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Near this and between Essex house and Milford-lane, was a chapel dedicated to the Holy Ghost, called S. Spirit.

To the west of this last was the bishop of Bath's house, or inn, as it was usual to call such residences. Beyond this, on the side of the street, was a church-yard, in which stood the parish

north side was conveyed into the Thames. And over these rivulets, wherever they occurred, bridges, consisting probably of no more than one small stone arch, were erected, to continue the road and preserve the communication. One of these, called Strand-bridge, was between Surrey-street and the present Somerset-place; another, named Ivy-bridge, between Salisbury-church of the Nativity of St. Mary and the Innostreet and where the Adelphi now stands; and a third, it is said, discovered not long since, opposite the end of Essex-street. These water-courses and bridges are, in fact, still existing, but being converted into sewers and covered with streets,minated by some, from its situation, Strand inn. are no longer visible. And where the spot called Charing-cross now is, was, in ancient time, the village of Charing, equally detached from both London and Westminster, and nearly equidistant from each.

cent. In the Strand, nearly adjoining this church, and between that and the river, was an inn of Chancery, called Chester's inn, because it belonged to the Bishop of Chester; but deno

At a small distance from the church, stood Strand-bridge, which had a lane or way under it, leading down to a landing place on the banks of the Thames. The precise spot may still be ascertained from the name of Strand-lane, which a turning down from the Strand to the water, between Surrey-street and Somerset-place, still

retains.

The bishop of Chester's own house, or re

About the time of Henry III. the Courts, particularly the Common Pleas, became stationary at Westminster, which had also become the most usual place of holding the Parliament. Many of the bishops especially, and others of the no-sidence, stood a little to the west of Strandbility, therefore, for the purpose of more convenient attendance when the Parliament was held there, were induced to erect palaces on the edge of the river, and by so doing to connect, by a line of buildings, the two villages of Charing and London. Howel has remarked, that from Dorset-house, Fleet-street, to Whitehall, all the great houses built on the Thames were episcopal palaces, except the Savoy and Suffolk-house.

bridge. It was called equally the Bishop of Chester's and the Bishop of Litchfield and Coventry's inn, and was first built by Walter Langton, bishop of Chester, treasurer of England in the reign of Edward 1.

In the high-street, opposite the bishop of Chester's, or Coventry's inn, stood at one time a stone-cross, at which, in 1294, and at other times, the justices itinerant sat, without LonWithin a few years a house has been pulled don; but afterwards they sat in sat in that bishop's down, though not old, yet rendered sufficiently house. No great distance from the cross, ocillustrious, by the temporary residence of the curred the palace of the Savoy, erected in 1245. Duke de Sully, when Ambassador here. It stood To the Savoy, succeeded the bishop of Caron the north side of the Strand, near Templelisle's inn, which in 1618, and also in 1633, Bar; it is said to have been at that time inhabited was inhabited by the earl of Bedford, and called by Chrisopher Harley, Count Beaumont, anabas- Russell, or Bedford house. It is described as sador from France in the year 1605, and the extending from the hospital of the Savoy to Duke de Sully, who came over as ambassador | Ivy-bridge, which, in the map of St. Martin's extraordinary, resided here for a few days after parish, in Strype's Stow, book vi. page 66, is his arrival, till Arundel-house, then situated represented as the next turning beyond Salis. where Arundel street now is, could be prepared bury-street to the west; so that it must have for his reception. been the house which stood on the scite of

On the south side of the Strand, beginning from Temple Bar, the first in local situation, though not in chronological order, was Exeter house, erected, as it is supposed by the then Bishop of that see, about the reign of Edward II.

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CULINARY RESEARCHES.
[Continued from Vol. II. Page 151.]

ON PASTRY.

ings presented under a variety of interesting shapes, will make your delicious productions be sought for with avidity, and they will prove invaluable, when created by those who are so dear to us!"

ON COOKS,

In cookery, as well as almost every other art, theory is nothing unless it be accompanied with practice; and a man who possesses all the elements of cookery, and who has all the treatises that have been written on this art engraven on his memory, will be incapable of making a good fricassee of chickens, if he has never worn an apron. A blind routine, void of study and knowledge, does not indeed constitute an artist; but a

