THE GREAT METROPOLIS.

THE title of these volumes tells their subject. Their scope em- braces much that can be seen by the eye, or grouped into large masses. The baok opens with the external and obvious characte- ristics of London,—as its magnitude, crowds, and the appearance of different localities. The Theatres, from the King's downwards, are next handled; then the Clubs and Gaming-houses. Our au- thor next takes up the society of the Metropolis ; and, arranging it into three divisions—the higher, the middle, and the low—en- deavours, after his fashion, to describe the qualities of each class. Art and science are out of his way. So are letters, in any lofty or critical sense ; but as he knows more of the press than he does of any thing else, the periodical literature of London is elaborately treated, and occupies a volume by itself. This gossip, long-drawn out, commences with the Times newspaper; whose history, proprie- tors, editors, changes, circulation, value, and profits, are given or guessed at, as well as its characteristics in the writer's judgment. The Morning, Evening, and Weekly Newspapers, are treated, no- minatim et seriatim, in a similar manner. Then the Quarterlies, then the Monthlies, then the Weekly Literary Journals. And the reader who shall carefully weigh what is said, will learn this, if he learn nothing else, that newspapers have the power of re- commending books. Never did critic display more good-nature, but it is a good-nature which discriminates not between god and evil.

If the reader inquire how the book is done, the subject may almost supply the answer. Where is the individual living who possesses a suflicient knowledge of the facts of all the embus topics upon which this author treats, and an acquaintance with the open habits and penetralia of the various classes in London? and who is, moreover, competent to weigh and estimate the quali- ties of such a vast variety of things and state their results? The man whom nature and experience had best qualified for the task, would be the last to undertake it ; for he could most fully perceive its magnitude and difficulty. But our Reporter has no qualms of this kind. He clubs together what he has seen, and what he has heard, and what. fancy can propagate from these two conjunctions; and the product is a book which is readable, for it never halts, and never tasks the thought of the reader. Neither is it without a kind of interest, for it treats of matters that have a contemporary currency, and many of which, moreover, have a kind of mystery,

or at least a secrecy attached to them. Its value is very scant : its correctness, even hi the most tangible points, very questionable. The best that can be said of it is that it resembles the Popish Plot-

" Some truth there was, but dash'il and brew'd with lies, To please the fools, and puzzle all the wise." The character of the author himself is not changed from what it was in his Recollections of the Lords and Commons; but the greater extent and importance of the subject more fully develop all his weaknesses, whilst they afford little opportunity for the display of his merits such as they are. Beyond the visible and the tangible, he has no perception. Upon what can be seen with

the eyes, or touched with the bands, or summed on the fin-

gers, he may form a judgment of his cwn ; but when be has to deduce an opinion from a multitude of circumstances, or to de- scribe the characteristics of intellectual works, he can only echo the common cry of the classes with whom he mingles ; and sooth to say, they seem very much to resemble himself. These things were perceptible in his former books; now they are palpable and out of place. In describing marked individuals, it was well to have the material man and his garments; but there is no specify- iing the coats and breeches of whole classes.

The best chapter in the book, although larded at its close with

an attempt at sentiment, is the description of material London.

" The outward form of street and square, Of lane and alley, he has view'd."

.And. whilst be places the mere extent of London in a new point of proof to a resident, the stranger may do worse than take the volume as a guide to get at general impressions. his facts, sup- prt sing them to be correct, relating to the debts of the Club-houses, the value of their wines, the cost of their erections, the capacity trf the Theatres, the profits of Hells, and other information of a like nature, are curious, and show a Boswellian genius for the ferreting out of gossip. There is also something curious in the following., and, to us, new also. Though not living " in the eountta," we have gut to add an item to our list of the miseries of the higher classes.

Persons in the country can have no idea of the r rhea and universality of the passion for theatricals in the Metropolis. It is so powerful with a very numerous class, both in the higher and lower ranks of life, that it

must be gratified at any sacrifice, and under any circumstances. It is • with those to whom I refer, an artificial necessity of their nature. There are thousands Of persons moving in the upper ranks of society, whose means are so limited, considering their station, that they are obliged to practise the most rigid ecor llllll y even in what Lord Bacon calls " the affairs of the belly," who nevertheless feel themselves impelled, by the necessity to which I have alluded, to incur a great expense in their attendance on the theatres. They would be'wife-et& miserable were they to selliT eight or ten days to elapse without witnessing the representation of any new piece which chances to be brought out at any of the leading houses; and as new pieces are almost nightly coming out at one or other of the larger establishments, it will be readily per. ceived that the amount of expense incurred in the course of the year by a theatre-going family, must he very great.

