on this, simply because we do not know
who were to blame—the people or the
apparatus; but it is only fair to state the matter,
in juxtaposition with the Devonshire farmers'
great piece of beef.

Whether the renowned Alexis Soyer has
not gone somewhat beyond the range of
ordinary mortals in his magic stove is a knotty
question. Certainly this copper-bright piece
of apparatus as far excels the bachelor's
kettle in price, as the great Alexis excels
Martha Muggins in cook-like science. But
it is really a very cleverly planned stove—
something chemical and flamboyant about it.
Let us bear in mind that there are two lamps,
and two reservoirs containing spirit or
naphtha. Let us then suppose that one lamp
is lighted; that the heat from this lamp-flame
warms the second reservoir; that the spirit
in this reservoir gradually rises to such a
temperature as will enable it to give off
spirit- vapour; that this vapour pours out
through a tube as a continuous stream, and
impinges upon the flame of a second lamp;
that this flame, rendered much more intense
by such spirituous feeding, very speedily heats
a copper pan or kettle; and that such pan
or kettle contains the liquids or solids which
are to be cooked—if we can picture all this,
then we can picture the magic stove. It is a
stove which blows its own bellows, the wind
of the bellows being composed of spirit vapour.
This is the stove which will inevitably
"supersede every contrivance which ingenuity
has hitherto devised for the rapid preparation
of a comfortable meal;" which will entail "a
cost of only three-farthings to dress a cutlet;"
which will enable you to "cook as comfortably
with it in the middle of a stiff nor'-
wester as if the sweet south were wooing your
cheek in June;" which affords the means
to "dress a mutton-chop by it in six minutes."
All this has been said concerning it in print,
and therefore of course must be true. A
compact little affair it is, too; for the Maestro
has so planned some forms of the apparatus,
that a stove, lamps, stewpan, frying-pan, sauce-
pans, plates, dishes, tea-kettle, and coffee-pot
—sufficient mechanism to prepare a dinner
for half a dozen persons—can be packed within
the space of a cubic foot.

There are several small cooking vessels in
which the heat is produced by some kind of
spirit, such as alcohol or naphtha; but
generally speaking they are more costly than
apparatus in which solid fuel is employed.
There are also forms of stove in which
artificial fuel is burned, and which make a very
desperate eifort to consume their own smoke;
but somehow they fail in their attempt, and
it has not yet been found prudent to allow a
stove to be without a chimney or flue of some
kind or other.

Pot-and-kettle philosophy extends beyond
the stoves and vessels themselves; it applies
also to the kitchens in which the culinary
operations are conducted. Some of the
modern kitchens are chemical laboratories—
nothing less; all the apparatus is adjusted and
laid out and fitted as Professor Faraday would
adjust his retorts, stills, receivers, alembics,
and so forth. Great was the wonder when, a
dozen years ago or so, the kitchen of the
Reform Club House became displayed before
the eyes of gastronomists. In this marvel of
a kitchen very little window is to be seen;
wall-space is too valuable, and sky-lights
mainly fulfil the duty of windows. Two
formidable long stoves form the nuclei of the
apparatus; they have much brick in their
construction, to economise heat; and they have
whole regiments of round openings at the top
to accommodate saucepans and stewpans, and
all other pans. Most of the cookery is
effected by the heat of charcoal, to obtain a
strong fire without flame or smoke, while, by
a clever arrangement of flues, the deleterious
carbonic acid gas generated by the combustion
of the charcoal is safely carried away.
As the skin of a cook's face is as valuable as
the skin of any other man's face, and as this
skin is liable to be scorched and converted
into a kind of crackling by exposure to too
much heat, there is a clever arrangement of
tin screens, so armed and jointed that they
can be brought before any open fires in the
twinkling of an eye, and as these screens are
brightly polished on the back, they reflect
much of the heat which falls upon them, and
thereby render this heat available in the
cookery. Then there are two huge roasting
stoves or grates—not unprofitably deep from
front to back, as most of our kitchen stoves
are, but having a great height with a depth
of only four or five inches, thereby bringing
all the heat to the front, where it is alone
wanted; and the bars, instead of being
horizontal, are vertical; hinged, moreover, to
facilitate the cleansing of the interior. The
joints which revolve on their several spits in
front of these fires! How nicely the distance
is regulated, according to the size and
delicacy of the joint! The kitchen-table is itself
a stroke of genius, with its scooped out
hollows in which the cooler may stand; its
sponges and water to keep all clean, its army
of little boxes and vessels to contain salt,
pepper, and so forth, and its steam-heated
iron receptacle for hot plates. The scullery
with its large steam boiler; the larder with
its indescribably neat contrivances for keeping
meat sweet and cool; the tube by which a
clerk in the upper regions communicates
orders to the king of the kitchen below; and
the lifting apparatus whereby the savory
viands are made to ascend to the dining-room
—all are subsidiary to this mighty kitchen.