or less frequently at a time. In answer to this, let me remark, that my observations do not apply to books taken in the mass; they have a reference only to works whose interest and popularity are in some degree guaranteed by the name of the author; and these assuredly are not so numerous that an interval of two or three weeks could not be suffered to pass, by a little arrangement, between their respective publications. I would throw it out as a suggestion to publishers, whether it would not be advisable, viewed merely as a matter affecting their own pecuniary interests, to come to some understanding with each other on the subject.'

Several chapters are devoted to the Bank of England, the Royal Exchange, and the Stock Exchange. We may observe generally, that the latter portion of the work is much better than the commencement: the author is not without talent, whenever he chances on a subject not wholly uncongenial to its display. His anecdotes are often racily told; and though he does not possess the qualities of an authentic narrator, he sometimes exhibits those of a pleasant gossip. The following passage certainly presents the grave business of the Stock Exchange in a point of view that will a little surprise our country readers:

The first impression of a stranger on entering the Stock Exchange, were he not previously otherwise informed, would naturally be, that instead of being met to transact important business, they had assembled for the express purpose of having a little fun and frolic together. You not only hear them uttering, in addition to the sounds just alluded to, all other sorts of sounds, some of which partake a good deal of the zoological character, but you see a large proportion of them playing all manner of tricks at each other's expense. One of the most approved of these tricks, if we are to judge from the extent to which it is practised, is that of knocking one's hat down over one's eyes. This pastime, I believe, they call "eclipsing," or "bonneting." If the hat only goes down so far as not to prevent altogether the use of one's luminaries, it is, I presume, called a partial eclipse; but when the application of one's hand to the crown of the hat is given with such vigour as to force it down over the optics of the party who chances to be at the time the person played on, it is called a total eclipse. How far it can be so called with propriety is at least a debatable point; for I have been assured by those who have undergone the somewhat unpleasant experiment of eclipsing, that if they saw nothing else, the severity and suddenness of "the whack," to use Stock Exchange phraseology, has made them see stars innumerable. How many crowns of "best beavers" have been so completely "knocked in," as to render the hats ever afterwards unwearable, by means of the process of eclipsing, is, I suspect, a question which the most skilful calculator in the house would not undertake to decide. The cases from first to last of the destruction of hats in this way, must be innumerable ; but the ingenuity of some of the members has discovered other means of assisting the hatters, where the eclipsing plan fails of effect. The members in question are remarkably expert at knocking the hats of other members off their heads altogether, and then kicking them about on the

floor until they are shattered to pieces. So marked indeed are the hatdestroying propensities of some of the members, that a stranger would come away with the impression, that they were in the pay of the leading city hat-manufacturers. Query-Are they so?

The dexterity which many of the members have acquired from long practice, at playing all manner of tricks with the hats of each other, is really surprising, and would, were they inclined to accept it, procure them an engagement at any of the theatres. By wetting the fore-part of their fingers, and applying them to the hat of the party to be operated on, they, unconsciously to him, can make it let go its hold of his head, and then, before it has quitted his cranium entirely, they give it another "touch," as they call it, with the aforesaid forepart of their fingers, which sends it spinning through the place a distance perhaps of forty or fifty feet.

There are various other pastimes which are daily practised on the Stock Exchange, besides those I have mentioned. Occasionally you will see walking-canes, umbrellas, etc. moving about through the place, to the imminent hazard of the heads of members. Chalking one another's backs is one of their most harmless expedients, when in a larking humour. The figures sometimes made on these occasions are of so odd a character, as to be equally beyond the pale of Euclid's mathematics, and the tailorifics of any German knight of the thimble, or any other distinguished professor of the "fitting" art. It is scarcely necessary to say that when a person's back is thus well chalked he cuts a very odd figure. Not long ago, two of the gentlemen of the house mutually chalked each other's back with every conceivable variety of stroke, without the one knowing that the other had been playing any of his old tricks. The other gents, or at least that portion of them who most keenly relish a little frolic, had, of course, their laugh at the expense of both parties, while they individually richly enjoyed the affair, thinking they had achieved a wonderful exploit in having got through the chalking process without the party chalked being aware of the trick that had been played him. When others looked into their faces and laughed heartily, they each fancied it was in the way of giving them credit for their dexterity, and congratulated themselves accordingly. Little did either suppose the other gentlemen were laughing at, instead of with, them. But perhaps the most amusing part of the affair, was that of the two chalked parties laughing most immoderately at each other, and winking at the other gentlemen around them, by way of self-gratulation at the ridiculous figure the one had been the means of making the other look. When the discovery was made of how they had tricked each other, both were mortified and crest-fallen in the greatest degree.'

