was created, the world should first be perfected; Paradise, the metropolitan city of her residence, be finished, and all things else ready-furnished to her hands.' The rectory of Slow," continued the reverend gentleman, "is beautifully situated; no villa on the Thames can surpass it; the grounds are sweetly laid out; and its occupier, alas! is alone. Were it the paradise described, it could be no paradise to him. For him Memory, like a chemist, extracts poison from the fairest flowers."- Here a very handsome cambric handkerchief stifled the speaker's voice, but did not impede his hearing, while his ear was gratified by the deepest suspiration that his fair auditor yet had uttered. "Never married, never will!" exclaimed the old Commodore, "for what is marriage but an agreement between a man and a woman to make each other tired of each other? I have always seen it so; and I believe it always is so—I do." of "You've seen a great deal in your time, Commodore ?" Why, yes; I guess I have. A much more than twenty dozen your land-lubbers who have spent their lives asleep ashore. Yet I never could tell a right and fit yarn of what I've witnessed. Do ye know, I am of opinion that a fellow may have seen and known too much of the world and of life to be able to describe it well. At least that seems to be my case. Seems to me as if all I could remember of past years was, that they were made for nothing else but, as the Mounseers say, 'pour passer le temps." "Then you have had few troubles, Commodore?" "Few troubles? By jingo! I 've had my share. But, what then? If life be a sea of troubles, is not Hope a cork-jacket to keep one up above the waves? and I never was the chap to be choked by a trifle of spray." 66 Bravo!" "No, no, my boys! I enjoyed what was good. I saw people scrape cash together, clap it into the funds, and draw their dividends quarterly. But I invested my pay and prize-money in turtle, and venison, and wine, and something else perhaps; and get my dividends pretty regularly through my toe, for the gout often makes this fellow," kicking his flesh and wooden leg together, "just as sheer a hulk as this other. Every man to his mind, I say!" Such were the colloquies at this ancient festival; while some played at cards, blind-hookery, &c. &c. and at last the dance was proposed, and led off by the Commodore in despite of his limbs. There were no quadrilles nor flirtations, though flirtations, it must be acknowledged, were carried on under other auspices,-no waltzes, no gallopps. A minuet or two were walked, and a country dance or two were done. Liqueurs, compounded of Old Tom, were handed round in profusion; and after supper, when the dancing was resumed, the mirth and fun grew fast and furious, and all was life and jollity. At this, the very witching time of night, a scent of sickening odour suddenly invaded the room, and a pale blue flickering light glimmered at every aperture. The door was thrown open with a crash, and a hideous figure presented itself to every terrified eye. It is almost impossible to paint the monster. It was an imp about three feet in height. The feet were large enough for a giant, hideously splayed, and peaked up in front, with long clay-coloured points. The hands resembled the talons of a vulture. On the back was a hunch, which, if titles were given in proportion to such proturberances, would have made the bearer a duke rather than a baron lord. The filthy abdomen hung down almost to its knees, paunchy and disgusting. The knees met in overlapping closeness, and, when the creature walked, knocked one against the other. The arms were of Pictish and unhuman length. The head was of the size of a kettle-drum, and much of that shape, the face being on the convex side. And such a visage under the matted hair! Cadaverous and unearthly-no French passport could describe it. The eyes were raw and gleaming; the nose a broken ace of clubs; the mouth wide, cavernous, and set with three or four black stumps of teeth; the ears so long that they flapped the cheeks,-altogether so abominable a wretch never entered to shock a polite assembly. But it was not its appearance alone that appalled the guests as it advanced into the centre of the apartment. The bad began, yet worse remained behind, for on its back becoming perceptible, horror rose on horror, as the affrighted guests read in letters of flame, as large as on puff placard, the terrible name of "INFLUENZA." To paint the dread and confusion that ensued is impossible. Every heart was struck with the idea of late hours and consequent maladies; of infection, of disease, and of death. They stood not upon the order of their going, but fled as if pursued by the foul fiend, whilst the demon itself grinned ghastly on the disorder it had created. The Commodore broke his leg (the wooden one) in the hurry of his flight, and the doctor had to bring Mrs. Tancred out of a fainting fit in his arms. The Rector of Slow, in escorting lady Rougemont home, delivered a magnificent application to the subject from St. Chrysostom, and the effect was such, that the lady consented, with a sigh, to console the solitude of the beautiful rectory. That they may not be lost to mankind or womankind either, we repeat the worthy clergyman's reflections. "Why, if we are to die," said his reverence, "is not death the end of all? How finely is it written by