded green fat is pilfered to fill up any deficiency in the supply for the tureen. Gentle reader, if you have any occidental acquaintances, cultivate them by all means to the utmost extent in your power: they are kind, open-hearted, and liberal to a fault; and if perchance they send you a turtle of the true breed, take my advice, do not think of dressing it at your own home (for which you will insure the gratitude of your cook), but send it to the Albion, the London Tavern, or Birch, and in return they will, any one of them, send you sufficient soup for three or four parties. Give them the turtle, and whenever you wish to entertain a select few of the lovers of good eating, you can command a liberal supply of matchless soup without the trouble or expense that would have attended the abortive attempts of your own servant for one entertainment. One house at Madeira has adopted this plan, and they have a very extensive stock of the finest old bottled wine. The name of the firm is Leacock, and without prejudice, I am of opinion that their wines are the very finest that are exported from the island. This may be accounted for by their vineyards being more favorably situated than their competitors, for we all know that, on any large slope of a hill tilled for the growth of vines, one particular site will often yield a finer flavered juice than the surrounding ones; but be this as it may, the Madeiras of the Messieurs Leacock are in high repute throughout the West India Islands, and deservedly so, for finer wine it is impossible to meet with; and were I to lay in a stock for my own consumption, I should send to them for as many dozens as they could spare of their bottled nectar. The climate of this country is ill-suited to this generous wine: the cold is its greatest enemy-and it would be impossible to recognize the same wine in London that you were in the habit of drinking in Barbadoes. I can give a case in point: for the animal-(is it animal or fish?) The greatest delicacy in the West Indies, beyond compare, is the land-crab. I could fill a volume in writing of its multifold merits, but will not tantalize the reader with a description of this delicious dainty, although I must add that it is worth a voyage to the tropics to partake of it; and those who have been so fortunate, must have wished their throats a mile long, and every inch a palate. This was the plan adopted by more than one of my own family, to whom I occassionally forwarded this dainty, and they never had reason to repent of the confidence they reposed in Some years ago I sent a few dozens of superlatively fine old these celebrated purveyors, for they were liberal in the exMadeira to a near and dear relative of mine in this country-treme in the quantities of unrivalled soup they sent in return my late father. This wine was renowned throughout the West India Islands, being part of the stock of the late Mr. Probyn, Governor of St. Christopher's. I bought it at a sale which took place after his death, and paid a very high price for it, as much as twenty-eight dollars the dozen-but then it was such wine! Well, I sent it home, where a heavy duty was superadded to the original cost; n'importe. It arrived safe, and was glorified beyond measure. The late Sir Herbert Taylor and Sir Henry Torrens (no bad judges) pronounced it A good dinner is one of the greatest enjoyments of human the very finest they had ever tasted; but notwithstanding life; and giving one, another. I have indulged in this grasuch high authority, I can assure the reader that it was very tification myself, and have some little knowledge of these inferior to what it had been before it left the West Indies-it matters, but since some kind and affectionate relations, with was not like the same wine. The best plan I know of is, to amiable solicitude, have placed my patrimony in the hands of construct a large cupboard as near your kitchen-chimney as the receivers-general to the Court of Chancery, the power is possible, line it with sheet or plate iron, pass a flue through now denied me. All I can do is to instruct my more fortuthe top of it, and keep this wine-press at an unvaried temper-nate compeers in this desirable art, and may they succeed as ature of ninety-six or a hundred. Keep your Madeira in it, and by these artificial means you will have your wine in drinkable order. I have tried it, and have found it to answer marvelously well. Some old East and West India acquaintances have followed my advice, and have thanked me for the hint. Above all, never put your Madeira into a decanter-it is little short of sacrilege. Keep it in the black bottle, and never take the cork out but to replenish your glass. There is very little really fine Madeira to be purchased in London. The best I know of is at Messrs. Calrow's, of St. Mary's Hill, Thames