6 Chapter the First is occupied with a general description of the Metropolis. That the Author is no Cockney, not a Londonborn, is quite clear; but one who has always lived in London is, perhaps, almost disqualified for analysing the impressions which its scenes are adapted to produce upon a stranger. Hence the graphic sketches of Washington Irving have served to reveal scenes and objects of interest, concealed by their very familiarity. But, with London east of Temple Bar, and London of the olden time, the indigenous population civic and commercial, the streets which still exhibit, in their substantial and spacious architecture, the signs of mercantile opulence and dignity, our Author appears to be little conversant. He tells us, that the metropolis, as every one knows, has its fashionable and unfashionable dis< tricts,' and that the former are in the West End. Now these two districts, every Londoner knows to be very small circles almost exterior to London itself, the unfashionable being the neighbourhoods which fashion has deserted; but neither term will aptly describe the grand topographical divisions. When he speaks of the changes that have taken place in the locality of fashion, he seems to forget that the metropolis has been travelling westward, and that when Soho was fashionable, Oxfordstreet was not in existence. The contrasts which different parts of the metropolis, and the same locality at different times, present to the stranger, are as remarkable as any other feature of the living scene. may .... • Of the crowded state of the leading streets of the metropolis, some idea be formed, when I mention that, a few years ago, the number of persons who crossed London Bridge in one day, was counted, and found to be very nearly 90,000. As Cheapside is a much more crowded thoroughfare than London Bridge, we may safely conclude, that the number of persons who pass along it every day, is not much under 100,000. Then there is the middle of the leading streets. The number of cabriolets, or cabs, as, for the sake of brevity, they are usually called, constantly plying in the streets of London, is about 1,200; that of hackney-coaches about 600; and of omnibuses about 400. When to these are added the carriages, gentlemen's cabriolets, carts, waggons, and other vehicles, at all times on the streets, some idea will be formed of the business and bustle which characterise the leading thoroughfares of the metropolis. But though the principal streets of London are thus constantly crowded both by pedestrians and vehicles of every description, there are streets in the more retired parts of town, in which there is as little bustle, or appearance of business, as if the houses on either side were untenanted. One may, for example, enter Gower-street, and look nearly a mile before him, without seeing above three or four individuals. The persons who reside in this, and other similar streets, may be said to live almost as much in solitude, while at home, as if the "lone inhabitants of some desert isle!" Nothing can be more sombre or dull than the appearance of such streets. There is nothing to relieve the eye. If you walk on an unfrequented road, you have some variety of scenery to please the eye and divert the mind: here all is monotony, and that, too, of the least attractive kind.' pp. 9, 10. There are certain hours, however, at which these lonely vistas of brick assume comparative animation, and when the crowded marts in turn become solitudes. The most imposing sight which London presents to a foreigner, is the line from the Parks eastward through Piccadilly and part of Oxford-street with Regentstreet, towards that part of the afternoon and evening which form the fashionable morning. The display of wealth in the endless succession of equipages and cavalry then to be seen rolling on, is not to be matched in any capital of the world. At three or four o'clock in the morning, our Author says, not a sound is to be heard in the streets. This is only partially true. The nocturnal day of high life is not quite over, ere the note of preparation is to be heard for the business of the daylight world; and before the last carriages have borne home the gay and dissipated, the marketcarts, which on a summer night it is delightful to meet diffusing their fresh perfumes through the cool air, wake up the echoes of the streets. It has happened to us to pass through the streets at all hours of the twenty-four, and we do not recollect to have ever found the main line without passengers apparently hurrying homeward, or on some outward errand of business,-the printers men from their night work,' or the labourer, or carter, or market-man to his early work,--the messenger in search of the doctor,'-the accoucheur himself roused from his warm bed,the mail passenger just arrived, or the fresh-awake seeking to leave town by an early coach. And there, on the never deserted stand, are seen some two or three cabs and hackney coaches, without drivers, looking like fixtures, but ready for the call of the earliest or the latest. It is computed,' our Author says, that, on an average, 20,000 people enter London daily, while 'nearly an equal number depart from it.' This must be meant to be exclusive of those who daily enter it from their suburban residences. 6 6 6 6 'It is,' he continues, like a great vortex, drawing persons from all parts of the world into it, and, after whirling them about a short time, again throwing them out. One large class of persons come to it on business, and when that is done, return to the country. Others come in quest of employment, and, not being successful in the search, quit it for some other part of the kingdom, or of the world. A third class visit the metropolis for purposes of pleasure, and probably remain in it as long as their money lasts, which few men of pleasure find to be *The clubs close at two A.M. any very lengthened period, and then return home, to lament their folly, with the addition, it may be, of a shattered frame to an empty pocket; while there is a very large class of persons who come to it from every part of the country on their way to the various quarters of the globe, because it has facilities peculiar to itself, for starting to every spot of the habitable world. Supposing a person were to walk up and down Cheapside for a whole day, and it were possible for him to have a perfect recollection of the distinctive features of every human face he saw, he would be surprised, on repeating the task a month afterwards, at the vast disproportion of the persons he had seen before and those who now passed him for the first time. Two acquaintances may be in London for twenty or thirty years without ever meeting together by accident in the streets. I myself know persons who in their school-boy days in the country were bosom companions, who have been twenty years in town without once crossing each other's path.' Vol. I. pp. 17, 18. This is very possible, if their avocations were so different as not to bring them frequently into the same quarter of the metropolis. But there are faces to be met with in London, which, to a resident, are as familiar as the public buildings; and we have known persons by