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Circus

Creator: n/a
Date: January 1839
Publication: The Knickerbocker
Source: Available at selected libraries

1  

'Unrivalled attraction! grand entrée! feats of the ring! ground and lofty tumbling! still vaulting by the whole company!

2  

I KNOW of some villages, which are happy in an unusual seclusion, whose situation protects them from the intrusion of the world. So surrounded are they by hills, and so embosomed in forests, so 'remote from cities,' and from public highways, that the heart of Zimmerman might envy their solitude. The most violent tempests in the political world can hardly affect them. They are like mountains whose sum-mits are basking in the sunbeams, while their base is uprooted by the storm. 'The wind and the hurricane rage in the distance; the destruction is beyond their horizon of peace.'

3  

Thither, by the eternal impediments of nature, no post-routes or rail-ways can ever come, to work out their magical changes; no manufactories stun with their clatter, or darken the atmosphere with smoke. The spirit of utility, which is abroad in the country, which levels to the earth so many monuments of affection, and forbids any thing to stand as it is, cannot come here. There are few changes except the ever-recurring ones of nature and mortality. The aspect of to-day remains the same to-morrow; and the solitary spire which pierces the blue skies now, will fifty years hence look down upon the peaceful abodes of men 'whose fathers worshipped in this mountain.'

4  

The primeval silence of these places remains almost unbroken; scarcely is echo awakened among the rocks. Their situation is not marked upon the maps, and their existence is a secret to the world. Perhaps a few quiet gentlemen come there in the summer, to sail on the clear lakes, or drop their lines for the golden-speckled trout. But they are wily fishermen; and when

5  

'The melancholy days return, the saddest of the year,'

6  

and they go back to the marts of commerce, careful are they not to reveal the pleasant spots where they laid in wait for the 'scaly people.'

7  

One might suppose that the current of life ran along almost too sleepily, and that the inhabitants of such places would be ready to die with weariness and disgust. But let it be remembered, that they do not live in idleness, nor are their sickly natures fed with excitement, as a food. They have sports and pastimes in abundance, and incidents which the bustling world would deem unworthy of notice are continually occurring, to relieve them from monotony, and to create a spicy variety of life. Sometimes a pedlar comes along, and is a welcome visiter. He opens doors without knocking, and enters with the familiarity of a friend. His variegated wares are spread out; brass buttons, and tortoise-shell combs, and supender and ear-rings, and jewelry of pure gold. The housewives find it to their advantage to purchase his salves and essences, and his o-pod-elic, as he terms it, which is a 'sartin cure for the rhumatiz.'

8  

Ever and anon, there is a show of dancing puppets, and a barrel organ turned by some worn-out soldier, whose simple airs a fat, rosy-faced woman accompanies, while in a very sweet voice, but a raw accent, she sings, rolling her dark, supplicating eyes to the windows:

9  

I'd be a butterfly, horn in a bow'r,
Where roses and lilies and violets meet,
Roving for ever from flower to flower,
Kissing all things that is pretty, a-n-d sweet.
I'd never languish for wealth or for power,
I'd never sigh to see slaves at my feet.'

10  

And not in vain does she expend her melody. For soon her eyes are refreshed by a pattering shower of silver coin, which honest boys collect from the earth, and place in her hands, while some kind-hearted spirit crowns the whole with a goblet of sparkling water. She inhales the draught, more delicious than wine of the old vintage, and passes on to the next cottage, leaving a God's blessing, sweet to the rustic ear as the lately-expired music. A few moments elapse, and her distant voice is again heard; for having detected in a window a golden-haired, beautiful girl, peeping from behind the jalousies of the honeysuckle, she sings of the 'minstrel's return,' or of a youth now far, far away, but whom at midsummer the propitious fates will restore to the embrace of his mistress. And again, in a song not excelled for a simplicity which touches the heart, she declares the enduring attachments of home:

11  

'Midst pleasures and palaces though I may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.'

