The modish wife, a comedy: performed with uninfluenced applause at the Theatre-Royal, Haymarket. To which is prefixed a summary view of the stage, as it has been, is, and ought to be. With biographical anecdotes of Messrs. Mossop, Dexter, Derrick, and the author, ...

A SUMMARY VIEW OF THE ENGLISH, SCOTS, and IRISH STAGES.

THE utility and dignity of the Stage, when properly con|ducted, has never been disputed in any age or nation, by men of liberal sentiments in church or state; some ex|clamatory blasts of enthusiasm have indeed, at different times, made virulent, yet feeble attacks, some faint remains of these now and then issue officially from Tottenham-court-road and Moorfields instructors; but even they only utter invectives to preserve custom and affected sanctity, while their hearers, as well as themselves, laugh at the unnecessary frivolous delu|sion: the stage should not complain of this abuse, as every in|stitution may be, and certainly is, misconducted as well as misrepresented; indeed as to the scandalous, irrational, and most illiberal Roman act, adopted ridiculously by our legisla|ture, which stigmatizes performers, while not only the matter and manner of their performances have been, and are legally authorized and universally encouraged, it deserves general re|probation and theatrical contempt.

Roscius, Cicero's idol, if his profession could be originally deemed bad, should receive no credit from excellence in pur|suing an infamous path; as well might a dexterous highway|man claim praise for excelling in actions totally unsufferable.

Some three years since, I publickly invited a bigotted preacher in Scotland, to bring one text of scripture in corroboration of his rigid opinions; I asked, if dramatic compositions were in|consistent with strict christianity, why Saint Paul should have quoted from a Greek author in that sphere? with some other pinching interrogations, which appeared unanswerable, and occasioned, what I did not wish or mean, the defection of many subscribers to this person's preaching, a manifest temporal in|jury to him.

In the course of what I have to offer I shall be desultory, consequently unmethodical; I shall produce nothing which does not, in my idea, deserve notice; but as to arrangement I shall let circumstances and anecdotes fall in as they may, the

more to sport with and amuse attention; I shall endeavour to pursue Othello's rule, and "nothing extenuate," even re|specting myself, "nor ought let down in malice," concerning others: while impartiality is my guide I wish to be 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the moment I pass that line may contempt be my portion, the same contempt I have ever entertained for envy, malevolence, and adulation, three common attendants upon 〈◊〉〈◊〉, ac|tors, and every degree of public life. A str••ng symptom of pride may appear in this declaration, but a strict attenti••n to the several degrees of human nature, with many severe ••ubs, some gleams of sunshine, many self-delusions, more relative ones, and rigid inspection into social connections, have made me, I presume, a tolerable judge of the subject I now enter upon.

From every historical circumstance, we have reason to be|lieve that such entertainments as a theatre affords, could not be in a state of regularity or elegance for many years after their existence: the reformation in its infancy, the grand Spanish invasion, not only threatened but prosecuted; these, and other succeeding circumstances, all contributed to prevent that justice of exhibition for Shakespeare's inimitable produc|tions which they deserved; no amendment could be expected in the quibbling, sanctified, pedantic, witch-hunting period of James the First; as to the miserable monarch his son Charles, his time of royalty was so perplexed, so turbulent, and so fatal to himself, nothing gentle, elegant, amusing, or instruc|tive could possibly prevail: Cromwell's prevalence, though a glorious aera for the nation, was very unfavourable, and ne|cessarily so to the drama after the interregnum, if I may so call an admirable and spirited administration of government.

A volatile, and we may add politic monarch came forward, who perceiving a settled gloom on the nation, determined to work a change by introducing the levity of wit, the glare of show, the ba••t of gallantry, and a general plan of dissipation, to shake off attention from matters of serious concern; if ever the stage was prostituted it was at this time, amidst a flow of great, of original powerful genius. Dryden may stand a proof of the whole, who ranted pompously, enthusiastically in his tragedies, and descended to the lowest, most fulsome stuff in his comedies: however in this reign we may commence the first degree of theatrical excellence as to performers; and upon a retrospect, we find great uniformity in the cast of plays, as it is phrased, every one, like a good soldier, kept his place, and by not being misplaced, we may conclude, made a good figure; nay, from the best accounts, we are taught to be|lieve so, even the printed dramas strengthen this opinion; and this is one of the best methods to judge by, both compa|ratively and decisively, as in examining the present stage here|after

I will clearly demonstrate. From this period composi|tion and representation have, save the comedies of C••ve, 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and Farquhar, with Rowe's tragedies, been improving, I mean as approaching nearer nature; I do not contend for spirit, character, or invention in favour of the present age, but a claim to superior propriety may b•• justly maintained upon compari••on.

The aera of Wilkes, Booth, and Cibber, has been highly bla|zened, and there is reason to credit tradition in many points; but from the imitators of them I have seen (who though they had by no means equal execution, certainly possessed their man|ner) it was offensive to chaste criticism; thus Quin's turgid swell was derived from Booth, who catched his from Betterton; young Cibber's caricature grimace, and snip-snap expression, were but the remnants of his father's oddity; and the late Mr. Giffard's genteel comedy, which he valued himself upon, was but a costive retail of that formal gentility, which obtained for Mr. Wilkes (when full-bottomed wigs, mechanic utterance and stiff deportment were in fashion) general applause.

