lllili IN MEMORY OF WILLIAM C. HABBERLEY J ^tantJartJ Hibrarp ODition THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THA(KERA\ WITH ILLUSTKATIOXS BV THE AUTHOR AXD OTHERS, A. YD WITH INTRODUCTORY NOTES SETTING FORTH THE HIS TOR)' OF THE SETERAL irORKS i\ T^VT•.^'T^•-T\v() voi.umks VOLLME XXII Ujl/Iu/JvwXxJc'Ov^ Thackeray From a photograph about 1831 MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS AND SKETCHES I^itl)crto ancoIIcctcD WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY Copyright, 1889, By HOUGHTON, MIFFLTN cV: CC. [J^l4-^^j:.,^^ ;Sy^/ The Riverside Press, Cambriifsf, Mass.. U. S. A. Printed by 11. 0. Houghton and Company. INTKODUCTORY NOTE. After Thackeray's death a definitive edition of his works was issued in London, of which the present edition is sub- stantially a reprint. The penultimate volume of that edi- tion was entitled Miscellaneous Essays, Sketches^ and Re- views, and contained papers not previously reprinted. In making up the present edition, the contents of that volume have been distrilnited in volumes xix., xx., and this final vol- unu' ; but in addition, use has been made of another post- hmnous collection of Thackeray's writings, entitled Sultan Stork and other Stories and Sketches, published in 1887 by George Redway. The articles in this final volume of the American reissue have been grouped with some reference to their association, and the original date and place of publication have been prefixed to the several numbers. A few scattered papers not in any collected edition of Thackeray have been inter- spersed, and the opportunity has been taken to add such few speeches as had been reported, and the few letters scat- tered in the volumes of correspondence of Thackeray's con- temporaries. This edition, therefore, makes good its claim to be the fullest, most exhaustive edition of Thackeray's Avritings which has appeared either in England or America In drawing from the two principal sources of this com- pilation, the editor has availed himself of the occasional M595G78 vi INTRODUCTORY NOTE. footnotes supplied by the English editors. It would have been a feeble and most idle evasion to have used the mate- rial and merely changed the form so as to give the appear- ance of original investigation. His work as an editor has been confined to searching for the few pieces not in the two main books from which this volume is drawn, and to the orderly arrangement of material. The sources from which he has drawn the facts set forth in the several intro- ductions are many, but he would chiefly specify as aiding him, not perhaps so much in specific passages, since the scope of the volume is limited bibliographically, as in its general illustration of Thackeray's personality, the volume A Collection of Letters of Thackeray published by Charles Scribner's Sons. At the close of the present volume will be found an alpha- betical index of titles of all works and articles. Boston, October, 1889. CONTENTS. CONTRIBUTIONS TO "THE SXOB": page. Ouu " Snob's " Biiini, Paukntage, and Education . . 1 Mrs. Ramsbottom in Cambridge 2 A Statement of Fax relative to tue late Murder . 3 TiMBUCTOO 4 COXTKIBUTIOXS TO "THE NATIONAL STANDARD" : Foreign Correspondence 7 The Ciiarruas 13 CRITICISMS IN LITERATURE AND ART: Willis's Dashes at Life with a Free Pencil ... 20 Barmecide Banquets, with Joseph Bregion and Anne Miller 27 About A Christmas Book 43 A Brother of THE Press on the History of a Literary Man, Laman Blanchard, and the Chances of the Literary Profession 53 On some Illustrated Children's Books 68 A Grumble about the Christmas Books 83 Strictures on I'ictires 112 A Second Lecture on the Fine Arts 124 A Pictorial Rhapsody 138 A Pictorial llii apsody, Concluded 162 On Men and Pictures 185 An Exhibition Gossip 210 LETTERS ON THE FINE ARTS : I. The Art Unions 220 II. The Objections against Art Unions 225 III. The Royal Academy 233 IV. The Royal Academy (Second Notice) 237 May Gambols : or, Titmarsh in the Picture Gal- leries 241 Picture Gossip : in a Letter from Michael Angelo Titmarsh 271 vii Vlll CONTENTS. FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS : pack. Professions by George Fitz-Boodle : Third Profes- siox 292 Men's Wives. No. IV. The 's Wife 299 ODDS AND ENDS : Memorials of Gormandizing 320 Men and Coats 347 Dickens in France 365 The Partie Fine 385 Arabella ; or, The Moral of the '' Partie Fine" . 395 Greenayich — Whitebait 401 The Chest of Cigars 409 Bob Robinson's First Love 415 The Dignity of Literature 426 Capers and Anchovies 432 Mr. Thackeray in the United States 436 A Leaf out of a Sketch-Book 441 LECTURE : Charity and Humor 447 PUBLIC SPEECHES: Literature versus Politics 462 The Reality of the Novelist's Creation 463 Authors and their Patrons 464 The Novelist's Future Labors 467 On Leaving England for America 469 Commerce and Literature 471 LETTERS : To Macvey Napier, Esq 474 To William Edmondstoune Ay^toun 475 To G. H. Lewes 478 To Anthony Trollope 481 To Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 481 THE HISTORY OF DIONYSIUS DIDDLER 483 (GENERAL INDEX OF WRITINGS 493 CONTRIBUTIONS TO -THE SNOB." [Ca^ibkidge, 1829.] OUR "SNOB'S" BIRTH, PARENTAGE AND EDUCATION. "Never shall I forget,'" said an old crone to me the other day, who, as far as we know, is contemporary with the alley in which we live — "' Never shall I forget the night, iu which you, !Mr. Tudge, made your hrst appearance among us. Your father had, iu his usual jocular manner, turned every one from the fireside, and putting a foot on each hob, with a pot in one hand, and a i)ipe in the other, sat blowing a cloud."' "Ay, Mrs. Siggins," said I. " re(fe).jJi'ro£Tu Zfv^* I suppose, as the blind bard has it." " Keep your Latin for the collegers," said she ; " I know nothing on 't. Well, lo and behold, as I was saying, we were all sitting quiet as mice, when just as I had turned over the last i)age of the ' Skeleton Chief, or Bloody Ban- dit,' a sound, like I don"t know what, came from overhead. Now, no one was upstairs, so, as you may well suppose, the noise brought my heart into my mouth, — nay more, it brought your dad to his legs, and j^ou into the world. For your mother was taken ill directl}', and we helped her off to bed.'* '' Farturlunt monies, nas'' •\ — said I, stopping short in confusion, — thank Heaven, the old Avoman knew not the end of the proverb, but went on with her story. " ' Go, Bill.' says j^our father, ' see w^hat noise was that.' Off went Bill, pale as a sheet, while I attended to your mother. Bill soon came laughing down. 'The boot-jack fell off the peg,' says he. 'It's a bo}",' screams I. 