with his lady, which is full of dignity, and has a fine antique gravity and stateliness. But all that precedes Roland Grahame's turning out from the castle, seems too little connected with the rest of the story. Nevertheless, as it comes first, and has the grand requisite of interest in itself, no reader need find fault with it. But after Roland leaves the service of the lady of Avenel, I think his first encounter with his grandmother, the old Catholic devotee, will scarcely be relished by any body-Meg Merrilies was worth a thousand such. After that, however, a very pleasant comical effect is produced, by his interview with Catharine Seyton, while the two matrons are walking to and fro past the window. There is more of sweetness in the cha racter of this young lady, than in that of Diana Vernon, but the ground of both characters is similar. Catharine Seyton always excites interest throughout the novel, when she appears. Yet the reader is much startled, when he finds a person, whom he supposes to be her, dancing in the court yard of an inn, in male attire. The discovery of the brother's resemblance comes in too late at the end of the story; for the reader, long before then, has made up his mind that it was the young lady who appeared at the inn, and has considered that adventure, all along, as a trait in her conduct. I strongly suspect the brother was an after contrivance, to account for what was considered too bold in the antecedent part of the story. But no, this could scarcely be so, either, for the scene of the country wake, on the borders of Loch Leven, evidently implies that the young man Seyton was already an actor in the drama. The mistake of the persons would have an excellent effect upon the stage, if the small spectator were let into the secret before hand, and saw Seyton disguising himself in woman's attire. The behaviour of Roland, and his astonishment at her conduct, and the suppressed anger of Seyton at finding the page behave with such forwardness to him as his sister's representative, would then be understood by the small spectator, and followed throughout, as highly diverting. There could not be a situation better adapted for the theatre. In the meantime, this scene, at the wake, seems most unaccountable in the reading; nay, when the real Seyton stabs Dryfesdale at the

inn, the reader is still afraid that it is Catharine Seyton who has committed the atrocious act, and it is luckily that the true explanation comes in there, for otherwise the reader would have lost all sympathy with her. It is very difficult to judge whether this interchange of the characters be a good contrivance or not; for, although the heroine's conduct is followed throughout with great interest, and the pleasantries of her behaviour are made to express some of the most captivating graces of women, and the most difficult to represent in a book, yet these occasional appearances of the character verging into what is disagreeable in virago boldness, produce more pain than pleasure, as the reader has then no salvo for them-nor any doubt of their being such as appears. Perhaps the interest may partly depend upon the anxiety and disapprobation so excited.

Now, to speak of the part relating to Edinburgh and Holyroodhouse, this strikes me as the most lively of the whole. The minute description of the dresses then seen in the streets, and the persons who wore them, brings the scene at once before the eye. What admirable touches there are in the audience, given by Regent Murray to the young page! The youth, after his education of hawking and hunting, appears with a fine freshness in these solemn state chambers. It is a pity that his business had detained him no longer in Edinburgh, for what is given concerning it as a city at that period, awakens a keen desire for more.

The last part, which relates to Queen Mary, seems to me not so productive of remarkable scenes, as some readers will expect, when they hear that the novel relates to so illustrious a character. The confined situation prevents a change of actors, and grief and the desire of liberty are monotonous movements of the mind. The signing of the papers is the best scene

and next to that, the changing of the keys, previous to Mary's escape. The poisoning has less effect-but Dryfesdale's speeches on the subject of fatalism, produce a transient emotion of deep gloominess. His character seems to represent strong hatred and revenge, sobered into a sort of contemplative feeling, by the life he led in Lochleven Castle. Hatred and revenge are perhaps rather too predominant throughout the story, for the sarcasins

that pass between Mary and Lady Lochleven, are but bitter crusts. There are, however, some strokes of great tenderness also, as when the heartbroken and hopeless Douglas says, "Queen Mary needed Rosabelle, and Rosabelle is here."

What valuable books his are, in a historical point of view! It is not saying too much of them to assert, that they have already thrown more light on the real genuine moving spirit of our forefathers and their times, than all the formal histories our island has produced. A man of genius like his, without his accuracy of information, would have done portentous mischief. Such a one would have marred and misinterpreted the venerable legend of the old musty manuscript, and substituted something of his own for it, which it must have been impossible for us ever to dismiss sufficiently from our mind, in forming our judgments concerning the actual doings of the eras described. The present writer preserves the legend, and beautifully illuminates the margin. One is almost sorry when one finds a great historical personage restored to life and breath by the touch of his genius, that he should ever handle any thing less dignified. But light, and air, and genius, are of universal influence, grudging nothing, missing nothing, fearing nothing.

