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, SOUP, (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,

PART II. Substantials, with their ac-.

companiments of dressed dishes,

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

PART 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 a regular plan of that airy and fantastic study, or would foolishly reduce into writing that which it is so much easier to spout, "as fancy dictates or as chance directs ?" No! my hungry hearers what I have got to say shall

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.

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 Humanity, 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 esti

mate 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 vehicles 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.

Miss Kelly for undertaking the part of "Some of the papers having censured 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 :

LETTER-No. I.

"Nov. 27, 1825. "DEAR SIR,-I read Lady Teazle' last night, and again this morning, with great attention; I do not see the slightest difficulty to myself in performing the

part. My view of her character is still the same. She appears to me anything but a fine lady; indeed, there is not a single line in the whole play which describes her either as a beautiful or an elegant woman; but, on the contrary, as having been, six months before, a girl of limited education, and of the most homely habits.

"Now, if I could reconcile it to my common sense, that such a person could acquire the fashionable elegance of high life in so short a period, I hope it is no vain boast to say, that having had the good fortune to be received for many years past into society far above my rank in life; and having, therefore, had the best opportunity of observing the manners of the best orders, I must be a sad bungler in my art if I could not, at least, convey some notion of those manners in the personation of Lady Teazle;' but this, I repeat, is contrary to my commonsense view of her character. Still, the town has been so long accustomed to consider her, through the representation of Miss Farren, and all her successors in the part, in this, and in no other light, that I should really tremble to attempt my simple reading of her character, from the dread of drawing on myself a severity of criticism which I have ever had the good fortune to escape; and perhaps a censure from the public, who have hitherto received me with so much kindness, as considering I have never ventured beyond the limits of my humble abilities. After saying so much, I must leave it to the wise heads, who have sug. gested this hazard to me, to determine whether the business of the Theatre is in such a position as to make the effort essential to its interests, in which case, and in which case alone, I could be induced, though with fear and trembling, but by particular desire,' to put on feathers and white satin, and make a fool of myself. I am, dear sir, your obedient

faithful servant,

"F. M. KELLY."

"To the Stage-Manager, Theatre Royal, Drury Lane."

LETTER-No. II.

"Henrietta Street, Dec. 2. "DEAR SIR,-In my great anxiety to ascertain how far I was right in my anticipation of the consequence of my play ing Lady Teazle, I have ventured to look at all the papers this morning, and though the generality of them are highly flattering and indulgent, yet there are two which (as, indeed, I expected would have been the case with all) accuse me of folly

and presumption in undertaking the character; there appears also to have been a feeling (which is extremely painful to me) that Mrs Davison has been displaced for my advancement to one of her characters. Now, as I cannot tell them (what you told me) that Mrs Davision has given up the part, and that you have pressed me against my own judgment into the performance of it, I do hope and request that you will take the trouble to write a line to the Editor of The Morning Herald and The New Times to exonerate me from the charge of having sought to obtrude myself on the public in a character which is entirely out of my line, and which I was never ambitious to fill. I am, dear sir, your obedient faithful servant,

"F. M. KELLY."

The modesty of these letters disarms ill-nature, but it strengthens opposition. It is to be regretted, that reading the character as she did, and knowing as she must, that in such a character as Lady Teazle, so read, she is absolutely without a rival, Miss Kelly should have insinuated a doubt, that in the performance of a part, which in making it in some sort a new one, she would make in some sort her own, she could fail to be ultimately and triumphantly successful.

To perform a part in a favourite play, with a new reading, is always a perilous enterprize. There is prejudice in favour of old associations. It is like presenting to us the person of an old friend, with his face in a mask. The mask may be far handsomer than look upon it with equal pleasure. It the visage it conceals, but we do not is therefore, necessary, not only that the delineation of the character by the poet shall be of a doubtful kind, leaving room for various readings, and that the new conception shall be in itself natural and just,-but there is also needed talent of a very high order, or great popularity in the performer. It is fortunate for those who think that varieties of this sort constitute one of the chief charms of dramatic literature, and one of the qualities too which give it a pre-eminence among the imitative arts, that all these circumstances combine in the attempt made by Miss Kelly, to give a new personation of Lady Teazle.

It is one of the peculiarities (as some

will have it one of the faults) of the School for Scandal, that its Dramatis Personæ present a constellation of talent not to be expected in real life among a company, could such be found, which in all other respects might be precisely similar. Trip shares the wit as well as the extravagance of his master. Moses possesses, in no mean degree, the dry sententious humour of "Mr Premium." Sir Benjamin Backbite, whose manners and conduct are those of a silly and malicious blockhead, has at times the conversation of a polished wit. Even Maria, who is supposed to be little better than a child, is a serious and pithy moralist. In short, Sheridan chose to infuse (or what is more probable, unconsciously infused) into all his characters, even the lowest, a portion of his own fire; so that the whole resembles a set of brilliants, some false and some genuine, in which those of the least value are such good counterfeits that they sparkle as brightly as the purest.

Of all the characters, however, that of Lady Teazle is the most remarkable for the inconsistency between her powers of dialogue and her education. She was "bred wholly in the country," and "had never known luxury beyond one silk gown, or dissipation beyond the annual gala of a race-ball." Six or seven months only have elapsed since Sir Peter found her "the daughter of a poor country squire,"-" sit ting at her tambour, in a linen gown, a bunch of keys at her side, and her hair combed smoothly over a roll."By her own confession, "her evening employments were to draw patterns for ruffles, which she had not materials to make up,-play at Pope Joan with the curate, read a sermon to her aunt Deborah, or, perhaps, be stuck up at an old spinnet, and thrum her father to sleep after a fox-chase." Nay, although she stoutly denies it, there is much reason to believe, that she was sometimes "glad to take a ride out behind the butler upon the old docked coach-horse." Yet, after the short interval of half-a-year, this simple, rustic girl is represented as possessing powers of conversation which would lead one to suppose, that, be sides being endowed with extraordinary natural talents, she had for years mixed as an intimate associate with

the finest wits of the most polished society.

If the whole conduct, and all the expressions of Lady Teazle throughout the play were in accordance with the style of her conversation in the far greater part of what she says, the actress who would personate her could have no option. She must be represented as a woman of fashion. The transformation supposed in such a character might be little short of a prodigy; yet it would be a prodigy admitted upon the stage in deference to the genius which produced it, and for the sake of those delightful attractions encompassing it, that would overbalance the defect arising from its gross improbability. But we find scattered up and down in the part of Lady Teazle many striking traits, which make her character as doubtful a riddle, and as fair a subject for various readings, as any within the whole range of the drama. In the third or fourth speech she makes on her first appearance upon the stage, the pouting simplicity of the country-girl seems to break out through all the levity of her newly-assumed manners. I question if there be a married lady in May fair who would be guilty of the following sentiment:-"Lord, Sir Peter, am I to blame that flowers don't blow in cold weather? you must blame the climate, and not me. I'm sure, for my part, I wish it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet !"-The whole scene in the third act, in which she wheedles the old gentleman out of two hundred pounds, and joins in a resolution never more to quarrel, and then so warmly sustains her share in a vehement dispute, and at last leaves her husband half in badinage, half in anger, is, in almost every line, quite as well suited to display the character of a rural beauty made a coquet by marriage, as that of a pettish fine lady. But the admirable scene in the library,—that part of it I mean in which she lends an ear, apparently not an unwilling one, to the oily, but most glaringlypalpable sophistry of Joseph Surface, and even once or twice answers it in a manner equally silly and serious,-shows, even in this violation of strict probability, that the author never contemplated the total destruc