'How odd ! ' says your dad. ' What's odd ? ' says I. ' The * \it'l apprehend that the fat man* with the umbrella, whom 1 see walking in the gardens of the Tuileries, is the present proprietor. May I ask what he has done to de- serve such a reward from you ? Does he found his claim on his own merits, or on those of his father ? (A trejiien- doiis row in the crowd : the police x>yoceed ^o empoigner sev- eral hundred individuals^ Go your ways" (said the statue, who w^as what is vulgarly called a dab, at an impromptu) ; " go your ways, happy Frenchmen ! You have fought, you have struggled, you have conquered : for whom ? for the fat man with the umbrella ! " I need not explain what were my intentions and pros- pects, if I had had the good fortune to remain among you. You were yourselves pleased to receive them wiih some favor. The rest of Europe, however, did not look on them in the same light, and expressed its opinions so strongly, that we, out of mere politeness, were obliged to give up our own. "I confess myself that I was somewhat arbitrary and tyrannical : but what is our fat friend below ? Is it not better to be awed by a hero than to be subdued by a money- lender ? to be conquered by a sword than to be knocked down by an umbrella? {Here there was an immense cry of " A bas les Parapluies ! " Some further arrests took place^ "Perhaps, if it be not a bore (" Go on^^), you will allow me to say a word concerning those persons who so strongly voted my own removal, and the re-establishment of the white cloth, now folded up forever. ''The Russians are occupied in strangling, murdering, and banishing ; I could not possibly have chosen for them a better occupation. "The English, with their £800,000,000 of debt, have destroyed their old institutions, and have as yet fixed on no new ones. {Here a further crowd were inarched off by the jyolice.) I congratulate you. Gentlemen, they too have policemen. t "The Portuguese are fighting about two brothers, both of whom they detest. Heaven preserve the right, whichever he may be. " From Italy there are delightful accounts of revolts, and deaths thereon consequent. * Napoleon here makes an irreverent and personal allusion to King Louis Pliilippe. His stoutness and his umbrella were depicted some two months ajjo In our paper. t This struck us as rather a vulgar allusion on the part of the statue. FOREIGN CORRESPONDENCE. 19 The Germans are arresting students for want of a better employment. The Spaniards are amusing them- selves with sham tights : what a pity they cannot be in- dulged with real ones ! " And the family ! for whom about five hundred thou- sand lives were sacrificed, — where are they ? The kiug is doting, and the dauphin is mad in a chateau in Ger- many ; and the duchess must divide her attentions between her son and her daughter. "And yourselves, gentlemen, you have the freedom of the press, — but your papers are seized every morning, as in my time. You have a republic, but beware how you speak of the king ! as in my time also. You are free ; but you have seventeen forts to keep you in order. I don't recollect anything of the sort in my time. "Altogether, there is a most satisfactory quantity of bul- lying, banishing, murdering, taxing, and hanging, through- out Europe. I perceive by your silence '' — Here the emperor stopped : the fact was, there was not a single person left in the Place Vendome ; they had all been car- ried off by the police ! CRITICISMS IN LITERATURE AND ART. WILLIS'S DASHES AT LIFE WITH A FREE PENCIL. [Edinburgh Review, October, 1845.] Whatever doubt or surprise the details and extracts with which we are about to amuse our readers may seem to attach to the fact, we beg to assure those of them who do not already know it, that Mr. Willis has actually written some rather clever books, occasionally marked by traits of genius. But, with respect to the present publication, we confess we have been frequently at a loss to judge whether his narra- tives were intended to be taken as serious, or only jocular — as what he himself believed to be truths, or intended only as amusing fancies. True, he writes, as he tells us, with " a free pencil ;" but it is also true that he writes as if he wished his readers to think that he is perfectly in earnest ; that he speaks in his own proper person, and reveals his own adven- tures, or what he appears to wish to be taken as such ; and we therefore feel it to be quite fair — indeed that we are bound — to take him at his word, and to deal with him accordingly. The history of these " Dashes at Life," which some of our contemporaries have much extolled, is thus modestly given in the preface : — " Like the sculptor who made toys of the 'fragments of his unsalable Jupiter,' the author, in the following collection of brief tales, gives material, that, but for a single objection, would have been moulded into books of a larger design. That objection is the unmarket- ableness of American books in America, owing to our (Mr. Willis is an American) defective law of copyright." And he proceeds to show, with pathetic accuracy, that as an American publisher can get all English books for nothing, he will not throw away his money on American writers : hence the only chance of a livelihood for the latter is to 20 WILLIS'S DASHES AT LIFE. 21 contribute to periodical literature, and to transport works of bulk and merit to the English market. So, after all, if a few authors and publishers grumble at piracy, the public gains. But for the pirates of New York and Boston, we should never have had Mr. Willis's "Dashes." And though the genius which might have perfected the .lupiter lias been thus partly balked, though ^Ir. Willis has l)een forced to fritter away his marble and intellect in a commerce of toys ; still the fragmented Jupiter has, with the frieze of the Parthenon, found an appropriate locality in the capital of the world. But. to proceed with the histor}', we may state that it was ^Ir. Willis's intention to work up some of these sketches into substantial novels, but for the unsatisfactory state of the market for that commodity ; and there can be no sort of doubt that the genius which conceived might have enlarged the "Dashes'- to any size. In the first half of these vol- umes, there are some twenty tales illustrative of English and Continental life — true copies, Mr. Willis states, of what he has seen there ; and most of them of so strange and diverting a nature, that a man of genius might have made many scores of volumes out of the adventures recorded in only a few hundreds of these duodecimo pages. The Americans, by their piratical system, have robbed them- selves of that pleasure; and the Union might have had a novelist as proliiic as M. Dumas or ]\Ir. James, had it possessed the common generosity to pay him. The Euro- pean, as contradistinguished from the American views of societ}', we take to be by far the most notable of the "Dashes." The judgment of foreigners has been called, by a hap])y blunder of logic, that of contemporary posterity. In ^Ir. Willis we have "a republican visiting a monarchical country for the first time, traversing the barrier of different ranks with a stranger's privilege, and curious to know how nature's nobilit}' holds its own against nobility by inher- itance, and how heart and judgment were modified in their action by the thin air at the summit of refinement." That ]Mr. Willis, in his exalted sphere, should have got on in a manner satisfactory to himself, is no wonder. Don Chris- topher Sly conducted himself, we all remember, with per- fect ease in the Ducal chair. Another personage of some- what humble rank in life, was, as we also know, quite at home at the court of Queen Titania, and inspired her Majesty with a remarkable passion. So, also, our republi- 22 