From their time to Mr. Garrick's introduction of nature upon the stage, dramatic entertainments were miserably man|gled amidst wretched anarchy and most disgraceful manage|ment.

The Irish stage, till Mr. Sheridan's assuming the reins of direction, was, from all I have been able to learn, scarce worth mention; in my own remembrance, four Elrington's, the most deplorable manglers of dialogue, serious or comic, that ever disgraced a Theatre-Royal, monopolized all the prin|cipal characters; the women were perfect mop-squeezers, and the decorations mere puppet-show trumpery: Mr. Sheridan laboured for, and in a great measure effected, a reformation; if his execution as an actor had been equal to his judgement, and his general succe••s as a manager been equal to his liberality 〈◊〉〈◊〉 spirit, his condescension to performers, and his zeal for the stage, he would have made ere now a very genteel fortune; but being in some points capricious, and rather too fond of rigid exercise of authority, he incurred, at various times, very prejudicial public resentment; and though supported by many friends, he was frequently attacked both by public and private foes, 'till at length from a r••••iculous attachment to court principles, (for he was wonderfully fond of a smile at the castle levees) he drew upon himself a storm which blighted all his fairest hopes, and b••re away with it the fruit of much labour and several favourable harvests.

To this gentleman (for whom I shall always entertain a pro|per degree of respect) I stand indebted for an introduction to the stage, an introduction more like that of a friend than a manager, from whom, had I chosen to stay in his theatre, I

had reason to expect the most l••beral encouragement. Here, to anticipate any biographical manufacturer, who might in future, as actor or author, gibbet me up to the view of pos|terity, I shall give an impartial narrative of my coming into, and general progress thro' life, which will naturally take in, by connexions, some school-fellows and public cotemporaries, whom I wish to preserve from misrepresentation as much as I do myself.

Without any boast of parentage, suffice it to say my father had the general repute of an honest man, who, without any brilliance of parts, possessed a share of sense to command re|spect, he had seen much of the world, and from thence laid in a stock of liberal notions; by forty years service in the army, during which time he had seen many coxcombs of for|tune, titles, or interest, put over his head, he obtained a Cap|tain's commission; in this station, most unfortunately for me, he died when I was but seventeen, he was blessed with a wife, and I with a mother, who by invariable conduct proved her|self a worthy pattern of both characters.

The 23d of October, 1728, gave me to this mortal stage; my state of infancy was most affectionately attended to, and by unremitting care, an imperfect constitution rendered very strong; at ten, or a little after, I was put under the care of Mr. Butler, a clergyman, who kept a grammar-school in Digges-street, Dublin; here my first acquaintance and inti|macy began with Messrs. Mossop and Dexter, both within a year of my age; Mr. Mossop's father residing at his rectory, his son Henry was sent to the care of an uncle, who then kept a bookseller's shop, this uncle put him to Mr. Butler's school, and lodged him at an obscure butcher's in an obscure market, as I presume for cheapness sake; not very happy in his situation, he frequently, by leave, passed a few days at my father's with me, and being of a grave cast was much liked by all the family as well as myself.

During the space of five years we were inseparable, and, as I thought, that kind of esteem daily grew upon us which sel|dom terminates but with life. At fifteen I had the misfortune to obtain a commission in the same regiment with my father, the inconveniency of which station I did not experience till the death of my best friend brought it to light; indeed before that melancholy event I began to dislike the school of Mars, which was then, and I am afraid is too much so still, a scene of dissipation and excess, exceedingly dangerous for a young unformed mind possessed of warm passions.

In the year of the rebellion, a camp of 5000 men was formed at Bennet's-bridge, near Kilkenny, which tho' a pleas|ing show, was certainly an idle affair, discipline being in a most relaxed state; our marchings and counter-marchings, our

sweatings and our swimmings, were almost as laughable as Major S••urgeon's expedition to Acton, Ealing, &c. however we furnished many important paragraphs for the Dublin news|papers▪ one of which I well remember, though we were but fifty miles from the capital, killed 500 of us by an epidemical distemper, which had never been heard of in the camp; a strong proof of what authentic intelligence those political ve|hicles convey.

From Bennet's-bridge we returned to Dublin duty, here I found Messrs. Mossop and Dexter members of Trinity-college; the former complained grievously at the narrowness of his al|lowance; lamenting his discontent, in a romantic fit of friend|ship, I gave him my commission, purposing to accomplish my|self for the church; this circumstance he has often mentioned, as I have been informed, however he had not interest to get the tran••fer ratified by government. From Dublin we were ordered into separate quarters, the company I belonged to was destined for Cashell, neither the Captain nor Lieutenant at|tending —a pretty circumstance in time of war! the care of a hundred men fell to my share; the route pointed out our way, and we pursued it with commendable regularity, save, as I suspected, the plunder of some hen-roosts; on our arrival at Cashell, a well situated, pleasant, plentiful city, I received a complimentary message from the new mayor, who was that day giving a feast on commencing magistracy, to partake of the festivity.—I attended, was received with most polite hos|pitality, and found myself immediately acquainted with near thirty leading gentlemen; thus far was well, but it being a kind of custom in that county to drink a visiter's senses away, I sustained a most formidable attack, surrounded by seasoned veterans; at length my prudence, head, and heels gave way, and I fell a sacrifice to Bacchus, but not till three Aldermen and two Parsons had previously fallen prostrate.

