LONDON.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 29, 3 July 1874, Page 3

LONDON.

(From a correspondent of the Press.) May 5, 1874. “ London is very full ” is now the usual platitude in the mouths of people when they meet west of Temple Bar. The true meaning of the remark is, not that London’s mighty population has suddenly swelled to any perceptible extent, but merely that it has been increased by that comparatively infinitesimal portion which, in obedience to the inexorable laws governing the Fashionable World, feels bound to leave the country at its loveliest and to remain in town at its dirtiest. I don’t think that the members of this little world regret the country very much. It can hardly be expected that nature can have greater attractions for the female fashionable mind than the joys afforded by the Row, the opera, the flower-show, and the ball-room. Neither arc the men averse to a little town life; As soon as poor Reynard’s persecutions are over for the year, and the breech-loaders oiled and put away in their cases, their country homes become insupportably dull, and the bay-windows or smoking-room of the club, the dinner party, and the ride in the Row, offer pleasant refuges from ennui and boredom. The weather up to a day or two ago has been summer like, and I have never seen the Park more resplendent with powdered footmen, oewigged coachmen, bedizened dowagers, elaborate toilettes , splendid equipages, proud steeds, and all the rest of it, than this year. But however gay and amusing it may be for a short time to watch all these vivid evidences of wealth, the eye soon gets tired, unless you arc constituted like many of the throng who will stand or sit staring for hours, and go home happy and proud if they catch a sight of the Princess of Wales, or the Duchess of Edinburgh. There is no repose in the scene, and pleasant is it to retire after a time to a grassy glade in Kensington Gardens close by, where, but for the hum and roar of adjacent life, you might fancy yourself far away in the country. The horse-chestnuts and the may are in full bloom now, and I confess that Kensington Gardens, with all their fresh spring foliage and verdure, have more charms for me than the Row. An extra fillip to the gaiety of the season will be given by the Czar’s visit. His Imperial Majesty is expected at Windsor on flic 13th instant, and it is said to be his wish that his visit may be considered private Let him not delude himself, however, into the idea that his wish will be respected,

Crowned heads are not as “ plentiful as blackberries,” and when we get such a roaring lion amongst us as a real live czar we are not likely to let him off so easily. Already the Mayor and Corporation of London, and the committee of the Crystal Palace have swooped down on him, and his Majesty has telegraphed gracious acceptances to their respective invitations. As he has expressed a wish that his visit to the city may bo by daylight, the entertainment in this quarter will lake the form of a dejeuner at the Mansion House. The fete in his honor at the Crystal Palace is to be, it is announced, on a “scale of magnificence never before attempted.” He is also to have a review at Aldershot, and to be shown at Woolwich Arsenal the new Nasmyth steam hammer, . the most powerful one in the world. One of the most interesting of the regular events of the London season is the Exhibition of the Royal Academy. The new premises, which last year were in a very unfinished state, are now completed, and the saloons were thrown open to the public yesterday. Tire two pictures occupying the posts of honor, and attracting tiie most attention are: —“ The Procession of Our Lady of Boulogne,” by Mr Frith ; and the “ Northwest passage,” by Mr Millais. The former is an enormous canvas. The scene is laid in the Rue dc Boulogne in the bright glare of a July sun. The principal feature is the Bishop in his rich vestments blessing the little children held up to_ him by their parents, and the background is formed by the houses of the street with sight-seen at every balcony and window. The remainder of the canvas is filled up with a motley crowd, treated and grouped with a skill belonging peculiarly to the painter of “ The Derby day,” and “ The railway station,” Priests chanting, sailors, soldiers, gendarmes, holidayfolks, fashionable ladies, standard bearers, and gamins, all make up a wondrous bright and glowing picture of life. Very different, but quite as attractive if not more so, is Mr Millais’ “North west passage.” There are only two figures. A young girl in white muslin sits reading alone at the feet of a weather-beaten, grand-looking old Arctic voyager, whose days for gallant exploits and hard work are over. It is evidently summer time, and through the open windows of the cottage a calm sea glistens in the warm sunshine. The old man’s soul, however, is far away from such soft, peaceful scenes as this —amidst the floes of ice and frozen sea of the Arctic regions. The subject of the girl’s reading is the “ North-west Passage,” and the moment seized by the artist is when something in her narrative kindles all the fire of the gallant old sailor’s spirit, and, striking the table with clenched fist, he exclaims—“ It might be done, and England should do it,” There arc other pictures by the same artists, “ Pamela,” and “ Sleep,” by Mr Frith ; “ Scotch Firs,” and “ Winter Fuel,” by Mr Millais ; all of which arc very good ; but their chefs d’ccuvre this year are the two I have described. The other pictures which seem to attract notice are Mr, Leighton’s “ Clyterancstra from the battlements of Argos, watches for the beacon fires which are to announce the return of Agamemnon a classical subject, treated in rather a severe style ; “ Prometheus,” another classical picture, an ambitious and powerful piece of work by a comparatively young hand, Mr Richmond ; Mr Herbert’s “ Adoration of the Magi and “ Galling over the roll after an Engagement in the Crimea,” a striking and spirited canvass, the work of a young artist, Miss E. Thompson. Mr Calderon, in his picture, “Half-hours with the best Authors,” uses bis brushes for giving his brothers of the pen a sly cut. Three young girls en dishabille, are in a boudoir, one is reading aloud to the other two, who arc sound asleep. It is rather hard, however, in the cursory examination I was able to bestow to notice everything worthy of notice, and no doubt I have passed over several gems. The walls were crowded with mediocre pictures, and there were many besides which did not even rise to mediocrity. There was no attempt, apparently, at any system of arrangement, and much dissatisfaction is expressed at the way in which the hanging committee have performed their duty. Altogether, the exhibition this year, though very full, is considered rather below the usual standard. The works of art sent amounted to 4481, being an increase of 312 over the previous year. Of these the council were only able to place 1328. The theatres arc putting forth their most attractive bills, and hold their own well amidst the other amusements and gaieties of the season. Opera houffc is a species of entertainment which seems to have taken a firm hold on the English taste. It has found a permanent home in many a London Theatre, and those houses which cannot command the

