WEST-END LIFE, AS VIEWED FROM THE EAST.

DOUBTLESS all our readers subscribe to one or another of the numerous periodicals which flourish, more or less, in the present day, but few however know even of the existence of an interesting serial known as "The Family Gusher."

Gentle reader-don't be shocked, and turn up that aristocratic nose of yours in indignant scorn-for be assured if you have been in the past neglecting to take regularly the above-mentioned paper, you have lost an intellectual, and at the same time inexpensive, literary treat.

You, who are perhaps wont to invest your one or two guineas at Mudie's in order to enjoy the perusal of numerous three volume novels, pause and consider ere you longer disburse your substance in waste. "The Family Gusher" is only one penny per week, or exactly four and fourpence per annum, and guarantees to provide its readers with at least five romances, all flourishing at one time. By this arrangement we are permitted a pleasing variety of choice; if one story fails to satisfy one's requirements or rouse the sympathies-why then we simply rove, butterfly like, to another, and extract the honey from a different leaf. The fastidious taste of one reader may demand the heroine to be a blonde, and as the thrilling tale, "A Shattered Heart," discourses of the loves and woes of a superb brunette, we have but to turn to the touching narrative, "Mildred de Caullefleur," to find all we may desire. Only a penny for five exciting romances-all agrowing and ablowing together, so unlike and yet alike each other. Each rival author seems to stand like a showman at his respective door, and beckons the readers of the "Gusher" to step up to his show.

"Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, just a going to begin. You will find here the finest and most beautiful heroine in the world; " or, "My heroes whiskers are the silkiest, his features the most chiselled in all Britain, and his aristocratic family is the proudest and haughtiest in the land."

It may be remarked that the readers of our favourite serial have, if anything, too much for their money. Well, the objection is to a certain extent not without reason.

The fact is, we do get a little confused and bewildered occasionally in having to follow the good or bad fortunes of so many handsome men and beautiful women, week after week, but then it must be borne in mind we like a good deal for our money, and therefore cheerfully put up with these minor difficulties, and endeavour, as best we may, to keep our numerous characters and plots separate in the mind's eye; if the heroes and heroines do happen to get mixed, why it does'nt much matter, and we persevere knowing that all will come right in the end.

If at the thirty-second chapter of "A Life's Secret" we forget whether Sir Percival Oldacres is the rightful heir to untold riches, which his malignant rival, Lord Heaviswell, tries his best to secure for himself, or vice versa, we go on patiently to the dénouement; for, we have in romance "stepp'd so far, that returning were as tedious as go o'er."

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Another important advantage which the poor plebian readers of the East obtain, is the extraordinarily correct and useful knowledge acquired as to the habits, dress, and conversation of the patrician denizens of the West. For the trifling outlay of a penny we become at once initiated into the every-day life of the upper ten; in a moment are transported far away from the hum-drum routine of work-a-day existence, to a totally different world-from the dingy alley or narrow court into what the pantomime writers would describe as the "Glittering Halls of Dazzling Light;" from the humble kitchen to a gorgeous drawing room. this description from the "Mysterious Mother-in-Law"-"A sumptuous apartment; the ceiling painted by a master-hand, all the story of Endymion was told there; the walls were painted superbly, the hangings were of azure velvet and amber silk, relieved by richest of white lace; the carpet of costly velvet pile was a white ground with blue cornflowers, so artistically grouped in picturesque confusion. The chairs and luxurious couch were covered with crimson velvet, valuable books in beautiful bindings, exquisite drawings and photographs, a jewelled fan, a superb boquet holder, fragrant and costly hothouse flowers-in short, a room that was a fitting shrine for a goddess of beauty."

Is not this worth all the penny?

"The

Whilst we are truly grateful to the literary gentlemen on the staff of "The Family Gusher" for their ample and doubtless, correct information about our betters, it must be admitted these brilliant writers are rather weak on one point-a want of originality in the titles of their tales. Education and increasing civilisation in our midst have long caused the demand to cease almost entirely for melo-dramatic stories, and have substituted in the place of the "Blood Stained Water Butt," or Mystery of the Mildewed Mill" school, romances of a more pleasing and natural character, yet we should like a little more variety in the names. "True of Heart," "A Stricken Heart," "A Thorn in her Heart," "Her Heart of Hearts," &c., &c., no doubt are admirable in their way, but by constant repetition pall upon the ear, and become rather monotonous and trying to the mental faculties of the reader.