12  

I charge all persons, and especially husbandmen, that they reward most generously these only relics of the troubadours. Many a weary mile do they walk, the messengers of music. Small is the boon which they ask or desire, and entirely unequal to their deserts. Treat them kindly, treat them tenderly, and they will repay you ten-fold; neglect them, and the doric muse has perished.

13  

There are few wandering fortune-tellers in the country, nor are our villages rendered animate by the scene of a gipsey encampment. Let those arrant poachers remain in England; their absence is cer-tainly to be regretted, on the score of the picturesque. Yet we cannot accord with the solemn exclamation of the nursery song

14  

Lo! mother Shipton and her cat
quite full of conjuration;
And if more conjurers could be found,
were better for the nation.'

15  

A travelling caravan is an integral portion of the great institute in the metropolis. When the summer comes, it is broken up into parts, which are dispersed in every section of the country, that the impri-soned beasts may have the benefit of pure air. These consist, for the most part, of a lion, a tiger, a black bear, a camel, a wild cat, a hyena, some torpid snakes, coiled up in a box, and in a separate apartment a panorama, and a man who 'sings Jim Crow.' This latter is the most noxious beast of the whole clan. Beside these, a great number of monkeys, apes, and ring-tailed babboons, are shut up in a commu-nity. These be capital fellows, full of spirits, which go the whole length of their ropes, and are better worth seeing, the spectators themselves being judges, than all the tigers, zebras, and hump-back camels, put together. Among themselves, they are 'hale fellows,' chattering and grinning, jibing, and cracking their jokes, as if in some forest of Africa, save when a by-stander rolls in an 'apple of discord,' or a cake, and then the big ones flog the small ones unmer-cifully; and herein consists the kernel of the joke. A Shetland pony goes round and round in a circle, surmounted by a jock in scarlet uniform, who proves himself an indomitable horseman. He leaps on and off, handles the reins with address, and cracks his whip like a Jehu. Sometimes a small African elephant is made to kneel down, and receive a tower on his shoulders. Those of the company who desire to ride, are requested to step forward, 'ladies first, gen-tlemen after-wards.' After a deal of hesitation, a servant-maid gathers courage, and simpering and dimpling, ambles into the arena. Her the showman politely assists to ascend. Another follows, and another, until all the seats are taken up. Then the beast moves once around, with his slow and heavy tramp, the ladies descend from their airy height, and are able to go home and say that they have 'ridden on the elephant.' Last of all, a negro is encouraged to mount the animal's bare back, and broadly grinning, is looking down upon the crowd below, when the latter, being privy to a joke, gives a violent shrug, and hurls him, as from a terrific precipice, to the ground.

16  

The menagerie is a very popular entertainment, unexceptionable on the score of morals, and visited by the 'most straitest sects' of the people. Do you see that tall, thin, straight, bony, green-spectacled man, who pries curiously into all the cages, and shuts up like a jack-knife when he bends? That is Mr. Simpson. He is a judge of these things, and has a collection at home; an ostrich's egg, a stuffed partridge, and some bugs in a bottle of spirits. He is followed by the lady superior of the female seminary, and a score of pupils, that they may lose none of his valuable remarks.

17  

'Aha!' quoth he, 'here we have the lion, most properly denomi-nated the king of beasts. He is a native Of Africa, fierce in his might and terrible in his strength. Mark his flowing mane, his majestic port, his, flaming eyes -- his -- his -- his -- tail. When he roars, heaven shakes, earth quakes, and hell trembles. Here, keeper, please be so good as make this lion roar.'

18  

'Oh! no, no, no!' shriek a dozen voices, hysterically, 'don't let him roar! -- don't let him roar!'

19  

'Well, well, as you please,' quoth Mr. Simpson, good-humoredly winking at madam.

20  

'Here is the Jackal, who purwides food for the lion; a miserable sycophant and panderer for a king. Mark his mean aspect, and dirty appearance. He is emblematic of man. Alas! there is jackals in the world; jackals literary and jackals political.'

