becomes evident that the said temperament is too intricate, not only to be produced, but also to be preserved in any stringed instrument as well as in organs. Both these I could prove by numerous very important arguments, if the limits of these pages would permit it. But it will be sufficient to say, that at page 13, his Lordship requires two of his fifths to differ from a perfect one:-"Only one in two thousand six hundred and fifty-seven parts and a half nearly, or only about 1.128.831 parts in 3.000.000.000." And at page 14, three of his fifths to differ from a perfect one:-"Only one in three hundred and sixty-one parts and half nearly, or only about 8.298.850 parts in S.000.000.000." And equal to those intricacies in fifths, which can only be expressed in fractions of thousand of millions nearly, are those in fourths, thirds, sixths, seconds, and sevenths. But without the strict exactness of those almost infinite ratios, the Stanhope temperament is a mere pretence, and cannot exist. And as such an exactness is impossible to be produced or preserved, I venture to say that that temperament has never yet existed, and can never exist. Whatever exclamations therefore Earl Stanhope makes against the equal, and in favour of his own unequal temperament, they must be considered as mere effusions of a mistaken fancy, till the arguments I have advanced and can still advance are fairly confuted. And so long I am inclined to consider the-" decided approbation of those sixty or seventy of the very first professional persons, of both sexes, and of the ablest connoisseurs in England,” quoted at page 18, of the work, rather as a mere innocent compliment paid his Lordship, than an intended positive decision concerning the temperament in question. The variety of character also, in the different keys of our compound scale, on which Earl Stanhope sets so great a stress, is not of the same importance to those players and composers who know how to produce effects by modulation, rhythm, and so forth, as to inferior ones; or else the human voice would be the most deficient musical instrument in that respect, because it tempers ON SOUPS. the scale of one key exactly like that of another, and sings in E with four sharps, the same as in E flat, with three flats. Concerning Earl Stanhope's deviations from the usual denominations of the musical intervals, I must observe: that to say a quint, for a fifth, and a quart, for a fourth, may pass, though there is no necessity or apparent reason for it; but that I conceive his Lordship's term of septave for seventh to be a mistake, which ought not to be generally adopted. For though the termination ave is found in octave, it is as unnatural in septave as it would be in unisave, secave, tirtave, and so forth; or else the termination ime as in prime, and septime, might with equal propriety be added to the other intervals, as in octime, unisime, secime, &c. At page 19 of the work, Earl Stanhope concludes his doctrine itself, with the following observation :-"Thus it is, that from our ignorance and narrow prejudices, the perfection of the principles which are to be found in nature are by us very frequently unobserved. But the more thoroughly we learn to understand them, the more we ought to feel gratitude towards the SUPREME BEING for enabling us to perceive the sublime excellence of their wonderful arrangement." Whose ignorance and narrow prejudices are alluded to in this passage, I do not venture to guess. And what his Lordship means by the perfection of the principles which are found in nature, and by the sublime excellence of their wonderful arrangement, I am also unable to dis cover, because I do not find the work to give any explanation to that purpose. The four succeeding pages contain tables, and the last page a description of some curious discoveries of Earl Stanhope, concerning his temperament.—But in my humble opinion that part of the work also rather confirms what I have said concerning the intricacy and impossibility of the Stanhope temperament, than proves any thing contrary to the preferability of an equal temperament to any unequal one, if either of them was to be adopted universally, and exclusively of all the others. CULINARY RESEARCHES. consisting only of boiled and roasted meat, poultry, and fish, the soup should not be as rich as if the repast was more splendid; and though these kinds of soup are generally thought to be well known to cooks, yet often they are far from being good, as they require the greatest care and Thus if the dinner be rather a frugal one, attention; but if the dinner be one of those in Soup is to a dinner what a portico is to a palace; that is to say, it is not only the first dish but it ought to give a just idea of the feast, as an overture to a comic opera should