loved it, and made it an eternal Michaelmas dish, in commemoration of the destruction of the Armada. Richard Cœur de Lion, too, was so extremely fond of goose, that he risked a dungeon for one (See Ellis's Metrical Romances). The monarch and two of his knights are represented, in the same romaunt, as engaged in an operation which would not have sounded well in Bishop Heber's Palestine, or in any other prize poem,'much as cooks are generally indebted to the authors of these compositions:

"A goose they dight to their dinner,

In a tavern where they were.
King Richard the fire bet;

Thomas to him the spit set:

Fouk Doyley tempered the wood."

The romance says nothing of the apple sauce, which, we think, was an invention quite worthy of those barbarous days; nor of gooseberry sauce, which Meg Dods recommends. The sauce and the bird are worthy of each other. We have very little respect, even for the celebrated pâtés made of goose thighs and livers*: for other preparations of this fowl, we have the most unbounded aversion-not to say contempt. Dr. Starke, indeed, in his Experiments on Diet, states, that "when he fed upon goose, he was more vigorous in body and mind, than upon any other diet"-but his authority does not weigh much with us. Reviewers are accustomed to live upon this sort of food; and instead of feeling more vigorous in body and mind from what they feed on, they generally feel oppressed and lethargic, in consequence of the heavy and stupid matter which they consume. The authoress of "Domestic Economy," misquotes, as usual, Starke's observation, and remarks upon it in Mrs. Malaprop's vein, that "by continuance, one might overcharge these faculties," innocently taking body and mind for faculties. The stupidity of geese is proverbial: but, perhaps, our readers may not be aware of the full extent of it. Lemery, the celebrated chemist, saw a goose turning the spit on which another fowl was roasting:-and when flocks of geese used to be driven from Picardy into Italy, over the Alps, the fat and feathered gluttons, as they waddled under the gigantic triumphal arches, cautiously stooped till they had passed by!

But if goose was a favourite dish with the lion-hearted Richard, pork was still more so. On recovering from an illness in Syria, Richard wished for a dish of pork+, which it happened to be im

From a passage in Juvenal, it would seem that the ancient Romans were as fond of enlarged goose livers as the modern Parisians: it is to be hoped that their method of magnifying them was not quite so cruel as that adopted by the builders of pátés de foiés gras, to produce that species of oleaginous dropsy of which the bird dies. The words of Juvenal, to which we allude, are in the fifth satire :

"Anseris ante ipsum magni jecur," &c.

+ Another less illustrious murderer, the late Mr. Thurtell, had a similar

possible to procure. Being like all gracious monarchs, not a little cruel and unreasonable, no one durst tell him the truth. An old knight (see Ellis's Romances,) recommended, that in the absence of pork, a young Saracen should be roasted, and gave the following receipt for dressing him :

"Take a Saracen young and fat;

In haste let the thief be slayn,
Opened, and the skin off flayn:
And sodden, full hastily,

With powder and with spicery,

And with saffron of good colour."-Ellis, vol. i.

When he sees

After eating heartily of Saracen, Richard falls asleep, and on waking, tells the cook to bring the jowl for supper. the "swarte vis" grinning at him

"What devil is this?" the king cried,
And gan to laugh as he were wode.
"What, is Saracen's flesh so good?
That never erst, I nought wist,
By Gode's death, and his uprist,
Shall we never die for default,
While we may in any assault,

Slee Saracens, the flesh may take,

And seethen, rosten, stew, and bake."-Ellis, vol. i.

But to return to Mr. Ude. There is a genuine enthusiasma feeling of the use, importance, and dignity of his art-about his volume, which is eminently amusing: but without which, as he himself very truly says, it is impossible to be a good cook. Indeed, his zeal in the cause of cookery sometimes leads him even to subdue the sentiments of humanity, as in the cooking of eels (p. 297). Cooks, we know, are condemned to wade through slaughter to a matelotte, but none that we ever heard of has so completely shut the gates of mercy on eel-kind, as Mr. Ude.

MATELOTTE OF EELS.