services of an Offenbach or Lc Cocq, fnll back upon nativetalciit for “musical absurdities,” “ musical extravaganzas,” or “ musical acts.” All this ’s an improvement on tl->-burlesques, which, with their perpetual “breakdowns,” musichall songs,and excruciat - ing word twisting, were becoming vety dreary. La Filin tin Matlomn Annot, has been the rage here for some time, as it has been in Paris, Brussels, and Naples, and it lias been going on at two theatres in the metropolis at the same time. At one of these it has just been withdrawn, and now the amiliar old Gcnivinve do Jirahant, as if the English public could never have enough of her, is once more on the London boards drawing ci'owded houses, 1 suppose she has ere this found her way out to you. and, if so, you may depend that IjO Filin will soon follow. We are about to lose for a time one of our most popular old stagers—Mr Toole. He is, like every one else who makes a name in this country, going to America to pick up, I suppose, some of our transatlantic cousins’ dollars. Many who go with this laudable intention find that America is not a Tom Tiddler’s ground ; but I fancy Mr Toole will be fortunate, for he is just the style of actor to go down over there. That he will be I sincerely hope, for he deserves pecuniary success ; his open-handed liberality to his less fortunate professional brethren is well known.

With May-day the coaching season for this year haa come round again. Coaching is once more an institution of the country, and for its revival the public are indebted to the noblemen and gentlemen, who horse the coaches and drive them as well. The different “ teams” arc always the best that money can procure, and everything connected with the service is turned out so regardless of expense that, although the coaches are always crowded, the proprietors barely re-coup themselves by the end of the season. It is not the desire for gain though which aminates them, but an Englishman’s sheer love of horses and everything connected with them. You cannot pass a summer’s day more pleasantly than on the top of one of these coaches, driving through English rural scenery you never get a peep of from the train. The coaches now on the road are the Tunbridge Wells, Guildford, Watford, Wycombe, Dorking, and Windsor. The route of the last is the prettiest of all, taking you through Kcw, Hampton Court, Staines, and Richmond. The Rochester and Wcstcrham coaches don’t commence running until later, and the Reigatc and Brighton, I believe, do not start at all this year. The latter was managed last season by an American gentleman who had come over expressly to drive an English coach, and did so to his own satisfaction, and that of his numerous passengers. A successor has not turned up. Another pursuit which has its origin in an Englishman’s love for horses and riding has of late sprung up. It is a game called Polo, which may be described as hockey on horseback. That it can ever become a popular pastime, like cricket and football, is of course out of the question. To be a Poloist you must be a rich man. The animals used in the game are nimble, well shaped, handy little creatures, and with hogged manes and docked tails —the correct coiffure for a polo poney—they look, as well as are, uncommonly smart and clever. The riders change their ponies generally after each game, and this necessitates the proprietorship of a regular stud of these little animals. The patrons of the game arc, consequently, young noblemen and men of fortune, officers in the household troops and crack cavalry regiments. It is an exciting game to watch, aud, as an exhibition of training aud agility on the part of the ponies and nerve and horsemanship on the part of the players, it is very good. Sir Garnet Wolsclcy has refused the baronetcy offered to him, on the grounds that his heart was in his profession, aud that professional advancement was all he looked forward to. £25,000 has been granted to him instead. He does not seem to value an elevation to the baronetage as highly as a certain gentleman connected with Parliament and the city, who has just had that honor conferred upon him, and has sent 2000 guineas to the chairman of the Surrey Sessions, to be added to the fund of the Cinque cottages, as a “ thank-offering for being made a baronet.” Sir Garnet aud his officers are to have another banquet at Portsmouth this week, and I hope their digestive organs have not yet been ruined by the severe course of public dinners they have been put through. I have found out that I, too, am a hero, and have been passing through perils with admirable coolness. I am, in consequence, going to entertain myself at a banquet at the Criterion as soon as I have sent off your letter this evening. The discovery of my coolness and gallantry was made while

