eriod of James the Second. Aided by his
advantages of costume, this character naturally interested us; and we
regretted seeing but little of him in the first scene, from which he
retired, following the penitent Highwayman out, and lecturing him as he
went. No sooner were their backs turned, than a waggoner, in a clean
smock-frock and high-lows, entered with an offer of a situation in
London for Fanny, which the unsuspicious Curate accepted immediately. As
soon as he had committed himself, it was confided to the audience that
the waggoner was a depraved villain, in the employ of that notorious
profligate, Colonel Chartress, who had commissioned a second myrmidon
(of the female sex) to lure Fanny from virtue and the country, to vice
and the metropolis. By the time the plot had "thickened" thus far, the
scene changed, and we got to London at once.

We now beheld the Curate, Chartress's female accomplice, Fanny, and the
vicious waggoner, all standing in a row, across the stage. The Curate,
in a burst of amiability, had just lifted up his hands to bless the
company, when Colonel Chartress (dressed in an old _naval_ uniform, with
an opera-hat of the year 1800), suddenly rushed in, followed by the
Highwayman, who having relapsed from penitence to guilt, had, as a
necessary consequence, determined to supplant Chartress in the favour of
Miss Fanny. These two promptly seized each other by the throat; vehement
shouting, scuffling, and screaming ensued; and the Curate, clasping his
daughter round the waist, frantically elevated his walking-stick in the
air. Was he about to inflict personal chastisement on his innocent
child? Who could say? Before there was time to ask the question, the
curtain fell with a bang, on the crisis of the first act.

In act the second, the first scene was described in the bills as Temple
Bar by moonlight. Neither Bar nor moonlight appeared when the curtain
rose--so we took both for granted, and fixed our minds on the story. The
first person who now confronted us, was "good h'Adam Marle." The paint
was all washed off his face; his immense spread of collar looked
grievously in want of washing; and he leaned languidly on an oaken
stick. He had been walking--he informed us--through the streets of
London for six consecutive days and nights, without sustenance, in
search of Miss Fanny, who had disappeared since the skirmish at the end
of act the first, and had never been heard of since. Poor dear Marle!
how el