musicians; the great cage, with its lions; the
black servant follows with his herd of camels;
then come the handsome living-carriages of the
"proprietors," the wife or daughter preparing
breakfast as they trot over the ground. The
acting manager dashes along, last of all, in a
Chinese pavilion, drawn by a pair of dwarf
horses; and all along the route there are
congregated groups of the discerning public, who
stare, open-mouthed, and wonder.

Arriving at their destination, the performers
start off to procure lodgings and obtain
breakfast. This is not so easy a matter as may
be supposed; many good people having very
hearty prejudice against the show folk. Breakfast
being satisfactorily accomplished, it is time
for the company to get themselves "made up"
for the grand parade, which is generally fixed
for one o'clock, when the corps of performers,
and all the auxiliaries who can be pressed into
service, in their gayest character dresses,
preceded by the band, and accompanied by the den
of lions and other zoological phenomena, march
in procession through the town and its
neighbourhood. The period occupied by the
procession allows the tent-master to have the tent
put up, to superintend the placing of seats and
the hanging of lamps, so that, by two o'clock,
the place may be ready for the reception of
company. Red-tapists would stare in horror at the
celerity with which a Circus tent rises on the
village green. The place is no sooner fixed upon
than two or three nondescript-looking men—
those odd men one always finds so plentiful about a
Circus, who can do anything, from looking the part
of Bluebeard in a pantomime to shoeing a horse
—rush with pick and hammer, and drive a short
central stake into the ground, to which is affixed
one end of a long measuring tape, and round and
round the ground this tape is carried, the man
at the outer end leaving a stake at certain
distances; another man gets these stakes hammered
into the ground to serve as staples for the
canvas, whilst nearer the ring another row of
pillars arise to support the roof. In the grand
centre stands the great pole, and round it is cut
out of the turf the magic ring, or arena, for the
combined army of acrobats, horsemen,
ascensionists, lion-tamers, clowns, &c. All is got
ready in little more than an hour: performing
tent, dressing tent, money tent, and every other
accessory.

On the return of the company from parade,
escorted by those who are to form the spectators,
the performance at once begins, and is carried
on with great rapidity for an hour and a half.
After the company has been dismissed, the
performers have time to dine and take tea—a most
welcome refreshment, for, at seven o'clock, all
hands must again muster for the evening's
performance, which is longer and more elaborate
than that given in the morning. So soon as the
last chords of "God save the Queen" have died
away, the tent is "struck" and packed up ready
for another day's march, and the lingering crowd
having gradually dispersed, all is quiet. After
work is over the manager and his chief aides will
have their pint of beer and their pipe at the
inn. The acting manager settles up all the bills
—for ground-money, for board and lodging, for
the horses, and for all sundries supplied to the
concern. Some of the tradesmen of the place
will join the group, and there is no end of
gossip and tobacco reek in the best parlour of
the Cock and Trumpet. This pleasant dissipation
is but of brief duration, however, for the
showman's motto must be "Early to bed and
early to rise," for next morning's journey must
be duly accomplished.

The "parade," or grand entrée, which always
takes place in each town, is the cause of what
may be called "a profound sensation," especially
if the day be a genial one. Then the company
shine out resplendent in tinsel and gold, and
spangles and feathers, and glass and zinc
diamonds. There are, besides, crowns and tiaras,
and rich silk and satin dresses. In the grand
entrée, as it is called, all is couleur de rose;
private woes or sorrows, general to the
company, are hidden for the moment, and on blood
chargers, curveting and prancing, decorated with
magnificent trappings, may be seen the more
prominent heroes and heroines of the heathen
mythology. The parade may be described as
the peroration advertisement, which puts the
key-stone on the gaudy bills that have hitherto
served to whet curiosity.

"If Circus be so grand on peaper, what will
't not be in t' real tent, with all them fine
animals, and with such real live pretty men and
women?" ask the natives of the rural hamlets
of each other, and eagerly pay their money to
see the fun. The tent is crammed full, and our
friend the rustic, who has never before been in
a Circus, gazes around him with all his senses
open. Suddenly, while John Clodpole is staring
round him, a bell rings, and almost simultaneously
the horse and the rider appear in the
Circus, the latter floating gracefully into the ring
like a pinky cloud. And then is summoned Mr.
Merryman, who announces the style and title of
the lady, and, at once, all present know that she
is "Mdlle. Hamletina de Rozencrantz, the floating
zephyr rider." The lady being assisted to mount,
the fun and wonder begins. Now is John Clodpole
in a heaven of delight; wonder, mixed with
a little dash of fear, is his prevailing expression.
The horse, with arched neck and flashing eye, is
flying round the ring at the rate of eight or ten
miles an hour, and the nymph of the floating
zephyr, standing upon his back, goes through
her great "trick act" with a power, if not a
grace, that evokes the thunder of the gods most
liberally.

Next comes the "turn," as it is called, of
Mr. Merryman, who, after asking the ring-
master in the gravest possible tones what he
"can go for to bring for to fetch for to carry
for him?" straightway introduces some most
interesting family reminiscences, by asking the
audience if they knew his grandfather; upon
the simple folks laughing at this, he then
launches forth no end of stories about his
different relations, from his great-great-grandfather,