and wealth of an alderman or the lord mayor of London, simply by reading the "Young Man's Best Companion." Money is not so easily made as the writer of the article referred to would lead people to suppose; if it be so, few need be poor. But to our text: fortunes made by advertising. Undoubtedly the greatest man of the day, as an advertiser, is Holloway, who expends the enormous sum of twenty thousand pounds annually in advertisements alone; his name is not only to be seen in nearly every paper and periodical published in the British isles, but as if this country was too small for this individual's exploits, he stretches over the whole of India, having agents in all the different parts of the upper, central, and lower provinces of that immense country, publishing his medicaments in the Hindoo, Oordoo, Goozratee, Persian, and other native languages, so that the Indian public can take the pills and use his ointment, according to general directions, as a Cockney would do within the sound of Bow bells. We find him again at Hong Kong and Canton, making his medicines known to the Celestials by means of a Chinese translation. We trace him from thence to the Philippine Islands, where he is circulating his preparations in the native languages. At Singapore he has a large depôt: his agents there supply all the islands in the Indian Seas. His advertisements are published in most of the papers at Sydney, Hobart Town, Launceston, Adelaide, Port Philip, and indeed in almost every town of that vast portion of the British empire. Returning homewards, we find his Pills and Ointment selling at Valparaiso, Lima, Callao, and other ports in the Pacific. Doubling the Horn, we track him in the Atlantic-at Monte Video, Buenos Ayres, Santos, Rio de Janeiro, Bahia, and Pernambuco: he is advertising in those parts in Spanish and Portuguese. In all the British West India Islands, as also in the Upper and Lower Canadas, and the neighbouring provinces of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, his medicines are as familiarly known, and sold by every druggist, as they are at home. In the Mediterranean we find them selling at Malta, Corfu, Athens, and Alexandria, besides at Tunis and other portions of the Barbary states, Any one taking the trouble to look at the Journal and Courier of Constantinople, may find in these, as well as other papers, that Holloway's medicines are regularly advertised and selling throughout the Turkish Empire; and even in Russia, where an almost insurmountable barrier exists, the laws there prohibiting the entrée of patent medicines, Holloway's ingenuity has been at work, and obviates this difficulty by forwarding supplies to his agent at Odessa, a port situated on the

Black Sea, where they filter themselves surreptitiously by various channels into the very heart of the empire. Africa has not been forgotten by this indefatigable man, who has an agent on the River Gambia; also at Sierra Leone, the plague spot of the world, the inhabitants readily avail themselves of the ointment and pills; thus we can show our readers that Holloway has made the complete circuit of the globe, commencing with India and ending, as we now do, with the Cape of Good Hope, where his medicines are published in the Dutch and English languages; and while speaking of Dutch, we have heard that he has made large shipments to Holland, and is about advertising in every paper or periodical published in that kingdom: we might add that he has also started his medicine in some parts of France: in some portions of Germany: as also in some of the Italian states. We have been at some little trouble to collect all these facts, because we fear that the article before alluded to, "the Art of making Money," is calculated to lead people to spend their means in the hope (as the author states) of making a hundred thousand pounds in six years for his pains, by holding up as an easy example to follow such a man as Holloway, who is really a Napoleon in his way. Many may have the means, but have they the knowledge, ability, energy, judgment, and prudence necessary? Failing in any one of these requisites, a total loss is certain. Holloway is a man calculated to undertake any enterprise requiring immense energies of body and mind. No doubt he has been well repaid for all his labours; and is, we should suppose, in a fair way of making a large fortune. Of course it is not to our interest to deter the public from advertising; but, as guardians of their interest, we think it our incumbent duty to place a lighthouse upon what we consider a dangerous shoal, which may perhaps sooner or later prevent shipwreck and ruin to the sanguine and inexperienced about to navigate in such waters.

The editor of the "Edinburgh Review," in a number published about three years ago, stated, that he considered he was making a desirable bequest to posterity, by handing down to them the amount of talent and ability required by the present class of large advertisers. At that period Holloway's mode of advertising was most prominently set forth: and if these remarks, conjointly with his, should descend to a generation to come, it will be known to what extent the subject of this article was able to carry out his views, together with the consequent expenditure in making known the merits of his preparations to nearly the whole world.-Pictorial Times.

66

HAYMARKET THEATRE.

A piece has been brought out at this theatre lately entitled "The Light Troops of St. James," the plot of which is not at all calculated to interest an audience very strikingly. The play however affords Mr. Buckstone an opportunity of appearing, and seems to depend for much of its saccess on the talent displayed by this gentleman. General favourite though he be, however, he cannot long ensure a hearing of a piece so deficient in stage requisites as in the Light Troops of St. James." It is one of those plays which depend more on little intricacies of plot and ornateness of dialogue than upon the incidents which are far from being made the most of. The actors and actresses acquitted themselves well, and sustained their parts with much spirit so that applause was pretty general when the curtain fell. The original of this drama is in French, from which it has we understand been adapted by Mr. Norton. Mr. Planche we hear is about shortly to come into the field with another burlesque.

