ments not being then invented. Looking back to what we were three hundred years ago, and seeing what we are at present, we have good reason to believe that the time will come when the upper order of Hottentots will eat their sweetbreads dressed à la sauce Tomate, be waited upon by negro lackeys in white gloves, and dip their damask napkins, after a luxurious meal, in a reservoir of iced rose-water. But leaving our African brethren to the missionaries, and the march of intellect, I return to the interesting subject from which they led me to digress-a magnificent dinnerparty. This is to me the single summing of all human enjoyment-the concentration of all social feeling the flow of soul, the stream of which floats us above all the cares of life and all the conundrums of philosophy. I speak not, of course, of a table, à la bourgeoise, but where all is epicurean; where le Cuisinier is completely skilled in his art; where every dish carries with it the flavour of a master-hand; where every course displays with rich vicissitude, les mets les plus recherchés. This is the joy of joys the realization of paradise. The teachers of political economy may preach up the excellence of their science till doomsday, but never will they succeed in persuading me, or any man of sound intellect, that it is at all to compare in value or in utility, to the economy of the kitchen. What are the discoveries of Ricardo, or M'Culloch, compared with the discovery of a new sauce? The Chef de Cuisine, who from the recondite stores of his invention furnishes an exquisite aroma hitherto unknown, contributes more to the sum of human happiness than the whole tribe of political economists have ever done, or ever will do. But the delights of the table, like every delight of this our world, has its drawbacks, the most serious of which is, that propensity to talkativeness which good cheer has a tendency to generate. Fortunately, an excellent dinner-party has no such effect upon me. Far from stimulating my loquacity, its operation is exactly the reverse. After the last remove, I can give myself up to discoursing without restraint, for, truth to tell, I am both by nature and habit somewhat of a talker. But when my teeth are active, I always suffer my tongue to lie at rest. In the midst of the conversation that is going on around me,

I am as silent as a monk of La Trappe. Indeed it is, in my opinion, the excess of impoliteness to put any question to one whom we see intently occupied with the business before him. A man must have arrived at the utmost state of blockheadism before he could be guilty of such an interruption. You never put a question to any one while he is drinking, why then do it while he is eating? Are not both occupations equally sacred? But there are some men whose stomachs have no sympathy. I witnessed this the other day at a grand dinner-party, given by a distinguished friend of mine, who, as far as skill in the essentials of all that constitutes perfection in cookery goes, was never excelled by any monarch that ever sat on the culinary throne. But wits, poets, politicians, and men of genius, were intermingled; and, as always happens when this class of persons meet, they have an appetite only for talking. The contents of the best possible bill of fare is lost upon them. They have no alimentary canal, or at least if they have, it is a mere digestion-pipe and nothing more. A paté de foies gras placed before them, has no dominion over a muttonchop; and the most piquant fricandeau has no more influence than an Irish stew. Towards dishes which no mortal epicure could withstand, they appeared quite marble-hearted. How it was that, all talking at once, any of them got a dinner, is to me a mystery. It was a Babel in miniature. Some of the phrases which caught my ear from time to time will serve to give a slight, but very inadequate, conception of the triumph of talkativeness over taste :-"Oh, I know every spot of Irish ground, and I don't know, Lord Althorpe may or he may not, but at present there is not that scorn ofWell, ask the colonel himself, he is my author-not that I was influenced by any thing said in the speeches of council, for a lawyer will make a raven white-a Tory, certainly, whether he has turned his coat, as reported, I don't know, but that he has turned Whig is past dispute, for it was during the Wellington administration that-Pope and Devil sitting side by side-the largest which I shot measured three feet with the wings extended, but I ought to mention that the

Well, if, as you say, Saint Patrick banished all venomous creatures from Ireland, I wish his saintship would rid

it of O'Connell, for of all the evils that It was admirably well discussed in the Examiner I knew him at college, he was there reckoned a dull-you're very kind, I rather think it is-I called there last night after the house broke up, and - perhaps, as a school for mathematics, it may be among the best, but as for Oh, she was some Abigail or other that had-if you mean his Dissertation on the Pentateuch, you may be right, but for any-She spied Cornuto on the stairs, and no sooner did."-At this moment my attention was so wholly engrossed by an entre-cote grillée, that I heard not a word. No sooner were my ears again upon duty, than now and then a sentence somewhat louder than the rest assailed them, and bore testimony to the confusion of topics which, as it were, made war upon the palate, and intercepted the supplies of corporeal enjoyment.

