engravings of the Liber Veritatis; but even John Reeve himself could give us nothing nearer to Kean's acting than a clever caricature of it; and if Charles Mathews were to attempt to imitate Ducrow, he would break his neck.

Assuredly, of all blest conditions," there is none approaching in immediate and tangible blessedness to that of a favourite performer. He alone can as it were taste and palate his own popularity; he alone can compass and enjoy his future reputation without dying for it. His alone is "true fame." And yet so happily and justly equalized is the lot of humanity-a popular actor would often barter all the substantial glory that attends and hails him nightly upon the scene of his exploits, for the unmeaning eulogy of some miserable penny-a-liner, or the paid-for puff of some needy parasite.

But I am too long delaying to fulfil the more immediate object of the remaining portion of my task-that of offering a brief description of one of Ducrow's equestrian performances, as a fair example of the whole.

Imagine a circular riding-house, of some fifty feet in diameter, boarded in to the height of about three feet, seats rising amphitheatrically all round, tawdry balconies, &c. rising above, and the whole space illuminated with a blaze of gas, till it rivals the noonday sunlight. Fill the seats with a chance medley mass of eager spectators; let a band of somewhat sorry musicians evoke from their still more sorry instruments some of the popular street-melodies of the day; and you have before you the arena of Ducrow's triumphs-the scene of all his glory. Until he enters, it is but a better sort of booth at Bartholomew Fair.

Behold! the genius loci appears, and the place is instantly transformed into a Temple of high Art, second only to that in which we are accustomed to witness the severe grandeur of Pasta, the burning passion and the melting pathos of Grisi, and the superhuman graces of Taglioni and Cerito a classical spot, whither perchance a train of pilgrims may hereafter peregrinate from all parts of the civilized globe, to pay "honour due" at the chief shrine of that " Equestrian Order" of Saints, the establishment of which, as I am given to understand, was the death-bed dream of Ducrow's illustrious career he himself being of course the patron Saint of the Order!

But I must proceed in my description rather more mechanically, as well as methodically, than heretofore or I shall fail to convey that distinct and tangible impression of my subject, in the absence of which this Eloge would fall miserably below its destined object,-that of sailing down the stream of Time, an humble attendant on the mighty bark which will convey Ducrow to the haven of immortality.

Once more, then, imagine the circle above described, empty of every thing but the eager anticipations of the ten thousand eyes that are directed towards it. A portion of its circumscribing limit opens outwards for a moment, like a pair of wings; when lo! a naked steed, beautiful as the morning, bursts through them, and seems to occupy the whole space at once, with its fiery restlessness, its wild gazes on all around, and its eager bounding from side to side of the magic circlefrom which all escape seems closed!-A moment more, and a richly

caparisoned groom, followed by a poorly-attired pilgrim, "with cockled hat and clouted shoon," enter at the again opening doors, which close behind them, and leave the circle complete as before. The Pilgrim leans on his staff, and seems aweary; and the groom points to the gallant steed that might bear him on his distant way, but that Pilgrims are supposed for their sins to belong necessarily to the pedestrian orders, and have no business to antedate the heaven of riding on horseback, until they have earned it by pacing half the circumference of the globe with peas in their shoes. Our pilgrim, however, (like him who boiled his peas) is less scrupulous than some. He accepts the proffered kindness, abandons his staff, and mounts the attendant steed.

He first walks cautiously-then canters easily-then gallops eagerly -on his pious course. But see-his pilgrim's gear seems to encumber and oppress him, and he prepares to cast it off; and while doing so he climbs awkwardly upon the back of his steed, and stands tottering on his feet, while he divests himself of his superfluous attire.

But lo! what strange farcing is this? Are we looking upon the circle of Astley's at Westminster Bridge, or on the square of St. Mark at Venice during the Carnival?

The Pilgrim is no longer a Pilgrim, but a Policinello, floundering and flinging about his limbs as if they were so many fly-flappers, and "aggravating his voice" into the sound of a penny-trumpet-the steed still flying round the circle like a spirit, and Punch adhering to him awkwardly but pertinaciously, half on, half off, like the harness of an English hachney-coach-horse.

