Bus. For Heaven's sake, my dear Belvi, what are you talking about? Third Ham. Aye. I thought my reading would strike you, but its the correct one depend upon it, but dont put me out. Where was I-Oh. Beast!!-Thou a spirit of health or goblin damned!! Thou comest in such an actionable shape. Bus. Questionable Third Ham. No, I say it ought to be actionable. Third Ham. Beg your pardon, Mr. Buskin, never was better in my life, but I am determined to restore what I am convinced are the true readings of certain passages in Shakspear, and I say the word is tionable." Bus. But, my good fellow, there's no meaning.-- 66 ac Third Ham. Beg your pardon, Mr. Buskin, if it is not" actionable" for a ghost to walk about and frighten a parcel of honest fellows out of their wits, I dont know what is "actionable," that's all I say. Ghost. Come, I wish you two wouldn't stand bothering there all night, we shall never go to supper if you do. Bus. Oh, very well, Mr. Belvi-very well—have it as you please Sir have it as you please-but if ever they catch me again as stage manager" actionable," Egad, I believe if Shakespear could come to life he'd show you what was actionable, with a big stick. Third Ham. Mr. Buskin, Sir, I look upon that as personal- you shall hear from me further-Good night Sir. (Exit in a great rage, running-as Belvi runs out the other two Hamlets start up, throw themselves into attitudes, and both speak together (addressing the ghost) with great emphasis and earnestness, and occasionally looking very savagely at each other.) The two remaining Hamlets. "Thou comest in such a questionable shape," &c. &c. Bus. (Trying to pr vent them from continuing) Gentlemen, prayone at a time-confound it, let me entreat.---This is too much. Enter OPHELIA having evidently been applying vigorously to the brandy bottle which she still carries in her hand. Ophelia. Eh! what the deuce is the matter? what a precious row you're making, Eh!-bless me! I must be particularly drunk, for I see two Hamlets as plainly as ever I saw any thing in my life-that must be entirely owing to the badness of the brandy. Oh Busky, my boy, I never can play here again while you have such rot gut stuff as this; it has made me see so VERY double you can't think. Bus. Gentlemen, it is really of no use attempting to proceed with the rehearsal-who will have the goodness to go on regularly? 1st Hamlet. I, Hamlet the Dane 2d. Hamlet. (With great contempt.) You Hamlet the Dane? no Mr. Buskin. I, Hamlet the Dane, will rehearse here till three o'clock to-morrow morning if you like. Ophelia. (Who has been staring stupidly, first at one and then at the other Hamlet.) I tell you what it is Busky. I can't stay here any longer, this confounded brandy must have made me exceedingly unwell. I never was so extraordinarily drunk in my life; for not only do I see two Hamlets, but I actually hear them speak in two distinct voices, so good night to you my boy. I shall be quite perfect to-morrow night; here, Quy hi-Buggy tyar kurro, jeldee, (exit.) Lus. Oh, this is too bad-pray-let us try something—come, the Ghost scene- -(takes 1st Hamlet on one side) let him rehearse it now, and you shall have your choice of parts on Friday three weeks. 1st Hamlet. Well, that's a bargain-that is if you will give me two parts that night. Bus. How can we manage that? 1st Hamlet. Why, get up Richard the 3d for the first piece, and King Lear as a farce. I'll play Richard the third and King Lear. Bus. Any thing you like, my dear fellow, only let us go on now→→ come, now then. 2d Hamlet. Whither wilt thou lead me-speak, I'll go no further. Ghost. Mark me 2d Hamlet. I will Ghost. My-what's next? Oh aye!-hour is-something about come and tormenting flames.-But never mind I shall know it very well by to-morrow night. Bus. Oh this is dreadful! I never saw such a last rehearsal ! Bus. (Who is prompting from the book) doomed― Ghost. Doomed-well? Bus. For a certain Ghost. For a certain-well? Bus. Abominable !-term, I tell you. Ghost. Oh aye, I know it all now, damned for a certain abominable term I tell you, to walk the night-then there's something about enlist! Oh enlist!-Oh I know it all quite well, so let's go to supper, for I haven't had a morsel of tiffin except a veal pie and a bit of beefsteak. 