PASTRY is to cookery, what rhetorical figures are to speech; its life and ornament. An harangue without metaphors, and a dinner without pastry, would be equally insipid; but as every body is not possessed of eloquence, so few people know the art of scientifically handling paste. Good pastry cooks are almost as scarce as great orators; and if in the records of speech, five or six great men have been justly celebrated, we should find some trouble in the history of the oven, to quote as many famous artists. The bar of Greece has been immortalized by a Demosthenes and an Eschines; and that of Rome by a Cicero and an Hortensius; and in France the rolling-pin has only been scientifically wield-theory without practice, will never afford the ed by a Rouget, a Lesage, a Leblanc and Gendrons, and very few others, who follow their steps. As to the pastry cooks of other countries, they are never even mentioned. Those of France alone have distinguished themselves Toulou and Strasburgh have acquired a great name by their liver pies, and Perigueux by its partridge ones; but how far are these preparations from those productions at the same ime ingenious and deep which daily issue from the first ovens of Paris.

means of composing a faultless ragout. The lowest scullion will succeed better in this, than the most learned philosopher,

But the practice of cookery is accompanied with so many disagreeables, and even dangers, that those who devote themselves to it ought to meet with our respect, our esteem, and attentions; for money alone is not an adequate recompence for a scientific cook.

We will not speak of the unwholesome vapours exhaled by the coals, which soon undermine the most robust health; of the intense heat of the fire, so pernicious to the lungs and sight; of the smoke so inimical to the eyes and

Pastry is an art both agreeable and useful; which young ladies would do well to practice; it would give them a pleasing occupation, and sure means of recovering or preserving their health and beauty. May I be allowed to quote on this sub-complexion, &c. These are dangers which inject, a few lines from a celebrated writer on cookery and pastry, to whom the world has been indebted for the best works that have ever been composed on the alimentary art:

||

cessantly arise, and which nothing can ward off. A cook must live in the midst of them, as the soldier in the midst of bullets and bombs; with this difference, however, that for the first, every day is a day of battle, and the combat is almost always unattended with renown, and the name even of the most skilful cook is, alas! generally unknown to the guests who frequent an opulent table..

"Cookery has the power of banishing ennui|| from all ranks; of offering a variety of amusements; of giving a gentle and salutary exercise to the human frame; of promoting a free circulation of the blood, from which we acquire appetite, strength and gaiety; of reuniting our It belongs to the Amphitryon, who wishes that friends; and tends to the perfection of that art, his table should retain its pre-eminence, to remedy known and revered ever since the darkest ages this injustice. If he wishes to be uniformly well of antiquity, and which on that account deserved, his cook ought to be his best friend. He serves some attention from all those who compose society.

"Amiable fair ones, who are suffering under the affliction of ill health or ennui, quit the destructive couch, which consumes the spring of your days; and let those moulds, destined for the purpose of forming innumerable delicacies, be no longer grasped by hands that are often disgusting, but let suga, jessamine and roses be united by hands of the graces, and your offer

must tenderly watch over his health; he must bestow on him those little attentions, which an honest and grateful heart knows so well how to appreciate, and above all things he must often make him take physic!

At this word, we anticipate that many of our readers will start with astonishment, and deny that any connexion can possibly exist between an artist in cookery and an apothecary's shop, and refuse to credit how the delicacies of a table

can depend on the care a master of a house takes on the person's labour, his constitution, and a to make his cook often take physic. A few ex-thousand other circumstances. But in general planatory words will demonstrate that nothing cau be more simple.

We have said at the commencement of this article, that practice was absolutely necessary to obtain perfection in this art. Tasting continually the various dishes forms a very prominent feature in this practice. A good cook should be almost || incessantly thus employed, or he will never be able to season his ragouts with a masterly hand. His palate must then be extremely delicate, that a mere nothing may stimulate it and inform him of his fault.

when you observe that your cook appears negligent, when his ragouts are too salt, or too highly seasoned, you may be assured that his palate has lost its faculty of tasting, and that it is time to call in the apothecary to your assistance. He must first be well prepared by two days regimen, and then a potion composed of manna, senna, and salts must be administered to him, the dose of which must be regulated according to the more or less insensibility of his palate; you must after wards allow him one day of complete rest; renew the potion to free him of all humours, let two days of perfect rest again follow this last medicine, and you may after this flatter yourself to have at the head of your kitchen a quite regenerated

man.

But the continual fumes arising from the stoves, the necessity of drinking often, to cool their parched throats, the vapours arising from the walls, the bile and humours that when in motion enervate their faculties, in short all conspire to This recipe, to insure a good cheer is not soon alter a cook's taste, unless he be carefully joke. It is practised in all families where the attended to. The palate becomes in some measure || Amphitryon is desirous of carefully preserving the incrusted, and no longer retains that tact, that honour of his table. All eminent cooks submit quickness, that exquisite sensibility, on which to it without a murmur; and to prevent any depends the organ of taste; it finishes by being opposition on their part, it ought to be menexcoriated, and becomes as callous as the con- tioned to them as the first article of their engage science of an old judge. ment. He who would make any objection would prove that he is not born to soar above the vulgar, and this indifference to glory would immediately make him be ranged in that class of simple artisans, who all their lives are destined to remain low born scullions.

