Clowns are not responsible beings, at least on the stage, or, according to the following anecdote, off it. July 2, 1818: "Usher, the Clown of the Coburg Theatre (opened on the 9th of May), in consequence of a wager, set off in a machine like a washing-tub, drawn by four geese, at half-past twelve o'clock, from below Southwark Bridge, and passed under four bridges, and arrived at half-past two at Cumberland Gardens. A pole extended from the machine in which he sat, to which the geese were harnessed. For some time they were quite tractable, and he went on swimmingly, but, at times, they were quite restive, and not easily managed. A great number of persons accompanied him in boats, and several viewed the whimsical expedition from the bridges. After completing it he offered, for a wager of one hundred guineas, to return thence through the centre arch of London Bridge; but no person would accept the challenge." A Clown named Barry did the same about thirty-five or forty years ago, I think. Clowns did not dress then as they do now, as we see in the illustration of a Clown and a Grasshopper in the pantomime of "Jack and Jill," performed at the Lyceum in 1812. [Illustration: A Clown and a Grasshopper.] CHAPTER XVI. The Italian Opera -- An uproar -- Catalani and her terms -- Vauxhall -- Musical prodigy -- Painters, Sculptors, Art exhibitions -- Literature and writers -- Bibliomaniacs -- George Bidder, the Calculating boy -- Musicians -- Medical men -- The Clergy -- Roman Catholic emancipation -- Joanna Southcott. The Italian Opera flourished. Madame Catalani, undeterred by her reception by the public, at the time of the O. P. Riots, was prima donna; for Mrs. Billington retired from the stage in May, 1811. There was a pretty little riot on 2nd of May, 1813, at the Opera at the King's Theatre. "We are indebted to a correspondent for the following particulars of what, we are told, for we were not present, was, in its progress, one of the most disgraceful scenes that the walls of that, or any other Theatre, ever witnessed. "Much disapprobation had prevailed throughout the performance of the Opera on Saturday night, and, at its conclusion, cries for the Manager, and Catalani, resounded throughout the house. The Ballet was, however, suffered to commence, but had not proceeded many minutes, when, from behind the scenes--'a band of fierce barbarians rushed upon the stage; the dancers flying for safety and for succour.' The drop-scene in vain descended, for an irruption was made through the body of it, and, on its being drawn up, there was discovered a motley group of men and women, the latter shrieking and the former shouting, and most destructively active in the demolition of all that came within reach of their canes.