XERXES offered a reward to him who discovered a new pleasure: our Reporter cannot be said to have done this, for the second Vutisats laid down the canon, which he so happily exemplifies.

But he has discovered a new " accomplishment." We had thought that, now-a-days, a non-acquaintance with " plays and players" was a desirable negation : see how mistaken we were. When a new piece is produced at any of the larger establishments, its merits are the subject of discussion in all parties, both a g the higher and the lower classes. In fact, theatricals generally are a standing topic of conversation in all circles. To be conversant with such motleys, is considered a most valuable accomplishment ; and he who is unacquointed with them, makes but a poor _figure in London society, however great and varied leis intellectual attain- ments otherwise. Perseus from the country, unacquainted with plays and players, often feel themselves very uncomfortably situated in company, on in to the large share of the conversatibn which is assigned to matters pertaining to

the histr" art.

The successful debut of a performer on the London boards, in the higher walks of the drama, is quite an era in the history of the 3letropolis. Not only does every one talk about it, but a great many evince an interest in the circum- stance which could hardly be exceeded were it one which personally atlixted themselves. Who has forgotten the sensation caused by the appearance, at the • end of last year, of Miss Helen Fatteit ?

IM PORTA NT DIRT! NCTIONS.

The leading actors and actresses, or stars, as they are technically called, are treated in the theatre as gentlemen and ladies of the first class. They would not on arty account, and are not expected to mix with thecommon herd of per- ' formers, but have rooms set apart tur themselves. A prima donna has always an excellently- furnished apartment off the stage for herself. She claims, among

• other articles of furniture, two sofas as an indispensable point of etiquette. -She has also her own waiting- maid, who is as close in her attendauce and obsequious in her manner as if the actress were the first lady in the land. The • conventional distinction between a prima donna and a second-rate actress, when in the theatre, is, that while the Mrmer has two sofas in her apartment, the latter has only one.

If, however, we bow to the author in theatricals, we are his to

• the shoe-tie upon such subjects as Crockford's, high life, "and 'the musical glasses." The nightly scenes in the hazard-room, so Minutely described in the book, seem indeed rather coloured ; and when a dialogue is introduced, Mr. CROCKFORD'S portion appears somewhat made-up, and his phrase of the " monies ' involuntarily • suggests the School for Scandal. 'The account of forcibly driving

" Miserable wights " who are "cleaned out" from the entrance to

the hazard-room—or, as the author says, "some of the more able-bodied of the waiters are immediately instructed to thrust, sometimes to kick him out of the house by brute force "—appears to be drawn from the practices of some of the lower hells, rather than aristocratic Crockford's. The following description of chairs and tables has an air of greater verisimilitude.

CROCKFORD'S.

It is a very large and very handsome house, externally ; but no one, by seeing it from the outside, can have any conception of the splendour which it exhibits • within. Thine is nothing like it, in the latter respect, in London. No one, I believe, not even those accustomed to visit the mansions of the aristocracy, ever entered the saloon for the first time without being dazzled with the splendour which surrounded him. A friend and myself lately went throughout the whole of it ; and for some moments, on entering the saloon, we stood con- founded by the scene. It is a large, spacious room, from fifty to sixty feet in length, and from twenty to twenty .five in breadth. On each side are two

• mirrors in magnificent frames. The plate alone of each of the four cost /nearly one hundred guineas. From a glance of the eye, I should take their dimensions to be about sixteen feet by eight. T he wails and ceiling of the saloon are most richly ornamented by carved work, beautifully gift. 'I he : bottoms of the chairs are all stuffed with down, while the carpenter part of the work is of that unique description which renders it impossible for me to describe it. The principal table has the appearance of being cut out of a solid piece of wood : a piece of more richly- carved work, all gilt except the top or surface, I have never seen. The chandeliers are magnificent ; and when lighted up with sperm oil, the only thing used, they produce an effect of which it is impossible to convey an idea.

