proceeding on their voyage, fell into a discussion on legendary
histories.

LADY CLARINDA. History is but a tiresome thing in itself: it
becomes more agreeable the more romance is mixed up with it. The
great enchanter has made me learn many things which I should never
have dreamed of studying, if they had not come to me in the form of
amusement.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. What enchanter is that? There are two
enchanters: he of the north, and he of the south.

MR. TRILLO. Rossini!

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. Ay, there is another enchanter. But I mean the
great enchanter of Covent Garden: he who, for more than a quarter
of a century, has produced two pantomimes a year, to the delight of
children of all ages; including myself at all ages. That is the
enchanter for me. I am for the pantomimes. All the northern
enchanter's romances put together would not furnish materials for
half the Southern enchanter's pantomimes.

LADY CLARINDA. Surely you do not class literature with pantomime?

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. In these cases, I do. They are both one, with
a slight difference. The one is the literature of pantomime, the
other is the pantomime of literature. There is the same variety of
character, the same diversity of story, the same copiousness of
incident, the same research into costume, the same display of
heraldry, falconry, minstrelsy, scenery, monkery, witchery,