21  

It is a season of still deeper excitement, in such a retired country village, when once a year, after several days' heralding a train of great red wagons is seen approaching, marked in large letters , CIRCUS, 1, 2, 3, 4, and so on. This arrival has been talked of, and, produces an immediate bustle and sensation. Fifty boys breaking loose from school, rush immediately to the street, and in treble tones cry 'Circus!' The ploughman lets his plough stand in the middle of the field, and leans over the fence. The blacksmith withdraws his brawny arm from the anvil, and stands in the door of his smithy. A man in the act of shaving, comes out with his face lathered, and a towel under his chin. The old woman who is washing in the porch, takes her dripping and smoking fingers from the suds, peers over her spectacles, opens her mouth, and utters an ejaculation. The milkmaid leaves her pail to be kicked over by the cow. A wise-looking clerk puts his head out of the window, with a pen stuck in his ear. A cat on the eaves of a house likewise looks down. The mother runs to call Johnny, who is playing in the yard, quick -- quick -- quick before the procession moves by. He is too late. Ba-a-a-a! An invalid in bed leaps up, thinks he feels better, and shall be 'abundantly able to go.'

22  

Meantime the cavalcade halts before the inn. The crowd closes in at once to feast their eyes on the luggage, and see the company unpack. The spirited horses, perspiring with the long journey, stamp impatiently on the ground. The corps are a little out of pa-tience, and annoyed by the crowd. A child gets under the horses' heels, and is dragged out by the hair of his head, unhurt. What rough-spoken, ill-looking fellows are the equestrians! How strangely will they be metamorphosed in a few hours-bright, dazzling, tricked out in gay attire, full of beautiful spangles! They are not themselves now; they are acting the difficult parts of every-day men. At night they will fall readily into their own characters, clowns, harlequins, and the most amusing fools in the world.

23  

'May I be there to see!'

24  

Rapidly the intelligence of their arrival spreads into the adjacent country. The whole community are on the qui vive. There are uneasiness, anticipation, excitement. The village belles lay out their trinkets, ornaments, and brightest calicoes, to adorn the boxes; the plough-boy scrapes his pence together, desperately determined on a standing in the pit. A discussion waxes warm among the graver part of the community, about the lawfulness of these amusements. Some of the young are troubled with doubts. The old people hesitate, demur, and at last give their consent. They have been once young themselves -- such opportunities do not occur every day. Indeed it would be very difficult for any one to demur, after reading the 'bill of fare,' a great blanket sheet, full of wood cuts and pictures; horses on the full run, and men bent into all possible shapes and contortions. 'Unrivalled Attraction! Grand entrée. Four-and-twenty Arabian horses. Celebrated equestrian Mr. Burke. Feats in the ring. Grand leap. Cups and ball. The entertainments to conclude with the laughable farce of Billy Button, or the Hunted Tailor. As the hired man reads over this tempting bill, or failing to read, interprets the hieroglyphics, his mouth waters. 'I must go!' -- and he adds, resolutely clenching his teeth, 'I will go.'

25  

In the course of the day the equestrians have wrought industriously, and raised their white pavilion. It stands out on the green, in beautiful proportions, erected suddenly, as if by magic. A flag floats over its summit, on whose ample folds is inscribed 'Circus.' All things are ready for the evening's sport, and a death-like silence reigns over the village.

26  

Who is he that walketh pensively in yonder green, beneath the shadow of the trees, with head bowed down, as if in thought, and plucking a leaf to pieces? It is the amiable minister of the parish. He is sore grieved in spirit. Hitherto has he led his flock without contradiction, conducting them safely through thorny places, and shielding them from the inclemency of the storm. And now forsooth the very devil has come to take them by force of arms. From his heart he regrets it. He has prayed over it, and wept over it, and slept over it, and dreamed of it. He has summoned a conclave of the principal men, remonstrated with the authorities of the town, and held up the whole thing in the length and breadth of its enormity. But the perverse men will heed none of his counsels or reproofs. He preached a sermon on the Sunday previous, in which he alarmed the young, and denounced in the most terrible terms all who should hold communion with Belial. He shed tears over the disregard of his reckless auditors. But there is mixed up with genuine grief a little vexation, because he cannot have his own way. If they will heed none of his counsel, if they will persist in their own downward course, he can but depart from them; he can but shake off the dust of his feet, and leave them to perish in their misdoings.

