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THE FAMILY VISITOR.

THE HOUSEWIFE'S MISCELLANY. 34. PARTRIDGES TO ROAST. If you 36. BREAD SAUCE.--Break threebuy your birds, choose young ones, quarters of a pound of stale bread into with dark-coloured bills and yellowish small pieces, carefully excluding any legs, and let them hang a few days, crusty or outside bits, having preaccording to discretion, or the flesh viously simmered till quite tender an will be flavourless and tough. It is onion well peeled, and nicked in quarimpossible to say how long a time ters, in a pint of milk. Put the crumbs should intervene between killing and into a very clean saucepan, and if you cooking, as the very morsel that would like the flavour, a small teaspoonful by some persons be ésteemed a bonne- of sliced onion, chopped-or rather, bouche, would be considered offensive minced-as finely as possible. Pour by others. Your birds will be all the the milk over the crumbs, first removbetter for being drawn as soon after ing the onion simmered in it, cover it they come to hand as possible; they up, and let it stand for an hour to may be trussed either with or without soak. Then with a fork beat it quite the head—the latter way is now more smooth, add one ounce of batter, and fashionable ; but carefully refrain from cayenne and salt to taste. Give the the practice of sticking one leg through whole a boil, stirring all the time, and another, as that very much interferes it is ready to serve. A small quantity with the carver's manipulations. Pluck of cream added at the last moment and draw the partridge, wiping it care- makes the sauce richer and more delifully inside and out: if you cut off the cate. Common white pepper may take head, leave sufficient skin on the neck the place of cayenne; a few pepper. to skewer back; and having brought corns may be simmered in the milk, the legs close to the breast, pass a but they should be carefully extracted skewer through the pinions and theat the same time as the whole onion. thick part of the thigh. If you prefer 37. Roast Goose.-First of all, the to leave the head on, bring it round seasoning to have ready. Peel four and fix it on the point of the skewer. large onions, put them into boiling Thus, having your bird nicely and water, and let them simmer for five firmly trussed, roast it before a minutes, or for ten if you object to the clear, bright fire, from twenty to strong raw flavour : also for a couple twenty-five minutes, keeping it well of minutes let ten sage leaves lie in basted, and flouring and frothing it scalding water. Chop both sage and well a few minutes before ready. Serve onions very small, add four ounces of up with gravy and bread sauce, pour bread crumbs, one ounce of butter, ing a little of the former over the part of the liver of the goose slightly bird.

simmered and finely minced, and salt 35. GRAVY FOR GAME, &c.— Cut and pepper at discretion : then work up half a pound of gravy-beef in small all together with the yolk and white pieces, and nick in dice-fashion a of an egg. Select a goose with a clean Denny worth of melt; put the meat white skin, plump breast, and yellow into a saucepan, with a pint of cold feet; red feet show an old bird. If water, a small onion or shalot, half a the weather permit, a few days' hangteaspoonful of salt, and pepper to ing greatly improves the flavour. taste. Let the whole simmer gently Having feathered, singed, drawn, and three hours-it must never boil fast. well washed and wiped your goose, cut A short time before required, blend off the neck close to the back, leaving with cold water a good half teaspoon enough skin to turn over. Truss it : ful of arrowroot, which pour into the make a hole in the skin sufficiently gravy, and keep stirring, adding one large to admit the seasoning, put it. tablespoonful of mushroom sauce, or into the body of the goose, giving it half that quantity of Lea & Perrins' space for swelling under the action of Worcestershire Sauce." Let it quite the fire, and secure it firmly at both boil, then strain off, and pour into a ends by passing the end of the rump tureen, serving very hot.

through the hole made in the skin,

and tying down the skin of the neck to the back ; by this means you will not lose the seasoning in cooking. Roast it before a brisk firo from one and a half to two hours, according to its size, keeping it well basted. Remove the skewers, and serve with gravy No. 35, and apple sauce, taking care that the breast does not fall before making its appearance at table. Send in but little gravy on the dish, in order not to inconvenience the carver, and that little pour round and not over the goose. There is also a sauce much recommended by soiontifio cooks and gastronomic amateurs :—" a teaspoon, ful of made mustard, a saltspoonful of fine salt, a few grains of cayenne, mixed with a glass of port wine, and poured into the goose by means of a slit made in the apron." Some cooks beat the bioastbono flat with a rolling-pin before proceeding to truss.

