to me. three little presents for Bessy, out of the many which I had received when on board; for the officers and men were very kind to me, and had given me many things, which they did not value, but which I did very much, as they were quite new The custom officers at Deal were not very particular at that time. I was not searched; and arrived at the cottage, where I found Bessy sitting at her needle: she threw down her work and ran to me, and as I kissed her the tears ran down her cheeks. "Where is father, Tom? I'm so glad to see you; but where is father? I've been so frightened, the winter has been so rough." 'He's on board of the Indiaman, but being in charge he cannot come on shore, so he sent me." "Oh! I'm so glad-you have been away so long; and we have had nothing but gales of wind; and do you know that Williams and Steers are both drowned ?" "No, indeed, we know nothing; but father will be sorry to hear of it, for they were friends of his." "Well, Tom, it's not fair to leave a little girl like me alone here, for Mrs. Maddox has kept her bed ever since you left. Her leg is better, but she has pains in her limbs, and groans so all night, and here I am left by myself, to hear her groan and the wind roar." Here Bessy began to cry, and I to console her as well as I could, although I did feel that it was hard that such a child should be left so lonely. The presents I brought her made her wipe away her tears, and she was very soon as lively and joyous as ever. "I heard father say, Bessy," (I always called Bramble my father, as he said I might,) "that he had picked up something this winter, for he has had none but heavy vessels; and you know pilotage is paid by the draught of water." "Well, he may have made money, but I'm sure we haven't spent any to matter; for I have hardly been once a week to Mrs. Maddox for money since you have been gone. She eats hardly any thing, and I can 't eat my meals, when I'm alone down here. Will father come home after he has been up the river ?" "Yes, Bessy, he said that we should take a spell on shore." "Tom, do n't you think I might go on board and see him for half an hour?" Yes, I do n't see why not: speak to Mrs. Maddox." Bessy ran up stairs, and came down with the required permission, provided a neighbor's girl would remain in the house, and that she went under my escort. Her bonnet was soon on, and we obtained a passage in one of the Indiaman's boats which was shoving off, for the water was quite smooth, and the ship's boats could lie on the shingle without difficulty. The officer took Bessy under his boat cleak, and we were soon on board. Bramble was not on deck at the time, and when I went down to look for him, Bessy remained on the quarter deck, in admiration of all she saw. But Bramble was not below as I supposed: he had gone into the cuddy with the captain; and when he came out, his first knowledge of Bessy's being on board was being embraced by the waist with her little arms. "Why, Bessy, my child!" said Bramble, just as I returned on deck. "This is Master Tom's doing," continued he, kissing her; " so you have come to see your father?" "Why, you would not come on shore to see me, father," said Bessy, as Bramble took her up and kissed her again. "Well, Tom, have you brought the clean things?" "No, I must go on shore again with Bessy, father." "Very true, so you must." Bessy was taken much notice of by the captain and all on board. No wonder; her fair skin, and clear transparent red and white, were in such contrast with the bilious-looking passengers, that she appeared as if she was not of the same race. She was much admired, and received many little presents; and when she left the ship, after staying on board an hour, she was much delighted with her trip, and still more so with the promise of Bramble, that he would stay ashore for some time, as soon as he came back from the river. I remained with her on shore till dusk, and then, having collected the clean linen, as we were expected to sail early in the next morning, I returned on board the Indiaman. CHAPTER XXVII....Showing the importance, on board ship, of a rope's end well applied. The next morning, as we expected, the orders came down for the Indiaman to go round to the river. The wind was fair, but light: we hove up and made sail, stemming the last of the ebb. When the flood made, the wind died away, so that we made but little progress; much to the annoyance of those on board, who were naturally impatient to land after so tedious a voyage. Towards the evening it fell calm, and a fog bank rose on the horizon to the eastward. There was still two hours of daylight, when, as I was sweeping the horizon with my glass, I discovered the three masts of a vessel with no sails set on them. As she was a long way off, I went half way up the main rigging to have a better view of her, and made her out to be a large lugger. I went down to the poop, where Bramble stood smoking a cheroot with some of the officers of the ship. "Father," says I, "there's a large lugger on our beam, with her sails lowered down. I caught her masts with the glass just now." "Then she 's a French privateer, you may depend upon it," replied Bramble, "and she means to