GENTLEMEN, THERE is no concern of life-(if all the world would tell the truth)—there is really no subject of anticipation, of hope, of desire, of anxiety, so universally engrossing-there is nothing we should fare so ill without, nothing we should so deprecate the want of, asDINNER. Where, when, and how he shall dine, are not matters of light interest to any one duly impressed with a sense of the importance of the subject; and who is not? speak not to those, I know, who are callous upon a matter of such intense interest, and I claim their undivided attention while I endeavour to lay down the principles of a science worthy of all the consideration they can bestow upon it.

What avails it that Macculloch holds forth about Political Economy to starving operatives, who, neglecting their business, will soon be unable to pay him for his prosing? Better it would be for both to consider the means of improving their domestic economy; for surely it is less germane to the matter to know how to govern, than how to dine, at least to those who, Heaven grant, may never do the former, while they must, if possible, daily do the latter.

How pitiful it is to think that the charlatanry of Craniology should have bewildered the minds of many, even sensible men, who used to throw away money to hear idle windy harangues about bumps in their heads, which would have been better spent in creating bumps in their hungry chil

JOHNSON'S Dictionary.

dren's hollow stomachs. The day of this humbug is, however, closed; there is no faith now placed in a science (Spirit of Bacon! a science!!) which found benevolence largely indicated in the skull of the murderer, and honesty in that of the thief, but accounted for this by assuring you that the bump of cruelty rose paramount in the one, and covetousness in the other; in other words, that the manslayer would have been humane, if he had not been savage, and the plunderer a true man if he had not been a rogue!

But if you want a true criterion of a man's character, look at his dinners; you will judge of his liberality or meanness, his taste or his vulgarity, by what you behold upon his table, and will estimate his worth and the consideration in which he is held in society-his qualities as a husband, a parent, or a friend, by the demeanour of those you find assembled around it. For although the board may groan with embossed plateaus, and although the fumes of the richest viands, elaborated by the most learned cooks, may ascend in exciting vapour to the noses of the guests, yet, if the master of the feast have a taint in his character, those noses must, if they belong not wholly to the bottle-nosed tribe of sharks, who will submit to any degra dation for a dinner, be uplifted discernibly in scorn of the wretch, and even in contempt for themselves, as submitting to the degradation of dining with him; while, on the other hand, be the worthy householder ever

so poor, be his beef-steak ever so single, his whisky ever so Lowland, and his servant-lass ever so barefooted, you will be sure to find the smile of friendship playing on the countenance of his guest, and will at once see proofs of the esteem felt for a man of honour, albeit in distress. Even in such a case, there is no need for the beefsteak to be tough, the tumblers or the lassie's feet to be dirty;-cleanliness, and comfort, and taste, are compatible with, and will evince themselves in the poorest situations in life; while it is equally possible for the gorgeous grandee, with all means and appliances to boot, to let his ignorance of those matters appear even in the midst of his splendour. I have seen, gentlemen, the table of a Duke, overspread with plate of the richest, while the handles of the knives were of all colours, some black, some green, and some white; the chairs appearing as if borrowed from the nearest alehouse, and the wine not long enough deposited in his Grace's cellar to allow it to recover from the

shaking it had got in coming from the grocer's, (importer of and dealer in foreign and British wines and spirits.) Ah! gentlemen, believe me there is much to be learned at a dinner.

Having thus opened to you, in some slight degree, the importance of the subject, it may be expected that I should proceed to lay down a methodical arrangement of my Lectures. Many different systems might be pursued in delivering myself to you. I might follow a historical order, in which case I must obviously invert our usual mode of marshalling the meal, inasmuch as Adam and Eve were conversant only in desserts, while we owe the consummation of cookery, the exquisite coup de maitre of the art, Sour, (with which we begin our entertainment,) only to the latest investigations of the culinary chemist; or, I might make this course of lectures follow the course of the entertainment, and so form a table of contents and a bill of fare all in one. As thus,