38. Mlshkoom Catciiup. — From the beginning of September look out for mushrooms: bo sure that you have true mushrooms, freshly gathered. Full grown flaps are tho best: put a layer in the bottom of a deep earthen pan, and sprinkle with salt, then another layer of mushrooms and more salt, and so on alternately. Let them remain three hours, by which time the salt will have penetrated the mushrooms, and made them easy to break. Then pound them in a mortar, and mash them well by hand, and let them remain for a couple of days—not longer

—stirring and mashing them each day. Then pour them into a stone jar, and to each quart add one ounce and a half of whole black pepper, and half ounce of allspice. Stop the jar very close, and set it in a stewpan of boiling water, and keep it boiling for two hours at least. Take out the jar, and pour tho juice clear from the settling* through a hair sieve into a clean stewpan, not squeezing the mushrooms; boil gently for half an hour. Or, if you want superlative catchup, continue the boiling till the quantity is reduced one half, and all the aqueous par*, evaporated. Skim it well, and pour into a clean dry jug or jar, cover i: close, and let it stand in a cool place till next day; then pour it off gently, so as not to disturb the settings, through a very fine hair sieve or thick flannel bag, till it is quite clear; add a tablespoonful of brandy to each fail pint of catchup, and let it send si before, and a fresh sediment will be deposited, from which the catchup must bo quietly poured off, and bottled in half-pints ; for it keeps best in qaantities which are quickly used. Closely cork and seal down, and keep in a cool, dry place. Bad corking or damp will quickly spoil the most genuine catchup. When the mushrooms are done with, squeeze them, and add to the squeezing the settlings, which may be used first for flavouring hashes, soups, Ac. Then dry the mushrooms in the oven, and make Mushroom Powder.

THE

Dear lonely ones, who walk this earth
Where only its dim shadows fall;

Whose piled path no sunshine hath,—
Oh, how my heart yearns towards you all!

I meet you in my daily walks—
In crowded street, or quiet lane—

And read the truth that underlies
The look of weariness and pain.

Bat oh! those dim, anwatching eyes
That never seek in loving quest

Some dearer face amid the throng,—
They tell me more than all the rest

O hearts unfilled! 0 hands unclasped!

O voice, with none to echo back! © lips that thrill not at one touch!—

It is not love and truth ye lack.

FRIENDLESS.

The casket hath its store of gems,
But hides them, as the silent sea
Hides its brave treasures in its breast;
And none hath found the master-key.

Yet, dear ones, could ye pierce the veil

That holds so many friends apart, And see the kinship that exists 'Twixt every good and noble heart;

And that sweet bond of sympathy

That girdles land, and sea, and shore,
And binds The True in every chime,--
Ye'd feel your loneliness no more.

But we must wait: we see not here
The perfect circle of our friends,
And though our paths apart m*y lie,
Thank God! they have not different ends.

Ah, no! they all lead Home to Him,

And in the unbroken peace of heaven
Our hearts shall learn why crowns of thorns

And lonely paths on earth were given.

Li-cimd.y Bo wars.

THE

Christian World Magazine.

October, 1866.

CARLYLE, RUSKIN, AND EYRE.

By Pkter Bayne, M.A.

Mr. Carlyle and Mr. Ruskin are men of high genius; and it is with deep regret that I have beheld a gulf of separation gradually widening for years between them and what we sincerely believe to be the most thoughtful, the most humane, the most intelligent, the most just, and the best instructed portion of British society. Genius is one of the rarest gifts of God; it ought to be one of the most beneficent; and there is much in the genius both of Mr. Carlyle and Mr. Ruskin which make it specially'distressing that they should stand apart from the body of their countrymen in angry and scornful isolation. In his earlier and kindlier days, Mr. Carlyle told us that quarrels—the vast majority of quarrels—are mixiintUntandinys; and it would afford us extraordinary satisfaction to find that Mr. Carlyle, Mr. Ruskin, and those simple Christian folks who think that Mr. Eyre has not been hardly dealt with by the Home Authorities, could be brought to an understanding on that matter.