27  

It is very hard to draw the line accurately betwixt virtue and vice, and it may he safer to err upon the right side. Yet there is a time for every thing. We cannot always be serious. The mind must have its carnival. We must crack the nuts of folly. To become a fool once a year, is a mark of wisdom; to be a perpetual fool, is be-yond endurance. The gradual accumulation of spirits in the dullest person, will at length reach a height when it demands an exit.

28  

'Qua data ports ruit.'

29  

What signifies it, whether it be let off in a round explosion, or hiss away at intervals, like steam. Talk not of mingling the useful with the sweet. We sometimes require folly without mixture -- pure, un-alloyed, unmitigated and concentrated folly. It is good to be attacked, to be sick, and to die with agonies of laughter. The storm of the passions purifies the atmosphere of the temper. With how much keener zest do we return to substantial pleasures, even as the sick man awakens to the deliciousness of health! Govern then your own con-duct by the most rigid maxims, but beware how you denounce too bitterly, or condemn too terribly, unless yourselves are immaculate. Consistency is a most precious jewel. If you deem it a credit to abstain from trifles, indulging unreservedly in what is infinitely worse - if you cherish envy, or pride, or jealousy in the heart -- if you sully by detraction the fair name of your neighbor, whom you are commanded to love as yourself- then certainly you 'strain at a gnat and swallow a camel.' To do these things, and without com-punction, maybe esteemed a more palpable dereliction, than to laugh at the antics of a tumbler or a clown. The voiceless eloquence of a good example persuades the young to virtue, but the harsher precepts of a rigorous code, will be more apt to compel them to a vagabond life.

30  

The sum is just resting on the borders of the horizon, and making the summer evening lovely, when the whole equestrian corps, a signal being given, sally forth and wind through the grass-skirted lanes of the village. A band of music goes before, drawn in a chariot by four dappled horses. The notes of the bugle floating exquisitely on the tranquil air, fill the rustic bosom with enthusiasm. The eques-trians follow in gorgeous, spangled dresses, the clown standing up on one leg, with a straw in his mouth, and giving a foretaste of those facetious inanities which he will exhibit at even. Just at dusk, they return to the pavilion. A motley crowd rushes hurriedly through the streets. The minister of the parish looks out from his window, and weeps. He is a good man, and God will shelter his little flock from harm. The scrupulous and the wavering are now decided. Those who but yesterday said, crabbedly, that they had 'no time, nor money nother, for such wild doings,' bustle off, 'just to see what's going on.' Many persons of approved gravity attend, who 'suld have known better.' To the negro population, the occasion is a heyday and holiday. The Pompeys are there, and the Catos are, there, and the noble lineage of the Caesars. Thus all the population are collected beneath the great tent. No; there are a few unhappy boys without, who peep hopelessly through the crevices of the awning, but whom the door-keeper will soon discover, and send harshly away. Just at this juncture, the gentleman who lives in the white cottage by the hill-side, and who has acted for a long time past in a very remarkable manner, having little intercourse with the neighbors, declining to an-swer questions, or to have his affairs inquired into, (he is either crazy or in love,) passes by that way, and thrusting his hand in his pocket, presents the lads a shilling each. Smiles and gratitude reward him.