Patés,

PART II. Substantials, with their ac

companiments of dressed dishes,

PART III. The second course, with its soufflets, fondus, and cheese,

FART IV. The dessert,

PART V. The wine,

This would be mighty allegorical, and mighty instructive to boot, perhaps. But I bethink me, gentlemen, that method is now accounted tiresome and intrusive. It binds down too narrowly the soaring imaginations of aspiring mechanics, and other philosophers or students, and is, in brief, wholly exploded in the world of fashion. What would now seem more tiresome than the arrangement of a sermon into heads, divisions, and sub-divisions, after the manner of the field-preachers of olden time? What modern professor of law would now cramp the genius of his students or himself, by laying down

and skirmishers, who precede the or main body, and flanking troops, which next advance to the general engagement.

aptly pourtraying a corps de reserve advancing to fill up any vacancies in the main body, with light troops to provoke and assault the yielding power of the enemy; and lastly, or rear-guard, which achieves the final victory over the discomfited appetite, and leaving a clear field; nothing remains but

or bloodshed, consequent on such an engagement.

a regular plan of that airy and fantastic study, or would foolishly reduce into writing that which it is so much easier to spout, 66 as fancy dictates or as chance directs?" No! my hungry hearers! what I have got to say shall be of the unfettered frisking of a fasting fancy; and if my poor exertions can excite an imaginary appetite in one overfed bailie, or can quell for a moment the pangs of hunger in one famished operative, my brains will not have been buttered in vain.

That the subject is one which has at all times, and still does attract and attach the philosopher, the historian,

and the poet, every one, however slightly he may have applied his mind to the study of useful knowledge, must be aware. From the mighty Homer, whose enduring strains have influenced the literature of ages, to the nameless bard, whose graphic description of Jack Horner, (the ancestor of that unassuming citizen, who lately got into the scrape of being chairman to Mr Hume,) who sat in a corner eating his Christmas pye, (would I had one to exemplify to you by experiment how he) popped in his thumb, and pulled out a plum; and conscious of his own merit, far from calling himself a humble individual, unworthy of the honours done him, &c. &c., like some of his descendants, honestly and boldly proclaimed his worth to all whom it might concern, exclaiming, with a stomach and a conscience simultaneously gratified,—“ What a good boy am I!" I

might here remark how our education embraces an acquaintance with the interesting topic, from our earliest years. Is not the gate of knowledge opened with the delightful description contained in what our friend Mr Hogg would call that string of charming apothegms, beginning with, A, Apple pye, B bit it C, cut it, &c.? And are we not more willingly led on to learning by the stomach, than driven to it a posteriori? But let every man put the question honestly to his own conscience, and he will freely confess with me, that in very truth, the assertion with which I opened my mouth, and this course of lectures, is founded on the basis of eternal truth, and that there really is no one subject of such vital interest, nothing so exciting in expectation, so grateful in fruition, so pleasing in reflection, as a good and substantial, or elegant and tasteful, or splendid and gastronomical Dinner.

I WISH some one would write a Dictionary of CANT. It would be a useful present, even to the existing generation, but far more valuable to those that are to follow. Nothing can be more certain than that without some such expositor, half the writings of the present day will be absolutely unintelligible to posterity. Every one who has at all looked into the literature of the times, "when Hambden bled in the field," must have lamented the utter impossibility, for the most part, of catching even glimpses of meaning. Men who, upon some subjects, displayed a force both of thought and of language, seldom reached by their descendants, seem to us, when they write on topics connected with the prevailing Cant of their day, to deal out stark nonsense. Whether this was occasioned most by the obscurity of the theme, or by the circumstance that they composed in a tongue (I mean that of the Cant Puritanical,) which is, to many intents and purposes, a dead language, I shall not now (so don't be alarmed, reader) waste one word in discussing; but I think the CANTERS of the present day, whether in Ethics, or Chræstomathics, or Politics, or Political Economy, or Huma

nity, or Criticism, employ dialects, which, though read very easily, and spoken very glibly by us, will be wholly lost to succeeding ages.

Take the following as a sample; it is from the cant of dramatic criticism; one of the most prevailing, and certainly not the least plaguing of those dialects.