So far as an opinion can be pronounced upon what we are very little acquainted with, his chapter on the Higher Classes ap- pears a farrago of distortions, exaggerations, and absurdities, such as a person like our friend would sit down to write about people of whom he knew just nothing. His authorities seem to be the loose conversational libels of BYRON, the pamphlets of Tosixtiss, and the most flashy of the fashionable novels. How he gene- ralizes and condenses his materials, can only be known by exami- nation. 'The nearest idea of it is offered by the vile copy of a bad portrait, which has become, by successive transmutations, like nothing in art or nature. This, however, is only the opinion of the Spectator, against the assertion of the Great Metropolis. The reader may wish to form

his own conclusion ; and here is the most specific instance we can give,—his idea of the conversation of ladies in the higher classes.

A RISTOCRATIC AL CONVERSATION

Is often of the coarsest kind. That it should be so in the case of our sex',is not, considering the habits of the male members of the aristocracy, much a matter of surprise, however much it may be a matter of regret. But coarse lies of conversation is not confined to them ; numbers of the ladies have ac- quired an unfortunate distinction that way. " What savage is that, with a face like a boiled lobster? " inquired Lady Mortimer of one of her female fiiends at the last Alinack's of the present year, pointing at the same time to a gentle- man sitting opposite. " My goodness ! my dear Marchioness," said the Honourable Miss Lundy to the Marchioness of Leamington, as they both sat together a few weeks since in the opera. box of the latter—" My dear Marchio- ness, who is that she-bear, with her blowsy hair and face like a pickled cab- bage, sitting in the Dutchess of St. Alban's box." " That Miss Cleveland, with her overgrown crop of hair hanging about her neck, looks like a water- spaniel." " Olt, I can't endure the sight of that mountain of humanity, that beetle.squasher, Lord theory Manning." " The very sight of that ugly wretch Miss Bruce, snakes me sicken." " Look at that laughing hyena, that piece of vulgarity, Miss Toinkins." " Did you ever see such a brute as that Lord

Brondon is?" " I could dig that horrid woman's eyes out ; she is always talking so maliciously of me." " I am sick to death of that vulgar. beast Lord Montgomery ; aid you ever see such a booby!" " Oh, I could box the ears of that wretched creature Miss Vernon !"

Such are some of the flowers of rhetoric which are great favourites with the ladies who figure in the fashionable world. Those who wish to see a more ex- tended catalogue, will find it in Tales of Fashion and Reality, lately written by two of the parties themselves—the Misses Caroline Frederica and Henrietta Beauclerk.

This habit of talking in coarse language sometimes leads young ladles into unpleasant predicaments. " 1S'ho is that clumsy 'lurk of a fellow sitting di-

reetly opposite?" said the Honourable Miss Mandon, at the last ball at Devon- shire House, to a " detrimental," with whom she was flirting " in fine style," though the introduction had been but of recent date.

" That clumsy Turk of a fellow, Madam, is my elder brother." " Who is that sow of a woman at the other end, with her back to us, speak. ing to the Duke of M arniaby?" said Miss Glenlivat, to the partner with whom she had just danced, at a late ball. " That sow of a woman, Madam, is the Dutchess of Bradford ; and I have the honour to be one of her pigs."

Though" immorality," quoth our judge of ethics, "prevails to a considerable extent amongst the middle classes in the Metro-

polis," yet, " taken as a body, they are excellent members of so-

ciety. They may indeed be said to be the benefactors of their species." The chief failing of many seems to be a desire of aping

the aristocracy, which leads them into ruinous expenses. Upon this head our author has some judicious remarks, solemn but dull ; and he winds up with a couple of instances that hardly seem cases in point. In the first example, the Member seems rather penurious—like Mrs. Gilpin,

Although on pleasure he is bent, Ile has a frugal mind."

And as for the pair of gentlemen, we are at a loss to conceive how they could, as the author would say," have cut it finer," not to mention that their appearances get them a dinner.