< Take one or two live eels: throw them into the fire. As they are twisting about on all sides, lay hold of them with a towel in your hand, and skin them from head to tail. This method is the best, as it is the means of drawing out all the oil, which is unpalatable.'

affection for pork, and supped upon it at midnight, at the cottage at Gill's Hill-lane, after the murder of Weare.

Pork is extremely indigestible, if not thoroughly dressed; and will, when eaten at night, conjure up" the nightmare and her nine-fold," with great expedition and effect. The late Mr. Fuseli loved to "sup full with horrors" in this way and it is to him, and this practice of his, that Peter Pindar alludes, when speaking of

"Some artist who can sup upon raw pork

To make him dream of horrors for his brush."

فاد

102

But to do the author justice, we must quote his defence:

'Several gentlemen have accused me of cruelty, for recommending in my book that eels should be burnt alive. As my knowlege of cookery is entirely devoted to the gratification of their taste, and the preservation of their health, I consider it my duty to attend to what is essential to both. The blue skin, and the oil which remains when they are skinned*, are highly indigestible. If any gentleman or lady should make the trial, they will find the burnt ones are much healthier: but it is, after all, left to their choice, whether to burn or skin.'

This vindication of unnecessary cruelty, is quite worthy of the advocates of the game laws and spring guns: and we should not be at all surprised to see it reprinted, with some slight alterations, in the next armigeral pamphlet, on the preservation of pheasants, at the expense of human blood. The following reasoning is quite worthy of a squire of game, indifferent in his choice to shoot or transport.

Several gentlemen have accused me of cruelty, for recommending in my work that poachers should be shot. As my knowlege of the laws is entirely devoted to the gratification of their taste, and the preservation of their game, I consider it my duty to attend to what is essential to both. The complaints and curses they utter when they are shot, are highly indefensible. If any gentleman or lady should make the trial, they will find that the shot ones are much better: but it is, after all, left to their choice whether to shoot or hang.'

We may sum up the character of Mr. Ude's volume, by saying, that though it will be found most useful for those who keep a splendid table, there are numerous receipts in it that combine elegance and economy. It must be remembered, however, that the grand characteristic of French cookery, is not cheapness, but exquisite delicacy. The new receipts-the dishes à la Ude-are excellent but in lauding them, it would be unjust to pass over the English receipts in "The French Cook," which are highly meritorious; though the remarks on turbot, and the vituperation of the spatium admirabile Rhombi, at page 311, will astound some gastronomic readers.

The Receipt for dressing Turtle is superb: and though we are prevented by its length from quoting it, we must state the curious fact, that this dish, said to be so peculiarly English, is scarcely mentioned in any of the English cookery books.

'Beauvilliers's French Cookery,' the second book on our list, is heralded by a very absurd preface, by the person who has done M. Beauvilliers's work into what he calls English. The instructions to cooks which it contains, might pass for an ingenious imitation of Dean Swift's admirable directions to servants. For example:

'A cook ought to spend a part of every unhurried day in procuring instruction, from which he will learn to substitute one thing for another.'

But how is the cook to get even this kind of instruction? For the author says (p. 11), 'If a cook has to turn over a receipt book continually, the labour is immense, and the time lost is incalculable.' The logic of the following sentence is admirable. It is not customary in English cookery to braise and poêle as the French do, therefore these operations should be thoroughly understood.' (p. 11). To the next direction, however, no cook will very decidedly object. When he has a day or an hour at leisure, he ought to go and assist at entertainments, when in town.' (p. 12). When it is remembered that this book professes to teach economy, the translator seems rather romantic in advising, that every elegant trifle should be introduced; delicate fruits and flowers, crystal vases, gold bowls, cups, &c., pine apples, melons, &c., in short, every thing delicate, bright, and shining.' (p. 12, 13). The volume, the preface to which contains this trash, professes to be a translation; but there is at least as much French as English in it: and those parts of the original left untranslated, are, unluckily, the very portions of the book most likely to present any difficulty to English readers of it. For example-what English cook would understand a Babylonish dialect like the following?