PANORAMA OF CAIRO.

It is quite a new feature in Mr. Burford's Exhibition to introduce a city like Cairo. Much greater skill is required to delineate, with accuracy, the baked appearances of towns under the fairy Egyptian sun, than to represent the usual landscapes. Cairo is justly celebrated for its remarkable appearance. The position which you are supposed to occupy is on an eminence without the walls; glancing your eye rapidly over the whole scene, it appears but a mass of brick-kilns ornamented here and there with lofty minarets. Two of these are most remarkable; they appear to stand out from the canvas; below, the appearance of the court-yards is most natural. The opening appears so natural, that with but a little sketch of the fancy, you might imagine yourself on the spot. In the distance, the blue waters of the Nile are partly to be discovered, and the towering pyramids add a grandeur to the same. On the whole, we scarcely remember a more splendid panorama. On the opposite side are represented the tombs and ruins of the ancient city. The group of pilgrims is well put as a relief to the picture. There is cast over the scene a haze, which is at first painful to the eyes; but we have been assured by those who have seen the capital of Egypt, that that is exactly the natural appearance. Mr. David Robarts must have faithfully executed his task, in order to enable Messrs. Burford and Silous so admirably to perform theirs. The view, if not so pleasing remarkable; and will, no doubt, meet with as that of Constantinople, is much more that success, which the spirited conduct of the proprietor deserves. Egypt is every day becoming a more interesting field, as it becomes better known to the public. Those who have once visited the spot, will almost fancy themselves there again, while contemplating the scene presented them in Leicester Square.

Although we have before noticed the

other objects of attraction in this exhibition, we will briefly pass our opinion on them again, in order that those of our readers who have not visited this exhibition, may be induced to avail themselves of the opportunity. The view of Athens is, perhaps, the most delicately finished of the whole. Those who feel an interest in Grecian subjects, and are anxious more accurately to understand the position of the different fleets at the battle of Salamis, will find in this picture sufficient to satisfy their curiosity.

The Battle of Sobraon is a vivid picture of the greatest battle that has been fought in India for years. It did not, however, please us so much as the two former, being merely a succession of fire and smoke and of brilliant charges. As much skill, however, as possible, appears to have been bestowed on this picture, which is as interesting as that of a battle could be made.

MR. LINDSAY SLOPER'S SOIREES. A "grand concert" is a grand bore. And the public are beginning to discover this fact: hence the increasing popularity of musical entertainments devoted to the illustration of the works of great classical composers. "A grand concert" is easily defined. It consists of a certain number of Donizetti's weakest and most hackneyed airs, sung by a few unhappy "Mesdames" labouring under the delusion that they are second Grisis; a solo on the violin, the mere recollection of which sets one teeth on edge for a week; a savage onslaught on the pianoforte by some young lady or gentleman aspiring to Thalbergian honours; and a performance by a Signor with an extraordinary name, on an extraordinary instrument never before heard of, at which people gaze with wonderment, and think it "grand, though not pretty."

But Mr. Sloper's fine taste repudiates such catchpenny performances; so he has given to the public a series of musical entertainments, selected with admirable discrimination from the works of the greatest composers. Nor has he fallen into the error, which some of his predecessors have made, of giving selections from works of a particular class only-such as those of Bach, Handel, Scarlatti, and others of the same school. We have had illustrations of these great writers, but the exclusive plan has not been followed. Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn, have each graced the programmes; thus throwing into stronger contrast the works of the older composers, and giving a keener relish for both styles.

On the 18th March Mr. Sloper gave his third and last soirée at the "Beethoven Rooms," in Harley Street. The first performance was Mozart's pianoforte duet in F major, the executants being Mr. Sterndale Bennett and Mr. Lindsay Sloper. To

our taste, the composition is far from being a good specimen of Mozart's pianoforte music. Of a great composer we dare not always say what we think; but we feel convinced that if such a work were now published," dry and tedious" would be the terms applied to it. It was, however, admirably played. Then came Mendelssohn's magnificent fantasia in F sharp minor, the energy and passion of which was rendered by Mr. Sloper in a style which hardly any other pianist could equal. Mr. Sloper deserves great credit for introducing two of the Harpsichord Lessons of Lulli,

