opera, and that he had taken a box for himself and his lady for the season, but that, in the middle of that season, circumstances made it necessary or desirable that he should spend some months in the country; he would, in that case, provided he could not get his box more privately disposed of, (and he at the same time knew too well the value of money to pay for a box he could not occupy,) go to Mr. Sams, or some other opera bookseller, and tell him to let it at whatever terms he could procure." p. 32. "In no case, perhaps, does this (struggle between pride and purse) more strikingly show itself than in that of the Italian Opera. The Honourable Miss Singleton, though verging on three score and ten, must have the opportunity of displaying her charms, faded and antiquated though they be, in the Opera House, on every occasion she thinks fit. To be deprived of this opportunity would be a lowering of her dignity, in her own estimation, far below zero. Her poverty, however, is at war with her pride; she cannot afford the price of a season-ticket. What, then, is to be done? How are her notions of dignity to be maintained without betraying the scantiness of her pecuniary resources? She falls on this plan. She engages a whole box for the season, with the view of disposing of it to others, as people sometimes let houses to subtenants, on such terms as will enable herself to sit rent-free, and, if possible, pocket something by the transaction. She can boast among her acquaintances of some spirited young nobleman with plenty of money at his disposal. She says to him, 'My Lord So-and-so, you intend, of course, to go to the opera this season?" "Most certainly, Miss Singleton; I mean to do myself that pleasure.' "You have not yet, I presume, provided yourself with a bone' for that purpose?' 666 "Then, perhaps, as I have got a spare one to dispose of, you will oblige me by taking it from me?" "Miss Singleton,' says the young gentleman, giving a most gracious smile, and making one of his politest bows-'Miss Singleton, I am perfectly delighted at the thought. Nothing, I assure you, could afford me greater pleasure.' And so saying, the youthful aristocrat immediately gives her a check for the amount. She disposes of another sitting, or two sittings, according to circumstances, in a similar way. But how is she to make up, or nearly make up, for the sittings she retains for herself? She does it in this way :-When there is a drawing-room, or any great attraction announced, and it is expected there will be an unusual demand for boxes, she hastens in the morning to Mr. Sams, or any other bookseller in the habit of selling opera tickets, and says she wishes to dispose of her the Honourable Miss Singleton's-box for that evening. After a great deal of huckstering about the terms, she asking one sum, and the bookseller refusing to give more than another, which he mentions, she at last accepts his offer. He lets the entire box for that night to some party; they make a point of taking possession of it the moment the doors are opened. A short time after the performances have commenced, the young scion of nobility knocks at the door of the box. It is opened. He puts his glass to his right eye, and asks if the Honourable Miss Singleton is there. He is told by the party she is not. He makes a gracious bow, takes the glass from his eye, and hurries down to the pit, taking it for granted that the Honourable Miss Singleton had so far presumed on his good 1 The tickets of admission to the opera are all made of bone, being a little larger than a penny. nature, as to send some of her own particular friends to her box that night; which, by the way, he considers a very great compliment to himself. Or possibly his associates are congregated in the pit, and he never looks into the box at all. Such is the way in which old maids with limited means, in the fashionable world, keep up their dignity." pp. 44-46. The popular taste in London, according to our author, seems to be for Italian operas, melo-dramas, and mere showy pageants. Pieces which, with their accompaniments of sound and scenery, please only the eye and ear, without occupying the mind, are generally most successful. "Horses, dogs, and other quadrupeds, are now, at certain seasons, among the most popular 'performers.' Horses prance and gallop, and carriages drive about, on the boards of Drury Lane, as if in the streets. The author laments that the "legitimate drama" is thus supplanted, as he seems to think it has been, in the public favour; but does not the recent success of our countryman, Forrest, in Shakspeare's tragedies, show that the popular taste is not irremediably vitiated? Drury Lane, Covent Garden, and a few, we know not how many, of the minor theatres, are alone licensed for the performance of Shakspeare's plays; all the rest must confine themselves to humbler exhibitions. Some years since, the proprietor of the Victoria theatre was heavily amerced for a violation of this rule, at the suit of the lessee of Drury Lane. We were amused by reading some remarks made by the author, on the authority of "Grant Thorburn, the great original of Galt's 'Lawrie Todd," in regard to this country. "In. America," he says, "where respect for the female sex is carried to a much greater extent than in Great Britain, or perhaps in any other country, the female dancer-even were she Taglioni herself who would assume the positions and perform the evolutions which are applauded to the echo on the boards of the King's theatre, would have ample cause for gratitude if she escaped being torn in pieces!" Our amusement at the simplehearted credulity of the author was indeed mingled with pain at the thought of his commendation being so totally undeserved. The days of which Lawrie Todd wrote are long since past. A danseuse coming to this country from Europe, with an established reputation, might, we fear, be guilty of indelicacy which the boards of the King's theatre never witnessed, without drawing down any signal mark of popular displeasure. The most noted actors of the London stage are, at present, Mr. Macready in tragedy, and Mr. Farren in comedy; they are paid thirty pounds per week as their usual salary. "Catalani, when in the zenith of her fame, received upwards of 50007. in one season for her services at the Italian Opera, independently of what she obtained by her benefits, concerts, &c. In the short space of seven or eight months, at the period referred to, she is understood to have cleared, in one way or other, 14,000l." Madam Malibran was engaged, in May and June last, at the rate of 1251. per night, with a right to a benefit worth 5001. or more. What a contrast between these rates and eight shillings sixpence per week-the salaries of Ben Jonson and William Shakspeare! Our author places Mr. Sheridan Knowles at the head of the tragic writers of the present day, and indeed expresses a doubt whether any one, since the time of Shakspeare, has equalled him. This is not a proper place to enter into an examination of such an opinion, but perhaps many of our readers will dissent from it. Mr. Serjeant Talfourd, Miss Mitford, and Miss Baillie, have distinguished themselves in the same class of literature; while, in comedies and farces, the