street. It comes nearer to the Leatocks' wine of any I have met with (purchaseable I mean) in well as I have done! The great fault in giving dinner par- you and the additional two destroy the whole derangement. If your table be not crowded, your servants have more to perform than they can accomplish with ease to themselves, and satisfaction to your guests. The principal onus, however, falls on your cook, who by her mistress's directions has a couple of extra side dishes to prepare, by which means all the others are imperfectly attended to; it is astonishing how trifles will subvert the culinary arrangements, and upset the interior economy of the basement story. In my palmy days of dinner giving, when I was a bachelor, (my wife will never forgive me if she gets hold of the New Monthly,) my number seldom exceeded six, and never eight, and I had a sufficient regard for the presiding priestess of the kitchen never to order more dishes than she could manage with credit to herself. A bachelor has no business with ornamental pastry, or even very recherchè dishes, unless he can afford a first-rate dog-cook-a chef with an income equal to half his rental. Give little, but what you do present to your guests let it be of the very best kind, and dressed to perfection. When I gave turtle-soup, I procured it either from the Albion or Waud's, the confectioner in Bond-street, which, by the way, is perfect. My fish I always had from Grove-a John-Dory, whenever I could get one-the true sauce for which is the liver and roe of the red mullet, previously boiled, rubbed through a sieve, and incorporated with butter. The flesh of the mullet, if I may so express myself, is inferior to any other fish, although if baked and eaten with the above sauce, it is worthy of its French appellation, "Becasse de mer." I seldom gave more than a haunch of mutton afterwards, perhaps two couples of woodcocks, or some snipe. The mutton, however, I always took care should be transcendantly good, and no where can it be bought in such perfection as at Tucker's in the Strand. He has nearly all the year round a regular supply from Devonshire-the real Dart moor wether. As the coachmen say, "it cats uncommon short," and, in truth, it more resembles venison than anything I know. Mr. Thomas, of Charing-cross, has occasionally a five year-old South-down, a haunch of which is worth the trouble of looking after. When I had a little knot of gourmands at my table, I occasionally, when the mutton was very choice indeed, roasted a neck of venison with it-the fat of the latter, with the closegrained meat of the former, is very pretty picking. Ninetynine cooks out of a hundred do not know how to make gravy. They be devil it with pepper and spices-it should be nothing but plain, unsophisticated "coulis," the essence of meat; and if flavored at all, it should be done with a couple of stale woodcocks, stewed down and rubbed through a tamis. This will thicken it and improve the flavor materially. Sometimes I varied my fare, and if I gave my friends a Turkey after the fish and soup, I sent it to a scientific poulterer to be boned, and all the tendons, sinews, &c., removed; this, when skilfully performed, renders the Norfolk bird more sightly, and it is infinitely more juicy, nor does it prevent the judicious introduction of truffles, which, however, should be previously stewed in game glaze, for it frequently happens that this delicious bulb is not sufficiently done, which is to be lamented, as its flavor is destroyed; it is tough and retains an earthy taste withal. These are little minutiae that the rational epicure will attend to. Too much care cannot be taken about the numberless et cetera that fill up the measure of a thoroughly good dinner. One of these is rarely sent to table in perfection: melted butter! how many a dish of fish is spoiled by negligence in its accompanying addenda! It should be liquidized in a silver saucepan, and thickened gradually with cream; flour and water are only used by the poor-law unions. There is more skill and care required in this simple admixture, than people imagine. Let your cruets be amply stored, and with the very best samples of fish-sauces to be procured. Dr. Kitchener's universal sauce is an admirable as well as scientific compound. This, with some of Burgess's anchovy, essence of cayenne (brickdust and mahogany sawdust are exploded,) and the juic of a lime, will be found a very palatable accompaniment to fish of any kind. Cucumber, excepting with salmon, is destruction to a well proportioned amalgama. tion of fish sauces. I frequently gave game dinners, retaining fish of course, but hare-soup, roasted pheasants, or partridges, woodcocks, or snipes, and perhaps a salmi of wild fowl. Pies and puddings I abhor, they are fit only for boarding-school misses, and medical