The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-08-28

\
In the Derby week London is Inundated
with sauires. gentlemen farmers, undergradu-
ates truant from the universities, oi1cers Irom
| Aldershot and country quarters. Every klno
! of amusement which British ingenuity can
! invent is catered for their benefit; but the list
of them is by no means large.
First and foremost comes Cremorne. II is a
huge garden, brilliantly lighted, and deco
rated, 1t is -needlessly to say, in excessively
bad taste. 1t contains a theatre, in which the
entertainments are chiefly of ballet charac-
ter; the ballet is second rate, but the corps is
numerous and very thinly clothed. There is
also a circus, some American bowling alleys, q
fortune-teller in a grotto, and variety of
booths, such as may be seen in a country fair
In the centre of the garden is a large platform;
tine band OF music plays, and q few couples
waltz over the wilderness of boards in an iso-
lated, melancholy kind Of way. The prome-
made is perfectly correct and an elegant, we'll
dressed crowd walk interminably round and
round; there is much beauty, and the toilets
are magnificent; the salutatons which are ex-
changed are rather familiar, and sometimes
the laughter is little loud: otherwise the
unskilled observer might imagine that he had
entered the beau mode.
Such is Cremorne; a Jardiu Mabille without
the cdncdn; which is the "Hamet' without
the Prince. Forget that it is dssoute, and it
becomes extremely dull; its entertainments
are stupid; its suppers are detest1ble; there is
no gapety; no medium between the most rigid
decorum and frantic riot
During the last twenty years London has
been gradually keeping better hours. In the
days of Pierce Egan's '"Tom and jerry" and
of the mad Lord Waterford, the young bucks
used to go to the Finish in Covent Garden,
polished off a watchman or two in the gray
dusk of early morn and had seldom bagged
their last l1nOcker before daylight. Less than
ten years ago there were cider cellars and
coal holes in which minstrel entertainments,
poses pLaStigueS and other delicate amuse-
ments used to be prolonged till two, three,
or even four A. M. But these gradually died
away, and FIVE years ago the only places open
to the homeless wanderer were the restaurant
saloons, significantly called lighthouses, and
one casino in the neighborhood of Oxford
street, which was opened at one, and in which
dancing was prolonged till six; which was very
select, and to which it was necessary to go in
evening dress.
These establishments were not allowed to
retail wine, beer, or spirituous drinks but
under their refreshment license they could be
open till any hour, and they easily managed
to evade the law.
1t was done thus:-Two gentlemen, we will
suppose find themselves on their way home
from party in the neighborhood of Princes
street, Leicester square. They are suddenly
seized with a desire to drink cham
gently at the door. little wicket
is opened, and the aperture is filled with
an uneasy blood-shot eye. 1t settles into
calmness as it surveys the white cravat: the
door is opened: they go in; before them long
passage and another door, guarded by another
porter. ''All right, Tom," says the first
porter: and the second door is opened. They
enter a large saloon lined with red velvet
div&ns; counters at both ends; supper rooms
at the sides; champagne bottles popping, silk
gowns rustling. SpWgeon cries q voice.
waiter closely resembling that Justly celebrated
preacher attends the summons. A gin sling
and a glass of cold pale! Satan cries another
voice. and man with black, elf locks dancing
round his forehead appears. A bottle Of .JtzS
In the midst of this scene a bell rings. Bot
ties and glasses disappear from the counters
into unknown depths. Satan and Spurgeon
run wildly to and fro. In minute the marble
tables are bare. The door opens, and two
policemen enter the room, look round them
supinely, and vanish amid derisive laughter;
and the play goes on.
Butt think it was in lS62-a certain police
magistrate of rigid morals determined that this
sort of thing should be put stop to. An act
of Parliament was passed cOndemning all re-
freshment rooms to be closed at l A. M. The
policement were ordered to enforce the law,
it has been enforced; and marvellous has been
the result. Previously, London displayed a
spectacle, without its parallel in this wicked
world. Often in broad daylight, on a sum-
mer's morning, the Haymarket would be
crowded with class of persons who do not
appear to advantage at such an hour, and a
| large majority of whom would be intoxicated
| more or less. But now, at o'clock the streets
are deserted, and nearly every one in bed.
| This measure OF reform pleased all parties i'm
morality lost nothing by it, and decorum
| gained good deal; which, of course, is a very
| satisfactory state of things.
| The music hall is also growth of modern
| times. Young men can remember when
Evans was the only place where one could eat
ones supper to the sound of music; but only
middle aged men can recall the Evans of the
past; the cozy little room, with its snug
corners and its literary cOteries, celebrated by
Thackeray Gas the Dust-Hole) in the "New-
comes" But the days in which the com
pany could take part in the entertainment
passed by The little room gave place to a
spacious hall, with private boxes darkly
screened, but behind which fair faces could
sometimes be dimly seen, and a gallery O
theatrical paintings, second only to the collec-
tion in the Garrick, lined the walls. Their
came the era OF Paddy Green, with his iowa
red face, and his hospitabe snuff-box, and his
merry, familiar, oft-repeated Jokes. But as
huge building sprang up in HOlborn and his
reign was at an end,
Weston's Music Hall prepared the way fol
the Alhambra, as Evans prepared the way fol
Weston's. At Evans choristers from West
minister Abbey used to sing glees; there wa!
some good "comic talent" usually engaged
and sometimes an Indian jugger. Everything
was rgidly proper: the element that shocked