comforted the heart, and aided digestion; and why the same opinion should not govern us, I must leave to the dieteticians to decide.

The moderate use of wine and of malt liquors is exceedingly grateful to our feelings, and abundantly beneficial to our constitution; but ardent spirits are found to be so pernicious to most constitutions, and especially to those: of the inhabitants of crowded towns and cities, that, excepting under peculiar circumstances, it is better to discard them altogether. A glass or two of good wine can never do any harm; neither can a cup of good, genuine, "humming ale." The chemists tell us that the London ale is a horrid and narcotic compound; and so, in truth, by far the largest portion of it is. But there are two or three honest men in the metropolis, who sell genuine Kennet, Nottingham, and Scotch ales, from whom it is very easy to procure it quite pure. If, however, malt liquor does not agree with the stomach, or what is the same thing, is supposed not to agree, it is a very easy matter to substitute wine for it.

A word or two, here, with regard to genuine ale. Half of what is sold under the name of Scotch, Kennet, &c. is manufactured at Bromley, or elsewhere, according to prescriptions adapted to the peculiarities of each kind. This, perhaps, is nothing very enormous; but the publicans "doctor" their beer, after it has left the brewhouse, in a manner that calls loudly for reprehension. Salt of tartar, carbonate of soda, oil of vitriol, and green copperas (sulphate of iron) are some of the articles in common use; and knowing this to be the case, it is really a matter of importance to know where good, pure beer is to be obtained. The best Kennet ale is to be had at Sherwood's, in Vine Street, Piccadilly, or at Chapman's, in Wardour Street; both these dealers have it direct from Butler's, at Kennet, and a very superior article it is. Nottingham ale may be procured in casks at Sansom's, in Dean Street, Red Lion Square; and the best Scotch ale in London, whether in draught or bottle, is at Normington's, in Warren Street, Fitzroy Square.

THE SELECTOR AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

VIDOCQ

[In our vol. xii. we gave a few extracts from vol. i. of the Memoirs of Vidocq, the principal agent of the French Police, until 1827; which extracts we have reason to know were received with high gout by most of our readers. The second and third volumes of these extraordinary adventures have just appeared, and contain higher-coloured depravities than their predecessors. Some of them, indeed, might have been spared; but as a graphic illustration of the petty thievery of Paris, the following extract bears great merit:—]

I do not think that amongst the readers of these Memoirs one will be found who, even by chance, has set foot at Guillotin's.

"Eh! what?" some one will exclaim, "Guillotin!"

"You are mistaken; we all know the celebrated doctor, who ——;" but the Guillotin of whom I am speaking is an unsophisticated adulterer of wines, whose establishment, well known to the most degraded classes of robbers, is situate opposite to the Cloaque Desnoyers, which the raff of the Barriere call the drawing-room of la Courtille. A workman may be honest to a certain extent, and venture in, en passant, to papa Desnoyers's. If he be awake, and keep his eye on the company, although a row should commence, he may, by the aid of the gendarmes, escape with only a few blows, and pay no one's scot but his own. At Guillotin's he will not come off so well, particularly if his toggery be over spruce, and his pouch has chink in it.

Picture to yourself, reader, a square room of considerable magnitude, the walls of which, once white, have been blackened by every species of exhalation. Such is, in all its simple modesty, the aspect of a temple consecrated to the worship of Bacchus and Terpsichore. At first, by a very natural optical illusion, we are struck by the confined space before us, but the eye, after a time, piercing through the thick atmosphere of a thousand vapours which are most inodorous, the extent becomes visible by details which escape in the first chaotic glimpse. It is the moment of creation, all is bright, the fog disappears, becomes peopled, is animated, forms appear, they move, they are agitated, they are no illusory shadows; but, on the contrary, essentially material, which cross and recross at every moment. What beatitudes! what joyous life! Never, even for the Epicureans, were so many felicities assembled together. Those who like to wallow in filth, can find it here to their heart's content; many seated at tables, on which, without ever being wiped away, are renewed a hundred times a day the most disgusting libations, close in a square space reserved for what they call the dancers. At the further end of this infected cave there is, supported by four worm-eaten pillars, a sort of alcove, constructed from broken-up ship timber, which is graced by the appearance of two or three rags of old tapestry. It is on this chicken coop that the music is perched: two clarinets, a hurdy-gurdy, a cracked trumpet, and a grumbling bassoon—five instruments whose harmonious movements are regulated by the crutch of Monsieur Double-Croche, a lame dwarf, who is called the leader of the orchestra. Here all is in harmony—the faces, costumes, the food that is prepared; a general appearance is scouted. There is no closet in which walking-sticks, umbrellas, and cloaks are deposited; the women have their hair all in confusion like a poodle dog, and the kerchief perched on the top of the head, or in a knot tied in front with the corners in a rosette, or if you prefer it, a cockade, which threatens the eye in the same manner as those of the country mules. As for the men, it is a waistcoat with a cap and falling collar, if they have a shirt, which is the regulated costume; breeches are not insisted on; the supreme bon ton would be an artilleryman's cap, the frock of an hussar, the pantaloon of a lancer, the boots of a guardsman, in fact the cast-off attire of three or four regiments, or the wardrobe of a field of battle. The ladies adore the cavalry, and have a decided taste for the dress of the whole army; but nothing so much pleases them as mustachios, and a broad red cap adorned with leather of the same colour.

In this assembly, a beaver hat, unless napless and brimless, would be very rare; no one ever remembers to have seen a coat there, and should any one dare to present himself in a great coat, unless a family man, he would be sure to depart skirtless, or only in his waistcoat. In vain would he ask pardon for those flaps which had offended the eyes of the noble assembly; too happy would he be if, after having been bandied and knocked about with the utmost unanimity as a greenhorn, only one skirt should be left in the hands of these youthful beauties, who, in the fervour of gaiety, rather roar out than sing.

Desnoyers's is the Cadran bleu de la Canaille, (the resort of the lower orders;) but before stepping over the threshold of the cabaret of Guillotin, even the canaille themselves look twice, as in this repository are only to be seen prostitutes with their bullies, pick-pockets and thieves of all classes, some prigs of the lowest grade, and many of those nocturnal marauders who divide their existence into two parts, consecrating it to the duties of theft and riot. It may be supposed that slang is the only language of this delightful society: it is generally in French, but so perverted from its primitive signification, that there is not a member of the distinguished "company of forty" who can flatter himself with a full knowledge of it, and yet the "dons of