he is, however, rescued on the instant by the protecting interference of the Fairy Blue-bell.  But in punishment of his neglect, he is condemned to wander for a time in search of happiness with the now-awakened Beauty, pursued by the relentless Ogress and her servant, Grim Gribber.  The whole of the persons engaged in the scene now undergo the prescriptive Pantomimic changes, and the ordinary succession of Harlequinade adventures, tricks, and transformations ensue.

Our old favourites, the Grimaldis, father and son, Mr. Ellar as Harlequin, and Mr. Barnes as Pantaloon, were hailed, on their appearance, with the warmth of greeting to which their excellence in their several parts fully entitles them, and displayed their wonted drollery, gracefulness, and agility:  and Miss Brissak, who, for the first time, appeared as Columbine, acquitted herself with tolerable credit, and was very well received.

The scenery in general was marked with that characteristic beauty and highly-finished excellence, which have long distinguished the productions of this theatre:  and the panoramic series of views of the River Thames, from Greenwich to the Nore, on the passage of the Royal flotilla for Scotland, and its arrival in Leith Roads, probably surpass everything of the kind before exhibited.  There are several diverting tricks and ingenious changes.  Grimaldi’s equipment of a patent safety coach at Brighton, in particular was highly amusing.  The machinery, which is, in many instances, of a most complicated description, worked remarkably well for a first night’s exhibition; and the whole went off with a degree of eclat, which must have been exceedingly gratifying to the managers, as auguring the probability of such a lengthened run for the piece as may amply recompense the pains and expense which have been so lavishly bestowed in its preparation.  The house was filled in every part, and the announcement of the Pantomime’s repetition was received with the most clamorous approbation, undisturbed by a single dissentient voice.

The first production of “The House that Jack Built,” at Covent Garden, on December 26, 1824, also reads interestingly:—­

The Pantomime is before us, and we should ill-repay the pleasure it afforded us, if we did not acknowledge and make public its excellence.  The name implies the source from which it is taken, and we had, therefore, the supreme pleasure of renewing our friendship with those very old acquaintances, the “Priest all shaven and shorn, the maiden all forlorn, the cow with the crumpled horn, the dog that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that eat up the malt, that lay in the House that Jack built.”  This, of course, gave us, as it appeared to do many others, great pleasure, “For should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind.”  Mr. Farley, however, who supports (like an Atlas) all the weight of bringing forward these annual pieces of fun and foolery, and who appears to be as learned