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ture, and it is singular he should all along have been such an ass as never to have discovered-not only not the longitude-but longevity. Millions, billions, trillions, quadrillions of human beings have been all that time eating and drinking, indeed doing very little else worth mentioning; and yet they now know no more about the matter, if indeed as much, as Adam or Eve. Either the "art of living long and comfortably," to use our friend's words, is one of very difficult acquisition, or all the nations of the earth are noodles, and incapable or unworthy of reading to any effect this Magazine. He speaks, in the passage quoted above, "of those who are earnestly desirous of becoming acquainted with the art of living long and comfortably;" but heretofore, how small must have been their number! What clouds of ephemeral children are for ever warping away on the wind of death-whence coming and whither going, why, how, or wherefore, who can tell? Poor motley phantoms, they had not sufficient sense given to them to "be earnestly desirous of becoming acquainted with the art of living long and comfortably, and of adhering thereto;" but why did not their parents know this for them? Why suffered they fate to blow them away out of sight for ever, like midges, and thousands of other sorts of small insects, all most beautiful when you look at them through a microscope, nay, even magnificent miniatures-pardon the Iricism, if it be one-in their flexile armour, their brightly burnished coats of mail beaten by the noiseless hammer of Nature out of silver and gold!

Yet true it is, this is a silly worldand therefore let us see how an Old Woman is to set us all to rights. He begins with diet-and tells us that food is of two kinds-Solid and Liquid-which, for the sake of convenience, he considers in separate sections. We have a confused recollection of having heard this distinction-this distribution of the subject -in early youth. It is not, we are confident, a new discovery, as our author seems to think. Indeed, the world we inhabit may be also said to be of two kinds-solid and liquidthe land and sea. But passing from that, all solid food is either of animal or vegetable origin. Thus, a cow or ox, a cod or howtowdie, is of animal

origin. Wheat and oats, a potatoe, nay, even a parsnip, is of vegetable origin. The native of a cold climate ought to eat much animal food-of a temperate climate much vegetable. In favour of vegetables, generally, it may be said that man could hardly live entirely on animal food, but we know he may on vegetables. "A man was prevailed on to live upon partridges without vegetables, but was obliged to desist at the end of eight days, from the appearance of strong symptoms of putrefaction." The same man might have lived for eight years on potatoes, without appearing to putrefy. Vegetable food has also, we are told, a beneficial influence on the powers of the mind, "and tends to preserve a delicacy of feeling, a liveliness of imagination, and acuteness of judgment, seldom enjoyed by those who live principally on meat.' Now every lady and gentleman in Great Britain lives principally on animal food, or, as our author has it, "on meat." But then Dr Franklin, we are told, "took entirely to a vegetable diet," and a delicate person he was truly! Why, he was as clever, acute, and thoroughly coarse and unimaginative a gentleman of the press as ever defended Deism-the beau-ideal of a philosopher, to be set up as an idol in a Mechanics' Institution.

Notwithstanding the story of the partridges, and of Dr Franklin,-" from the preceding facts," quoth our friend,

we rightly infer that the combination of an animal and vegetable diet is, in general, best suited to preserve a perfect state of health and strength, and, as society is now constituted, to conduce to longevity."

The excellent Old Woman then tells us that the proportion of this mixture is of importance that the valetudinarian will often find that a small proportion of animal food is the best for him, especially if he be very ill indeed --and that where little bodily exertion is employed, much animal food is improper; but where the bodily exercise or labour is constant and great, the use of animal food ought to be liberal.

Now really, there needed no old woman to come from her bed to tell us all this. Who ever ate, or saw eaten, a beef-steak without bread, or potatoes, or shalot, or mustard,-all vegetables, every mother's son of them? What round of beef in this world was

ever devoured without greys or greens? Even cannibals eat you with vegetables.

So, on the other hand, observe a man narrowly on a vegetable diet, and you will be delighted to see the immense quantities of animal matter which he devours. True, that enormous shave of bread in his paw is vegetable, but then the surface is the eighth part of an inch deep of butter, which is animal, we believe, as several full-grown flies well knew a few minutes ago, now imbedded in a state of insensibility in the yellow milkness. True, that boundless bowl of broth seems filled to the rim with barley, beans, pease, turnips, carrots, and many other vegetables which we have not now time to enumerate; but two pounds of mutton have been stewed down into it, and so amalgamated with the mess, that the whole seems the produce of the garden, and the gormandizer before you a member of the Horticultural Society. In short, it requires no nice analysis to detect all vegetable diet to be three-parts animal; and even in Ireland, the potatoe, which, we cheerfully grant, is, when eaten by itself, very much of a vegetable, often, thank Heaven! falls into the trap along with a bit of pig's face or trotter, than which there is no matter more animal in all the world. The mixture, then, of animal and vegetable diet will be found to prevail so generally, both in savage and civilized life, as to set-now that we have mentioned it—this Old Lady's mind completely at rest.