Hark! an extra squeak—a loftier leap than heretofore—a dislocating twist of the arms, and a supernatural kick of the lower limbsand lo! the ci-devant Punch is changed into a young Peasant of the Campagna, beaming with the mental sunshine of his country, and burning with love for the bright mistress, whose beauties he conjures up before you by the pure force of his imagination acting upon yours. He gazes, and points to the empty space before him, as he careers round the circle; and you seem to see the object of his fierce passion as plainly as he does. He beckons-he entreats-he is half-angered -he prays-he kneels; and lo! as he rises in a rich ecstasy of delight, you see her rushing to his arms, and clasped there in a mutual pressure of passionate joy: so vivid-so forcible-so pure-so perfect, is the truth of action with which the whole imaginary scene is delineated !

Meanwhile, the steed still continues untired in his centrifugal career, and another "change comes o'er the spirit of his dream." While you are looking-or during an instant when you may have chanced to look off-the Peasant has disappeared, and in his place-behold!— Harlequin-Harlequin on horseback!! The mere abstract idea of it puts quicksilver in the feet and fingers of the fancy, and sends one's spirits careering among the stars. But we must call them home again, to the scarcely less unearthly realities before us.

If there is one species of dancing that more than another requires for its due performance the solid ground as a place of footing, it is that species proper and peculiar to harlequins; yet every pas and attitude of it does Ducrow put forth, with a truth, a precision, and a force of gusto, not exhibited by any mere stage harlequin extant, and on a

slippery stage a few inches square, that is all the while moving under his feet at the rate of twenty miles an hour! The wonders of the Indian jugglers are commonplace in comparison.

And now for the final and finest scene in this extraordinary exhibition. At a wave of his own wand, this seeming Harlequin, still moving round in his endless path, like the wind round the "earth globose," transforms himself into a symbol of that wind itself, and flies before us like a winged Zephyr, pursuing with the speed of light the invisible Flora of whom he is enamoured.

This portion of the strange and beautiful Equestrian, Ballet that we have been witnessing in fancy, is by far the most strange and beautiful of the whole; for it was in these personations of the highest creations of ancient poetry that Ducrow peculiarly and especially excelled-outdoing himself in these parts, as much as he outdid all other competitors in his ordinary performances. The mingled grace and gusto of his movements, as he flew after the flying object of his fairy love-the lightning speed to which he urged the motion of his steed as the imaginary object of his pursuit fled before him-the miraculous skill with which he took advantage of the centrifugal and centripetal forces that were counteracting each other, to give his course the semblance of a flight through the air, by merely touching the horse with the tip of one foot-his whole frame literally hanging pendant in the supporting air; all this must have been seen to be duly admired and wondered at; and even then it was one of those cases (not few in number) in which "seeing is not believing."

Finally, in the very midst of his mad flight, as just described,-see! he suddenly drops from the air to the ground like a plummet-resumes in an instant his mortal guise, by making a proudly humble obeisance to his ecstatic audience; and then he and his steed disappear together, without even giving you time to satisfy yourself that either of them is a thing of mere mortal mould.

Alas! the melancholy evidence that one of them at least was "of the earth, earthy," lies low before us! Lies, did I say? Yes-it does lie. It is his dust only that is gone to dust. The immortal part of him shall live in this Eloge for ever,-that, I imagine, being the term allotted to the existence of the periodical in which it is destined to be enshrined.

"THE man who is fitted out by nature and sent into the world with great abilities is capable of doing great good or mischief in it."

So says Mr. Addison in one of his papers in the Spectator, and so say I. My servant Robert gives the same sentiment in his own quaint but superlative language.

"Depend upon it, master, that them as is the most cleverest, is either the most capableest of doing the greatest deal of good, or else the most mischief-makingest chaps as lives."