Too much, however, must not be said concerning these trifles, or our authors might be offended at such captious criticism, and-dreadful thought-may be, decline to tell us any more of the life of Belgravia and Mayfair. After all, ladies and gentlemen, these are mere specks upon the sun's surface-have we not five romances for a penny? and dirt cheap at the price, so let us be content.

To follow the intricacies of one of our novels requires a clear and steadfast mind, unbiassed by any previous knowledge, and satisfied with a child-like faith, to take as gospel all the wonders the writer shall unfold for its benefit, of this said strange and unknown aristocratic

world. We are at this moment being treated in the "Gusher" with an exciting romance entitled "A Mad Love," the author of which is evidently the Wilkie Collins of the paper. To him is assigned the honour of leading position; the outside engraving weekly illustrates his work. Everybody is familiar-even those good people who never read such "trash"-with these remarkable productions of art which present us with superb walking gentlemen, who are so dreadfully handsome, making love to haughty Lady Claribellas who are about seven feet high, wasp-like waists and tapering fingers. The heroine, or rather one of the heroines, of "A Mad Love" is a certain Leone Noel-for a wonder, only a miller's daughter-but a very superior young person." She came in with the brightness and light of the moon on her face, dewdrops lay on her dark bair, her beautiful face was flushed with the wind, so fair, so gracious, so royal, so beautiful," (that she ought to have been called So-phia). "Where have you been?" she is asked. "I have been to the mill-stream, and I have been to heaven." From this it is easy to see she has been meeting her lover-Lord Lancelot Chandos. What a name to roll lusciously about in one's mouth-Lord Lancelot Chandos ! The meetings continue, and end in the young patrician marrying the lady with "the light of the moon on her face" privately, and unknown to his aristocratic parents. The Earl of Lanswell, the father of Lord Chandos, was of course superlatively rich, and possessed "three of the finest residences in England, together with a rent-roll counted by hundreds of thousands." (This is just what we subscribers to the "Gusher" like to read about-wealth, grandeur, and rank; alas! though it be but a Barmecide feast to many of us.) This fortunate peer has a wife, if possible, still more in the superlative degree. "Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, was one of the proudest peeresses in England; she was impeachable (sic) in every relation in life, and had little pity for those who were not; she had never known sorrow, temptation, doubt, or anything else; she had lived in an atmosphere of most perfect content, and golden ease; she had the grandest mansion, the finest diamonds, the finest horses in London; she had the most indulgent husband, the handsomest son, and the prettiest daughter; she did not know the word 'want' in any shape, she had not even suffered from the crumpled roseleaf (apparently an aristocratic disease). With her daughter, Lady Imogene Chandos, the Countess had never had, or expected to have, any trouble; she was one of the fairest, sweetest, and most gentle of girls." Reader, can you find in all your favourite three-volumed novels a more glowing and eloquent piece of descriptive writing than this? And all for a penny!

This magnificent Belgravian mother is of course shocked when she hears of her Lancelot's mésalliance. She causes legal proceedings to be taken, and the marriage is set aside on the plea of infancy. Lord Chandos is sent abroad, and the unfortunate Leone is left to bemoan her sade fate. Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, then proceeds to arrange a marriage between her son and Lady Marion Erskine-another superlatively beautiful young woman. She is described as "the very queen

of blondes, with fair, soft shining hair, and eyes blue as the summer skies; her face was the purest mixture of rose and white, with the dainty, delicate colour described in that one line

She had a beautiful fresh mouth, a dimpled chin, a neck and shoulders white as ivory, arms so rounded it was a treat to see them. She was of the queenly type-tall, with the promise of a grand womanhood."