There is but one step from the Truism to the Paradox. The Old Lady forthwith tells us, that, "in the summer, our diet should be wholly vegetable." The devil it should? What! with all those beautiful fat lambs bleating on the hills? That hen and chickens searching for pearls on that dunghill before our very eyes? Those turkey-pouts, glancing their snakelike necks and heads in every direction-slim, yet satisfactory-and, as part of a dinner for a single gentleman, when nicely roasted, oh, what a remove! Leave the Old Lady herself alone with such a temptation, about four o'clock of the afternoon, for she keeps good hours, and she will not pout at the turkey-not she indeed nor yet turn her back upon the ham. If quite alone, she will draw, with both hands, first the one leg and then

the other, through and through her teeth, tearing off all the sinews, and sucking out the pith, and even crunching the bones, till her plate is as clean as if Bronte had licked it; and yet, after all, the Old Lady does not scruple to say, "in the summer our diet should be almost wholly vegetable!" What a world this is for hypocrisy and double-dealing!

Summer! a pretty reason for a vegetable diet indeed in this country! Why, do you remember the summer that came upon us some four years ago? Thermometer seldom above fifty-the day a dismal drizzle, or an even-down pour-some light but no sun-and the night a hollow howl, through which you could not hear the owls. A vegetable diet, forsooth! Pretty vegetables they were-not two pease on an average to the pod! Animal food, in all its possible modes, was the sole resource of the wretched inhabitants. Then, the summer did not stop at the usual time, but kept soaking away through the autumn on into the very heart of winter-so that, instead of a fine bold black frost at Christmas, we had a close clammy time of it, which, had people been weak from a vegetable diet, would have swept us off in thousands; but we found safety in the shambles, and the City, strong in animal food, was saved from the Plague.

The first section of the chapter on Solid Food terminates with this original advice: "It is worthy of observation also, that vegetable food is much the best for children, after they have done with the nurse's milk." Who ever doubted it? Suppose a child weaned within the year, who ever thought of cramming it with fat bacon without any beans, with sausages, or haggis ? The imp would become a Vampire if thus fed on blood-would fasten upon its mother or dry-nurse; and when sent to school, instead of purchasing barley-sugar with its Saturday penny, would regale on Pluck.

The good Old Lady now comes to particulars, and treats of Animal, as one great branch of Solid Food. Bullbeef, she informs us, is tougher than that of cow, and ox-beef best of all. Old ewe mutton is coarse-five-year-old well-fed wether mutton fine-there is less nutriment in veal than in the flesh of the full-grown beast-lamb is less dense than mutton-venison very digestible, wholesome, and nutritious

-good pork is a very savoury food, and suited to persons who lead an active and laborious life-some writers praise it pickled-but with some delicate people it immediately affects the bowels in rather a violent mannerthe flesh of the sucking-pig is a great delicacy-bacon is a coarse and heavy food-hare and rabbit are sufficiently nutritious-turtle a most nourishing and palatable food-and the esculent frog tastes much like chicken. Birds, in point of digestibility, rank nearly as follows:-Common fowl-partridge, pheasant, turkey, guinea-hen, and quail, pigeon, lark, thrush, and fieldfare, woodcock, snipe, and grouse, are easy of digestion. The goose is fit only for strong stomachs, and those who labour hard. The duck is preferable to the goose-and wild water-fowl cannot be much recommended, being generally heavy and indigestible.

Now, our own opinion is, that all the above birds are most easily digested; and that, to a hungry man, it is of little moment which of them you lay upon his plate. It is an idiotic calumny against the character of wildfowl, to say that they cannot be much recommended. They are always in bang-up condition-melt in your mouth beyond all praise-and we defy you not to digest them, if you ever digest anything. A teal !

The Old Lady is no admirer of fish, and denies that they are nutritious. Salmon, she says, is unwholesome!— Pray, may we ask to whom? Not to men or otters, although a very small slice of salmon will indeed sicken a Cockney, who does not understand the curd, and likes it all in a slobber. Stewed oysters, we are told, are extremely pernicious to lying-in women -not so raw, which are highly nutritious, of easy digestion, and may be taken with great advantage by the robust, as well as the weak and consumptive. Notwithstanding this, in our opinion, a single barrel of oysters is as much as is good for man or woman at a single sitting; and even that quantity may be pernicious without a jug

or two of Glenlivet.

"The best time for the consumption of fish," sayeth the Old Lady, "is in the summer;" that is, when the best among them are all either out of season, or not to be got for love or money.

By reducing to practice the above

information concerning Solid Animal Food, any person of a tolerable constitution will infallibly, barring accidents, reach a good old age, say a hundred and forty-the age of Galen.

