may protest they never, never shall be
slaves; but, for all that, shall suffer frightful
slaveship horrors for ever and aye, through
indigestion and unskilfully treated viands.
Poor consolation, this! while those favoured
nations, with no charter-song to shout lustily,
have their great captains and marshals, their
Can-ning men (as Mr. Carlyle has it), girt
about with Spit falchion, and waving high
the grand oriflamme Ladle! But for zealous
missionaries, who have gone forth into far
countries, preaching the gospel, the light of
the faith would never have come to England.
Those simple monks of the first order of Saint
Apicius, went out, preaching, into strange
lands, demolishing monstrously roasted idols;
casting down frightful, ill-done Juggernauts;
calling on all to come and believe. Some
were tortured, some done to death, by the
old Bonzes; but in the end, the faith was
planted. It was France that sent us these
holy men,—now, it is to be hoped, in glory,
and worshipped in the calendar by the names
of Saint Alexis and Saint Charles.

Even Doctor Goldsmith, who speaks
disparagingly through his mandarin's mouth, of
the great French cooking creed, still cannot
disguise a secret wonder at the surpassing
miracles which, even in those early ages, had
come under his notice. Says Lien Chi
Altangi, writing those diverting letters to
Fum Hoam, living in China: " I fancy the
French would make the best cooks in the
world, if they had but meat: as it is, they
can dress you out five different dishes from a
nettle-top, seven from a dock-leaf, and twice
as many from a frog's haunches; these eat
prettily enough when one is a little used to
them, are easy of digestion, and seldom
overload the stomach with crudities. They
seldom dine," continues the Doctor, very
wickedly, " under seven hot dishes: it is
true, indeed, with all this magnificence, they
seldom spread a cloth before the guests;
but in that I cannot be angry with them,
since those who have got no linen on their
backs, may very well be excused for wanting
it on their tables." The Doctor could hit hard,
in that sly way of his; but his testimony,
though scarcely friendly, is valuable, as
illustrating the high reverence and admiration
with which the powers of the great French
heroes were regarded by their neighbours.
Those illustrious saints are no longer left to
us. We have but the long roll of their
names. It was only the other day, that the
last of them was taken from amongst us:
but as he was wafted aloft in his flying car,
there fell from about his waist that snowy
and venerated apron, which lighted upon the
shoulders of an earnest disciple looking
fondly after his departing master. The name
of this disciple was Gogué— a not unworthy
recipient. For it was no other than that
Gogué who was " erst Kitchen-chief to
Count Ducayla, to Lord Melville," &c., but
who has. besides, given us a Koran, or
Mormon book, known as The Mysteries of the
French Cuisine, well worthy of being
consulted by the curious. It were indeed time
that culinary scripture should be disseminated
among the people: and that some one well
persuaded of the dignity of the science, should
treat it from professional chair —as indeed our
dear neighbours have the happy knack of dealing
with every avocation. The person who
instructs in the drum, calls himself, with much
justice, Professor of that instrument, gentlemen
of the kitchen in our country have an air
of awkward distrust in themselves and their
calling; a feeling of shame for this
profession and its implements, which may very
naturally excite the same emotion in others
about them. Respect yourselves (says the
saw), and others will respect you. At
Florence, there is a famous Academy of
Cooks, which gives degrees and certificates
of merit. In France, at the date of the
Revolution, the hair-dressing interest had an
academy of its own, whose members, like
another famous body, reached to the mystic
number of forty. This is a noble and
independent footing to place things on. But of
England, very justly have foreign professors
made the stinging remark, " One hundred
religions, and but one sauce! " Mon Dieu!
Yes! "Tis but too true!

Monsieur Gogué is an artist, and is proud
of his art. He writes of his profession with
an amiable pride and fondness; with a
certain stateliness and grandeur of style that
must impress all readers. The very first line
in his Koran is an aphorism. " The true
secret (or rather tact) in all things, is the art
of doing much with little. In cookery there
are two sorts of excess to be avoided.
Overgrown cookery, with its recherché processes
and its prodigality beyond all bounds, has
only to do with princes and grand seigneurs.
It swallows up in a soup à la Lucullus the
substance of three excellent dinners; and for
the manufacturer of a dozen poached eggs,
flavoured with goose, wastes twelve entire
roast geese! On the other hand, the dwarfed
economy of the smaller cookery, which has to
do with flour only and the commonest sorts of
spices; it makes a paste of all things, or else
poisons outright. Our work shall steer clear
of both extremes." After which sarcastic
introduction, our philosophic artist proceeds
with his precepts and rules: first descanting
largely on matters which are of necessity
even before a fire shall have been kindled, or
the snowy cap and apron donned. There is
a feeling tone, an earnestness in this advice,
which must find its way into every rightly
ordered bosom. He would have every
kitchen, he says, such a model of " engaging
purity as to win the mistress to enter with
as much delight as into her own drawing-
room." True it is, that such visits are not
much fancied by " Messieurs les cuisiniers
et Mesdames les cuisinières," for it
naturally " throws a restraint" upon their mutual