No; I shall be conservative for this night, and
rally round the older decencies. The puns and
"break-downs" comport better with, say, Easter.
A mechanic with a child held by each hand is
studying the bills at the same time, with an air
of delighted doubt, and I consult him. He
inclines to "the Rile" also. I shall go to the
Rile also. Here is a plan; here is something
to live for, and there is dinner besides, at the
"Angel" or "Grecian." Life has genial comers,
after all.

The little care has dwindled away down, and
might have been shut up like the genius in
the empty claret-bottle. I do shut him with
the cork, and leave him to be taken away by the
waiter. Then post off to the Theatre Rile. It
is in a square, and invites us all across it diagonally,
by some lamps over the door blazing away
cheerfully. There is a stream of people coming
from all corners and converging to the lamps;
for we are determined to have the worth of our
money, and see the first piece. The scent at
the door, the extra-abundant orange-peel laid
on, and, perhaps, the extra gas is enough. It
brings me back to a night, say, a hundred years
ago. I like the scramble up-stairs and the
cheerful faces of the box-keepers, for this is a
cheerful night. And the inside of the house!
Such a scene, gay, bright, and animated, with
a vengeance, especially the pit, where the animation
takes the shape of a mass of humanity
emptied from above, seething, tumbling,
frothing, and roaring in the most good-
humoured confusion. They are swayed back
and forward in great heavings and rushes. Hats
fly into the air, people sit on other people's
shoulders, people are by force of squeezing sent
up out of the mass into the air. It is very
amusing to the calm spectator in the boxes.
The orchestra has been burst into, and has to be
cleared by police for the musicians; but what
is to be done with what has been cleared? Now
the first piece—the levée de rideau—begins.
The Little Treasure, by a strange exception,
is listened to, and is heard very distinctly,
owing, I am informed, to the popularity of the
young lady who played the Little Treasure,
Miss Kate Daly.There was also a popular
lady in Little Snowwreath of great local estimation,
Miss M'Gusty, an indefatigable of all work,
who, I am sure, has a large family at home,
and, perhaps, a lazy husband, whom she
"keeps." Little Snowwreath was very pretty—
I mean the piece; though that night is far
back, I could tell the order of the scenes,
ay, and "hum" some of the pretty music,
specially a recurring strain which waited
specially on the coming in of Little Snowwreath
herself. She was captainess of a number
of other little snowdrops, who fluttered
about in long hair and green leafy
garlands. They got into a palace once, and
before a huge mirror, which was but the counterfeit
presentment of a mirror, and other snowdrops
stood behind, and pretended to be reflexions.
Who does not like the Christmas ballet
when the gauze dresses are new, and put on for
the first time—danced by moonlight in a most
betwitching "glade of the fairies" stretching
away far back, with the light playing on the
silver waters? I can sit on for long and
see the slow, slow expanding, and growing,
and openings of the transformation-scene,
whether it be the grotto of the fairies or
the home of the grasshoppers, the gorgeous
lights, the rich suffusions, the glorified
young girls disclosed, as leaves and petals
open, and while beyond them, in further
perspective, more petals open, and discover
more glorified angels, when we can no longer
contain ourselves, and satisfy ourselves with a
burst of applause. In front our queen of the
fairies and other characters are waiting, looking
on delighted, like ourselves. There it stops at
last; it is complete, and we, in a transport of
furious delight and applause, must have out
painter, manager, everybody.

There are real feasts, charming to the eye,
ever welcome. No such genuine, natural, and
unrestrained delight is ever seen so developed
in an audience. There is always a little
sadness when the plain prosy scene from each
side—MR. BEEFIT'S SHOP, BUTCHER and
POULTERER—closes in and shuts it out forever.
There are people who go away when the comic
business begins. I do not envy that tone of
mind. I delight in the clown, and his ways
and pilferings, and have sympathy with him.
On this night I saw him to the end. There
were points and "tricks" which I could not
follow, being clearly local; as, for instance,
something that was changed into "Simpson's
milk," and which was greeted, though apparently
of no great humour, with such uproarious
delight that I instinctively turned to a neighbour
and asked an explanation. I was told it was
an allusion to an Alderman Simpson, who had
supplied rather inferior milk. I then laughed
with the rest.

I came home after a very pleasant night, and
went to bed in a very snug chamber at the
Grecian, where there was a good fire, and went
off to sleep quite happy, and dreamed of the
Little Fairy Snowdrop.

             Stitched in a cover, price Fourpence,
                           MUGBY JUNCTION.
          THE EXTRA NUMBER FOR CHRISTMAS.

          MR. CHARLES DICKENS`S READINGS.
MR. CHARLES DICKENS will read at Manchester on
Saturday the 16th instant (this day); at Glasgow on
Monday the 18th, Tuesday the 19th, Wednesday the 20th,
and Thursday the 21st of February: and at Edinburgh on
Friday the 22nd, and Saturday the 23rd of February.

                                    Now ready,
                       THE SIXTEENTH VOLUME.
                       Price 5s. 6d, bound in cloth.