a composer who flourished about 1670, and whose works, though abounding in grace and beauty, are only known to the curious few. Mr. Sloper's cultivated taste and poetical feeling were here strongly shown; for he fetched out the soul (so to speak) of old Lulli, and proved that he can appreciate the music of by-gone times with as much truthfulness as he does that of his great contemporary, Mendelssohn. We have hardly left ourselves room to mention his performance of three studies of his own, a selection from a set lately published. This was the most interesting feature of the entertainment. While hearing these masterly studies, we felt a regret that Mr. Sloper should only have presented us with this specimen of his genius in pianoforte composition. However. we were treated with a charming song of his, on Roger's well-known, though poor stanzas, commencing " Dear is my little native vale." Miss Dolby was the singer. And having said this, we need hardly mention that it was given to perfection. We have watched with great interest this lady's rapid progress in her profession, from the time when, almost as a child, she startled the musical public with her impassioned singing, to the present day, when no living English singer can pretend to anything like rivalry with her. It is not merely that Miss Dolby is gifted with a voice of remarkable power, richness, and fluency, but she has a mind capable of appreciating the highest works, and intense feeling in giving them expression. In a word, she is a great singer; and she proved it on this occasion by her exquisite performance of Mr. Sloper's

even their religion. At any rate, they who look for fashionable revelations in "Tancred" will be woefully disappointed. It does not lay bare one single point in our social system, which has not been exposed to the public eye a thousand times before. The subjects of his satire are as hackneyed as the form of it. We have been treated to all his characters usque ad nauseam, both by himself and, long before him, by other writers. The idolatry of the kitchen, the fanaticism of lordlings for soups and ragouts, the apish and fantastic foppery of cooks, the sensuality of those children of Belial who quench all consciousness of the spirituality of their nature in wines and sauces-all these things have been held up to public contempt, until we are weary of despising them; besides, if an author really desire to rouse public indignation against such follies, he must himself be sincere in the condemnation of them, which Mr. Disraeli obviously is not; for while he rails at the unhallowed influence of wealth, he is earnestly sacrificing every day on the shrine of mammon; and while affecting to contemn the power which rank and other social prejudices bestow, truckles perseveringly, like his own Fakrideen, to all those who can forward his views in life, and desires nothing so much as to make a figure among those flat-nosed Franks against whom he directs his venomous but innocuous declamation.

No doubt the credulous innocence of the reading public is easily deluded by the employment of a little vapoury language, which holds poison in suspension, and suffers it not to become visible to the common eye. Nevertheless, there is scarcely a single principle that binds society together, the influence of which would not be weakened by the effects of such works as "Tancred," if they could really produce any that should be permanent. The institution of marriage, the sacredness of justice, the holy influences of faith, the claims of truth, nay, the recommendations of common honesty, are all in their turn assiduously assailed by this Modern Crusader. Well, therefore, may the rabbi of Shrewsbury entitle his undertaking a Crusade. It is so. Throughout every page of his book, the proofs are visible to those who will be at the pains to search for them, that his only purpose, besides that

of producing a saleable article, is to cover with ridicule whatever the flat-nosed inhabitants of these morasses and forests of ours regard as venerable.

Mr. Disraeli, however, understands his own mission, and seizes dexterously on the opportunity which offers itself. He is not, we suppose, at all serious, in his attempt to eradicate Christianity and Judaism, and to substitute an amalgam of both, with a large infusion of Paganism, in their stead. It is a joke in three volumes. He knows that idle people, such as constitute the chief support of circulating libraries, delight in being startled and excited; and, conscious perhaps of being wanting in the power to produce this effect by an animated narrative and natural and vivid delineations of character and situations, he brings into play his talent for mock speculation, and seeks to afford amusement by an exaggerated description of the process by which men deliver themselves from all faith in anything whatsoever. The appearance of such works is among the least satisfactory signs of the times. Young people chiefly read them; and if the opinions and principles they have inherited from their forefathers be not entirely overthrown, they are at least undermined and slightly shaken. The writer has a lavish command of language, clothes sophisms and fallacies in an exceedingly agreeable manner, invests error with the appearance of truth, puts forward some of the most monstrous and dangerous principles with an air of ingenuous nonchalance which seems to be indicative of sincerity, and therefore the simple reader too often accepts what he utters for gospel.

The only remaining line, however, of Homer's "Mergites," will strictly apply to the author of "Tancred"- "He knows a little of every thing, but has investigated nothing as he ought." His speculation sails about like a cloud, resting now on sea, now on land, now over mountain, and now over valley, but remains nowhere for any length of time, so that the spirit which sails upon it can never obtain an accurate view of anything beneath it. Hurried forward, as it were, by some infernal breeze, it sucks up and is inflated by the poisonous exhalations emitted from fens and marshes, and sends down occasionally in withering dews the venom which it has collected. But there is no beneficial intercourse be