try to take us by surprise to-night." The officers went down and reported it to the captain: the glasses were fixed upon her, and there was little doubt as to what she was. "Lucky you discovered her, boy, for we might have been surprised, that's a fact," said the captain; "however, now she shall catch a Tartar." "She's waiting for the fog, captain," said Bramble, "which will come rolling down with the shift of wind in about an hour or two, I expect; and then we must allow her another hour to get alongside of us. Depend upon it she has plenty of men, and intends to try to board us in the fog." Every body was now on the qui vive; the women were, as usual, frightered; the men passengers looked grave; the Lascars rather unsteady; but we had forty English seamen, and a hundred invalid soldiers on board, who could all be depended upon. The guns were loaded and shotted; and the invalid soldiers were mustered; muskets and ammunition handed up; the bayonets fixed, unfixed again, and then they were ordered to remain on the booms with their accoutrements on and their muskets by their sides. The officers still kept their glasses on the lugger, until at last the fog came down and we could see her no more. The officers who commanded the invalids, after a consultation with the captain, at which Bramble assisted, told off their men into two parties, one of them being appointed to assist the seamen with their bayonets in repelling the boarders (should the attempt be made), and the other to fire upon them, and into the deck of the vessel, when she came alongside.— The Lascars were stationed at the guns, in case they might be required; but no great dependence was placed upon their services. By the time that these arrangements had been made, the fog had reached the Indiaman, and we were at the same time taken aback with the easterly breeze which brought it down to us; being near to the land, we put the ship's head off shore. The wind continued light and the water smooth, but the fog thickened every minute: at last we could hardly see as far as the foremast of the vessel. "He'll be puzzled to find us, I think," said the captain. "He'll find us, never fear," replied Bramble. "He has calculated the time of the fog reaching us, and he knows that we must lay our head off shore-to be sure, we might give him the go-by if we bore up and ran back again to the Downs." "I think I see myself bearing up and running away from a rascally French privateer," said the captain. "Keep a sharp look out there, forward." "Ay ay, sir," replied the chief officer. Half an hour more passed, and by our calculation the pri vateer should have been on board of us, but we could see nothing of her, although the fog had cleared up a little. The soldiers were now ordered to load their muskets. I was on the poop with Bramble, when, happening to turn and look aft (the very opposite direction from which the privateer was to be expected), I saw her three lug sails looming in the mist, just on the quarter, not half a cable's length from us. I jumped down to where the captain was standing, and said to him, These she is, sir, close on our lee quarter." The captain sprang on the poop, saw the vessel, and ordered the men to come aft in silence. The tramp of the soldiers' feet was scarcely over when the lugger was alongside of us, her masts banging against our main and mizen chains, as she rolled with the swell under our lee. The Frenchmen gave a cheer, which told us how very numerous they were: they climbed up the side and into the chains like cats, and in a few seconds all was noise, confusion, and smoke. It was impossible to know what the result was to be for about a minute, when the cheers from our own men announced that the assailants had been beaten back. But hardly had the cheering ceased on our side when another cheer was heard from the lugger, and the attempt to gain our decks was repeated. This time the Frenchmen fought more obstinately than before, and it was nearly five minutes before they were repelled. It was not yet dark (although the fog was thick), and you could make out their countenances pretty clear: a more wild reckless set of fellows I never beheld, and they certainly fought very gallantly, but they were driven back again; and once more were the cheers from the British seamen and soldiers mixed up with the execrations and shouts of the still contending, although retreating, Frenchmen. Just at this period of the conflict, I was standing on the poop by Bramble, who had been watching the result, when he said, "Tom, come with me: do you jump into the main chains with a double part of the topsail haulyards fall, and when the lugger's mast strikes against the chains, as she rolls in to us, pass the fall round it underneath the rigging, and hand the end in to me." We both leapt off the poop: he gave me the bight of the haulyards. I crept out of the port into the chains and passed it round the lugger's mainmast, as he told me, handing in the bight to him which he belayed slack to the main-sheet kevel. At the time I perceived a man lying wounded or dead in the main chains, but I paid no attention to him until, as I was about to get on board, he attracted my attention by