This was rather an unfavourable commencement; but dur|ing my stay in the place afterwards, I kept rather aloof, and was better enabled thereto by passing much time in the family of a gentleman who had three very agreeable daughters, one of whom, tho' at least twelve years older than myself, had rearly captivated me; however, Cupid perhaps thinking me a trifling conquest, let me for that time escape. Dr. Price, then Archbishop of the see, was another strong motive of pre|vention from excess, for as that liberal-minded prelate very condescendingly gave me a general invitation to his palace, and to ride with him, which took place every fair morning. I was edifyingly drawn from the company of those who prefer hunting and the bottle to every mental enjoyment.

I was not above four months in this very agreeable, and I may add, profitable situation, till my party was ordered to Kin|sale,

where a large number of French prisoners were rather refractory. At Corke I found two hundred of those gently waiting to be conducted to Kinsale by me, I took them in charge, but never recollected, till we had marched eight miles, that there was not a grain of ammunition in the whole party; however nothing amiss happened.

At Kinsale discipline took place, and the young officers were commendably attentive, but being altogether in a mess we misled one another abominably, both as to expences and constitutions; our propensity to dissipation was considerably increased by the good-natured volatility of Capt. Henry Boyle Walsingham, son of the then Speaker of the House of Com|mons, whose unbounded good-nature, and uncommon flow of spirits, rendered him amiably delusive; and persons who had little but their pay, endeavouring to associate with him, ran into difficulties, which however his generosity, having a large income besides a captain's commission, often removed.

I cannot pay a just tribute to the merits of this young gentle|man, taken out of life too soon, as with a few more years, and reflection, he would have been a very compleat ornament of society, and a most valuable friend to his country.

While we were at Kinsale together, an account reached us that liberty was given to raise two regiments for the Dutch service; being tired of a life so inactive in the military view as ours then was, we determined to apply for commissions of an advanced rank in one of those regiments, he promised to take me by the hand, which would have insured me success, and even offered to assist with money if any thing of that kind seemed necessary. The Dutch design being dropped on a view of peace, I was foolish enough to give a hundred guineas for advance of rank in the same regiment, without considering it took me from a station wherein I stood secure from reduction, and placed me in one of the four additional companies, which about eight months after were reduced; here I found myself within the penurious limits of half-pay; I had a right to some freehold property, but being under age could not dispose of it, and was cheated out of the rent, all but a trifle, by a kna|vish tenant.

Here I flew to the stage, without any great affection for it as a performer, and found a most gentleman-like reception from Mr. Sheridan, who judiciously recommended Aboan, in O••oon••ko, for my trial, in which, notwithstanding a most un|consequential figure, and uncommon timidity, I succeeded be|yond my most sanguine expectations; but this did by no means reconcile me to the back of the curtain, as the spirit of malevolence, envy, and scandal, was hourly invading my ears. A season and a half passed without one symptom of am|bition to urge for parts, and at a time when Mr. Sheridan had

marked out a very reputable cast for me I declined; so preci|pitate a retreat was in a great measure occasioned by receiving a letter, that an uncle of mine, till then totally unknown to me even by name, had died in the East-Indies, and left me 800 l. this gave me a turn for domestic life, as the sale of my little freehold was likely, exclusive of a 500 l. mortgage, to produce me 700 l. more. When of age, I was advised, that on coming to London, or by sending proper authority, I might receive my Indian legacy; desirous of seeing the English ca|pital I set out.

Here I shall return a little.—During my connection with the Dublin theatre, I received a letter from Mr. Mossop, then in London, that he had been drawn from Ireland by the invita|tion of an uncle, who, as he said, would do nothing material for him; that he had offered himself to Mr. Garrick and Mr. Rich, who both (the latter is not surprising) deemed him un|worthy acceptance, and therefore requested I would mention him to Mr. Sheridan; I did, and was informed that a Mr. Marshall, with whom we were both intimate, had previously mentioned the matter; I was asked some questions, which I answered with all the friendship and impartiality (my ever fa|vourite principle) would allow. Mr. Sheridan, always above en|vy, gave him a cordial invitation; he came over and had his choice of parts, he very judiciously chose Zanga, in the Re|venge, and displayed in it an astonishing degree of beautiful wildness; his amazing powers of voice were clearly perceived and unanimously approved; his action was what in a great measure it ever remained, forced, aukward, and unpicturesque; his emphasis mechanical and laborious; however, a whole pit full of collegians terrified criticism from any exertion for two nights; and indeed, his merit went so far before his faults, that the encouragement, tho' enthusiastic, was right.

The same week which produced Mr. Mossop to public view, furnished the stage with another very considerable ornament, Mr. Digges, who had been an officer; a young gentleman furnished with very agreeable and essential requisites, such as a graceful person, a comely countenance, marking eyes, and a full-toned, distinct, tho' not harmonious voice.

These two competitors set off in the race of fame nearly to|gether, and emulated with becoming spirit; however, Mr. Mossop, both in diligence and powers, rather outstripped his competitor, tho' Mr. Digges has since shown himself a much more general performer. By so powerful a reinforcement Mr. Sheridan had a brilliant season, nor did he, as has been prac|tised since, bind rising merit to a kind of an apprenticeship, upon penurious terms, he rewarded them liberally, and brought them forward with rapid speed.

