ke to have any more
called._"--_New London Literary Gaz._

* * * * *

THE SELECTOR

AND

LITERARY NOTICES OF

_NEW WORKS._

* * * * *

A PHILOSOPHICAL KITCHEN.

A romantic and ludicrous novel has just appeared, entitled "The Mummy,
or Tale of the Twenty-second Century," exhibiting some of the probable
results of "the march of intellect;" and of the pungency of its satire
the following is a fair specimen, describing a kitchen in the
twenty-second century:--

When Dr. Entwerfen left the breakfast-room of Lord Gustavus, which he
did not do till a considerable time after the rest of the party had
quitted it, he was so absorbed in meditation, that he did not know
exactly which way he was going; and, happening unfortunately to turn to
the right when he should have gone to the left, to his infinite surprise
he found himself in the kitchen instead of his own study. Absent as the
doctor was, however, his attention was soon roused by the scene before
him. Being, like many of his learned brotherhood, somewhat of a
gourmand, his indignation was violently excited by finding the cook
comfortably asleep on a sofa on one side of the room, whilst the meat
intended for dinner, a meal it was then the fashion to take about noon,
was as comfortably resting itself from its toils on the other. The
chemical substitute for fire, which ought to have cooked it, having gone
out, and the cook's nap precluding all reasonable expectation of its
re-illumination, the doctor's wrath was kindled, though the fire was
not, and in a violent rage he seized the gentle Celestina's shoulder,
and and shook her till she woke. "Where am I?" exclaimed she, opening
her eyes. "Any where but where you ought to be," cried the doctor, in a
fury. "Look, hussy! look at that fine joint of meat, lying quite cold
and sodden in its own steam." "Dear me!" returned Celestina, yawning,
"I am really quite unfortunate to-day! An unlucky accident has already
occurred to a leg of mutton which was to have formed part of to-day's
aliments, and now this piece of beef is also destroyed. I am afraid
there will be nothing for dinner but some mucilaginous saccharine
vegetables, and they, most probably, will be boiled to a viscous
consistency." "And what excuse can you offer for all this?" exclaimed
the doctor, his voice trembling with passion. "It was unavoidable;"
replied Celestina, coolly; "whilst I was