He

Both Mr. Addison and my servant Robert, doubtless, arrived at this same conclusion'from having observed the application and misapplication of abilities in different persons in their respective grades of society. I have stored it up in my mind as a maxim incontrovertible ever since my friend Timkins, of St. James's-the cleverest man of his year, not years-rejected a surplice and a living of 7007. per annum, and took to defending thieves at the Old Bailey as a barrister-at-law. advocated a rogue's cause so eloquently and so successfully that the jury invariably acquitted him without conferring together, and gave in their verdict of" Not guilty" with a look of virtuous indignation at the clerk of the arraigns, for having dared to ask him whether or not he was guilty of the crime briefly recounted on the back of the indictment. He never failed to obtain a verdict in favour of his client but once, and that was when the accused picked his pocket of his watch, chain, and seals, during a private consultation the evening before his trial. The man was hanged and richly he deserved his fate. The wretch who steals a timepiece ought not to complain of being converted into a pendulum.

In this case the great ability of Mr. Timkins, we see, effected a great deal of mischief, and thus one of Mr. Addison's assertions was fully proven" to me.

The other assertion-the capability of doing a great deal of goodwas also satisfactorily proved to me in the case of Mr. Viridus, of St. Mark's, a very clever person-in his way. He spent a fortune of 150,0007. in two years upon the cantatrices and figurantes of the Italian Opera, and thus enabled them to leave our shores and retire to their respective homes. He did a great deal of good by removing the irritamenta mulorum from patrician eyes and hearts, and added to that good by writing, during his retirement in the King's Bench, a treatise on "The Seductive and Fatal Effects of Taper Ankles and Short Petticoats," which was read with great attention by all his friends to whom he presented a copy.

After his release, under "the Act," he volunteered as a missionary to May.—VOL. LXV. NO. CCLVII.

E

the Hottentots, because the dark females of that interesting region have not taper ankles and do not wear short petticoats.

Having made these few preliminary remarks, I will proceed further to illustrate the quotation with which I commenced this paper, from the Proctor's Note-book.

One very fine morning in the glorious month of June, as Alderman Mango, of the firm of Mango, Guava, and Shaddock, the largest West-India merchants in the rich but dirty city of Bristol, was sitting in his counting-house, meditating on a rise in rums and an increased demand for sugars, he was roused from his revery by one of the porters, who brought information of the safe arrival in King's-road of one of their largest vessels.

This ship, which was called "The Alderman Mango," out of compliment to himself, had been long expected-indeed, so long, that it had been openly asserted by the knowing in such matters in Bristol, that "it was all up with The Alderman,"" by which they meant that the good ship was gone down. The truth of the assertion was so nearly proved to the worthy owners that they were upon the point of calling upon the underwriters to "dub up," as they termed paying the amount of the insurances.

When then Mango heard of "The Alderman's" safe arrival, he merely just popped his head into his partners' rooms to inform them of the joyful news, and hurried down to the quay. There he quickly embarked aboard one of his boats and ordered the crew to row him down the Avon, to the spot where the long-expected vessel had dropped her anchor, and was waiting for the next tide to waft her up to her moorings beside the quay.

A long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether,

soon brought him alongside of his namesake.

The man-ropes were eagerly seized by the alderman; he was quickly upon deck and conducted by the captain into his cabin.

After a long and hearty shaking of hands and exchanging of good wishes, the captain satisfied the inquiries of his owner as to the cause of his delay in arriving in port. He explained to him that a storm had arisen of so severe a character, and attended with such disastrous consequences, that he had been compelled to cut away his masts and let them go by the board, and to throw overboard the heaviest but least valuable part of his cargo. By great good luck he had been discerned by a passing vessel, the master of which, pitying his crippled state, had towed him into the nearest port where he had to stay to refit. He had had no means of communicating with England, as no ship had left home during the time he was refitting.

"And now," said Captain Brunt, "while you, sir, overhaul the log and examine the bills of lading, I'll go and order some turtle to be heated, and make some of the lime punch you used to praise so much." "By all means," said Alderman Mango, smacking his lips; "you are a considerate man, Brunt, and never forget to furnish a Bristolian with what he loves best."

While Brunt was absent

On hospitable thoughts intent,