dinner-parties than that, whilst the master was getting drunk in the dining-room, the coachman was getting drunk in the servants' hall, and managed to turn his master over in a ditch before they reached home. In this respect the last hundred years have produced a vast and most encouraging change.
The assessments of the period continued much what they had been previously, with some additional features. The theatre retained all its profligacy, as may be seen in the remaining plays of the time, and much of its absurdity. Gibber, Quin, and Garrick carried acting to its perfection, and introduced increased splendour of scenery and costume; but the obvious propriety of dressing their characters in the costume of the countries, times, and rank in which they lived, had not yet forced itself on the perception of either managers or public. "Cleopatra," "Semiramis," "Portiafi" or "Antigone," in the very deepest tragedy, would appear in the hooped petticoat, and with the powdered or towered head of the day, with her fan, and perhaps her lap-dog. Addison was by no means shocked at seeing his "Cato" represented in a flowing wig, square-cut coat, and Brussels lace neckcloth, at the same time that he was keenly alive to other absurdities—such as those of Flanders mares drawing aërial chariots, and real water flowing through canvas scenes. Besides the chief theatres and the opera, there were various minor theatres and places of exhibition, as Powel's Puppet Theatre, in the Piazza of Covent-garden, where pieces from the Bible history wore acted with all the outrageous extravagances of the old miracle plays; where "Punch" might be seen dancing in Noah's Ark, or gaily figuring in the "Fall of Man." There was Winstanley's Water Theatre, in Piccadilly, where all kinds of aquatic pieces, enlivened by sea-nymphs, mermaids, tritons, &c., spouting fire and water, had a great charm for the public. Sadler's Wells, a mixture of the theatre and tavern, was a great resort to see the spectacles and hear the songs, to drink and smoke.
The suburbs abounded with places of entertainment. There were places up and down the river: as the Folly-house, Blackwall, and others at Chelsea, Kew, and Richmond, to which parties in boats went to eat fish, drink, smoke, walk in gardens, and listen to music. Ranelagh and Vauxhall were in their glory, with all their lamps and music, their frivolities and flirtations; but in the outskirts were various places which vied with them in their most vicious attractions.
Shooting matches were common in the outskirts; bowls, skittles, cricket, and foot-ball drew their thousands to Covent Garden Piazza, to Islington, to the Artillery Ground, and to numerous taverns of the suburbs. Boxing and prize-fighting were great amusements, and encouraged by the aristocracy, as tending to produce a true John Bull character. The prize-fighting was a brutal and bloody spectacle, as described by a writer of the period. Bull-baiting, bear-baiting, dog and cock fighting, and the hanging of malefactors at Tyburn, still had wonderful charms for the populace.
Once a year all London was thrown into an uproar by Bartholomew Fair. This fair, which had continued to collect all the gentle and simple of London from the reign of Edward I., was legally confined to three, days, but often extended itself much beyond that time; and high and low were drawn there in dense crowds, to see its shows and join in its hubbub. This scene of metropolitan riot has only been suppressed in our time.
When the London season was over, the aristocracy flocked to Bath, Tunbridge Wells, and Epsom Wells, on the plea of sinking health, but only to continue the routine of dissipation. There water-drinking, parading, music, concerts, and parties helped the empty-minded gentry to endure their fives tin the London season came round again. In the country the mode of spending time was the same as it had been for ages, for education and more intellectual pursuits had not yet ennobled the country life of the aristocracy. The old round of hunting, shooting, coursing, the county ball, and the country fair, filled up the time of the rude and ignorant gentry, whose portraitures had been handed down to us by Fielding and Smollett. The ladies divided themselves very much into two classes,—the fashionable one, whom we have described, and the greater number, who contrived to vegetate at home, amid hunting and drinking squires, making preserves, distilling cordial waters, and feeding and doctoring their poor neighbours. Very few books then found their way into the country town to enliven it, for there were no circulating libraries, and no Mudies in those days; yet the stories of Fielding, Richardson, Sterne, and Smollett were beginning to find their way into the country hall and the parsonage, and to herald a more awakened day. A journey to town now and then was a great event, and the travelling up through most infamous roads in the heavy old family coach, its recesses well stored with provisions and cordial drinks, and the exciting fears of highwaymen, and the wonders and adventures of a short sojourn amid the gaieties, vices, and impositions of London, served to furnish topics for conversation for years after.
In the Scottish portion of the empire, everything like lightness and gaiety was discountenanced by the presbyterian spirit; cards, theatres, singing, and any music but that of psalms, were regarded as sinful. The more innocent walk or cheerful converse on a Sabbath day were deemed violations of its sanctity. The certain consequence of this extreme severity was to drive the latitudinarian portion of the people into excess. All rational amusement being cut off, these betook themselves to taverns and public-houses. Drinking whisky and other strong liquors became excessive amongst the lawyers, the merchants, and the tradesmen. The lawyers, on Saturday nights, held their high jinks, as described by Scott in the novel of "Guy Mannering." Their example was freely followed by their clerks, and by the burghers, not less than by the populace. In strange contrast to the gloomy severity of the clergy and the religious portion of the community, stood out the hard drinking and rollicking of the other portion. Spite of the strict injunctions for keeping the Sabbath, numbers of tradesmen and others swarmed out of the to inns to the neighbouring villages, where they indulged themselves in good suppers and plenty of whisky, on Sunday evenings.
The streets of Edinburgh were as much infested as those
