of the present day, there is none so destructive, and so fraught with ruin in its consequences, as the obliteration of old customs. But to go back to the Burletta, Midas has many sins to answer for in the shape of bringing ladies on the stage, in man's character. That of Apollo, though it may not strictly be termed a "breeches part," has always been, and still continues a favorite with our female stars. We shall never forget the sensation Madam Vestris created in this Burletta. Her singing was exquisite; we have heard no one, except Catalani, who could ascend with so graceful an ease into the highest heaven of sound, and sport and revel at will in its liquid elements; but, whilst awarding this praise to Madam Vestris, we must censure her in our wisdom, for omitting (as she generally does) the incidental music at the close of the piece, substituting, "Away, away to the mountain's brow," or some such trash, for "Ah, happy hours." We are for sticking to old habits and customs; and to prove what custom will affect, even in an old horse, we shall conclude our remarks, by relating an anecdote of George Cross, a musician, who used to play the violin in the orchestra at the Richmond Theatre; and passing his leisure evenings amongst the respectable tradesmen of that town, one of them, a butcher, was so much pleased with his oddities, that he made him an offer of his horse for his Sunday's excursions, which was accepted. On the morning Cross made his first equestrian jaunt, he had not rode more than five minutes, when the animal suddenly turning from the road, ran up to the iron gate of a large mansion, where he was so firmly fixed that neither whip nor spur could remove him, till a countryman, passing by, led him away. Cross, a little vexed, proceeded on his route, but the quadruped shortly afterwards played him a similar trick. Perplexed now in the extreme, Cross made every exertion, in vain, to detach him from the gate; when at length, a thought quickly flashing o'er his "mind's eye," he leaned forward, and applying his mouth to the ear of the beast, called out in a shrill and cook like falsetto, "We don't want anything to-day!" On which, the horse turned into the road, and, at the rate of ten miles an hour, trotted back to his owner's door.

PHILO DRAMATICUS.

MIDAS.

АСТ 1.

SCENE I.-The curtain rising, discovers the heathen deities seated amidst the clouds, in full council. They address JUPITER in the following chorus.

CHORUS OF ALL THE GODS.

Jove, in his chair,

Of the sky lord-mayor,

With his nods,

Men and gods,

Keeps in awe;

When he winks,

Heaven shrinks;

When he speaks,

Hell squeaks;

Earth's globe is but his taw

Cock of the school,

He bears despotic rule;

His word,

Though absurd,

Must be law.

Even Fate,

Though so great,
Must not prate;
His bald pate
Jove would cuff,

He's so bluff,

For a straw.

Cow'd deities,

Like mice in cheess

To stir must ceas

Oi grew.

Jup. [Rising.] Immortals, you have heard your plaintive sovereign,

And culprit Sol's high crimes. Shall we who govern,
Brook spies upon us? Shall Apollo trample

On our commands? We'll make him an example.

As for you, Juno, curb your prying temper, or

We'll make you, to your cost, know-we're your emperor. Juno. I'll take the law.-[To Jupiter.]-My proctor, with a summons,

Shall cite you, sir, t' appear at Doctors' Commons.

Jup. Let him-but first I'll chase from heaven yon varlet.

Juno. What, for detecting you and your vile harlot !

AIR-JUNO

Think not, lewd Jove,

Thus to wrong my chaste love;

For, spite of your rakehelly godhead,

By day and by night,

Juno will have her right,

Nor be of dues nuptial defrauded

I'll ferret the haunts

Of your female gallants ;

In vain you in darkness enclose them :

Your favourite jades

I'll plunge to the shades,

Or into cows metamorphose them.

Jup. Peace, termagant!-I swear by Styx, our thunder Shall hurl him to the earth. Nay, never wonder,

I've sworn it, gods.

Apollo. Hold, hold, have patience,
Paya.-No bowels for your own relations !

AIR.-APOllo.

Be by your friends advised,

Too harsh, too hasty dad!
Maugre your bolts and wise head,

The world will think you maά.

What worse can Bacchus teach men
His roaring bucks, when drunk,

Than break the lamps, beat watchmen,
And stagger to some punk ?

Jup. You saucy scoundrel-the e, sir.
-Come, disorder.

[Strikes him.

'n, Phoebus, down to earth, we'll hear no further.

Rell, thunders, roll; blue lightnings flash about him: The blab shall find our sky can do without him.[Thunder and lightning. Jupiter darts a bolt at him; he falls.—Jupiter re-assumes his throne; and the gods all ascend together, singing the initial chorus. "Jove in his chair," &c.

SCENE II.-A champaign country, with a distant village.-Violent storm of thunder and lightning.—A Shepherd, sleeping in the field, is roused by it, and runs off. L., frightened, leaving his cloak, hat, and guitar behind him.

[APOLLO, as cast from heaven, falls to the earth, with a rude shock, and lies for awhile stunned; at length he begins to move, rises, advances, and, looking forward, speaks.]

Apollo. Zooks! what a crush! a pretty decent tumble! Kind usage, Mr. Jove-sweet sir, your humble. Well, down I am ;-no bones broke, though sore pepper'd! Here doom'd to stay.-What can I do?-turn shepherd? [Puts on the cloak, &c.

A lucky thought!-in this disguise, Apollo

No more, but Pol the swain, some flock I'll follow.
Nor doubt I, with my voice, guitar, and person,
Among the nymphs to kick up some diversion.

Enter SILENO, L.

Sil. Whom have we here? a sightly clown!-and sturdy Hum-plays, I see, upon the hurdy-gurdy.

Seems out of place-a stranger-all in tatters;
I'll hire him he'll divert my wife and daughters.
Whence, and what art thou, boy?

Pol. An orphan lad, sir.

Pol is my name-a shepherd once my dad, sir.

I' th' upper parts, here—though not born to serving

I'll now take on, for faith, I'm almost starving.

Sil. You've drawn a prize i' th' lottery-so have I too; Why, I'm the master you could best apply to.

DUET.-APOLLO and SILENO.

Sil. Since you mean to hire for service,
Come with me, you jolly dog;
You can help to bring home harvest,
Tend the sheep, and feed the hog.

Fal, lal,

With three crowns, your standing wages,

You shall daintily be fed;

Bacon, beans, salt beef, cabbages,

Buttermilk, and oaten bread.

Come, strike hands, you'll live in clover,

Fal, lal, la.

When we get you once at home;

Enter DAPHNE and NYSA, R.

Daph. But, Nysa, how goes on 'Squire Midas's courtship?

Nysa. Your sweet Damætas, pimp to his great worship. Brought me from him a purse; but the conditionsI've cured him, I believe, of such commissions.

Daph. The moon-calf! this must blast him with my father.

Nysa. Right; so we're rid of the two frights together. Both. Ha ha! ha-ha! ha! ha!

Enter Mysis, L.

Mysis. Hey-day! what mare's nest's found?-For ever

grinning!

Ye rantipoles-is't thus you mind your spinning?

[Crosses to c.