students of strong digestive powers. A well-dressed crab, or an omelette, is admissible, and then let a fine ripe Stilton close the feast. I have said I gave game dinners-for to those who are fond of it let them partake of this light and delicate food when they have appetite to enjoy it, not when the stomach is filled to repletion, and when they have virtually dined-it is throwing away a good thing. But, after all, good dinners are comparative enjoyments. Opinions may differ. What I might call a good dinner, a country squire would turn up his nose at. There is no accounting for taste. To resume the error I have pointed out as regards Madeira applies to claret; for some unthinking persons will pour it into glass jugs, if not decanters. It makes one's flesh creep on one's bones to witness such profanation-the delicate and fragrant bouquet is destroyed by this senseless invasion upon good taste; never, I beseech you, be guilty of such injustice to this truly delicious wine-there is never any crust or deposit in good claret, and you may safely pass the bottle, but with this special observance, never leave it uncorked. There is not any claret in France, I mean, of course, at hotels, equal to the wine in England; it is all bought up by the London and Dublin merchants, and the proprietors of the vineyards dare not sell a hogshead, being under heavy penalt es; good Burgun dies you find, but clarets rarely, save in the private cellars of the noblesse and the wealthy; the general run of ChâteauMargeaux and Lafitte on the Continent smacks amazingly of a mixture of Hunt's matchless and red ink. For dinner wines, hock and sherry are to be preferred, a little champaign, of course; Madeira and claret after the meal is concluded. I am old-fashioned enough to like a glass or two of really fine old port; it is a generous wine, and when genuine quite as wholesome as claret. The best claret in London suivant moi is Barnes's; it is splendid, and approaches nearer in excellence to what Adamson's green-seal used to be in days of yore, than any I know of. Of good ports there are plenty, and it would be invidious, perhaps, to distin guish any particular firm; and yet, if I were not afraid of offending Mr. Carbonnel and Mr. Arundel, I would say that Mr. Scott, of King street, Covent-garden, who was formerly in partnership with Mr. Latimer, at Oxford, has some of the most delicious port I ever tasted. For richness and flavor I never knew it surpassed; it is, in truth, as pretty tipple as any private gentleman need wish to indulge in." On a future occasion, I may peradventure treat of French living, French dishes, French wines, their national chef d'au vre, coffee-making, and that delicious digestive, "gloria"-s compound which can never be adequately extolled, but which I have neither time nor space to commemorate at this mo ment. Sans adieu, then, kind reader! if the foregoing observations may have the effect of adding one iota to your stock of gastronomic knowledge I shall be more than repaid for my pains; and if in the course of human events, we should chance to meet at the table of a mutual acquaintance, I will pledge you with all sincerity in a bumper of the best his cellar affords. WISDOM OF THE SUPREME. All we see, Or the beams of houri's eyes! They alone content may gain All between is restless pain. AMERICAN ROMANCE. · The first desideratum for an American novel doubtless is, that it should be truly American-that its descriptions of scenery should be American descriptions of American scenery, not English descriptions applied to American scenery, nor American descriptions applied to European scenery. So with its portrait of manners-so with the peculiar modes of thinking with our people, who, out of the cities especially, are a peculiar and an original people. Is all this accomplished by our American writers? We are much disposed to doubt it. Some of them have laudably attempted, indeed, and in a few instances succeeded in bringing out American nature to something like a true likeness; but still is not that nature, as by them exhibited, too often mingled with nature in the old world? Are not our writers still influenced, insensibly perhaps, by patterns received from abroad? Do they not still write as young artists often paint a portrait (which, if done aright, would of course be an original picture) with one eye, from time to time, glancing to some masterpiece which they have suspended on the wall for a general guide, here to help them to an attitude, there a shade? And while this is done, what wonder that the performance, whether of writer or artist, should come from the creating hand as much an imitation as an original picture? Politically we have achieved our independence of Great ready for appropriation-and with these treasures, these ad- "Shall foreign