county in which it is situate. Among the minor matters that perplex him is the circumstance, that one corner of his pocket-handkerchief is always tied in a knot, and he never can tell why. His memory belongs rather to the past century than to the present. Of all the days in the year yesterday perplexes him most; old events are newest in his mind, the past brightens as it grows remote, and, as he facetiously remarks, he can hardly get a glimpse of Time till he is out of sight. Thus-he cherishes a settled conviction that her Majesty Queen Anne has actually departed this life; although on the tenth of last November he was wholly at a loss to guess why the Lord Mayor's show (at which he was present) was put off the day before. Of all public characters of to the past generation, he best remembers the person of Junius. Robinson Crusoe he never saw but once, and cannot speak as to the accuracy of his portraits. He has a lively sense of the excitement created by the shocking murder of Mrs. Brownrigg, who was hanged in a coalhole by her two infamous apprentices; and tells you of the public sympathy which formerly existed in favour of a young man named Gregory Barnwell, who was inhumanly stabbed by his own uncle at Peckham. He is also quite clear in the matter of Warren Hastings, only he is not positive whether that gentleman was tried, or transported, for seven years. The latest London event of any note which he unhesitatingly remembers, is the grand gathering in the City, when the Allied Sovereigns, with the veteran Blucher and the Duke of Marlborough, dined with Sir Richard Whittington in Guildhall. Indeed, there are few events that he would not be able to recollect, if he could but call them to mind. His memory has but one defect, a want of retentiveness. Yet, after all, he remembers Garrick's maiden speech in Parliament, and retains his first impression of the inimitable beauty of Munden's Macbeth. His health is often drunk in the City; this is spoiling a fine compliment; they should drink-his memory!

THE EDITOR. (BY ONE).

THE Editor is the dupe of Destiny. His lot was knocked down to him a bargain, and it turns out to be a take-in. His land of promise is a moving bog. His bed of roses is a high-backed chair stuffed with thorns. His laurel wreath is a garland of nettles. His honours resolve themselves into a capital hoax; his pleasures are heavy penalties; his pride is the snuff of a candle; his power, but volumes of smoke. The Editor is the most ill-starred man alive. He, and he alone-the ten thousand pretenders about town notwithstanding-is indeed the identical martyr commonly talked of as the Most Ill-used Individual. He seems to govern opinion, and is in reality a victim to the opinions of others. He incurs more than nine-tenths of the risk and responsibility, and reaps less than one-tenth of the reward and reputation. The defects of his work are liberally assigned to him-the merits of it are magnanimously imputed to his correspondents. If a bad article appear, the Editor is unsparingly condemned; if a brilliant one be inserted, Anonymous carries off the eulogium. The editorial function is supposed to consist "in the substitution of if it be for if it is, and the insertion of the word however here and there, to impede the march of a fine style."

Commas and colons are the points he is reputed to make-his niche of fame is merely a parenthesis-he is but a note of admiration to genius! His life is spent in ushering Clever People into deserved celebrity; he sits, as charioteer, outside the vehicle, in which Prodigious Talents are driven to immortality. It is his fortune to insert all his Contributors in the temple of glory, and to exclude himself" for want of space.' " He is always to "go in," but expires unpublished at last. He bestows present popularity on thousands, without securing posthumous renown as his own share. His career is in this life a tale of mystery-" to be continued in the next." He is only thought of when things go wrong in the journal. Curiosity then looks out at the corners of its eyes, and with brows and lips pursed-up, querulously ejaculates "Who is he?" If, by any chance, praise instead of censure should be meditated, the wrong man is immediately mentioned. People are only certain of their editor when they design to horsewhip him. Is there a bright passage or two in an indifferent article, you may be sure they are not indebted for their polish to the editorial pen. Is there a dull phrase or a harsh period in some favourite contribution ?-Oh! the Editor has altered it, or neglected to revise the press! But if the Editor is abused for what he inserts, he is twice-abused for what he rejects. It is a curious feature of his destiny, that if he strikes out but a single line of an article, whether in verse or prose, that very line is infallibly the crowning beauty of the production. It is not a little odd, that when he declines a paper, that paper is sure to be by far the best thing its author ever wrote. Accepted articles may be bad; rejected ones are invariably good. It is admitted that judgment is the first essential for an editorship, and it is at the same time insisted on, that judgment is exactly the quality which the Editor has not. An author is praised in a review-he is grateful to an individual writer, whose name he has industriously inquired for; an author is condemned in a review-he is unspeakably disgusted with the Editor. Week after week, month after month, the said Editor succours the oppressed, raises up the weak, applauds virtue, exalts talent-he pens or promulgates the praises of friends of their books, pictures, acting, safety-lamps, and steampaddles-but from the catalogue of golden names his own is an eternal absentee. Greater self-denial was not shown by the late Mr. Massingham of Drury-lane, who held office in the theatre for nearly forty years without once witnessing play or farce! Being solely responsible, the Editor is compelled not only to review, but even to read, new volumes. There is another peculiarity in his condition. Of all the MSS. that come before him, it is his fate to peruse only those which will least repay the trouble. Observe; a contributor writes nonsense ten times over, the articles are returned-he sends one much better, it is inserted--a third exhibits a striking improvement-a fourth contains touches of genius-a few more papers are written and accepted, and their author has won a character for assured and established excellence of composition. It is superfluous to read further. Of so masterly a style, not another specimen need be perused. The Editor can rely upon his Contributor. His productions were read while they were worthless or indifferent, but they are now so admirable, so full of thoughts" that give delight and hurt not," that to inspect any more such MSS. would be clearly a waste of time. May it be so with ours!