always announce the nature of the piece. which the artist has strictly adhered to all the culinary rules, the soup ought by its excellence to announce the splendour of the feast. The various receipts that exist for soups would fill ten volumes, but we shall content ourselves with one which has been unanimously admired by all amateurs of the table. How to make Soup à la Camerani. Get some real Neapolitan macaroni, some excellent Parmesan cheese, and some Epping butter, about two dozen capon livers, some celery, carrots, parsnips, leaks, &c. First begin by mincing the livers and vegetables, then put them, with a piece of butter, into a stew pan, and let them simmer; while this is boiling, the macaroni should be put in warm water to whiten, then drain it well, and season it with pepper and all-spice; afterwards take your tureen, which must be of a ware tha will bear the heat of the fire, and lay at the bottom of it a bed of livers and macaroni, and grate over it some Parmesan cheese; do this alternately until the tureen is filled; then place it on the fire, and let it simmer gently until by tasting you find it done. This soup, which from its thickness might more properly be termed a stew, is delicious, and the origin of numerous indigestions. ON DESERT. Desert is to a dinner what the sky-rockets are to fire-works, the most brilliant part, and the one which requires the re-union of a crowd of agreeable talents. A good butler ought to be at the same time an iceman, a confectioner, a decorator, a painter, an architect, a sculptor, and a florist; it is in this repast for the eye where you may see his talents expand in the most astonishing manner. There have been some feasts in which the desert alone has cost twelve hundred pounds; but as this course speaks more to the eyes than any of the other senses, the accomplished epicure contents himself with admiring it; a piece of stimulating cheese is more prized by him than the most pompous and spiendid decorations. We have said that the desert is to the courses that precede it what sky-rockets are to fire-works, and if this simile be not exact under every relation, it will be owned, at least, that it makes us comprehend that a desert ought to be the most brilliant part of a feast; that its appearance should surprise, astonish, and enchant the guests; and that if every thing that has preceded it has fully satisfied the taste, the desert ought to speak to the soul through the medium of the eyes. It must excite a general sensation of surprise and admiration, which will put a finishing hand to the enjoyments in which the company have revelled since the commencement of the feast. This art, like many others, has made but very slow progress, and, as well as every other art, it is to the Italians that we are indebted for it. Formerly our housekeepers knew no other system of arrangement than in the immense size of their joints, and the different shape of their dishes; a heavy profusion was the only merit of our most splendid tables. This vulgar sumptuosity attested opulence, but nothing in it announced either taste or elegance. Paul Veronese's painting of the Marriage in Canaan, which is exhibited at the Museum at Paris, will give you a just idea of the style which then reigned. When the art of confection had attained some perfection, a new manner of serving up deserts was invented. The happy combination of fresh with preserved fruit, led to the idea of imitating the trees on which grew; the Italians, who were the first inventors of this style, carried it to an eminent degree of perfection. To increase the elegance of this service, plates of the brightest metal were introduced, which were afterwards ornamented with looking glasses; in the midst of variously coloured sands were painted flowers which produced the beautiful variety of a parterre, and to complete the illusion, these parterres were covered with little figures made of sugar, and very naturally coloured, which formed the representation in miniature of a select party walking in a pleasure ground bespangled with flowers. THE FATAL EFFECTS OF SELF-LOVE CONSIDERED WITH ITS RELATIONS TO COOKERY. The old adage which assures us that our eyes are larger than our stomach, is a truth which ought not to be forgotten by certain Amphytrions, who, borne away by a foolish vanity, sacrifice every thing for the first glances, and serve up a repast fit for twenty people, when there are but eight or ten guests, and by this means are seldom able to receive their friends. Such persons would give ten dinners in a year instead of three, if they were less to consult the eyes of their guests than their appetites. Domestic economy vainly endeavours to make the remains of a splendid entertainment last throughout the week, it cannot succeed, and proves beyond a