“Sir, I have heard you with delight. I can procure you an engagement, not perhaps for the Romeos, but all great actors have risen by slow degrees, and the best of them has, at his outset, been attacked by some snake in the grass.” He now pointed out the reptile, who slunk away, looking heartily ashamed of himself. The gentleman continued, “Mr. Richardson and Company are now acting at the fair. I am his scene-painter; see here, I have sketched you in your happiest attitude. Come with me.” We went to the booth. I was hired; but unluckily, my powers being suited for a larger stage, so overpowered my present audience, that I was taken out of all speaking parts, for fear of fatal consequences. Nevertheless, my grace in processions soon raised so much jealousy against me, that in the autumn Master recommended me to one of the Minors in town, where, for twice as much salary, I was never expected to appear before the curtain, but to make myself useful among the carpenters and scene-shifters. That Christmas, during the rehearsal of a Pantomime, four of us were set to catch an Harlequin, each to hold the corner of a blanket, and be ready for his jump through the scene. Alas! one gentleman brought his pot, and one his pipe, and the third an inclination for a snooze. Two were asleep, and one draining the last drops of stout from the pewter. I alone upheld my corner from the boards, when the awful leap came on us, like a star-shoot. I still see the momentary gleam of that strait, spangled, fish-like, head-long figure. Can, candle, bottle, pipes, all crashed beneath the heavy tumbler. With a torrent of apologies, we scrambled up in the dark, to raise the fallen hero; but there he lay, on his face, with legs and arms outspread, as we could feel, without sense, or sound, or motion, cold, stiff, and _dead_! For an instant all was horrid silence; we were as breathless as he. I resolved to give myself up to justice, yet found voice in the boldness of innocence to shout “Help! Lights! All his bones are broken!” “And all yours _shall_ be, ye dogs!” cried a voice. We looked up; there stood one Harlequin over us alive; there lay another under us, without a chance of ever more peeping through the blanket of the dark. That the speaker was no ghost we were soon convinced, as his magic bat battered us. The truth was, he had thrown at us the stuffed Harlequin used in flying ascents, to try our vigilance, before he risked his own neck. I felt, however, that I _might_ have been of a party who had killed a man. It was a judgment on me for being in such a place, with any less excuse than that of acting Romeo. I took my wife and babe back to Cheshire. We knelt at my father’s feet, promising to serve in the shop; fortunately it was one of his melting days: he raised us to his arm;--we formed a _tableau generale_--and the curtain dropped. [Illustration] ODE TO THE ADVOCATES FOR THE REMOVAL OF SMITHFIELD MARKET. “Sweeping our flocks and herds.”--DOUGLAS.