There is a story told of Astley, by way of illustration of his ignorance of music, which, if true, would show that the Amphitheatre boasted an orchestra even in these early years of its existence. The nature of the story requires us to suppose that the orchestral performers were then engaged for the first time; and, as we are told by Fitzball that the occasion was the rehearsal of a hippo-dramatic spectacle, it seems probable that there is some mistake, and that the anecdote should be associated with Ducrow, instead of with his precursor, no performances of that kind having been given at the Amphitheatre in Astley’s time. But Fitzball may have been in error as to the occasion. As the story goes, Astley, on some of the musicians suspending their performances, demanded the reason. ‘It is a rest,’ returned the leader. ‘Let them go on, then,’ said the equestrian. ‘I pay them to play, not to rest.’ Presently a chromatic passage occurred. ‘What do you call that?’ demanded Astley. ‘Have you all got the stomach-ache?’ ‘It is a chromatic passage,’ rejoined the leader, with a smile. ‘Rheumatic passage?’ said Astley, not comprehending the term. ‘It is in your arm, I suppose; but I hope you’ll get rid of it before you play with the people in front.’ ‘You misunderstand me, Mr Astley,’ returned the leader. ‘It is a chromatic passage; all the instruments have to run up the passage.’ ‘The devil they do!’ exclaimed Astley. ‘Then I hope they’ll soon run back again, or the audience will think they are running away.’ Hitherto the quadrupeds whose docility and intelligence rendered them available for the entertainment of the public had been limited to the circle; but in 1811 the example was set at Covent Garden of introducing horses, elephants, and camels on the stage. This was done in the grand cavalcade in _Bluebeard_, the first representation of which was attended with a singular accident. A trap gave way under the camel ridden by an actor named Gallot, who saved his own neck or limbs from dislocation or fracture, by throwing himself off as the animal sank down. He was unhurt, but the camel was so much injured by the fall that it died before it could be extricated. The elephant, though docile enough, could not be induced to go upon the stage until one of the ladies of the ballet, who had become familiar with the animal during the rehearsals, led it on by one of its ears. This went so well with the audience, that the young lady repeated the performance at every representation of the spectacle.