A ludicrous instance of Mr. Mossop's capricious haughtiness may, out of many, be produced; after performing the part of Zanga three nights, he chose Richard for a fourth appearance, and most unaccountably dressed the character in puckered white sattin; Mr. Sheridan, very justly observing that it had a most coxcombly appearance, the remark reached Mr. Mossop's ear, who next morning went to the manager's room, and most empha|tically addressed him thus:

"Mr. She—ri—dan, I hear you said I dressed Richard like a cox—comb; that is an af—front; you wear a sword, pull it out of the scab—bard, I'll draw mine, and thrust it into your bel—ly."

This furious attack was smiled off, and had an amicable conclusion.

A circumstance here strikes recollection painfully, which is, that success, in less than a month, raised my school-fellow so high on tragedy-stilts, that a most ungracious reserve prevailed in his deportment, and even to me he was the great man tho' civil. Tho' I ever admired merit, and respected pre-eminence, I never did, nor never will, idolize either; this he wanted in both respects; I would not flatter, my friendship forbad it; he grew shy according to the dictates of his pride; thus fell gradually into decay, what I wished, a permanent friendship. I may have been too ready to catch offence, but he certainly was too ready to furnish cause; I was rather concerned at such a divorce of an early regard, yet I believe we still entertained good wishes for each other, and am willing to stile it the jar|ring of two oddities, who had not forbearance sufficient for each others foibles.

This supposed defection of a friend hastened my expedition to England; I reached Chester at a time when Mr. Macklin had brought an excellent company to that city, knowing se|veral of the members, and wishing to know others, I pro|tracted my journey a matter of three months, which passed pleasantly and rationally, save too great expence, loss of time, and a near chance of matrimony, which would then have been peculiarly indiscreet. One leading defect of my disposition has been procrastination, which has operated most powerfully; however I was not totally idle, for during my stay I altered Ben Johnson's Sejanus, which I shall speak of in future. Just previous to setting off for London, Mr. Derrick, another early acquaintance, pursued my steps, not liking the avocation he was placed to, viz. that of a linen-draper; very bare of cash, and little acquainted, I was obliged to stand forth for him, which I had great pleasure in doing.

Soon after coming to London, for sake of better air, I took lodgings at Richmond, Mr. Derrick remained with me there near a year, and was most of the time using his admirable talents for pushing into an extensive acquaintance, while I, waited with philosophic patience, tho' not proper oeconomy,

for my expected legacy, passed most of my time in reading 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the employment of my pen. A strong degree of thea|trical frenzy having seized poor Derrick, who, contrary to 〈…〉〈…〉 sense, and void of every executive requisite, would make a stage attempt; in friendly compassion I prevail|ed on him to assume a character wherein his diminutive and deformed figure would not be so laughable; he, in conse|quence murdered Gloster in Jane Shore, and I believe convinced himself, a well as the audience, that he could never be beara|ble, for I recollect no similar attempt—well for the stage if many others had followed so sensible an example!

During my stay at Richmond I published the alteration of Johnson's Sejanus, and from a connection my father had with the Orrery family, I dedicated it to the late Earl John, whose literary abilities, and extreme liberal turn of mind, reflected honour on nobility, and even on the name of Boyle; being ever of a distant nature in matters of this sort, I referred presentation of the copy to Mr. Derrick, who never was better pleased than when employed in this manner; he brought me a verbal account that my piece was politely received, and that his Lordship wished to see me at his house, then in Leicester-fields; I obeyed the summons, and never experienced more affability or good sense than at this interview: he was pleased to say that I had given some marks of genius, but feared, if I should in future shew much improved abilities, they would be but of little advantage, for (as he emphatically observed) the fountain-head of critical taste was frozen and benumbed; if you have a turn for politics, continues his Lordship, and will prostitute principle to profit, either for or against administra|tion, some lucrative consequences will doubtless ensue; but if you are an honest principled writer, ten to one but laudatur & alget is a proper motto for you: how far I have found this veri••ied I won't pretend to say, but heartily wish I had been fated to use an awl and end sooner than the pen, for nothing but a pensioned defender of government, a sycophant to ma|nagers, or a slave to booksellers, can do any thing more than crawl.

In about a week after I had seen Lord Orrery, I received from him a letter, with an order on Mr. Hoare, his banker, for twenty guineas, and an observation,

"that he wished more substantial approbation to attend every future production of mine."

After this (the only profit from dedication I ever experienced, and indeed did not expect) I never saw his Lordship.

However, Mr. Derrick made such good use of his first visit, that he pursued, and at length—miraculous to think!—drew his Lordship, as well as some other distinguished characters,

••nto a cordial epistolary correspondence. A little after this period, I was saluted with an account that my legacy was ar|rived and payable; but how was I surprized to find, that three honest lawyers here, had, upon perusing my uncle's will, ex|plained away 600l. out of the 800l. I expected; this disa|greeable stroke precipitated me into fresh dissipation, which shortly narrowed my circumstances much, and occasio••ed me to accept an engagement for Mr. Simpson's theatre at Bath.

