Clubs — Theatres — Other amusements — a foreigner's idea of London — London streets and noises — "Buy a broom?" girls.

How did the people amuse themselves? For men of the upper class there were clubs, which were nothing like so numerous as now. First of all comes White's, the doyen of all existing clubs—founded as a Chocolate House in 1698; then, in the next century, the still surviving clubs were Boodle's, Brooks', and Arthur's; while those of the present century are the Guards (1813), United Service, Travellers, Union, United University, AthenÆum, Oriental, Junior United Service, Wyndham, and Oxford and Cambridge. In William the Fourth's reign the following came into existence: the Carlton and Garrick, 1831; the City of London, 1832; Reform, 1835; and the Army and Navy, 1837. These, it will be seen, are purely class clubs; the social clubs were generally held at some respectable tavern, and their names are as unknown now as their numbers.

There were fifteen theatres in London: (1) The King's Theatre or Italian Opera, (2) Drury Lane, (3) Covent Garden, (4) Haymarket, (5) English Opera or Lyceum Theatre, (6) Adelphi, (7) Olympic, (8) Astley's, (9) Surrey, (10) The Coburg (named after Prince Leopold) in Waterloo Road, now the Victoria, (11) Sadler's Wells, (12) City of London (defunct), in Shoreditch, (13) Queen's Theatre, Tottenham Street, Tottenham Court Road (now tenantless), (14) Pavilion, in Whitechapel, and (15) the Garrick, in Leman Street, Whitechapel, no longer used as a theatre. This latter was, on January 20, 1831, prosecuted at the Middlesex Sessions for being unlicensed. "Francis Wyman, Benjamin Conquest, and Charles John Freer, were indicted for having, on the 1st of December, and on divers days since, kept a house for dancing, music, and other like performances, called the Garrick Subscription Theatre, and situate within twenty miles of London, not having a licence obtained at the Michaelmas Quarter Sessions of the Peace for that County." The offence was proved, but the chairman ruled that the performance of music or dancing, as incidental to a play, or in an interval between the acts, did not constitute the keeping of a place for "performing music, dancing, and such like performances," within the meaning of the Act. The evidence showed this place was conducted as a theatre, and, as such, the parties were liable to be proceeded against under other Acts of Parliament, but he could not say they ought to be convicted under this. Not guilty. This little theatre was particularly recommended as closing by eleven o'clock—the performances at the others lasting till twelve or after.

The following notices as to the prices and commencement of performances of those which survive will be interesting for comparison with their present arrangements:—

Vauxhall was open for singing and for dancing, for those who could never hope for entrance into Almacks; and, for those who liked Tom and Jerryism, there were many places which were open all night. But, during the day, for serious people and families there were many attractions. One of them, the bazaar, is practically dead. There were the Soho Bazaar, and the Queen's Bazaar, in Oxford Street, opposite the Pantheon, in which was exhibited the "Royal Clarence Vase," which was made of cut coloured glass, in 2400 pieces, so joined as to be water-tight. It weighed eight tons, its height, including the pedestal, was fourteen feet, and the inner diameter of the bowl was twelve feet. The Pantheon, now the offices of Messrs. W. & A. Gilbey, was opened in May, 1834. It was one of the largest bazaars, with counters for 250 standings for the sale of fancy articles, millinery, jewellery, etc., and there were many rooms devoted to the reception of paintings and statuary. There was the King Street Bazaar, Baker Street, and something like the bazaars were the Western Exchange, between Burlington Arcade and Old Bond Street, and the Burlington and Lowther Arcades.