Mr. Carlyle's writings have for a long time been steadily increasing in hardness, and in sympathy with the more savage moods of justice. He has forgotten Pope's deep and true saying, " that right too rigid hardens

vol.. ll.

into wrong," and, contenting himself with the Shakesperianprofession, "I shew mercy most when I do justice most," has failed to observe that there is a justice which, to take the description of Landor, has but one eye, and, with that one eye, looks fixedly upon gibbet-ropes and axes. His "Life of Schiller," his " Essay on Burns," and his earlier "Essays " generally, his "Heroes," his '' Past and Present," were pervaded by a glow of human enthusiasm as tender in its pathos as it was beautiful in its intensity. But in his " Essay on Eraucia, Dietator of Paraguay," he began to show himself the literary knight of the iron hand; in his "French Revolution" there was not that frank and hearty detestation of the bloodthirsty miscreants who revelled in slaughter, which healthy Englishmen have always felt; in his "Cromwell" there was a perilous cordiality of sympathy with the massacre of Drogheda; and in his lamentable "' Life of Frederick the Great" the transformation was complete. He who once eloquently condemned the murder of the poor bookseller Palm by Napoleon, had now no word of censure for the murder of Lieutenant Katte by Frederick William ; and the stupendous

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crime of involving a continent in war, and meanly and cruelly attacking a young and widowed queen for the sake of "glory," was lightly condoned to a stem, able, and successful despot. Had the Carlyle of five-and-twenty years ago stood forth as the champion of Mr. Eyre, it would have been indeed surprising; that the panegyrist of Frederick the Great and his father should smile upon the exGovernor of Jamaica, is what might have been expected.

But what of Mr. Ruskin? Mr. Carlyle has accepted the title and post of Rhadamanthus, and would regenerate men by force of iron manacles and steel whips. But Mr. Ruskin's faith is in mercy, in gentleness, in love. I know no books outside the volume of Scripture in which the root of love goes so deep as in his. I have never spoken to any man, comparable with him in mental power, whose faith in kindness was so great. If there is any man of whom I can say with confidence that he would rather suffer pain, than inflict it upon man, woman, or child, black or white, that man is Mr. Ruskin. He believes in the sun-power only: he is a worshipper of light. The agencies on whose might he relies to improve the species are the smile of kindness and the tear of compassion. He will not grant Lowell that adversity is the mother of heroism, that man reaches his stature and sinew by being thrown upon the rocks and having to climb the flinty precipices. In joy, not in sorrow, in happiness, not in pain, in genial slumber on the mother bosom of nature, or in generous activity beneath the blue sky and in the harvest field, he believes true strength to grow. Even what seem the extravagances of his later books have invariably their source in a thorough-going, impetuous, and, as it were, feminine affection for his kind. He would guard the life of the citizen as a brave Roman guarded the virtue of the maidens who watched the sacred fire. No form of labour which produces disease, which engenders misery, which shortens life,

would he tolerate except as a penal infliction. Vain the pleading of luxury, the entreaties of vanity, the hootings of cupidity; no dainty of the table, no ornament of the person, no increase of jewels and ingots, will purchase from him approval of any kind of toil which shortens the dear life of man, That he should stand side by side with Carlyle as the protector of Eyre is at first sight absolutely perplexing; but the mystery vanishes, or partly vanishes, when we consider precisely what it is for which he honours Mr. Eyre, and blames the body of his countrymen.