CRITICISMS IN LITERATURE AND ART. can stranger appears to have been equally at his ease, when he appeared for the first time in European aristocratical society. The great characteristic of high society in England, Mr. Willis assures us, is admiration of literary talent. " At the summit of refinement, " a natural nobleman, or a j)opular writer for the magazines, is in all respects the equal of a Duke. As some captain of Free Lances of former days elbowed his way through royal palaces, with the eyes of all womankind after him — so, in the present time, a man, by being a famous " Free Pencil," may achieve a similar dis- tinction. Of such a champion, the ladies don't say, as iu the time of the Free Lances, he fought at Hennebon or Pavia, but that he wrote that charming poem in Colburn, that famous article in Blackwood. Before that title to fame, all aristocratic heads bow down. The ladies do not care for rank, or marry for wealth, they only worship genius ! This truly surprising truth forms the text of almost every one of Mr. Willis's "Dashes " at English and Continental life. The heroes of the tales are all more or less alike — all " Free Pencils." Sometimes the tales are related in the first person, as befalling our American ; sometimes a flimsy third person veils the author, but you can't but see that it is Caesar who is writing his own British or Gallic victories, for the " Free Pencil " always conquers. Duchesses pine for his love ; modest virgins go into consumptions, and die for him ; old grandmothers of sixty forget their families and propriety, and fall on the neck of this " Free Pencil." If this be true, it is wonderful ; if it is fiction, it is more Avonderful still, that all a man's delusions should take this queer turn, — that Alnaschar should be always courting the Vizier's daughter — courting ! What do we say ? It is the woe-worn creature who is always at Alnaschar's feet, and he (in his vision) who is kicking her. The first of the pictures of London life is called " Leaves from the Heart-book of Ernest Clay." This, but for the unfavorable circumstances before alluded to, Avas to have been a novel of three volumes ; and indeed it would have been hard to crowd such a hero's amours into a few chapters. Ernest is a great "Free Pencil," with whom Jules Janin himself (that famous chieftain of the French "Free Pen- cils," who translated Sterne, confessing that he did not know a word of English, and " did " his own wedding-day in 2ifeuilleton of the Journal des Dehats) can scarcely com- WILLIS'S DASHES AT LIFE. 23 pare. The " Heart-book " opens in Ernest's lodgings, in a second floor front, No. — , South Audley Street, Grosvenor Square, where Ernest is writing, before a three-halfpenny inkstand, an article for the next new monthly magazine. It was two o'clock, and the author was at breakfast, — and to show what a killing man of the world poor Ernest was, his biographer tells us that — " On the top of a small leather portmanteau, near by (the three-halfpenny inkstand, the like of which you may buy '-in most small shops in Soho"), stood two pair of var- nished-leather boots of a sumptuous expensiveness, slender, elegant, and without spot, except the leaf of a crushed orange blossom clinging to one of the heels. The boots and the inkstand were tolerable exponents of his (the fashion- able author's) two opposite but closely woven existences." A printer's Devil comes to him for his Tale, and as the man of genius has not written a word of it, he begins to indite a letter to the publisher, which we print with what took place subsequently ; that the public may be made acquainted with the habits of " Free Pencils " in compo- sition. [Here follows an extract.] Both the carriages, the coroneted cliariot and tlie plain coach " out of Grosvenor Square," contain ladies who are wildly in love witli the celebrated writer for the Magazines. He is smitten by the chariot ; he has oftered marriage to the family coach ; which of the two vehicles shall carry him off ? The rival owners a[)i»ear in presence (at ]Mrs. lioths- child's ball !), and after a slight contest between vice and virtue, the well-principled .young man of genius finishes the evening by running away with the coronet to a beauti- ful retreat in Devonshire, leaving his bride-elect to wear the willow. This may be considered as Volume I. of the "Heart-book." Who would not be interested in reading the secrets of such a heart — who would not pardon its poetic vagaries ? In Volume 11. the " Free Pencil," seeing in the news- papers the marriage of an old flame, merely in joke writes the lady a letter so thrilling, tender, and impassioned, that she awakens for the first time to a sense of her exquisite beauty, and becomes a coquette forever after. The " Free Pencil " meets with her at Naples ; is there kissed by her in public ; crowned by her hand, and proclaimed by her 24 CniTICIi^MS IN LITERATURE AND ART. beautiful lips the prince of poets ; and as the lady is mai riod, he, as a matter of ordinary gallantry, of course wishes to push his advantages further. But here (and almost for , the only time) he is altogether checked in his advances, and made to see that the sovereign power of beauty is even l)aramount to that of ''free pencilling" in the genteel world. Hy Avay of episode, a story is introduced of a j^oung woman who dies of love for the poet (having met him at several halls in London). He consoles her by marrying her on her death-bed. In Volume III. the "Free Pencil" recovers his tirst love, whom he left behind in the shawl-room at Mrs. Rothschild's ball, and who has been pining and waiting for him ever since. The constancy of the beautiful young crea- ture is rewarded, and she becomes the wife of the highly- gifted young man. Such briefly is the plot of a tale, purporting to be drawn from English life and manners ; and wondering readers may judge how like the portrait is to the original ; how faith- fully the habits of our society are here depicted ; how Magazine writers are the rulers of fashion in England ; how maids, wives, and widows, are never tired of running away with them. But who can appreciate the powers of description adorning this likely story ; or the high-toned benevolence and morality with which the author invests his hero ? These points can only be judged of by a perusal of the book itself. Then, indeed, will new beauties arise to the reader's perception. As, in St. Peter's, you do not at first appreciate the beautiful details, so it is with Mr. Willis's masterpiece. But let us, for present recreation, make one or two brief extracts : — A lady arriving at a tea-party. '^Quietly, but with a step as elastic as the nod of a water-lily, Lady Mildred glided into the room, and the high tones and unharmonized voices of the different groups suddenly ceased, and were succeeded by a low and sustained murmur of admiration. A white dress of faultless freshness of fold ; a snowy turban, from which hung on either temple a cluster of crimson camelias still wet with the night dew ; long raven curls of undisturbed grace falling on shoulders of that indescribable and dewy coolness which follows a morning bath (!), giving the skin the texture and the opaque white- ness of the lily ; lips and skin redolent of the repose and purity, and the downcast but wakeful eye so expressive of recent solitude, and so peculiar to one who has not spoken WILLIE'S DASHES AT LIFE. 25 since she slept — these were attractions which, in contrast with the paled glories around, elevated Lady Mildred at once into the predominant star of the night." What a discovery regarding the qualities of the " Morn- ing bath " — how naively does the '• nobleman of nature *' recommend the use of that rare cosmetic ! Here follows a description of the triumphs of a " Free Penciller.