make good their perilous way as best they can. Should they be successful in penetrating across this unknown tract of country, they will have accomplished what is wanting to complete the geographical knowledge of this long-hidden quarter of the globe; for the late travels of the adventurous Richard Lander, in the direction which he pursued, and also the interesting discoveries made by Mons. Douville in Southern Africa, have left, we may venture to say, the proposed object of the present expedition, as the only desideratum now required to satisfy the minds of the scientific upon this subject of geographical inquiry. From such discovery, we are naturally led to hope for results not only satisfactory to the scientific and curious, but also beneficial to the cause of commerce in general and moral improvement; for could those two mighty streams, the Niger and the Nile, which have hitherto been but as sealed waters, be found serviceable for the purposes of intercourse and commerce, the benighted continent of Africa might then eventually hope to receive the blessings of civilization and christianity.

It might perhaps not be uninteresting or

unacceptable to our readers, to be informed, who are the individuals who have undertaken this arduous and perilous enterprise ;-their names, as we have stated before, are Coulthurst and Tyrwhitt-the former a gentleman educated at Eton and Oxford, (at which University he took a very honourable degree,) and was afterwards called to the bar, but had from his boyhood imbibed a love of enterprise and geographical discovery, particularly for that part of the world which he has now selected as the field of his exertions. The latter is a gentleman also brought up to the legal profession, and whose turn of mind had led him to the same object. Through an introduction to the Geographical Society, and by its representation to government, these gentlemen have met with every encouragement their intrepidity and zeal have entitled them to, by having received from His Majesty's government some valuable scientific instruments, and by being furnished with open letters to all the Governors on the coast, with recommendations and letters also to many of the native Chiefs of the interior, and to the Pasha of Egypt, through which country they must necessarily return, should they succeed in accomplishing the object of their wishes.

MEMOIR OF A SUICIDE.

IT is only a short time since Henry Neele, the author of the English series of the 'Romance of History,' closed his career by self-nurder, at a time when the vista had just opened sufficiently to present a fair prospect of success. We are now appalled by another suicide, in the same profession and rank of life, the perpetrator of which was a still younger man-ndeed, a mere youth-whose introduction to tle public seemed, like Neele's, to be full of gooi omen.

Mr. Fletcher-the circumstances of whose death our readers have been made æquainted with by the newspapers-was educated at Cambridge, and passed through his studies, the proximate object of which was a wranglership, with credit. When just about to eceive the reward of his labours, he was guilt of one of those imprudences so frequent in Ollege life, and so seldom attended with any permanent or disastrous effect. He was absent at the meeting of the council, and it was discovered that he had not been in his apartmen the whole night. He had gone on a pleasue party the day before, and was accidentally detained beyond the moment when his appearance would have passed unquestioned. Expusion stared him in the face on one hand; and, n the other, the as dreadful fate of being thrown back from the object of his ambition for a pace of time equal to that which he had already spent in

efforts to obtain it. Between this Scylla and Charybdis he was lost. He left College, abandoned all his plans and pursuits in life, and came to London, a friendless and almost aimless adventurer.

It is probable, that in the whole of this proceeding, he acted contrary to the advice of his relations, and that, in consequence, they left the young man to his fate; but, on so painful and delicate a subject, it is only fair to say, that this is little more than a surmise. Shortly after his arrival in London, he was so fortunate as to obtain the situation of assistant in a respectable school, where he continued for two years, and up to last Christmas. During this interval of two years, he published a poem, which displayed at least the evidences of an elegant mind, and contributed to some of the periodicals. But it was to the impression made upon his imagination by the glorious struggles of the Poles, that he owed any literary distinction, attained by his name. He produced a ' History of Poland,' which met with almost universal approbation; and few persons, on reading its manly and impressive pages, could have sup

posed that the author was a shy and retiring youth of one-and-twenty.

At this time the bookselling trade appeared to be on the brink of ruin. A panic, whether connected with real or imaginary danger, had been spread abroad in the literary world and its dependent professions. Booksellers were afraid to sell their commodity to one another, and afraid, therefore, to buy the materials of which it is manufactured. In the department of imaginative writing, more especially, a depression prevailed which threatened to recall the days when garrets and hunger were the portion of the Muses' sons.

One extensive house, celebrated both for its good and bad novels, declared that it had utterly ceased to purchase manuscripts on speculation, and, either terrified or cramped in means by its losses, refused to entertain any offer proposed with other views than prospective and eventual remuneration. If any payments were made at all, they were in bills, which the holder, if unprovided with monied friends, could no more get discounted than he could live upon the paper.

