"LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP."

"Fallen, fallen, fallen."-DRYDEN.

My father being what is called a serious tallow-chandler, having supplied the Baptist Meeting-house of Nantwich with dips for many years, intended to make me a field-preaching minister. Alas! my books were plays, my sermons soliloquies. You would not have wondered, had you seen me then, with my large dark eyes, my permanent nose, and a mouth to which my picture does but scanty justice. In large theatres these may be but secondary considerations; but a figure symmetrical as mine must have been seen through all space. Accordingly, I eloped with the young lady who used to rehearse my heroines with me, and came to London, where, after we had studied together till I was in debt, and she, as "ladies wish to be who love their lords," I began applying to the managers for leave to make my debût. I will not describe to you the neglect and rudeness I experienced! It did not abate my enthusiasm; but so true it is, "while the grass grows"-the proverb is somewhat musty,-that I had soon nothing but musty bread on which to feed my hopes, and hopeful wife. One burning spring day

I roved as far as the fields near Greenwich, and, book in hand, went through Romeo, though but to a shy audience, for the sheep all took to their trotters, and the crows to their wings, and not without caws. (That joke was mine, let who will have claimed it.)

Suddenly somebody hissed; it could not be the sheep, and no geese were near. At that instant a very elegant man, stepping from behind a tree, thus accosted me:

"Sir, I have heard you with delight. I can procure you an en

PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

gagement, not perhaps for the Romeos, but all great actors have risen by slow degrees, and the best of them has, at his outset, been attacked by some snake in the grass." He now pointed out the reptile, who slunk away, looking heartily ashamed of himself. The gentleman continued, "Mr. Richardson and Company are now acting at the fair. I am his scene-painter; see here, I have sketched you in your happiest attitude. Come with me." We went to the booth. I was hired; but, unluckily, my powers being suited for a larger stage, so over

powered my present audience, that I was taken out of all speaking parts, for fear of fatal consequences. Nevertheless, my grace in processions soon raised so much jealousy against me, that in the autumn Master recommended me to one of the Minors in town, where, for twice as much salary, I was never expected to appear before the curtain, but to make myself useful among the carpenters and sceneshifters. That Christmas, during the rehearsal of a Pantomime, four of us were set to catch an Harlequin, each to hold the corner of a blanket, and be ready

for his jump through the scene. Alas! one gentleman brought his pot, and one his pipe, and the third an inclination for a snooze. Two were asleep, and one draining the last drops of stout from the pewter. I alone upheld my corner from the boards, when the awful leap came on us, like a star-shoot. I still see the momentary gleam of that strait, spangled, fish-like, head-long figure. Can, candle, bottle, pipes, all crashed beneath the heavy tumbler. With a torrent

of apologies, we scram

could feel, without sense, For an instant all was

bled up, in the dark, to raise the fallen hero; but there he lay, on his face, with legs and arms out spread, as we or sound, or motion, cold, stiff, and dead! horrid silence; we were as breathless as he. I resolved to give myself up to justice, yet found voice in the boldness of innocence to shout "Help! Lights! All his bones are broken!" "And all yours shall be, ye dogs!" cried a voice. We looked up; there stood one Harlequin over us alive; there lay another under us, without a chance of ever more peeping through the blanket of the dark. That the speaker was no ghost we were soon convinced, as his magic bat battered us. The truth was, he had thrown at us the stuffed Harlequin used in flying ascents, to try our vigilance, before he risked his own neck. felt, however, that I might have been of a party who had killed a man. It was a judgment on me for being in such a place, with any less excuse than that of acting Romeo. I took my wife and babe back to Cheshire. We knelt at my father's feet, promising to serve in the shop; fortunately it was one of his melting days; he raised us to his arms, we formed a tableau generale-and the curtain dropped.

"Sweeping our flocks and herds."-DOUGLAS.

O PHILANTHROPIC men!

For this address I need not make apology-
Who aim at clearing out the Smithfield pen,
And planting further off its vile Zoology-
Permit me thus to tell,

I like your efforts well,

For routing that great nest of Hornithology!

Be not dismay'd, although repulsed at first,

And driven from their Horse, and Pig, and Lamb parts,
Charge on !-you shall upon their hornworks burst,
And carry all their Bull-warks and their Ram-parts.

Go on, ye wholesale drovers!

And drive away the Smithfield flocks and herds!
As wild as Tartar-Curds,

That come so fat, and kicking, from their clovers,
Off with them all!-those restive brutes, that vex

Our streets, and plunge, and lunge, and butt, and battle;
And save the female sex

From being cow'd-like Iö-by the cattle!

Fancy, when droves appear on

The hill of Holborn, roaring from its top,-
Your ladies-ready, as they own, to drop,
Taking themselves to Thomson's with a Fear-on!

Or, in St. Martin's Lane,

Scared by a Bullock, in a frisky vein,-
Fancy the terror of your timid daughters,
While rushing souse

Into a coffee-house,

To find it-Slaughter's!

Or fancy this:

Walking along the street, some stranger Miss, Her head with no such thought of danger laden, When suddenly 'tis "Aries Taurus Virgo!"You don't know Latin, I translate it ergo,

Into

your Areas a Bull throws the Maiden!

Nay, fancy your own selves far off from stall,
Or shed, or shop-and that an Ox infuriate
Just pins you to the wall,

Giving you a strong dose of Oay-Muriate !

Methinks I hear the neighbours that live round
The Market-ground

Thus make appeal unto their civic fellows—
“ ”Tis well for you that live apart-unable
To hear this brutal Babel,

But our firesides are troubled with their bellows."

That others' victuals should disturb our rest,

That from our sleep your food should start and jump us! We like, ourselves, a steak,

But, Sirs, for pity's sake!

We don't want oxen at our doors to rump-us!

If we do doze-it really is too bad!
We constantly are roar'd awake or rung,
Through bullocks mad

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That run in all the Night Thoughts' of our Young!"

Such are the woes of sleepers-now let's take

The woes of those that wish to keep a Wake!

Oh think! when Wombwell gives his annual feasts,
Think of these "Bulls of Basan," far from mild ones ;
Such fierce tame beasts,

That nobody much cares to see the Wild ones!

Think of the Show woman,

"what shows a Dwarf,"

Seeing a red Cow come

To swallow her Tom Thumb,

And forc'd with broom of birch to keep her off!

Think, too, of Messrs. Richardson and Co.,
When looking at their public private boxes,
To see in the back row

Three live sheep's heads, a porker's, and an Ox's!
Think of their Orchestra, when two horns come
Through, to accompany the double drum !