Simpson, the tutelar deity, departed ('died,' some
say, but we don't believe it), and, at the moment he made his last
bow, Vauxhall ought to have been closed; it was madness--the madness
which will call us, peradventure, superstitious--which kept the gates
open when Simpson's career closed--it was an anomaly, for, like Love
and Heaven, Simpson was Vauxhall, and Vauxhall was Simpson!

"Let Ducrow reflect upon these things--we dare not speak out--but a
tutelar being watches over, and giveth vitality to his arena--his
ring is, he may rely upon it, a fairy one--while _that_ mysterious
being dances and prances in it, all will go well; his horses will not
stumble, never will his clowns forget a syllable of their antiquated
jokes. Oh! let him, then, whilst seriously reflecting upon Simpson
and the fate of Vauxhall, give good heed unto the Methuselah, who
hath already passed his second centenary in the circle!

"These were our awful reflections while viewing the scenes in the
circle, very properly constructed in the Rotunda. They overpowered
us--we dared not stay to see the fireworks, 'in the midst of which
Signora Rossini was to make her terrific ascent and descent on a rope
three hundred feet high.' She _might_ have been the sprite of Madame
Saqui; {171} in fact, the 'Vauxhall Papers,' published in the
gardens, put forth a legend which favours such a dreadful
supposition. We refer our readers to them--they are only sixpence
apiece.

"Of course, the gardens were full, in spite of the weather; for what
must be the callousness of that man who could let _the_ Gardens pass
under the hammer of George Robins, without bidding them an
affectionate farewell? Good gracious! we can hardly believe such
insensibility does exist. Hasten then, dear readers, as you would
fly to catch the expiring sigh of a fine old boon companion--hasten
to take your parting slice of ham, your last bowl of arrack--even
now, while the great auctioneer says 'going.'"

On 24 August Sir J. L. Goldsmid was made a Baronet, and was the first
Jewish gentleman who ever received that title. Perhaps it is not
generally known that an honour, not much inferior, had, once, very nearly
fallen to the lot of a brother Israelite. At one of those festive
meetings at Carlton House, in which George IV. sometimes allowed a few of
his most favoured sub