At this period, Mr. Fletcher, with characteristic imprudence, gave up his situation, and attached himself to the precarious, and now desperate trade of authorship! This was only last Christmas-and we hurry to the result.

He was employed to write a work on India for the Entertaining Knowledge,'- -a portion of which is completed; and he also contributed, we believe, to several of the Magazines. He became involved in difficulties notwithstanding; but to so trifling an amount, that it is said his last days were embittered chiefly by the dread of an approaching demand upon him for twentyfive pounds, the amount of a bill accepted by his publisher, which he feared would remain unpaid, and consequently fall back upon him; but the gentleman in question asserts, that the bill had been given as a friendly accommodation to Mr. Fletcher.

Another enemy, still more fatal, was the disorder which appears to be "the badge of all our tribe"-indigestion. The sedentary habits of authors are generally supposed to be the predisposing cause of the disease: but this we deny. Exercise, without amusement, is nothing. The state of the mind, more than that of the body, we hold to be the predisposing cause. The disease again re-acts upon the mind; and this action and re-action, if long continued, produces a nervous excitement, which sometimes ends in madness.

Mr. Fletcher, like many others who are afraid of the excitement of wine, or unable to afford the means of indulgence in it, had recourse to opium in his fits of despondence. This drug is

as bad, although not quite so speedy, as arsenic, to a literary man; for it exasperates the disease which sits preying like a vulture upon his life. The hero of this sad tale sunk at last into melancholy and despair. One whole day, till late in the afternoon, he lay in bed without being able to muster energy enough to rise. He at length took his place, mechanically, as it were, at the dinner-table. He did not eat: he shrunk from conversation; but when the time of parting came, he bade farewell, with a strong pressure of the hand.

The next morning the unhappy young man was found dead upon the floor. He was surrounded with blood, and a pistol lay near the sacrilegious hand of the suicide.

THE NEWLY-DISCOVERED MOSAIC AT POMPEII.

At last," writes a correspondent from Naples, "I have been fortunate enough to obtain a sight of the noble Mosaic at Pompeii. It surpasses every expectation which even the encomiums of others had led me to entertain of it. I was least satisfied with Alexander's head; and it is a subject of deep regret, that the head of the

dying youth has been seriously injured. We

are, however, greatly compensated for this loss by the head of the warrior who is preparing to mount his horse, as well by the animal itself, which is bending its neck, and is represented in a fore-shortened attitude. The heads of Darius and his charioteer also; nor less those of the two Persian commanders, who are conjuring the king to fly instantly from the spot, with an eloquence of expression which is perfectly wonderful, are beyond all praise. It is greatly to be lamented, that, with the exception of Alexander and the section of the head, which is supposed to be Parmenio's, scarcely any of the Greek figures are to be recognized. This is the part of the mosaic which has suffered most."

OUR WEEKLY GOSSIP ON LITERATURE
AND ART.

OUR gossip on literature and art for this week must needs be brief, unless we indulge a little in the universal lamentation which we hear from the lips of all men who live by mental labour. Though we have no apprehensions that the time is at hand when, for want of literary light, gross darkness will cover the people, yet we confess that we hear of little that is new being undertaken; and, further, we are told, that some of those speculations in hand are anything but prosperous. Constable's Miscellany is either sold, or to be sold. Lardner, giving way to these economical times, has clipped the wings of his Cyclopædia advertisements; and Murray hesitates to issue more of his Family Library till he sees the result of the new reform measure. Galt, it is true, has written a new novel; Leitch Ritchie and Roscoe are about to describe all the old Castles of England; and the Society of Friends have announced a new Annual under the flashy name of 'The Aurora Borealis'; yet what are these compared to the works which lately kept the printing presses groaning?-Sir Walter Scott, we observe, is welcomed cordially by the people of Naples : he is invited to a grand spectacle, in which the chief personages in his unrivalled romances will be the actors.