"Miss Kelly played Lady Teazle last night. The part is wholly out of her line. Lady Teazle has always been represented as a woman of fashion; but Miss Kelly gives an air of rusticity to the character which the author never designed. They who can remember, or have learnt from description, or tradition, the style of Miss Farren's exquisite performance of this part, will never reconcile their tastes to the innovations of Miss Kelly."

Unluckily those ready-written dogmas do their work among the public. The drama is a subject on which almost every one thinks himself qualified to be a critic; and yet the number of those who do not commit to others the charge of thinking for them, is perhaps greater in this department than in any other within the whole range of literature. The reason is obvious. Each frequenter of a theatre feels that

he is no unimportant unit in a very formidable number of people who have the privilege of passing, on whatever is presented for their amusement, an instant, summary, and final sentence. Audiences at playhouses are not the only congregations of capricious judges, who have confounded, in their estimate of themselves, the power to decide with the capacity to deliberate; and we cannot be surprised, if, on a subject which surely requires some reflection, and no inconsiderable acquaintance with a very large section of British literature, they take their notions, as did the Athenians on weightier matters, and certain crowded modern assemblies on matters weightier still, from a few flippant critics, whom they follow without knowing that they are led.

It must be owned, that this will of necessity be always, to some extent, the lot of the far greatest number of the patrons of the drama. The minority is small indeed, who form their opinions of its literature or its representation from their own study of its productions, rather than from the commentaries of the critics. It is right, therefore, that these latter gentry should be from time to time reminded, that their duty is something more than merely to praise or to condemn; and that common justice and honesty require, that the bread of a performer, or the character of an author, shall not be sacrificed to the dull sport or the heedless haste of paragraphs in the newspapers.

These are now almost the sole vehi cles of dramatic criticism. With very few exceptions, they talk a language strangely compounded of terms of art, confidently dealt out without measure or mercy,-bold appeals to general rules as established, concerning the composition or performance of the drama, which were never heard of, or probably thought of, before; and short, terse, little sayings, disposing, in a line, of a whole act of a play, or of the voice-or mayhap a limb, of some unhappy actor. But there is one striking feature which is common to them all. They have a horror of anything new; and they usually decry it for one or other of two of the most opposite reasons in the world; either because it was never ventured before, or because it is like something, (though not the same,) with which they have

been long familiar. Thus, if a performer appears for the first time, and displays considerable talent, in a department in which some old favourite is greatly distinguished, the debutant is instantly set down as an impudent imitator of Mr Kean, or Mr Young, or Mr Macready, or Mr Kemble. Again, if an actress of acknowledged taste, great abilities, and a highly cultivated judgment, presume to give a new reading of a very doubtful part, the attempt is at once denounced as an innovation, to which a gracious pardon is indeed extended for the sake of the popular and favourite performer,-accompanied, however, by a gentle admonition, that she ought not to tempt the fates by a repetition of the experiment.

Miss Kelly's attempt to introduce novelty in the personation of Lady Teazle, is an opportunity not to be lost, of combating this besetting cant of the drama. It is in itself, when opposed in any particular instance, by a little argument, or a slight analysis, as fragile and contemptible, as any of those eastern insects which individually may be crushed between the fingers, but which in the gross will lay waste a whole country. Insignificant as bad criticism always is, when combated in detail, its visitation is often a deadening blight to genius; and I cannot help thinking, that it is doing some good service for the drama, to bring to the question those objections which have been made to Miss Kelly's reading of the "School for Scandal."

I must be allowed here to observe, that Miss Kelly has herself (evidently against her better judgment) given some colour to the cause of the CANTERS, by the extreme timidity which she has expressed upon the subject. A day or two after her appearance in the part of Lady Teazle at Drury-Lane theatre, the following paragraph appeared in the London newspapers :

"MISS KELLY'S LADY TEAZLE.

"Some of the papers having censured Miss Kelly for undertaking the part of Lady Teazle, it has been deemed an act of justice to communicate to us the following letters; the first addressed by that Lady to the Stage Manager previously to her consenting to undertake the character, and the second, subsequently to her performing it :