sluggish animal harmlessly with both his heels to drive him in his walk. Now he takes a spin of at least four miles, when he requires little driving, be assured, but pulls the lad double in his resolute lengthy stride."

If anything, may be, the style of our group is hardly up to the mark of "the Great Northern Trainer's string." Our chesnut, for instance, is not that of friend Sylvanus ; for with the mark of "the irons" so palpably on him, his business by this time must surely be that of school-master" rather than the initiative of the more prized and promising pupil. The latter we will take to be the hard puller, who has gone on with "Hedgford Hary" right into the bottom before he'll knock under; while the bay that "supports" his pastor and master, we should say by the look of him, was meant for a shy at a hunter's stake, or good for an acceptance in one of the approaching grand nationals.

The engraving is after a sketch by a young friend, who has ventured it more on his experience as a sportsman, than his education as an artist. "The character" and spirit with which every figure in his group are imbued, will, we think, show how well "up" he was in the scene he has attempted to pourtray; while, estimating the effort on its merits as a picture, we are told there is promise enough to warrant more application to the easel, than our self-taught genius has yet allowed himself.

"And now, my_lads, move on a bit, for the old horse has got his wind again, and I dare say you don't care how soon you get your breakfasts.'

"As nothing," according to the authority of Holcroft, "can exceed the enjoyment of a stable-boy's breakfast," we so leave our company to "the happiest moment of their lives."

LITERATURE.

THE STEEPLE CHASE CALENDAR; containing the sport in Great Britain and Ireland, for the season 1847-48, from September, 1847, to May, 1848; the whole properly arranged, with copious Index, List of Winning Horses, &c. By Henry Corbet. London: Wright, 51, Haymarket. The appearance of this compendium of all the events which have come off in the steeple chase world will be highly acceptable to the many interested in the sport. Especially welcome this volume cannot fail to be at this particular season, when there is so much anxiety to obtain a record which may be relied upon for its accuracy and correctness of information in everything relating to the matter to which it immediately refers. In some instances it is presumed scissors and pasto will effect all that is necessary; accordingly there may be found those who madly enter upon the task of chronicling the past year's sport without duly weighing the qualifications essentially necessary for such a purpose the result proves the absurdity of people madly entertaining such ridiculous and visionary notions. With Mr. Corbet it's "quite another thing." He is in every respect competent for the duty he takes

in hand, both from the nature of his experience, and the peculiar sources of information open to him. To back our assertion, we need merely mention the indisputable fact that the best steeple chase horse out last year (Mr. Elmore's The British Yeoman) was bred by Mr. Corbet's father. All the desirable information so much needed by our steeple-chasing friends will be found in this volume at a moment's reference.

PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS OF THE METROPOLIS.

"There is nothing which lies more within the province of a spectator than public shows and diversions; and as among these there are none which can pretend to vie with those elegant entertainments that are exhibited in our theatres, I think it particularly incumbent on me to take notice of everything that is remarkable in such numerous and refined assemblies.

An opera may be allowed to be extravagantly lavish in its decorations, as its only design is to gratify the senses and keep up an indolent attention in the audience. Common sense, however, requires that there should be nothing in the scenes and machines which may appear childish and absurd."

SPECTATOR.

"A lamentation over its own decline, is the only thing that keeps the British Drama alive." A'BECKETT.

The drama is fast going to the dogs! is the continual cry of dabblers in the lugubrious. If such be the unsavoury fact, it must be admitted that there is no lack of managers to assist at the canine ceremony. Every day brings its addition to places of public entertainment in the metropolis. There is hardly a district without its theatre. From Whitechapel to Paddington you have no difficulty in giving your election to a temple devoted to tragedy, comedy, farce, domestic drama, spectacle, music, dancing, or tumbling. There they are-we cannot say "rich and rare," because they are neither one nor the other-but there they are for you to take your pick. Pay your money and enter; be gratified for the nonce. Then after you have had no cause to regret your disbursement, go away, and unceasingly pour forth your abuse of the stage as it is, declaring that the drama is fast declining. Don't forget, in your comparisons, to make the present generation of actors suffer greatly with the past. This is the way of the world" Our fathers did so before us. The mania of fault-finding was just as general in the halcyon days of the drama, as it is in our own age. Pretty nearly the same causes of complaint from sticklers for the "legitimate" existed then as now. In the times of Addison and Steele, managers were wont to outrage public taste by converting their theatres into anything but what they were originally intended for, equally as much as modern managers are disposed to do. Let us then take "the goods the gods provide us," and indulge the fond hope that the patronage about to be awarded by our gracious sovereign will enable the British Drama to be kept alive by a more cheering process than "a lamentation over its own decline."