2d Hamlet. Mr. Buskin, how the devil Sir do you expect me to play to-morrow night after such a rehearsal as this? Ghost. Call for the supper, Buskin, will you. 2d Hamlet. Better have Coriolanus instead Buskin. I'll flatter their Eagles in Corioli-(runs out and returns, with a helmet, shield, and Roman sword.) Re-enter Ophelia. One more word Busky about the brandy, before I go. Enter the 3d Hamlet, Belvi. (With his hat on, and great coat over Hamlet's dress.) Mr. Buskin, on one condition, alone Sir, I am prepared to continue my services to the theatre, and my friendship towards you: that is Sir, play Douglas to-morrow night instead of Hamlet. I will play Norval. My name, then, will be Norval on the Grampian Hills. Here the three Hamlets continue muttering distinct speeches from plays with violent jesticulations. 3d Hamlet, Belvi. My name is Norval on the Grampian Hills. 2d Hamlet. Give me another horse-bind up my wounds. 2d Hamlet. Your voices, your most sweet voices. I flatter'd your Eagles in Corioli, &c. The GHOST jumps about in a grotesque manner, while Ophelia appears to be perseveringly attracting Buskin's attention to the badness of the brandy. BUSKIN endeavouring to restore order. Bus. Gentlemen-I entreat-confound it—you will drive me distracted-let me beg-- Enter DAVENport. Davenport. Sir, all the Tailors say that to-morrow's a Mussulmaun Holiday and they won't come-the dresses are'nt half finished Sir. Enter SECRETARY. Secretary. Mr. Buskin, I am sorry to tell you Sir, that the White Ants have eaten Richard the third's Breeches. Three complete suits of armour, and all the Battlements of Elsinore-we can't do without them; what orders shall I give Sir? Bus. Orders! none! let the White Ants eat every thing, every body. I shall go distracted. Pazzo Matto-as the man said in the opera-put off the play. Secretary. Impossible Sir-His Lordship has postponed his grand party in order not to interfere with our house. He intends coming himself. Bus. What the devil is to be done? Enter a GENTLEMAN dressed for dinner. Gent. Ah Busky! I just called en passant to see how you are getting on? By the way can't take Horatio to-morrow night, you must do it for me, there has been a devil of a dungah in my Twanky Twaddle Tannah. They've burnt an old woman; and each party swears that it is their own mother who was burnt by the others-off to-morrow at gunfire to see into the thing, shan't be back till Sunday-tell you how it happened-you see there was a Mokudduma, a Regulation two case, and by Clause fifteen, Section seven, the Collector Bus. Confound your Regulations and the Twankey Twaddle Tannah, how the devil am I to play Horatio when Enter CHIP hastily. Chip. Oh, dear me Sir! Bus. Well, what's the matter now? Chip. Oh Sir, Captain Rocket, in practising the new lightning, has set the clouds on fire. The whole Theatre will be burnt. Bus. Hurrah! Hurrah! that'll do-let it burn for Heaven's sake, don't put it out if you have any regard for me-let it burn-Gentlemen I wish you a very good night. The house, please Heaven! will be burnt down, there will be no play-and if ever they catch me stage managing again, where I have to deal with AMATEURS!-[A loud crash -flashes of fire seen at the wing. Buskin runs off, followed by omnes in confusion.] CURTAIN FAlls. THE BENGAL ANNUAL. The Bengal Annual for 1832. Edited by D. L. Richardson.. [FROM THE CALCUTTA GOVERNMENT GAZETTE.] [As the Bengal Annual is conducted by the Editor of the Calcutta Magazine, and as both works are published at the same Establishment, instead of offering any original notice of the former wo quote the various criticisms of our contemporaries, and to enable us to do this without encroach. ing on the space usually devoted to original articles, we give two additional sheets to our present num. ber. Ed. Cal. Mag.] This day ushers in the publication of the Bengal Annual for 1832, which we have much pleasure in recommending to our readers as a most entertaining volume, and a highly creditable addition to the stock of light Oriental literature. We have only one fault to find with the volume, and its predecessors, which is, that they all differ in their proportions. This, we think, is a pity-since, on a library shelf, instead of agreeing in form-they appear like the three degrees of comparison, large, less, least. It is a pity too, that there is no embellished fly leaf, on which a donor of the volume to a friend beyond the great Ocean that rolls between India and Albion, might give a value to the gift by inscribing his name on it. If he attempts doing 80 on the bald single leaf that is left perhaps for the purpose, he will find that he might nearly as well inscribe it on a piece of blotting paper. Having thus performed the most ungracious part of our task-we now proceed to the far more pleasing one of attempting, in that cursory way which time and our limits render unavoidable, or making some attempt at doing justice to