captured by the policeman, while the
true pilferer, the clown, makes his escape with the booty in his
possession? Methinks I know the realities of which these things are but
the shadows; have met with them in business, have sat with them at
dinner. But to-night no such notions as these intrude; and when the
torrent of fun, and transformation, and practical joking which rushed out
of the beautiful fairy world gathered up again, the high-heaped happiness
of the theatre will disperse itself, and the Christmas pantomime will be
a pleasant memory the whole year through. Thousands on thousands of
people are having their midriffs tickled at this moment; in fancy I see
their lighted faces, in memory I hear their mirth.

By this time I should think every Christmas dinner at Dreamthorp or
elsewhere has come to an end. Even now in the great cities the theatres
will be dispersing. The clown has wiped the paint off his face.
Harlequin has laid aside his wand, and divested himself of his glittering
raiment; Pantaloon, after refreshing himself with a pint of porter, is
rubbing his aching joints; and Columbine, wrapped up in a shawl, and with
sleepy eyelids, has gone home in a cab. Soon, in the great theatre, the
lights will be put out, and the empty stage will be left to ghosts.
Hark! midnight from the church tower vibrates through the frosty air. I
look out on the brilliant heaven, and see a milky way of powdery
splendour wandering through it, and clusters and knots of stars and
planets shining serenely in the blue frosty spaces; and the armed
apparition of Orion, his spear pointing away into immeasurable space,
gleaming overhead; and the familiar constellation of the Plough dipping
down into the west; and I think when I go in again that there is one
Christmas the less between me and my grave.

MEN OF LETTERS

Mr. Hazlitt has written many essays, but none pleasanter than that
entitled "My First Acquaintance with Poets," which, in the edition edited
by his son, opens the _Wintersloe_ series. It relates almost entirely to
Coleridge; containing sketches of his personal appearance, fragments of
his conversation, and is filled with a young man's generous enthusiasm,
belief, admiration, as with sunrise. He had met Coleridge, walked with
him, talked with him, and the high intellectual experience not only made
him better acquainted with his own spirit and its folded powers, but--as
is ever the case with such spiritual encoun