Before my expedition thither (under the gothic management of one Mr. Phillip's, an old theatrical coxcomb, vain of play|ing, and covetous of money) I had the pleasure to see both town houses in a very reputable state of performance; but as to tragedy (save some of Mr. Garrick's peculiar parts, if I may so speak) Covent-garden was much superior, in comedy Drury-lane claimed manifest precedence; there never was a more masterly performance than Every Man in his Humour, from Kitely to Cash, every part was supported with a proportional degree of pleasant propriety.

Mr. Mossop, who had reached the English stage, had the Dublin audiences approbation cordially, therefore essentially confirmed here; yet though he possessed undoubted merit, some share of what may be stiled good fortune, attended him in both places, for what the Irish Collegians began with, animation, the London Templars finished with zeal; would he had been as friendly to himself as the public was to his endeavours. Here, as in Dublin, too much ill-concerted expence attended his pride, yet I cannot recollect his circumstances were, at this period, so much reduced as those of some other successful knights-errant of the stage I have known; no intimacy pre|vailed between us, considerably owing, I believe, to my rigid remembrance of his sudden contemptible exaltation of deport|m••nt, and unfriendly precision of conversation, below the idea of a liberal education, and much more so of a liberal mind; however, before leaving town, I paid him a compli|mentary visit, when he wished me, and I believe with friendly meaning, all possible success.

When arrived at Bath, where the campaign was begun, I found a very imperfect odd jumbled crew, and according to many of the undertakings I was forced upon, most of my en|deavours only tended to make the groupe more ridiculous; for being chiefly in a much varied capital line, I must necessarily have been often capitally wrong; however, in the most unjus|tifiable attempts, I always met with forbearance, without the aid of a single puff, or any support from personal acquaint|ances, for I neither sought, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 obtained, above twelve during eight months residence, multiplicity of acquaintance, and es|pecially upon an interested plan, I ever despised.

So many repetitions of self are disagreeable, but as they are unavoidable, and as what I shall advance can be corrobo|lated o•• contradicted, by many persons living, egotism be|comes less painful, and may be the more credible. Amidst the study of a multiplicity of parts, I wrote the Suita••, a tra|gedy, which was well received, though weakly performed; even Mr. Quin vouchsafed to say, it was a tolerable thing, but the male performers were mere sprats of mussulmen; a remark not amiss, for there were several light figures: however, that gentleman, with more than usual condescension, gave me, on my night, two guineas for a ticket, wishing me a better trade than a Bath author or actor,

"for, says he, the people of fashion come here only to tipple water, or game; and as to the town's people they understand little save extortion;"

two points I found amply confirmed.

The second season I produced Zaphira, a tragedy, on the same story of Dr. Brown's Barbarossa, but performed before that gentleman's piece came out at Drury-lane, it was better represented, and better received than the Sultan, though with less profit to me. The same season I fitted up an alteration of Shakespeare's Richard the Second, which, though incumbered with too many characters of importance, to be adequately sup|ported by a country company (for such Bath might then be called) was also very well received; indeed the performance of one Miss Ibbot, the best declamatory actress I ever heard, contributed much to the piece's reputation. The manuscripts of these two tragedies have, I know not how, been purloined from me.

During summer, between the second and third seasons at Bath, I came to London, and found Mr. Derrick studying law and practical philosophy in that agreeable academy the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, where his situation would have been painfully exigent, had not the late Sir Francis Delaval, Mr. Foote, a Dr. Thompson, and, through their assistance, other gentlemen, liberally subscribed for his support, the me••ns of which was placed in Mr. Vail|la••••'s hands, from whom he received it weekly.

Luckily when this supply was near exhausted, I recom|mended his situation to the notice of a most benevolent gentle|m••n, who served him essentially, as he has me on many occa|sions. Mr. C—not only raised him twenty pounds subscrip|tion to a volume of poems, but by means of the late Serjeant H••d, got him out of confinement; this pleasing point ••d, I went to Bath, and there sound the company under the direction of Mr. King, whose spirited performances draw|ing better audiences than ever had been known there before, and whose regular, yet mild and gentleman-like management, rendered the theatre much more agreeable than to me it ever had been, and to the proprietors much more prof••t.

Departing from Bath, I shall omit several excursions made to places of less note, and only observe, that during a year's vacation from dramatic connections, I had an opportunity to see the London stages in their meridian glory, and a very noble emulation carried on with great spirit and ability on each side; the uniformity of each cast, filled by persons devoted to a par|ticular department, was now strictly adhered to; the managers did not then play the game of cross and pile as they do now, nor make what is head one night tail another; the policy of this scheme I shall presently elucidate, as also endeavour at showing its manifest detriment to the stage in general, and hackney'd drudges in particular.

Having received an invitation from Edinburgh, I went thi|ther, and met there, on my arrival, an extreme disagreeable disappointment; Mr. Digges and Mrs. Ward, two very popu|lar favourites, instead of joining the company, as was expected, decamped to Dublin, leaving nothing to apologize for them, and reduced me to the same disadvantageous state I was first in at Bath, obliging me to take a porter's load on a school-boy's back. Judge of my regret when I was obliged to march on, with a very insignificant figure, the first night in Othello, and the second in Hotspur, parts I would ever have wished to de|cline; after all I met indulgence, and the season for six weeks, during which time I had the misfortune to be acting manager— a most disagreeable station!—went smoothly on; at length, considering some friends I had brought to the company (and without whom it would have been truly deplorable) ill used, I resigned, with secret joy, the reins of painful government, painful, except where a thirst of power, even in a pageant state, stifles delicacy of feeling. Several theatrical manoeuvres were practised to make me uneasy, but finding me vulnerable only thro' the sides of my friends, I was so closely attacked that way, that an entire breach ensued; and at the end of the season I parted with the managers, as they stiled them|selves, on terms not the most polite, however I was well pleas|ed to get rid of such a disagreeable shuffling connection, and wishing to see Glasgow, a city I had heard much of, I went thither without any public view.

