parties, or a partial languor, or a sort of paralysis either of the extremities or centre, which has more or less effect upon the For complete enjoyment, a company ought to be One; sympathizing and drawing together, listening and talking in due proportions no monopolists, nor any ciphers." I am now supposing the whole object to be the perfection of dinner-parties, without reference to number of family or acquaintance, and without reference to display or any other consideration; but I suppose every other consideration postponed to convivial enjoyment alone. Spacious and lofty rooms destroy, or at least weaken, that feeling of concentration which is essential to perfect fellowship. There is a sort of evaporation of one's self, or flying off into the void, which impairs that force of attention necessary to give and receive complete enjoyment. A party, to use a familiar phrase, should be, as it were, boxed up, comfortably packed, with room enough, but not to spare, or, as the French revolutionists used to have it, should be one and indivisible." Those who have dined in the very small rooms, called cabinets particuliers, at the restaurants at Paris, must have remarked the beneficial influence of compactness in promoting hilarity, and banishing abstraction and restraint; but those rooms have no other desirable qualification but their smallness, which is often extreme, and they have not been originally contrived for the purpose for which they are used, yet they have a capability of producing more of a festive disposition than is to be found amidst space and display. Dining-rooms in London are in general, I think, very tasteless and uninspiring in themselves, and, when set out, they are decorated, after the barbarian style, rather for display, than with reference to their use.

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From the architect to the table-decorator, there seems to be a total absence of genius for the real objects to be aimed at. Justness of proportion, harmony of colouring, and disposition of light, are the most desirable qualities in any room, but especially in a dining-room, without any individual ornaments or objects to distract the attention; so that the moment one enters, there may be a feeling of fitness, which is productive of undisturbed satisfaction, and disposes the mind to the best state for enjoyment. Attention should be directed to produce an effect from the whole, and not by the parts. For this reason light should be thrown in the least observable manner, and not ostentatiously from ornamental objects. There should be the pleasing effect of good light, with the least perception whence it comes. There is no art in lighting a table by cumbrous branches; but there is in throwing a light upon it, like some of Rembrandt's paintings, and the effect is accordingly. The first is vulgar; the latter re

fined. In the same manner light from windows shou admitted only with reference to the table; and during dinn view should be shut out to prevent distraction. With resp the proportions of a room, they should be studied with refe to the table, which, as I have said, should in my opinion the size to accommodate not more than eight persons. In of width, I would not have more space than necessary fo convenient circulation of the least possible number of atten In point of length, there should be room for a sideboard a end, and a sufficient space from the fire-place at the othe that the length of the room would be somewhat greater tha width. In respect to height, it should be proportioned to length and width, and therefore the height would not be siderable. A high room is certainly not favourable to conv tion, because it is contrary to the principle of concentration the prejudice in favour of height arises from its effect consid with respect to large parties, and to overloaded tables. I w have the door in the side, at the end near the sideboard, and windows on the side opposite. As to colouring, the same ought to be observed as in everything else, that is, to s general effect. To suit all seasons best, I think the walls o to be of rather a sober colour, with drapery of a warm app ance for cold weather, and the contrary for hot. Perhaps it be thought by many, that all these particulars are very material, and that the consideration of them is very trifling; iny opinion is, that in all our actions, whether with referenc business or pleasure, it is a main point, in the first place, to duce a suitable disposition; and as dining is an occurrenc every day of our lives, or nearly so, and as our health and spi depend in a great measure upon our vivid enjoyment of this chief meal, it seems to me a more worthy object of study th those unreal occupations about which so many busy themsel in vain. But I am forgetting an important matter in the dini room; I mean the due regulation of the temperature, upon wh comfort so much depends, and from want of attention to whi there is annually so much suffering both from heat and cold. hot weather the difficulty is the greatest, and is best to be ov come by attention to ventilation and blinds. In winter there little difficulty, with due care and no stinginess, which latter apt to appear both in having the fire only lighted just befo dinner, and in not keeping it up properly to the end of the part and I do here protest against the practice I have often witnesse of letting the fire actually go out in cold weather before th guests. There is nothing more cheerless, or of more inhospitab appearance. On the other hand, a bright blazing fire has a ver

inspiring effect on entering the dining-room, and is an object worthy of special attention to those who wish their parties to succeed. Moreover, in such a room as I have described, the opening after dinner on a dreary day to admit a cheerful fire would be a very inspiring moment with an agreeable party brought into perfect unison by a well-imagined, well-executed repast—a scene to kindle equally attachment to one's friends, and love of one's country. The cultivation of the fire-side is one of the greatest import, public and private.