I know one gentleman of some commercial note who resides at the East end of London, whose legislative duties call him every afternoon during the ses- sion to Westminster. He invariably wears cotton gloves until he reaches Charing Cross, not deeming it likely he will encounter any of the " fashion- aides " further eastward ; hut so soon as he comes in sight of the statue of Charles the First, he doffs his cotton ones, stows them into his pocket, and replaces them by a white kid pair. He then considers himself in a condition to see and be seen by any of the noble lords who, at the hour of the Houses meeting, are riding and driving and walking in such amenbers, between Charing Cross and Westminster Abbey. I know another instance,—and let it be observed, I am only speaking the sober truth,—of two gentlemen whose ambition to be considered among the great, wofully contrasts with their pecuniary circumstances. They are now living, and have been for two years in one furnished apartment on a second floor. There is no room for two beds in the apartment, and consequently one of them is obliged to sleep on the sofa. This they do alternately ; or, if he who has the good fortune to possess the bed on a particular night has occasion to rise earlier in the morning than his friend, the latter considers the circum- stance quite a windfall—he leaps at once from the sofa, and takes possession of the vacant bed. But the most ludicrous part of the business is the way in which they manage their joint stock of linen. Every one has heard of Falstaff's ragged regiment, who only had three shirts, and these all tattered and torn, among them,—although one hundred and fifty in number. My two horoes are not quite so badly oft, for they have four tolerably good shirts be- tween them. By an arrangement which I cannot properly describe, they always contrive to have one of the shirts ready for any emergency, and which- ever of them happens to need it first is entitled to it. In the article of eatiug and drinking, when at their own expense they are obliged to he remarkably m Aerate. They vegetate on next to nothing ; and yet they are in the habit of dining out and mixing with persons moving, if not in strictly aristocratic society, in a sphere which approximates to it. I admire the man who wishes to keep up his station in society, though his circumstances are reduced ; but the individuals I refer to ate away, while suffering so many privatMns at

come, striving to get into society fir above their station either as gentlemen or men of education.

By this time a notion may be formed of the man and his matter, though we have not gone through the first volume. The second, as we have said, is entirely devoted to the periodical press, and eontains a mixture of facts and opinion. On the opinions every one can determine. On the facts we have very far from implicit re- liance, judging from his correctness with regard to matters within our knowledge. A few instances may suffice. Speaking of the in- fluence of periodical literature upon the fame of authors, he ex- claims—" There is nothing impossible in the supposition, that, but for the recommendatory criticism of Anntsoar, the Paradise Lost would never hive had the moderate fortune of ra .11'ng even a se- cond edition : indeed, its very existence might have been unknown at the present day." As to the might, every one will decide for liimself. Facts have settled the impossible. Our author's "

re-

"aiches into the literature of the two last centuries,- might have taught him, that a second edition of Paradise Lost appeared in 1669, two years after the publication of the first, and three years before ADDISON was born. A third edition was printed in 1678, when the preserving critic was six years old. We have not biblio- graphical authorities at band to settle intermediate editions; nor, indeed, in such minute inquiries, is any thing to be depended on save the volume itself: but in 1688, according to Sir EGERTON BRYDGES, a folio edition appeared under the patronage of SOMERS; and in 1695 a third folio edition was published, with the learned commentary of PATRICK IlumE, some fifteen years before the Spectator began. Blunders about MILTorv, however, might have been expected from him. But his errors in regard to the most common facts of the day are not infrequent. Thus he mistakes young Mr. BAR- ROW, the galloper through Norway, Iceland, and Ireland, for his father, the well-known African traveller and reputed Quarterly Reviewer. He states, that " for some years past—ever indeed since the Examiner became the property of another party— LEIGH HUNT has seldom vi-ited the theatres, and still less seldom writ- ten dramatic notices." Why, " persons from the country" could have told him; that a good many years after he quitted the Ex- aminer, Mr. LEIGH hUNT started a paper (the Tatter) whose leading feature was theatricals. And, to close with an instance more in our friend's way, be tells us, that when the Examiner adopted the proportions of the Spectator's page, several years since, it changed its typographical form from three columns to two. Had he procured a copy of the old Examiner, he would have seen that it never had more than two columns. These are trifles; but of such trifles, inaccurately stated, a great part of the book is made up.