seizing my leg, and making his teeth meet in the small part of it, above the ankle. I could not help crying out, I was so taken by surprise with the pain; however I kicked him off, and turning to look at him, I found it was a wounded Frenchman, who, perceiving what I was about, had paid me that compli ment. As soon as I was on board I heard the captain say to Bramble, "Well, pilot, he has had enough of it."" "Yes, and he won't escape, captain, for Tom has got him fast by the mast-head, and they dare not climb up to cut themselves adrift. All that you have to do now is to let the soldiers fire on his decks until they run below, and then our men can board and take possession of her." The captain, perceiving that the vessel was made fast, gave the necessary orders. The soldiers lined the hammock nettings and chains, and such a shower of musketry was poured into her decks that the Frenchmen were soon driven below, and our seamen then slipped down her rigging, boarded, and took possession of her. The prisoners having been ordered up and passed into the forehold, the wounded men were then looked after. We had eleven wounded, but none killed; the Frenchman had eight killed and seventeen wounded; among others, the captain, who had headed the second attempt to board. She was called the Pucelle d'Orleans, of twelve guns and a hundred and twenty-five men. It was two or three hours before we were again all to rights, and a party sent on board of the prize; and then there was again another kind of confusion, from the congratulations, drinking healths, the women coming up on deck, &c.; however the weather continued light, so it was of no consequence. That Frenchman bit very hard, and I limped for three or four days afterwards. "Well, Tom," said Bramble, "I see you 've got nerve, so all's right. You had better go and lie down now, must be tired; I'll call you in the morning." you for Very glad was I to limp to bed. All night I dreamed of no thing but volleys of musketry, and boarding and reboarding, and being wounded in the leg, and then I would awake with the smart of the Frenchman's teeth. The next morning when I came on deck, the captain thanked me for my services, and said that the lugger would have escaped had it not been for me. I replied that it was Bramble who prevented her escape, as I should not have thought of making her fast if I had not been told. "That's all true enough," replied the captain; "but how many of your age, having been told to do it, would have done it, Tom? I shall not forget you." I went on the poop to Bramble, who, as usual, had his shot pipe in his hand; and I certainly was pleased when I saw what a beautiful craft we had helped to capture. She sat like a swan on the water, and sailed round and round us with the greatest ease. In the afternoon we anchored at the Nore, and sent away all the prisoners to Sheerness. I must not forget to say how very kind and generous the passengers were to me. They gave me a great many presents, some of value, as I afterwards found out; and I was glad to receive them that I might give them to Virginia, and those who had been friendly to me. The next morning we arrived off Greenwich, and Bramble told me to go on shore and remain with my father and mother until he care down, which he would do in a few days, and pay a visit to his old friend Anderson. I landed with all my contraband articles in the boat, but no one thought of stopping or searching the former "Poor Jack." My insignificance was my protection; and I arrived safely at Fisher's Alley with all my curiosities and prohibited effects. When I entered the house, I perceived that there was a third person sitting in company with my mother and Virginia; but Virginia sprang to me, and I threw down my bundles with which I was loaded, and pressed her in my arms. Although I had been absent but four months, she appeared to be very much grown, and in every way improved. As soon as I had released her, I offered my hand to my mother, who took it very coldly, and then observed, "Tom, you will be so ungenteel; don't you see there is a gentleman here?" "I beg his pardon, mother," replied I; "but I could only see my sister just then," "And I admire your feeling, Tom," replied the party."Mrs. Saunders, you must not scold him for that. How do you, do, Tom, and how do you like your profession?" continued he, holding out his hand. I took his hand, and looking at him I recognised him.