Too! too! too! Hark, it is the Bartholomew Fair trumpet of mang

ger Bunn announcing the mighty wonders he intends to enact at COVENT GARDEN. Blow, blow, blow your little four-farthing shrill instrument of tin, Mister Bunn; and may the sound sent forth be the only blows attendant upon your management......... It is just as we anticipated, "a heavy blow and great discouragement" the manager has already met with, in the monstrously unpleasant fashion of empty houses. Not all the puffing in the universe could entice the gentle public within the walls of Covent Garden under its present régime. What a change from the splendid aspect of the house two months ago, when the Royal Italian Opera attracted beauty, aristocracy, and fashion, and all was brilliant, beautiful, and light! Now what an altered scene. It is positively painful to be immured in the same theatre, to witness the miserable contrast suggested by the present neglected condition of this vast arena. It is indeed a sorry picture, and one not by any means calculated to enliven the spirits at this season, to be a spectator of untenanted stalls, neglected benches, in the pit-save here and there a solitary retailer of "ginger-beer, apples, and bills of performance"-and boxes with stray occupants, who by their presence and misapplied applause have merely done their duty by attending to their orders. In addition, it must be urged that the very infinitesimal proportion of gas laid on gives the house a most decidedly dark, desolate, dreary, and gloomy appearance. Perhaps this "gas question" may be viewed in the light that Mr. Bunn's performances will not bear reflection? The old favourite operas of "The Bondman," "The Bohemian Girl," and "The Enchantress" have been brought forward in rapid succession, but with a different result to that which attended their resuscitation at the Surrey some few months ago. These productions are too well known-at least it appears so, from the fact of nobody feeling inclined to make their acquaintance now-to call forth any remark, save indeed a word anent "The Bohemian Girl;" in which Mr. Harrison imparts that nasality of tone which invariably succeeds in inspiring his auditors with the most ineffable disgust. The character of Florestein, at one time sustained by Hudson, at another period filled by Harley, is attempted by Mr. S. Cowell, who looks as much like a military man as the most stunted, spectacled, and Albert-hatted_shopkeeping of National Guards, resembles a General of the Line. In the name of all that appertains to army accoutrements, where could Mr. Cowell have studied the fit costume of a soldier? It is not our wish to push the question too closely, because it might appear strange that the manager of a theatre like Covent Garden should allow one of his company to select his cloth-boots from Monmouth Street, and his toggery from one of the seedy wardrobes in the Israelitish locale of Holywell Street. But enough of Covent Garden, under its present deplorable dynasty.

"Adieu, thou dreary pile!"

The "Patrician's Daughter" and "Romeo and Juliet" afford excellent opportunities for the display of the unquestionably great powers of a young and pleasing actress at the HAYMARKET-Miss Laura Addison. The histrionic ability of this lady is of a very high and superior order, and is, moreover, calculated to form an important addition to the Haymarket Company. The chamber scene of Juliet is excellently given; and, indeed, the whole performance of Miss Addison is marked by intelligence and feeling. There are times, it is true, that the effect is

marred by her exceedingly unpleasant fashion of imparting a disagreeable and decidedly unpoetical twang. This remedied, and we have no hesitation in saying that Miss Addison will prove to be an actress of eminent position. Mr. Creswick entirely misconceives the meaning of the poet, who destroys his hero at the end of the tragedy. Now, sooth to say, Mr. Creswick murders Romeo from the beginning. Mr. Holl's Mercutio is boisterous and—but there, we will pass on to Mrs. Glover's Nurse ; a piece of genuine acting throughout, remarkable for those exquisite touches of character so ably imparted by this clever actress.

Mr. Webster's appearance in the "Queensberry Fête" and the "Roused Lion" has been greeted with an appreciation, on the part of the audience, that plainly indicates the high esteem the worthy manager is held in. By the joint efforts of Mr. Manby and Mr. Sang improvements have been effected in the appearance of the house that are as pleasant to behold as they are surprising-surprising, when the short space of time devoted to the alterations is taken into consideration. This extraordinary activity would warrant the supposition that the transformations had been made by the agency of the Lamp of Aladdin.

The son of John Reeve, who was the son of Momus, has made his début at the LYCEUM, in a piece de circonstance, called, "My Father Did So Before Me." This drama undoubtedly is constructed after the manner of the production in which Charles Mathews made his bow before a metropolitan audience, entitled "The Old and Young Stager;" Liston being the Old, and C. Matthews the Young Stager. The present piece differs entirely from its predecessor with regard to either merit in dialogue or interest in action. In short, the estimate the cabman, John Trot, forms of the kiss he gives the Countess, we can apply to " My Father Did So Before Me," and that is, we "don't think much of it." The acting is excellent. The débutant resembles his great prototype. The likeness is strikingly apparent when his features are lighted up; then you cannot fail to observe the same play about the muscles of the mouth, that distinguished his father. The same pliancy of limb that appertained to the father is observable in the son. Who can forget the excellent dancing of "glorious John" in "Cupid"? As the recollection of the Bonassus flashes across our memory, we cannot but declare the similarity existing between the sire and his descendant is great indeed. With the advantange of great practice on the London boards, the present representative of a name rich in its associations of all that is humourous and entertaining, bids fair to perpetuate the well-merited fame of his gifted ancestor. Mr. Reeve's imitation of the tight-rope dancer, and of the rider and master in the circle, is redolent of unction and grotesque humour. Mrs. Yates, Miss Fitzwilliam, and Selby contribute their varied talents to the success of the drama.

In the "Critic," Harley's Don Whiskerandos, Mrs. Yates' Tilburina, Meadows' Sir Walter Raleigh, Bellingham's Sir Christopher Hatton, and Roxby's Earl of Leicester, form strong provocatives to laughter ; whilst Charles Matthews' Puff is thoroughly enjoyed as the best on the stage. Altogether few critics can cavil at the manner Sheridan's composition is expounded nightly at the Lyceum.

Mr. Charles Braham has made a successful appearance at the PRINCESS'S. Like his father, he boasts of a sweet voice, which he manages with great taste. Before he becomes an actor he has a great