Having said, I think, everything I have to say as to the arrangement of the dining-room till I come to the table, I will here dedicate a word or two to its necessary appendage, the kitchen, which I would have literally an appendage, and not, as at present, a distant and unconnected establishment. As I said before, I am now supposing the whole object to be the perfection of dinner-parties, without reference to any other consideration, and therefore I put aside custom, fashion, and prejudice, as enemies to the true theory and practice, and I boldly advance my own opinions. I must beg the reader to bear in mind, that I am speaking in reference to small parties, and that I am an advocate for dinners which, as nearly as can be calculated, are just enough, and no more. I speak not of the bustle of preparation for twelve, sixteen, or twenty people, with about four times as much as they can possibly consume, and with a combination of overpowering heat and disagreeable scents. I have in view a quiet little kitchen, without noise, or annoying heat, or odour, save some simple savoury one, provocative of the appetite, and incapable of offending the most fastidious. Such an establishment would I have immediately adjoining my dining-room, and communicating with it by an entrance close to the sideboard, closed during the process of dinner by a curtain only, so that the dishes could be brought in without noise, or current of air, or constant opening or shutting of a door. As Matthew Bramble, in 'Humphrey Clinker,' talks, in his delights of the country, of eating trout struggling from the stream, I would have my dishes served glowing, or steaming, from the kitchen-stoves-a luxury not to be compensated, and a quality which gives a relish, otherwise unattainable, to the simplest as well as the most highly-finished dishes. Let those who have sense and taste conceive a compact dinner, quietly served in simple succession according to such an arrangement, with everything at hand, and in the best possible state, and compare it with a three-course repast, imported under cover, in tedious procession, from under ground. In my next I shall treat of the table, the dinner, and the mode of conducting it.

YOUTH AND AGE.

There is a paper in the Spectator, No. 449, descriptive of the devoted attentions of a lovely female in the bloom of youth to her decrepit father. This paper has frequently been the subject of unqualified commendation. It is one of Steele's, and, like most of his, it is in my opinion very inferior, both in judgment and taste, to those of Addison. Parental and filial affection are reciprocal duties, but, like all other duties, they ought to be kept within the bounds of reason. Where they are not, they savour more of vanity and selfishness than of that true good feeling, which is to be depended upon under all circumstances. Parents who are unboundedly wrapped up in their children, are apt, if disappointed by them in their views, to become unreasonably unforgiving, though perhaps that disappointment is principally owing to their own injudicious indulgence. They blind themselves to the real nature of their fondness, and then suffer their feelings to be embittered by what they conceive to be the height of ingratitude; and the same false species of attachment often leads them to sacrifice the true welfare of their offspring to the suggestions of avarice or ambition. In the same manner, I do not think unmeasured devotion on the part of children so much to be depended upon, as that in which there is a reasonable portion of self-consideration-or rather, I apprehend, there is selfconsideration in disguise, and proceeding from an unsure foundation. In the case described by Steele, far too much is given up, and I should be apprehensive that in real life the assiduities of an accomplished lover might tempt the lady to pass from one extreme to the other at any rate, I should have more confidence in a female, who set out by distinguishing how much was due to her father, and how much to herself. A feeling of total devotion is somewhat dangerous, because, if it changes at all, it is probable it will be wholly transferred; and as love in its nature is much stronger than filial affection, the chances against the latter would, in the long-run, be fearful. But it is otherwise where the strongest feeling is yielded to, but in such manner that the weaker ones may have place, in their proper order. Then is the best security that each will be permanently and duly acted up to. For instance, love, filial affection, and friendship may exercise at the same time their respective influences; but any attempt to invert the order, except temporarily, is against the laws of nature, the force of which has a constant tendency to recur. It is to my

mind extremely revolting to see the enjoyments proper to the season of youth remorselessly sacrificed to the selfishness of ageto see a young person indefinitely withering under a slavish attend

ance, for the performance of those services which might be equally well rendered with no personal privation, and this, too, under the mask of affection-under a pretence of being unable to bear the ministration of any other hand. It is a sacrifice which a well-constituted mind would not only not require, but would not permit and any parent, with a proper feeling for a child, would rather reverse the practice, and study how least to let age and infirmity interfere with the enjoyments and interests of youth. "As long as I live, think only of me," is detestable. The true doctrine is, "Whilst you requite my tenderness, do not let me feel that the few years I have to remain, exercise any baneful influence on the many you may hope to enjoy." It would be unnatural in an only daughter to give way to an attachment which would lead to an entire separation from an aged and infirm parent; but it is equally, or more unnatural in a parent to oppose an advantageous alliance, which would admit the fulfilment, in reasonable proportions, both of conjugal and filial duties-besides that, to witness the satisfactory establishment of a child ought to carry a consolation with it, incomparably beyond the selfish pleasure of a monopoly of attentions. Devotion, such as that described by Steele, however easy, or even pleasurable at first, cannot, when indefinitely continued, but become somewhat irksome both in practice and in reflection, which feeling will of necessity, more or less, mix itself up with the object; whereas a reasonable mean, which does not exclude other sentiments, may go on without the slightest diminution, and every attention from first to last may be a genuine offering of the heart. It is good that this should be reciprocally borne in mind, as an additional reason why too much should not be required, nor too much undertaken. The extreme of devotion has generally, I apprehend, part of its foundation in a feeling of self-importance and a love of applause, which part, after a time, is likely a little to give way, unless strengthened by the accession of pride. In this, as in all things, a reasonable beginning is likely to have a reasonable end.

PAUPERISM.

The following is a continuation of the extracts from my pamphlet on Pauperism :'

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"In populous towns and manufacturing districts, where the fluctuations in wages are greater than in the country, as well as the numbers affected, it may seem at first sight that parochial provision is indispensable; but, in fact, that provision mainly contributes to cause the fluctuations. In ordinary times there constantly exists a surplus population; for it cannot be doubted