31  

The area of the enclosure is divided into the ring, pit, and boxes. A circular wooden frame-work depends in the centre, containing a great many tarnished lamps, and magniloquently called a chandelier. 'Splendid'!' whispers the crowd. Let us inspect the company a few minutes, before the performances commence. The circular seats are crowded to the very roof. Behold there the bloom and flower of the country -- the daughters of stout yeomen, brought hither by the beaux to view this rare spectacle. Did ever a tent, since the days of Cleo-patra, contain such feminine charms? Was ever the circle of Old Drury studded with such brilliant gems? Those are no fictitious roses which compose that head-dress, and it is the livelier tinge of the un-rouged cheek which makes those roses blush. Let me direct your attention to that sweet girl opposite, just under the eaves of the pavi-lion, seven seats to the right of that ill-assorted patch. Simplex munditiis! How simple in her adornment! A single pale flower is in her jet-black hair, and her eyes were too dark, did not the softest lashes attemper their lustre. Alas! 'consumption, like a worm in the bud, feeds on her damask cheek!' And yet she knows it not. Light-hearted, she frequents the place of merriment, and mingles sportively in the dance. But she will pass away as doth a leaf, in autumn, or with the milder breath of spring. Her companions will lament her, and they will pluck the garland of the May-queen to pieces, to scatter it upon the grave.

32  

These thoughts are sadly out of place, but grim death will be thrust-ing his visage every where, and there are goblins in every masquerade. But there is nothing spectral in the looks of Helen --. She is seventeen, and very beautiful, and wild as a roe. Health sparkles in her eye, and riots in the rich bloom of her cheeks. She has more suitors than Penelope, but in two words her character may be told. She is a COQUETTE. We might sit gazing in that quarter for ever, for it is very hard to withdraw one's eyes from the fair. They are sure come back again, the truants; yet for the present, let us turn them to the rougher sex. Behold that man of gigantic stature, near the entrance of the tent. He lately emigrated from Connecticut, and stands seven feet two inches in his shoes. He wears a cerulean blue coat, buttoned up to his nose, and a tall, steeple-loafed hat. Sic itur ad astra. To see him entering the village, in this plight, driving a team of jack-asses before a square box of a wagon, and sitting bolt-upright on a load of pumpkins, you would be apt to call him, in the dialect of his own people, 'an almighty lengthy creatur.' When he walks through the aisle of the church on Sunday, he overtops the tallest man in the congregation, by a whole head. He will be a con-spicuous mark here. See if the clown does not take cognizance of him, before the play is done.

33  

There stands a dandy, his legs apart, and forming with the ground an isosceles triangle. He wears straps a yard long, his breeches being that much too short, and a very vulgar broach in his false bosom. His guard chain dangles in festoons about his vest, and a brass chain is terminated in a great ornament in the region of his knees. Mark his confused look. He thinks every body is gazing at him. 'How will you swop watches, onsight onseen?'

34  

There is a jolly butcher, and there a farmer, of ruddy complexion and cheerful aspect, whip in hand, covered with dust, who has ridden hard, after mowing all day in the meadow, to bring his wife and daughters to the circus. He is not afraid to contribute of his sub-stance to the wants of the needy, nor to the amusement of his family, of whom he is justly proud. Next to him sits an old man, holding a beautiful little boy, four years old, upon his knee, answering all his questions, quieting all his fears. Look at that idiot boy, grinning luridly upon the scene, with lolling tongue and watery mouth wide open, and white, unmeaning eyes. Look at that old man, with neck bent immoveably upon his breast, and so he has lived for many, many years-a pitiable object. There is another unfortunate, as thin as grim death, who is the victim of a tape-worm. He can yet laugh, and shake his lean sides. Thus wise men and fools are mingled in this epitome of a world. Let us turn to a more promising specimen of human nature; that fat, gouty old gentleman, so comfortably provided for; wild Harry he was called, in his youth. He quivers like a jelly, and one peal of hearty laughter, which he appears upon the verge of, will shake him into dissolution. He resembles the remarkable de-lineation of 'Tam O'Shanter,' struck from the rough free-stone into very life, by Thom, the self-taught artist. I hope the clown wont look at him. Have mercy, I pray thee, dear Mr. Harlequin! Indulge your facetious personalities upon the lean ones, who have room enough to expand in, and who can afford to split their sides a-laughing. But cast none of your ill-timed fooleries in that quarter. I doubt if he will hold together as it is, but if you throw at him the joke direct, Wild Harry is a dead man!