Mr. Carlyle's charge against those of his countrymen who hold that Mr. Eyre has met with no treauneEi which he did not deserve is that they love anarchy and sedition, and effeminately shrink front justice. "The English nation," he says. "never loved anarchy, nor was wont to spend its sympathy on miserable mad seditions, especially of this inhuman and half-brutish type : but always loved order and the prompt suppression of seditions, and reserved its tears for something worthier than promoters of such delirious and fatal enterprises, who had got their wages for their sad industry. Has the English nation changed, then, altogether? I flatter myself it has not, not quite yet; but only that certain loose superficial portions of it have become a great deal louder, and not any wiser, than they formerly used to be." Of the proceedings of Mr. Eyre he explicidy approves, and declares "that penalty and clamour are not the things this Governor merits from any of us. but honour and thanks, and wise imitation (I will farther sayh shonM similar emergencies rise, on the great scale, or on the small, in whatever we are governing." In one word, "the clamour raised against Governor Eyre appears to me to be disgraceful to the good sense of England."

Mr. RusMn's charge is not so direct. The avarice which, in his opinion, has sapped all genuine virtue, all healthyfeeling.inEngland.so perverts our judgments and debases our hearts that, in a spasmodic effort at self-justification — compounding for sins we are inclined to by damning those we have no mind to—we act towards Mr. Eyre with mere fatuous absurdity. Let us, however, give Mr. Ruskin's statement in his own words, as presented in the report of his speech to the Eyre Defence Committee on the 5th of September. After affirming that, although Mr. Eyre, honestly and energetically doing his duty, had lost Jamaica, it would have been inadmissible to bring him to trial, he proceeds thus:—" But as the matter stands, the official removal of him from his place was an act of national imbecility, which had not hitherto its parallel in history. It was the act—as this threat of prosecution was the cry—of a nation blinded by its avarice to all true valour and virtue, and haunted, therefore, by phantoms of both ; it was the suicidal act of a people which, for tho sake of filling its pockets, would pour mortal venom into all its air and all its streams; would shorten the lives of its labourers by thirty years a life, that it might get its needle packets twopence each cheaper; would communicate its liberty to foreign nations by forcing them to buy poison at the cannon's mouth, and prove its chivalry to them by shrinking in panic from the side of a people being slaughtered, though a people who had given them their daughter for their future queen—and then would howl in the frantic collapse of their decayed consciences, that they might be permitted righteously to reward with ruin the man who had dared to strike down one seditious leader, and rescue the lives of a population. Whether this cry, and the feeling which it represented, were indeed the voice and the thought of the English people, it was now to be asked. That was the simple duty for which they were that day met together. He believed it was not the voice of the whole English people, and that there was another opinion of theirs to be taken on the matter. But if not, and this proved to be indeed the English mind, the condemnation or acquittal

of Mr. Eyre were matters of very small moment, for the time would then assuredly have come for the bringing of the English people themselves to a trial, in which judgment would not require to be petitioned for."

That is to say, Mr. Ruskin pronounces the motives which have induced the English public to decide against Mr. Eyre mere "phantoms of valour and virtue." Mr. Ruskin's conception of the view taken by Mr. Eyre's accusers of what he did amiss, is indicated in the expression that he "had dared to strike down one seditious leader, and rescue the lives of a population." For this, Mr. Ruskin supposes, the English public wishes to ruin Mr. Eyre. Such are the accusations made by these eminent men against their countrymen — now for their defences of Mr. Eyre.

Mr. Carlyle's plea for Eyre is simple. He saved Jamaica in a great emergency. His services were "perhaps of incalculable value." They were certainly "of perilous and appalling difficulty "—something like the case of "fire suddenly reported in the ship's powder room, in mid-ocean, where the moments mean the ages, and life and death hang on your use or your misuse of the moments." Mr. Ruskin bases his defence upon a particular view of the duties of a governor. "The duty of a judge," he says, "is only to declare and enforce law; that of a governor is to do what law cannot do, and to deal with such immediate events, and necessities arising out of them, as might be beyond the scope of existing law." Mr. Eyre, being a governor, ■' had clearly no alternative but ■ instantly to take upon himself the responsibility of the higher office, and, as an English gentleman should, to do, as indeed he did, at his own peril, that which needed to be done. The first thing needing to be done in a crisis of imminent rebellion was to seize the ringleaders of it, and bring them, if time and circumstances admitted, to legal trial; but if the enemy to be dealt with is likely to mistake legal delay for infirmity of purpose, or hand, all forms of law were by that fact effete and

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