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lord, who will advance me in the army, and
take care of my fortunes.
Harlequin.-A dream! more, my
friend. Be content to be valet de chambre
or lackey to some old lady.

Leander.-Oh, sir, I could never stoop to such duty.

Harlequin.-Is this tall young lady your sister? She's not ugly.

Leander. Sir, she dances charmingly, and has a fine voice.

Doctor.-I have given her the very best education I could. I intend to settle her

as companion with some lady of quality, who, after some time, will provide a suitable match for her.

Harlequin.-Don't be too sure of that. It is not so easy to procure husbands for girls that come out of great houses.

Doctor.-Why so?

Harlequin.-Tattlers will talk scandal, and tell you that handsome girls who pay attention to Madame, sometimes receive attention from Monsieur. But, as she sings, get her engaged at the opera as a supernumerary--that is, if there is a vacancy. Take my advice: spare yourself the expense of a journey to Paris, and go home.

Scaramouch (beginning to cry).-Ah, sir, if people of such genius and education cannot get on at Paris, what am I to do?

Harlequin.-What do you mean? Scaramouch.-What am I to do, I say, that am good for nothing--who can do nothing but bagatelle--who know nothing but bagatelle--and am nothing but a bagatelle? Harlequin. You do bagatelle, you know bagatelle, and you are a bagatelle? Ah, my dear sir, let me embrace you. Go to Paris: your fortune is made. If I had a genius for bagatelle, it's not here among the beasts I should be. Will you allow me to go halves in your fortune?

Scaramouch.-Willingly. So, you really think that, with a good deal of bagatelle, I may make a little fortune. Is it the case? Harlequin.-Ay, as large a one as you please. Utter a bagatelle with a good grace, and you espouse an old lady who will make you a great lord. A strong wrist and firm grip of the hand has advanced a man to be a high justiciary. Another has attained dignity because he had a handsome wife.

The Italian comedians did not omit to pay their respects to the gentlemen of the long robe in their drolleries. Some of their bitterest jibes are found in

THE DESCENT OF MEZZETIN INTO HELL.

Pluto, seated on his burning throne, with Proserpine by his side, thus harangues his court :-

Pluto. It is surprising, my phlegethontic

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multitudes tumbling

friends, to see the
daily into our realm. We are full to the
neck, and must refuse further entrance, or
build additional quarters; and for this
purpose, we must levy an impost on all
wood and charcoal consumed. I've seen
such a miserable time here, that even a
catchpole could not be nabbed without de-
spatching a devil express to pin him; and
now our difficulty is how to keep them
out. The court clerks must now wait a
whole year at the gate, for they dare not
take precedence of the lawyers, who enter
in shoals.

Proserpine. We must refuse admittance for the future to the gentlemen of the robe. Hell is dismal enough without them.

Pluto. Unfortunately, I have scarcely more right here than they. It is well if they don't drive me out some day. I lately had a violent quarrel with a devil of quality, for keeping bad company among attorneys, while he was up in Paris.

Proserpine. You did right. Such society would set everything here topsy-turvy. Pluto. Tell Charon to bring the daybook. (Two familiars bring it in on their backs.)

Charon (reads).-Arrived, 17th, two thousand seven hundred and thirteen physicians.

Pluto. These gentlemen will do our business much better above. Let them be sent back. Let no doctor be admitted for the future without a certificate from the

grave-diggers that he has killed ten thousand

persons.

Charon.-Same day, fourteen hundred apothecaries.

We

Pluto. -Admit the apothecaries. are hot here, and have need of draughts and enemas.

Charon.-Same day, fifty-seven thousand two hundred and seventeen farmers of taxes, sub-farmers, clerks, and bailiffs. As for the farmers, I could not convey them. They were so stout and fat that my boat would have gone to the bottom.

Pluto.--We cannot refuse them: their heritage is here.

Charon.--Moreover, fifteen thousand attorneys and their clerks.

Pluto.--For them we must make provision. They are the sandal-wood of our furnaces. I never burn any other kind in my study.

Charon.-Fourteen thousand dozen fe

males, large and small.

Pluto. The very thing I dreaded. Why did you bring them over?

Charon.-Item, two symphonic ramrods, in flesh and spirit-soi-disant musicians, come to reclaim their wives.

Pluto. Are they mad? Produce them at once. Their sight will be a novelty. (Orpheus and Mezzetin are presented, and pay ridiculous obeisance to King and Queen.).

Pluto (pointing out Eurydice.)--Is this

your wife? She is certainly worth the journey.

Eurydice.If it is wonderful to see a man going as far as hell for his wife, it is no less wonderful to see her eager to return with him.

Mezzetin.--Stop her mouth. She preaches a totally new heresy.