—、 "Oh, sir! you are the gentleman who was sitting in the room when we called upon Sir Hercules and her ladyship." "I am so, Tom, and I promised Sir Hercules that I would have an eye to you all, and be of any use to you that I could. My name is Wilson, and I'm what the sailors call a shark, that is, I'm a lawyer." "Well, you don't appear as if you would bite, sir," replied I, as I looked at his venerable and kind face. "No, no, we never frighten people by our looks: we don't carry our teeth with us; but I have several rows of them, atl upon shelves in my chambers, called the 'Statutes at large,' and by other names." He then entered into conversation with me, and I told him most of what has passed, of course not forgetting that the Idiaman we had brought up the river had captured a privateer. He sat about an hour, and then went away, desiring me to call upon him. I was not sorry when he went, as I wished to show my presents to Virginia, and give her those which she liked best. When Virginia had selected for herself, or rather I had forced upon her all she most admired, I gave a cut ivory card case, a filigree needle case, and a small red scarf to my mother, who, for the first time in her life, appeared pleased with me, and said that they were very genteel, and she was much obliged to me. The remainder I put away in my room up stairs, intending to keep some for Bessy, and give the others to Mrs. St. Felix, the doctor, and old Nanny. I then went to the Hospital, and found out my father, old Andersen, and Ben. I narrated to them much more circumstantially than I did to the old lawyer the particulars of the capture of the privateer. Anderson put a great many inqui ries to me, as to my liking my profession, and also concerning little Bessy, whose history I communicated to him. After my father and Ben had left, he gave me a great deal of advice, all of which I trust that I treasured up. "I hear," said he, "that Spicer has been talking a good deal about you, and inquiring very often when you were expected to return. Were you very intimate with that man?" I replied in the negative, and then narrated the whole history of the spy-glass, the erasure of the name by Mrs. St. Felix, and the recognition of it by Spicer. "You did right to leave him in his error relative to where you received the glass from," said Peter Anderson: "there is some mystery there which time may unravel, but do not say a word of it to any one, Tom. I am glad that you have told me, as in case you are away, and any thing should occur, I shall know how to act.' I must acknowledge that I now walked proudly through the streets of Greenwich. I was no longer Poor Jack, but I was earning my livelihood in my profession. I had reason to be still prouder when, two days afterward, Mr. Wilson came to my mother's with the newspaper in his hand in which there was a long account of the capture of the privateer, and the conduct of Bramble and of me spoken of in the highest terms. This he read aloud to my mother and Virginia. I watched my sister: the tears filled her eyes as she listened and when Mr. Wilson had done, her arms were round my neck, and her smiles were mixed with her tears, and sometimes she would laugh as she cried Oh! how I loved her then, for I felt how dearly she loved me; even my mother appeared gratified, although she said nothing, but continued to repair the lace veil upon which she had been employed. That evening I went with Virginia to call upon Mrs. St. Felix, taking with me the presents I had laid aside for her. She welcomed me as usual, and accepted what I brought for her without hesitation and with many thanks. "Well, Mr. Tom," said she, "I'll just put away all your nice little remembrances, and then I'll tell you that I've heard all about your behavior in the fight with the privateer; and I've no doubt but that, if you continue to go on as you've begun, you will one day have a leg the less, as your father has before you." A TURKISH CUSTOM. The sun was quivering above the horizon, when I strolled forth from Jaffa to enjoy the coming breeze, and the beautiful gardens that environ that agreeable town. Riding along the previous day, my attention had been attracted by a marble gate, the fragment of some old temple, that now served as the entrance into one of these enclosures, their secure boundary otherwise formed by a picturesque and impenetrable hedge of Indian fig. It is not a hundred yards from the town. Behind it stretches the plain of Ramle-the ancient Arimathea-broad and fertile, and, at this moment, green; for it was just after the latter rains, when Syria is most charming. The caravan-track leading through it, led to Jerusalem. The air was exquisitely soft and warm, and sweet with the perfume of the orange bowers. passed through the marble portal, adorned with some florid, yet skilful sculptures, and found myself in a verdant wilderness of fruit trees, spy-rising in rich confusion from the turf, through which not a single path seemed to wander. There were vast groups of orange and lemon trees, varied occasionally with the huge offspring of the citron-tree, and the glowing produce of the pomegranate; while, ever and anon, the tall bannana raised its head aloft, with its green and golden clusters, and sometimes the graceful and languid crest of the date-bearing palm. "I hope not," replied I: "two legs are better than one." "Yes, when you want to run away, that's true. I see now why you 're so anxions to save your legs." But, Mrs. St. Felix, if it had not been for that good glass you gave me, I never should have discovered the privateer, and we should not have been prepared for her." "Well, that's fortunate : it did n't prove a glass too much, any how, or you'd have seen double. I suppose, then, all these pretty things are my share of the prize money." "No, they are of no value, except to prove to you that Poor Jack has not forgotten your kindness, and never will." "That I believe: and believing that, I suppose you