From the Royal Exchange our author proceeds to the Old Bailey, and favours us with some historiettes, which, making allowance for the exaggerations common to one who indulges in the dramatic artifices of dialogue, are characteristic enough. But the gem of this chapter, and, indeed, of the whole work, is the description of a gentleman whose enthusiasm seems to have taken a direction so original, that he ought to make the reputation of a novelist,—and to a novelist, sooner or later, we predict that he will fall a prey:

Mr Curtis is known to every body in and about the place, and nobody can know him without being attached to him. A more honest, kind-hearted, or inoffensiye creature does not exist. For nearly a quarter of a century has he been in constant attendance at the Old Bailey, from the opening to the close of each session, never, so far as I am aware, being absent, with the exception of two occasions when attending the county assizes. . . . He is particularly partial to wet weather, and is as fond of a rainy day as if he were a duck. He is never so comfortable as when thoroughly drenched. . . . . His taste for executions, and for the society of persons sentenced to death, is remarkable. He has been present at every execution in the metropolis and its immediate neighbourhood, for the last quarter of a century. This may appear so improbable a statement, that it may be proper to mention I have it from his own lips; and nothing in the world would induce him to state what is not true. Nay, so powerful is his propensity for witnessing executions, that, some years since, he actually walked down before breakfast to Chelmsford, which is twentynine miles from London, to be present at the execution of Captain Moir. For a great many years past he has not only heard the condemned sermon peached in Newgate, but has spent many hours in their gloomy cells, with the leading men who have been executed in London during that time. He was a great favourite with poor Fauntleroy. Many an hour did Mr Curtis spend in Newgate with that unfortunate man. He was with him a considerable part of the day previous to his execution. With Corder, too, of Red Barn notoriety, he contracted a warm friendship; sleeping, I think he has told me, repeatedly on the same bed as that unhappy man had been accustomed to sleep on. Immediately on the discovery of the murder of Maria Martin, he hastened down to the scene, and there remained till the execution of William Corder, making a period of several weeks. He afterwards wrote "Memoirs of Corder," which extended to upwards of three hundred pages. The work was published by the present Lord Mayor, then Mr Kelly; and being published in sixpenny numbers, had a large sale. Three portraits, all engraved on one piece of plate, embellished the work. They were portraits of William Corder, Maria Martin, and Mr Curtis himself. I believe this is the only literary work of Mr Curtis; he is proud of it; nothing pleases him better than to be called the biographer of Corder.

By some unaccountable sort of fatality, Mr Curtis, where he is unknown, has always had the mortification of being mistaken, under very awkward circumstances, for other parties. He was never at Dover but once in his life, and on that occasion he was locked up all night on suspicion of being a spy. When he went down to Chelmsford, to be present at the execution of the unfortunate captain, whose name I have already mentioned, he engaged a bed early in the morning the day before the execution, at the Three Cups Tavern. On returning to the inn in the evening, he saw every body stare at him as hard as if he had been a giraffe. The female servants rushed out of his sight the moment they fixed their eyes on him. Among the men-servants, in addition to the feeling of horror with which they clearly regarded him, he heard a variety of whispers, without being able to understand the why or wherefore. At last, the landlady of of the Three Cups advanced a few steps towards him, though still keeping at a distance of some yards, and said in tremulous accents and with quivering frame,-"We cannot give you a bed here: when I promised you one, I did not know the house was so full as it is." "Ma'am," said Mr Curtis, indignantly, at the same time pulling himself up- Ma'am, I have taken my bed, and I insist on having it.

"I'm very sorry for it, but you cannot sleep here to-night."

"I will sleep here to-night; I've engaged my bed, and refuse it me

at your peril," said Mr Curtis, thrusting his right hand into the breast of

his waistcoat, and assuming an aspect of offended dignity.

،

"It's impossible; it's impossible; it cannot be," observed the land

lady of the Three Cups, with great eagerness and emphasis.

66

Why, madam? I should like to know the reason why?" taking off his glasses, and buttoning his coat.

66

I'll pay the price of your bed in any other place, if you'll only go and sleep somewhere else," was the only answer of the relict of the late Mr Boniface.

