Happily we were mistaken; nothing could possibly _go_ better than both the
animals and the piece. The actors acquitted themselves manfully, even
including the horses. The mysterious Arab threw no damp over the
performances, for he was personated by Mr. Dry. The little Saracen was
performed so well by _le petit Ducrow_, that we longed to see _more_ of
him. The desperate battle fought by about sixteen supernumeraries at the
pass of Castle Moura, was quite as sanguinary as ever: the combats were
perfection--the glory of the red fire was nowise dimmed! It was magic, yes,
it _was_ magic! Mr. Widdicomb was there!!
Thinking of magic and Mr. Widdicomb (of whom dark hints of identification
with the wandering Jew have been dropped--who, _we know_, taught Prince
George of Denmark horsemanship--who is mentioned by Addison in the
"Spectator," by Dr. Johnson in the "Rambler," and helped to put out each of
the three fires that have happened at Astley's during the last two
centuries), brought by these considerations to a train of mind highly
susceptible of supernatural agency, we visited--
THE WIZARD OF THE NORTH,
the illustrious professor of _Phoenixsistography_, and other branches of
the black art, the names of which are as mysterious as their performance.
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