To the Adelphi, in 1846, belongs an "extra extravagant extravaganza," founded by Gilbert Abbott a'Beckett and Mark Lemon on the "Peter Wilkins" of Robert Paltock (first printed in 1750). This burlesque had for its full title--"Peter Wilkins, or the Loadstone Rock and the Flying Indians," and had for its chief interpreters--Miss Woolgar as the hero, Paul Bedford as Jack Adams, and Miss E. Chaplin as Youriwkee. Dr. Johnson's "Rasselas" attracted the attention of William Brough, and was made, in 1862, the foundation of a burlesque produced at the Haymarket. In 1765 Horace Walpole published his mediæval imagining, "The Castle of Otranto," by which so many of us have in our youth been thrilled. In 1848 Gilbert Abbott a'Beckett set himself to make fun of its singularities, and the result was a very brightly written piece, enacted at the Haymarket.[49] In this, Manfred's son Conrad is found imprisoned under the gigantic helmet of Alphonso, and the distracted father at once begins to give way to comic word-splitting:-- [49] With Keeley as Manfred, Bland as the Marquis Vincenza, Miss P. Horton as Theodore, Miss Reynolds as Isabella, and Mrs. W. Clifford as Hippolita. If he's beneath that hat, His bier, by this time, must be precious flat! I'll not believe it! no, my life upon it! No one would dare my Conrad thus to bonnet. But stay!--has anybody got a lever, To give a lift to this gigantic beaver? (_The helmet is raised at the back; Manfred looks under it._) Alas! he speaks the truth--my son lies low, Poor little chap, under this great _chapeau_. My. Conrad gone!--This is a sad disaster, The die is cast by this unlucky castor! Can no one tell me how or whence it came? Is there no ticket with the hatter's name? If I knew grief before, this hat has capped it,-- My boy, crush'd 'neath this hated nap, has napped it! In the opening scene, Hippolita, Conrad's mother, ventures to suggest to Manfred that the boy is not of marriageable age, sixteen summers not having yet passed o'er his head:-- _Man._ Time flies, you know; thro' life one quickly flings One's sixteen summersets, after sixteen springs. _Hip._ 'Tis my maternal tenderness that speaks: As yet no whiskery down adorns his cheeks. _Man._ I'll hear no more! talk not of down to me-- The boy's as downy as a boy need be.