In regard to the lower class of Scottish characters, the present novel has nothing new. For Old Magdalen has no effect whatever as a character, although having an important part in the plot. There is little contemplative humour in the novel of the Abbot, nor much contemplative feeling of any kind, but it keeps the mind in a state

of active expansion, and consequently fills the reader with strong consciousness of his existence.

People should really give up reviewing these books. The fact is, that the author of Waverley is quite as well entitled, as any man alive, to that established courtesy which saves one periodical writer from the censure of others. He conducts a very entertaining journal, which appears every quarter of a year in the shape of three or more volumes. And long may he continue to do so-for it is paying him no great compliment to say, that one of his volumes is well worth all the volumes published by his brother periodicals during the year.

Sept. 16. Mitchell's Aristophanes. I find from my friend P——, that I had fallen into a great error in accusing Mr Mitchell of having borrowed his versification from Mr Frere. He turns out to be the author of those articles, and those specimens of Aristophanic version, which appeared very long ago in the Quarterly Review, and which I had always thought to be by Frere. This is a little matter after all. They both write in a manner worthy of the great original—and in him there is "ample room and verge enough" for them both.

Sept. 17. Bwrites, that in the House of Lords, when one of the Italian witnesses said, "it was not their custom to speak much about the Queen's affairs among themselves," Lord

whispered to his neighbour, "Then I wish to God I were admitted into your society, for it must be much more agreeable than any I have lately been in."

VOL. VII.

4 Q

with such matters, are accordingly the only ones that seem to be universal favourites among the Reviewers of our time-in so much, that the Cookery School and the Cockney School may be said to stand precisely at the two opposite extremes-unmingled contempt being on every occasion and from every quarter showered on the latter, while the former receives nothing but good words. Critics have often been compared to cats; but we are not aware of any circumstance in which the resemblance is so striking as in this their common favour and affection for all the masters and mistresses of the Cookery School. The moment a new cook-maid comes to any house, you may see puss making advances in a style that may be called any thing rather than cautious-mewing and fawning herself into all sorts of lucrative familiarity; and from the zeal with which we and all other brothers of the trade are sure to pay our devoirs to any new work such as the present, one might almost conclude, (we freely confess it) that we had an eye to a few real tidbits by way of remuneration. Without a joke, how happy should we be could we imagine that some of our friends who are in the habit of exercising a profuse rather than a perite hospitality, might be induced, by our recommendation, to turn to the work in hand with true practical intent-mindful, among other matters nearer at hand, of the

“Domus exilis Plutonia, quô simul meâris Non regna vini sortiere talis." &c.

This volume consists of a short Latin poem, which is little more than a very elegant versification of a common French bill of fare, and a copious body of notes, in which the antiquities of most of the dishes commended in the text are fully and satisfactorily explained. The quantity of information conveyed in this last part of the work is really quite astonishing; and we are sure Gourmand, Gourmet, and Glutton, must be equally grateful to the author. The first note, or rather dissertation, is occupied with some sketches of the Roman luxury of the kitchen; after which the writer passes into the following judicious remarks: "However extravagant and foolish the whims of those rich personages of ancient Rome may appear to a sober and sensible mind, we must, in justice to their taste, cursorily observe, that there exists a material

difference between a gormand and a glutton. The first seeks for peculiar delicacy and distinct flavour in the various dishes presented to the judgment and enjoyment of his discerning palate; while the other lays aside nearly all that relates to the rational pleasure of creating or stimulating an appetite by the excellent quality of the cates, and looks merely to quantity. This has his stomach in view, and tries how heavily it may be laden without endangering his health. The gormand never loses sight of the exquisite organs of taste, so admirably disposed by Providence in the crimson chamber where sits the discriminating judge, the tized in the scripture with those brutes, human tongue. The glutton is anathemaquorum deus venter est. The other appears guilty of no other sin than of too great and too minute an attention to refinement in commensal sensuality.

"We find besides a curious shade between

the French appellations gourmand and gourmet. In the idiom of that nation, so famous for indulging in the worship of Costated above, a man who, by having accimus, the word gourmand means, as we dentally been able to study the different tastes of eatables, does accordingly select the best food, and the most pleasing to his palate. His character is that of a practitioner, and answers to the appellation of an epicure in the full sense of the word, as we use it in English. The gourmet on the other hand considers the theoretical part of practises; and eminently prides himself in Gastronomy; he speculates more than he discerning the nicest degrees and most evanescent shades of goodness and perfection in the different subjects proposed to him. In fact, the word gourmet has long been used to designate a man who, by sipping a few drops out of the silver cup of the vintner, can instantly tell from what country the wine comes, and its age. This denomination has lately acquired a greater latitude of signification, and not improperly, since it expresses what the two other words could not

mean.