*' [Here follows the extract.] We shall next notice a wonderful history of foreign life, containing the development of a most wonderful idiosyn- crasy. It is that of an author — our " Free Penciller ! " His life is but a sleeping and forgetting — the new soul that rises in him has had elsewhere its setting, and cometh again from afar. He has not only a Pythagorean belief, but sometimes a consciousness of his previous existence, or existences — nay, he has not only a consciousness of having lived formerly, but often believes that he is living some- where else, as well as at the place where at the present moment he may be. In a word, he is often conscious of being two gentlemen at once ; — a miraculous egarement of the intellect described in tlu^ following nmnner. [II(M-t' follows an extract.] This awakening to a sense of previous existence is thus further detailed. " The death of a lady in a foreign land," says ^Ir. Willis, " leaves me at liberty to narrate the cir- cumstances which follow." Death has unsealed his lips ; and he may now tell, that in a previous state of existence he was in love with the beautiful ^Margaret, Baroness E , when he was not the present •' Free Penciller," but Rodolph Isenberg, a young artist of Vienna. Travelling in Styria, Rodol])h was taken to a soiree at Gratz, in the house of a ^'' certain lady of consequence there," by '^ a very courteous and well-bred person, a gentleman of Gratz," with whom ]Mr. Willis has made acquaintance in the coupe of a diligence. Xo sooner was he at the soii-ee than he found himself on the balcony talking to "a very quiet young lady," with whom he " discoursed away for half an hour very unreservedly," before he discovered that a third person, '• a tall lady of very stately presence, and with the remains of remarkable beauty," was earnestly lis- tening to their conversation, with her hand upon her side, 26 CRITICISMS IN LITERATURE AND ART. ill an attitude of repressed emotion." On this the conver- sation '' kxnguished ; " and the other lady, his companion, rose, and took his arm to walk through the rooms. But he had not escaped the notice of the elder lady. Sucli are the pictures of European society which this " Free Penciller " has sketched. Of the truth of his de- scriptions of his own country and countrymen, it is not for us to speak. AVe shall only mention, that, in characteriz- ing them, he remarks that they are much more French than English in many of their qualities. " They are," says he, '' in dressing, dancing, congregating, in chivalry to women, facility of adaptation to new circumstances, elasticity of recuperation from trouble " (a most delicious expression ! ), ''in complexion and figure, very French!" Had the " Dashes " been the work of a native genius, we might have hinted, perhaps, some slight occasional objections, pointed out a very few blunders, questioned, very diffi- dently, the great modesty of some statements, and the truth and accuracy of others. But as the case stands, we feel that we are bound to excuse much to a young " repub- lican visiting a monarchical country for the first time." BARMECIDE BANQUETS. 27 BAEMECIDE BANQUETS, WITH JOSEPH BREGIOX AND AXNE MILLER. {Fraser's Mar/aziiie, Xovember, 1845.] TxEORGE SAVAGE FITZ-BOODLE. ESQUIKE, TO THE REVEREND LIONEL GASTER, FELLOW AND TUTOR OF SAINT BONIFACE COLLEGE, OXON. Pall Mall, October 25, 1S45. 3fi/ dear Lionel. — There is a comfort to think, that however other works and masterpieces bearing my humble name have been received by the public, namely, with what I cannot but think (and future ages will, I have no doubt, pronounce) to be unmerited obloquy and inattention, the present article, at least, which I address to you through the public prints, will be read by every one of the numerous readers of this ^Ligazine. What a quantity of writings by the same hand have you, my dear friend, pored over ! How much delicate wit, profound philosopliy (lurking hid under harlequin's black mask and spangled jacket, nay, under clown's white lead and grinning vermilion), — how many quiet wells of deep gushing pathos, have you failed to re- mark as you hurried through those modest pages, for which the author himself here makes an apology, not that I quarrel with my lot, or rebel against that meanest of all martyrdoms, indifference, with which a callous age has visited me — not that I complain because I am not appreciated by the present century — no, no I — he who lives at this time ought to know it better than to be vexed by its treatment of him — he who pines because Smith or Snooks doesn't appreciate him, has a poor puny vein of endurance, and pays those two personages too much honor. Pardon, dear Lionel, the egotism of the above little dis- quisition. If (as undoubtedly is the case) Fitz-Boodle is a grande cime incoiuiue, a genie incom2:>ris, you cannot say that I complain — I don't push cries of distress like my friend Sir Lyttou — if I am a martyr, who ever saw me out of temper ? I lie smiling on my rack or gridiron, causing every now and then an emotion of pity in the bystanders at 28 CRITICISMS IN LITERATURE AND ART. my angelic good-humor. I bear the kicks of the world with smiling meekness, as Napoleon used to say Talleyrand could ; no one could tell from the jolly and contented expression of my face what severe agonies were felt — what torturous indignities were inflicted elsewhere. I think about my own exceedingly select class of readers with a rueful modesty, when I recollect how much more lucky other authors are. Here, for instance, I say to my- self, looking upon the neat, trim, tight, little, handsome book, signed by Joseph Bregion aud Anne Miller, "Here is a book whereof the public will infallibly purchase thou- sands. Maidens and matrons will read and understand it. Smith will buy it and present it to his lady ; Snooks will fully enter into the merit of it, and recommend its perusal to his housekeeper. ISTor will it be merely enjoyed by these worthy humdrum people, but men of learning and genius will find subject of interest and delectation in it. I dare say it will find a place in bishops' libraries, or on the book- shelves of men of science, or on the tables of poets and painters ; for it is suited to the dullest and the highest intelligence." And where is the fool or the man of genius that is insensible to the charms of a good dinner ? I myself have been so much amused and instructed by the reading of the "Practical Cook " that I have purchased, out of my own pocket, several copies for distribution among my friends. Everybody can understand it and get benefit by it. You, not the least among the number, my reverend and excellent friend ; for though your mornings are passed in the study of the heathen classics, or over your favorite tomes of patristic lore — though of forenoons you astonish lecture- rooms with your learning, and choose to awe delighted undergraduates, — yet I know that an hour comes daily when the sage feels that he is a man, when the reverend expounder of Austin and Chrysostom forsakes his study table for another, which is spread in the common-room, whereon, by the cheerful glimmer of wax-tapers, your eye rests complacently upon crystal flasks mantling with the red juices of France and Portugal, and glittering silver dishes, smoking with viands prepared by your excellent col- lege cook. Do you remember the week I once passed at Saint Boniface College, honored to be your guest and that of the society ? I have dined in many countries of Europe and Asia since then — I have feasted with aldermen, and made one at BARMECIDE BANQUETS. 