so completely associated with fiction, that they are hardly believed when telling the truth. Par exemple—­nothing can be more true than that Astley’s Theatre was burnt down the other day; that the whole of that large establishment were suddenly thrown out of employ; that their wardrobes were burnt to rags, their properties reduced to a cinder, and their means of subsistence roasted in a too rapid fire.  True also is it, that to keep the wolf from their own doors, those of the Olympic have been opened, where the really dismounted cavalry of Astley’s are continuing their campaign, having appealed to the public to support them.  Judging from the night we were present, that support has been extended with a degree of lukewarmness which is exactly proportionate to the effect produced by the appeals of actors when misfortune overtakes them.

But, besides public sympathy, they put forth other claims for support.  The amusements they offer are of extraordinary merit.  The acting of Mr. H. Widdicomb, of Miss Daly, and Mr. Sidney Forster, was, in the piece we saw—­“The Old House at Home”—­full of nature and quiet touches of feeling scarcely to be met with on any other stage.  Still these are qualifications the “general” do not always appreciate; though they often draw tears, they seldom draw money.  Very well, to meet that deficiency, other and more popular actors have come forward to offer their aid.  Mr. T.P.  Cooke has already done his part, as he always does it, nobly.  The same may be said of Mr. Hammond.  When we were present, Mrs. H.L.  Grattan and Mr. Balls appeared in the “Lady of Munster.”  Mr. Sloan, a popular Irish comedian from the provinces, has lent a helping hand, by coming out in a new drama.  Mr. Keeley is also announced.

The pieces we saw were well got up and carefully acted; so that the patrons of the drama need not dread that, in this instance, the Astleyan-Olympic actors believe that “charity covers a multitude of sins.”  They don’t care who sees their faults—­the more the better.

* * * * *

“BEHIND THE SCENES.”

When a certain class of persons, whose antipathy to gratis sea-voyages is by no means remarkable, are overtaken by the police and misfortune; when the last legal quibble has been raised upon their case and failed; when, indeed, to use their own elegant phraseology, they are “regularly stumped and done up;” then—­and, to do them justice, not till then—­they resort to confession, and to turning king’s evidence against their accomplices.

This seems to be exactly the case with the drama, which is evidently in the last stage of decline; the consumption of new subjects having exhausted the supply.  The French has been “taken from” till it has nothing more to give; the Newgate Calendar no longer affords materials; for an entire dramatic edition of it might be collected (a valuable hint this for the Syncretic Society, that desperate association