35  

Are there any in the whole area who will experience more genuine satisfaction, than the descendants of Ham? They are huddled to-gether in one corner, dark, cloud-like, a distinct people. How will smiles and pleasantry be diffused over their features, like light bursting from the darkness! How will the whites of those eyes be uprolled in extacy, those even teeth glisten like ivory, and laughter break forth from the bottom of their souls, every laugh being worth a dollar! There, there! -- listen to that shout! An unfortunate cur, who has strayed inside by accident, has got his toes severely trampled upon, and lamentably yelping, and running the gauntlet, is kicked out of doors. It is high time that the performances commenced. 'Music! music!' shout the crowd; and the orchestra without more ado plays a national air. Another piece is performed, and the tramping of horses is heard without.

36  

Do you remember the feelings which possessed you, so charmingly described in one of the essays of Elia, when, a child, you were taken for the first time to the theatre; when the green curtain was drawn, and the tardy musicians crept one by one from some subterraneous place into the orchestra, and at last the overture was over, and the bell rang, and the risen foot-lights burst upon the scene of enchant-ment? Such feelings of intense anticipation pervade the rural audi-ence. For now all things are ready, the passage is cleared, and silence, reigns within the pavilion. The horses are coming! 'Heavens I look at that white-haired, cat-eyed boy, on the very edge of the ring! He will certainly be run over.'

37  

Leave him alone, leave him alone. He will take care of himself, I warrant you. Nought is never in danger. Tramp, tramp, tramp! There they come. Observe the grand entrée, by four-and-twenty Arabian horses, while the rustic mother claps her infant to her breast, scared by these terrible sports. At the first irruption of the cavalcade, the audience are bewildered with the general splendor of the scene. The horses, beautifully marked and caparisoned, are obedient to the slightest will of the rider, and yet by their proud looks and haughty bearing, seem conscious of their lineage; while the equestrians vie with each other in rich costume, and their plumes dropping softly over their painted faces, make them as bright as Lucifer, in the eyes of the crowd. They ride gracefully, displaying to advantage their elastic forms, swollen into full proportion by exercise and training. As soon as the audience is sufficiently recovered to particularize the different members of the troop, they are attracted by the grotesque behaviour of the clown, who has got upon his horse the wrong way, and sits pre-posterously facing the tail. In this manner he slips on and off, en-couraged with immense laughter. Next the remarks go round, and every one praises to his neighbor the remarkable lightness and agility of a juvenile equestrian. He has not yet completed his eleventh summer, and not a horseman in the troop can vie with him in daring. The ladies who adorn the dress circle, regard him with smiles and approbation. O! pulchrum puerum! What a fair boy! How his ringlets flutter over his brow, in beautiful dishevelment, fanned by the wanton breeze. They could almost pluck him from his flying steed, and arrest his course with kisses. So light and agile is he, that he appears not human, but, as he flies around the ring with a daring rapidity, and his snow-white trousers and gemmed vets mingle their colors, and become indistinct, he seems like an apple-blossom floating on the air. But look! look! What the devil is that fellow at, disrobing himself? He has kicked himself out of his pantaloons, and thrown away his coat, his horse flying all the while. 'Angels and ministers of grace defend us!' he is plucking off his very -- shirt! Nay, nay, do not be so alarmed, nor turn away your heads, ye fair ones, timidly blushing. Look again, and behold a metamorphosis more wonderful than any in Ovid; for lo! he pursues his swift career in the flowing robes of a woman! And now the pony is to perform a no less wonderful exploit, and leap through a balloon on fire. But why should I enumerate all the feats of this wild crew? What with riding, leaping, vaulting, and the most astonishing pirouettes, the first part of the diversions is enacted in a charming style. Who can say that he is not satisfied thus far, or has not got the worth of his money? Not that jolly butcher, not that farmer, not that sedentary schoolman, who has materially assisted his digestion by laughing. 'There is no medicine so good as the genuine ha! ha!'