herd has just been completed by Mr. Fox, A very clever drawing of the Ettrick Shepwell known for his fine engraving of the head of Burnet: it bears the true stamp and impress of the poet, and will form a characteristic frontispiece to the forthcoming edition of his works. Jones, we hear, has made

shore to match: as it is, he has made a good, but not a great picture. ETTY. Sabrina, from Milton's Masque of Comus,' is too lengthy a lady for our taste, and also too extravagant. The painter should study more attentively the dignified sobriety of style which characterizes Milton: the old Puritan bard has none of those startling, unsober postures in all his works. There is, nevertheless, great talent in the group: there is much ease amid the extravagance, and a subdued tone of colouring, which contrasts strongly with the more glaring hues in which this artist once indulged. We suspect the painter has twisted the common white lily of the field among the amber locks of the lady, instead of the lily which grows "on the cool translucent wave." The rank odour -to speak gently-of the former flower would suffocate ten such nymphs. The same artist has a picture of a scene in Robinson Crusoe, in which a tempestuous sea has ejected him upon the beach it is a very gloomy, but a very touching work, and recalls to our memory the Man's Footstep in the Sand,' by Stothard.

ROBERTS. We wish we could purchase the Cathedral of St. Lawrence, in Rotterdam,' by Roberts. It measures but one foot ten by one foot seven; but in that small space the artist has wrought wonders. It is a real scene, and intensely architectural; yet the very pinnacles and gateways speak: cannot he do as much for some of our own noble old abbeys?

MRS. CARPENTER, A study from Nature,' is a child's head, free, natural, and lovely. This lady has a fine poetic feeling, and no little skill, and usually unites them in her productions. No painter of the present day seizes the character of a scene or a subject with greater beauty or truth.

COPLEY FIELDING. Eneas meeting Venus disguised as a Huntress,' ought not to have been the name of this picture. In fact, it has nothing at all to do with the wandering Prince of Troy. It is a charming landscape, in which the eye looks over fifty miles of the fairest fields. We have seldom seen any scene in art so beautiful, or more true to nature in its unities or in its hues; the sky resembles the real heavens, and the earth wears the fresh tender green of nature. It is true that figures may be observed in the foreground-they are, however, only figures: they go for nothing-the landscape swallows them up. The same artist has more pictures worthy of notice in the Institution; but we must move on, for other names that merit much praise are on our list.

HOWARD, R.A. The Dream of Queen Katherine' is from the page of Shakspeare.

Saw you not even now a blessed troop
Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces
Cast thousand beams upon me like the sun?
They promised me eternal happiness.

In embodying these lines the artist has given natural form and visible expression to the words of the muse; there is, to be sure, a certain air of constraint or stiffness in the figures; but the fine harmony of the scene, the natural elegance, and the poetic dignity of the whole, triumph over minor blemishes. 'The Morning,' too, by the same eminent artist, from Paradise Regained,' is a meet companion for the otherthese are the words on which he has reared the superstructure of this fine work:

Thus passed the night so foul, till morning fair
Came forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray:
Who with her radiant finger stilled the roar
Of thunder, chased the clouds, and laid the winds
And grisly spectres which the fiend had raised.

sits contemplating by turns his claymore, where it hangs on the cabin wall, and a well-thumbed household Bible, laid before her on the table. She seems the connecting link between time and eternity, and all around her wears the same staid, stern hue as herself. The Interior of a Highlander's House,' has cost the artist much more labour than its humbler companion; and certainly the exact truth and fine grouping of the whole, together with the very natural colouring, merit high praise; yet it pleases us less, because there is more of animal life and less of sentiment.

BURNET. The Salmon Weir on the Leem, Devon,' and The Halt of a Waggon,' are both from the pencil of our eminent engraver, and not unworthy of taking place with productions by names of academic note. The sunshine trembling through among the shafts of the trees, and touching the foaming surface of the water in the former, and the clownish activity of the carrier boy transferring a coop of chickens from a cottage to his waggon, are both different, and both natural, and so unlike in the handling, that they seem the work of two men. The Salmon Weir' itself is a fine scene: the river is swollen a little with rain, and there is a tawny foam on its surface such as Scott compared to the mane of a chesnut steed.

CLATER. The Return from a Masked Ball,' deserves notice, were it only for the back view of a tall, fair girl, who is about to transfer her masking attire to her waiting-maid. She has an ensnaring shape, and, if her face at all corresponds with the elegant dropping of the shoulders and the symmetry of her limbs, woe to the sons of men when she turns round. The picture has other merits-we have noticed the

attraction.