RECORDS OF A STAGE VETERAN.

Origin of Lenten Entertainments.-Ir has been the custom, for some years last past, on the nights in Lent when dramatic performances are prohibited, (that is, Wednesdays and Fridays, and the whole of Passion-week,) to get up a gallimaufrical performance that is not deemed dramatic, because it too often contains that which would disgrace any drama, however low. These entertainments are supposed to have originated at the Adelphi Theatre. This is an error: they were only revived there. The first attempt of the kind in question was made by the elder Colman at the Haymarket Theatre, in season 1779 or 1780, and produced in substitution of the entertainments called " Foote's Tea *." The performance in question was called Pasquin's Budget." It was "written and invented" by Charles Dibdin, the lyrist, and consisted of mythological and pantomimic representations of the story of Pandora and Prometheus, and Calypso, Telemachus, and Ulysses; the characters being represented by puppets, and the dialogue and songs delivered and sung for them (from behind the scenes and the sides) by Charles Bannister, (who, in his falsetto, sang Pandora's arias beautifully,) Charles Dibdin, Mrs. Dibdin, John Bannister, Tom Champneys, (a very fine bass,) &c. &c.

There was also an exhibition, then new to this country, entitled Ombres Chinoise, effected thus:-The stage was closed up, so as to form a large picture-frame, as used in our dramatic dioramas now. This frame was filled in by black gauze, behind which the performer, disguised either as a bird or beast, sang or said. C. Bannister sang a duet as a new specimen of the genus Homo,"-that is, half a huntsman, half a beau. John Bannister appeared as the "Hampshire Hog," in which he gave an imitation of the grunt and squeak of Quick. This performance, which was produced at considerable expense, failed entirely, from the exertions of the actors and singers being nullified by the deadening intervention of the gauze; yet Mr. Arnold, who was a young man when Colman made this experiment, revived it, with slight alterations, about fifteen or sixteen years ago, at the English Opera House. The result was the same: the audience were dissatisfied, and the speculation failed.

A_Character. Frazer, the Scotch manager, understood better than any one I ever met, the art of sinking in colloquy. He seldom uttered anything without involving an anti-climax. Speaking of a well-known public character, he said, "I can just assure you, Sir, that he's a consummate rascal; and, moreover, a mon of a varry indifferent character."

Hogg at the Opera.-When Hogg visited London, a literary friend took him to the Opera, where the Shepherd soon gave unequivocal symptoms of drowsiness; yet to any inquiry implying a doubt of his feeling entertained, he replied, "Eh! I like it gae well, Sir." When he did give his attention to any portion of the performance, his eyes were observed to be fixed on Mr. Costa, the conductor. At length he could restrain his curiosity no longer, but exclaimed, "Wha, and what the de'il's that fallow that keeps aye fugle-ing yon?"

Good Humour.-When Foote imitated Sir William Browne, President of the College of Physicians, that gentleman wrote the mimic a complimentary note, saying that his representation was perfect, but that he had forgotten to

• Foote, in 1777 or 1778, sold his share in the theatre, and retired from public life, suffering under the pangs occasioned by a malicious accusation, upon which he had been tried, and honourably acquitted.

wear "a muff," and begging his acceptance of one. When Mr. Turnour imitated Yates in a Covent Garden pantomime, some two years since, Mr. Yates, observing that the hat he (Turnour) wore was not characteristic, sent him his own.

Uncertainty of Success.-The " Agreeable Surprise," which, in 1781, 1782, and 1783, drew thousands to the Haymarket, had been damned in Dublin in 1776, under the title of the "Secret Enlarged." The "Castle of Andalusia," by the same author, and for many years one of our most popular operas, shared a similar fate at Covent Garden on its first introduction as "The Banditti," in 1781.

Napoleon and a Mimic (by tradition).--When R, then in the provinces, was about to personate Napoleon, in the piece called "Waterloo," he very anxiously inquired of all Parisians, and among military men, as to any peculiarities of manner that might have been observable in the Emperor. He got very unsatisfactory information. At length he was introduced to an officer in the 4th Dragoons, who had, during service, two particular opportunities of noticing the idol of France. The Irish captain, however, had little to tell; for he summed up all by saying, “Faith, the prominent trait of his manner was his continually taking snuff." "That," replied R, was a snuffer-tray, and won't answer my purpose."

