66 ; editions of the Systema Naturæ were added to the genus homo, under the denomination of Troglodytes. This species have, in later editions, been very properly deposed from their rank of Primates, and arranged under the genus Simia, for a description of which see Sys. Nat. From our own personal observations, however, we are enabled to state that if the Dandy belongs to any variety of the genus man, it must be to Falstaff's imaginary men in buckram.". The truth is, it is very difficult, at present, to determine the species of this animal at all as the most experienced naturalists have not yet had an opportunity of properly examining one. This has, no doubt, arisen from the singular circumstance of the Dandy never having been observed to die. Hence it is conjectured, and with great shew of probability, that at a certain age they undergo a change similar, or rather opposite, to that which takes place in butterflies-passing into the state of a grub instead of out of it. This, how ever, is the only particular in which they resemble that gay and happy creature: for they have no grace or lightness in their movements; they appear to care nothing at all about the sunshine-and so far from having a passion for flowers, it may be safely affirmed that they do not know a lily of the valley from a stinging-nettle. It is very remarkable, too, that there is not known to exist a female of the species. This favours another conjecture which we shall venture to hazard, viz. that they do not only pass into another state instead of dying, but from another state into their present, instead of being born. In fact we ourselves have observed them in both the intermediate conditions; and the reader who has never seen one may gain a very lively idea of a half-formed Dandy, by examining any dirty shallow pond on a common, during the autumn of the year; when he will not fail to discover certain living and moving substances, which on further examination he will find to be half-frog, half tad-pole, without being either one or the other; not having had time or strength to complete their transformation. It may be remarked, too, as a further point of resemblance, that the creature in this intermediate state is not considered as fit company for either the complete frog or the complete tad pole, but is equally shunned by both. The Dandy is a gregarious animal. The particular spots in which they herd together in this city are, for the most part, in the neighbourhood of Bondstreet, where they walk backwards and forwards, two or three linked together, on that part of the pavement which is appropriated to foot passengers, to the great annoyance of the industrious part of the community who are obliged to pass that way in the prosecution of their ordinary business. The Dandy is supposed to be endowed with speech, and to have a language which is intelligible to its kind. Indeed by a diligent attention to the sound which it utters, words may frequently be detected which are familiar to us in our own language; but no connexion can be made out between them. The words which most frequently occur are damn, damned, and damnation. Indeed it may be observed that these words alone make up nearly nine-tenths of all that the Dandy utters. The method employed to take this animal alive is very singular; and seems to have originated in an old tradition of the nursery, with respect to birds; viz. that they will let you catch them if you can get near enough to them to be able to throw some salt on their tails. A very similar method is employed with success in taking Dandies. You are sure to catch them if you can get near enough to throw salt on their tails, supposing them to have tails. But on account of the artificial covering with which they envelope themselves, it has not yet been ascertained whether they are supplied with this appendage. So that the method usually adopted is this: A person employed for the purpose, and who is accustomed to the business, fixes on the one he chooses to take, and approaches it very cautiously, till he gets near enough to place his right hand upon that part of the creature's body which in Man answers to the left shoulder. If he succeeds in this, the animal quietly yields itself up his prisoner. But like the silly hare, the Dandy is very cunning when it has reason to suspect an intention of this kind. In fact it seems generally to be supplied with a kind of instinct by which it can judge from the appearance of the person approaching it, whether he has a design of this nature; and it shuns him accordingly. It has been noticed that the persons who em ploy others to take the Dandy in this way are usually tailors, or boot-makers. We are not able to say what use they put them to. With respect to the intellectual qualities of these animals, it is pretty certain that they are not endowed with any moral feelings at all; and it has even been doubted by some whether they have any physical