38  

To me, who am a genuine lover of human nature, and who sit cur-tained round in a stage-box, as it were, unnoticed by every one, and noticing every one, there is a chuckling delight in looking, not upon the actors of the scene, but on the motley crowd, and listening to such speeches as are naturally drawn from the occasion.

39  

'I'll tell you one thing, and that aint two,' remarks a spectator to his neighbor, 'that the boy is wonderful, but if the clown isn't the old one, he is a nigh kin to him.'

40  

'That 's a fact.'

41  

'He can twist himself wrong side out, he can.'

42  

'Ay, ay, you're right there, and he can tie himself into a bow knot.'

43  

'These fellows,' says another, 'have n't got no bones into their bodies; they are made of Ingen rubber.'

44  

'Bill,' remarks the ostler to his bare-footed companion, usually yclept Villiam Viggins, a very bad boy, 'fine sort of life, eh, Bill? What say to try fortunes with 'em? Jeffries, the head man, gin me a fair offer this mornin' to go along with him, and see a little of the world, what I've always had a great hankerin' for, and the great folks of the world, and a sight of things that I and you never dreamed of, and wont never dream of, if we stay here from now to never. I say, Bill, I 've a mighty great notion of it, and should be glad of you for your company. You are prudenter than I be, by a good sight con-trariwise I am a better bruiser than you be, though I say it. We could pull together han'somely, and make our fortunes. It's a-high time, Bill, that we should 'stablish a ch'racter. But what takes my eye, these circus-actors live like gentlemen. They crack their jokes, they do, drink their wine, and live on the fat o' the land. Why can't we do the same, Bill? I can't see what 'a to perwent it. There's no two ways about it, and if it is not all true, just what I tell you, then your name's not Villiam Viggins. And then it must be mighty agreeable to be dressed in such fine clothes, and to ride on such flashy horses, and to have nothin' to do but to be looked at, and to be laughed at, and to go a-larkin' and' a travellin', and seein' all the world, and to be admired at by all the girls in the country. I say, Bill, the notion takes you, you dog; I see it does. And now come let 's go out, and have a glass o' beer, and a long nine betwixt us, and talk the matter over a little, afore the entertainments begin ag'in.'

45  

'In the country where I was fetched up,' said the son of Anak, 'no such doings as these is permitted. Two years ago, come next May, a company of circus-actors crossed over the Sound, and come to Bozrah. They sot themselves down, but did n't stay long, I guess, before they were attackted by the town-officers, and sent packing. They pulled up stakes, and took away their duds, and never come back, as I know on. For the people sot their faces like a flint agin 'em. Some few was for letting them act, but Deacon Giles opposed the motion, and carried his p'int, and on the Sabbath followin' stopped a load of hay on full drive through the town of Bozrah.'

46  

In such conversation and exchange of sentiments, the interval 'be-tween the acts' is wiled away. The second part of the diversions is a fescennine dialogue, made up of alternate strokes of rude raillery, interspersed with songs and merriment, affording as keen a relish as the best Attic salt.

47  

'De gustibus non disputandum'

48  

Last of all, comes 'BILLY BUTTON, OR THE HUNTED TAILOR.' I forget the plot of this piece, exactly, which is yearly enacted with much acceptation in every considerable village in the country. There are some very good points about it, that never come amiss to a rural audience, as when the perverse pony shakes off the cabbaging tailor from his back, not allowing him to mount, or, dangerously acting on the offensive, chases him around the ring. And now the entertain-ments are about to conclude, let us indulge a wish that the ladies who have been seated near the crevices in the awning, may not catch their death a-cold, and that no evil whatever may result from the occasion. The clown bounces into the arena with a bow; doffs his harlequin aspect, and assumes the serious air of an every-day man. 'Ladies and gentlemen, the entertainments of the evening are concluded, We thank you for your polite attendance.' In a twinkling the canvass is rent down over your heads, the lights are extinguished, and while the equestrians are already preparing to depart to the next village, the motley assemblage moves homeward through the dark night, yelping like savages.