414 
“was much longer about it—first working a hole 
with my stick, and putting my hevl in it; then 
working another hole, and putting the other heel 
in, tlfus seeing my way clearly before me; and 
having a footing of both feet at a time in a sitting 
posture, while I worked myself steps with my 
stick, till I passed the steepest parts; then I let 
‘go, laying flaton my back, and went down with 
amazing velocity a distance of 500 fect. Coming 
down this place occupied me nearly two hours ; 
but I would not have let goon the steepest part 
for all the gold and silver mines of Peru. 
The good lieutenant—his narrative lack- 
ing other interest—has taken pains to fur- 
nish advice for succeeding travellers, which, 
were we disposed or likely to follow the 
track, and hazard our necks, we should care- 
fully treasure up. He takes all into con- 
sideration—not only does he tell of distances, 
and post houses, and expences—but of food 
_and bedding—and not only these indispen- 
sible matters, but even pills he prescribes ; 
and by the help of sundry medical writers, 
talks learnedly of the eftects of cold, and 
.warns every body very seriously against 
drinking—recommending, moreover, those 
who seek relief from sorrow, not to go to 
hot climates, for that only makes -matters 
worse—particularly ifthere be in. the parties 
any predisposition to madness. 
His piety, too, is quite edifying. In 
. erossing the Cordilleras, one of the attend- 
ants fell, and dislocating his ancle was un- 
able to proceed. The other two were thus 
obliged to bear the loads of three, and these, 
by the additional weight were later in com- 
ing in, and thus fortunately picked up one 
of the lads who had lain down to sleep; and, 
from the severity of the weather, must have 
perished, had he not been thus found and 
roused. “ Thus proving,” adds the lieu- 
tenant, “the inscrutable wisdom of Pro- 
widence ; for had not one man dislocated 
his ancle, the other would have lost his 
life.’ On another occasion, he remarks— 
** IT made a hearty breakfast, then went to 
bed, and slept soundly till the cool of the 
evening, and much regretted having en- 
gaged the courier, or I would have gone on 
without waiting for him ;. but as the night 
turned out very rainy, and we had a tre- 
mendous thunder storm, I reconciled my- 
self to the delay—that every thing was 
for the best.” This sort of optimism is 
‘sailor’s theology; and very consoling and 
cheering it no doubt is in the encounter of 
their professional perils. 
Seven Years of the Opera, by J. Ebers ; 
1828.—The main object of this history— 
next to making a book and a penny by it~ 
is to account for the failure of the author’s 
administration. For seven years he rented 
and managed the theatre, at an annual 
average loss of about £6,000. The general 
magnificence of the style of the establish: 
ment—£500 for fitting up the kins’s box 
a single night—the prodigious salaries, pri- 
vileges, and accommodations of the leading 
performers, may seem sufficient to account 
Monthly Review of Literature, 
[Ocr. 
for deficiency of profits ;—but such is the 
fashion and popularity of the institution, 
that all, it appears, may, with tolerable ma- 
nagement, be well sustained—it is the grasp- 
ing of the owners of the building that ruin 
the undertakers. At least, that and that 
alone is asserted by Mr. Ebers to be the 
cause of his ruin. The property, first by 
mortgage, and subsequently by purchase, 
fell into Chambers’s, the banker’s hands, for 
£80,000, when he immediately whipped up 
the rent to £10,000 for two years, with an 
understanding, on honour (that any body 
can be so green !), if the thing did not pay, 
not to be severe in exacting his full demand. 
Unluckily, Chambers’s affairs became in- 
volved, and the assignees (assignees have 
no bowels—with them it is always sacrifice 
before mercy) enforced the payment to the 
last farthing, and for the succeeding season 
demanded £15,000, to which Ebers—play- 
ing a desperate game—acceded, and the 
extravagant sum was actually paid. Such 
was the success of the, management, that 
this year Ebers lost only £3,000—so that 
with a reasonable rent, he might really 
have been a considerable gainer. Not yet 
content, the assignees, the next year, pro- 
posed to take the management into their 
own hands—in some delusive hope of inde- 
finite gain: this, however, was subsequent- 
ly abandoned, and the theatre let to La- 
porte and Laurent for £8,000, and Ebers was 
jostled out. This, of course, was most mor- 
tifying, and it may be safely added, unjust 
treatment of a man, to whose exertions the 
Opera, and especially the ballet; has been 
more indebted than to any one of his pre- 
decessors, since the first institution. But 
where personal interests are concerned, 
equitable and moral justice apparently claims 
no one’s regards—legal rights ace the stand- 
ard of action. These, however, are all pri- 
vate matters—except so far as it naturally 
becomes a subject of wonder and inquiry, 
how it is that every body connected with 
the administration of the Opera comes final- 
ly to the Gazette. Ebers has made the mat- 
ter obvious enough at least in his own case. 
But the interior view—which his inci- 
dental remarks throw open—of the Theatre 
is somewhat amusing. The condition of 
the manager is that of a toad under a har- 
row. The jealousies—struggles—treache- 
ries—graspings—caprices—sullens and sulk- 
ings of every performer, from the highest 
to the lowest—among singers, and dancers, 
and composers—are perfectly confounding 
and astounding. The wonder is, how such 
an establishment, amidst such anarchy and 
uproar, can get on at all. Rehearsal scenes 
are chaos come again.—‘‘ Sir, Mr. A. B. 
won’t go on with the rehearsal.’’—“ Indeed, 
why not ?”—“‘ He says you ought to do so 
and so for him; and he refuses to go on till 
it is done.”” While this is in discussion, 
behold an ambassador from the other per- 
formers. ‘“ The singers, Sir, say they can’t 
wait at the theatre all day; if the arrange- 