'Cut out three carrés of mutton; marque them with the others, in the same way as the saddle, a la Sainte Menéhoulde: dry them with a hot poker, glaze the whole, and serve them with a ragoût of small roots, purée of sorrel,' &c.-p, 80.

Or this:

'Take a large shoulder of mutton, without spoiling the carré: marque a stew pan with carrots, &c., moisten with bouillon, put it for three or four hours upon the paillase, when ready to send to table, glaze it on a purée of sorrel, or tomate (une chicorée blanche au jus), a ragoût of small roots; or an espagnole.'-p. 80, 81.

One example more:

'Pigs' feet having boned and filled them with a salpiçon of volaille and truffles, wrap them up in the form of a pied de Sainte Ménéhoulde,' &c. p. 97.

The very titles of the dishes are alarming. What does the reader think of aggyzinas, aubergines, babas, darioles, fanchonettes, to say nothing of surprised eggs, little Genoeses, dishes of ladies' lips, charlottes of apples, eggs in snow, eggs in sunshine, eggs in a mirror, eggs in moonshine, Turk's caps, mutton in a ball, fritters surprised, partridge souffly, potatoe topinambours, or tendons of veal in peacock's tails? all of which this delightful translator has done into English: while no attempt is made to translate choucroûte by the term sour krout. We will ask only one question. If the book was intended to be useful to English cooks, why is it not written in English?

The French Domestic Cookery,' has all the faults which we have pointed out in Beauvilliers', except an absurd preface: but,

to make up for this, it borrows the title of a popular work on cookery, which it will never supersede. We may ask, why so many dishes à l'Anglaise are introduced into a French cookery

book?

Mrs. Rundell's 'Domestic Cookery,' is almost too well known to require notice. Its chief object is, to teach economy in the management of the table; and this, we think, it accomplishes. We cannot speak in praise of its receipts for the higher kinds of cookery, but we dare say that they will be very much admired by precisely that class of gastronomes whose judgment is worth nothing. English cooks, who profess to give French dishes, are somewhat like Lord Peter, in the Tale of a Tub-they give us very ordinary brown bread, and pretend that it is delicious mutton. But, though we have no respect for Mrs. Rundell's salmis, we cordially admire her practical good sense, and applaud her for the production of a useful book, which has, moreover, the merit of having been the pattern of all that have since been published.

In noticing the Domestic Economy and Cookery, by a Lady,' we cannot help expressing our surprise, that the respectable house from which it comes, should have stooped to pillage the title of a rival bookseller's work. In point of utility, however, the Domestic Economy is infinitely below the Domestic Cookery. The author seems extremely partial to the cookery of the East: and, perhaps, to the steward of the East Indian Club, if to nobody else, his Hindostanee and Mahometan receipts may be valuable. But Mahometan stews, and kebaubs,-mutton saturated with sugar and spice, and mixed with fruit,—and the eternal sweet herbs and pepper of the Hindoo cuisine, in elective affinity with rice and water, will never do here. No one in this country, we fear, will patronise the sweet pillaus and cold soups of Persia; the cubbubs and sherbets, of Egypt; the cuscussou and honied paste of Africa; or the seraglio cookery, for which receipts are given,-any more than the mare's milk, snails, frogs, acorns, horse-chesnuts, horse-flesh, assflesh, and elephant's flesh, so strongly recommended in the preface. Neat's dung, for firing, we hope will never come into general use, though 'it emits a fine perfume in burning;' nor do we wish to exchange our sea-coal fires, even for river mud and refuse of peat stalks.' (p. 112). The body of the work proves, we think, that the author has been more anxious to make a large cookery book, than a good one: and we have no hesitation in saying, that by far the most remarkable thing about the Domestic Economy and Cookery,' is its bulk.

Dr. Kitchener seems to have aimed at the production of an English rival to the French cookery books, in which he has as egregiously failed, as in his attempt to imitate the gay and mocking vein of the Almanach des Gourmands. Dr. Kitchener's wit is better fitted for the kitchen, than his cookery for the dining room. There is a fatness, a redundancy of grease about his dishes, which