one of the greatest of our saints, "Sweete is the end of the labourer when he shall reste from his labours. The wearied traveller longeth for his night's lodgings, and the storme-beaten ship seeketh up for shore; the hireling oft questioneth when his yeares will finish and come out; the woman grete with child will often muse and studie upon her delivery (a short sigh from the lady listener); and he that perfitly knoweth that his life is but a way to death, will, with the poore prisoner, sit in the doore threshold, and expect when the jaylor shall open. With this it is fit that we should close; and it is only needful to expound the mystery of this vile apparition. He was the creature of certain Wags of Windsor, who, hearing of the entertainment in question, resolved to have a lark at midnight. For this purpose they got a deformed dwarf, and perked him out in the way we have described, preceded by smells from the druggist's shop, and accom. panied by blue fires from the chemist's. He enacted his part to perfection; and it is the sole pleasure we have to record, that no very bad consequences resulted from the impudent frolic. The four ancients of the New Road stil! reside in harmony together, and what if the cupid was overthrown and broken to pieces; cannot they get a new love, of plaster, for the enduring gratification of so placid and domestic a quartette, whose united ages have now reached to two hundred and ninety-eight years! TEUTHA A CHAPTER ON CLOWNS AND SUCH LIKE COMICALITIES. BY WILLIAM J. THOMS. We must leave the subject of domestic fools and jesters for future consideration, and confine ourselves, in the following brief paper, entirely to the clowns of the modern pantomimes, which peculiar species of entertainment, be it observed in passing, is supposed by a learned antiquary to be derived from the old dumb shows formerly exhibited at fairs and inns, in which the fool was generally engaged in a struggle with Death, and which is distinctly alluded to by Shakspeare in his "Mea sure for Measure." To trace the gradual transformation of this dumb show into the splendid pageants now annually provided for the amusement of children of all ages by the metropolitan theatres would be a matter of laborious research, while the results would probably be far from satisfactory. "You shall seek all day ere you find it, and when you have it, it is not worth your search." The character of Harlequin alone has formed matter for weighty discussions among theatrical historians; and so varied have been the proposed derivations of his name, as to justify to the fullest the satirist, who described etymology as eruditio ad libilum. The English stage is undoubtedly indebted to the Italian for Har lequin, as Italy is again to the lively Neapolitans, among whom the ma. jority of what are styled pantomimic characters have assuredly had their rise. The Harlequin of the Italian stage does not, however bear any very strong resemblance to the agile and parti-coloured gentleman who figures in our Christmas drolleries as the assiduous lover of the gentle Columbine, and the untiring tormentor of the Clown. In Italy he is at the present redolent of satire, full of sportive raillery, and jocose in the extreme. What he was formerly, let Addison describe. 66 Harlequin's part is made up of blunders and absurdities: he is to mistake one name for another, to forget his errands, to stumble over queens, and to run his head against every post that comes in his way. This is all attended with something so comical in the voice and gestures that a man who is sensible of the folly of the part can hardly forbear to be pleased with it." 66 Dominico, whose witticisms have been collected into a volume, under the title of " Arlequiniana," was one of the earliest and most celebrated performers of this peculiar character. Dominico was a great favourite of Louis the Fourteenth, and obtained by a well-timed joke permission for the Italian company to perform French plays in Paris. He it was who, going to see that monarch at supper, fixed his eyes so intently on a dish of partridges, that Louis, who was very fond of his acting, said to one of his attendants, "Give that dish to Dominico." "And the partridges too, sire?" was the shrewd inquiry of the Harlequin. Louis, penetrating his art, said, “And the partridges too." The dish was gold. Thomassin was another distinguished performer in this line. the greatest, perhaps, that ever existed was Bertinazzi, generally called Carlin, or Carlino. Carlino may perhaps be known to some of our readers, by some suppositious letters which have been published, purporting to have been interchanged between this actor and Pope Ganganelli. He was a native of Turin, and the son of an officer in the Sardinian service. He originally followed the profession of his father, on whose death, however, he devoted himself to the drama. The Harlequin of the Bologna company having suddenly taken his departure, to avoid the importunity of his creditors, Bertinazzi, to relieve the manager's embarrassment, undertook his characters unhesitatingly, and this with so much success, that, owing to his mask and costume, it was some days before the public suspected the change. In 1741, he visited Paris as the successor of Thomassin, whose loss the Parisians most deeply regretted; but though he came before them with great