THE

MINIATURE,

NUMB. XXVI.

MONDAY, February 4, 1805.

ille suæ non immemor artis

Omnia transformat sese in miracula rerum.

VIR. Geor. 4, 440.

He not unmindful of his usual art, . Seeks every shape that magic can impart.

WITH whatever degree of astonishment the inhabitants of Covent Garden may view the miraculous transfigurations of Harlequin in a Christmas Pantomime, I, for my part, have long since mellowed down the loud horse-laugh into a sober smile. Not that I wish my readers to entertain any lofty ideas of my superior gravity, or to imagine that anything, however wonderful or ridiculous, is incapable of discomposing the dignified arrangement of SOLOMON GRILDRG'S muscles. Nor indeed am I desirous that they should con

ceive me able to scrutinize into all the mysterious devices employed in raising a blue devil, changing a turtle into an Alderman, or a pincushion into an old maid. On the contrary, I am by nature inclined to sympathize with Pantaloon in all his misfortunes, and to laugh heartily at the Clown's grimaces.

But as novelty is generally the principle ingredient in such entertainments, when that is withdrawn, of course they become insipid and uninteresting. And to a person of common observation what novelty can a Pantomime afford, when however ludicrous its delusions, however various its characters, we find the original in every part of England? As my less sagacious readers may prehaps be unable to discover my meaning, it may be necessary to let them know that I allude to a race of mortals, who under divers shapes solicit public charity, by the affecting appeal of " A half-penny your honor!please to remember a poor old man!" &c. &c.

These gentry, like Cameleons, vary their colour every minute, and though they manage to acquire a more substantial beverage than air, yet like those animals, they continually stand in one situation, and take in all the flies that may chance to come within their reach. They look

upon themselves as a more dignified order of actors, and as they are at the daily expence and trouble of entertaining the public by their inventions, think, no doubt with some appearance of justice, that their meritorious exertions ought to be rewarded by no trifling compensation. Indeed their performance is far superior to the modern style of acting, and is carried on with true classical purity. Thus in strict conformity with the rules of the ancient tragedy in the days of Thespis, they seldom allow more than one actor to appear upon the stage at once, who is sometimes accompanied by a chorus of children, enveloped in rags and dirt, and pouring forth lamentations which Doric simplicity. I have known some of their prime actors who could surpass even Kemble in a tragedy groan, and by whose superior dignity and expression, the young Roscius himself, that star of the first magnitude in the hemisphere of Covent Garden, would be eclipsed.

Nor is it to the more peaceful employment of feigning unheard of misfortunes, bewailing the loss of what they never enjoyed, or inventing terrible adventures, that they universally confine their talents. On the contrary, still having in view the progressive improvements of the Greek

Tragedy, they sometimes introduce a plurality of actors; when, for instance, under the character of ring droppers, they trepan some unfortunate rustic into a public-house, make him halfdrunk as a proof of their honesty, then knock him down, rifle his pockets, cut his throat, and make their escape through the window. This however, and many other tragedies of a similar nature, are generally used to divert the tediousness of a winter's evening; whereas the tragi comedies are always confined to the day-time.

It is not long since I was accosted in the street by a venerable old man, apparently bending under a weight of years and accumulated miseries, whose hoary locks, encircling a countenance moistened with tears, gave so melancholy and touching an appearance to his whole figure, that before he could speak, I had already put my hand into my pocket, with a full intention of relieving his necessities to the utmost of my power. "For the love of God, (cried he in broken English) have compassion upon a poor stranger, who—" he was proceeding, when I threw a piece of gold into his hat, and turned away, followed by every blessing that gratitude could bestow.

Not many weeks after this incident, curiosity led me into the court at the Old Bailey. Among the prisoners at the bar, I observed a man, apparently about forty years of age, who stood with an air of undaunted resolution, while the Recorder was passing sentence of transportation upon him. His appearance attracted my notice, and I had a faint idea that his features were not altogether unknown to me. As he passed out of the court, I looked stedfastly upon him; his eye caught mine, he started back; and the expression of his countenance recalled to my recollection the old man whom I have before mentioned. My curiosity being awakened by this idea, I went next day to the prison appointed for the reception of the condemned, and after some little trouble gained admission to the prisoner. He seemed astonished at my appearance, I asked him whether he had not once imposed upon my credulity under the disguise of an old He burst into a loud fit of laughter; and confessed, that he had imposed upon so many under different characters, that although he could not recolect that particular circumstance, yet was far from being improbable.

man.

it

I had often heard of the curious adventures which this sort of men often undergo, and the