The only means of making him recover his pristine purity, delicacy and vigour, is to make him take physic, whatever resistance he may be inclined to oppose; for there are some who, deaf to the voice of glory, do not perceive the necessity of taking medicine when they do not feel ill.

But how is the precise time when the above semedy should be put in practice to be ascertain ed? There can be no fixed period: it depends

O you, who wish to enjoy the pleasures of the table in its highest perfection, make your cooks often take physic, for this precaution is indispensably necessary to its attainment.

FAMILIAR LETTERS ON PHYSIOGNOMY.
[Continued from Page 313, Vol. II]

LETTER V.

superficial knowledge only, but it ought never to be chosen for the basis of a settled opinion.

or at least of fire, which might have been improved into wit; and you will find that a florid complexion expresses a better temper than a pale and lived hue. Cæsar gave a strong instance of his knowledge in physiognomy, when he answered his friend, who advised him to mistrust

PERMIT me, before I enter upon this im-Sunken eyes always indicate some degree of wit, portant subject, to recall to your mind a rule written by Aristotle, and which I have already mentioned to you.' It is, that we ought not to form a decided opinion upon any point from the authority of one single sign, but the union of several. Thus, should the complexion and the conformation of the face not agree together, to|| Anthony and Dolabella, “I do not fear those give any judgment would be a rash and improper act. There are, however, some peculiar cases which, even according to Aristotle's doctrine, are not subjected to the same general rule, thus one sign may sometimes be so expressive as to equal the value of two or three; it may also prove sufficient to those who wish to obtain a

fair and florid complexioned men, but those meagre and pale visages," pointing at Brutus and Cassius.

The next important rule, is that which teaches you to distinguish the accidental physiognomy of a man from that with which nature has endowed him; for a visible difference exists be

tween them. That usual state of the features, end. When I have been told that such a person which I call permanent physiognomy, is often was of a very lively and excellent temper, easily altered by an unforeseen accident, which pro-bursting into a passion but as easily appeased, duces a new character of physiognomy, which, as I told you before, I will style accidental.

the sole idea which arose in my mind was that of a fair and florid complexioned man. When I I can scarcely refrain from laughing, when I have heard of a gloomy disposition, the hidden read, in the works of ignorant people, the pitiful fire of which was never extinguished, my imagireasonings of which they make use, to affix a nation presented me with a picture of a pale meaning to the large or small size of the head, face. You may remark, that love of pleasure is the length or shortness of the nose, the fat or equally expressed by both; but in the first it will meagre state of the body. They grant to all be productive of follies alone, while in the other these signs nearly the same siguification, with it may give birth to the most unbridled excesses. the hope of surprising us by their number, if || The former are capable of sacrificing their lives the proofs they attempt to bring forward be in the pursuit of enjoyment; the latter, of leadfound too weak to convince us. It happensing those who accompany them in their wild sometimes, that as they repeat the same stories to every being who longs to have his physiognomy explored, they may meet with truth, but they are not in general to be trusted upon. The most apparently perfect symmetry of the shape, the most regular proportious, are not always the heralds of an excellent disposition. How many pleasing tempers do we not often descry beneath a rugged exterior! We are not therefore to judge of the superior qualities of the mind from the beauty or ugliness of its mansion of clay.

*

The complexion of a face, and conformation of the features, are the most solid foundations upon which our theory may rest. To them I will add also the eyes, those expressive luminaries of the body; and I will give you the scale of the different powers of these signs. The complexion indicates the passions in general; the conformation, or ensemble, those that are most habitual to us, and the eyes, their duration, moderation, or excesses.

Whoever has reflected on the principles of our nature, well knows, that the fluids as they circulate through the organized matter with which our bodies are composed, tinge the very outsides of the channels through which they flow, with their predominant colour. Whether through its transparency, or the incessant return of those same fluids to the same places, our skin preserves a shade of their native die, and thus reveals their nature to our knowledge. Their hues are as varied as their motions; some run rapidly, while others move but slowly; some are red, others of a leaden cast, some are yellow, others green and even black. Every one may have remarked that florid visages wear the appearance of cheerfulness, while those of a livid complexion, seem dark and sad. The vivacity of the man endowed with the first may be very great, but will not last, while that of the other knows no sevor won16": 167 4,591ft ; ..

