There was formerly in the Northern Liberties a petty theatre, called Noah's Ark, from its being in the neighbourhood of a tavern, of which that was the sign. A ludicrous circumstance took place there about twenty years ago; a hobble-de-hoy, of the name of Purcell, with a wizen face like "Death and Sin," having met with misfortunes, hired the theatre for one night, and advertised Othello for his benefit. He played himself the character of the valiant Moor. As he had many friends who made considerable exertions in his favour, the house was crowded. His acting was so truly ludicrous, that the audience instead of letting fall the pearly drops over their cheeks, were in an unceasing roar of laughter. Between the play and the farce a drunken fellow of the name of Vaughan was to deliver the celebrated epilogue of "Bucks, have at ye all." He had made the most solemn promise to abstain from his usual drop of grog till he had performed his tour of duty. But alas! poor human nature, like other great men, he yielded to the temptation of a flowing bowl. When he came on the stage, and had just made a beginning-- "Ye social friends-- A slight hiss was heard, which enraged him so much that he stopped, and looked among the audience with indignation, trying to discover what jealous rival was endeavouring to discompose him--a silence ensued for a minute; Vaughan then began again: Ye social friends of claret and of wit, Where'er dispersed in merry groupes ye sit. About ten or a dozen persons then hissed pretty loudly. Vaughan stamped on the floor, clenched his fist, struck his thigh, and cried out in a loud voice, "damn you, ye black-guards--I wish I had you here--I'd soon settle you." A universal hiss took place--the enraged orator was pelted off the stage, and poor Purcell had to come forward and make an apology. In this extemporaneous effort, his success was as splendid as in his performance of Othello. He hoped, he said, the ladies and gentlemen would not go for to say, for to do, for to think that he was at all to blame--that it was all Dr. Vaughan's fault--for though he had promised to keep sober till the play was over, he had got as drunk as David's sow before it began. This elegant harangue produced the desired effect, and appeased the angry passions of the gods and goddesses. A parley ensued. Peace was made. A promise was given that Vaughan should be allowed to proceed without hissing--and he accordingly came out and recited the epilogue, now and again looking among the audience to discover who was murmuring a slight hiss, which the keen ears of the speaker would not let escape. As soon as he was done, he had the high gratification of a universal hiss from almost every individual in the house, and was once more pelted off in spite of all his ire and loudly vociferated threats. * * * * * VANDERMERE.