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asking for her favourite condiment, "Le sel, ma Gondi—le sel, ma Gondi;" from whence the courtiers gave the name salmagundi to the popular dish." And I have met with still another version of the dish's derivative: that it was invented by one Gondi or Gundi, a minister of state, and was called from him Salmi de Gondi, which became corrupted into salmagundi, or that salmigondis which is explained in the French dictionaries to mean "hotch-potch, olio." And, indeed, there seems no end to the ingenuity of people in seeking out the derivation of salmagundi; for I have met with yet another version, which drops the Gondi altogether, and makes the word to have originally been Salmi Condé, or Salmi à la Condé.

My readers have now the choice of these derivations. Enough has been said to show their diversity, which is as great as the variety of receipts for the dish. And, indeed, the doubts, difficulties, and contradictions which beset salmagundi would appear to apply to the authorship of the book under that title edited by Washington Irving; for, although I commenced this paper by saying—on what seems to be sufficient authority—that the two authors who assisted Irving in the production of "Salmagundi" were Paulding and Verplanck, I yet end the paper by asserting, on the authority of the American writer, Mr. William A. Wheeler, that the third writer in the work was not the recently deceased Gulian C. Verplanck, but "William Irving" (see "Names of Noted Fiction," under the head of "Langstaff, Launcelot"). So that this article is, from beginning to end, a hotch-potch of confusion; yet, if it be acceptable to the reader's taste, it will the more aptly carry out its title, "Salmagundi."

In an article on "Impropriety for the Million," in the Saturday Review, April 9, the writer says—"Even at the West-end (theatres) it might be difficult to distinguish the sinner from the saint, if we were not helped by observing that a copious tawny mane denotes vice, while a moderate supply of black hair is appropriated to virtue." Certainly, the "tawny" hair has come greatly into fashion for heroines of a peculiar character; and it is to Mr. Thackeray that we owe the epithet. When, in 1847, he first introduced Becky Sharp to the world, he described her, at page 10, as being "sandy-haired;" but when his "Novel without a Hero" had advanced to its 458th page—to that famous scene where Mrs. Becky personates Clytemnestra in an acted charade—we are told that "her tawny hair floats down her shoulders." For, at that point in the history, Becky's character had become sufficiently developed to admit of the advanced epithet.

Among the literary announcements of the forthcoming season is "a thick, handsomely-printed quarto volume, with illustrations, price £3 13s. 6d., large paper £5 5s., 'The History of Whalley.'" It may be necessary to state to some of the admirers of the senior member for Peterborough, that this work is not of a biographical nature, but is a new edition of Dr. Whitaker's admirable addition to the county history of Lancashire. The Whalley here mentioned is but a small town; but it is applied as the comprehensive name for a district thirty miles in length by fifteen in breadth, comprising several market towns, chapelries, and townships, and numbering more than one hundred thousand inhabitants. A portion of the parish of Whalley is in Lancashire; two other portions are in Cheshire and Yorkshire; so that, while the parochial Whalley is a representative of portions of three counties, the parliamentary Whalley is a representative of portions of two counties—for Peterborough, for electoral purposes, stands in Northamptonshire and Huntingdonshire, and in the sees of Peterborough and Ely.

A Correspondent: I bought the other day the first number of a weekly journal, "devoted to the promotion of marriage and conjugal felicity," for which I regret the expenditure of twopence, and cordially wish the paper all manner of ill-success. It opens with a list of ladies and gentlemen "aspiring to marriage." They artlessly set forth their own virtues, and proclaim their desires. There are a hundred and fifty of these aspirants. Most of them are, we may presume, mere emanations from the brain of the gifted editor, put forth as bait to allure silly persons of both sexes. Doubtless, there will be some foolish enough to make a shot at happiness in this the worst of all ways to win it. The majority of the advertisers are women—I beg their pardon,