of convivial gossip. It takes no less interest in the beverages intended for us, according to time, place, and climate; teaches their preparation and preservation, and especially presents them in an order so exactly calculated, that the pleasure perpetually increases, until gratification ends and abuse begins. In its effect upon sociability, it is one of the principal bonds of society. It gradually extends that spirit of conviviality which every day unites different professions, mingles them together, and diminishes the sharp angles of conventionality. Finally, it examines men and things for the purpose of transporting, from one country to another, all that deserves to be known, and which causes a well-arranged entertainment to be an abridgment of the world in which each portion is represented.'

The Professor' is not at all afraid of being thought garrulous in the discussion of his beloved theme. 'It may be said,' he observes, that sometimes I become garrulous. Is it my fault that I am old? Is it my fault that, like ULYSSES, I have seen the manners and customs of many cities?' Am I therefore blameable for writing a little bit of biography?' Not at all; on the contrary, dear Sir, you have laid the gastronomic world under infinite obligation to you. Among the aphorisms' of the author are these:

"THE discovery of a new dish confers more happiness on humanity than the discovery of a new star.

'Those persons who eat to indigestion, or who become drunk, are utterly ignorant of the true principles of eating and drinking.

'A cook may be taught, but a man who can roast, is born with the faculty.

'To invite a person to your house, is to take charge of his happiness as long as he is beneath your roof.'

'What,' says the Professor elsewhere, 'can we discern in a faculty susceptible of such perfection that the gourmands of Rome were able to distinguish the flavors of fish taken above and below the bridge? Have we not seen in our own time that gourmands can distinguish the flavor of the thigh on which the partridge lies down, from the other? Are we not surrounded by gourmêts who can tell the latitude in which any wine ripened, as surely as one of BIOT's or ARAGO's disciples can foretell an eclipse?' Descending to particulars, in his estimate of the 'delights of the table,' the 'Professor' dwells upon the luxury of truffles with a preeminent unction. We cannot agree with him, however, that they are not indigestible, although sometimes they are not. He says, that when taken in moderation, they pass through the system as a letter does through the post-office!' Our friend SANDERSON, now of the fine Gramercy-Park Hotel, once sent us a 'dindon-aux-truffe' which 'inundated the mouth with pleasure.' We are not eminently 'gourmand and trufflivorous' in Gotham, although the taste for that esculent is on the increase. Professor SAVARIN, in his chapter on wines, observes: In obedience to principles and practice well understood, true amateurs sip their wine. Every mouthful thus gives them the sum-total of pleasure which they would not have enjoyed had they swallowed it all at once.' Our old and esteemed correspondent JOHN WATERS too long absent, we grieve to say, from these pages --a gourmet of the highest grade, does not hold with the Professor in this. He advocates the 'throw' instead of the 'sip,' it will be remembered, in his admirable ‘Anecdote of a Bottle of Wine;' albeit, it proved a sad 'throw' in the case of the single bottle of Scuppernong.' With the subjoined desultory passages, pencilled as we read, we must close our notice of this entertaining and instructive volume : 'THOSE Who know how to eat are always ten years younger than those who are ignorant of that science.'

'We eat nothing without experiencing the importance of the sense of smell, if not

as a constituent portion of taste, at least as a necessary adjunct. The nose plays the part of a sentinel, and always cries out, 'Who goes there?''

'ALL languages had their birth, their apogee, and decline. None of those which had been famous from the days of SESOSTRIS to the era of PHILIP AUGUSTUS, exist except as monuments. The French will have the same fate; and in the year 2825, if read, will be read with a dictionary.'

'ANIMALS a hundred thousand times smaller than any visible with the naked eye, have been discovered: these animalculæ, however, move, feed, and multiply, establishing the existence of organs of inconceivable tenuity.'

'Or those persons to whom music is but a confused mass of sounds, we may remark that almost all sing false. We are forced to think that they have the auditory apparatus so made, as to receive but brief and short undulations, or that the two ears not being on the same diapason, the difference in length and sensibility of these constituent parts causes them to transmit to the brain only an obscure and undetermined sensation, like two instruments played in neither the same key nor the same measure, and which can produce no continuous melody. WHO knows if touch will not have its day, and if some fortuitous circumstance will not open to us thence some new enjoyments? This is especially probable, as tactile sensitiveness exists every where in the body, and consequently can every where be excited.'