the merits of the work. Several of the prose and poetical articles are of a high order, and there is scarcely one of them that is not entitled to some measure of praise. In prose, we have admirable contributions from the well known pens of Mr. Parker and Mr. Neave. In the poetical department again, we have effusions worthy of their authors, from Mr. H. H. Wilson, Miss Emma Roberts, the Editor, Mr. Rattray, &c. &c. We know not what others may have thought when Mr. Richardson first proposed to get up a Bengal Annual, with reference to the feasibility of the undertaking, or the probability of its success, but the result has amply demonstrated, that he came to a fair conclusion in deeming that, whatever other want there might be, there was no lack of talent for the task, or of good will in the possessors of talent to give support to the enterprise. Perhaps there might have been some who feared that a number or two would exhaust either the invention, the common-place book, or the patience of Contributors: so far, however, has it proved the contrary, that the Editor has hitherto laboured under the embarras des richeses, and instead of being pinched as to his means of eking out a volume, has absolutely been rather perplexed by the abundance of materials pouring in upon him. In a word, the vein has been merely opened, and the volumes that have appeared, are only, it strikes us, specimens of inexhaustible literary ore, that lies in the Indian mine. Were a work like the Indian Annual to serve no other purpose than to direct the attention of folks at home more to this country, than they have hitherto been pleased to do, no one, we presume, will deny that this would be serving both parties a good turn. It is well known that with the million in that country which most of us are doomed never to behold again, India and all which it concerns, are deemed the hugest of all borres, a monstrum horrendum ingens of fatigation to the mind. Will it be credited that, even at this time of day, writerships have been eschewed by otherwise well-informed youngsters, from a notion that the appointment is a mere mechanical clerkship? This, however, we know to be a fact, and it argues but little for the completeness of education, when young gentlemen are brought up in utter ignorance of a country which is one of the brightest gems of England's crown, a country associated with England's story by many proud and spirit-stirring recollections, and one in which we are mistaken, if there is not now brightly dawning a spirit of improvement and amelioration, delightful to the philanthropist to contemplate and full of a pious hope to the Christian. Yet, strange to say, such is the case, that the English public view India with a cold askance and step-mother-like regard; that few bother themselves with any consideration even about their own countrymen resident therein, to say nothing of the various tribes and masses of human beings that inhabit this vast empire, that Providence, for purposes of good, has delivered over into our hands. The Indian Annual is well calculated to break in upon this shameful apathy-and to draw attention generally towards the East, by illustrating East Indian history and the state of Indian society and manners skilfully with the aid of the imagination. Any one who has read Mr. Neave's contributions to former Annuals, will admit this--and, in the present one, he has two most spirited sketches. He is a shrewd and philosophical obser ver of character, and eliminates his materials with great tact and power. The " Diamond of Jaspore" is a tale of Bengal-while the" Cazee of Bagdad" introduces us once more to the Bagdad and Caliph Haroun Alras-chid of yore. The "Ganges," is a splendid piece of landscape, poetically treated by Mr. H. H. Wilson. It has the graphic power of Thomson with the descriptive fidelity and animation of manner of the author of the Lady of the Lake. We can only afford space for the following extract, by way of a specimen: Close to the marge the cattle browse Or trail the rudely fashioned plough. Stands buried in the marshy pool, Some burthened, with their handy ware And some suspend their toils to mark From the same pen, we have also a short Dramatic scene from the Mahabharat, which opens with great spirit. The concluding words of Pradyumna are Homeric.* Our contemporary, on account of want of space, quotes on'y a brief passage from this poem, but in this, and in other instances, we give the extracts entire, except in the case of the poem entitled the Ganges which would occupy more pages than we have at our command.-Ed. Cul. Mug. |