not figured in many pantomimes of British growth; but the method of representation may have been altogether exceptional. M. Gautier, urged by an enthusiastic and exuberant fancy, finds in these adventures of Pierrot with the tailor's ghost resemblances to the tragedies of Macbeth' and Hamlet,' and maintains that the curious drama of the Funambules mêlé de rire et de terreur renferme un mythe très profond, très complet, et d'une haute moralité, qui ne demanderait que d'être formulé en sanscrit, pour faire éclore des nuées de commentaires. Pierrot,' he continues, 'qui se promène dans la rue avec sa casaque blanche, son pantalon blanc, son visage enfariné, préoccupé de vagues désirs, n'est-ce pas la symbolisation de l'âme humaine encore innocente et blanche, tourmentée d'aspirations infinies vers les régions supérieures ?' Perhaps we may reply with Horatio, "Twere to consider too curiously to consider so.'

It may be noted that Pierrot, the French clown, has not thriven in England, although our Christmas clown might be viewed as a modification of his Gallican rival--a Pierrot with coloured patches sewn upon his white dress. Still, no close resemblance exists between these two clowns. More than thirty years ago Paul Legrand, a famous Pierrot, possibly the very Pierrot who moved Gautier to so much amazement and delight, fulfilled an engagement in London at the Adelphi Theatre; but his efforts failed to satisfy the spectators. He departed too widely from the conventions of British harlequinade; his humour was not the humour our public had been accustomed to. He returned here in 1872, an old actor of utility' attached to a French company visiting London, and afforded glimpses now and then of his peculiar art. In a vaudeville called 'En Classe, Mademoiselles,' he assumed for a while the character of a vivandier, depicting by 'dumb motions' the incidents of a battle, from the first attack to the succour of the wounded upon the field. The performance was surprising in its vivid picturesqueness and suggestive force, and the exertions of the pantomimist were rewarded with prolonged applause.

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But pantomime, however significant to some, always remains inexplicable to others: the language of gesture addresses itself vainly to unperceiving eyes. The late Examiner of Plays, Mr. Donne, before a parliamentary committee gave evidence of the difficulties he experienced in his endeavours to interpret ballet and pantomime, and expressed his opinion that to very many people the matter was as obscure as it was to him. A ballet is rarely understood,' he said, 'by more than about four people: the author of the ballet, and the master of the ballet, the first dancer, and the première danseuse,' To certain close observers, however, dumb.

show has seemed much more intelligible, a conventional system easily comprehended. There is humorous mention of the subject in one of the letters of Charles Dickens. Miss Kelly's Theatre, now called the Royalty in Dean Street, Soho, had been the scene of the rehearsals of Ben Jonson's Every Man in his Humour,' and Beaumont and Fletcher's Elder Brother,' the characters being sustained by the novelist and his friends. A little girl, apparently attached to the theatre, had been noticed flitting about among the amateurs so silently that she might have been deaf and dumb but for sudden small shrieks and starts forced from her by the marvels in progress about her; thereupon Dickens bestowed upon her the name of Fireworks. Presently he wrote, 'What a mass of absurdity must be shut up sometimes within the walls of that small theatre in Dean Street! Fireworks will come out shortly, depend upon it, in the dumb line, and will relate her history in profoundly unintelligible motions, that will be translated into long and complicated descriptions by a grey-bearded father and a red-wigged countryman, his son. You remember the dumb dodge of relating an escape from captivity? Clasping the left wrist with the right hand, and the right wrist with the left hand, alternately, to express chains, and then going round and round the stage very fast, and coming hand-over-hand down an imaginary cord, at the end of which there is one stroke on the drum and a kneeling to the chandelier? If Fireworks can't do that, and won't, somewhere, I'm a Dutchman.' Information has not been supplied as to the fulfilment or the non-fulfilment of this prophecy. It may be noted that Dickens had probably in mind the dumb-show indulged in by Fenella, the heroine of La Muette de Portici,' when she would explain to her brother Masaniello the circumstances of her escape from prison.

Grand ballets, such as Signor Blasis delighted in, have ceased to appear. The art of dumb-show declines more and more, threatens to depart altogether from our stage. Christmas pantomimes are pantomimes only in name; they are almost as dull and wordy nowadays as five-act tragedies. But a few weeks since was recorded the death of Mr. W. H. Payne, the hero for half a century of innumerable ballets and pantomimes. He has left no successor; almost it may be said that he has carried away his art with him; and playgoers of to-day's date seem scarcely conscious that they have sustained a loss. Yet dumb-show had its uses and was worth preserving. Grace and expressiveness of pose and action should count for something in considering an actor's qualities. That he had attitudinised and danced as harlequin probably contributed to the elegance and alertness, even the eloquence and passion, of Edmund Kean's Hamlet and Othello.

DUTTON COOK.

202

Daniel the Cricket,

AND OTHER WEST-HIGHLAND CHARACTERS.

BY CUTHBERT BEDE.

In this paper I have put together some truthful accounts, never yet made public, and derived from authentic sources, of some WestHighland characters, whose adventures and eccentricities have been told to me by Gaelic-speaking friends in South Argyllshire. They may prove acceptable to the reader, as records of a race that has nearly passed away, and is losing its peculiarities of language, manners and customs. Of Daniel Callum, who had gained for himself the nickname of 'The Cricket,' and who, apart from his own immediate circle, has hitherto been unknown to fame, I have the following account.

