the dramatic author; Mr. Replevin, Q.C.,
the Star of the Old Bailey, and Honorary Counsel
to the Society of Distressed Scene-shifters; Mr.
Flote, the stage-manager; Slogger, Champion
of the Middle Weights; Signor Drumsi Polstoodoff,
the Egyptian Fire-annihilator; and many
others. The banquet cost Wuff a hundred
pounds, caused the consumption of an immense
quantity of wine, and ended in the Fire-
anniliilator's springing into the middle of the table,
kicking the decanters on to the floor, and, in a
strong Irish accent, requesting any gentleman
present to tread on the tail of his coat.

From this Greenwich dinner may be dated the
beginning of Pontifex' s extremely bad end. That
little dare-devil, TominyTosh, and that fastest of
fast men, Four-in-hand Farquhar, who were first
introduced to Pontifex at the Wuffian banquet,
no sooner made his acquaintance, than they
showed themselves perfectly enraptured with
his company. They pervaded the dressing-
room which he shared with Mr. Deadwate, the
low comedian, and "stood" brandy-and-water
to that eminent buffo; they waited for Pontifex
at the close of the performance, and took him
away to Haymarket orgies, to private suppers,
to where the frequenters of the Little Nick
worshipped their divinity with closed doors and
on a green baize-covered altar, and to every scene
of dissipation which the town could boast (or not
boast) of. One sultry day in July, when Wuff was
thinking of speedily closing the T. R. H. G.,
and transporting all his company to some
seaside watering-place for the combined benefit of
their healths and his pocket, Mr. Flote tapped
at the door of the managerial sanctum, and
entering, informed his chief, that though
the orchestra was already "rung in," Mr.
Pontifex, who was to appear in the first
scene, had not arrived at the theatre. The
overture was played and twice repeated,
and during the third time of its repetition
Pontifex arrived. Mr. Flote, who had been
watching for him at the stage-door, turned
ghastly pale when he saw him, and followed him
anxiously to his dressing-room, then descended
to the wing, and waited until he should appear.
The British public, which had grown very irate
at being kept waiting, and which had treated
with the utmost scorn the explanation which
Mr. Slyme, the "apologist" of the theatre, had
offered for the delay, was now softened and
soothed by the expectation of their favourite's
appearance, and when the cue, which immediately
preceded his entrance was given, those
acquainted with the play commenced an applause
which swelled into a tumultuous roar of delight.
The effect of this ovation upon its recipient was
very singular; he started back, covered his head
with his hand, and staggered to a chair, into
which he fell. The applause ceased on the
instant, and in the sudden lull, Mr. Flote's voice
was heard urging somebody "for Heaven's sake
to rouse himself." Mr. Pontifex then rose from
the chair, balanced himself for a few seconds on
his heels, looked gravely at the audience, informed
them in a high-pitched key that he was "all
right," and fell flat on his back. In vain did Mr.
Slyme, Mr. Flote, and even the great Wuff
himself (that theatrical Mokanna who was never
unveiled to the public save to receive their
compliments upon his transformation scene on
Boxing-nights), appear before the baize and appeal
to the audience; it would not brook Mr. Dacre
Pontifex any longer, and hence we find his
advertisement in the favourite journal, and his
intention to visit the lively localities already set
forth.

What next, among the advertisements in the
favourite journal? "TO BE LET, with extensive
cellarage attached, suitable for a wine-merchant,
the CRACKSIDEUM THEATRE ROYAL. Apply at the
stage-door." The Cracksideum to let again!
That old theatre has seen some strange
vicissitudes. Once, it was taken by Mr. Stolberg
Stentor, a country tragedian of enormous powers
of lung, who had roared his way to the highest
point of theatrical felicity in the Bradford and
Sheffield regions, and who only wanted an opening
in London to be acknowledged as the head
of the theatrical profession. A good round
sum of money, honestly earned by hard work
in the provinces, did Mr. Stentor bring with
him to London, and the old Cracksideum looked
bravely in the new paint and gilding which he
bestowed upon it. A good man, Mr. Stentor,
an energetic, bustling, never-tiring actor, a
little too self-reliant perhaps, playing all the
principal characters himself, and supporting
himself by an indifferent company, but still a
man who meant to do something, and who
did it. What he did was to get through his
two thousand pounds in an inconceivably short
space of time. The public rather liked him at
first, then bore him patiently, then tolerated
him impatiently, then forsook him altogether.
Stentor as Hamlet in the inky cloak, Stentor as
Richard in the velvet ermine, Stentor as the
Stranger in the Hessian boots, Stentor as Claude
Melnotte, Stentor as the Lonely Lion of the
Ocean, Stentor as Everybody in Everything, grew
to be a bore, and was left alone in his glory.
Still he never gave in; he received visitors
sitting in his chair of state; after the first word
he never glanced at a visitor, but continued
practising the celebrated Stentor scowl and Stentor
eye business in the mirror; he kept the carpenters
at a respectful tragic distance; he awed the
little ballet-girls with the great Stentor stride,
and he remained monarch of all he surveyed,
until he played his last great part of Stentor in
the Insolvent Court, the minor characters being
sustained by one Mr. Commissioner, and some
"supers" named Sargood and Linklater. His
appearance here was so great a success, that his
audience requested to see him again in six
months' time.

An Italian, the Favourite Prestidigitateur of
his Majesty the King of the Leeboo Islands;
Mr. Lens's Starry Carpet, or the Heavens at a
Glance; the Female Wilberforcists or Emancipated
Darky Serenaders; and Mr. Michael
O'Hone, the celebrated Hibernian orator;
succeeded each other rapidly at the Cracksideum,