6.66

No, ma'am," said Mr Curtis, with an edifying energy, the brilliant indignation of his eye proclaiming with expressive eloquence the spirit with which he resented the affront offered to him, "No, ma'am, I insist on my rights as a public man; I have a duty to perform to-morrow." As he spoke, he took three or four hasty paces through the room.

"It's all true. He says he's a public man, and that he has a duty to perform," were words which every person in the room exchanged in suppressed whispers with each other.

The waiter now stepped up to Mr Curtis, and taking him aside, said "The reason why Missus won't give you no bed, is because you're the executioner;" and, as he uttered the words, he drew himself back from Mr Curtis, as if the latter had been a walking cholera. Mr Curtis was on the first announcement of the thing somewhat astounded; but in a few moments he laughed heartily at the mistake. "I'll soon convince you of your error, ma'am," said Mr Curtis, walking out of the house. He returned in about ten minutes with a respectable gentleman of the place, with whom he was acquainted; and the gentleman having spoken to the fact of his identity being different from what had been supposed, the landlady made a thousand apologies for the mistake, and as the only reparation she could make him, she gave him the best bed in the Three Cups Tavern.

، This was, in all conscience, a sufficiently awkward mistake; but it was nothing to one which was made on another occasion. I have already mentioned the zest with which he enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in Corder's bed. That, however, was not enough; nor did it satisfy him to spend night after night with him in prison. He accompanied Corder to his trial, and stood up close behind him at the bar all the time the trial lasted. A limner had been sent from Ipswich to take a a portrait of Corder, for one of the newspapers of that place. And what did he do? Nobody, I am sure, would guess. Why, the stupid animal, as Mr Curtis justly calls him, actually took a sketch of Mr Curtis himself, mistaking him for Corder; and in the next number of the provincial print, Mr Curtis figured at full length as the murderer of Maria Martin! Mr Curtis regards this as one of the most amusing incidents in his life; and I speak seriously when I say, that while expressing his anxiety that I would omit none of those adventures of his which I have here given, he was particularly solicitous that this incident should have a place. I promised I would attend to his wishes. I have kept my word.'

Our author appears to us to show good sense and a proper philosophy in the passage we subjoin from his chapter on New

VOL. LXV. NO. CXXXII.

gate, which appropriately enough follows that on the Old Bailey :

There lives not the man who can more cordially venerate than I do, those philanthropic individuals who spend so much of their time in endeavouring to enlighten the minds of those in Newgate who are standing on the verge of eternity, in matters of a spiritual kind. But I am afraid that their good offices are sometimes deficient in Christian prudence. I confess it has always appeared to me a matter which ought to be one of deep concern to Christians, that almost all the culprits who are executed, mount the scaffold with the most entire persuasion, that all is safe as regards their future destinies. In most cases they have had only a few conversations with their spiritual advisers, before they seem to be as much satisfied that their absence from the earth will be their presence in heaven, as that they are about to close their connexion with all things below for ever. This is a matter of such general occurrence; that it has become a daily remark, that if a man wishes to make sure of the way to heaven, he has only to go by the gallows. I am aware that the abuse of a thing is no argument against the thing itself; and that though some men were on this account to think lightly of the commission of crimes against society, that would be no reason for not communicating spiritual instruction, and administering, within proper limits, spiritual consolation to persons condemned to death. But I much fear that when the cases are so numerous in which men who have been guilty of the grossest crimes, both against the Deity and their fellow-men, thus ascend the scaffold, with so entire a confidence in a happy hereafter, there must be something injudicious in the way in which the duties of a spiritual monitor are discharged.'

Of the character of these volumes our readers will now form a pretty unanimous judgment. As a treatise upon the society, interests, employments, and characteristic phenomena of the good people of London, its whole pretensions, as we before intimated, consist in its title. On a considerable proportion of the matter he selects, our author exhibits as much ignorance as if he had been treating of Timbuctoo; while on others, in regard to which his opportunities of information are more favourable, he displays much shrewdness, natural humour, and a vein of good-natured caricature, which redeem many blunders in detail; and make us hope that we may meet with him again upon ground not quite so rashly entered, and so utterly unknown to him.

We cannot conclude this very slight notice without a few remarks, which certain portions, and, still more, certain omissions of the work suggest to us.

London presents many features in the existing relations between society and literature, peculiar to itself, and also to the time. That rank within rank which has furnished inspiration to so many of our novelists, and is called Fashion'-a rank not