legions, then, go brightening down, Let then our literature assume, at once, a character as national as our politics, and we shall, in this respect, become very soon successful and eminent at home and abroad. THE SWALLOWS. BY CHARLES SPRAGUE, ESQ. during Divine Service. Gay, guiltless pair, What seek ye from the fields of heaven? Ye have no sins to be forgiven. Why perch ye here, Where mortals to their Maker bend? Can your pure spirits fear The God ye never could offend? Ye never knew Britain; but in a literary point of view, it may well be doubted Suggested by the incident of two Swallows having entered a church whether we are not still in bondage, and if so, we shall never, till we have shaken off that bondage-till we cease to let foreign writers think for us, and describe for us-till we cease to borrow English wings for American muses-till we launch out, in short, with a sole dependence on our own strength, and, with that strength, grapple with our own subjects-we shall Rever see a truly American novel of decided excellence. Now if we are right-if there is still a leaning on Great Britain in these respects, if the spirit of imitation still lingers among us, how objectionable, how degrading is the fact! How liable the adoption of sentiments and principles inapplicable to our institutions-principles and sentiments, the effect of which, instead of thus extending, we should be busy in counteracting. Let us instance Scott. Much has been written which as free Americans we can never countenance. Kings and nobles, in his hands, become factitiously exalted, or at the worst, have only interesting foibles. The weak, intolerant and contemptible James I, became a man of such shrewdness and amiable eccentricity, that we became enamored of the monarch; while the bold and energetic Cromwell, who dared oppose the divine right of kings, is drawn in colors from which we turn in abhorrence and disgust, and his followers, but another name for our pilgrim fathers, are little better than canting hypocrites, whom we can scarcely refrain from despising. But is there no disparagement thrown on our institutions by this? Is there no poison in such sentiments, if adopted by us, even in remote shades? The same caution should also be ours in guarding against the spirit of imitation in respect to descriptions of manners, scenery and every thing done on American ground work. Is not this bondage then alike pernicious, degrading and unnecessary in a country like ours, where the very elements of poetry, and the food of philosophy, are spread in the richest profusion around us-where the erratic movements, and wild exploits of our aborigines, who tuned their spirits by the roar of their mountain cataracts, are ours-where the glorious achievements of our fathers, who imitated their own symbolic eagle in his daring and lofty course, and emulated his proud spirit in their high aspirations for liberty, are broadly stamped on the face of the land-all furnishing a romance of history equalling the most splendid fictions of the old world? Most surely yes. We live not in a land, thank Heaven, where our poetry must, every five lines, be parenthesised with "God bless the Duke of York!" or every prose essay be tempered for the gracious ear of royalty, to shackle the operations of reason, restrain the power of imagination, and chill and repress the free inclinations of nature. But on the contrary, we inherit a country, every page of whose history is teeming with associations calculated to awaken and inspire all that nature can feel, or fancy delineate-where, in thought and action, as free as the roving winds of Heaven, with all the store-houses of knowledge open for our participation-with all the rich mines of our own intrinsic, unsullied and almost untouched materials The crimes for which we come to weep; To you 't is given To wake sweet nature's untaught lays; Then spread each wing, Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands, In yon blue dome not reared with hands. To note the consecrated hour, And let me try your envied power. Above the crowd On upward wings could I but fly, I'd bathe in yon bright cloud, It is said that twice the number of deaths occur at the age of 40 than happen in the preceding and succeeding years, and that the same singular law holds good with respect to the decennial periods, 30, 40, 60 and 70. Niewentyz has computed that, in a second of a minute, there flies out of a burning candle particles of light ten million million times more than the number of grains of sand estimated to be contained in the whole earth. A person pointed out a man who had a profusion of rings "Ah, master," said the artisan, on his fingers, to a cooper. “it is a sure sign of weakness when so many hoops are used." "Dick, what do you call sheer nonsense?" Why, shearing a hog for his wool." |