reading the Registrar-General’s report for 1873, by which it appears that during that year 2'C> people wore killed in the streets of London by waggons, omnibuses, tramways, and cabs; while accidents, which, though not fatal, were serious enough to be entered in the reports, amount to twenty times that number. Through all these dangers have I been perambulating the streets of the metropolis with the utmost sang fro'ul. 1 really begin to think that Jack’s view of the case is the right one when he talks about “them foolhardy chaps as lives in towns.” The Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh have accepted the Duke of Abercorn’s invitation to Ireland in the ‘summer or autumn, and it is reported that the Queen, accompanied by the Prince and Princess of Wales, Prince Arthur, and the Duke of Cambridge, and. probably, the King and Queen of the Belgians, will be of his grace’s party. All people have their faults, but inhospitality is assuredly not an Irish one, and I daresay the royal party will receive a cordial welcome. If everything goes smoothly during the visit, it will have a capital effect, I think. The Irish are warm-hearted and impressionable, and the Prince of Wales and Prince Arthur are the most genial and affable of princes.

An application for a new trial of “ The Queen v. Castro ” has been refused, and, thank heaven,we shall be spared the third infliction of a Tichborne trial. Bach argument Dr Keuealey put forward was met and demolished in detail by Mr Justice Blackburn, who delivered the formal judgment of himself and brother Judges in the Court of Queen’s Bench. Dr Keuealey is determined, however, that we shall not hear the last of the case just yet. He has started a paper called the “ Englishman,” whose columns are almost exclusively devoted to stirring up the mud and dirt of the last trial. I had the curiosity to buy a copy and read it. The language is like a sailor’s beau ideal of grog “ hot and strong,” and I fancy that unless the learned editor curbs his pen somewhat it will get him into trouble. All his disciples follow suit, and are very violent. There was a large meeting of the claimant’s supporters at St James’s Hall last mouth, at which “ Lady Tichborne,” and her two children, led by young Bogle, appeared on the platform. Mr Skipworth—the gentleman who underwent three months’ imprisonment for contempt of Court, and who is now, of course, the last person to confess that it was in a worthless cause—occupied the chair, and made a characteristic speech. At the mention anyone of the judges, or celebrities connected with the prosecution, there were furious cries of “ Burn him 1” “ Lynch him!” “Gibbet him!” But there was an incident which even more fully showed how peculiarly fitted these gentlemen were to form a calm judgment on a knotty point. Sitting in a shilling seat was an old gentleman in whom the crowd suddenly detected a fancied resemblance to Mr Hawkins, Q.C. “He’s Hawkins’ father,” shouted out some one. “He’s Hawkins’ father,” yelled the crowd, and, forthwith it laid hands upon him and would have torn him to pieces, or at least grievously maltreated him, had he not been dragged, trembling and frightened out of his wits, on to the platform. After the chairman had vociferously roared several times “ He’s not Hawkins’ father 1” the audience quieted down a little, and the old gentleman with the unfortunate likeness was suffered to depart by the back entrance. It behoves anyone contemplating an attendance at one of these meetings to carefully compare his features with those of the leading personages of the prosecution, and, if he detect any point of similarity he had better stay away. I see a new paper, called “ The True Briton,” has started into existence. It describes itself as “ an antidote to ‘ The Englishman,’ ” and makes a good sensational start in its first number by announcing the threatened assassination of the editor. A new venture of the sort requires something startling to set it going, or it will never emerge into notice at all. There are no ICss than 341 newspapers published in London—49 daily, 223 weekly, and 69 miscellaneous. The struggle between the farmers and labourers of the Eastern counties continues without any abatement whatever. The number of men locked out are increasing daily, and the farmers evince no symptoms of retreating from their position. The dispute has furnished, and is furnishing, the colonial agents with a fruitful source of emigration. The number of souls sent out to New Zealand by the Agent-General for that colony during April amount to 4800, mainly from the Eastern counties. During the three months ending March 31st he despatched 9300 souls, and during the ensuing months of May and June he expects to send 7000 more, making a total for the six months of no less than 21,100 souls.