of Members of both Houses during the recess; by the time that business commences, I shall have ready my pamphlet on this important subject, being a brief exposition of my ideas in 1136 octavo pages.

I remain, yours, sincerely,

T. T.

ON THE NEW HIPPODROME IN COVENT

GARDEN.

[From the same, April 22.]

Mutandus locus est, et diversoria nota

Præteragendus equus. HORACE, 15TH Epistle.

WHO will say that the laws are no longer in force,

Recorded in metamorphosean fable,

Since our manager's rais'd to a master of horse,
And our theatre sunk to a livery stable?

When beggar'd they hit on this plan, we are told,
To jockey the town, and in clover to revel;
But now they are mounted, like beggars of old,
Or Blue Beard himself, they will ride to the devil.
the centaur, sage Houyhnyhm elf!

Henceforth who will care for thy classic revivals?
Rowe, Congreve, and Otway may sleep on the shelf;
Their brains are kick'd out by their quadruped rivals.
Though Shakspeare may frown in your hall in disdain,
You may laugh (if you can) without qualms or remorses;
He swore all the world was a stage, and 't is plain,
No stage in the world can go on without horses.
Where'er with four legs native talent is bless'd,
The manager's patronage doubly is due ;

It

goes twice as far, and has twice as much zest,
As where the dull rascals have only got two,

Away with the pit! turn it into a ring;
Thalia, Melpomene, joining the hoax,

Shall gallop in grand tragi-comedy swing,

While is cracking his whip and his jokes.

Don't

THEATRICAL ANECDOTE.

189

Don't cough and take snuff, Sir, and drag out each word,
Like bottles lugg'd up from some hollow old bin;
Sing, tumble, cut capers, be seen, felt, and heard,
And tip us Grimaldi's auricular grin.

In wisely attempting our stages to make

Of riding, not morals, the properest schools, Mr. Merryman's part it is fit you should take, The last of our actors;-the first of our f―ls.

H.

THEATRICAL ANECDOTE.

[From the same, April 23.]

A CURIOUS mistake occurred at Mr.

-

-'s levee

the other morning at Covent Garden. A gentleman was shown into the presence, whose object was to treat about an engagement for his daughter; but as, about this hour, a horse-dealer had been appointed to call, the manager, whose head runs very much at present upon his stud, mistook one for the other, and began, by asking the father of Melpomene, "How old is she?"" Sixteen last May, Sir."" Oh, she's aged then, and won't do for the hard work: pray is she quiet?""Perfectly: I never knew a gentler creature."- -"Has she been long in town?"—"I only brought her up with me a week ago from East Grinstead." Has she been properly handled?"-" Mr. Thelwall has given her some lessons."" Has she ever been between the pillars?"-" Sir, I don't understand you.' "—" Well, well, no matter; if your terms are moderate, I dare say we shall not differ."-66 Sir, that I leave entirely to yourself; she is below, shall Í bring her up to you?"-" Bring her up?? Oh no! (smiling; give her to my groom, he'll put her into a stall, till I come down to look at her."-" Into a stall, Sir!"" Yes, Sir, into a stall, to be sure; and as you say she is quite gentle, and I presume perfectly sound, I am determined to try her myself. My friend Morton is

writing

writing a melo-drame, in which I am to perform; and I am determined, should we close the bargain, to make my entrée upon her back!"-" Upon her back!-upon my daughter's back, Sir! Sir, do you mean to affront me?" Sir, I beg ten thousand pardons; but don't you come from the Cumberland Mews?"-" No, I came from East Grinstead."-" With a mare?""No, with my daughter."-" Got by Skyscraper out of Andromache?" No, she is the first-born of my own and my ever-lamented wife Mary Muggins's loins."-"Bless my soul, Sir, I have been betrayed into a great mistake—but I am glad we happened to be alone (solemnly taking a pinch of snuff)—such meetings should be private.'

ON MASSENA BEING SENT TO PORTUGAL TO DRIVE THE ENGLISH ARMY INTO THE SEA.

WE

[From the Morning Post, April 23.]

E're told that Massena to Portugal came, To conquer the English-and add to his fame. The tyrant, at parting, pronounc'd this decree"Go! drive mi Lord Vellington into de sea!" With humble respect from the room he retir'd, His heart with such glorious conquest was fir'd. The table 's now turn'd-and folks plainly may see, Not My Lord-but Massena, 's driv'n into the sea. 9th April, 1811. VIATOR

THE

AN IMPROMPTU.

[From the same, April 25.]

HE French, in military terms,
Have made a great improvement;
What once was call'd retreat or flight,
Is only now a movement.

Such movements may they oft renew,
While Britons, what their arms can do,

Close

Had a pain in her pate,

Her body was all in a tremble;

Her silence she broke,

Then sobbing bespoke

Her sable factotum John Kemble.

"I give and devise

My tears and my sighs,

JOHN BULL.

My racks, mighty bravos to humble;

My poison and scrolls,

My daggers and bowls,

In trust to the following jumble:

"My sighs turn to neighs,

To litter my plays,

To gee-ho my tragedy speeches;

My bowls made for slaughter,

To buckets of water,

My buskins to brown leather breeches.

"Desdemona forlorn,

With a sieve-full of corn,

Shall soften the rage of Othello;

His jealousy check

With a pat on the neck,

And whisper So ho, my poor

"In hiring my actors,

In spite of detractors,

fellow.'

Don't look to their features or eyeballs;

Ne'er guide your selection

By voice or complexion,

But give a high price for the pye-balls.".

Melpomene

Melpomene died,
John Kemble replied,

"I like the experiment vastly;"
So booted and spurr'd,

He now trots in the herd

Of Merryman, Parker, and Astley.

THE TEMPLE OF RAGS.

[From the same, April 26.]

IN deep recess, where marks yon gloomy dome,
With rival frown, the civic monarch's home,
Where turtle steams the daily crowds regale,
That meet to settle trade's unsteady scale,
The tatter'd goddess high enthron'd appear'd,
Her tawdry robes with inky streaks besmear'd :
In mimic pomp a tinsel crown she wore-
Her magic hand a paper sceptre bore.

Oft round the hall with conscious joy she gaz'd,
Where lying rags in piles immense are rais'd;
And urging still her busy children's toil,
Rewards their labours with a nation's spoil.
While inwards rushing from a hundred doors
Unnumber'd vot'ries spread their varied stores;
With clamour strange, her potent spells admire,
When all to rags is chang'd at her desire.
Nor less she feels and pays their zealous care,
Who pour the ready rags to open air,

Where anxious thousands seize the faithless store,
And hug their paper 'stead of surer ore.

As thick as tempests drive the desert sand,
Now paper show'rs o'erwhelm the fated land.
Their humble fortunes, gain'd by years of care,
Despairing thousands see dissolv'd in air.
Wives, children, all now driven from their cell,
The long, long list of ghastly paupers swell.
Th' uncertain scene fair honest commerce flies;
A gambling herd in room of merchants rise.
For rags, the hearts of grateful voters burn,
And gen'rous members gain the wish'd return.

The