29 Soyer's house-dinners — I have eaten the produce of Borel's larder, and drunk Clos-Vougeot at the '• Trois Freres " — I have discussed the wine of Capri, and know the difference of the flavor of the oysters of Poldoodie and the Lucrine Lake — I have examined bouillabaisse at ^larseilles and pilaff at Constantinople — I have consorted with epicures of all ages and nations, — but I never saw men who relished a dinner better than the learned fellows of Saint Boniface ! How Gaster will relish this book ! I thought to myself a hundred times as I revelled over the pages of Anne Miller and Joseph Bregion. I do not believe, however, that those personages, namely, Bregion, '' formerly cook to Prince Rasumowski " (I knew his Highness intimately), "to Prince Nicholas Esterhazy, the Russian Ambassador at Paris, etc., and Anne ^Miller, cook in several English families of distinction," are the real authors of this excellent and truly " Practical Cook." A distinguished amateur of cookery and almost every other science, a man whose erudition is as varied and almost as profound as your own. a practical philosopher, who has visited every capital in Europe, their victuals noted and their wines surveyed, is, I have reason to think, the real genius under whose presiding influence Anne and Joseph have labored. For instance, of the Portuguese and Spanish dishes here described, the invaluable collection of Turkish and Indian receipts, the Sicilian and Hungarian receipts, it is not probable that Joseph or Anne should have had much personal experience ; whereas it is my firm opinion that the occult editor of the '' Practical Cook " has tasted and tested every one of the two hundred and twenty-three thousand edible and potable formulte contained in the volume. A great genius, he has a great appetite and digestion. Such are part of the gifts of genius. In my own small way, and at a single dinner at Brussels. I remember counting twenty- nine dishes of which I partook. By such a process alone, and even supposing that he did not work at breakfast or supper, a man would get through 10,480 dishes in a year, so that twenty years' perseverance (and oh how richly would that industry be repaid !) would carry you through the whole number above specified. Such a gormandizing encyclopaedia was indeed wanted, and is a treasure now that we have it complete. You may feast with an}' nation in the world as you turn over the pages of this delightful volume In default of substantial 30 CRITICISMS IN LITERATURE AND ART. banquets even imaginary ones are pleasant. I have always relished Alnaschar's dinner, off lamb and pistachio-nuts, with the jolly Barmecide, and could, with an easy and thankful lieart, say grace over that light repast. What a fine, manly, wholesome sense of roast and boiled, so to speak, there is in the " Iliad " ! In my mind I have often and often cut off great collops of the smoking beeves under Achilles' tent, and sat down to a jovial scrambling dinner along with Penelope's suitors at Ithaca. What appetites Ariosto's heroes have, and the reader with them ! (Tasso's Armida dinners are rather theatrical in my mind, gilt pasteboard cups with nothing in them, wooden pullets and pineapples, and so forth.) In Sir A¥alter Scott, again, there reigns a genuine and noble feeling for victuals. Witness King James's cocka- leekie, those endless admirable repasts in " Ivanhoe," espe- cially that venison pasty in " Quentin Durward," of the flavor of which I have the most distinct notion, and to which I never sit down without appetite, nor quit unsatisfied. The very thought of these meals, as recalling them one by one, I note them down, creates a delightful tickling and longing, and makes one quite hungry. For these spiritual banquets of course all cookery-books are good ; but this of the so-called Miller and Bregion is unrivalled. I have sent you a copy down to Oxford, and would beg you, my dear Lionel, to have it in your dressing- room. If you have been taking too many plovers' eggs, or foie gras patty, for breakfast, if you feel yourself a trifle heavy or incommoded after a hot luncheon, you naturally mount your cob, take a gentle breathing for a couple of hours on the Blenheim or Bagley road, and return to dress for dinner at the last minute ; still feeling that you have not got your appetite quite back, and, in spite of the exercise, that you are not altogether up to the good things of the fellows' table. In this case (which may often occur), take my advice. Instead of riding for two hours, curtail your exercise, and only trot for an hour and forty minutes. Spend these twenty minutes in your easy-chair over the " Practical Cook." Begin almost at any page. After the first few paragraphs the languor and heaviness begin to dis- appear. The idea of dining, which was quite disagreeable to you half an hour since, begins to be no longer repulsive — a new interest springs up in your breast for things edible — fancy awakens the dormant appetite, which the coarse rem- edy of a jolt on horseback had failed to rouse, and, as the BARMECIDE BANQUETS. 31 second bell rings, you hasten down to Hall with eagerness, for you know and feel that you are hungry. For some time I had the book by my bedside, and used to read it of nights ; but this is most dangerous. Twice I was obliged to get up and dress myself at two o'clock in the morning, and go out to hunt for some supper. As you begin at the preface of the book it charms you with its philosophical tone. " Far are wo from saying that a dinner shoukl not be a subject of morning or mid-day meditation or of luxurious desiie; but in the present advanced state of civilization, and of medical and chemical knowledge, something more than kneailing, baking, stewing, and boiling are necessary in any nation pretentling to civilization. The metropolis of England exceeds Paris in extent and population: it commands a greater supply of all articles of consumption, ami con- tains a greater number and variety of markets, which are better supplied. We greatly surpass the French in mutton, we produce better beef, lamb, and pork, and are immeasurably superior both in the quantity ami (luality of oiu* tish, our venison, ami our game, yet we cannot compare, as