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seach for it, to utter destruction.

Pleasing and lively passions are expressed by lively colours, and the contrary ones by dark hues. It would be of no avail to bring forward the complexion of the Africans to overturn my argument, as the attentive and constant observer will discover as much real difference between their black, as between the white of the Europeans. But we are more used to behold men of our own colour, and seldom find ourselves in company with several negroes, to be able to descry distinctly their every shade. One instance alone will suffice to prove the truth of my argu ment; is not the blush of modesty widely different from the animated hue of anger? Many people are very sorry not to have the power of checking their blushes in certain cases, either when they betray the consciousness of a fault, or proceed from the pure spring of innocence afraid of being suspected. But no reasoning can persuade me that the reddening shame which overspreads the face of the guilty, can bear any resemblance to the colour which dies the cheeks of the innocent.

Before 1 finish this letter, I must again repeat, that the complexion being only one of the signs which I have mentioned, it has no weight but with the concurrence of others, and is in itself more liable to error than any other. It denotes the germ of a passion, but not its fruits: education, necessity, the caprices of fortune, and espe cially the dictates of religion and virtue, the two celestial and inseparable allies, may stifle it in its birth, and the outward appearance may still remain visible, and deceive our observation. In my next I will treat of the conformation or ensemble of our bodies, and of the eyes.

(To be continued.)

E. R.

POETRY,

ORIGINAL AND SELECT.

THE HUNGARIAN GIPSY's SONG.
FROM Presburg's plain, from Bada's tow'rs,
From old Carpathia's mountains drear,
To bounteous halls and fruitful bow'rs,
We charter'd libertines repair.
There by Danube's silent wave,
Or 'mid the shades of Szelitz's cave,

Our ample feast we share;
While round the bowl in fearless glee,
We sing of love and liberty.
And oft the Vaivod's fur-clad danre,
Soft-smiling thro' her azure veil,
In whispers tells some cherish'd name,
And fondly hears our mystic tale;
While where the honied chesnut dwells,
Or where the melting melon swells
In Semeswara's dale;
We fill the bowl with fearless glee,
And sing of love and liberty.

Now tho' in Alpine woods no more

Our lawless revelry we hide;
Tho' chased from Elba's envied shore

By Saxon wealth and Saxon pride;
Still to this gem-fraught mountain's head,
Or to yon river's golden bed

Our weary feet we guide;

Then round the bowl with fearless glee,
Rejoice in love and liberty.
Clipstone-street.

A. VLL.

TO THE GRASSHOPPER. LITTLE offspring of the tender spring, By Zephyr borne on flutt'ring wing; Thine is Phoebus' cheering mien, Thine is Ceres' golden reign, The greenest grass thy humble bed, On palest primrose rests thy head; The sweetest gifts of bounteous earth, That burst spontaneously to birth, Or grow beneath man's fost ring hand, All for thee their buds expand. For thee, in snowy vesture spread, The modest Lily rears its head; For thee around the blushing Rose Its sweetest, softest, fragance throws; When wearied, heavy hang thy eyes, The Poppy then her pow'r applies, Bid thy light wing to cease its flight, Till cheer'd by Sol's returning light. And when stern winter's frowns severe Proclaim how changed the smiling year, Its chilling pow'r thou canst defy, Give Sol a kind adieu-and die.

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AN ORIGINAL AIR,

BY A CASMERIAN INDIAN. WHEN shall we three meet again? When shall we three meet again! Oft shall glowing hope expire, Oft shall wearied love retire, Oft shall death and sorrow reign Ere we three shall meet again! The' in distant lands we sigh, Parch'd beneath a hostile sky, Tho' the deep between us rolls, Friendship shall unite our souls; Still in fancy's rich domain Oft shall we three meet again. When around this youthful pine Moss shall creep and ivy twine, When our burnish'd locks are grey, Thinn'd by many a toil-spent day; May this long-lov'd bow'r remain, Here may we three meet again!

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How fragrant is the breath of spring ;uni The Lark and Linnet, on the wing, stod Their wild-wood carrols sweetly sing a

T

Oh list, how sweet, my daughter...

The morning sky is ting'd with gold!
The landscape lovely to behold:
The groves their vivid buds unfold:
Awake, arise; my daughter.

Art thou so fast in slumber bound?
And is thy chamber so profound?
So barr'd from light and clos'd from sound?
So cold thy bed, my daughter?

No sun thy narrow house can cheer:
No spring, no summer there appear:
No change of season marks the year:

No voice is heard, my daughter.

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