have not forgotten old Nanny." "No; but I have not seen her yet. I intend to go to-morrow; but I have something for the doctor. He is not at home, will you give it to him?" "Certainly, you know I am as good as a mother to him." "I think the doctor would rather you'd be a wife to him." "That's a foolish idea that's in many people's heads, Tom, which I'll thank you to contradict. I never intend to change my name." "Don't make too sure," replied I; and I added at a venture, (why, I know not, but I had formed the idea in my mind that St. Felix was not her proper name,) "you may change it yet for your real name.' you mean?" "Tom, Tom!" cried the widow, "what do "Nothing," replied I; "I was only joking." "Well then, don't talk such nonsense, or I shall send you out of the shop." I had, however, it appeared, struck upon a chord which jarred, and all the spirits of Mrs. St. Felix vanished at once. So Virginia and I wished her a good evening, and returned [To be continued.] home. THE POET'S MISTRESS. BY THE HON. D. G. OSBORNE. She is alone, and casts her gaze Upon the page his hand has traced; To things in which she claims no part. Draws from the crowd with pride she views; The crown of laurel that he wears, By Genius won in Life's wild race, That crown of bays, so proud and sweet, Lays down the laurels at her feet! While I was in doubt as to the direction I should bend my steps, my ear was caught by the wild notes of Turkish music; and following the sound, I emerged upon a plot of turf, clear from trees, in the midst of which was a fountain'; and by its margin, seated on a delicate Persian carpet, a venerable Turk. Some slaves were near him, one of whom, at a little distance, was playing on a rude lyre. In his left hand was a volume of Arabian poetry, and he held in his right the serpentine tube of his Nargilly, or Syrian pipe. When he beheld me, he saluted me with all the dignity of the Orient, pressing his hand to his heart, but not rising. I apologised for my intrusion; but he welcomed me with serene cordiality, and invited me to share his carpet and touch his pipe. Some time elapsed in answering those questions respecting Eurepean horses and arms, wherein the easterns delight. At length the solemn and sonorous voice of the muezzin, from the minarets of Jaffa, came floating on the air. The Sun had set; and, immediately, my host and his companions perform ed their ablutions in the fountain; and, kneeling towards Mecca, repeated their accustomed prayers. Then rising, the Turkish aga, for such was his rank, invited me to enjoy the evening breeze, and accompany him in a walk round his gar den. As we proceeded, my companion plucked an orange, and, taking a knife from his girdle and cutting the fruit in half, of fered me one moiety and threw the other away. More than once he repeated this ceremony, which somewhat excited my surprise. At length he inquired my opinion of his fruit. I enlarged, and with sincerity, on its admirable quality, the racy sweetness of its flavor, which I esteemed unequalled; and I could not refrain from expressing my surprise, that of fruit so exquisite, he should so studiously waste so considerable a portion. "Effendi," said the Turk, with a grave though gracious smile, "to friends we give only the sunny side." An English lady, on arriving at Calais, on her way to make the grand tour, was surprised and somewhat indignant at being termed, for the first time in her life, a foreigner. "You mistake, madam," said she to the libeller, with some pique, "it is you who are foreigners; we are English." A person who married a termegant, who drove him to desperation, and finally to death, just before dying requested a friend to have the following brief, yet pungent, inscription put on his tomb: "Slain by a Jaw Bone." AFFABILITY.-A distinguished English writer truly says: "What a fool a great man is, if he does not study to be affable; weigh a Prince's condescension in one scale, and all the cardinal virtues in the other, and the condescension will outweigh them all." THE PRAIRIE LEA. BY DR. J. K. MITCHELL. Oh! the Prairie lea is the home for me, For there I'm lor.l of all I see; The chase, the chase o'er the boundless space, I fly unseen o'er fields of green, Where hoof-crush'd blossoms scent the air, Oh! the Prairie lea, &c. The cannon's roar, the spouting gore, To some a stormy joy may yield; But oh give me the Prairie lea, Its peaceful scenes are dear to me; Oh! the Prairie lea, &c. The wolf leaps out, at the merry shout, From the deer and panting steed; As home we fly with careless tread, On the way to our grassy bed! Oh! the Prairie lea, &c. As down upon the snow-owl's breast, The light of the hunter's home! Oh! the Prairie lea, &c. ion and habit may sanction, I hold the want of punctuality to be an unpardonable offence, and cannot be sufficiently condemned. It is rude in the extreme, and so closely allied to impertinence and ill-breeding, that the transgressor should never be allowed the opportunity of offending a second time. Some eccentric gentlemen carry this failing to a provoking extent, and will honor you with their presence perhaps a full hour after the time specified in your invitation. Out upon such