will be suffered to have a part in it. How
pleased will the town be this winter to read
in one of the articles of news in the Public
Advertiser, ' We hear that at each of the
theatres royal there is an entire new Pantomime
now in rehearsal, and that the
principal parts are to be performed by Mr. Garrick,
Mr. Woodward, Mr. Mossop, Mrs. Cibber,
and Mrs. Pritchard, at Drury Lane; and at
Govent Garden by Mr. Quin, Mr. Lun, Mr.
Barry, Miss Nossiter,' &c. It is not to be
doubted that a Pantomime so acted would run
through a whole season to the politest as well
as most crowded audiences." This is followed
by a little bantering about the decay of wits
being compensated by the excellence of the
stage-carpenters; so that if the degeneracy
of the drama be a fact, the said degeneracy,
having already outlived many generations,
must in itself (like many other degeneracies)
possess a most amazing stamina.

The chief character in Pantomimes a
century ago, was the Harlequin who made love
to, and danced with, the Columbine in
much the same fashion which he now
employs. The Clown—the principal man
now-a-days, owing, probably, to the achievements
of the renowned Grimaldi—had no
existence in the Pantomimes of George the
Second's reign; at any rate, no nominal existence:
but the Pantaloon was attended by a
servant, who may be looked upon as the
germ from which has issued the matchless
rogue of modern times—the veritable
progenitor of that embodiment of London
impudence, knavery, and slang, whom it delighteth
us to patronise at Christmas, and whom we
cannot help in some sort admiring for the
geniality of his humour, and the southern
exuberance of his spirits. Another distinction
between the Pantomimes of the past and
of the present, consists in the fact that the
former do not appear to have had any regular
"introduction " such as those with which
we now preface what we call the harlequinade.
Nevertheless, there was something of a story,
which, instead of being kept apart, as now,
was mixed up with the rest of the performance.
Tales from the Greek mythology
were the favourites; but a writer in The
Connoisseur for December the nineteenth,
seventeen hundred and fifty-four, derisively
suggests the propriety of taking the
subjects of Pantomimes from children's fairy
tales. This, it appears, had already been
done at one of the great theatres, where they
had availed themselves of the story of Fortunatus
and the Wonderful Wishing Cap. The
correspondent of The Connoisseur suggests
for adoption the old legends of Patient
Grizzle, Little Red Riding-hood, Puss in
Boots, and the Children in the Wood; in the
last of which he thinks it " would be vastly
pretty to see the pasteboard robin redbreasts
let down by wires upon the stage to cover the
poor innocent babes with paper leaves." It
seems that in those days, as in the present,
they were fond of introducing little children
into their entertainments. The suggestion
with reference to fairy tales has been amply
carried out in later times; and Pantomimes
have no doubt been the gainers in elegance,
grace, and fancy. In another respect, also,
these dramas have certainly improved since
the period of which we are writing. At that
time, the lax morals of the reign of Charles
the Second had not entirely deserted the
stage; and the periodical essayists had
frequent occasion to reprove the indecorums of
Harlequin. It was surely, however, going a
little too far, when a contemporary critic
spoke of " the absurdity and profaneness of
such entertainments."

Now enter with us into our aërial
brougham, and let us glide away into
the land of ghosts and shadows—into the
spectral past. The present age vanishes like
mist; and in an instant our magic chariot
lands us before the box entrance of the
Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, as it appeared
in the middle of last century. Here are
plenty of other carriages—ghosts, every one
of them; and plenty of people in them—
ghosts also: for we are now in the region of
departed things, and are going to see a
Pantomime acted by dead men and women to a
dead audience! Here are gentlemen in
velvet and gold lace, and ladies in vast
amplitudes of satin. Here are magnificent
footmen with their flambeaux; here are the
grenadiers with their peaked caps and
gaiters; and here, too, are the genuine old
Charleys—the " ancient and most quiet"
Dogberries—with their quarter-staves and
inoffensive lanthorns. There will be a crowded
house; yet we shall find plenty of room in
any case. All the " quality "—and many of
the no-quality—are here to see the new
Pantomime of " Harlequin Sorcerer; " for
the scenery and contrivances are said to be
inimitable, and the dresses are all new, and
the music is almost entirely by Mr. Arne,
who himself plays upon the harpsichord.
The attraction is therefore great.

Well! we have entered the theatre, and
have got a front place; and we have sat
through the first piece (to which no one has
paid any attention), and the overture to the
Pantomime is being performed. At length,
the curtain rises, and " the first scene presents
us," to use the language of a chronicler
of the time,* " with a group of witches,
exercising their orgies in a wilderness by
moonlight. After a few songs. Harlequin crosses
the stage, riding in the air between two
witches upon a long pole, and jumps in
among them." This is followed by a dance of
witches, with which the scene concludes;
presenting us with a parallel to the dark
pieces of incantation with which our modern
Pantomimes commonly open. "Next, you
see the bricklayers and their men going to
* The " London Magazine " for February, 1752.