658 Notes of the Month on [JuNE, 



dukes. Which of the dukes is he ? Not the duke of Buckingham, for 

 he is only a colonel of militia. Not the Duke of Bedford, for his public 

 services have hitherto extended no further than firing a shot at the Duke 

 of Buckingham's belly, which, incredible as it may appear, he actually 

 missed. Not the Duke of Beaufort, for he disclaims, under his hand, all 

 public service. The " readiness, quickness of conception, and clear- 

 ness of understanding" render it so applicable to all dukes whatever, that 

 we feel ourselves puzzled more and more. It cannot be the Duke of 

 Richmond. 



This is the month of diversity of opinion, which we impute entirely 

 to the unsettled state of the weather. The man who, after throwing off his 

 cloak under a temperature of 212, finds himself suddenly immersed in a 

 north-east wind, blowing fresh from the pole, and reducing every fibre 

 in his frame to 50 below zero; or who on relinquishing his winter cos- 

 tume for the gaieties of a spring suit, and discarding his umbrella, dis- 

 covers that he has been only preparing to be drowned in a November 

 deluge in the merry month of May ; cannot possibly settle his mind to 

 any reasonable equanimity in general matters. He fluctuates with the 

 hour. Thus we see that the most determined Tories have quivered over 

 into absolute Whiggery at the sight of the hustings. Thus we see the 

 popularity even of the illustrious, ripe to the highest degree of luxuriance 

 on Saturday in the city, and on Monday flat as the wit of an alderman, 

 and maltreated by the eloquence of the common council. The same un- 

 certainty has penetrated even the tranquil regions of the arts. Rothwell, 

 the painter, is declared by one file of connoisseurs to be the greatest 

 genius since Reynolds, and by another plunged to Erebus. Even our 

 national luminaries, Mathews and Yates, share in the general taste for 

 discrepancy. One of our first authorities in theatrical matters thus 

 decides : 



" We have very frequently expressed our surprise at the continued variety 

 of material exhibited year after year by Mathews in his entertainments ; but 

 we must confess, that this season he appears not only to have regenerated his 

 fun and humour, but to have revivified himself the Comic Annual, now per- 

 forming, is decidedly the best of any of the things he has yet done. 



Others declare this " comic annual " to be the very dullest compilation 

 of dulness ever exhibited on any mortal stage. 

 The critic again. 



" In Yates's part of the performance the rapidity with which he changes 

 his dress and alters his appearance, from man to woman, from beau to bar- 

 maid, and from barmaid to bandit, is absolutely marvellous. 



Others equally protest that Yates's part is, if possible, duller than 

 Mathews's ; that his change of dress is the only merit, and that this is 

 merely the merit of a clothes-horse, or a wig-block ; that his dialogue is 

 the last desperation of the dregs of punning, and his characters something 

 between Punch and Mr. Merryman, a pack of mongrels that would hurt 

 the feelings of Bartlemy fair. " Who shall decide when doctors/' &c. 

 However, this is to be remembered, that Yates and Mathews are but the 

 reciters, that the " drame" belongs to somebody or bodies else, and thus 

 they are not answerable for the crimes of their principals in the exhuma- 

 tion of puns long dead, or the inhuman and open murder of good 

 stories recently in existence. They are both clever fellows, and whether 

 dancing or singing, we wish them all the success they deserve. 