a nation, with the higher, the middle, or the lower classes in France, in the science of preparing our daily food. The only articles of food in the quality of which the French surpass us are veal and fowl, but such is the skill and science of their cooks, that with worse mutton, worse beef, and worse lamb than ouis, they produce better choiis, cutlets, steaks, and better made dishes of every nature and kind whatsoever. Infricassees, ragouts, ,salmis, quenelles, purees, filets, and more especially in the dressing of vegetables, our neigiibors surpass us, and we see no good reason why we should not imitate them in a matter in which tliey are so perfect, or why their more luxurious, more varied, more palatable, and more dainty cookery, should not be introduced among the higher and middle classes to more general notice." No Joseph Bregion, though Rasumowski's chef; no Anne ]Miller, though cook to ever so many English fami- lies of distinction, could write like this. Xo, no. This is not merely a practical cook, but a practical philosopher, whose pen we think we recognize, and who wishes to recon- cile ourselves and our Gallic neighbors by the noble means of a good dinner. There is no blinking the matter here ; no foolish vainglory and vaporing contempt of French- men, such as some Britons are wont to indulge in, such as all Frenchmen endeavor to make pass for real. Scotland, they say, is the best cultivated country of Europe ; and why ? — because it is the most barren. Your Neapolitan peasant lolls in the sunshine all day, leaving his acres to produce spontaneous melons and volunteer grapes, with which the lazy farmer nourishes himself. Your canny 32 cnrncisMS in literature and art. Scot invents manures, rotatory crops, subsoil ploughs, tile- drains, and other laborious wonders of agriculture, with M'hich he forces reluctant Nature to be bountiful to him. And as with the fruits of the field, so it is with the beasts thereof; because we have fine mutton to our hand, we neglect cookery. The French, who have worse mutton, worse beef, and luorse lamb than ours, loroduce better choj^s, cutlets, and steaks. This sentence should be painted up as a motto in all our kitchens. Let cooks blush when they road it. Let housekeepers meditate upon it. I am not writing in a burlesque or bantering strain. Let this truth be brought home to the bosoms of English kitchens, and the greatest good may be done. The grand and broad principles of cookery or cookies thus settled, the authors begin to dissert upon the various branches of the noble science, regarding all of which they have to say something new, or pleasant, or noble. Just read the heads of the chapters, — what a pleasant smack and gusto they have ! — Rules necessary to be observed by Cooks in the Regula- tion AND Management of their Larder. Observations as to Undressed Meats. Observations on the Kitchen and its Utensils. Observations on and Directions for Carving. General Observations on English Soups and Broths, and Directions concerning them. Observations on Meat in General. The mere titles themselves are provocative of pleasant thoughts and savory meditations. I seize on them. I sniff them spiritually. I eye them (with the eyes of the imagination) yearningly. I have seen little penniless boys eying meat and puddings in cookshops so — no pleasant occupation perhaps to the hungry — but good and whole- some for such as have dined to-day and can afford to do so to-morrow. Even after dinner, T say this book is pleasant to read and think over. I hate the graceless wretch who begins to be disgusted with eating so soon as his own appetite is satisfied. Your truly hospitable man loves to see others eating happily around him, though satiety has caused him to lay down his own knife and fork ; the spectacle of a hungry fellow-creature's enjoyment gives a benevolent gormandizer pleasure. I am writing this very line after an excellent repast of three courses ; and yet BAllMECIDE BANQUETS. 33 this mere account of an English dinner awakens in me an active interest and a manly and generous sympathy. *' On laybvj out a table. — The manner of laying out a table is nearly the same in all parts of the United Kingdom: yet there are trifling local peculiarities to which the mistress of a house must at- tend. A centre ornament, whether it be a dormant, a lAateau, an eperf/ne, or a candelabra, is found so convenient, and contributes so much to the good appearance of the table, that a fashionable dinner is now seldom or never set out without something of this kind. '* Utility should be the true principle of beauty, at least in affairs of the table, and. above all, in the substantial first course. Avery false taste is, however, often shown in centie ornaments. Strange ill-assorted nosegays and bouquets of artificial flowers begin to droop or look faded among hot steams. Ornamental articles of family plate, carved, chased, or merely plain, can never be out of place, however old-fashioned. In desserts, richly-cut glass is ornamental. We are far, also, from proscribing the foliage and moss in which fruits are sometimes seen bedded. The sparkHng imitation of frost- work, which is given to preserved fruits ami other things, is also ex- ceedingly beautiful; as are many of the trifles belonging to French and Italian confectionery. " Beautifully white damask, and a green cloth underneath, are in- dispensable. "In all ranks, and in every family, one important art in house- keeping is to make what remains from one day's entertainment con- tribute to the elegance or plenty of the next day's dinner. This is a principle understood by persons in the very highest ranks of society, who maintain the most splendid and expensive establishments. Vegetables, ragouts, and soups may be re-warmed; and jellies and blancmange remouldi'd. with no deterioration of tlieir qualities. Savory or sweet patties, crociuels. rissoles, vol-an-vents, fritters, tart- lets, etc., may be served witli almost no cost, where cookery is going forward on a large scale. In the French kitchen, a numerous class of culinary preparations, called entrees de dessert, or made-dishes of left things, are served even at grand entertainments. " At dinners of any pretension, the First Course consists of soups and fish, removed by boiled poultry, ham, or tongue, roasts, stews, etc.; and of vegetables, with a few'made-dishes, as ragouts, curries, hashes, cutlets.