MANAGER.

This time I am not in his power, as he thinks: read that.

FRIEND.

(Taking a letter offered by the manager, reads)—"You can have my company on the terms you propose-thir ty horses-scene riders, male and female-ponies-trappings-good clowns-in short, a perfect equestrian company, ready for action whenever you say the word." Well, but is this legitimate?

MANAGER.

The "stars" will say no, and give out that I degrade the stage with saw-dust and tan and cater to a vulgar taste. Now, I know that Mr. Q., in Shakespeare, at the other house, can no more run against my equestrian troupe, than a figuarante of the last century in a fancy dance could compete with Ellsler or Taglioni in the Sylphide or Bayadere. Mr. Q. will not risk his reputation by going to the other house, if he finds he is to encounter Rufus Welch or June's company, in a race for public favor. He will remember that the great Kemble was discomfited by a real elephant in Blue Beard in London; and he is also aware that the stage of the legitimate T. R. D. L. has been occupied by the ponies and the sports of the ring; and that the menagerie has grouped its cages under the "classic" dome; while distinguished artists- tragedians and singers-were starring in the provinces, or running over to New York to escape chancery and the queen's bench.

FRIEND.

Your argument is a fair one against the "stars;" you should let the public understand it. Managers

are the parties to understand it and to reform it; and until they do, the drama will continue to decline. There are honorable exceptions to the Mr. Q.'s school at home and abroad; and Mr. Q. has his imitators of native. origin. It is the principle that should be moved against, and not the practitioner, perhaps-for a man or woman can hardly be blamed for taking advantage of a market when the demand is greater than the supply. This is human nature, and its instincts will prevail, whether bread-stuffs or ballet girls, pork or tragedians, fuel or opera-singers, be the commodity which is the subject of speculation.

Memorandum.-In relation to the engagement with Mr. Q., the manager triumphed. He (Mr. Q.) did reduce his terms; he did not suspend the free list; nor did he have his own door-keeper; nor did he cast the plays; nor did he settle the house in the third act, or control the stage. But after the horses had their run, honored by the nightly attendance of "fashion and taste"-as represented by the higher classes-the Cataract of the Ganges gave way to the Forty Thieves. They in their turn retired, making a place for Mr. Q., who was received quite as well as he deserved to be→ with fair attendance, and nothing more-and for once the manager was protected from a loss by an eminent 66 star," who was said to come from the T. R. D. L. It may be well to note that the "equestrian troupe" cost not more than a third part of the nightly requirements of many single "stars," who can barely average halffilled houses, whenever they play what is ambiguously termed legitimate drama.

CHAPTER XX.

"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philoso phy."

THE MOGUL TALE-AN ENGAGEMENT WITH A CELEBRATED ERONAUT.

We know how, under some circumstances, Mr. Hill would act his part in the drama of real life. We have seen him under different impulses, and have had his own sensations described by his own hand.

There is a German legend which has for its moral that no person, however humble, but may excel in something. We do not intend to give the legend entire, or the origin of the custom episodically introduced in the story for collateral purposes. It was "the custom of the country," in this case, that every dead body found was denied decent burial, unless some person recognized it, and could truthfully say something good of the departed.

On one occasion a body lay near the allotted time exposed and unrecognized. The features, form, and apparel of the unknown bore testimony conclusive against his being formed of aristocratic earth. As he was about to be cast forth into unsanctified ground, an old woman was attracted to the spot. After an anxious look, with an expressive shake of the head, accompanying it with a motion of her "skinny fingers," she exclaimed

"Ah, Hans, poor oaf, are you gone! Well, well, the world has lost the best whistler in Germany.

"The best whistler," said the functionary, who was waiting to profit by the last act of man, in giving the body decent burial at the town's expense, the best whistler. That's enough. He was the best in something."

This Hans, by the accomplishment of whistling, secured to himself a decent grave.

Now there are many inhabitants of this globe, in the human form, whose lives have come to an end with no one to vouch for them in relation to excellence. On the other hand, many persons have rendered their names famous for ages by single acts, without reference to the good effect or character of the acts or actions. It cannot be necessary to furnish examples to support this proposition.

Mr. Hill was famous for whistling, we know from his own account; and the public voice has proclaimed that he was worthy of a noble memory in his vocation as a player. In keeping with the dogma, that a man's life should give more than his public acts, when sent forth for the judgment of friends or enemies, as well as that other section in large majorities which is composed of the indifferent, as we approach the close of a too brief career, will be presented an incident by this disciple of Momus, showing his experience in hydrogen gas.

Among the farces witnessed by me in the days of my youth, was the "Mogul Tale; or the Cobbler's descent in a Balloon." To see old "Barnes" as "Johnny Atkins" was the delight of other eyes than mine. In these same days of comic actors, who did really hold the mirror up to nature, if not always perpendicularly, still in such a position as to give the "age and body of

the time its form and pressure," as well as to "show vice its own image," with a little allowance for flaws in the glass, or irregularities in the amalgam which gave to the stage mirror its reflecting power.

Barnes was famous in many respects, and very famous at the time of its production as the hero of the Mogul Tale. This piece was intended as a hit at the mania of ballooning, then culminating to a point of interest, not at all warning until after-night ascensions in illuminated balloons became the only attractive exhibition of this kind, and two or three voyagers were killed by balloons taking fire and descending rapidly to the earth.

Ballooning, in reality, had not attracted my notice, with a view to any experiment in a wicker basket suspended by cords over a bag of silk in propria persona.

I had acted Johnny Atkins, and been a supposed ballooner in the midst of a new furore for this species of entertainment. I had been introduced to a gentleman, well known for his scientific attainments; he also possessed the faculty of persuading everybody into acquiescence with his plans and schemes. After the performance of the Mogul Tale we met at the table of the Tremont House, Boston, and over a chicken salad, with occasional sips of sherry, I listened to his glowing description of ærial voyages, and finally accepted an invitation to sail with him over the tops of trees and houses, and explore the regions of upper air; in short, I promised to leave my fellow-men on earth, and take a trip among the clouds.

My friendly reader may smile, and think, perhaps, that my vision was already clouded with the sips of sherry I had taken. Be that as it may, the engage