How to build a Theatre.-About sixty years since, the laws of meum and tuum were, during election time, openly infringed: the instant the polling had concluded, the mob carried off the timber of the hustings vi et armis. This led to persons being paid to guard it, between whom and the multitude some dreadful fights frequently ensued. When Old Astley meditated building the Royal Grove (1783-4), he advertised that he would purchase, at a liberal price, the timber that was rescued from the mob. ` Of course the mob took the hint. When timber was brought, Astley was not particular in distinguishing between robber and rescuer; and in one week he had timber enough, at one-tenth its cost price, to erect the Royal Grove. Old Philip chuckled over this piece of chicanery with unabated glee for thirty years afterwards.

O'Neil, Father of Miss O'Neil-Was the manager of a small strolling company in Ireland: he was an eccentric of the first water. If any member of his company disappointed him, (a common occurrence,) O'Neil had one speech-"Confusion burst his skull, a blackguard !-what will I do? Here, give me a great coat, and I'll double his part with my own." The great coat was the universal panacea, whatever the general costume of the play might be. If the buried Majesty of Denmark complained to Mr. O'Neil of the lack of armour in the wardrobe, the manager would shrug up his shoulders, and, after a pause, exclaim, "Oh, bother! Sure, if you put on a great coat, ye'll do very well." Matters of much greater moment he met with the same coolness. Once proceeding by a barge along a smail river, the captain and O'Neil quarrelled, and, in a scuffle, the former knocked the manager overboard. He swam to shore, and called out—“ Confusion burst your skull ! I suppose you thought I cou'dn't swim." A knot of novices once joined ́ Mr. O'Neil, and having played some three weeks without receiving any salary, they determined to proceed against him at law. The manager met their demand by a set-off for a considerable sum due by them to him, for spoiling all the plays and farces they appeared in. To avoid this exposée, their claim was abandoned.-O'Neil's company seldom exceeded eight or nine in number, acting in barns, &c. In this school-if school it can be called-Miss O'Neil learned the rudiments of her profession. Mrs. Siddons had a similar training. Kean's school was, in his early years, even in a less promising arena.

A Concise Description.-Little M— brought out a play at the Hay

market; but the Fates were against him, and the unfortunate comedy went to" that place from whence no comedies return." Liston, who had been in Paris, asked, on his return, what had been doing in his absence. "Mhas had something out," said he. "What was it?" A failure, in five acts," was the reply.

་་

Origin and Rise of the Minor Theatres.-Now that the claims of the minor theatres to enact the regular drama are so ably advocated by E. L. Bulwer, Esq., and other M.P.s, and that the subject has received so much parliamentary and legislatorial attention, it is pleasant to recur to the infant incursions of the minors into the paths of the patentees. In 1784, old Astley took legal opinions as to presenting "Billy Button; or, the Tailor riding to Brentford," in which there is usually introduced some vulgar banter between Snip and the Ostler*. A well-known puppet piece, called "The Broken Bridge; or, the Insolent Carpenter," was, though done, thought beyond the latitude of their license. In this last production, a traveller stands on one side of a river, a carpenter on the other: the half-arch of a broken bridge is between them. The dialogue, which was musical, commenced thus:

"Traveller.-Hip, holloa! Master Carpenter, how shall I get over? Fol de rol de rido.

Carpenter (smoking his pipe).—The ducks and the geese they do swim over. Fol de rol de rido."

These "diverting dialogues," as they were termed, delighted the grandams of the present generation, and attracted crowds to the incommodious buildings then erected by Astley. Some years afterwards, he obtained a patent for an amphitheatre in Dublin; and a letter is extant from a person in a high official situation in the Irish government, stating "that, after mature deliberation, it was found that dialogues formed no part of eques trian performances, and therefore could not," &c. In Paris, where Astley went annually, the Lieutenant-Général de Police held him so closely to the terms of the permission granted him by Louis XVI., that he would not suffer even tumblers to appear on a little temporary stage; but Astley defeated him, by fastening a platform on the backs of sixteen horses, and letting his voltigeurs perform there! At Dublin, he crept on year after year, until, in 1792, he was presenting musical farces, which, once sanctioned there, he transported to his amphitheatre in London. What was permitted to him could not but be conceded to his rival at the Royal Circus, (now Surrey,) and his contemporary, Hughes, at Sadler's Wells. Hence arose, through non-intervention, the minor drama. Meanwhile, Daly, manager of the Dublin Theatre Royal, commenced action after action. The pleas were ultimately moved to the English Courts, and the opinion of the twelve Judges taken on a special case. Long before judgment was given Daly was ruined; Astley had made his fortune. The fact is, the former was a man of an atrocious character, universally execrated; the latter was a generous, worthy fellow, respected by all classes, and, as a teacher of riding, driving, &c., personally known to all the nobility of the day, particularly favoured by the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, and the Duke and Duchess of Gordon,

Tailor.-Ostler, I can't get on the horse's back, he keeps waggling his tail so. Ostler. Well, don't you know how to prevent that?

T-No; how should I?

O. Why, you're a tailor-stitch it down.

a trum

+ The license was what is yet granted to travelling bands, and called " peter's license." Disbanded soldiers and maimed sailors at one time got such a protection ere they set forth with their clarionets, flutes, or organs. Astley, who had served under General Elliott, obtained one with his discharge about 1778.