We predict for this book, so various in illustration and quaint in execution, a very general acceptance at the hands of American gourmêts.

JANUARY AND JUNE: OR OUT-DOOR THINKINGS AND FIRE-SIDE MUSINGS. BY BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR. In one volume: pp. 281. New-Yor:: SAMUEL HUESTON, Number 139, Nassau-street.

WE have already referred to this elaborately-imaginative and beautiful volume, while it was yet in the 'swaddling-clothes' of its proof-sheets, before they were smoothly pressed, gathered together, and the whole handsomely bound in a book, and, interspersed among them, tasteful engravings. The passages from the work which we have quoted we observe have gone the general round of the press. Our own recorded impressions of the work are confirmed, we perceive, by the verdict of several journals whose praise is 'praise indeed.' The able and accomplished critic of 'The Tribune' daily journal says: "The keynote to this volume is the sentiment awakened by the presence of Nature and the memories of the Past. In various forms, this is addressed to the sympathy of the reader, and illustrated by a profuse wealth of personal experiences. Those who are not ashamed of feeling, will here find many touches of nature that go to the heart. The writer has a lively poetical fancy; his brain is stored with rural images and recollections; the suggestive aspects of life have not appealed in vain to his inner sense; and the emotions thus called forth are expressed in a quaint, but not inappropriate diction.' The Cincinnati 'Commercial Advertiser,' in a review of the same work, observes: The whole forms the most tempting cluster yielded by the literary vintage of the present season. Views of Life and Nature in their wonderful beauty, as well as in their commonest details and every-day experiences, are presented and illustrated by the author with a truthfulness, a quaintness, and originality of style as refreshing as the sparkling Catawba. His thoughts thrill along the heart-strings and awaken a world of old remembrances; abounding with passages that will refresh and refresh again the mind, in its hours of weariness or leisure. His poems comprise the dessert of the feast; a choice though scanty dessert, just sufficient to sharpen the appetite for more.' We must make space here, although 'cramped'

for room, for the annexed beautiful passage, descriptive simply of the growing of a VINE, that has struggled to light; but observe the 'sweep' of the poet's imagination:

'LIKE some low-born maiden in the 'Morning Land,' where dwell the worshippers of the Sun, this Vine has crept night after night, without a day between, to the place it had heard of afar off, where the SHAH for a while held audience. Arrived, it unfolds its gift, though 't is of the humblest, and lying upon the earth, timidly lifts the border of his gorgeous robe, and covers its bended head, as if it had faltered, 'I too am thy subject. Be thou my protector, as thou art my king.' So said the Vine to the great Prince of Morning. But he withdrew his robe, and went on in his chariot. He flushed the red Missouri with a deeper glow; and he gilded again the sands of the Sacramento; and he drove on, like NEPTUNE, over the calm Pacific; and the porcelain towers of China were a-blaze at his coming. He tarried among the palms, and he pressed the lips of the daughters of Circassia, and he kindled the cold bosoms of the beauties of the North, and he lingered in dalliance with the ivory-fingered women of Europe; and he did NOT forget the Vine, that waited for him the while in the cellar of the old homestead. But this morning, the chariot and horses of PHŒBUS waited without, while he descended the damp and slippery steps, and left a smile for the vine that will last it all day and all night, and until he comes again in his glory.'

HISTORY OF THE CAPTIVITY OF NAPOLEON AT SAINT HELENA. From the Letters and Journals of the late Lieut.-Gen. Sir HUDSON LowE, and original Documents. By WILLIAM FORSYTH, M.A. In two volumes: pp. 1307. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS.