We come now to the second great branch of Solid Food-Vegetable. And first of farina. Of the two sorts of bread, fine white, and coarse brown, the latter, we are assured, is the most easy of digestion, and the most nutritive. Perhaps it may be; but it is cursed bad, and infernally vulgar. It has a sweetish damp taste, that adheres pertinaciously to the tongue and palate, and is generally gritty, and full of sand and small stones. Respectable servants object to it, and you are reckoned anything but a good Christian by the beggar who opens for its sake the mouth of his reluctant wallet. "A dog," it is asserted by our author, "fed on fine white wheaten bread, with water, both at discretion, does not live beyond the fiftieth day; but if fed on coarse bread, with water, precisely in the same manner, he preserves his health." Oatmeal porridge is not a bad thing, as the Scots can vouch; and on rice the Hindoos thrive. But never do you drink ale after rice and milk, as it is almost certain of producing cholic.

The Old Lady herself, however, now and then makes some not unsensible observations. Thus, she says that we may consider it an unerring rule, that any kind of aliment for which we feel a natural and permanent appetite, is salutary and conformable to our nature. We are delighted with the following panegyric on the much-abused, blameless, and most meritorious Potatoe.

"Of this kind is that invaluable root the potatoe, which, in the most simple preparation, and without any addition but salt, affords an agreeable and wholesome food to almost every person. It is the best substitute we possess for bread, being a light, alimentary substance, neither viscid nor flatulent, and having little tendency to acidity. It is, consequently, very nutritious, and, for the peptic and bilious people, indeed, find most part, easy of digestion. A few dysit to disagree, more especially if not well cooked, or if not of a good sort; but this is a rare occurrence. A convincing proof of its highly nutritive qualities is, that the greater part of the arrow-root sold in England is extracted from it. The dry, mealy sort of potatoe is the most easy of di

gestion, and by far the most nourishing; and the simplest mode of preparing them for the table is the best; mashed potatoes are more difficult of digestion. The valetudinarian should, in general, avoid the young potatoe till after the first of August, on account of its indigestible nature when very young.

"The history of the potatoe conveys to us a most instructive lesson, forcibly reminding us of the extraordinary lengths to which prejudice will carry mankind, and showing us by what apparently trivial circumstances this prejudice is often removed when the most powerful and in fluential arguments have failed to weaken it. The introduction of this valuable root

to the gardens and tables of the people, received, for more than two centuries, an unexampled opposition from vulgar prejudice, which all the philosophy of the age was unable to dissipate, until Louis XV. of France wore a bunch of the flowers of the potatoe in the midst of his court, on a day of festivity: the people then, for the first time, obsequiously ac knowledged its usefulness, and its culti vation, as an article of food, soon became universal. Now, its stalk, considered as a textile plant, produces in Austria a cottony flax. In Sweden, sugar is extracted from its roots. By combustion, its different parts yield a very considerable quantity of potass. Its apples, when ripe, ferment and yield vinegar by exposure, or spirit by distillation. Its tubercles made into a pulp are a substitute for soap in bleaching. Cooked by steam, the potatoe is one of the most wholesome and nutritious, and at the same time, the most economical of all vegetable aliments. By different manipulations, it furnishes two kinds of flour, a gruel, and a parenchyma, which in times of scarcity may be made into bread, or applied to increase the bulk of bread made from grain; and its starch is little, if at all, inferior to the Indian arrow-root. Such are the numer ous resources which this invaluable plant is calculated to furnish."

Our author does not seem to know, that it has been discovered that the Potatoe is too productive and too nutritious; and that the people of Ireland have so much to eat, that they are all in a state of starvation. The great end of political economy is to get people fed. This the potatoe does to a miracle. Its beautiful eyes, God bless them, cheer the hearts of seven millions of Pats and Patesses, and, therefore, they must all be extinguished as they open to the light of day, on their prolific lazy beds! They are, it seems, a precarious crop ! They are not. Name a vegetable in which such implicit confidence inay safely be VOL. XXIII.

placed during any cycle of years. Wheat? oh the smutty sinner! why once every three years he has not an ear to his head. Oats? He is often so

short-legged that you cannot catch him to bring him under the sickle. Barley often all chaff. Pease and beans? poor pods, indeed - empty shawps, and a mere rustle of straw! But the Pot 00000000's-there they are, always sound at the core, whether waxy or mealy, and the shaws, are they not of a beautiful green, the apples that adorn them of a lovely yellow, and the root itself, whether roasted tenance, and the parent of a thickor boiled, pregnant with strong suscalved, broad-shouldered, strong-backed population, able and willing to fight the whole world in arms?

We now approach Section II., Li. quid Food, and we find these are chiefly water, milk, toast and water, gruel, tea, coffee, chocolate, broths, soups, wine, malt liquors, and ardent spirits.