By trade Daniel Callum was a wright and glazier, and, at one time, he had a very good business in the town of Campbelton; but, unfortunately, he was too fond of stealing round the corner to the dram-shop, from whence he would, after a long interval, stagger forth, filled with the fumes of alcohol, and driven by its influence to a perambulation of the streets. Even when he was sober Daniel was an oddity, and whisky seemed to draw out his oddities to their fullest extent; so that, when he emerged from the dramshop, and came along the pavement with that peculiar alternate pause and bound that had gained him the name of The Cricket,' the boys always looked out for sport. Like mischievous callants, they would take every advantage of his condition, in order that they might torment him; and, as he could no more shake himself free of them than the bear in the fable could get rid of the wasps, the boys invariably succeeded in what might be called their game of Cricket.

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Sometimes they pursued him with taunts and jeers: Eh, Cricket! ye canna carry the whusky, mon! its top-heavy ye are! and when Daniel turned upon them in wrath, they would feign to retreat before him, in order that they might draw their adversary after them, so that they might have the fun of retaliating and charging again upon him, and thus prolong their game.

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Ye young imps o' Sawtan!' the Cricket would cry, as he jumped and jerked and bounded after them; only let me get the clootch o' ye, and I'll mak' it sair for ye, top-heavy or nae top

heavy!' But the callants were too active and nimble even for the nimble Cricket; and they always contrived to keep close to Daniel without falling into his hands. There was no policeman, at that time, on the Campbelton streets; so the lads could do what they pleased, and Daniel had often to beat a retreat from them, under a fierce discharge of bombshells of mud, which, although they did not maim or draw blood when they burst about his head and shoulders, yet considerably changed the colour of the Cricket's

coat.

Daniel was a very good workman in the way of his trade, and he set so great a value on his workmanship that his employers often demurred to pay his demands; which was not to be wondered at, for it was a fixed part of Daniel's system to add to the price of his work as much as it had cost him in whisky while he had been engaged upon it. This naturally led to frequent disagreements between himself and his employers; and, when they would not settle the dispute in the way that Daniel wished, he would go to law with them. If they were present when the case came on for trial, the Cricket generally lost the plea; but when they forgot, or neglected to attend the court, then Daniel would get a 'dureet' against them, and would make them pay to the last farthing. He was so fond of law, that he would summon people for the value of a pane of glass, or the smallest piece of work; so that scarcely a court could sit without the Cricket and his man of business being present; and, as it happened that this man of business was as thirsty a soul as his employer, the two always made a point of adjourning to the dram-shop to discuss there the merits of the case, and to drink success to the cause.

When the Cricket had the spring of whisky in his heels, he felt no delicacy in speaking to any one whom he chanced to meet; whether high or low, rich or poor, he passed his observations on all, and his tongue was in motion like a steam engine. At that time, the minister of the First Charge, in Campbelton, was Dr. Norman Macleod. He was the son of the Rev. Norman Macleod, D.D., who for nearly half a century was the minister of Morvern, Argyllshire; and he was the father of the late Rev. Norman Macleod, D.D., who was one of Her Majesty's chaplains and the editor of Good Words.' Of these three Dr. Norman Macleods, each of whom was eminent and illustrious, the second was born in Morvern Manse, in 1784, and came to Campbelton in 1808, where he remained for sixteen years, and died in Glasgow in 1862. He was Moderator of the General Assembly, and Dean of the Chapel Royal. He was also honoured with the intimate friendship of the Queen and the Prince Consort, and had been kindly received by William IV.

when he presented to the King his metrical translation into Celtic of the Psalms of David, especially prepared for the use of the Irish. His contributions to Gaelic literature were numerous and important, and, among his many useful public labours, he by his eloquent addresses mainly helped to raise the large sum of two hundred thousand pounds that was sent to the relief of the poor Highlanders during the two potato-crop famines of 1836 and 1846.

It was to this eminent minister that Daniel the Cricket would often betake himself, when he felt himself disposed for a little talk and clishmaclaver; and as at such times he had usually imbibed too freely of his favourite whisky, his conversation was not so edifying as was that of the Doctor. But the worthy minister was always anxious to do his duty and to reclaim a drunkard; so he permitted Daniel to have his say, and never dismissed him without giving him good advice. The Cricket always told the Doctor that he would take his advice; but if he came the next time in the same springy condition the Doctor would say to him, Daniel, you take my advice as though you were taking a dose of physic; and, like much doctors' stuff, it does not seem to do you any good.' Then Daniel would say to him, Well, Doctor, I am come to you for some more of your doctors' stuff. But I am obliged to get the taste of it out of my mouth with a drop of whisky.'

One day when Dr. Macleod was in his garden, refreshing himself with work at his flower-beds, the Cricket came up, on his way from the whisky-shop, and, not content with looking over the railings, boldly opened the gate, and, with his peculiar alternate pause and bound, walked up to the minister, with a 'Hoo are ye noo? at waurk, I see!'

'It would be better for you, Daniel, if you were also at work,' replied the Doctor, who saw the Cricket's state; you have been taking more than is good for you.'

'D'ye mean to say I'm fou'!' cried the Cricket. I could hold as much again, mon! maybe you'll gie me a taste of your own!' Maybe I'll gie you a taste of this rake, Daniel, if you don't get out of my garden!' replied the Doctor, threatening the Cricket with the rake; for, in making one of his peculiar cricket-like bounds, Daniel had jumped upon a flower-bed, and was making havoc of the Doctor's choice plants. But the Cricket refused to go out of the garden, and desired to discuss certain points of doctrine with the minister; upon which the Doctor laid about him stoutly with the rake, and forcibly ejected the Cricket from his premises.

The next Sabbath Daniel was at the Highland Church, where he heard the Doctor preach a very stirring sermon. After the