THIS is a work of rare and painful interest. It is the most minute and various account that has yet been given of the 'GREAT CAPTAIN'S exile. It will have the effect, we think, to remove many of the prejudices which have grown up in the minds of thousands against the Governor of Saint Helena, for his alleged ill-treatment of his illustrious prisoner. His task was a thankless one at best; and he was constantly abused for doing that which his secret instructions from Earl BATHURST, of the Home Government, rendered it impossible for him to omit doing. Not a few of these instructions, to our conception, were unnecessary, if not positively insulting. What possible harm, for example, could NAPOLEON have done in speaking to the islanders whom he chanced to meet in his horse-back rides around his rock-bound 'watery prison'? There was at no one time of his captivity the slightest chance of his escape from the island. Guarded as he was, he might as well have attempted to take the fortress of Gibraltar with an elder pop-gun and tow-balls, as to get away. Say what they will, NAPOLEON was a 'smart' man, if he was timid; he had 'seen the time, too, when he was 'as good as ever he was,' and had considerable influence. Seriously, it was but too evident that his keepers were afraid of him, although chained to a rock in the midst of the sea. They could not but be exasperated, moreover, by the conduct of certain of his followers and dependents, who assisted his imagination to exaggerate the evils and annoyances of his position. NAPOLEON did not 'bear himself stiffly up' against his adverse fate he was minimis in minimis little in little things; and it is pitiful to read of his peevish, querulous complaints about petty grievances which a truly great mind would have overlooked, or borne uncomplainingly.

The materials of the work are most ample, and they have been collected and arranged with great care and good judgment by the editor. Many of the facts and documents, which have never until now appeared in print, give a greatly

added interest to the volumes. We find these eloquent remarks of the editor upon the character and lesson' of NAPOLEON:

'No one can study the character of NAPOLEON without being struck by one prevailing feature his intense selfishness. This was caused partly, no doubt, by the unparalleled success which had for twenty years attended his career, and which made him fook upon himself as a being born under a star, and as one whose destiny it was to rule, while it was the destiny of others to obey. Under the chariot-wheels of his ambition he was ready to crush every thing that opposed his path, without compunction or remorse. He regarded others merely as instruments to be used by him, and to be flung aside when he had no longer occasion for them. A memorable example of this occurs in his treatment of the noble-minded JOSEPHINE. Because she gave no promise of an heir to the throne, he snapped the cord of affection in a moment. The ties of duty and of love were nothing in his eyes when he found that his wish for a son was not likely to be gratified. How little feeling did he show when he heard of the death on the battlefield of any of the Generals and Marshals to whom he seemed to be most attached! Indeed, as has been already mentioned, he said of himself that his soul was of marble, and it was thus insensible to some of the finest feelings of our nature. Not that NAPOLEON was without gentleness and even playfulness in his disposition. When pleased and unopposed, there was a charming vivacity in his manner which irresistibly won all hearts. He was fond of espieglerie even with grown-up people; and in the case of children, who were always favorites with him, there was no limit to his good humor. But he could not brook contradiction or opposition, and had not the slightest consideration for others when they stood in the way of his caprice. He was the sun round which others were to revolve; but though attracted by his influence, they were kept at too great a distance to feel the warmth of his friendship or affection.'

'WHEN we turn from his character to his actions, and ask in what respect he benefited mankind, the answer is most unsatisfactory. Perhaps no man ever, for the sake of his own restless ambition, inflicted so much positive misery upon his species. His path was that of the destroyer. Kingdoms were trodden down under the iron heel of conquest, and wherever he appeared with his armies, blood was poured upon the ground like water. A fierce soldiery was let loose upon the countries of Europe, which spoiled the inhabitants, ravaged the fields, and swept away as with a whirl-wind the accumulations of years of industry and peace. A military despotism on a scale of unparalleled magnitude was established, which abrogated all political rights, and strove to trample out all national distinctions. If the sorrows of a single hero or heroine in a tale of fiction can move our hearts and powerfully awake our sympathies, let us think for a moment on the amount of human suffering caused by the career of NAPOLEON. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that the land was as the Garden of Eden before him, and behind him a desolate wilderness. Tears did not fail to flow for each homestead burned, each family outraged, each peasant and each soldier slain, in that long series of years during which he ruled the destinies of France. And what did France gain under his sway? A code of laws which is his best title to her gratitude, and that which she values more military glory. But at what a price was that glory purchased! The bravest and the best of her sons died in distant fields of battle, amidst the sands of Egypt or the snows of Russia. A ruthless conscription depopulated the villages, and at last reached, in its downward course, youths who were just emerging into manhood, but who were still rather boys than men. Her treasure was exhausted; her liberties were gone. A system of espionnage betrayed family-secrets to the minister of police, whose agents were every where, and whose omnipresence no one could escape. And at last came bitter retribution for the long-continued and daring attempt against the rights of nations. Her soil was invaded; her capital was taken; and Pandours and Cossacks bivouacked in the Champ-de-Mars, while English soldiers kept guard at the Louvre, and foreign bayonets brought back the King whom she had driven into exile and proclaimed an outlaw.