Eurydice.--I know that my taste is not that of the present time, and that a woman of fashion looks on her husband only as a robe of gentility and a screen of reputation; but I prefer my husband's love and my duty to being thought in the fashion. At your feet, I implore you by all you hold most dear, to restore me to my dear husband; and, to the end of my life, I will offer up my earnest vows for the mutual happiness of your Majesties.

Pluto (hearing a noise).--What uproar is that?

Charon.--The churchwardens claiming precedence over the barristers.

Pluto. --Was not that matter decided above?

to eat and drink without payment, and re-
ceive the change.

Mezzetin.--Ah, let me know your se-
I met

cret!

Harlequin. This is how I did it.

in the morning one of the company to whom I had never before spoken a word. I accosted him with great politeness. "Sir, I have the honour of speaking with the most accomplished actor of the day. I would be obliged for three tickets to gratify two ladies who are most anxious to see you in character." "With great pleasure," said he, "here they are." I presented myself alone at the entrance of the parterre.* The crowd was great, so I took two persons one side, and said to them: "I have two tickets, intended for friends of mine, who have not been able to attend. They are for the amphitheatre--thirty sous each; you shall have both for thirty sous." They gave me my demand, and we entered the amphitheatre together. I took the centre of the front seat, and as soon as the curtain rose, I cried out, "Oh, what a wretched scene!

Charon.--But, your Majesty, they have what dauber has rubbed his brush over it? appealed to you.

Considerable difficulty arises about the recovery of Columbine, Mezzetin's wife. He insists that she shall repay him the expenses of her funeral, keep no more tall footmen, and lower her forehead ornaments a foot, at least. At last the decree is pronounced.

"Pluto. After hearing the arguments pro and con, I, Pluto, Prince of Darkness, Sovereign of Styx and Phlegethon, Governor of the Low Countries, President of the Sabbat, and born Director of Arts, Trades, and Professions, permit you, Orpheus and Mezzetin to take away, not only your own wives, but every other wife in my kingdom, Proserpine not excepted.

I have seen much better at the puppet shows. The shades are not light enough, and the lights are not dark enough." "You are right," said a person near me, "that green is not the same you'd see in meadows." "Oh, I see you are an artist." "No, indeed, I am only a dyer." The play began with an actor and actress. "Ah!" cried I, "what a bad comedian ! He has no grace, and he declaims detestably. An old crier of silver lace would do it as well." "It seems to me," said my neighbour, “that the lady acts well and naturally." "Perhaps," said I; "but she is too small-she does not fill the stage." "But," said he, "if she's small of size that's not her own fault." "Neither is it mine," was my answer. "When I pay at the door it is to see actresses of a good size and shape." Well, the Italians were performing the first scene in French, and a citizen sitting near me said in a tone of serious surprise, "I am astonished how people say they can't understand these Italians. I have not lost a single word since the play began. After I had heaped a good deal of abuse on the scenes, the actors, the piece, and all, I took a big whistle out of my pocket, and began to blow it like the devil. A woman sitting behind, cried out, "Sir, I can hear nothing." "Very sorry, indeed, Mademoiselle," said I, "but I am blowing as loud as I can." first act being over, the lemonade man began to go about, crying, "Gentlemen, buy my lemonade, my biscuits, my macaroons."+"You rascal," said I, "have you no Harlequin. Why! I went to enter better comedy to sell us ?" "I do not deal without expense, to act the superior critic-- in plays," said he, "I sell lemonade." "Well,

The light-hearted Italian comedians were not without their own grievances, even in Paris, and basking in the favour of the Grand Monarque. A specimen is produced. Mezzetin asks Harlequin if the "Bankrupt" just brought out is a good play, and he

answers:

Harlequin.-By my faith, I can't tell you. I was so eager to criticise the separate parts, and pass for an eminent critic, that I could not pay attention to the piece.

Mezzetin.--And why then did you attend the representation?

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The

* A place corresponding to our pit, but unfurnished with seats, between the orchestra and the amphitheatre, which last represents the centre of our dress-circle.

+ Confectionary, the ingredients being sugar and almonds.

macaroons.

let us see if your lemonade is any better than your play." I drank five or six glasses of the liquor, and ate as many biscuits and Then said I to him, "Go and bring me a couple of cups of chocolate, your lemonade has given me a pain in the sto mach, it is so cold." During his absence I pretended to recognise an acquaintance in the parterre, and cried out, "He, Chevalier! I have something particular to say to you." I leaped from the amphitheatre into the parterre, and mixed in the press; and this is how I entered the theatre for nothing; how I did the bel esprit; how I ate and drank for less than nothing, and got thirty sous for change.

Railleries and accusations directed, each against the other, by the two sexes, abounded in the old Italian comedy. In

THE CHAMPION OF THE FAIR SEX

Columbine and Harlequin reverse the natural order of things--she calumniates her sisters, and he undertakes to vindicate them after a fashion of his own.