names of Poole, Theodore Hook, Planche, and Reynolds, with some others, are well known. Neither in England nor in this country do the copyright laws prevent a dramatic author's pieces being acted without remuneration. In France, the author receives a certain amount every time that his production is represented. Victor Hugo, M. Scribe, and some other French writers, are said to have received large sums under the operation of this law. All theatrical compositions are, in England, subjected to a rigid censorship, before they can be performed on any stage. Would it not be well if the fashionable danseuses were compelled, before being permitted to appear in public, to go through their steps and evolutions in presence of a board of matrons, who might give a few imperative hints on the subject of female delicacy? From the theatres we pass to the clubs of the metropolis. The clubs are of two kinds: subscription clubs-such as Brookes's, White's, and Boodle's, where keepers of public houses agree, in consideration of a certain sum from each, to entertain any number of members, leaving it to them to form such an organization as to other matters as they think proper: and, again, a more numerous class, formed by persons uniting together, and, by means of a committee of their own number, providing rooms and all other necessaries. In general the entrance money to these clubs is about twenty, and the yearly subscription from five to ten pounds. New members are elected by means of black and white balls, and the prevailing regulation is, that there must be ten white balls for one black, in order to an applicant's admission. Some of the clubs number beyond one thousand members. Gambling was carried on to a large extent in many of these associations at their first establishment, but now these minor "hells" have given place to the grand aristocratic pandæmonium-Crockford's-which, in its original, was a club like the others. To this last we will introduce the reader, further on, guided by the work before us. We are reminded of the Spectator's notions in regard to clubs. He remarks-"Man is said to be a social animal, and as an instance of it we may observe that we take all occasions and pretences of forming ourselves into those little nocturnal assemblies, which are commonly known by the name of clubs. When a set of men find themselves agree in any particular, though never so trivial, they establish themselves into a kind of fraternity, and meet once or twice a week, upon the account of such a fantastic resemblance." Many, perhaps the most, of these associations in the metropolis are political establishments, formed for the purpose of concentrating party efforts: such, among others, are Brookes's, White's, and the Reform clubs, composed of whigs; and Boodle's, and Carlton clubs, of tories. But in some cases, the mutual resemblance which draws together these bodies of men is extremely "fantastic." There is the Oxford and Cambridge University Club, composed of equal numbers of graduates at these two universities; the Oriental Club, consisting of nabobs who have resided some time in the East; the Travellers' Club, into which no one is admitted who has not been "a certain distance beyond the Pyrenees," or, we suppose, performed an equivalent journey in some other direction. As the author remarks, "some men glory in one thing, some in another Lord John Russell glories in being the leader of the whig house of commons; Mr. O'Connell glories in agitation; Mr. Hume, in figures; Colonel Sibthorpe, in his mustaches; Count D'Orsay, in his whiskers; and Lord Ellenborough, in his curls; but the members of the Travellers' Club glory in having travelled, and in nothing else." One of the most important of all these fraternities is the Athenæum Club, composed altogether of literary and scientific men, or persons distinguished as patrons of the arts and sciences. All these clubs have suitable apartments for the social meetings of the members, with reading-rooms, and in some cases libraries, attached. But the most important part of these establishments is their well-furnished larders and capacious cellars. Many of the members are in the constant habit of dining and supping in the club-rooms, which can be done at less expense than elsewhere. The wines belonging to the Union Club are estimated to be of the value of 7,1507., and those of the United Service Club of 7,7221. We may truly say with the Spectator, "Our modern celebrated clubs are founded upon eating and drinking, which are points wherein most men agree-in which the learned and illiterate, the dull and the airy, the philosopher and the buffoon, can all of them bear a part." What is the influence of these institutions-is it good or bad? Our author decides that they are highly beneficial. Bulwer, in his "England and the English," comes to the same conclusion. From these opinions we must dissent. The last mentioned writer laments the unsociable disposition of the English, and thinks that the clubs have a tendency to correct this defect. We believe that a merely social institution, which excludes female society, is an evident effect of the very national characteristic which Mr. Bulwer deplores. Considering the political clubs great party engines, as Mr. Grant represents them-for he says that the Carlton Club raised half a million of pounds among its members, in aid of the tory interests, at the last parliamentary election-they exert a mcst pernicious influence upon the freedom and purity of electors. We remember that when Mr. O'Connell, not. long since, refused to fight a duel, it was proposed that he should be expelled from Brookes's. If the clubs thus constitute so many courts to enforce the laws of honour, they are, beyond dispute, a curse to the community. Farther, if they offer facilities for gambling, as many of them do, they are in direct opposition to the laws of the land, and the good morals of society. We would speak less decidedly of clubs composed of literary and scientific persons-they certainly are, of all, least obnoxious to our censure. However, considering the whole number of these establishments-political, literary, and gambling-we fervently pray that America may never know their bane. It is certainly remarkable, that few such institutions have been established in this country; our English descent, we should suppose, would have given us an hereditary taste for them. In this chapter the author gives vent to his political feelings, with entirely too much acrimony. There is a great difference in the tone in which he speaks of the whig clubs, and that in which he notices those of the tories. He openly accuses the latter of having lived at the expense of the state when their party was in power. His treatment of the poet Campbell, whether he tells the exact truth or no, is gross in the extreme. In short, throughout the whole book he indulges, to an unpardonable extent, in personalities, both by allusions which must be perfectly understood in England, and, more openly, employing names without hesitation. We know that such personalities add to the piquancy of a book, and increase its salein other words, that they suit the public taste; but this does not make the author less a pander to a debased passion,-a |