The company with which the Amphitheatre was opened was succeeded, after a long and successful career, by the Carré troupe, which introduced to the metropolis Alfred Burgess, who unites the qualifications of a clown with those of an accomplished equestrian and clever revolving globe performer. Clowns would seem to be precluded, by the nature of their business, from the cosmopolitan wanderings of other circus performers; but the name of Burgess is almost as famous on the continent as that of Charles Keith, who has performed in nearly every European capital, though Albert Smith has given a picture of clowning under difficulties which might well deter those who cannot crack a ‘wheeze’ in half a dozen languages from venturing into lands where English is not spoken. ‘One evening,’ says the humourist, ‘I went to the Grand Circo Olympico—an equestrian entertainment in a vast circular tent, on a piece of open ground up in Pera; and it was as curious a sight as one could well witness. The play-bill was in three languages—Turkish, Armenian, and Italian; and the audience was composed almost entirely of Levantines, nothing but fezzes being seen round the benches. There were few females present, and of Turkish women none; but the house was well filled, both with spectators and the smoke from the pipes which nearly all of them carried. There was no buzz of talk, no distant hailings, no whistlings, no sounds of impatience. They all sat as grave as judges, and would, I believe, have done so for any period of time, whether the performance had been given or not. ‘I have said the sight was a curious one, but my surprise was excited beyond bounds when a real clown—a perfect Mr Merriman of the arena—jumped into the ring, and cried out, in perfect English: “Here we are again—all of a lump! How are you?” There was no response to his salutation, for it was evidently incomprehensible; and so it fell flat, and the poor clown looked as if he would have given his salary for a boy to have called out “Hot codlins!” I looked at the bill, and found him described as the “Grottesco Inglese,” Whittayne. I did not recognize the name in connection with the annals of Astley’s, but he was a clever fellow, notwithstanding; and, when he addressed the master of the ring, and observed, “If you please, Mr Guillaume, he says, that you said, that I said, that they said, that nobody had said, nothing to anybody,” it was with a drollery of manner that at last agitated the fezzes, like poppies in the wind, although the meaning of the speech was still like a sealed book to them.