sight for years, and marked in the gradual change that passed over their features the progress of habits, the growth of character, and then suddenly have lost sight of them they have been removed by death; or, perhaps, after an interval of years, have re-appeared with visible traces of the effects of foreign climes; and all this while, their name and history have been unknown to us. Then there are individuals to be met with who are walking clocks: in their accustomed beat, you may always know the hour by the time at which they pass by; and familiar recognitions are exchanged between persons thus accustomed to meet, who never go a step further towards mutual acquaintance. There are parts of London in which a person of tolerably extensive acquaintance may promenade continually without seeing or being seen by any one whom he knows. But in the focus of business, comprising the Bank, the Exchange, Doctors' Commons, the Courts, the Public Offices, and the principal inns, one often encounters friends or acquaintance from all parts of the kingdom, and feels to be at the general rendezvous. But nothing produces a more intense feeling of loneliness, than, at other times to suffer one self to float idly as it were on the living waves that course each other through the great thoroughfare, conscious of being an entire stranger amid the strange multitude; as much so as if we were set down in a foreign city, or were not of the same race or kind. It is then a relief to escape from the unsocial crowd and turn into some of the quiet, domestic streets which look as if they contained homes, and sheltered human sympathies. But all this is a digression. 6 6 Our Author states, that there are computed to be, on an average, 120,000 strangers at all times staying in London only for a few days. The number of Scotchmen supposed to be in London, is 130,000, being within a few thousands of the population of Edinburgh. The number of Irishmen is computed at 200,000, being nearly equal to the population of Dublin. The number ' of Frenchmen in the metropolis is calculated to be about 30,000. We should like to know upon what data these calculations rest, and whether the parishioners of St. Giles's in the Fields are included among the Hibernian portion of the metropolitan population. The annual number of deaths is about 30,000, which gives eighty-two every day; yet, how rarely does one meet a funeral, and how little notice does the black business attract! Who can be missed in London? Amid the constant whirl, and bustle, and succession of objects, and conflicting interests, the mind has no time to dwell on the past; and the individual who occupied the largest share of public attention or respect, is forgotten even by his intimates almost before his name has been carved on the grave-stone. 6 The people of London,' our Author says, 'are a theatregoing people in the largest and broadest acceptation of the phrase. Persons in the country can have no idea of the ardour ' and universality of the passion for theatricals in the metropolis.' We may be mistaken, but we have always imagined that persons from the country always formed a large proportion of theatrical audiences, and that they discover in general the greatest ardour for the spectacle. In the reign of George III., who was very fond of theatrical representations, these places of amusement were much more constantly resorted to by the higher classes than at present. We are persuaded that as to the alleged universality of the passion, the Writer is greatly mistaken. The theatre-going families form a small proportion of the resident population. Once or twice in the season contents numbers. He is more correct when he says: 'I believe that more of the youths among the 'lower orders in London begin their career as thieves, in order that they may have the means of gratifying their penchant for theatricals, than from any other cause that can be named.' The decline of the theatres is admitted on all hands. Spectacle is now the only thing that will draw houses.' But the subject is altogether out of our province, and we shall dismiss the chapter after extracting a paragraph which contains a piece of biographical information that may be new to many of our readers. 6 The Victoria Theatre has been the means of introducing to the public several performers of merit. It was at this establishment also that Stanfield, the most celebrated painter, in his peculiar walk, of the present day, was first brought into notice. The Victoria has, like wise, acquired some distinction from the circumstance of Mr. Peter Borthwick, M.P., whose name is well known to the public, having made his début on its boards as Othello, in Shakspeare's tragedy of that name, two or three years before he was chosen the representative of the borough of Evesham. So decided a failure was the hon. gentleman's début that he never again, so far as I am aware, appeared on the boards of any theatrical establishment. But though his failure must have been doubtless mortifying at the time, there can be no question he now regards it as one of the most fortunate incidents in his life, as it compelled him to seek for some other means of earning a livelihood, and paved the way for his being sent on a tour through the country, in 1832-3, by the West India interest, as the advocate of their cause; which again, as it afforded him an opportunity of developing his talents as a public debater, was the means of his being returned to Parliament under the auspices of a well-known Tory baronet.' Ib., pp. 83, 4. The Clubs form the subject of an amusing chapter; and we shall make room for the account given of the Carlton, without being able to vouch, however, for its correctness in every particular. The Carlton Club, Pall Mall, is one whose name meets one's eye every day in the public prints. It is essentially a political club. I need not add it is a thorough-going Tory club. The grand qualification, in addition to having the entrance money, 107. 10s. in your pocket, and a good coat on your back, is your being known to be a person who will go the whole hog in Conservatism. Satisfy the members of this, and no further questions will be asked. You will have the honour of being elected by a universe of white balls. The probability is they will be all white,-just as if there were not such a thing as a black ball in existence. Alas! how different the reception of candidates, whom one would think perfectly unexceptionable, at the Athenæum and most other clubs! The number of members of the Carlton Club is at present about 950; it is, however, increasing every year. The admission money and the annual subscription are the same, namely, 107. 10s. In this the Carlton differs from all the other clubs, as their entrance money is always much higher than the regular subscription. The income of the club for the present year is estimated at upwards of 12,000l., while the current expenditure, it is supposed, will not exceed 6,850l. The following are the items which go to make up the current expenditure. I give them because they will furnish some idea of the leading sources of the expenses of all other clubs : Ground Rent and Taxes £1,000 1,000 2,500 350 450 300 |