BOXALL. Cordelia receiving the account of her Father's sufferings,' is, in our opinion, the most poetical work in these rooms. It won, it seems, the premium at the Liverpool Exhibition, yet did not find a purchaser; we hope it will be more fortunate here. The pathetic expression and finely-sustained dignity of the head, is equal to any work of the present day; and if the artist would condescend to colour a little more clearly, and make his outlines more defined, he would add materially to the attractions of his works. We hear that he is about to paint a Mary Queen of Scots; it is a perilous subject: the world has already made an image of its own, which, though shaped out of air, will cost the painter no little study to surpass. There are works in these rooms which seem hung up as a warning to shun all attempts at limning traditional beauties. We wish Boxall great success in his undertaking-certainly Cordelia' entitles us to expect much, and not to be very fearful.

MORTON. 'Austerlitz,' shows the Child of

Destiny directing the charge of his cuirassiers, on that victorious field. The battle was fought on the 2nd of December; and there stands Napoleon, his grey surtout powdered with newfallen snow, his glass in one hand and the other extended towards the point of attack-we have seldom seen any work of fancy on which reality was more sternly stamped. We could find fault with one or two minor matters, but they belong more to the handling than to the sentiment.

KIDD. A Scene from Rob Roy,'-it is no such thing; it is a scene from the Rob Roy of the stage, but not from the living page of the great novelist. Has the painter ever read the romance? he would there see it written down that Bailie Jarvie, instead of fighting with a handsome poker, as he is doing here, fought with the red-hot coulter of a plough, like a wild Indian, as his antagonist Allan Iverach averred. Why should an artist dispense with a weapon so picturesque, and, withal, the proper weapon?

The truth is, we believe, many clever artists, and Kidd is undoubtedly one, are mere Thebans in learning. The other day, in turning over this same artist's Illustrations of Burns, we found, in the Address to the De'il,' a douse motherly old woman praying very comfortably in her chamber, instead of beside the bower-tree hedge of her kale-yard-as a pious woman would-on the other side of which she heard old Satan humming past on errand of evil. The Dougal creature of this picture is truly capital; the raised look, too, of the Bailie is happy, and, on the whole, it is nearly worthy of the page of Scott, were it not for the poker, which is far from classic, whatever learned men may say. Gipsies' Encampment,' is likewise natural, and recalls many scenes which we have witnessed wherein those vagrants were actors-sheep disappeared from the fold, linen from the hedge, and hens from their roosts.

The

WEBSTER.The Love Letter,' by this artist, attracts much notice. A young woman has opened her chamber window, and, by the light which bursts in upon her, is reading a loveletter, with a kind of quiet rapture worthy of deep and modest love. This is an honest labourer in the field of sentiment and nature.

DANIELL, R.A. The Indian Fruit-seller,' and other pictures of an Eastern character, by the same painter, are quiet and beautiful bits of art. They bring strange scenes, strange faces, and strange hues before us, and these are ever welcome.

ROTHWELL. The Village Morning,' is a beautiful girl, with looks like Aurora-we have seldom seen Rothwell happier either in his colours or in his character.

LINTON. One of the best landscapes in the collection is the well known Civita Castellana,' by Linton; the perspective is capital, and the whole scene is clear and distinct: all is made out with the accuracy of nature; yet all is elegant and harmonious. We might say that some of the lines are too hard, and that the picture is made up from the fac-simile style of Canaletti, and the dash and freedom of later painters; these are other men's remarks, not ours. The performance is a fine one, no matter how produced.

CLINT. Falstaff, Pistol, and Mrs. Quickly, at the Garter Inn,' is certainly not the happiest of Clint's dramatic paintings. The fault is in the excellence of the subject, for who can paint a Falstaff, who was not only witty himself, but the cause of it in others; or limn a Pistol, with his swaggering gait and ten pound weight words?

We must, however, have done, at least for the present, although conscious of having left many clever pictures unnoticed.

The Fall of Babylon. Painted and engraved by John Martin.

THIS is one of the earlier works of the distinguished painter, and its merits are of a high order. There is all the supernatural light and superhuman architecture-the terror and the dismay of his latter pictures; yet it is scarcely so sublime as the 'Handwriting on the Wall, nor so magnificent as the Fall of Nineveh.' We have heard even artists argue that there is a want of making out of limb and lineament in the historic actors in these solemn scenes, and that a nicety resembling miniature portrait-painting was required. We hold no such opinion; in truth, the rush and the tumult of the besiegers and the besieged enter but little into our thoughts -the grandeur of the lightning-illumined landscape is the chief attraction; and we feel sure that were the forms of the agitated masses more distinctly drawn, not a little of the interest would decrease; for many men can paint human beings as well as Martin, but who besides can give an interest, not of this world, to cities and palaces

and clouds, and make us look with terror on towns doomed to destruction? The engraving is from his own hand, and this, we conceive, enhances materially the value of it.

