night without his mask.  But the result was disappointing.  “Pinkethman,” it is recorded, “could not take to himself the shame of the character without being concealed; he was no more harlequin; his humour was quite disconcerted; his conscience could not with the same effrontery declare against nature without the cover of that unchanging face.  Without that armour his courage could not come up to the bold strokes that were necessary to get the better of common-sense.”

Early in the eighteenth century the characters of the Italian comedy were introduced into ballets.  Harlequin ceased to speak, and assumed by degrees a more romantic, a less comic air, and the peculiarities of modern pantomime were gradually approached.  Rich, the manager of the theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields and afterwards of Covent Garden—­the “immortal Rich” of “The Dunciad”—­became famous for his pantomimes, and under the name of Lun acquired great distinction as a harlequin.  Pope handles severely the taste of the town in regard to pantomimes, and the excessive expenditure incurred on account of them.  “Persons of the first quality in England” were accused of attending at these representations twenty and thirty times in a season.  The line “Lo! one vast egg produces human race,” had reference to the trick, introduced by Rich, of hatching harlequin out of a large egg.  This was regarded as a masterpiece of dumb show, and is described in glowing terms by a contemporary writer.  “From the first clipping of the egg, his receiving motion, his feeling the ground, his standing upright, to his quick harlequin trip round the empty shell, through the whole progression, every limb had its tongue and every motion a voice.”  Rich was also famed for his “catching a butterfly” and his “statue scene;” his “taking leave of columbine” was described as “graceful and affecting;” his trick of scratching his ear with his foot like a dog was greatly admired; while in a certain dance he was said to execute 300 steps in a rapid advance of three yards only.  A writer in The World (1753) ironically recommended the managers to dispense entirely with tragedy and comedy, and to entertain the town solely with pantomime, people of taste and fashion having given sufficient proof that they thought it the highest entertainment the stage was capable of affording—­“the most innocent we are sure it is, for where nothing is said and nothing meant very little harm can be done.”  Garrick, it was fancied, might start a few objections to this proposal; “but,” it was added, “with those universal talents which he so happily possesses, it is not to be doubted but he will in time be able to handle the wooden sword with as much dignity and dexterity as his brother Lun.”