ce.

The notice set forth, that "the beautiful drama of The Curate's
Daughter" was to be performed at night, in the "unrivalled Sans Pareil
Theatre," by "the most talented company in England," before "the most
discerning audience in the world." As far as we were individually
concerned, this theatrical announcement was remarkably tempting and
well-timed. We were now within one day's journey of Piran Round, the
famous amphitheatre where the old Cornish Miracle Plays used to be
performed. Anything connected with the stage was, therefore, a subject
of particular interest in our eyes. The bill before us seemed to offer a
curious opportunity of studying the dramatic tastes of the modern
Cornish, on the very day before we were about to speculate on the
dramatic tastes of the ancient Cornish, among the remains of their
public theatre. Such an occasion was too favourable to be neglected; we
ordered our beds at Redruth, and joined the "discerning audience"
assembled to sit in judgment on "The Curate's Daughter."

The Sans Pareil Theatre was not of that order of architecture in which
outward ornament is studied. There was nothing "florid" about it;
canvas, ropes, scaffolding-poles, and old boards, threw an air of Saxon
simplicity over the whole structure. Admitted within, we turned
instinctively towards the stage. On each side of the proscenium boards
was painted a knight in full armour, with powerful calves, weak knees,
and an immense spear. Tallow candles, stuck round two hoops, threw a
mysterious light on the green curtain, in front of which sat an
orchestra of four musicians, playing on a trombone, an ophicleide, a
clarionet, and a fiddle, as loudly as they could--the artist on the
trombone, especially, performing prodigies of blowing, though he had not
room enough to develop the whole length of his instrument. Every now and
then great excitement was created among the expectant audience by the
vehement ringing of a bell behind the scenes, and by the occasional
appearance of a youth who gravely snuffed the candles all round, with a
skill and composure highly creditable to him, considering the
pertinacity with which he was stared at by everybody while he pursued
his occupation.

At last, the bell was rung furiously for the twentieth time; the curtain
drew up, and the drama of "The Curate's Daughter" began.

Our sympathies were excited at the outset. We beheld a lady-like woman
who answered to the name of "Grace;" and an old