the thunder of his stage, ventured upon a return to the
Elizabethan system of representing a storm. His enterprise was
attended with results at once ludicrous and disastrous. He placed
ledges here and there along the back of his stage, and, obtaining a
parcel of nine-pound cannon-balls, packed these in a wheelbarrow,
which a carpenter was instructed to wheel to and fro over the ledges.
The play was "Lear," and the jolting of the heavy barrow as it was
trundled along its uneven path over the hollow stage, and the
rumblings and reverberations thus produced, counterfeited most
effectively the raging of the tempest in the third act. Unfortunately,
however, while the King was braving, in front of the scene, the
pitiless storm at the back, the carpenter missed his footing, tripped
over one of the ledges, and fell down, wheelbarrow, cannon-balls, and
all. The stage being on a declivity, the cannon-balls came rolling
rapidly and noisily down towards the front, gathering force as they
advanced, and overcoming the feeble resistance offered by the scene,
struck it down, passed over its prostrate form, and made their way
towards the foot-lights and the fiddlers, amidst the amusement and
wonder of the audience, and the amazement and alarm of the Lear of the
night. As the nine-pounders advanced towards him, and rolled about in
all directions, he was compelled to display an activity in avoiding
them, singularly inappropriate to the age and condition of the
character he was personating. He was even said to resemble a dancer
achieving the terpsichorean feat known as the egg hornpipe. Presently,
too, the musicians became alarmed for the safety of themselves and
their instruments, and deemed it advisable to scale the spiked
partition which divided them from the pit; for the cannon-balls were
upon them, smashing the lamps, and falling heavily into the orchestra.
Meantime, exposed to the full gaze of the house, lay prone, beside his
empty barrow, the carpenter, the innocent invoker of the storm he had
been unable to allay or direct, not at all hurt, but exceedingly
frightened and bewildered. After this unlucky experiment, the manager
abandoned his wheelbarrow and cannon-balls, and reverted to more
received methods of producing stage storms.

In 1713, a certain Dr. Reynardson published a poem called "The Stage,"
which the critics of the time agreed to be a pretty and ingenious
composition. It was dedicated to Addison, the preface stating tha