affectation, say I; it is an insult to the host as well as the guests. Avoid such late friends, gentle reader, as you would Alexandria when the plague is raging there-they are pests to dinner society. The term "good dinner," in its most comprehensive sense, comprises much more than the actual fare to be discussed; there are numberless concomitant comforts which lend their valuable aid in summing up the total of a perfectly good dinner; for example, the edibles may be excellent of their kind, and well-dressed, but if the servants do not understand their business, and offend the tympanum by a profane jingling of glasses, clatter of plates, and rattling of knives and forks-if the wines be indifferent, clumsily distributed, and ill-decantered-if there be a paucity of plate, and a scarcity of crystal, the room badly lighted, the dining-room too small for the party, and if you be wedged in between two apoplectic "convives," as in an omnibus on a rainy day, with fourteen insides, why I should not pay my host the compliment of pronouncing his entertainment a good dinner. With all due deference to our continental neighbors, they know nothing of this difficult acquirement-not that I deny the studied excellence and endless variety of their refined and delicate dishes. As far as the animal gratification goes there is nothing to desire, but their tables are badly appointedtheir dining-rooms cheerless and ill-furnished-the plate and glass execrable, and the attendance faulty beyond conception. Their wines, I admit, also are unexceptionable, but at large dinner parties in the French metropolis they are handed round without proper discrimination by the host, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the precious juice is intrusted to the care of some savage in the shape of an attendant, who (especially if it be in warm weather) shocks the connoisseur by grasping the body of the bottle with his moist and greasy palm, thereby neutralizing the effect of the ice-pail or well-regulated cellar, instead of dexterously poising the taper neck between the finger and thumb, previously encased in diaper. These are solecisms in waiting committed by ill drilled domestics and vulgar-minded butlers in Paris as well as in London. Believe me that England is the country for good living, and London the centre of attraction for good dinners, the focus of gourmanderie. We all know that the haute noblesse give good dinners; it is not of these I propose to treat; these are perfect in their way, and on a scale of magnificence unapproachable by any nation in the civilized world; but it is of true domestic living I write, such as is practised in families and by bachelors whose incomes may vary from one to ten thousand a-year. This I take to be the happy medium of society in general, where more true comfort (magical word!) combined with elegance and luxury, are to be met with, than in the mansions of those possessed of colossal fortunes. In the first place there is no real enjoyment in a large dinner Social party. Of general conversation there can be none. intercourse is out of the question, and you may rise from the table without knowing who your opposite neighbor has been during the repast, for what with branch-lights, pyramids of crystal, floral embellishments, and the epergne, you may seek in vain to recognize an old acquaintance through the intervening objects. Nothing is left but to seek for solace and amusement with those whom chance has placed in juxta position with you. You may be seated next to a bore, a proser, a simpleton, or an intellectual personage, "c'est selon." I have come in contact with all sorts. Commend me to the man who gives a good dinner. Such an enviable acquaintance cannot be too highly prized; indeed methinks I hear the gnostic gastronomer exclaim, where is he to be found? Happy ought he to consider himself who can boast of even one upon his list of feeding friends, for to give a really good dinner is a much more difficult matter than mankind in general are aware of. How rarely does complete success crown the wishes of the anxious Amphitryon, and the talented exertions of his cook? They are both subjected to casualties which may mar their benevolent solicitude for the comfort of the guests. Alas! the odds are fearfully against them! It is said, there are seven chances against even the most simple dish being presented to the mouth in absolute perfection-for instance, a leg of mutton. First, the mutton must be good. Second, it must have been kept a good time. Third, must be roasted at a good fire. Fourth, I remember upon one occasion asking an interesting damsel by a good cook. Fifth, who must be in good temper. Sixth, whom I had the honor of escorting to the salle à manger, if with all this felicitous combination you must have good luck; she would partake of some fried or boiled soles, when she and, seventhly, a good appetite. The meat, and the mouths with bewitching naivete replied, "I will take some fried, if which are to eat it, must be ready for action at the same moyou please, for they have fewer bones."