The Thames Tunnel, though far from complete, was open to the public on payment of a shilling, which sum would also admit to the Exhibition of the Royal Academy at Somerset House. Where the Empire Music Hall, in Leicester Square, now stands, was Miss Linwood's Exhibition of Needlework-pictures, mostly copies from old masters, done in coloured wools. There were the Malediction of Cain, David with his sling, Reynolds's Laughing and Sleeping Girls, Jephtha's Vow, etc., etc.—and very beautiful they were. Entrance, two shillings. In Leicester Square, too, was Burford's Panorama, in which, in April, 1832, were exhibited panoramas of Bombay and Florence. In May, same year, at the Queen's Bazaar, was the Physiorama and the Diorama, with eighteen views altogether, among which were Bristol on fire, Melrose Abbey by moonlight, Joshua commanding the sun to stand still, and the Coronation in Westminster Abbey. At the Colosseum in Regent's Park, finished in 1827 and demolished in 1874, was the famous Panorama of London, which covered nearly an acre of canvas, painted, under the superintendence of Mr. Parris, from sketches made by Mr. Horner in 1821, from St. Paul's, at the time when repairs were going on above the dome of the cathedral. The visitor was raised to the level of the panorama by means of a lift, which in those days was considered a wonder. To see this cost one shilling, whilst for another you might see the Conservatories, Marine Cavern, Swiss Cottage, Waterfall, Alpine scenery, etc. This year, too, there was another panorama at Burford's, a view of Milan, and, during the reign, there were several others, as well as changes at the Diorama.

At the lower end of St. Martin's Lane was the pavilion of the gigantic whale, which was found dead, floating off the coast of Belgium, on November 3, 1827. The skeleton, which was exhibited, was ninety-five feet long, and eighteen broad, and the prices to view were a shilling each person, and "for those who sit in the belly of the whale two shillings." In Bond Street the curious might visit the "Papyro Museum," which was a collection of many groups of miniature figures moulded in paper, and habited and coloured to the life. They were modelled by two ladies, sisters, and took four years to execute. It was not successful, and its fate is described in the following quaint advertisement. Times, September 15, 1832—

In May, 1834, was exhibited at the Baker Street Bazaar, a "Padorama," or a continuous view of the railroad and the adjacent country through which the line of road passes between Manchester and Liverpool. And the same month and year was opened a "Cosmorama" in Regent Street, with views of the Hippodrome at Constantinople, the town of Grenoble, the interior of the Cathedral of St. Gudule at Brussels, the Lake of Thun, and the adjacent Alps, Isola Bella on the Lago Maggiore, the Cascade in the Park of St. Cloud, the Monuments at Philoe, on the Nile, and the Convent of St. Bernard. These two exhibitions seem to have been ephemeral, but the panorama in Leicester Square, and the diorama in Regent's Park, still held their own.

Another ephemeral exhibition took place in this year, which is described in the Times, June 9—

In Tichborne Street was "Weeks' Mechanical Exhibition," where, among other things, was shown an automaton tarantula spider, made of steel, which ran backward and forward, stretched and drew out its legs, and moved its horns and claws. There was also an "animated white mouse, formed chiefly of oriental pearls. This little animal runs about the table, and feeds at pleasure, and looks so tempting that the most daintily fed tabby might consider it a bonne bouche. A caterpillar, the colours of which are represented in enamelled gold and brilliants, is an admirably minute copy of animated nature; it is seen feeding on the foliage of a golden tree. Nor must we forget the figure of an old woman, who at a call comes forth from her cottage, walks leisurely about, supported by the occasional use of her crutches, while the joints in her arms and legs are all in apparently natural motion!" Madame Tussaud's exhibition of waxwork was not open all the year round; up to 1834 the show was in Gray's Inn, and afterwards at the Lowther Rooms, King William Street, Charing Cross. Another minor exhibition was the "Microcosm" in Regent Street, near Piccadilly, where, "by means of the solar microscope, one wine-glassful of river water is shown to contain reptiles of all descriptions, from the newt to the lizard!"

