After Mr. Gibbon had gone to his professional avocations, as they were called, the singing went on, as the chairman had promised it should, with little intermission. The object of every body seemed to be the hearing, or the more wished-for gratification of singing a song, and how like was each succeeding song to its predecessor. We were drinking our bad port wine out of little, thick, stunted, funnelshaped glasses, yet every other song enjoined us to "fill high the sparkling goblet," "drain the foaming bowl," or "quaff from jovial cups." Finding several had lighted their segars, I gladly called for one, and tried to puff away the growing disgust I was feeling for every one around me: but previous to settling myself with my segar, I could not help asking my next neighbour whether Mr. Young; or Mr. Mathews ever had been detected by any accident in coming to this house-I should not have asked such a question, said I, apologetically, had not the waiter, a lying fellow, told me they would be here to-night. "To be sure they are," said my neighbour, to my great surprise "They are both here to-night, as I have good reason to know." I stared, and asked, where? He laughed and said, "I can answer for my own identity, for I am Mr. Young, and the gentleman who just sang the Flowing Bowl,' is Mr. Mathews." "What," said I incredulously, "did you play Pierre last night?" Pierre, no!" said he, I never played Pierre in my life-I see your mistake, my name is spelt Y-o-u-n-g-e, and I belong to Drury Lane." "I beg your pardon, sir," said I, "and that gentleman who sang the, Flowing Bowl,' is not of course Mathews of the English Opera House?" "Oh no, to be sure not, Matthews of the Surrey, at least he used to sing there-I don't think he has got any engagement now." My neighbour on the other side having nearly finished his bottle, and therefore anxious to talk, seeing me for the first time inclined to do the same, began to be communicative, and I, who had quite finished mine for want of something better to do, and on whom the segar was beginning to produce its sedative power, calming the ruffled spirit, and causing my incipient disgust to evaporate with the smoke, was well disposed to enter into conversation with him. He asked me if I did not think the society to-night was highly respectable and gentlemanlike; and on my saying I was not acquainted even with the names of the gentlemen present, he kindly pointed out to me some of the best fellows, as he called them, about town, and some of the best actors, too, I assure you, said he. "Yarnold, my boy, (he halloed across the table,) come, let you and I finish the remainder of our bottle together: your health, old chap." "There," said he, turning to me, "that gentleman I spoke to, is Mr. Yarnold of Drury Lane; he is one of our right-hand men at the Coal-Hole, (good heavens, what a nasty place that must be, thinks I,) many and many's the order he's given me for the theatre. That fresh coloured gentleman with the dark eyes, next to him, is Mr. Baker-you've heard of Baker, haven't you? plays every night at the Garden-they could not do without him. By the bye, have you seen the pantomime at the Lane?-That fair gentleman with the runaway chin is the Man in the Moon. How are you, Comer? What, I say, you've cut the Moon tonight; you're not the Man in the Moon, you're the Man out of the Moon-not bad, eh?" He then sang, "How do you do old good Mr. Mooney-how do you do-oo, how do you do-oo?" Thus addressed, what could Mr. Comer say, but answer very naturally in the words of his part-"None the better, Mr. Spooney, for seeing you-oo, for seeing you," which of course "set the table in a roar." I asked the name of a roundfaced, good-natured looking man, who sat opposite to us, and who had been singing one or two anacreontic songs with a very good voice.— "Don't you know him?" said my friend; "that's Evans of Covent Garden, the prince of good fellows, and landlord of the Cyder Cellar. Haven't you been to the Cyder Cellar this year? rare work there of a Tuesday and Friday night-why, to my certain knowledge, Evans could not have been in bed till six o'clock this morning; I did not leave till five, and I then left eight or nine of them up to their noses in gin and tobacco-beats Offley's hollow, sir, not but what I like Offley's too very well; Lord bless you, there's the first tip-top set of men at Offley's, aye, and at Evans's too. If one lives in town, you know, one must do the thing a little bit fashionably, so I generally contrive to go to one or other most nights; and it is not very often I miss one of the theatres, I can tell you," said he, with the most satisfied air, as if convinced he had been giving me unquestionable evidence of his supreme bon ton. "Indeed," said I, "you must be very fond of theatricals; I suppose you are a little bitten that way." "Not I," said he, "I only go for the lark, and because, as I said, one likes to do the thing in style-'tisn't once in twenty times I know what's doing on the stage; trust me I can find plenty of amusement without sitting hum drum in the boxes! I'm engaged all the morning, you must know, so I make the