_Adapted to the Business of every day Life. By Mrs. Dalgairns._
We like the title of this book--there is promise in it, for practice is
better than profession in any thing but the law of arrest. We are gross
enough too, in our hearts, not to like the name of a professed cook--thank
our stars, now nearly forgotten. There is so much science implied in the
name, so much theory, than which alone in cookery, at least, nothing is
less inviting. We should conceive the intention of this book to bring
cookery home to the business of every man's mouth--his breakfast, luncheon,
dinner, and supper practice, and heartily do we wish that all mankind were
in a condition to avail themselves of these four quotidian opportunities of
testing Mrs. Dalgairns's book.
"A perfectly original book of Cookery," says Mrs. D. "would neither meet
with, nor deserve, much attention; because, what is wanted in this matter,
is not receipts for new dishes, but clear instructions how to make those
already established in public favour." This reasoning is very just, for
none but the most thankless of _gourmands_, or the _gourmet_ who wished to
affect the sorrows of the great man of antiquity,--would sit down and weep
for new worlds of luxury. Good cookery is too rarely understood and
practised to justify any such wishes; and to prove this, let the sceptic go
through Mrs. Dalgairns's 1,434 receipts, and then "tire and begin again."
Our respected editress assures us that "every receipt has either been
actually tried by the author, or by persons whose accuracy in the various
_manipulations_[3] could be safely relied on."
[3] This is an unlucky word for a cookery book. Why not say
operations? Mrs. D. Mrs. D! you have not escaped the scientific
mania that is mounting from area to attic throughout this
country. Such a term as _manipulation_ sounds well enough in Mr.
Brande's laboratory at the Royal Institution, but would be quite
out of place in the kitchen of either of the hotels in the same
street. A footman might as well study the polarization of light
whilst cleaning the drawing-room windows.
From a table of contents we learn that among them there are the following
methods:--
Soups 105
Fish 115
Beef 70
Mutton 31
Veal 60
Gravies, Sauces, &c. 104
Puddings, Pies, and Tarts 263
Creams, Custards, &c. 134
Cakes and Preserves 182
--what more can mortal man desire, "nay, or women either." Appended to them
is much valuable information concerning the poultry-yard, dairy, brewery,
kitchen-garden, bees, pigs, &c. so as to render this _Practice of Cookery_
a truly useful and treasurable system of domestic management, and a book of
matters-of-fact and experience. The subject is too melting--too tempting
for us to resist paying this tribute to Mrs. Dalgairns's volume.
* * * * *
"CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE."
An appropriate _April_ book, too controversial for extensive quotation in
our pages, as the enumeration of its contents will prove. They are
half-a-dozen gracefully written sketches, viz. the Gipsy Girl, Religious
Offices, Enthusiasm, Romanism, Rashness, and De Lawrence. Half of these
papers, as will readily be guessed from their titles, bear upon "the
question," and are consequently, as the publishers say, "not in our way."
We are, nevertheless, proud to aver that the sentiments of these chapters
are highly honourable to the heart of the writer as they are creditable to
his good taste and ability. He is, to judge from his book, a good man, one
who is not so willing as the majority of us, to let his philanthropy remain
"Like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall;"
and we hope the forcible positions of the truths he has here inculcated,
will bestir others from their laxity. The most attractive sketches in the
series are the Gipsy Girl and De Lawrence. In the latter there are scenes
of considerable energy and polish. The hero, a profligate, after abusing
all the advantages of fortune, commits a forgery, and is executed. The
sympathies of an affectionate wife, in his misery and degradation, tend to
heighten the interest, and point the moral of the story; his last interview
with the partner of his woe is admirably drawn, as are some caustic
observations on that most disgusting of all scenes--a public execution and
its repulsive orgies. We give a portion of the interview, which appears to
us to contain some fine touches of deep remorse:--
"Accompanied by her parents and her infant, she alighted at the tavern
which adjoined the prison-house. Her father went immediately to arrange for
the interview; which, as the time of execution drew nigh, must take place
instantly or not at all. Habited in deep black, which, from the contrast,
made the pale primrose of her cheek still paler, entered his drooping wife;
bearing on her bosom, "cradled on her arm," their child, happily
unconscious alike of its father's ignominy--its mother's sorrows. With
uncertain steps she tottered towards him. He advanced to her embrace, at
first, with coolness and deliberation; but when her altered look, on which
care had engraven an accusation that smote with the chill of death his
guilty heart--her lack-lustre eye--her form almost reduced to a shadow--met
his glance, his resolution dissolved before them: the better feelings of
his nature, long lulled by habitual vice, and fixed in inertion by the
flattering commendations of his spiritual guide, burst forth afresh like a
stream long pent up, and overwhelmed him with their gush. He sank upon one
knee, and received his wife and child falling into his embrace. His haughty
spirit was humbled, was softened. He could have borne her curses with
indifference, he could have returned a formal adieu with equal
formality--he had expected to encounter a scene, and was made up
accordingly: but to look upon her thus--her days gone like a shadow--to
witness her sunken eye filled with beamings in which he alone was
enshrined--to see her meek and forgiving, whose light heart had been turned
to sorrow, whose gay morning dreams had been turned to sad realities, whose
confidence had been abused and happiness wrecked,--all, all by his baseness
and treachery:--to behold his forsaken wife, superior to all this, clinging
to him for his last farewell, as if she and not himself were the offender,
was beyond his expectation. He knew he had merited curses and hate, and he
met with affection and tenderness; his heart yearned--a sensation of
admiration for her virtues and constancy came over him, and, ere it had
possessed him entirely, it humbled his proud spirit--it undeceived his
false expectations. "My God, I have not deserved this!" burst from his
swelling heart. A tear, such as he had not shed since he left the paths of
innocence, stole down his cheek. Fervently, truly, affectionately, he
blessed his wife and child."
"They are gone. Was it a vision that had visited his waking dreams? The
spell is dissolved; he is still on earth, and earthly thoughts and worldly
crimes return and weigh down his soul."
"The fetters of vice are not broken in a moment; they may yield sometimes
like wax, but they close again, and the link is adamant. His foster-mother
came to say her last farewell. He shuddered as she entered. He felt the
presence of his evil genius, and wished she had spared him this. This, too,
was transient; her influence, though disarranged by the vision of the last
few moments, was not broken. He was again enslaved. The summons for
execution was answered by her hysteric sobs and wild ravings, and her loud
shrieks rang through the cell as De Lawrence impressed his last kiss."
The incidents of the previous sketch contain little, if any, extravagance
or affectation, and it would be better for men, if we could charge the
author of "Clouds and Sunshine" with overcolouring the sufferings which
await the spendthrift. It is painful to own that such cases are but too
common in society. Think of an extravagant man married to an extravagant
woman--the mean and contemptible conduct to which they are driven--the
insolence and cruelty with which they are baited through large towns,
hunted down into an obscure cottage in the country, or chased into exile.
Think of the hateful reflections which, sooner or later, must overtake such
sufferers--either in their moody solitude in the country, or amidst the
forced delights of a crowded city on the continent. In the one all nature
is free, whilst the debauchee frowns on her laughing landscapes; in the
other, conscience and her busy devils are at work--yet thousands thus
embitter life's cup, and then repine at their uncheery lot. With such men,
all must be _Clouds_--a winter of discontent--for who will envy their
_Sunshine_.
* * * * *