same quantity of iron turnings or filings. After the gas has evaporated which is created by the mixture, take a piece of rag and dip it in the liquid left, and wet all parts of the stock you wish to stain. Let it stand until it is quite dry, then lay on a slight coat of the oil and alkanet root. Take a quantity of joiners' shavings, set fire to them, and pass the stock through the flame until it becomes quite black, or the oil is quite burnt. off. Re-sandpaper it, and you will find it, if possessing any figure, a beautiful mottle. Add a few more coats of oil; it is then ready for varnishing, or any other way you may fancy to have it finished." Maple stained in this way looks very beautiful, but we do not consider it either so handsome or so suitable for stocking as walnut; it is much more brittle and knotty, and is liable to break if roughly handled. "Nequaquam satis in re unâ consumere curam: Ut si quis solûm hoc, mala ne sint vina, laboret, Do not imagine, brother Sportsman, that we are going to dive into all the mysteries and complicated paraphernalia of a cookery book, or, as a scientific Gormand, that we are about to extol alone the pleasures, the delights, the joys of a well-spread table. In extenuation, or rather in support, of our trifling efforts to promote the happiness of our sporting friends, when assembled around the convivial board with appetites made vigorous by the manly labors of the field, we beg to call their attention, for a moment, to the sage remarks of the philosophic Rumford, when speaking on this subject: "The enjoyments which fall to the lot of the bulk of mankind are not so numerous as to render an attempt to increase them superfluous. And even in regard to those who have it in their power to gratify their appetites to the utmost extent of their wishes, it is surely rendering them a very important service to show them how they may increase their pleasures without destroying their health."-See Chap. II., Essay III. Who, among our readers, will not bow in humble submission to such sentiments, emanating from so great a source? Who among them will not acknowledge, in the fulness of his heart, "that a good dinner is one of the greatest enjoyments of human life?" Who ever knew of a Philosopher refusing to participate in the festivities of a banquet? And who ever encountered the still stranger sight of a Physician living up to the dietetic precepts laid down for the guidance of his refractory patients. Look around you on every side, ye carping Cynics and snarling Bigots, and see how many men of the greatest talents and rarest virtues, whether of the present day, or of ages past, have sought pleasure in the innocent enjoyments of the table, and thus convince yourselves that these indulgences are not "incompatible with intellectual pursuits or mental superiority." Doctor Johnson, with all his wonderful attainments, did not consider a good dinner, or a recherche supper, beneath his attention; for, we are informed by Boswell, his biographer, that "he never knew a man who relished good eating more than he did; and when at table, he was wholly absorbed in the business of the moment." The Doctor himself says, in his usual quaint and philosophic style: "Some people have a foolish way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat; for my part, I mind my belly very studiously and very carefully, and I look upon it, that he who does not mind his belly will hardly mind anything else." How perfectly correct and natural do these remarks appear to us, when we reflect for a moment on the intimate sympathy and peculiarly direct communication existing between the head and the stomach! If the least irregularity in the natural functions of the bowels takes place, with what rapidity is it followed by a proportional degree of malaise at the very centre of life, the brain! In fact, the healthy operation of the whole natural economy is dependent in a great measure upon the state of the stomach; but the brain watches the actions of this organ with a most jealous eye, and in most persons is the very first to strike the alarm at the presence of gross or badly-cooked food; and it has been most justly remarked that "he that would have a clear head must have a clean stomach." If such be the fact, and no one certainly will dispute it, how necessary is it that we should not only regard the quality of our food, but that we should have an eye to the proper preparation of it by the Cook, before receiving it into so important an organ as the stomach. We do not now address our remarks to those whose health is so robust, and whose habits and associations in life have been such, as to force them to remain happy and contented with the coarsest fare, and whose stomachs consequently have attained the vigor of an Ostrich or the capacity of an Anaconda; for such individuals, we know full well, would naturally accuse us of over-refinement and ridiculous nicety. Neither do we wish to encourage or uphold in their effeminate opinions those delicate and Epicurean dandies who cannot enjoy a meal beyond the vile precincts of an eating-house, or the luxurious saloons of a club-room, or whose pampered stomachs are never sated, save when tempted with all the niceties that the markets can produce, artistically concocted into savory stews, outlandish fricandeaux, greasy ragoûts, high-sounding fricassées, and gamy salmis. Such fellows as these latter, whose brains, what little they may possess, as well as their hearts, are located in their bellies, are objects rather of our commiseration, and wholly beneath the notice of any sensible man, save that, like Peacocks at the Grand congregation of the feathered race, they serve the purpose, occasionally, of adorning a dinner table, of amusing the good-natured host by their senseless friponnerie, or perhaps, by the staleness of their wit and the dulness of their speech, of setting off the more cultivated jeux d'esprit of some favored bon compagnon. In fact, we have an utter abhorrence for a man in good health who cannot "rough and tumble it," in perfect good-humor, for a few days, when circumstances seem to require it, whether it be to repose one's wearied limbs even upon a shaggy buffalo robe, under the wide canopy of a starless heaven, or to stretch them on the soft and downy feathers of a luxurious bed, surrounded by all the gaudy trappings of an ambitious Upholsterer; whether it be to sit down to a mess of cold pork and brown bread, or to a round of juicy roast-beef. But, at the same time, we must acknowledge, on the other hand, that we equally despise an ignorant, low-minded fellow, who affects to prefer salt pork to savory venison, or a Barn-yard Duck to a Chesapeake CanvassBack, or Rot-gut whisky to sparkling Heidsick. Such a savage as this is more fit for the negro-quarter than the banquet-room of the polished and refined. us. The rational gratification of a natural appetite with such dainties as a kind Providence, in his infinite goodness, has given us in this world cannot justly be called gluttony; nor can a proper attention or nice discrimination in serving them up be termed sensuality, as both the one and the other are the actual gifts of the Almighty; the different varieties of viands on the one hand to tempt our palates, and the exquisite sense of taste on the other to enable us to appreciate them when laid before We have frequently observed that those among our acquaintances who most often speak discouragingly of the pleasures of the table, and most vociferously disclaim all pretensions to what they significantly term good eating-which, in truth, means nothing more nor less than having good food cooked in a wholesome and sensible manner; these same individuals, we say, when seated at the festive board, are the very foremost to find fault if the dishes are not served up in becoming style, or rather in accordance with their own peculiar, and sometimes outlandish, notions. What gluttony, forsooth, or sensuality either, is there in preferring a plain roasted potato to a boiled one? And pray inform us what gluttony or sensuality is there in preferring rich venison-soup to thin mutton-broth, or a larded Partridge to a young Squab, or mellow wine to tart cider? Such differences as these are mere matters of habit or education; and a Cannibal may with equal propriety be termed a sensualist, when greedily devouring the tender flesh of a young infant, as a refined Epicure when warmly extolling the gamy flavor of the leg of a Grouse. We do not profess to be a good Cook, either practically, scientifically, or theoretically, nor do we aspire to so enviable a distinction, although the Magnus Coquus of princely establish |