ones; for the experiment is said to have been tried of running pins into various parts of their bodies, such as the legs, shoulders, breast, &c. without their discovering any signs of pain or uneasiness. From this circumstance there are not wanting persons bold enough to assert that the thing is not an animal at all, but neither more nor less than a suit of clothes, endowed by some unknown species of magic or mechanism, with habits and faculties analagous, in appearance, to some of those which belong to animal life. These, they say, are chiefly confined to a locomotive power, a kind of mock instinct by which it distinguishes and congregates with its kind, and a faculty of uttering articulate though unmeaning sounds. For our own parts, we are not at present disposed to admit this hypothesis. Meagre and inconclusive as the foregoing account must be considered, in default of further information on the subject we are compelled to close it here. Marmion, or Flodden Field. FROM all the accounts that we hear, the affairs of poor old Drury are get ting worse and worse every day; and yet she is always bringing forward novelties-just as the poorest soils always produce the finest crops of weeds. Marmion, or Flodden Field, was played for the first time on Thursday Dec. 31st. It is the chief incidents of Walter Scott's poem, dramatised by Mr S. Kemble. There is little to be said about such pieces as these. The stirring and romantic tale of the original is broken into dull and disjointed scenes the animated and picturesque language is diluted into maukish dialogue, and the haughty and reckless Marmion is enacted by Mr H. Kemblea gentleman who will perhaps think it no disparagement to his person and talents, when we say that he is not at all like one's ideal of the "Falcon knight-Marmion of Fontainaye." But though Mr Kemble did not play the first part of Marmion as we could have wished, it must be confessed that he threw a good deal of vigour into his death scene. If he was rather dead when he should have been alive, he made up for it by being very lively when he might have been dead. The piece is interspersed with songs, dances, processions, &c. and was received with very general applause; but it cannot long continue to be attractive. COVENT GARDEN THEATRE. A COMEDY with the above title was Kenny-a gentleman who appears to turn aside to administer to the vain and selfish views of particular actors, instead of letting them take their own road of a fair and honourable fame. straight-forward course along the high So far from writing for the next age, he does not even write for the next cordingly none of his productions reyear but only for to-day and actain possession of the stage, except one or two very droll farces. In the comedy before us, Mr Kenny has acted like an unskilful general who enlists more soldiers than he can find either pay or employment for, so that they stand in each other's way, and every one encumbers the movements of all the rest. In some cases half is more than the whole. There would be more characters in this play if there following is the official circular of the were not half so many characters. The plot : "The chief interest of the piece turns who, having incurred the displeasure of an upon 'the distress of Young Winterland, uncle on whom his fortunes depended, is disinherited, and hides from his creditors in a fisherman's cottage. His sister, who shares his misfortunes, is attached to Young Dorrington, his sworn friend, to whom he has been to the West Indies to take possession, formerly made great sacrifices, and who has On his return, the Winterlands depend on his as he believes, of a rich inheritance fulfilling their hopes-both of marrying Clara, and relieving her brother. His conduct, however, becomes mysterious and equivocal; and the most affecting of the situations arise from Winterland's resentment of his conduct, the disappointed passion of Clara, and the severe reproach of her feelings, which she incurs from the high spirit and wounded pride of her brother. Circumstances render Dorrington the bearer of an offer of marriage to Clara from Young Bowerscourt, who had suffered overtures to be made in Clara's prosperity, and which his father holds him more than ever bound to follow up; an explanation ensues between Dorrington and Clara, when he declares himself disappointed also of his inheritance, and urges the suit of Young Bowerscourt, in order to save Winterland from despair and ruin. Bowerscourt's heart has, how ever, in spite of his better reason, been ensnared by Miss Adamant, a gay woman of fashion, of a generous disposition, but flighty manners, which revolt him. The difficulties of these parties are finally removed by a seasonable discovery-Mr Hustings, the uncle of Winterland, had left the property to an unknown stranger, who had saved his life from robbers on the coast of Cornwall, on his identifying himself; if not, it