'Of his merits as a great Captain we need not speak. Such a World-Conqueror will perhaps never be seen again. But we may hope the time is coming, if, indeed, it has not already come, when men will sit in stern judgment upon those who, without adequate and just cause, and for the sake of their own aggrandizement, involve nations in strife. War is in itself an unmitigated curse. It is indeed the abomination of desolation. It may impose upon the imagination with all its proud pomp and circumstance; and few sights can be conceived of more thrilling interest than the march of a great army in compact array. But follow that army to the battle-field. See it after the shock of conflict, when the clash of swords is over, and the artillery has ceased to thunder. Listen to the cries of the wounded and the groans of the dying: follow the surgeon, and observe what his mission is when the battle is won, and acres of God's fair earth are strewed with corpses, and converted into a vast charnel-house. And what sorrow

accompanies the tidings of every victory! The child is fatherless, and the wife a widow; and the wail of mourning for those who have fallen, mingles with the shout with which the nation exults in its success. War may be a necessity in defence of outraged rights, and to repel aggression, but it ought ever to be looked upon as a miserable calamity; and he who wantonly provokes it is one of the worst enemies of his race.'

There are two good engravings in the first volume, representing the old residence of NAPOLEON and his suite at Longwood, and the new and more capacious edifice, built for the illustrious prisoner and his companions in exile, just before his death.

THE BLOOD-STONE. BY DONALD MACLEOD, Author of 'Pynnshurst,' 'Life of Sir WALTER SCOTT,' etc. New-York: CHARLES SCRIBNER.

MR. MACLEOD is the author of a life of Sir WALTER SCOTT, published about a year ago; a judicious and very charming specimen in a difficult department of literature, presenting, within the short compass of a single volume, every material fact in the domestic and literary life of the author, lucidly arranged, and written with a glowing warmth and sincerity, proceeding not more from a clannish feeling, than from a thorough appreciation of that great genius, right-minded, and noble hearted man. There is no other work which supplies the place of it; for, although confessedly gathering its materials from the cumbersome biography of LOCKHART, as well as from every other available source, it is in style and composition purely original, portraying, in every phase, and on many pages, with exceeding eloquence, those traits, rèvealed in the reverses of fortune, which made Sir WALTER's moral life outshine his intellectual; a heart which was the very fount of every kindly and generous affection, a pride and independence which never kneeled, an honesty sincere and incorrupted, which nerved him to those gigantic struggles in the midst of which he died victorious. From the time of his earliest years until the pen dropped from Sir WALTER's fingers, Mr. MACLEOD has portrayed this life faithfully and beautifully.

The present work, by its title, will be apt to excite the curiosity of the reader, nor will that curiosity be disappointed. It combines the charm of an autobiography with the high-wrought interest of a tale, gradually increasing in excitement as the dénouement draws nigh, nor will the most ingenious and scrutinizing reader be likely to divine what the end will be. When we say this, it is according the highest compliment to a romance or tale. There is, moreover, a truth to nature in the scenes and personages described, which impresses you with the idea that the story is not fictitious, but real; and this we are inclined to think, so far as the general outline is concerned. Indeed, this professes to be a life-history, a story of the passions, joys, sorrows, accidents, incidents, observations, and circumstances, which have concurred in making up an existence, and that drop in the ocean of eternity.' 'Shall I not touch your heart,' says the author, when I play upon the strings of my own? When I say, O friend, I too have loved, and acted, and sorrowed, and enjoyed? For it is true. I have experienced most of the feelings which we know to be human: smiles have beamed brightly upon my face; and big tears also have rolled heavily, in deep mournfulness, over my cheek, while the strong painful

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