MUSIC

KING'S THEATRE.

AFTER the usual delays incident to a new and inexperienced management, this theatre opened on Saturday last, with 'L'Esule di Roma,'-performed for the first time in this country. As we have before stated, this opera is one of the early productions of Donizetti, whose compositions, of an inferior kind, are numerous enough, and have been principally admired by the musical cognoscenti at Naples, where he has always resided. Having, some short time since, like most of our contemporaries, built up our expectation to Mozart's 'Idomeneo,' we heard, with more regret than astonishment, that the dernière d'un petit geure was substituted for the première d'un grand genre. Mr. Mason, however, is not the first manager who has been compelled to bow to circum

stances.

The whole of the music of this opera is quite à la Rossini;-here we have a snatch of an agitato from Otello'-there a phrase of a chorus in 'Semiramide'; indeed, except that it wants a scena for the entrée of the prima donna, "la coupe" as our neighbours have it, is like most modern Italian operas. The most striking melodies are the last movements of two scenas for soprano in the second act,-one of which Donizetti afterwards converted to a larghetto, in his subsequent Anna Bolena'; and into which Pasta threw all her thrilling pathos with so much effect during the glorious days of last season-it is the Ah dolce guidami,' so well known and deservedly popular. In the second act there is now introduced a long, half-military, demichoral scena, by Costa, tolerably well written, and suitably adapted for the powers of Winter, to whose singing its success ought to be attributed. We disapprove of this system of Pasticcio. Critics are generally severe on our native composers when they venture to take such liberties with an author; and, indeed, it is only to be tolerated when a composition by the same author can be introduced of a character corresponding to the scene for which it is required. Before we quit the subject of the music, we must do justice to Mr. Monck Mason's Overture. The critics, generally, have spoken slightingly of it; the subject of the allegro is evidently Mozart's fugue in the overture to Zauberflote'; still it is extremely well put together is well relieved by some happy melodies-and we do not hesitate to say that it is a composition not unworthy the reputation of a good musician. Now for a word or two on the new singers.

Mad. de Meric is a middle-aged French lady, who has, from late experience, acquired the Italian style of singing. We rather think that we heard her, as Mdlle. Demeri, at the Italian Opera in Paris, in 1824-5. She has a thin voce di testa, of an agreeable quality, extending to c and D in alt.: her intonation is beautifully just; and, in the absence of much flexibility, she successfully indulges in staccato passages of intervals in thirds, sixths, and octaves, at the close of an aria, which, from their novelty and perfect execution, elicited much applause. The scene of detached recitativo, in which she made her début on Saturday, was rather unfavourable to the developement of her powers; but a grand scena, in the second act of the opera, gave her an opportunity of display, of which she availed herself, and met with success. But we must observe that this lady's taste is not purely classical: at the close of a pathetic movement, otherwise sufficiently well executed, she darted a rapid screaming cadenza, by no means in keep

ing with its character; and further pained our feeling by failing to reach the upper note.

The primo tenore, Signor Winter, is about thirty-five years of age, and a native of Italy. He sang his part in an unostentatious and irreproachable manner; but he will not, we fear, obtain enthusiastic admiration from our fashionable musical amateurs, whose favour is won, more or less, by the disguise of simple melodies, with an excess of fiorimenti, even though at the sacrifice of time and tune-(the success of Signor David, to wit!) The voice of Signor Winter, although not very flexible, is equal, and reaches to A, in its natural compass-the upper notes rather nasal. His intonation is usually correct, and his ad libitum passages rarely intrusivequalities certain of a musician's applause.

Signor Mariani has a powerful bass voicehe sings correctly, but his style is rather coarse. The trio in the finale to the first act was a vulgar exhibition of noise-a little chiaroscuro might have rendered it, what it usually has been, the most successful composition in the opera.

Signor Calveri is a second-rate tenor, and an excellent substitute for the long worn-out Signor Deville, of ancient memory.

The choruses are rather more numerous than before; yet we do not find them vastly improved -in fact, there wants, in each class of voices, one thoroughly good musician, who will attack the points, and give confidence to all: they ought also to be made to participate, by acting with some degree of intelligence, in sentiments in unison with the hero or heroine; whereas they are still, what they have ever been at this theatre, mere walking-sticks, clustering without grouping, and singing without motion. Mr. Monck Mason could here effect improvement There is nothing which more astonishes the English traveller when he visits the German and French theatres, than the vigour, intelligence, and power of the chorus singers.