^patties, fricandeaux, etc., in as great variety as the number of dishes permits. For the Second Course, roasted poultry or game at the top and bottom, with dressed vegetables, omelets, maca- roni, jellies, creams, salads, preserved fruit, and all sorts of sweet things and pastry, are employed — endeavoring to give an article of each sort, as a jelly and a cream, as will be exemplified in bills of fare which follow. This is a more common arrangement than three courses, which are attended with so much additional trouble both to the guests and servants. ""whether the dinner be of two or three courses, it is managed nearly in the same way. Two dishes of fish dressed in different ways — if suitable — should occupy the top and bottom; and two soups, a white and a brown, or a mild and a high-seasoned, are best disposed on each side of the centre-piece; the fish-sauces are placed between the centre-piece and the dish of fish to which each is appropriate; and 34 CRITICISMS IN LITERATURE AND ART. this, with tlie decanted wines drunlc during dinner, forms tlie first course. When there are rare Frencli or Khenish wines, they are placed in tlie original bottles, in ornamented wine-vases, between the centre-piece and the top and bottom dishes; or if four liinds, they are ranged round tlie plateau. If one bottle, it is placed in a vase in the centre. "The Second Course at a purely English dinner, when there are three, consists of roasts and stews for the top and bottom; turkey or fowls, or frieandeau. or ham garnished, or tongue for the sides; with small made dishes for the corners, served in covered dishes; asimlates, currie of any kind, ragout ov fricassee of rabbits, stewed mushrooms, ''The Third Course consists of game, confectionery, the more delicate vegetables dressed in the French way, puddings, creams, jellies, etc. " Caraffes, with the tumblers belonging to and placed over them, are laid at proper intervals. Where hock, champagne, etc. etc. are served, they are handed round between the courses. When the third course is cleared away, cheese, butter, a fresh salad, or sliced cucumber, are usually served; and the finger-glasses precede the dessert. At many tables, particularly in Indian houses, it is customary merely to hand quickly round a glass vessel or two filled with simple, or simply per- fumed tepid water, made by the addition of a little rose or lavender water, or a home-made strained infusion of rose-leaves or lavender spikes. Into this water each guest may dip the corner of his napkin, and with this refresh his lips and the tips of his fingers. " The Dessert, at an English table, may consist merely of two dishes of fine fruit for the top and bottom; common or dried fruits, filberts, etc., for the corners or sides, and a cake for the middle, with ice-pails in hot weather. Liqueurs are at this stage handed round ; and the wines usually drunk after dinner are placed decanted on the table along with the dessert. The ice-pails and plates are removed as soon as the company finish their ice. This may be better understood by following the exact arrangement of what is considered a fashionable dinner of three courses and a dessert." ]^^o^v what can be finer than this description of a feed ? How it recalls old days and old dinners, and makes one long for the return of friends to London and the opening of the dining campaign ! It is not far removed, praised be luck. Already the lawyers are coming back (and, let me tell you, some of the judges give uncommonly good din- ners), railroad speculations are bringing or keeping a good number of men of fortune about town : presently we shall have Parliament, the chief good of which institution is, as I take it, that it collects in London respectable wealthy dinner-giving families ; and then the glorious operations will commence again ; and I hope that you, dear Lionel (on your occasional visits to London), and your humble servant and every good epicure will, six times at least in every week, realize that delightful imaginary banquet here laid out in type. BARMECIDE BANQUETS. 35 But I wish to offer a few words of respectful remon- strance and approving observation regarding the opinions delivered above. The description of the dinner, as it actually exists, we will pass over; but it is of dinners as they should be that I would sj^eak. Some statements in the Bregion-Miller account I would question ; of others I deplore that they should be true. In the hrst place — as to central ornaments — have them, as handsome, as massive as you like — but be hanged to flowers ! I say ; and, above all, no candelabra on the table — no cross-lights; faces are not seen in the midst of the abominable cross-lights, and you don't know who is across the table. Have your lights rich and brilliant overhead, blazing on the sideboard, and gleaming hospitably from as many sconces as you please along the walls, but no lights on the tables. '• Koses, bouquets, moss, and foliage," I liave an utter contempt for as quite foolish ornaments, that have no right to appear in atmospheres composed of the fumes of ham, gravy, sou}i, game, lobster-sauce, etc. Away with all poetastering at dinner-parties. Though your friends Plato and Socrates crowned themselves with gar- lands at dinner, I have always fancied Socrates an ass for his pains. Fancy old Xoddly, of your college, or your own venerable mug or mine, set oft' with a wreath of tulips or a garland of roses, as we ladled down the turtle-soup in your hall I The thought is ridiculous and odious. Flowers were not made to eat — away with them! I doubt even whether young unmarried ladies should be allowed to come down to dinner. Thp.y are a sort of flowers — pretty little sentimental gewgaws — what can they know about eating ? The}' should only be brought down for balls, and should dine upon roast mutton in the nursery. " Beautiful white damask and a green cloth are indis- pensable." Ah, my dear Lionel, on this head I exclaim, let me see the old mahogany back again, with the crystal, and the wine quivering and gleaming in it. I am sorry for the day when the odious fashion of leaving the cloth down was brought from across the water. They leave the cloth on a French table because it is necessary to disguise it ; it is often a mere set of planks on trestles, the meanness of which they disguise as they disguise the poverty of their meat. Let us see the naked mahogany ; it means, I think, not only a good dinner, but a r/ood drink after dinner. In houses where they leave the cloth down you know they are 36 CRITICISMS IN LITERATURE AND ART. going to shirk their wine. And what is a dinner without a subsequent drink ? A mockery — an incomplete enjoyment at least. Do you and I go out to dine that we may have the pleasure oi' drinking tea in the drawing-room, and hear- ing Miss Anne or Miss Jane sing ? Fiddlededee ! I can get the best singing in the world for half a guinea ! Do we expend money in cabs, kid gloves, and awful waistcoats, in order to get muffins and tea ? Bah ! Nay, does any man of sense declare honestly that he likes ladies' conversation ? I have read in novels that it was pleasant, the refinement of woman's society — the delightful influence of a female presence, and so forth ; but say now, as a man of the world and an honest fellow, did you ever get any good out of women's talk ? What a bore a clever woman is ! — what a frightful bore a mediocre respectable woman is ! And every woman who is worth anything will confess as much. There is no woman but one after all. But mum ! I am getting away from the dinner-table ; they it was who dragged me from it, and it was for parsimony's sake, and to pleasure them, that the practice of leaving on the cloth for dessert was invented. This I honestly say as a diner-out in the world. If I ac- cept an invitation to a house where the dessert-cloth prac- tice is maintained (it must be, I fear, in large dinners of apparat now, but I mean in common reunions of ten or fourteen) — if I accept a dessert-cloth invitation, and a mahogany invitation subsequently comes, I fling over des- sert-cloth. To ask you to a dinner without a drink is to ask you to half a dinner. This I say in the interest of every diner-out. An un- guarded passage in the above description, too, might give rise to a fatal error, and be taken advantage of by stingy curmudgeons who are anxious for any opportunity of sav- ing their money and liquor, — I mean those culpably care- less words, " Where hock, champagne, etc., etc., are served, they are handed round between the coiirses.