f Flimsey rivalled the name of Crimp.

How little do those before the scenes know of what passes behind; how
little can they judge, from the countenances of actors, of what is
passing in their hearts. I have known two lovers quarrel like cats
behind the scenes, who were, the moment after, ready to fly into each
other's embraces. And I have dreaded, when our Belvidera was to take
her farewell kiss of her Jaffier, lest she should bite a piece out of
his cheek. Our tragedian was a rough joker off the stage; our prime
clown the most peevish mortal living. The latter used to go about
snapping and snarling, with a broad laugh painted on his countenance;
and I can assure you that, whatever may be said of the gravity of a
monkey, or the melancholy of a gibed cat, there is no more melancholy
creature in existence than a mountebank off duty.

The only thing in which all parties agreed was to backbite the manager,
and cabal against his regulations. This, however, I have since
discovered to be a common trait of human nature, and to take place in
all communities. It would seem to be the main business of man to repine
at government. In all situations of life into which I have looked, I
have found mankind divided into two grand parties;--those who ride and
those who are ridden. The great struggle of life seems to be which
shall keep in the saddle. This, it appears to me, is the fundamental
principle of politics, whether in great or little life. However, I do
not mean to moralize; but one cannot always sink the philosopher.

Well, then, to return to myself. It was determined, as I said, that I
was not fit for tragedy, and unluckily, as my study was bad, having a
very poor memory, I was pronounced unfit for comedy also: besides, the
line of young gentlemen was already engrossed by an actor with whom I
could not pretend to enter into competition, he having filled it for
almost half a century. I came down again therefore to pantomime. In
consequence, however, of the good offices of the manager's lady, who
had taken a liking to me, I was promoted from the part of the satyr to
that of the lover; and with my face patched and painted, a huge cravat
of paper, a steeple-crowned hat, and dangling, long-skirted, sky-blue
coat, was metamorphosed into the lover of Columbine. My part did not
call for much of the tender and sentimental. I had merely to pursue the
fugitive fair one; to have a door now and then slammed in my face; to
run my head occa