see that the champagne is uncorked in a
distant apartment. "The peculiar noise,"
says our chief, "consequent upon the operation,
and the innocent gaiety that attends it,
may only be tolerated at a family-dinner or
among friends." He feels strongly on the
head of what is known as the Rincebouche,
noticing the ridiculous extreme to which the
practice has been pushed. Some hosts have
actually towels and hot water laid ready in
an adjoining chamber, to which they will
conduct their guests like schoolboys going
in the morning to their lavabo. We may
admire the cleanly mind which so regards
the niceties of the toilet, but still the British
mind will shrink from being so marshalled
post-prandially and led out to purification.

On the now favourite fashion of dining, on
the Russian model, Monsieur Gogué has a word
to say. There can be no doubt but that the
old system of laying on all the dishes
together, " though it has something grand and
noble, and causes an agreeable surprise,
ravishing the eyes before satisfying the taste,"
still has this serious drawback; they get a
little cold before they can be served, and thus
are sure to lose " some of their most precious
qualities." To say nothing of the atmosphere
which the combined savours of so many
dishes is sure to generate. On the other
hand, the Muscovite practice ensures the
service taking place with extraordinary
rapidity, and the viands being eaten at the
precise instant they ought to be. It has that
incontestable recommendation. It has also
this economical advantage, have you twelve or
twenty guests, all that is to be done, is to
reinforce each plate as required, there being
no necessity for extra dishes. But what is
perfect in this world! Monsieur Gogué darkly
hints that, under this Russian cloak,
preparations that have visited the table on a
previous occasion, may be introduced without
danger of discovery, by which unworthy
subterfuge, for instance, a salmon that
yesterday evening adorned the foot of the table,
may to-day be foisted on the unsuspecting
guest, in flimsy disguise of a side-dish! To
sum up all, the Russian plan seems to
countenance good cheer; but the old French plan
is the more noble, more elegant, and splendid
of the two!

What has our chief to remark on the
subject of beef—that living principle of all
cookery—as a defunct master of the science
calls it. This living principle, Monsieur
Gogué tells, is called, by Sir Walter Scott, in
his own diverting way, le Baron de BÅ“uf.
Funny fellow that Valtaire,—so droll with
his barons of beef! As to game, the practice of
presenting your guests with birds out of the
proper season sanctioned by the law, he looks
upon as a grave indiscretion. "We have
always spoken out loudly against proud and
contraband dealings. The respect due to the
laws of our country, and its institution, should
never be sacrificed to the vain-glory of having
on one's table a pheasant piqué, or red
partridges bardes, during the season when
these delicious birds should be reverenced
and respected." For that guest, whose
attention may not be drawn away from the one
end and aim before him by distracting paintings
or engravings, it must surely be hurtful to
have outspeaking, tangible evidence of his
country's laws being outraged, staring him in
the face. It were enough totally to
disarrange that great gastronomic machinery,
so delicate, so important, and so liable to be
thrown out of gear. Anything abnormal—
anything frappant, should be avoided. So,
too, with carving. Every well-ordered mind
will strive to perfect itself in this healthful
branch of human economy. " What more
irritating sight than to see a rare and
symmetrical piece manipulated tediously and
clumsily by some awkward hand, losing its
exquisite harmony and outline, and becoming
a heap of slices or shreds, rather torn off
than carved. Brillat Savarin, one of
those immortal lights long since passed away,
has it in a well-known aphorism, that On
devient Cuisinier, mais on nait rotisseur,
which would seem to apply with equal
appropriateness to that all-important science of
carving. Some dull spirits are there, whose
heavy hands will not accommodate to
dextrous wielding of the knife. Others, with
that marvellous instinct of genius, will
instantly appreciate strange and unknown
birds. Skilfully, and with unerring certainty,
adapting the instrument to the peculiar
conformation of the creature."

The great Corsican captain and gigantic
carver of kingdoms, was never so great as in
unforeseen emergency. He was, perhaps, more
opportune—more brilliant in his stroke, than
when all things had been foreseen and
calculated. Which lesson let our halting
disfigurers of harmonious joints take home to
themselves.

Seriously, this book of Monsieur Gogué
is pleasant reading even for unprofessional
people. It is flavoured with that piquant,
epigrammatic sauce, which someway seasons
the style of most Frenchmen that have
anything to tell upon paper. There is
peculiarly that art of adorning what they touch,
—garnishing light things lightly, and carrying
off the bulk and disproportion of
heavier articles. They can Sauter nearly
anything, and not only in the kitchen.

As a model of scientific and logical
arrangement (matters also peculiarly French)
this book is to be commended, and does
infinite credit to a person of Monsieur
Gogué's station and opportunities. He is a
true artist.