best of my time at night; to be sure, Sunday morning I've got to myself, and then I never miss the Park except it rains-aye, and always go well mounted too, and make the man clap me on a bright new saddle; might as well be out of the world, you know, as out of the fashion." "Oh Lord! oh Lord!" I muttered to myself, quite accablé with the fellow's vulgarity and volubility, "is this the high dramatic entertainment my foolish fancy had pictured?" "But I haven't told you half the people yet," rejoined this unstoppable piece of loquacity. "All those are actors that you see now talking in a knot together: there's Mr. Mercer, and Mr. Thomson, Mr. Henry, and Mr. Atkins; and that one marked with the small pox is Lodge of the English Opera House. "And have all these gentlemen engagements?" said I; "what sort of characters do they play?" "Oh, I don't know," said he, “some of the best characters I believe."-"Yes," said I, "no doubt they represent great characters, senators, lords in waiting, high priests, courtiers, warriors, gentlemen in dominos at a masquerade, et id genus omne.". "No doubt, no doubt," said my friend, not in the least understanding what I meant; "and now, though we've been talking during the last song, we must be silent now, for Sloman's going to sing, and I'll warrant you something good-Go it, Sloman;" and accordingly Mr. Sloman went it, and the people laughed, while my friend, to my great delight, left me to go and talk to him. His place was taken by a thin, white faced, light haired simpering sort of man, looking very yard-and-ribbonish, who had evidently taken the vacant chair with a view to get a listener in me. I anticipated his opening; "Delightful evening we've ad sir-fond of the drama, I presume, sir?" "Very," said I, lighting another segar, to act as a soother in case of any fresh excitement of bile. “Don't you admire Mr. Keau very much, sir?" "Very much," said I, not thinking it worth while to give my real opinion; "Ah, he's an ero indeed, sir; but I'll tell you who I think almost comes up to him, and that's Mr. of the Coburg. Oh, he is a first rate actor-I don't very often go to Drury Lane or Covent Garden, but don't you think now with me, sir, that they've quite as good, or better actors, at the Coburg and the Surrey? I seldom go anywhere else, indeed, and I'm sure they play much more interesting pieces there." "Do they really?" said I. "Oh yes, I'm passionately fond of the drama, and knows what's what pretty well. I know what stage effect is, and there's more of that sort of thing at the Coburg, by ever so much, than at the big theatres you've seen Hobson in Grimdolpho I suppose; what does Kean do better than that? See his face, sir, when the dagger and bloody handkerchief are produced, see the real blood a flowing when he stabs himself after strangling his wife—that's what I call acting— I like good tragedies, sir;""Bloody ones it appears," said I. "I've got a picture of Hobson in Grimdolpho," he continued, so I have of Jenkins in the Dæmon of the Flood.' I'll tell you where you may get them, at that shop at the corner of Bow-street, nearly opposite Drury Lane Theatre-oh, I've a great many more theatrical portraits, for, as I said, I'm a true lover of the drama." He drew his chair closer, and said in a whisper, "I can get orders for Sadler's Wells whenever I like-did you ever see Miss Hopner that sings there sometimes? We carry on such a flirtation, sir; she is the sweetest creature; do you know she has promised to take me behind the scenes one night; that would be something like, wouldn't it-I do so long to go behind the scenes, my whole soul's in the drama, as you perceive, sir; come, sir, drink Amelia Hopner with me; 'pon my word, I'd marry her to-morrow if my aunt did not make such a fuss about it." How many more of his theatrical secrets he would have confided to my unwilling ear I know not, for a squabble at one end of the room interrupted our conversation, if such it could be called; the harmony was certainly all over, and a little discord beginning to take its place, for sundry double goes of gin and water, acting upon the previous port, had put the senses of many a little out of their equipoise, and as the balance was rather descending with a little weight of blackguardism, sending good breeding up aloft, I determined, in the phraseology of the room, to "cut the stick; or as some of the gentlemen of "theatrical celebrity," who were present, might have said, I made my exit at the door in the left wing, upper entrance, and the curtain was dropped on a very unsuccessful attempt, on my part, at an entertainment. THE REVIEWERS REVIEWED. [The following article was sent to us "in proof," by an anonymous correspondent. It had been accepted by the editor of another periodical; but after it had been set up, as our correspondent states, the severity of its remarks prevented it from appearing, the editor being "compelled" to countermand it. It is most true, that the fellow-feeling which exists among publishers, stifles a great deal of truth in its birth, while the more direct interests of each, serve to put much falsehood in the world. For this reason, and for little else than this reason, we shall give the paper insertion. Our notes will show, that we are far from coinciding with the writer. The public are little aware of the sinister motives which dictate the judgments of nearly all the periodical publications of the day. Some day we shall make an exposition of many of them, and accompany our assertions with details which must carry conviction along with them, and at length open the eyes of the innocent public. Whether we take this step or not, we shall certainly not be deterred by the power which booksellers possess, by a thousand petty arts, of injuring the sale of a journal which is independent of, and frequently hostile to their interests.