Columbine.--Do you wish to know what a woman is? Represent to yourself a handsome little monster who charms the eyes, and shocks the reason; who pleases and disgusts; an angel without and a harpy within. Put together a linnet's head, a serpent's tongue, a basilisk's eyes, a cat's temper, a monkey's cunning, an owl's love of darkness, the sun's brightness, the moon's changes, and envelope all in a soft white skin; --add arms, and legs, and the rest, and you have the woman complete.

Harlequin.--Illustrious magistrate, men, now-a-days, seem so much afraid of Hymen and his torch that I am obliged to undertake the defence of my ancient enemies, for fear that marriage should be abolished, the world come to an end, and the Hotel de Bourgogne become a waste. I will prove to these unreflecting men that they themselves are the cause of all the faults they lay to woman's account. The wish to please you is the mainspring of all their little armoury. Why, if you please, does that old coquette take so much care of her worn-out skeleton? Why does she keep up the price of pearl powder and rouge? Why does she eat by compass and measure for fear of disturbing her false teeth? Why, but that she has her eye on that young jackanapes that plays at cards with her and wins her money?

See this young beauty, whose whole

time nearly is taken up in dressing, and undressing, and changing her ornaments. Peep into her heart, and you'll soon discover whether your sex or hers has the greater part in these affectations, and bridlings, and

airs, and graces. Does a woman ever adorn herself for the sake of other women? It is you, O Messieurs, the disgusted, who have to answer for the extravagance of fashions, the magnificence of dresses, and the ruin of families. It is to attract your expiring attention that they have invented those gourgandines, those agaçantes, and those barrieres.

For proof that all female adornings are solely for the eyes of man, put a woman where none shall see her but persons of her own sex, and you'll soon detect symptoms of an alarming negligence--a simple cap on her head, a modest and loose corset, stout shoes, and a housekeeper's apron. There is your country beauty, who in the city wears a petticoat stiff with gold, and a head-dress of three stories to make her look tall, and who can hardly squeeze her feet into her high-heeled shoes. And why this country simplicity? Simply because she despises the admiration of the cocks in the poultry yard, or the Indian fowl of the Tuilleries. If men had not eyes, there would be no extravagance in dress. Let them submit to be blinded, if they wish for economy among my clients.

They say that women occupy themselves with a thousand bagatelles, that they lose their time fondling their lap-dogs, teaching their parrots tomfooleries, and all sorts of tricks to their monkeys. Alas! let us examine them, and consider what their answers will be--just these, that, "animal for animal, a man is much less amusing than a dog; that even in the malice of an ape there is something good; and that there are more than a hundred husbands in Paris who are not a whit more brilliant in conversation than a parrot." Let us enter one of the domestic circles, and what do we find, but a morose master, who speaks only in monosyllables, and who knows the art of expressing disIs not agreeable things with six letters. that a good reason why she should seek agreeable conversation elsewhere. Then, he is always watching her movements, and present at her parties--never lets her out of his sight, in fact. Meanwhile, he takes his meals, and sleeps away from her, and keeps her in ignorance of the society he frequents.

Columbine.--Woe to the husband who should see too much or too little of my movements!

Though the pieces, from some of which we have given these extracts, were called comedies, they were, in fact, no better than slight and extravagant farces, distinguished frequently by sallies of keen wit, inimitable pantomimic acting, and fine singing. Strengthening the interest till it came to a climax, or contriving those groupings which charm and surprise the audience for the moment, never seem to have occupied the attention of play

wrights or actors. Buffoonery, in better or worse taste, accompanied the best acting; and in the outlines of the action, there were always points marked with the word Lazzi, implying that there the actors might introduce and repeat pantomimic drolleries. The actor most distinguished among the Paris-Italians for his exquisite drollery, was the personifier of Scaramouche. In one scene, after putting his room to rights, he began to play the guitar, and Pasquariel, coming behind him, beat the measure on his shoulders. He was seized with intense fright, and for a long quarter of an hour, kept the audience suspended between terror and the highest merriment, by the inimitable play of his features. A prince said of him, "Scara

muccia never opens his mouth, though he says a great deal." We have said that the old comedy, such as it was, might have figured on the stages of mountebanks; but it is probable that the fescennine entertainments, derived by the old Romans from the Tuscans, were never entirely forgotten, and that the comedy of the sixteenth century owed some of its buffoonery and satiric licence to that source. Part of what we have quoted savours, of course, of the spirit of the people among whom Gherardi's players exhibited, and cannot be looked on as the pure Italian commodity; but we had no choice between presenting that and quoting mere outlines of plots, meagre in themselves to the last degree.

THE PULPIT AND ITS CRITICS.

