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bong； bong； from the violoncellos）。 The forked lightning quivers through
the clouds in a zig…zag scream of violins and look； look； look！ as the
frothing； roaring waves come rushing up the battlements； and over the
reeling parapet； each hissing wave becomes a ghost； sends the gun…
carriages rolling over the platform； and plunges into the water again。
Hamlet's mother comes on to the battlements to look for her son。 The
storm whips her umbrella out of her hands； and she retires screaming in
pattens。
The cabs on the stand in the great market…place at Elsinore are seen to
drive off； and several people are drowned。 The gas…lamps along the
street are wrenched from their foundations； and shoot through the troubled
air。 Whist； rush； hish！ how the rain roars and pours！ The darkness
becomes awful； always deepened by the power of the music and see
in the midst of a rush； and whirl； and scream of spirits of air and wave
what is that ghastly figure moving hither？ It becomes bigger； bigger； as it
advances down the platform more ghastly； more horrible； enormous！ It
is as tall as the whole stage。 It seems to be advancing on the stalls and pit；
and the whole house screams with terror； as the Ghost of the Late Hamlet
comes in； and begins to speak。 Several people faint； and the light…
fingered gentry pick pockets furiously in the darkness。
In the pitchy darkness； this awful figure throwing his eyes about； the
gas in the boxes shuddering out of sight； and the wind…instruments bugling
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the most horrible wails； the boldest spectator must have felt frightened。
But hark！ what is that silver shimmer of the fiddles？ Is it can it be
the grey dawn peeping in the stormy east？ The ghost's eyes look blankly
towards it； and roll a ghastly agony。 Quicker； quicker ply the violins of
Phoebus Apollo。 Redder； redder grow the orient clouds。
Cockadoodledoo！ crows that great cock which has just come out on the
roof of the palace。 And now the round sun himself pops up from behind
the waves of night。 Where is the ghost？ He is gone！ Purple shadows
of morn 〃slant o'er the snowy sward；〃 the city wakes up in life and
sunshine； and we confess we are very much relieved at the disappearance
of the ghost。 We don't like those dark scenes in pantomimes。
After the usual business； that Ophelia should be turned into Columbine
was to be expected； but I confess I was a little shocked when Hamlet's
mother became Pantaloon； and was instantly knocked down by Clown
Claudius。 Grimaldi is getting a little old now； but for real humour there
are few clowns like him。 Mr Shuter； as the gravedigger； was chaste and
comic； as he always is； and the scene…painters surpassed themselves。
〃Harlequin Conqueror and the Field of Hastings；〃 at the other house； is
very pleasant too。 The irascible William is acted with great vigour by
Snoxall； and the battle of Hastings is a good piece of burlesque。 Some
trifling liberties are taken with history； but what liberties will not the
merry genius of pantomime permit himself？ At the battle of Hastings；
William is on the point of being defeated by the Sussex volunteers； very
elegantly led by the always pretty Miss Waddy （as Haco Sharpshooter）；
when a shot from the Normans kills Harold。 The Fairy Edith hereupon
comes forward； and finds his body； which straightway leaps up a live
harlequin； whilst the Conqueror makes an excellent clown； and the
Archbishop of Bayeux a diverting pantaloon； &c。 &c。 &c。
Perhaps these are not the pantomimes we really saw； but one
description will do as well as another。 The plots； you see； are a little
intricate and difficult to understand in pantomimes； and I may have mixed
up one with another。 That I was at the theatre on Boxing…night is certain
but the pit was so full that I could only see fairy legs glittering in the
distance； as I stood at the door。 And if I was badly off； I think there was
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a young gentleman behind me worse off still。 I own that he has good
reason （though others have not） to speak ill of me behind my back； and
hereby beg his pardon。
Likewise to the gentleman who picked up a party in Piccadilly； who
had slipped and fallen in the snow； and was there on his back； uttering
energetic expressions： that party begs to offer thanks； and compliments
of the season。
Bob's behaviour on New Year's day； I can assure Dr Holyshade； was
highly creditable to the boy。 He had expressed a determination to partake
of every dish which was put on the table； but after soup； fish； roast…beef；
and roast…goose； he retired from active business until the pudding and
mince…pies made their appearance； of which he partook liberally； but not
too freely。 And he greatly advanced in my good opinion by praising the
punch； which was of my own manufacture； and which some gentlemen
present （Mr O'Mgn； amongst others） pronounced to be too weak。 Too
weak！ A bottle of rum； a bottle of Madeira； half a bottle of brandy； and two
bottles and a half of water can this mixture be said to be too weak for
any mortal？ Our young friend amused the company during the evening；
by exhibiting a two…shilling magic… lantern； which he had purchased； and
likewise by singing 〃Sally； come up！〃 a quaint； but rather monotonous
melody； which I am told is sung by the poor negro on the banks of the
broad Mississippi。
What other enjoyments did we proffer for the child's amusement
during the Christmas week？ A great philosopher was giving a lecture to
young folks at the British Institution。 But when this diversion was
proposed to our young friend Bob； he said； 〃Lecture？ No； thank you。
Not as I knows on；〃 and made sarcastic signals on his nose。 Perhaps he
is of Dr Johnson's opinion about lectures： 〃Lectures； sir！ what man
would go to hear that imperfectly at a lecture； which he can read at leisure
in a book？〃 I never went； of my own choice； to a lecture； that I can
vow。 As for sermons； they are different； I delight in them； and they
cannot； of course； be too long。
Well； we partook of yet other Christmas delights besides pantomime；
pudding； and pie。 One glorious； one delightful； one most unlucky and
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pleasant day； we drove in a brougham； with a famous horse； which carried
us more quickly and briskly than any of your vulgar railways； over
Battersea Bridge； on which the horse's hoofs rung as if it had been iron；
through suburban villages； plum…caked with snow； un