-ED.] THE REVIEWERS REVIEWED. The Quarterly. - Notes. WE are surprised that articles of this character have not been given before in the higher order of monthly publications (a)—especi-, (a) It has been repeatedly ally when some of the reviews are imitating done in the London; where magazines in the mode of getting up their we have not only reviewed some of the particular Numarticles, but without the variety, vivacity, or bers of the Quarterly and usefulness of those entertaining periodicals. Edinburgh, but had more geIs it that the formidable and often ferocious neral articles on their conduct, air of the "great reviews" has hitherto de- as, for instance, the paper on occasion of the death of Mr. terred the conductors of magazines from sub- Gifford.-ED. mitting them to the ordeal, through which they drag the writers whom they mangle? or that the public is content to submit to their dictatorship, and is satisfied with a political touchstone for the trial of literary merit? We think neither-but that it is simply owing to inveterate habit, which makes readers lose the changes of times and circumstances in things to which they have been long accustomed, and causes them to overlook the decline of old works, and the existence of new and superior tests in the dictates of a more generally cultivated intellect. That a work solely literary should be judged by the author's political dogmas, did very well when the spirit of party, a few years ago, precluded the exercise of cool judgment. One clan was arrayed against another-the same weapons were adopted by each-and thus the balance of the combat was prevented from inclining too much to either side.. That day is gone, and with it should have passed away its follies. Reviews should have changed with the times, and taken the real character of literary works established for legitimate criticism; nor longer, under the mask of reviewing, put forth nothing but political essays, and continued appeals to the world, made (b) The fact is just the under false pretences (b). If it be true that The Edinburgh be Mr. Murray says, "the age of reviewing is literary review, and has ended, past"-(in the sense Quarterly reviewing is as well as the Quarterly, in to be understood, we presume)—we congratubeing a pamphleteer. Such late the public on so beneficial an event. That also is the Westminster; which bibliopolist is no bad authority upon such a though not by any means liable to the censure of unjust question, and, we think, could tell us a ground partiality in the text, is con- for the observation which has convinced him, ducted far too closely on the feelingly, of its verity. It is amusing to take plan of the other two.-ED. the three reviews, and compare their opinions together upon the same work. It will be found a most convincing argument of the fallacy of putting faith in what are little more than outpourings of political vituperation. reverse. gan with being, in reality, a The attention of the editor of the oldest of the three great reviews has been so absorbed of late years by professional pursuits, that its readers have painfully experienced his neglect. The age and infirmities of another editor have had a still more fatal effect upon the conduct of his review. The third, and most youthful publication of this class, has attained a circulation beyond which it can hardly be expected to rise, being confined principally to (c) Supposing this charge the disciples of its venerable projector (c). were true, we see no reason Giving these publications credit for all to which they can lay claim, we see nothing to We believe, from all we have exempt them from occasional scrutiny-from heard and seen, that a greater our doing for them what they have "done for effect was never produced thousands." Even in their age of decline, upon the opinions of large they have no right to murmur at any severity classes of the most intelligent part of society, than by the in our remarks. They have never hesitated in it which should limit the circulation of this review. few Numbers of the West- to hew and lacerate writers and their works. minster Review which have Provided their victims have been political already been published-ED. opponents, no sanctities of life have been spared, and delicacy towards them is out of the question. We intend, therefore, to give an article on them as they come out; and shall begin with the number of the Quarterly which has just |