Disguised Lover in three acts: the players made him reduce it to one. Those which he wrote in five acts, were uniformly cut down to three. "What!" said he, one day, in a rage, "shall I never succeed in having a five-act play performed?" "Pardon me," replied the Abbé Pellegrin, "the true way is to write a play in eleven acts; the players will cut off six, but you will still have five left."

CCXCII. DUFRESNE.

Dufresne, a celebrated actor, playing in tragedy, and speaking in too low a tone, one of the spectators called out," Speak louder;" the actor proudly replied, "Speak lower." The house, indignant at this spirited reply, hissed the actor off the stage. The police took up the matter, and obliged Dufresne to make an apology to the public. The actor reluctantly obeyed, and, coming forward, commenced his speech thus, "Gentlemen, I never was so sensible of the degraded nature of my situation, as I am from the appearance I am now compelled to make." The public here interrupted him by applauses, and put an end to this act of humiliation.

CCXCIII. ANTIPATER AND THE BARMACIDES.

Never was a tragedy announced with more eclat than the Antipater of Portelance, and never was any more abundantly hissed. For twenty years afterwards, whenever a piece failed, people would say, "It was hissed like Antipater."

macides of La Harpe came in its place.

CCXCIV. CONSOLATION.

The Bar

A bad actor, who had been accustomed to be hissed in every town he played in, finding himself one day even worse treated than usual, turned quietly round as he made his exit, and said to the

pit, "Gentlemen, you will tire by and by, as others have." The coolness and naïveté of the remark occasioned a laugh, and the actor in future was favourably received.

CCXCV. AN EVERLASTING WARDROBE.

In a provincial town an actor, who probably felt considerable difficulty in providing the necessary funds for stage dresses, or even clean linen, was playing the part of Arbate in Racine's Mithridates; when Mithridates appears in the third scene of the second act, and says to his confidant,

"Enfin, après un an, je te revois, Arbate,”✶

a wag in the pit stood up on the seat, and continued the speech,

"Avec les mêmes bas et la même cravate," +

which produced a roar of laughter in the house.

CCXCVI. THE GASCON AND THE SINGER.

During the performance of the opera of Aricia, in 1697, an impudent fellow kept singing in the pit, and so loudly that he annoyed all his neighbours. One of them, a Gascon, less patient than the rest, stood up and exclaimed, "Turn out the fool-the wretched singer-the noisy blockhead;" and so on. "Is it to me, sir," said the singer, turning to him, "that you speak ?" "Oh, not at all," said the Gascon, "it is to these rascally singers on the stage, who won't let us hear you."

After a year's absence, I see you again, Arbate. + With the same stockings, and that everlasting cravat.

VOLTAIRIANA.

CCXCVII. THE ABBE DE VOISENON.

The Abbé de Voisenon was one day in com, pany with Racine the younger, at the house of Voltaire, who was reading to them his tragedy of Alzire. Racine, thinking he recognised one of his own verses, kept repeating between his teeth, "That verse is mine." The Abbé, growing impatient at this continued murmur, went up to Voltaire and said, "Give him his verse, and let him go."

CCXCVIII.

VOLTAIRE AND THE ENGLISHMAN.

An Englishman who stopped at Ferney, in his way to Italy, offered to Voltaire to bring him from Rome whatever he desired. "Good," said the philosopher," bring me the ears of the grand Inquisitor." The Englishman, in the course of a fa miliar conversation with Clement XIV., related to him this piece of pleasantry. "Tell Voltaire from me," answered the Pope, laughing, " that our Inquisitor is no longer possessed of ears."

CCXCIX. IRENE.

Voltaire, the last time he was in Paris in 1778, wholly engrossed with bringing out his tragedy of Irene, had settled the distribution of the parts, and superintended all the other arrangements for the performance. With the prompter's copy in his

hands, he made the actors repeat their parts before him, and, dissatisfied with everything, he obliged them to begin again several times; and, in order to give every one the proper tone, he declaimed the whole tragedy himself, from beginning to end. It was on this occasion that, in a moment of convulsive rage, he broke out to Madame Vestris, who was to play the principal part, that of Irene, "So! I must have the trouble of making verses of six feet, that you may mince three of them !"

CCC. VOLTAIRE'S GENIUS.

It was observed by Madame Neckar that Voltaire had extracted from his genius everything of which it was susceptible; that in his case it was like a sponge, which he had drained of its contents to the last drop.

CCCI. THE CAPUCHINS.

A carriage having broken down in a bad stony road, near the small town of Gondecourt, it became necessary to have it repaired. There was a great deal of work and few workmen, and the consequence was, that the traveller must make up his mind to a considerable delay, while there was nothing in the place to relieve the dulness of the interruption. The Judge, the Curé, the Bailiff's wife, the Fiscal's wife-all the good company, in a word, were gone to the country. The traveller observes, in a sufficiently agreeable situation, a very modest-looking house, surmounted by a very modest-looking clock; it was a small establishment of Capuchins, so he walks up to it and knocks. The door being opened, the inmates perceive a very thin gentleman, appearing somewhat in distress, but otherwise well to look upon, and very polite, who entreats their hospitality. The bre

thren have little to give, but what they have is at the stranger's service. After a friendly and attentive reception, and when the usual compliments had passed on both sides with equal sincerity, the conversation turns on a variety of subjects; in the course of which our traveller listens steadily and says little. Next follows a string of questions, which he answers in a very sensible manner. The bell rings. "Will Monsieur say his Ave?" asked the fathers; to which he answers, "Good sirs, that is just what I was going to propose." Then comes the dinner, of an indifferent quality no doubt, but better than usual, since the fathers had been care→ ful to provide the best dishes to gratify the taste of their new guest. During dinner they converse about theology, and the stranger seems to know as much on the subject almost as the fathers themselves, and he is entirely of their opinion. They then speak of the different Capuchin houses in France, Germany, and Italy. Here too the stranger acquits himself to advantage, being more deeply skilled in this interesting part of geogra phy than could have been imagined; and he praises the particular talent of the children of St Francis, which uniformly leads them to the choice of the best situations. The brethren quote several instances of the humility of their good Saint; the stranger expresses his admiration, and gives on his part several others quite new to his friends. By and by they become so fond of their guest, as to applaud their penetration in showing politeness to a man so truly deserving of their attention in every respect; a man who, in spite of his modesty, seems to have received an excellent education; who can converse on all subjects,