^^ Of course they are handed round between the courses ; but they are handed round during the courses too. A man who sets yow down to a driblet of champagne — who gives you a couple of beg- garly glasses between the courses, and winks to John who froths up the liquor in your glass, and screws up the re- mainder of the bottle for his master's next day's drinking, — such a man is an impostor and despicable snob. This fellow must not be allowed an excuse for his practice — the BARMECIDE BAXQUETS. 37 wretch must not be permitted to point to Joseph Bregion and Anne ^liller for an authority, and say the}- declare that champagne is to be served only between the courses. Xo ! — no ! you poor lily-livered wretch ! If money is an object to you, drink water (as we have all done, perhaps, in an august state of domestic circumstances, with a good heart) ; but if there is to be champagne, have no stint of it in the name of Bacchus ! Profusion is the charm of hospitality ; have plenty, if it be only beer. A man who offers cham- l)agne by driblets is a fellow who would wear a pinchbeck breastpin, or screw on spurs to his boots to make believe that he kept a horse. I have no words of scorn sufficiently strong to characterize the puny coward, shivering on the brink of hospitality, without nerve to plunge into the generous stream ! Another word should be said to men of moderate means about that same champagne. It is actually one of the cheapest of wines, and there is no wine, out of which, to speak commercially, you get your returns so directly. The popping, and fizzing, and agreeable nervous hurry in pour- ing and drinking, give it a prestige and an extra impor- tance — it makes twice the appearance, has twice the effect, and doesn't cost you more than a bottle of your steady, old, brown sherry, which has gathered on its head the interest of accumulated years in your cellar. When people have had plenty of champagne they fancy they have been treated liberally. If 3'ou wish to save, save upon your hocks, Sauternes, and Moselles, which count for nothing, but dis- appear down careless throats like so much toast and water. I have made this remark about champagne. All men of the world say they don't care for it ; all gourmands swear and vow that they prefer Sillery a thousand times to sparkling, but look round the table and behold ! AVe all somehow drink it. All who say they like the Sillery will be found drinking the sparkling. Yes, beloved sparkler, you are an artificial, barley-sugared, brandied beverage, ac- cording to the dicta of connoisseurs. You are universally sneered at, and said to have no good in you. But console yourself, you are universally drunken — 3'ou are the wine of the world, — you are the liquor in whose bubbles lies the greatest amount of the sparkle of good spirits. May I [lie but I v\'ill not be ashamed to proclaim my love for you ! You have given me much pleasure, and never any pain — you have stood by me in many hard moments, and cheered 38 CRITICISMS IN LITERATURE AND ART. mc in many dull ones — you have whipped up many flag- ging thoughts, and dissipated many that were gloomy — you have made me hope, ay, and forget. Ought a man to disown such a friend ? Incomparably the best champagne I know is to be found in Eu gland. It is the most doctored, the most brandied, the most barley-sugared, the most winy wine in the world. As such let us hail, and honor, and love it. Tliose precious words about rechauffes and the art of inaking the remains of one day's entertainment contribute to the elegance and plenty of the next day's dinner, cannot be too fondly pondered over by housekeepers, or too often brought into practice. What is it, ladies, that so often drives out men to clubs, and leaves the domestic hearth desolate — what but bad dinners ? And whose fault is the bad dinners but yours — yours, forsooth, who are too intel- lectual to go into the kitchen, and too delicate to think about your husband's victuals ? I know a case in which the misery of a whole life, nay, of a whole series of little and big lives, arose from a wife's high and mighty neglect of the good things of life, where ennui, estrangement, and subsequent ruin and suicide, arose out of an obstinate prac- tice of serving a leg of mutton three days running in a small respectable family. My friend, whom I shall call IVEortimer Delamere (for why not give the unfortunate fellow as neat and as elegant a name as possible, as I am obliged to keep his own back out of regard to his family ?) — Mortimer Delamere was an ornament of the Stock Exchange, and married at the age of twenty-five. Before marriage he had a comfortable cottage at Sutton, whither he used to drive after business hours, and where you had roast ducks, toasted cheese, steaks and onions, wonderful bottled stout and old port, and other of those savory but somewhat coarse luxuries with which home- keeping bachelors sometimes recreate their palates. He married and quitted his friends and his little hospitalities, his punch and his cigars, for a genteel wife and house in the Regent's Park, where I once had the misfortune to take pot-luck with him. That dinner, which I never repeated, showed me at once that Delamere's happiness was a wreck. He had cold mut- ton and mouldy potatoes. His genteel wife, when he humbly said that he should have preferred the mutton BARMECIDE BANQUETS. 39 hashed, answered superciliously that the kitchen was not her province, that as long as there was food sufficient she did not heed its quality. She talked about poetry and the Reverend Kobert Montgomery all the evening, and about a quarter of an liour after she had left us to ourselves and the dessert, summoned us to exceedingly weak and muddy coffee in the drawing-room, where she subsequently enter- tained us with bad music, sung with her own cracked, false, genteel voice. My usual politeness and powers of conver- sation did not of course desert me even under this afflic- tion ; and she was pleased to say at the close of the entertainment that she had enjoyed a highly intellectual evening, and hoped Mr. Fitz-Boodle would rei)eat his visit. Mr. Fitz-Boodle would have seen her at Jericho first. But what was the consequence of a life of this sort? Where the mutton is habitually cold in a house, depend on it the affection grows cold, too. Delamere could not bear that comfortless, flavorless, frigid existence. He took refuge in the warmth of a club. He frequented not onl}- the library and coffee-room, but. alas! the smoking-room and card-room. He became a vircur and jolly dog about town, neglecting the wife who had neglected him, and who is now separated from him. and proclaime