It was never more generally felt by the rulers of the Church, by clergy and laity, than at present, that there is a special call for new appliances to meet the wants of the age, to keep pace with the progress of opinion, to promote self-reform, and the removal of those evils and hindrances which are acknowledged to encumber our Church system and machinery. We were ourselves the first to call serious and friendly attention to certain vital points of reform, so long back as our Number for September, 1858, in an article on "The Education and Pastorate of the Irish Clergy." On that occasion we pointed out some defects in the education and training of candidates for the ministry in the University of Dublin, suggested improvements, of which some of the most important have since, we are happy to say, been adopted, called attention to the character, matter, and manner of preaching in the University itself, which is the model young men under training would naturally look to, as also outside the University, in those churches where clergymen of popular talent minister to large and influential congregations; and recommended extempore, or rather spoken, sermons, in accordance with the practice in the senate, at the bar, and wherever men most desire to influence their

fellow-men: and as the natural, the effective, and the acceptable way of reaching the intelligence and engaging the attention of the people, in opposition to the novelty, laziness, and inefficiency of the senseless system of reading cold essays, which the common people neither understand nor profit by.

Whether it be a symptom of good or evil, a sign of earnest interest in the subject, or of antagonism, there can be no doubt that the Church, her position and ministrations, efficiency or inefficiency, her obligations and manner of discharging them, form the common theme of the press, religious and secular, magazines and newspapers alike, to an extent unprecedented in living memory. We cannot doubt, that all this complaining, suggesting, and discussing, will prove remedial and beneficial, and not destructive, and that it is really an evidence of the attachment of the nation to the institution itself, and an expression of confidence in its value and permanence.

It is in this spirit, and with this confidence, we proceed to offer such further suggestions as appear to us of value, and to point out certain other hindrances to the Church's usefulness and progress.

Friends and foes of the Church

alike are agreed, that there is something defective in the general character of our pulpit preaching. Considerable improvement is needed, in fact, if we are to meet the wants and expectations of the times. The Saturday Review, after its manner, deplores the length of the services, and would, save in exceptional cases, prefer to dispense with the sermon-attributes the defects, which it denounces, to the practice of some bishops in ordaining literates and used-up schoolmasters-complains of the sentiment which considers it a breach of good manners to move towards the door as the clergyman moves to the pulpitthinks it ought to become the recognised practice, that a portion of the congregation should leave, if so inclined, after the prayers-and even sighs for the first step towards the freedom as to hearing sermons which is generally practised in the Roman Catholic Church. This latter remedy, however, does not at present work so well among Roman Catholics. We remember last winter, when several murders had just occurred in Limerick and Tipperary, conversing with an intelligent Roman Catholic serjeant of police in the latter county, and on expressing our surprise that the priests did not in their sermons labour to turn the sympathy unhappily felt so generally for the criminal in favour of the law and the victims of these murderers, "What can they do?" was his reply. "In that chapel [pointing to the building], on Sunday, when the sermon commences, the bulk of the people walk out and lie down upon the grass, put on their hats, and sit on the walls, to talk and smoke their pipes, or walk away." Thus, it would appear, that the remedy of the Saturday Review is itself a serious source of evil, and is felt to be such by those who know most of its practical working.

The North British Review, too, though in a more healthy tone, gives expression to the general desire for a solution of the questions:-"Whether the pulpit is falling behind the age?" "Whether those who used to be the pioneers are now to run in the rere of society?" "What has occasioned this cry?" "Whether it be the absence in the Church of the keen competition of civil life, by which, in other

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It would not be difficult to multiply these complaints, conjectures, and questions indefinitely. There must be something in them, and there is no doubt a good deal more than we can explain; but we offer our own contribution to the elucidation of the subject.

There is no supervision of the clergy in the matter of preaching to their people on Sundays. The public opinion of congregations, on whom they in nowise depend, is not sufficient. The people have no choice but to attend their parish churches; and however wearied of an inefficient ministry, decency and regard for the interests of their families will bring them there, even if they be without higher motives. To most people, it seems an unwarrantable interference (and it is sure to give offence) to complain or suggest, especially as it is, unhappily for themselves, true, that few of our Protestant people contribute anything towards the ministry or the Church, whose benefits and privileges they enjoy so gratuitously, that they are apt to undervalue them. The congregations come into a church on Sundays which has been built for them, but not at their expense; the minister is not paid by them; neither is the parish clerk, to whom they listen responding for them, and perhaps singing for them; the sexton is not paid; nor the brushes bought which are used to clean and dust the pews for the silks and muslins of their wives and daughters ; the fire is supplied gratuitously, and they do not pay for the wine or light used in the divine ordinances and service. Probably, the minister supplies also the hymn-books. How can they be expected to chide, even ever so gently, the minister's sermon, which costs them nothing, and which has helped, if it be usually cold, and dead, and uninteresting, to drag them into a drowsiness and indifference, which are, we fear, too general.

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