* I have puzzled myOne of the greatest afflictions with which the giver of din-self ever since to discover how this could be, but without comners is visited is the frequent want of punctuality on the parting to any satisfactory conclusion. I have an innate aversion of the invited; for, by a lack of observance of this cardinal virtue, the intricate arrangements of the cuisine are com ment. pletely annihilated-the comfort of the party endangered-the host's reputation, or rather his cook's, jeopardised, and a vast deal of pains and culinary skill thrown away. Whatever fash to large parties. A dinner-table should never be crowded.Eight is the highest admissible number-six, par preference. Although a happy Benedict myself, I opine that a bachelor, blessed with an income of two thousand a year, endowed with taste, discrimination, judgement and tact, and of a convivial t n withal, gives the best dinners. The late Dr. Kitchener stood preeminent in this branch of hospitality-unrivalled, I might say-no man ever understood the real art of giving a dinner so well as himself. The selection of his guests was his first care-their comfort and happiness were his sole consideration; and with this benevolent feeling he brought those together at his festive board whose tastes and habits were congenial, and who rejoiced in each other's society. This is the grand secret for organizing a pleasant party-and I need scarcely add that the worthy doctor invariably succeeded-his réunions were the most delightful in London. The most celebrated wits and bons vivants of the day graced his table, and inter alia the late George Colman, who was an especial favorite; his interpolation of a little monosyllable on a written admonition which the doctor caused to be placed on the mantel-piece of the dining-parlor, will never be forgotten, and was the origin of such a drinking bout as was seldom permitted under his roof. The caution ran thus: "Come at seven-go at eleven." Colman briefly altered the sense of it; for upon the doctor's attention being directed to the card, he read to his astonishment, Come at seven-go it at eleven!" which the guests did, and the claret was punished accordingly. A worthy uncle of mine-peace to his manes-was an old and intimate friend of Dr. Kitchener's, and had the distinguished honor of being one of the doctor's committee of taste, for which responsible office my venerable relative's discriminating palate fully qualified him. The public are indebted to his research for that inimitable receipt for mock turtle soup which Dr. Kitchener has published in his imperishable work, "The Cook's Oracle," a volume replete with culinary lore and valuable information. By reason of my consanguinity with his fellow epicure, I was occasionally admitted as a guest at the doctor's table in my younger days, and there was I initiated in the arcana and mystery of good living. The transcendant merit of Dr. Kitchener's dinners consisted not so much in the profusion and variety of his entremets, as the uniformly surpassing excellence of the fare placed before you; for he was ever of opinion that three or four delicacies dressed in perfection were better worthy of notice than a dozen dainties indifferently served. The following will serve as a sample:-The soup was superlative; if turtle, it was procured from Birch's, but many of his friends preferred the imitation made at home; his favorite fish was turbot, which I never ate in such perfection at any other table; but this varied of course with the season, when John Dory, red mullet, and salmon, furnished their quota of enjoyments. These were generally succeeded by an unexceptionable saddle or haunch of four-year old South-Down mutton, boiled or fricasseed poultry, prawn curry, pâtes, tongue, salad, and vegetables; when game was not in season, a splendidly-dressed crab was the appetizing substitute. This, with some "fondu," an omelette soufflée, and a choice Stilton, closed the eating part of the entertainment. There was a total absence of superfluous ornament at the hospitable doctor's table-it was arranged with quakerlike simplicity, but there was every thing for use, and in abundance; the attendance was faultless, and the stimulating et cetera in the way of sauces of surpassing flavor, and placed within the reach of every guest-an example worthy of imitation. The doctor's cook was of the softer sex; but if she were of the feminine gender, her mind was masculine; there was a vigor and boldness in her culinary conceptions perfectly unapproachable by other females. She was the "Da Stael" of cookery; and moreover, had the bump of gustativeness strongly developed. Dr. Kitchener was of opinion that good eating required good drinking, and in support of his favorite maxim, his cellar was stocked with specimens of the finest vintages-his wines were delicious, and selected with infinite judgement-the liquids were worthy of the solids. The worthy gastronome whose hospitable deeds I am recording, was a disciple of the old school, and was proud of his mahogany; and I very much question if he would have followed, or even sanctioned, the foreign innovation of leaving the cloth on the table after the dinner has been removed. This is one of many continental customs that have been introduced, and which, with all due deference, I conceive to be