doubt that pride is in this instance an enemy to real enjoyment. Boileau has said with much truth:-" Qu'un diner rechauffé ne valut jamais rien;" and it is to understand one's interest very ill to prepare a dinner that comes on the table for eight days, and is only really good on the first. This is not the only fault into which an ill devised self love may lead us at dinner time; and, in short, to proceed methodically, we will begin by saying, that symmetry is one of the most formidable enemies to good living. It is proved that every thing in this nether world must be served up, gathered, or eaten when ripe; from the rose down to the omelette which must be devoured the instant it is turned out of the frying pan; from the partridge, the excellence of which often depends on an hour's mortification, to the mince pye, which should make but one leap from the mouth of the oven to that of the epicure; there is in every thing a moment of perfection which should be skilfully caught. Ultra citraque nequit consistere rectum; which means in English, protraction or precipitation in cookery are equally prejudicial to ragouts. There is not one real epicure that is not acquainted with this established truth; and how it was possible to renounce the custom of serving up dish after dish, to adopt that of covering the table with fifteen or twenty different ones, which cannot be all swallowed at the same time, and the last of which are sure to be cold? A ridiculous vanity has dictated this pompous symmetry so fatal to the taste, and which at the utmost can only satisfy the thoughtless and the foolish. Vainly have Amphitryons of sound judgment, who were obliged to sacrifice their own opinion to custom without possessing sufficient strength of mind to follow the precepts of their forefathers, felt the fatal consequences of a regular and systematical dinner, and sought to remedy it by using artificial heat; pewter dishes filled with boiling water, and some also with charcoal, have been used for this purpose, but these are but melancholy palliatives, and tend less to keep the natural heat than to dry up the meat. What then is to be done? will exclaim the man of the world, who is a slave to fashion and vanity. We will answer, despise the one and lay aside the other; give six principal dishes instead of twelve, but let them be larger; serve them up one after the other, or at the utmost two at a time, from the soup to the desert. This will be the means of tasting every dish hot, of eating plentifully, doing justice to the whole of the repast, satisfying the most bashful appetites, and giving an excellent dinner with much less expence. POETRY, ORIGINAL AND SELECT. LINES ON VISITING THE TOMB OF J. W. CHANDLER. BUT for dread recollection, sad yet dear, Or worth like thine should not remain unsung, But what has grief with polished phrase to do, Oft in its little crucible hath waned, Night hath his labours watch'd, the midnight || Unheeding and unheeded to the grave. MARIA; OR, THE MOTHER'S DIRGE. FROM bubbling streams, or springs that rise And kiss these lips so cold and pale. While o'er thy faded cheek I bend, Thy playful inno, ence, no more, THE VIOLET. SERENE is the morning, the lark leaves his nest, So humble, that (though with unparallel'd She might even a palace adorn,) So beauty, ye fair ones, is doubly refin'd, Let none talk of Venus, and all her proud train, 'Tis meekness alone, which the conquest will gain; This vi'let surpasses them all. THE ROSE. NURS'D by the Zephyr's balmy sighs, But go-and on her bosom die ;- While the sons of debauch to indulgence give From Love's asylum rudely torn; way, And slumber the prime of their hours: ; The gay gaudy tulip observe as ye walk, From the rose, the carnation, the pink, and the What odours incessantly spring! The south wafts a richer perfume to the grove, Apart from the rest, in her purple array, In modest concealment she peeps on the day, O rose, a lover's vengeance bear, TO MARY. CEASE to weep, my long-lov'd Mary, Still thou reign'st iny bosom's Queen. Let my giddy Girl possess ; Not one true sigh I love thee less! Nor mourn that time hath borne away The April buds which deck'd thy cheek; And rough'd thy brow-once marble sleek. The sage magician knew the king He read their passions, tempers, thoughts, Then rubs his brow and muses o'er The king's severe command He calls a lovely maid appears, None fairer in the land. He to the vizier Selim turns; "Be this thy fav'rite fair, "Nor blush to own how flexible "Thy easy passions are. "Go, nymph, employ thy power to charm, "Thou'lt aim a happier dart;" He turn'd upon the other then And stabb'd him to the heart. "I dar'd not trifle, mighty prince, "Thine anger to endure; "This vizier lov'd, and all the world "Contain'd no other cure." No. XXI. Vol. III. H. |