passes to a Mr Silvertongue, a more distant relation. Silvertongue, by a cowardly caution to avert the supposed indignation of Dorrington, calls on him to explain his conduct, and unfolds particulars which prove Dorrington himself to be the fugitive incognito, in the last hour allowed him to set up his title. He arrives, however, at Old Bowerscourt's, the trustee, just in time, and the possession of the property enables him to do justice to Winterland, and to confirm his engagements with Clara. Young Bowerscourt is thus released of his obligationboth he and his father become reconciled to Miss Adamant, who remains the mistress of his heart. Mr Larum is a natural agent in the plot, and some amusing situations arise out of his having abandoned his wife, from a hasty and erroneous conviction of her infidelity: and being afterwards employed by Old Bowerscourt to promote a match with her for the old gentleman, she being then unknown to him under the name of Singleton. This leads to a satisfactory explanation, by which they are also reconciled. The impertinent gallantries of Mr Curvette, which have a great tendency to create the jealous fancies of Young Bowerscourt, form also a considerable share of the earlier acts of the comedy." The writer of this account of the plot has hit upon a lucky expression. He says that "the chief interest of the piece turns upon the distress of Young Winterland, &c." and it does "turn" round and round, as a blind horse in a mill does, innocently fancying, all the while, that it is going straight forward. And then how odd, for the chief interest of a comedy to turn upon the "distress" of a gallant and high-minded young officer !-We are induced to say less both of the merits and defects of this comedy than we should otherwise have done, from its appearing to have been already (a week after its first performance) withdrawn from the stage. If it is not to be brought forward again it has been much shorter lived than we anticipated, and than many others containing much less merit and amusement. There was a scene in the last act, between Miss Adamant and Old Bowers court, very charmingly written, and in the true spirit of comedy. Indeed the whole of the latter character was good-and it was exquisitely performed by Mr W. Farren. We shall take an early occasion to speak of this gentleman, who is a very great acquisition to the London stage. The Pantomime. THE Christmas pantomime at this house is nearly as good as usual. It is the story of the famous Baron Munchausen dramatised. No expense seems to have been spared in getting it up, and accordingly, the scenery is just what the scenery of a pantomime should be very gorgeous and agreeable-very active, changeable, and obedient. There are some excellent transformations, a good deal of drollery, a clever Pantaloon, an admirable Harlequin and a great Fool. But we were not quite satisfied with the poetical justice of changing the lying, blustering traveller into that exquisite compound of mirth, magic, and humanity, HARLEQUIN. If the feeling of envy could at all be admitted during the witnessing of a pantomime, we should sometimes be half disposed to indulge in it when we see any one transformed into Harlequin. He is "full of most blest condition." All people think (or protest they thinkwhich is the same thing) that they would rather be themselves than any body else-so that, not to be singular, we shall not absolutely wish to change our state. But certainly the next best thing to being one's self must be to be Harlequin! What a shape and make he has! what grace and lightness and agility! what a dress and address! Then what a temper! His honest black face is always laughing. Like most heroes, his possessions are confined to his sword. But then what a sword! It includes nothing less than the qualities of Fortunatus's cap, Aladdin's lamp, the Philosopher's stone, and the Elixir of life. Then what a traveller he is! The clouds are his chariot and the winds his horses-and he never stops to change or pay turnpikes, but goes all round the globe in a single night-calling at the moon in his way. And what a delicious compagnon de voyage he has! The first pretty girl he meets after he is created (for he hasn't the trouble of being born) falls in love with him, and follows him all the world over. Then he always has the start of a train of stupid pursuers who have only just wit enough to keep him on the qui vive! without which perhaps even his spirits might sometimes flag-at least if he happened to visit England in December. He doesn't keep house neitherwhich is another immense advantage; but can make himself at home anywhere, without carrying letters of introduction: for every body loves him -which is much; and he does not hate any body-which is more. Then he is never without attendants, though he has not the plague of keeping servants for the elements obey him better than they did the philosopher in