The place, upon examination, answered the description I had heard of it, in the disposal of streets, and elegance of buildings, as well as in briskness of trade and opulence of merchants. I was unexpectedly invited, by some gentlemen who had seen me in Edinburgh, to stay a few months, and assist some persons of respectable families in the proper pronunciation of English; some gentlemen of the university soon after ap|plied to me for the same purpose; I undertook the task with some reluctance, but at length went through it pleasingly and profitably. Just before my departure, it was intimated to me,

by persons of some influence, that if I would settle there, it was more than probable, that a professorship for English ora|tory might be obtained for me, with a settled salary, and the advantage of pupils, which I make no doubt would have turned out a comfortable establishment; yet, strange is the mind of man, tho' from early years I had wished for a calm retreat, now a very eligible and practicable one appeared, a sudden wandering seized my brain, and I would set off for London; but not without returning warm and grateful acknowledge|ments for favours received, and those proposed.

From Glasgow I went to Carlisle, over a country rather wild, but good road rendered it agreeable; at Carlisle, which is a pretty little agreeable city, peopled with genteel affable inha|bitants, but not much enriched with trade, I expected a re|mittance from Ireland thro' London; I waited a fortnight with patience, then received information that my draft had been evaded; highly chagrined at this, and being ever more prone to revenge injuries on myself than other people, I precipi|tately, in the heat of vexation, joined a company of Thespians, then exhibiting there. This is the only scene of real theatrical wretchedness, both as to performance and finances I ever met, indeed from the former nothing of the latter could be expected; however I was only a pitying spectator of surrounding woes, for some remains of cash, and a tolerable benefit, brought me through bareably.

By means of the philosophy I always possessed, upon a lit|tle reflection, time would have passed agreeably enough here, had not sympathetic feelings for the penury around me rather encumbered it; two men of the company were rational and well behaved, my landlord Boniface had a smart prattling agreeable daughter, and there was lodged in the house a very affable young French prisoner; by these, with two or three honest blades of Cumberland, my mind, though not improved, was innocently, and often chearfully, relaxed.

At the end of five weeks, I received an invitation from Mr. Whitley, whom I heard of as, and found to be, a reputable, bustling, judicious manager, also a good actor in his line, out of which the state of his company often forced him, and per|haps sometimes inclination; yet this admitted, it is only what much greater performers have been guilty of; many conside|rable towns have been, and are much indebted to him for re|gularity, good dresses, and as suitable decorations as they could expect; he also deserves praise for sustaining the stage with spirited resolution against much malevolence and many oppressive attacks.

I took the road to Scarbro', which place, as I staid there only a week, I should not now have mentioned but for the follow|ing ludicrous affair:

On my road thither, I set up at a small house, in a small village called Kirkleatham, here I fell in, for want of better company, with half a dozen farmers, and some servants of Mr. Turner, lord of the manor; as it has been always an in|variable rule with me to conform to the humours of every strange company, as one method of knowing the general dis|position of mankind, I said as they did; this conformity, pleasing even to brutes, with some compliments on Mr. Turner, obtained me the titles of honest fellow, hearty cock, &c. ac|companied by several slaps on the shoulder, and squeezes by the hand, which, from their roughness, I would most gladly have excused; however this social sunshine did not last long, for happening to pull out my handkerchief, a piece of paper dropped, on which a person had traced out my road from Car|lisle, and specified the towns, to prevent my mistaking a due direction; from Sunderland, to the place I have mentioned, is all on the sea-coast.

Happening to go out of the room, this paper was picked up by one who, for a miracle, could read; they had, while I saw my horse dispatch a feed of oats, laid their politic noddles together, and, as I found, had discovered me to be a French Spy. On coming in I perceived looks of great distance, con|sequence, and curiosity; silence reigned for about a minute, when my making the trite observation that it was a right Eng|lish meeting;

"Look ye there, says the one-eyed clerk of the parish, did not I tell ye, neighbours, there are French Pa|pistes about;"

"ay, says another, turning to his right-hand man, I told thee, Giles, the pig-tail was suspicious, and dost see what a skeleton it is—he never eat beef or plum-pudding in his life."

Not by any means comprehending these disjointed remarks, I applied to my landlord for an explanation; who said,

"we all suspect thee to be a French Spy, tho', for my part. I can't say but you have called for supper like an English|man, and drank like one; but our parish clerk and school-master, and the rest of the neighbours, suspect you to be what I have said; now as I am constable and magistrate, d'ye see, in his worship's absence, who is gone to Richmond races, I must look sharp;"

"Right, Mr. Constable, says a smart prig in a green coat and coachman-like wig, 'tis time to be wigilance, I was born a cockney, and know that there man is as sure French as I sit at this here table; I have a right to be cunning; a'ant I groom to a Justice of Peace? and was'nt I whipper-in to the Lord Chancellor? sure I should know law."