"There are some angry comets in the sky," said one of the favourite poets of the day, who sat next but one to me, “I

don't at all like the appearance of things; as to the ballot, grant it you must at last, and it would therefore be well to give it at once with a good grace." "Grant the ballot," said a relative of the Earl of Lonsdale, who was on his left, "where will you drive us to next?" " Into the ark of the constitution," said the poet in reply-and in an instant both parties launched into the depths of political discussion, but as they retreated into rather an undertone, not a syllable reached me through the fragments of remark, which in the energy of discourse got the benefit of a more sonorous and distinct diction. I have no doubt that could I have heard in its turn every topic which came uppermost, I should have found that each was fruitful of entertainment. Excellent in a conversatione. Admirable to enliven the gloom of a general fast. But to the genuine disciples of Epicurus, and at a superb dinner-party!!! Oh! Sancte APICIUS, ora pro nobis.

S.

I WAS bidden to a gay festival-so many years of misery have since passed away, that I cannot now recall the event which the guests were assembled to celebrate; neither can I remember wherefore, but I was one of the most tardy, and yet I should have not been so, for Isidora, my affianced bride, was among the revellers. Already, as I entered, the strains of harmony and merriment were pealing out, and the light feet of the dancers responded to the melody of the minstrels: I had felt an unaccountable repugnance to join in this scene of gaiety, utterly new to me-I remembered Isidora, and strove to shake it off, but could not. She came eagerly to meet me-Heavens! cannot despair, which has obliterated all besides, destroy that image also? Her fair hair was wreathed with the gorgeous blossoms of the pomegranate, and her white robe floated like a cloud about her; all eyes were turned upon her beauty, but she looked for saw me only. What a halo lives around the memory of the heart's first idolIsidora!--but enough-my tale is one of misery, I must not dwell upon thy beauties, lest my brain madden, and I forget to tell it. Already did the outworn guests wax fainter in their revelling, and the smiles of my beloved had shed partial sunshine over the darkness of my spirit, when one approached her with the greeting of friendship-here was at once the embodyment of my hitherto inexplicable dread. I looked and shuddered-it was a female; tall, and haughty in her beauty, but I dwelt only on her eyes-those eyes! She spoke to Isidora; I think she smiled as she spoke, but she turned those dark, deep, scathing eyes on me. I remember that we were presented to each other: I strove to utter the words of compliment, but they died soundless on my tongue, yet she heard them-she must have heard them, for she replied to the import of that which I had vainly striven to articulate. Long she remained beside us, yet I could not overcome the feeling which oppressed me; at length she turned away, and I glanced at Isidora, as though I feared more than thought

VOL. I.

dared to image: the blossoms had withered in her hair, and she looked paler than her wont, but she was smiling still, and appeared unconscious of the change. I strove to think that the glare of the many-coloured lamps which burned around us had cast that deadly hue over the countenance of my beloved, but nono-my foreboding was no idle vapour of the imagination-I look back, and wonder that I could ever have been so deceived!

The mother of Isidora was a widow; I never knew her father: men whispered strangely of his wild mood and fitful humours; and dropped dark hints of his deep and hidden researches into unholy things, but I listened to them with the ear of a lover-he was in his grave, and to me, his child was dearer than the desert-spring to the parched wanderer.

On the morrow I sought her dwelling: Isidora was alone; I questioned her of the fearful stranger, but she laughed at my suspicions, and strove to silence every foreboding with a smile. She had been a dear and tried friend of her dead father: they had read together, studied together, and he had loved her as his child-many of those silent and awful hours which the world wastes in sleep, they had spent over massive tomes, and apparently inexplicable figuresEnough! enough! every tale which I had heard, and hitherto accounted idleevery dark whisper and mysterious hint rushed over the tablet of my memory, and became graven there as it were on stone. She visited his grave at midnight; Isidora said to weep over his ashes-I beheld a darker purpose in the practice-I grew more eager in my questioning, and she became more serious in her replies. I had never met this fearful being before, for she was their guest only at such hours as she knew none other would become such; and I learnt more-she held the mind of my beloved in thrall, and the victim bowed unresistingly to her mental vassallage. Whence she came, of what kin or country, none had known, save he who was now in his grave. To me it was enough that she had acquired unlimited do

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