A direct comparison has been hazarded by the friends of the new manager, between the organization and discipline of the band of the King's Theatre and that of the Académie de Musique at Paris. Now, in the orchestra of the latter theatre, there are upwards of eighty performers, and all efficient;-at the King's Theatre there are, perhaps, fifty! In Berlin, the band is equally numerous as at Paris; and those best acquainted with the subject have often assured us, that it will take two or three years for a band to attain perfect discipline! Now this is the first week of the first season of our Opera band,-for there are many entirely new members in it;-so that, according to the judgment of others, it will be about the time that Mr. Mason retires from the management that the Opera band will have attained to perfect discipline, and it may then, probably, be again disorganized by his successor :-such has been the case. As a proof of the advantage of keeping the same band together, we may instance the superiority of the Philharmonic orchestra. Yet there is another obstacle which will always prevent our bands attaining the discipline of those on the Continent. We have too many chefs d'orchestra, so that the repieni, instead of obeying only one, are distracted by so many authorities, that they have recourse to their own intelligence, and follow their own imagination, to the utter destruction of all general effect. A distinguished composer, who visited some few seasons ago, being asked what he thought of the aristocracy of the opera, replied, "in the orchestra it was monstrously fiere." Praise, however, is due to Mr. Mason for some improvements;-for having a greater number of basses in the centre of the orchestra, which contribute much to steady the bandalso, for increasing the number of violas to six-but the violins ought, we think, to be more numerous, for we only counted sixteen,

us

exclusive of leaders! We are also glad to observe that Dragonetti, Mori, and others of their rank, remain to play in the ballets.We have heard, that out of friendship for his friend Spagnoletti, Mr. Mason has denied to himself the honour of introducing the system of leading with the Baton-here is one reason why the German and French bands surpass ours; the sight of this magic little wand, in efficient hands, controls a band more quietly and effectively than all the beating, stamping, and ejaculations of "My Got, go vit de singer," which we are doomed occasionally to hear at the King's Theatre; and we must observe, that in the general execution of the music on Saturday, there were inaccuracies, and a want of "chiaro

The ballet, called 'Une Heure à Naples,' is a bagatelle concocted as a "pis aller." Madame Le Compte danced a pas deux with Monsieur Albert-they are both reputed great artists, and were well received. A pas quatre was also danced by some second rates, and there was a prettily-grouped quadrille, and the whole performances passed off satisfactorily. The music of the ballet is by Costa; the introductory movement, and some of the dances are inferior; but the pantomime was characteristic and good.

THEATRICALS

ADELPHI THEATRE.

ON Thursday, a new burletta made its first appearance at this house. It is called Chalk Farm,' and the idea is from a one-act French trifle, entitled 'Le Tire au Pistolet.' How much more than the idea is borrowed, we know not-neither do we care, as our business, as well as our pleasure, lies with that which is put before us, and not with that which has been put before other people-or, as we may say, in seemingly bad English, an other people. We always feel some diffidence in speaking of a new production at this theatre, because those who are naturally modest, (and modest we pledge our anonymous honour that we are, though, to our readers, who cannot see us, we may not look so,) are sure to hesitate at giving an opinion, where it is not asked. It is the custom here, to announce a new piece for such a night, "and during the week." In doing this, "the management" can have no other object than that of saving audiences the trouble of thinking for themselves: and, seeing how many subjects of more importance the public constantly have to think of, perhaps a more considerate arrangement for a thinking people could not be made. If, after so many years of successful catering, the management does not know what is good for its audiences, who should? There can be but little doubt, that the doctor knows better than the patient; and we therefore recommend the management to persevere in the system, and the public to be patient, under a conviction, that although that which is prescribed for them, may sometimes be a little unpalatable at first, it will ultimately, if duly swallowed, do them good. These observations apply in some degree to the new piece of Thursday. There were parts of it, at which certain portions of the audience expressed impatience and disapprobation, but the majority approved, and if those who did not, will follow the usual prescription, "Repetatur haustus novissime prescriptus," and take themselves there again in a few nights, they will doubtless find such trifling alterations made, as their constitutions may have been found to require, and their sides "when taken," will, we venture to predict, be "well shaken." The plot may be told in even less space than we usually assign to such matters. Two lawyer's clerks (Messrs. Buckstone and Reeve,) leave their lawful employment and their lawful wives, and arrive at the Chalk Farm, tea-gardens, to spend