"And then--let me see!--he had two, perhaps three, Cups (with sugar and cream) of strong gunpowder tea, With a spoonful in each of some choice _eau de vie_, Which with nine out of ten would perhaps disagree." The same trait may be remembered in the case of Mrs. Finching, who, though she had cold fowl and broiled ham for breakfast, "measured out a spoonful or two of some brown liquid that smelt like brandy and put it into her tea, saying that she was obliged to be careful to follow the directions of her medical man, though the flavour was anything but agreeable." Time passes, and the subject expands. We have spoken of Tea in the morning and Tea in the evening. To these must be added, if the topic were to be treated with scientific completeness, that early cup which opens our eyes, as each new day dawns, on this world of opportunity and wonder, and that last dread draught with which the iron nerves of Mr. Gladstone were composed to sleep after a late night in the House of Commons. But I have no space for these divagations, and must crown this imperfect study of Tea with the true, though surprising, statement that I myself--_moi qui vous parle_--have known the inventor of Five o'Clock Tea. This was Anna Maria Stanhope, daughter of the third Earl of Harrington and wife of the seventh Duke of Bedford. She died at an advanced age--rouged and curled and trim to the last--in 1857; but not before her life's work was accomplished and Five o'Clock Tea established among the permanent institutions of our free and happy country. Surely she is worthier of a place in the Positivist Kalendar of those who have benefited Humanity than Hippocrates, Harvey, or Arkwright; and yet Sir Algernon West writes thus in his book of "Recollections": "Late in the 'forties and in the 'fifties, Five o'Clock Teas were just coming into vogue, the old Duchess of Bedford's being, as I considered, very dreary festivities." Such is gratitude, and such is fame. XXV SUPPER "S is the Supper, where all went in pairs; T is the Twaddle they talked on the stairs." Though the merry muse of dear "C. S. C." may thus serve to introduce our subject, the repast which he has in view is only a very special and peculiar--one had almost said an unnatural--form of Supper. The Ball Supper, eaten anywhere between 12 o'clock and 2 A.M., is clearly a thing apart from the Supper which, in days of Early Dinner, made England great. Yet the Ball Supper had its charms, and they have been celebrated both in prose and in verse. Byron knew all about them:-- "I've seen some balls and revels in my time, And stay'd them over for some silly reason." One of those reasons was the prospect of supping with Bessie Rawdon,[9] the only girl he ever saw "Whose bloom could after dancing dare the dawn." In her society a fresh zest was added to "the lobster salad, and champagne, and chat" which the poet loved so well. [9] Afterwards Lady William Russell.