disadvantages, Carlino, for such was the name he now adopted, instantly com manded their admiration. From this time forth, for a period of nearly forty years, during which he had not only enacted Arlequin, but wrote very witty Arlequinades in which to act, he enjoyed the undiminished favour of the good people of Paris. He was a man of great probity, and so universally esteemed both for his professional talents and private virtues, that it is said the whole city were unanimous as to the truth of two lines in his epitaph, "Toute sa vie il a fait rire; There is, we believe, no decided evidence as to the exact time when pantomimes were first introduced upon the English stage; but the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields has been supposed entitled to the exclusive honour of first bringing them forward. The harlequinades which the manager produced there in 1723 seem to have been so successful as to have excited the envy of his brethren of Drury Lane, who endeavour. ed either to ridicule or eclipse his performances by the introduction of a piece called Blind Man's Buff, supported by the freaks of eight har lequins. The Weekly Journal speaking of it, says, "The thing was so ridiculous there was no music to be heard but hissing." In a pantomimic performance founded on the old story of Dr. Faustus, written by Monsieur Thurmond, with music by the celebra. ted Galliard, produced at Lincoln's Inn theatre in December of this same year, and which was so successful, that on the first night of its performance the receipts of the house amounted to two hundred and sixty pounds, "Punch, Scaramouch, and Pierro enter in scholars' gowns and caps;" but though the publications of the day take repeated notice of it, and deem the piece so wonderful as to deserve a full account of the plot, no mention is made of Harlequiu. In a rapid but clever sketch of the state of theatrical amusement between the years 1700 and 1763, communicated to the London Chro • Encyclopédie des Gens du Monde, Tome iv. nicle, vol. xv, by a writer signing himself Theatricus, we are told,"Pantomime first dawned in the year 1702 at Drury Lane, in an entertainment called The Tavern Bilkers. It died the fifth night. It was invented by Weaver, a dancing master at Shrewsbury, who, from the encouragement of the nobility, invented a second, called The Loves of Mars and Venus, performed at the same theatre in the year 1716, with vast success; which occasioned Sir Richard Steele to write the following lines on the back of one of the play.bills at Button's Coffeehouse, 'Weaver, corruptor of this present age, Who first taught silent sins upon the stage.' It was about this time that the taste of the town became vitiated. One remarkable instance I cannot forget. In January 1717, some dancers arrived from France, and with them one Swartz, a German. This man brought over two dogs, whom he had taught to dance the louvre and minuet. They were immediately engaged by Rich at ten pounds per night, and brought above twenty good houses, when the Othello of Booth, the Wildair of Wilks, and the Foppington of Cibber were neglected, and did not bring charges." The popularity of these performances seems to have outlived the patience of the admirers of the legitimate drama; and the result was a riot in the year 1744, in which the philosopher of Strawberry Hill accidentally figured as a ringleader, who tells the story in his own. admirable and lively style in a letter to Horace Mann. "It costs me nothing, so I shall write on and tell you an adventure of my own. The town has been trying all the winter to beat pantomimes off the stage very boisterously, for it is the way here to make even an affair of taste and sense a matter of riot and arms. Fleetwood, the master of Drury Lane, has omitted nothing to support them, as they supported his house. About ten days ago he let into the pit great numbers of bear-garden bruisers (that is the term) to knock down everybody that his ed. The pit rallied their forces and drove them out: I was sitting very quietly in the side-boxes, contemplating all this. On a sudden the curtain flew up and discovered the whole stage filled with blackguards armed with bludgeons and clubs to menace the audience. This raised the greatest uproar, and among the rest, who flew into a passion but your friend the philosopher? In short, one of the actors, advancing to the front of the stage, to make an apology for the manager; he had scarce begun to say, Mr. Fieetwood'-when your friend, with a most audible voice and dignity of anger, called out, He is an impudent rascal!' The whole pit huzzaed and repeated the words; only think of my being a popular orator! But what was still better, while my shadow of a person was dilating to the consistence of a hero, one of the chief ringleaders of the riot, coming under the box where I sat, and pulling off his hat, said, Mr. Walpole, what would you please to have us do next?' It is impossible to describe to you the confusion into which this apostrophe threw me. I sank down into the box, and have never since ventured to set my foot into the playhouse. The next night the uproar was repeated with greater violence, and nothing was heard but voices calling out, Where's Mr. Walpole? where's Mr. Walpole?' In short, the whole town * Malcolm's "Anecdotes of London in the Eighteenth Century," vol. ii. p. 247, |