In warmth I exclaimed, whip the Lord Chancellor and 'Squire too, for having such fools as you about them.

High treason was now echoed thro' the room, for calling, a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 said, the Chancellor and 'Squire fools; the wise and pa|triotic company here, after giving solemn charge of me to my h••, retired with no small apprehensions in their counte|nances. My supper now approached, and rather laughing upon recollection at so ridiculous an affair, I sat down to it with good appetite, asking my landlord to partake, who, with the resolution of a Caesar, joined me in the attack, declaring he did not think I would do him any harm.

My room being guarded all night by a couple of stout la|bourers, who first searched my pockets, and pilfered, as I found afterwards, two very good razors; in the morning I was conducted on horseback, for there was no justice nearer than eight miles: this was the first, and indeed the last time, I was ever admired by females for my beauty, but they, I suppose, thinking the rope about my neck, where e'er we passed, pitifully exclaimed,

"he's a likely weel far'd mon; its a pity of him, I hope as how may get off;"

on our road too, the tender-hearted constable, with a most solemn face, told me it was a pity that men should be hanged, but it could not be helped, and advised me to prepare for the worst; I have a regard for you, says he, for you made me a good reckoning.

When we came before the justice, at a place called Ayton, or vulgarly Yatton, the matter was settled at once, by my showing some letters I had about me, particularly one from a gentleman whose person and hand-writing he both knew. After a sharp rebuff, and some severe strictures from his wor|ship, upon the constable's ill-timed activity, we departed; Mr. Longstaff, with all the penitence and politeness which defeated vermin of the law are capable of, declared that we must not part till we had drank friends, I rather declined this ceremony, but complied to save worse trouble; half a crown's worth of punch was called for, with some cold beef, &c. &c. several lu|dicrous observations passed from my companions, among the rest, my landlord declared,

"that unless I would drink a glass of forgiveness to the parish clerk, who had caused all this, he knew the poor man so well, his conscience would not let him sleep for putting an innocent man in the way of hanging; for, continues he, if his worship had been as fool|ish as we folks of Kirkleatham, who knows what might have happened?"

Our repast over, and a general forgiveness both for soul and body offered on my side, my rejoiced conductor paid the reck|oning; I offered to be Yorkshire club, but, with a side insinua|tion, he told me, it was not out of his pocket, the parish should pay it, ay, and his time, the attendants, horse-hi••e, &c. which, when we have another half-crown's worth, says he,

will make up about forty shillings—I know how to make up a constable's bill. After two glasses of the second bowl I de|parted, without a grain of resentment, and I dare say my friends staid, at the parish expence, till they were as happy as princes.

Having observed that I should, at present, only make bare mention of Scarbro', let us pass at once to Manchester, and open to view a convenient, though not an elegant theatre, with a very good apparatus, and a tolerable company: the season was successful beyond my expectation, the performers were cordial, (easy circumstances promote good humour) the town's people were affable and social; indeed I never met with more ease amidst opulence, more industry with less sel|fishness, or more critical taste with steady judgement, than in this flourishing mart of trade; (the great capital excepted) the audiences are liberal without levity, and good-natured without weakness.

During the season I produced a dramatic satire called the Mentalist, which thro' the uncommonly excellent performance of Mr. Ryder (now a respectable manager, and deserving actor, in one of the Dublin theatres) met a truly favourable recep|tion, and rendered me pecuniary advantage.

By the scandalous artifices of a person whom I had essentially served at Bath, by tittle-tattle misrepresentations carried to both sides, near the close of the season, a difference, some|what serious in its nature, arose between Mr. Whitley and me; from what I soon discovered, I found, and acknowledged then, as I do now, that he behaved with spirit and candour, while I proceeded with censurable impetuosity, though I be|lieve no animosity remained on either side. At the conclu|sion of the season I left his party, determining again for Lon|don.

I shall now, for some time, drop myself, to pursue Mr. Mossop, and the general circumstances of the stage.—In the theatre both male and female performers are, in general, the most discontented mortals breathing, the top want to be higher, and the bottom want to be top; I know a performer of dis|tinguished abilities (no matter for his name) who, four and twenty years ago, lamentingly told me, that he had but one guinea and a half per week;

"now, continues he, if I could but rise to four guineas I should reach my utmost ambition."

This same person, by some happy requisites, and about seven years practice, without a grain of diligence, attained to twice the extent of his wish, yet was then as poor, or poorer than when he first complained; he has since trebled the advantages of his first idea, yet though he may live more luxuriantly, I cannot learn that he either has, or ever had, much money to spare.

Discontent is the most irrational, yet the most common, per|turbation of human nature; it inva••es the wisest as well as the weakest, and wherever admitted turns philosophy headlong out of doors; somewhat of this having invaded Mr. Mossop, and occasioned him, when well established with the London au|dience, when possessed of a salary, and other emolum••nt, more than sufficient for every reasonable, and some refin'd enjoyment of life, considering him as a single man, without one matri|monial wish in his heart; when treated, as he since told me, with great gentility by Mr. Garrick, transported himself, I may justly so phrase it, to Ireland. Let it be observed, that Mr. Barry and Mr. Woodward acted on the same wise plan; but as the latter exhibited his penitence publickly, and the former, I am told, recollects his splendid but impoverishing reign, with sincere inward compunction, we'll cast a shade over the whole lavish blunder: Dublin was never made for two theatres, nor ever will properly support that number, one real good company rather bears hard on the theatrical finances of that metropolis, for what avails general spirit without money to support that spirit.

