It is thought by many persons that Grimaldi is seen to greater advantage on the small stage of Sadler’s Wells, than on the more capacious one of Covent Garden; but, this is an opinion with which we cannot coincide.  He always appears to us more at his ease at the latter house; to come forth exulting in his power, and exclaiming, “Ay, marry, here my soul hath elbow-room.”  His engagement there has certainly been a lucrative speculation for the proprietors.  “Mother Goose,” we believe, drew more money than any other piece which has been produced during the present century; and no Pantomime since brought forward at Covent Garden has been unsuccessful; which is mainly to be attributed to his inimitable performance of Clown.  It is scarcely possible for language to do justice to his unequalled powers of gesture and expression.  Do our readers recollect a Pantomime some years ago, in which he was introduced begging a tart from a pieman?  The simple expression, “May I?” with the look and action which accompanied it, are impressed upon our recollection, as forming one of the finest pieces of acting we ever witnessed.  Indeed, let the subject be what it may, it never fails to become highly amusing in the hands of Grimaldi; whether it is to rob a pieman, or open an oyster, imitate a chimney-sweep, or a dandy, grasp a red-hot poker, or devour a pudding, take snuff, sneeze, make love, mimic a tragedian, cheat his master, pick a pocket, beat a watchman, or nurse a child, it is all performed in so admirably humorous and extravagantly natural a manner, that spectators of the most saturnine disposition are irresistibly moved to laughter.

Mr. Grimaldi also possesses great merit in Pantomimic performances of a different character, which all are aware of, who have ever seen him in the melodrama, called “Perouse,” and other pieces of the same description.

We cannot better terminate this article, than with a poetical tribute to his powers, addressed to him by one of the authors of “Horace in London,” who appears to have had a true relish of his subject:—­

    Facetious Mime! thou enemy of gloom,
      Grandson of Momus, blithe and debonair,
    Who, aping Pan, with an inverted broom,
      Can’st brush the cobwebs from the brows of care.

    Our gallery gods immortalize thy song;
      Thy Newgate thefts impart ecstatic pleasure;
    Thou bid’st a Jew’s harp charm a Christian throng,
      A Gothic salt-box teem with attic treasure.

    When Harlequin, entangled in thy clue,
      By magic seeks to dissipate the strife,
    Thy furtive fingers snatch his faulchion too;
      The luckless wizard loses wand and wife.

    The fabled egg from thee obtains its gold;
      Thou sett’st the mind from critic bondage loose,
    Where male and female cacklers, young and old,
      Birds of a feather, hail the sacred Goose.

    Even pious souls, from Bunyan’s durance free,
      At Sadler’s Wells applaud thy agile wit,
    Forget old Care while they remember thee,
      “Laugh the heart’s laugh,” and haunt the jovial pit.