more honored in the breach than the observance. However splendid and costly the damask may be, it does not warrant the total eclipse of the beautiful wood. Our dining-tables are made for show as well as use the reverse is the case abroad-the French are compelled to leave the cloth on theirs, for the best of all reasons-they are not fit to be seen. Losing sight therefore of the motive which operates upon our continental neighbors for this habit, we copy the system in defiance of good taste. A French salon is magnificently furnished, light, airy, and elegant, and the workmanship of the "meubles" elaborate and ornamental; but a French salle à manger is a very sorry apartment, desolate and cheerless to the last degree; the dining-tables are composed of the rudest materials, and in firstrate houses I have known the festive board to have been lite rally a deal board, covered with green baize, resting on tressels; I hope to see this truly un-English fashion abolishedit is chilling, unsociable, and uncomfortable-call it the force of habit if you will, but I never fancy I have dined if I do not see the mahogany. I am old fashioned enough to like to see the bottle passed with discretion after the edible process is finished; and I am much mistaken if our indulgent wives have any objection to our sipping a few glasses of generous wine while they are discussing the relative merits of mantua. makers, and talking scandal over our heads. I am as great an enemy to any excess as the veriest tee-totaller. No gentleman will ever render himself unfit for female society, but in the name of good-fellowship allow us a bottle of claret and an hour's rational intercourse with our fellow-men. One of the most gentlemanlike hobbies a man can indulge in, is a good cellar; for I know not a truer gratification than being enabled to give a friend a bottle of fine wine. To me it is the ne plus ultra of enjoyment. I need scarcely say, that great judgment and experience are required in laying the foundation of your stock; and if you be diffident of your power of taste, confide implicitly in a respectable wine mer chant, and he will do you justice. Of all wines, Madeira demands the nicest discrimination in its selection; the deserved. ly high place it once held in the estimation of connoisseurs, has been usurped by Sherry, and it is to be lamented that it should have grown into comparative desuetude; for of the two it is incomparably the finer wine. An error has long prevail ed regarding this long neglected nectar, which, in justice to my brother "bons vivants," I must expose. The unwary are led to believe that East India Madeira is the best-this is decidedly wrong, as I shall presently show. The West India Madeira is the wine par excellence-im measurably superior in every respect. The authority I can quote in support of my argument is not to be disputed, for this important and little-known fact was communicated to me on the Island of Madeira itself, by one of its most influential merchants, under whose hospitable roof I was living some few years ago. He told me that the West India planters are the very best judges in the world of Madeira wine, and purchase none but of the very best description, and whether consigned to them, or sent on speculation to the several islands, the very first quality only is shipped-the distance is nothing-a three weeks' run, and if wine of an indifferent kind were submitted for sale, it would be returned on the merchant's hands. Not so with the commodity sent to the East India market under the attractive cognomen of "London Particular,"-it is a thin acid potation, a second-growth wine in fact, and as unlike the rich, fruity, nutty beverage of occidental celebrity, as a horse-chesnut is to a chesnut horse. Of course I do not al lude to private orders from governors-general, commanders in-chiefs, and nabobs, but to the common run of wine with high sounding title, exported by captains of free traders, either on their own account, or that of the retailers and keepers of stores at the various presidencies. During my short stay at Madeira on a voyage to the West Indies, I discovered that there was a great difference in the price as well as the quality of the wine shipped to the East that for the West averaging fifty guineas and fifty-four pounds, while the latter could be had at thirty-eight and forty pounds per pipe. The contented citizen in the innocence of his heart imagines, that a pipe of Madeira stowed away in the hold of the Neptune or Polly, of London, and which has been to Ingy and back, must be superior, forgetting that if the wine itself be not originally good, all the voyages from the days of Lord Anson to the present time will never impart richness and flavor to any juice of the grape of a poor and thin body:-a genial climate and perpetual motion may accelerate the progress to maturity, but fifty tropical suns and as many trips round the Cape will never make fine Madeira. Lady Duberly's elegant axiom may be justly quoted in this case, when snubbing her lord, she says, "You cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." You might as well attempt to convert table-beer into brown stout. With the exception of private |