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The Countess of Lanswell, truly a femme terrible, we learn then has determined her son shall marry the sweet creature "with the arms it was a treat to see;" we are next informed that she was a magnificent strategist; her manoeuvres were of the finest, quite beyond the power of any less gifted to fathom. The strongest, wisest, the most honest, the best of men was but as wax in her hands; again," she had two modes of strategy-one alone of which was enough to carry a nation-the other means was by a series of the finest possible details of intrigue." The humble and ignorant reader it is possible may fail to trace the wonderful strategy of the remarkable Countess-" one mode of which alone was sufficient to carry a nation"-in the course of the story; her projects seeming to be rather simple and ingenuous than otherwise, being those of a mother anxious to make her son forget his first love, the miller's daughter. Having seen her son safely taken in charge by the "Queen of the Blondes," she writes to the abandoned Leone, and to do so "she took up a jewelled pen, she had paper soft and creamy, with her crest at the head, &c., &c." The effect of this letter upon poor Leone Noel is truly dreadful, she fell on her knees in despair-" the best part of her died as she knelt there; the blue of the sky, the gold of the shining sun, the song of the birds, the sweet smell of flowers, were never the same to her again-almost all that was good and noble, brave and bright, died at this moment." Three years are supposed to have elapsed when we next meet the lady, " "the best part of whom had died," and in the meantime she has been exceedingly diligent and persevering; existing in a kind of chrysalis state previous to emerging into the most gorgeous of butterflies. Still indulging in superlatives, our author, with a wave of his magic wand, transforms the miller's daughter into a songstress of the most wonderful character. Lord Chandos, who has married Lady Marion, goes to the theatre to hear this paragon of actresses, now called Madame Vanira. The opera we are told was L'Etaile des Nord (our author's French seems a little weak), the impression she made on the audience was terrific "No one who saw her ever forgot her; even if they only saw her once, her face lived clear and distinctly vivid in their memory for ever afterwards," and again "it was no longer a woman but an inspired sybil; her audience hung on every note, on every word from those wonderful lips. From the first moment the curtain rose until it fell the whole audience were breathless." Lord Chandos of course recognises this gifted lady before him-" surely he had kissed the quivering lips over which such rich strains of music rolled." Several chapters are devoted to the meeting of him with Leone, and we are treated to a great deal of

conversation, which, although of course strictly such as Belgravians use, is yet much the same, somehow, as people in the rank of shopmen and milliners also use in their love passages, except indeed when we get a little fine writing, as "her voice died away in an exquisitely melancholy cadence, that to him was like the last wailing breath of the summer wind in the trees." Madame Vanira calls upon Lady Chandos, and gets herself up for the occasion thus :-"She chose a brocade of pale amber, that looked like woven sunbeams, it was half covered with point lace, and trimmed with great creamy roses. She wore a parure of rubies, presented by a royal Empress, who delighted in her glorious voice; on her beautiful neck, white and firm as a pillar, she wore a necklace of rubies; on her white breast gleamed a cross of rubies, of which the splendid fire gleamed in flashes of light."

It is not necessary to select any more passages from this brilliant novel, if sufficient have been given for any unbiassed reader to be anxious to learn the sequel of the "Mad Love," I shall be amply rewarded for this labour of love which I have undertaken. Whether the gorgeously attired Vanira "will ever be made happy again," by the timely decease of the present Lady Chandos, or whether the deep intriguing nature of Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, will undergo with the lapse of time an edifying change, and many other events happen during the progress of the story-deponent saith not. For one penny a week the interested reader may know for himself all these things, the announcement "to be continued "-just at the exciting moment when Sir Marmaduke, under the influence of the "lime-light of passion," seizes the unwilling hand of Lady Maud to carry her away-shall leave him, as it left me, in anxious suspense only to be allayed by the appearance of the next number. Besides the five current romances, the "Gusher contains a large and miscellaneous collection of items of interest, such as recipes for the concoction of expensive puddings, and other toothsome delicacies, which we fear are rarely likely to be manufactured and eaten by the majority of the readers; moral essays, very original poetry, cures for various ailments, notices to correspondents, &c., &c. These last form an important feature in our favourite periodical. A great deal of parental advice is given to inquiring young ladies on all sorts of topics, from the removal of freckles, or the colour of their hair, to every phase of the tender passion.

Such are a few of the advantages continually to be enjoyed by the perusers of "The Family Gusher," for the ridiculously low price of one penny. Reader, if you, who have for so long been annually paying your two or more guineas to expensive circulating libraries, are not tempted to discontinue so doing by reason of the foregoing remarks, we can but pity your infatuation, and faintly hope that at least you will not bring the whole strength of your scorn and contempt to bear upon our humble print, or concentrate it on one significant word—“ rubbish." Remember indulgently that thousands of our poorer classes look with interest and unfeigned delight for its weekly appearance. No doubt the endless repetition of love stories, with almost the same incidents repeated again