In the old days everyone looked forward to the performances of Clown and his companions; but little by little their business went, until finally this has dwindled down to about one or two scenes—­which, in some few instances is still retained.

And now to formally “ring down,” and in writing the “tag,” there is, I may say, with the sound of the prompter’s bell, a melancholy ring as the passing knell of Clown and his merry companions, and the “tag,” as it were, their epitaph.

Pantomimes—­as our forefathers knew them—­have become a thing of the past, and the survivors, Clown and his comrades, the former whose quips and quiddities, in childhood’s happy days, many of us still lovingly remember; the wonderment with which we gazed at the magical tricks wrought by Harlequin and his wand; the quaint conceits and ambling gait of Pantaloon; and, last but not least, bewitching Columbine, with whom, most likely as each year came round, in youthful ardour we fell anew in love’s toils, are all rapidly vanishing into the dim and distant past, and to live in the future only in the memory.

CURTAIN.