The Zoological Gardens in Regent's Park were opened to the public in 1828, and William IV. considerably augmented the collection of the larger beasts, by presenting the Society with the menagerie which used to be maintained at the Tower. And there were also the Surrey Zoological Gardens, in Manor Place, Walworth, which were first opened to the public in August, 1831. Here was a small menagerie compared with that of the Zoological Society, the property of Mr. Cross, who removed here from Exeter Change, and the gardens were more for popular entertainment. There was a large lake, and, although the place was opened on a somewhat scientific basis, it soon came to be only for amusements, such as concerts, fireworks, etc. It was sold soon after 1862, and is now all built over.

The London of that day was not beautiful, dull rows of houses utterly devoid of any ornament met the eye everywhere. Architecture was practically unknown, and the only improvement that had been made for many years was the building of Regent Street. It was reserved for the Victorian era to redeem the apathy of the past. Hear what a foreigner, Baron d'Haussez, writing in 1833, says—

"In the more recently built parts of London there is nothing imposing but the breadth and handsome proportions of its streets; and in the City nothing but its immense population and the impress of life which commerce imparts to it. With the exception of the churches, whose style, whether Greek or Gothic, is tolerably pure, few buildings fix the attention of a stranger; but a great number may surprise him by the profusion or the singularity of their ornaments, or by the beauty of their site. To this cause, and to the irregularity in the line of buildings, is chiefly owing the effect produced by the houses in Pall Mall, Waterloo Place, Regent Street, and Regent's Park. So much pains have been taken to reproduce the ancient style of architecture, that one might fancy one's self in an ancient Greek or Roman City; there is not a house which has not a monumental character. The slightest examination reveals the numerous imperfections, the glaring faults of imitation without taste, without reason, and at variance with the commonest rules of art."

The Baron is equally outspoken as to some of the social aspects of the metropolis—

"One is often tempted to ask, not if there is a police in London (its agents in a blue uniform, with numbered collars, scattered everywhere, night and day, would render that question superfluous), but what the police does, so little attention is paid to its details—so great its seeming negligence, in order not to appear over meddling: certain it is, however, that the interference of the police is not visible in the cleanliness of the streets, nor in the indication of their names (for the names are wanting at the end of most streets), nor in the passing to and fro of carriages, which are drawn up pÊle mÊle at the entrance of all public places, according to the irresponsible caprice of their drivers. It often happens, in consequence of this confusion, that vehicles of all sorts become locked together; this gives rise to a reciprocation of abuse and blows; nor is the interference of the police here apparent as regards animals, which, in being driven on market days from one end of the town to the other, occasion frequent obstructions and often serious accidents. A certain class of women, too, in spite of English modesty, exercise their shameless calling in a most brazen manner, unchecked by the police; neither do they abate those nuisances of stalls, dangerous to the health and safety of the public; nor bestow the attention on an infinity of objects which, in other countries, claim and deserve the attention of the Municipal Administration. In England, trifles like these are disregarded, and interference is limited to matters of more importance. On the other hand, there are few capitals where robberies are more infrequent, where robbers are so soon discovered and punished, or where popular movements (brought about generally, it is true, by a populace without courage, and unaccustomed to the use of firearms) are sooner suppressed; where there are fewer disastrous occurrences, fewer collisions between the different classes of society; or where all these results are obtained with so little constraint, vexation, and noise."

But it was a very noisy city, this London. The watchmen, not altogether done away with, would croak out his "Past twelve o'clock, and a frosty morning;" the milkwoman made the early morning hideous with her shrieks, as also did the chimneysweep and the newsman, who brought your morning paper; the peripatetic vendor of fish, or cats' meat, cried out, the dustman rang a bell and yelled, whilst all sorts of street hawkers helped to swell the din. Muffin men not only cried out but rang a bell, as did also the postman; but then his bell was legalized and useful, as, on hearing it, people could rush to the door and give him the letters needing posting instead of going to a post-office, which might be some distance off, and there were no pillar-boxes in those days. Then, too, the postmen wore the King's scarlet. The streets were noisy, the roads being paved with squared stones, asphalte never having been dreamt of, and wood-pavement being only just mentioned by the Mechanic's Magazine, quoted in the Times of October 27, 1835—