This performer was the most complete Harlequin that ever trod the British stage. His agility was to the last degree astonishing. He has leaped through a window on the stage, when pursued by the clown, full thirteen feet high. Whenever he was in the play-bills in Dublin, he attracted crowded houses. One night, when he had a prodigious leap to perform, the persons behind the scenes who were to have received him in a blanket, were not prepared in time, and of course he fell on the boards, and was miserably bruised. He then took a most solemn oath, that he would never leap again on the stage. Nor did he violate his oath. Thenceforward, when he performed Harlequin, George Dawson, another actor about his size, and very active, was attired in the party-coloured robes. Whenever in the course of the pantomime a leap was requisite, Vandermere passed off on one side--Dawson came in on the other, and leaped. Then Vandermere returned and went through the Harlequinian tricks. * * * * * A TRUE STORY. In days of yore, th' historic page Says, women were proscrib'd the stage; And boys and men in petticoats Play'd female parts with Stentor's notes. The cap, the stays, the high-heel'd shoe, The 'kerchief and the bonnet too, With apron as the lily white, Put all the male attire to flight-- The culotte, waistcoat, and cravat, The bushy wig, and gold-trimm'd hat. Ye gods! behold! what high burlesque, Jane Shore and Juliet thus grotesque! * * * * * King Charles one night, jocund and gay, To Drury went, to see a play-- Kynaston was to act a queen-- But to his tonsor he'd not been: He was a mirth-inspiring soul Who lov'd to quaff the flowing bowl-- And on his way the wight had met A roaring bacchanalian set; With whom he to "_the Garter_" hies, Regardless how time slyly flies. And while he circulates the glass, Too rapidly the moments pass; At length in haste the prompter sends. And tears Kynaston from his friends; Tho' he'd much rather there remain, He hurries on to Drury Lane. When in the green-room he appear'd, He scar'd them with his bushy beard, The barber quick his razor strops, And lather'd well _her royal chops_: While he the stubble mow'd away, The audience curs'd such long delay: They scream'd--they roar'd--they loudly bawl'd. And with their cat-calls _sweetly_ squall'd: Th' impatient monarch storm'd and rav'd-- "_The queen, dread sire, is not quite shav'd_!" Was bellow'd by the prompter loud-- This cogent reason was allow'd As well by king as noisy crowd. * * * * * VOLTAIRE'S IDEA OF ORIGINALITY IN WRITING.