From the foregoing observations we must conclude that the glutton practises without any regard to theory; and we call him Gastrophile. The gormand unites theory with practice, and may be denominated Gastronomer. The gourmet is merely theoretical, cares little about practising, and deserves the higher appellation of Gastrologer.

He then descends to the cook, whose

history through Egypt, Greece, and Rome, down to the Palais Royal and dern day, is very accurately described. other celebrated eating places of moAfter listening to the high and judicious praises he bestows on the expert practitioner of the cooking art, it is melancholy to find, that, according to the authority of a certain great French author, "Cooks, half-stewed, and half

Olus, not a single chapter, but a large volume. Galenus and Matthiolus have been very loud in its praise. Pliny, in reckoning the various kinds of cabbage, gives a long account of its virtues, but says little upon its use in cookery, as a noted plant among the esculent ones. Cato is very lavish in his encomiums upon this cruciferous vegetable; and, with Pythagoras, holds it as a general remedy for all diseases.

"The red cabbage stewed in veal broth is accounted, upon the continent, a specific cure against pulmonary complaints, and what is called here consumption. Pistachios and calf's lights are added to it. For this purpose red cabbage is especially cultivated in French kitchen-gardens. This reminds us of an anecdote which passed current at the time we heard it :-A young clergyman, rector of a country parish, was called upon to preach a sermon upon a grand solemnity, at which the bishop of the diocese, who was a cardinal, appeared in the Roman purple, surrounded by his clergy in their white surplices. The preacher performed his task to the approbation of every one. After the ceremony, his eminence, meeting him, seemed to wonder at his not having been abashed when in the presence of a cardinal in the full blaze of his red paraphernalia. The simple and honest clergyman replied:

Your eminence will cease to wonder,

when you know that I learnt my discourse by heart in my garden, and used to practise declamation before a plot of white cabbages, in the centre of which stood a red one." A preferment was the reward of this answer. "Were we to attend scrupulously to the Greek adage often quoted and never rightly understood, Ais xpauen tänares," Twice cabbage brings death," we might be afraid of using it freely in soups and other dishes;

but after hunting most strenuously the sense of this saying through the intricate meanders of the Delphini and variorum notes, and other commentators, concerning the follow. ing line of Juvenal, Sat. vii. 154.

Occidit miseros crambe repetita magistros,' we must confess that we see no harm in it, and would boldly advise the whole fraternity of snips to go on, undauntedly as they do, in their daily and furious onset upon

this, their most favourite, mess.

"The signification of the adage remains still unenucleated. Our opinion is that, in the numerous Greek schools erected at Rome, the first declension of substantives was ngaμßn, ns, n; crambe, crambes, crambé, as we have here musa, musœ, musœ, a song,

of a song, to a song, as a specimen. The daily repetition of this noun by the hesitating, stammering, siapering school-boys, must have been exceedingly tiresome, and enough to kill the disgusted masters-experto crede Roberto. Gifford in his transla

Novum ministrat appetitum Callipee.

Potages à la Reine, à l'Ecossaise, à la Xavier, à l'œil de perdrix, &c. &c. &c. all follow in due order, but on these we must not enter. Of all these, beef is, or ought to be, the ground-work

and so no wonder that our author all about BEef. should favour us with a dozen pages He hints that the ox was worshipped in the proud temples of Memphis, under the name of Apis, solely or chiefly on account of the excellence of the dishes which are formed at his expense-and exhibits a great deal more learning of the same sort. He also appears to have some feelings of regret, in observing how many animals, not unworthy of sharing in these bovine honours, are altogether excluded, in consequence of the foolish prejudices of John Bull. Young ASSES, he informs us, were served upon the table of Mæcenas himself, when he entertained Augustus and Horace. The Roman epicures, however, certainly delighted, according to the testimony of Pliny, (book 29, chap. 24.) in the flavour of young and well-fattened puppies -which dainty, by the way, still continues to be in vogue among the Chinese and the Esquimaux. Plump and well roasted bats are, at this day, laid on a bed of olives, and served up, to the joy of the Gourmands of the Levant; and Scaliger remarks, that their flavour is sweeter than that of the finest chickens. Frenchmen, we all know, say the same thing of frogs. Hedgehogs were fricasseed in Greece. Hamster rats are fricasseed in Brandenburg; and, for ought we know, at Brandyboroughhouse too. Laplanders feed on fried squirrels. We ourselves once betted five shillings, that a certain dear friend of ours would not eat a mouse-pieand lost. In short, chacun à son gout.