John Bull claims-in commercial phrase-the indisputable privilege of using up the "article" for which he has paid "cash," according to his own peculiar fancy and humour, rigorously exacting his money's worth. Nor is he satisfied with fair and full measure of the commodity, but demands a something "in," " an overplus," in an encore of his favourite song, or "a blessing," in the reproduction of a chosen performer upon the stage-counter, whereon he is required to appear au naturel when his work is done, and bend with due humility to his patrons-the aforesaid coatless gentleman and sixpenny-boy-in acknowledgment and thanks for their "sweet voices" vouchsafed to him. But with the last exacted bow ends the tyranny of the powers that be the "royalties and rights" of the gallerygods and other presiding dominations of the night are at an end-the serf is enfranchised!-and nothing then remains for unsceptred majesty, "the people," but to crawl languidly out of the gorgeous temple of their late triumphs, and creep back to their dull homes, and dream of lost dominion. Haply, a portion of them lagging behind to cumber the stage-door entrance, for the extra-over-andabove gratification of witnessing, "free gratis for nothing," the final exit of their chief favourites, the going-out of the brightest stars of the night, catch the outline of their enveloped figures, as they hurriedly ascend, with muffled faces, their attendant carriage, and see them pull down the mystic blinds,

and drive off rapidly home. Home! ay, there's the rub! Not one of the spectators can follow them there! no money can purchase a key to the blue chamber of an actor's privacy, no order achieve the open sesame! of his street door, when once closed upon the generous public. There is no free admission for the liberal patrons of the actor, but within the walls of the theatre, whence they may pursue him to the utmost limits of open space; but once within his own domestic fence, he is invisible to outward ken.

How, then, are the habits and casualties of an actor's private life to be ascertained? How is the "laudable curiosity" of the world to be satisfied? It is notorious that such individuals are peculiarly jealous of undue personal notice; the more eminent, the more popular an actor is in his professional career, the more reserved and impenetrable to the

general" when once ensconsed behind the arras of domestic privacy. The performer who lives in the full glare of the public eye three parts of his life will be found most tenacious of his right to dispose of the fourth without observation, interruption, or publicity; hence it follows, that those who admire the humour of a comedian on the stage, little reck what may be his humour elsewhere. merry droll of farce is probably a very dull fellow in the drama of domestic life; and the man who has made his audience roar with laughter, under the reiterated strokes of his comicality, may soon after

The

make his children roar with agony, under the repeated lashes of his cane; the tenderly impassioned lover may be found to be a terribly passionate husband; the submissive wife, a brawling virago; the miser in the scene, a very spendthrift out of it (and vice versa) in short, as no true estimate of the man can be formed from an acquaintance with the actor, it naturally and reasonably becomes a question of some concern, what he really is when his "lendings" are "off," and he returns unto himself: and an inquiry ensues as to how he comports himself with his family and friends; how he eats, drinks, sleeps, walks, talks, when he has no part to play ; whether he is, what by outward show he appears— namely, a thing of flesh and blood, with appetites, passions, amusements, griefs, and gratifications, in common with his fellow-men; whether, like them, he is possessed of " organs, dimensions, senses, affections; fed with the same food; hurt with the same weapons; subject to the same diseases; healed by the same means; warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer; or whether he is in fact a thing of shreds and patches; a soulless being formed and set apart for the mere purpose of amusement to dull humanity; to be laughed at in a comical garb; stared at in a gorgeous one; encored in a good song, hissed in a bad one; dismissed from his toil with plaudits or neglect, to remain, like other cold-blooded animals, torpid, until again drawn

forth and warmed into action and the fitful fulfilment of his destiny. The speculation is, indeed, at once delicate and interesting, touching the real nature, feelings, and faculties of actors out of the scene of their histrionic excellence; and it is no mean boast in the writer of these remarks that she has crossed the very threshold which has divided the "curious" from their insight to the private natures and pursuits of public performers; and, having passed the Rubicon, plunged into the very heart of their mystery, she now offers up to her readers the conclusion to which her personal observations have brought her-namely, that actors, however they may seem in public, are merely human beings! endowed with the same tastes and faculties as others boast, subject to the like frailties, capable of the same virtues, and liable, alas! to the the same errors and mutations, and all the numerous humours, accidents, and sorrows that mortality is heir to; and even as "Punch has feelings," so have actors, although they are often treated as if they had none. In fine, gentle reader-theatrical reader!-if you will peruse the following instances, you will find that these, the "abstract and brief chronicles of the time," are, as we ourselves are, creatures but of time and circumstance, governed by the same casualties, moved by the same weaknesses, open to the same mistakes, instigated by the same temptations, liable to the same--but hold!-something too much of this

I find that I have been edging myself into your presence somewhat in the fashion of a pedlar, who brings himself and his pack into your room sideways. In further imitation of his mode of doing business," I shall therefore open my miscellaneous wares piecemeal, for your inspection, trusting that my light merchandise may be recommended by the present samples, and that the commodities may so far please as to ensure your future custom, and a speedy order for more of the same "article."

BANNISTER, THE COMEDIAN, AND MR. HEATH.

At the time when "all the world" all the world" went to Paris, Mr. John Bannister, the celebrated comedian, and Mr. Heath, the equally eminent engraver,* agreed to go thither together as soon as their respective avocations permitted them to leave London; and late in the autumn these old friends and cronies reached Dover one evening, with the intention of crossing over to Calais early the following morning.

Fatigued by their day's journey, the travellers partook of an early supper, and retired to rest in a double-bedded room (the only one in the house found disengaged); Mr. Bannister going up first, and Mr. Heath following as soon as he ascertained that his co-partner was in bed, previously leaving

*Father to the Annual Heath.