A few years since it was the established rule to play “George Barnwell,” by way, we suppose, of a “great moral lesson” to the apprentices of London.  In this age of innovation this venerable custom has been broken down, but the principle seems not wholly to have been abandoned.  “Jane Shore” has supplanted “Barnwell,” and the anxieties of the age, are, it would appear, now directed towards the softer sex.  Seriously speaking, we consider these Christmas selections as exceedingly absurd.  Visitants at this period of the year frequent the theatre less for the purpose of seeing the play than the Pantomime, and at both theatres it was this evening their chief, and almost only, attraction; for the tragedy of Rowe, which is of very little merit, derived but trifling interest or effect from the performers who personated the prominent characters.  Moreover the lessons of the pulpit have unfortunately but too slight an influence on those who attend them, and we are rather fearful the moral benefits to be derived from these stage lectures, to the apprentices and servants of the metropolis, do not countervail the loss of pleasure sustained by those who would be so much better pleased; and, therefore, perhaps, taught by a lively comedy, satirising some of the light vices or laughable follies of the age.  We trust this theatrical nuisance will be for the future reformed; we can almost excuse the holiday folks for being turbulent, when we reflect upon the insult offered to their understandings, in the treatment they receive on these occasions.

In 1830, at Covent Garden Theatre, Peake introduced into the Pantomime of “Harlequin Pat, and Harlequin Bat” a “speaking opening.”  Pantomime, however, pursued the even tenour of its way until the production at the Adelphi, about 1857, of a Pantomime, with a “burlesque opening,” and “the thin end of the wedge” was provided, written by Mark Lemon.  In the Harlequinade, Madame Celeste appeared as Harlequin a la Watteau, and Miss Mary Keeley was the Columbine.  These Extravaganzas, from the pen of Planche, with scenery by Beverley, and all under the management of Vestris, afterwards became quite the rage.

I have previously referred to the excellence of Beverley’s scenes under the regime of Madame Vestris.  Extravagance in Extravaganzas, like “The Blue Bird,” “Once Upon a Time,” and the like, caused the managers, in the matter of scenery, to enter into serious competition with one another.

Pantomime, it was thought, was doomed, as its decease at this epoch seemed impending.  It managed, however, to come again into popular favour, but in a very different shape.  Instead of the usual comic Pantomime it was played by two different sets of performers, and having no connection with one another.  The opening scenes, like a soap bubble, began to grow larger and larger, the double plot was abandoned, the Transformation scene became the principal feature, and a long Harlequinade at the end.