nce with which
precisely the same jokes are repeated night after night, and season after
season, not to be amused with one part of the performances at least--we
mean the scenes in the circle. For ourself, we know that when the hoop,
composed of jets of gas, is let down, the curtain drawn up for the
convenience of the half-price on their ejectment from the ring, the
orange-peel cleared away, and the sawdust shaken, with mathematical
precision, into a complete circle, we feel as much enlivened as the
youngest child present; and actually join in the laugh which follows the
clown's shrill shout of 'Here we are!' just for old acquaintance' sake.
Nor can we quite divest ourself of our old feeling of reverence for the
riding-master, who follows the clown with a long whip in his hand, and
bows to the audience with graceful dignity. He is none of your
second-rate riding-masters in nankeen dressing-gowns, with brown frogs,
but the regular gentleman-attendant on the principal riders, who always
wears a military uniform with a table-cloth inside the breast of the
coat, in which costume he forcibly reminds one of a fowl trussed for
roasting. He is--but why should we attempt to describe that of which no
description can convey an adequate idea? Everybody knows the man, and
everybody remembers his polished boots, his graceful demeanour, stiff, as
some misjudging persons have in their jealousy considered it, and the
splendid head of black hair, parted high on the forehead, to impart to
the countenance an appearance of deep thought and poetic melancholy. His
soft and pleasing voice, too, is in perfect unison with his noble
bearing, as he humours the clown by indulging in a little badinage; and
the striking recollection of his own dignity, with which he exclaims,
'Now, sir, if you please, inquire for Miss Woolford, sir,' can never be
forgotten. The graceful air, too, with which he introduces Miss Woolford
into the arena, and, after assisting her to the saddle, follows her fairy
courser round the circle, can never fail to create a deep impression in
the bosom of every female servant present.

When Miss Woolford, and the horse, and the orchestra, all stop together
to take breath, he urbanely takes part in some such dialogue as the
following (commenced by the clown): 'I say, sir!'--'Well, sir?' (it's
always conducted in the politest manner.)--'Did you ever happen to hear I
was in the army, sir?'--'No, sir.'--'Oh, yes, sir--I can go thro