"Spose you hain't got a die-a-fram to bury it in. Wouldn't stickin' it in the pocket do jist as well ?"

"Never, never! the effect would be lost. Besides it would melt if you grew hot, and—."

"But, ain't I dead ?"

"Dead! not a-dead, only hurt. You're a Spanish conjuror, and got as many lives as a cat. But come, we'll go at once to the 'wardrobe,'" and pulling Mr. Barebones by the skirts of his ample coat, he limped after the comedian, and both made their way to the repository of costume.

The first movement here was to select as grotesque a contrast of garments as the wags could lay hands on, and after considerable overhauling and confusion, during which the Down Easter was pulled almost to bits, his spindle legs were inserted into a pair of dilapidated tights, and then thrust into enormous russet boots that looked as if they were in the last stage of jaundice. A fine cambric habit-shirt was the next article "applied," over which was buttoned an immense flowered waistcoat, such as rich old uncles from India wear in the comedies. A military coat, open in front, followed; and on his head was placed a gigantic helmet that concealed at least one-third of his stupid physiognomy. A red-hot poker that had been used in the last pantomime was then thrust into his hands, on which were drawn enormous boxing gloves, and thus attired, he was marched down on the stage with all the honors.

The tragedy rehearsal was just over, and a number of coryphèes in short skirts and round-toed faded pink slippers were waiting about in groups in anticipation of the "ballet call," as Mr. Barebones, en costume, made his appearance. Such a shriek as those mad-cap hoydens sent up when they beheld the “make up" of the new-comer. One told him to brandish his poker; another pinched his legs, and then giggled as if her slippers would burst in the merriment. One pert little puss insisted on his dancing the Polka with her; and still another ironically ad

dressed him as "Mister Garrick," and seemed curious to know the period that his dress represented.

"Now look here, you gals, go away!" at last exclaimed he, "I'm a monerk, and mustn't be made free with. Jist stand aside and let me speak a piece to my friend here," meaning Mr. Gleely.

While all this was going on, the comedian had given instructions to the mechanist to go below and have in readiness a trap, which was to be worked at the signal of a bell. A theatrical mechanist is not slow to execute an order where fun is at the bottom, and he was promptly at his place.

"Ladies and gentlemen, do as our mighty monarch commands ye," said Mr. Gleely, coming forward and placing the Yankee on the prepared trap aforesaid. "He is now about to open the portals of his regal jaws, and we listen with breathless attention, eager to drink in every word.”

A general huddle commenced among coryphées, actors, supernumeries, and everybody, in arranging themselves about the speaker.

"Now, sir, stand in that position," pursued Mr. Gleely, placing his pupil's legs closely together, and casting a pointed glance at his surrounding colleagues. "That's well. Now shoulder your poker like a musket. Good! Remember, no matter what happens, you must not move, because if you do it will break the spell. REMEMBER !"

"All right, I won't budge an inch," quoth Yankee, elevating his head and blinking under the weight of the huge helmet. "Now, sir," said the comedian, "you must repeat what I utter."

"Plus nus, and-DISAPPEAR !"

At that moment a bell faintly tinkled, and the next instant the candidate for histrionic laurels was disappearing with more swiftness than was comfortable to his nerves. Down he went, and in closed the floor with the rapidity of thought.

The assembled wags joined in one mighty scream; the coryphées got such pains in their sides, it was full an hour before they could "get on" with the Pas des Poignards. Mr. Gleely consoled himself with having cured a young man of a dangerous infatuation-the mechanist crawled quietly from the basementand the last seen of the Yankee, he was minus the helmet and poker, mildly inquiring the way to "that place whar he left his clothes."

251

YANKEE INQUISITIVENESS.

HILL! poor Yankee Hill! He was the very incarnation of drollery and esprit. We loved to see his smiling, good-natured phiz before the lights, for it was sure to impregnate the very atmosphere with a sense of merriment. He possessed a genius for the impersonation of the peculiarities of Down East character, which no actor before nor since his time has approached. He was natural, captivating, easy, and brilliant. With what genial unction he related a pleasantry!—with how much sparkling zest he bantered the follies of mankind! The witticisms flashed from his lips as flakes of light along the orient. A gay, glorious fellow was he, in every sense of the expression.

His store of anecdotes seemed to be inexhaustible; and he was one of those few gifted creatures who could talk all day, and still have something left worth listening to. One never wearied of hearing him. Age did not tarnish,

— nor custom stale, His infinite variety."

His whimsical stories yet range the length and breadth of the United States, as unowned oddities. They have been passed from one to another, till the label of identity has fallen from them in the vortex of narration. We recognize them here and there, as one will find polished pebbles on the sea-beach. What a grotesque medley his portfolio would present! Spirit of Momus! we invoke thee to assist, by thy potent influence, the finding of this rare legacy!

We remember a scrap of adventure that Hill used to relate, illustrative of the trait of inquisitiveness, so noticeable among the primitive home-spun Yankees. It appears that the comedian was travelling in a stage-coach, and sat next to a gawky, slab-sided Vermonter, who opened the conversation with the usual platitudes touching "weather-crops and gineral matters of intr's."

"You're travelling, I guess, Mister ?" said Vermont.

"If being in a stage-coach behind four fleet roans is any evidence of it, I should think I was," coolly replied Hill. "Ya-as-you're right. E-e-h!"

A brief pause.

"Travellin' for your health?"

"Not exactly," responded Hili.

"O! then, on biz-ness, I reckon, eh ?"

"Yes-no; that is to say, not precisely."

"E-eh! I perceive-half biz-ness and half pleasure"-rolling his large eyes about like bewildered bagatelle balls.

"Something in that way."

And not caring to be deluged with interrogatives, as he could see the "breed" of his friend, the comedian took from his pocket a copy of " Humphrey Clinker," and soon his mind was psychologically with that notable personage.

"Umph!" grunted Vermont; "I beg your pardon, Mister, but is it fur to

Hill affected not to hear him. He repeated the question. "Don't know," replied he, without taking his eyes from the book.

"Well, should yeou think it wuz, considerin' what we've

come ?"

"Can't say."

Another "slight" silence.

"Like this part of the country ?" "Yes"-in a gruff tone.