Rasselas. He can make Old Time go forwards or backwards or stand still can change dreams into realities and realities into dreams, just as he likes and night into day or day into night -which is a very pleasant thing sometimes. His whole life is one long twelfth night-if a twelfth night can be long. Then what company he keeps! He is on visiting terms with the man in the moon-is hand and glove with Puck and Titania-plays at hide and seek with the stars-and is not afraid to join in a game at snapdragon or blind-man's-buff with the devil. To be sure he does love a bit of mischief to his heart-but then he never indulges the propensity at the expense of any but knaves and fools. Then he is an accomplished fellow withal. He knows all languages, without the trouble of studying their grammars, and understands most arts and sciences-except botany and metaphysics. These he has no fancy for. He is a better architect than Mr Soane -we have seen statues of his raising nearly as good as Mr Bacon's-and he can hit off a whole length likeness with a stroke of his wand.-As to dancing, he has a perfect passion for it-and knows all the new steps without being obliged to take " private lessons."-He is a poet, too, as good as most-though he never learned to write. Which is perhaps an advantage to him-for he has no chance of being put into the Edinburgh Review. Certainly if we were to change our humanity" with any thing it should be with Harlequin-for he never grows older than twenty, and "Love's young dream" lasts all his life. At least as far as we are informed: for when he comes to be a married man," we lose sight of him, and neither know or desire to know any more about him. RELIGIOUS INTERLUDE PERFORMED AT THE CARNIVAL IN ROME. MR EDITOR, A GERMAN traveller, who, among other things, gives a very full and amusing account of the Roman Carnival, observes, that of all the popular amusements common elsewhere at festivals of a similar sort, the only one of which there is little or nothing in the imperial city, is ballad-singing. The only instance of any thing like the ballads usual in the Catholic cities of his own country, or of Spain, was a little song sung by a blind boy from Naples of Sicilian, and therefore probably of Norman origin. This circumstance is deserving of notice; because, says my author, the true balladhorrors of ghosts, and witches, and devils, are in general quite foreign to the ideas of the Italians. Every Christian, according to the belief of these people, who takes the two sacraments on his deathbed, is sure of being saved at last. Purgatory is the worst he has to fear; and purgatory, however strange it may be thought, is not in general regarded with much horror. At all events, this cuts off all the most dark and terrible ideas, on which the interest of the profoundest Northern ballads is founded. The little Neapolitan's ballad, however, is in a taste sufficiently shocking. The scene is the place of public execution. An old witch is watching by the body of a malefactor who has just been broken on the wheel. A man comes up to her for the purpose of abstracting some parts of the corpse. He addresses the Alle chiome, al mento, alviso witch with a sort of magical greeting; and the objects he has in view will put our readers in mind of some terrible lines in Tam o' Shanter. This is the first verse. The visitor commences the dialogue, and the witch answers in the second line. Gurugium a te! Gurugiu! Che ne vuoi della vecchia tu? Io voglio questi piedi E que diavolo che ne vuoi far? Un tamburro per il Re di Francia The favourite substitute, for ballads of the terribly superstitious kind, is in Rome some versification from the Bible, in the dialogue fashion above exemplified. One of the most common is an interlude, made out of the conversation between our Saviour and the Samaritan woman. This is possessed of no inconsiderable gracefulness, both in the words and the music. The scene is laid, as our readers will suppose, by a well in the neighbourhood of the town of Samaria. Our Saviour appears first, and explains, in the fashion of the godoyous, his own situation, and all that he expects to occur. (Approaching the well.) Baderò alli fatti miei, Christ (with a benevolent smile). Buona donna, i ciel vi guardi ! Sam. (surprised by the manner of his address. O buon Uomo, a voi ancor! Christ. O figliola, che gran sete! Voi à me Samaritana Domanda vi dia da ber; A un Guideo, è cosa strana Chi l'avesse da veder. Queste due nazion fra loro Non si posson compatir. Se vedesse un di coloro, Cosa avrebbe mai à dir. Christ. Se sapeste, se sapeste Chi a voi chiede a ber, Questo pozzo a noi lascio; O Signor non si potrebbe Di questa acqua un po gustar La fatica leverebbe Di venirla qui à cavar. A chiamar vostro marito Gite, l'acqua vi darò. Io Marito guardi il cielo, Christ. Che direte s'io vi svelo Che n'avete più di tre Cinque già ne avete avute, Se vostr' è quel ch'avete or. |