Of these, the first seven are obviously of little worth; the next two are better; the three last are excellent.

holds, "that water is by far the safest Our physician, on the other hand, and most salutary beverage in which a man can possibly indulge." We never remember seeing any man indulge in water. The best authenticated stories of water-drinkers are very apocryphal. It appears that there are several kinds of water, but rain-water, snow-water, and spring-water are the best. But the truth will out; and the following passage proves that hard water, that is well-water, is a very dangerous beverage, unless boiled, and, of course, made into toddy. Our author pretends to prefer toast and water, and has the hardihood to call it nutritious; but nobody will believe that toast and water being well known to be the most insipid of all waters; toddy, again, tasty in the extreme, while the Glenlivat renders unnecessary alkaline carbonate, or carbonate of soda.

We had marked for quotation a panegyric on water-but are afraid of corrupting the taste and feelings of our readers-therefore we omit it. It is open to a thousand objections--but might stagger the young and inexperienced, and have a baleful influence on their habits. We earnestly beg our subscribers to remember, that more people get their death by drinking cold water than any other fluid, Not that the indulge in it to

excess-not that they are water-sots. But the poor hard-working labourer can no longer endure the thirst of midday toil, and, laying down scythe or sickle, he goes to a spring, and drinks sudden death. It is a most beautiful Element-witness Windermere in England, Loch Lomond in Scotland, Killarney in Ireland, and all the rivers of the three dear United Kingdomsbless them, one and all, as they float or flow! We know the use they are of in the economy of nature. But drink not, we beseech you, the simple but insidious Element. Yet it is the ground-work-the basis- of every other liquid. To it Glenlivat owes its being-but for it, we should seek in vain for the mountain dew. But for it, fermented liquor had never been-cold as it is, it is the parent of all ardent spirits.

From water the transition is easy and natural to milk. "Milk holds a very conspicuous place among the various articles of liquid food. It is one of the most valuable presents that nature has bestowed upon the human race." Milk certainly is most nutritive to the young of many animals, especially little sucking pigs and children; but to grown-up men and women it is by no means so, and consequently has fallen into desuetude. Ladies and gentlemen seldom drink milk and even coffee, when fine, is much better without it. It does not kindly coalesce with the viands of civilized life. It sours and curdles on the stomach, and makes most people sick. It agrees well but with the most commonplace characters-and we scarcely know a more opprobrious term in our vernacular than milksop.

It is a pretty sight to see a milkmaid milking a cow. Everything smells so sweet-the wild-brier hedge-the clover-the pail the heifer's breathand, above all, the breath of the milkmaid herself, who every now and then turns towards you her mouth so like a rose, that you do not try to refrain from kissing it, and are over head and ears in love with a rural life. But at tempt to drink a bowl of milk warm from the cow for ten mornings, and long ere that you will be as sick as a dog. Milk is only long eatable in butter and in cheese. Cream cloys the soonest of anything-but honey. As for butter-milk, which our Old Lady panegyrizes, never does man or wo

man look so vulgar, as when we see him or her walking along after a draught of it from a tin can. Who would waltz with a long lady who drinks butter-milk?

We now come to gruel-which is said to be "a wholesome and nutritious article, well calculated for the supper of all persons." Imagine a man going out to supper on gruel! Or even supping at home over a bowl of gruel!

Our author again quotes Dr Frankin for an old lady, who lived in Philadelphia, on an annuity of twelve pounds, to a very old age, on gruel. Had she had twenty-four pounds per annum, the worthy soul would have given up gruel long before the ghost. Art, Fancy, Imagination, all love to play with Poverty. Thus, gruel be ing the most attenuated of all possible thin potations, they borrow its name to denote its opposites; and a contributor taking a trigonometrical survey of York Place on his way from Picardy, under the power of Glenlivat, is facetiously said to have got-his gruel!

Being now master of the chief kinds of Solid and Liquid Food, the next question is, when and how much are we to eat and drink, in order to die at a hundred and fifty years of age?

For persons in the high ranks of life, the best periods, we are told, are eight, twelve, four, and eight o'clock, that is, breakfast, luncheon, dinner, and tea. No dinner should be taken later than four o'clock; and in "fixing this hour," quoth the worthy Old Woman, "I go to the utmost limit allowed by the principles of health and longevity. Three o'clock is a much better hour for fashionable society."

What a radical reformer! But don't you know, dear granny, that three o'clock itself was once reckoned the most portentous innovation that ever struck at the back-bone of the good Olden Time? Your ancestors used to dine at eleven, and none but the Blood-Royal delayed sitting down till one. Without knowing it, you are far gone in the luxurious spirit of the age-and at the very moment that you make that imp of a grand-daughter of yours stare, you make the ghost of your grandmother shudder.

But you are for having recourse, we see, to the solar system-Up with the sun and down with the sun. In the dead of winter then you go to bed, you and your husband, and all your sixteen

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