Hence Messrs. Barry and Woodward who had money to lose, lost it; and my old school-fellow, who had little more than public merit and private character to sacrifice, impaired both very much. During the greatest part of his mock monarchy he was but ruler of a crew not much above the mendicant tribe; if he had pompous dresses for himself, an unlimited round of characters, some quality acquaintance, (who stripped him of more by private gaming than they served him in pub|lic) and the free exercise of his own infallible opinion he was happy, though hourly solicited by starving actors, and daily watched by keen-scented bailiffs; he prostituted native honesty, which I am sure he possessed, to insuperable pride and im|moveable obstinacy. When the disposal of parts was in his own power, thinking the king's name a tower of defence, he undertook as many things out of his way as he did in it, hence, in the general view, he resembled a man who wears a suit of cloaths of contrast materials, look at his right side he is velvet and elegance, turn to his left, he is coarse frize, which tho' warm and convenient is offensively misplaced.

For some seasons this unhappy, and in the main, great man, maintained painful, unprofitable, and perturbed authority; he was all through an entire slave to his passions, and most part of the time a prisoner to his circumstances; and he who thought one half, if not all mankind, beneath him, could, for occasional forbearance, bribe and truckle to the most con|temptible rascally set of the human species—need the word bailiffs be added

However paradoxical this may appear, it is certainly true, and shows how very contradictory the human heart is often to itself; after toiling through much more than I am able, or think necessary to relate (outlines of misery are sufficient) he was seized with a malignant fever, which, unfortunately for himself, and I may add for all his well-wishers, did not take him off, yet shattered his constitution so much, that, to my immediate knowledge, he could never have made in public a figure equal to his original abilities; of this I shall mention more, and more properly hereafter.

My next trip from Manchester, was to join a company, as it was called, of kidnapped comedians, picked up from London, Dublin, &c. led by one Bardin, a noted adventurer, who, without any consent obtained from the magistrates, most igno|rantly and impudently intruded himself and unhappy Co. upon the town of Liverpool; where the wise Mayor had, at that time, conceived a wise prejudice against theatrical perform|ances, why or wherefore he knew not, but power is power however used. A set of people, who innocent with regard to their general intentions, were decoyed there by threats of pro|secution, curiously fabricated in the chicanery of law; the per|formers were not only intimidated, but their finances were so much reduced, that they neither knew how to return, or how to stay upon honest principles; indeed, I believe two or three were capable of any retreat, not possessing the last-mentioned ingredient.

The principle of self-defence, in the first place, and a so|cial concern for persons trepanned into a premunire, made me strike out a rational evasion of that childish, or rancorous law, which makes that in common prosecutable, which a Royal Patent can sanctify; my scheme was, to stile, and to occupy the theatre as a school of Oratory, for the explanation of moral and practical philosophy, both according to the ancients and moderns; to render this plausible, and indeed incontroverti|ble, as to both law, equity, and common sense, I gave before each of the pieces, a short introductory lecture upon the ge|neral subject and tendency of the play; a point not amiss to be practised here, instead of farcical unmeaning prologues.

For six or seven nights that we performed, our little hovel was filled, and every thing bore a pleasing prospect as to pro|fit, nor did any storm immediately threaten our quiet; but Mr. Mayor—a wonderful man! thinking the territory of his jurisdiction was invaded, determined (sense or no sense) to sup|press the same kind of entertainment in winter, which, at a most improper season (the summer) he was an encourager of: to say a disagreeable truth, it was, on good authority, reported that the London company, who had been excluded that sum|mer, had interposed to effect our exclusion, which took place

accordingly, but not in the ungenteel tyranical manner de|signed by our adversaries; for sorry am I to say, that the late Mr. Holland, going from Manchester to London, took Liverpool in his way, and offered liberally to lay a gentleman, who told me of it, live guineas, that the itenerants—what was he at the time? would all be shop'd (his polite phrase) in less than a week. He was deceived in this point, and would have been in the whole of his expectations, had not a miserable illiterate wretch, who has since played at Drury-lane, on being interro|gated how he lived, answered, by the stage; which was equally mean and false, mean as he had been instructed otherwise, and false, as it was impossible he could live by what he in no shape understood.

On the day before our defeat (from the above paltry expla|nation) took place, our valorous manager, ever renowned for being the first in, and the first out of a scrape, secreted him|self, as I was credibly informed, in a coal-house; and a per|son, who now fancies himself the paragon of actors—oh dire necessity of the stage!—sculked out of town, accompanied by a flimzy female, his then wife.

The noble group of heroes and heroines dissolved, some scrambled back to London, with this small difference of car|riage, that several who came down in the coach were glad to return in the basket; others swam upon credit to Dublin; while Mr. Hurst, of Drury-lane, and I remained; we gave two or three lectures, were indulged with genteel audiences, and put some essential pounds in our pockets: I also delivered two for servants, as they are stiled, of the company, who I understood to be pennyless; they were, by this effort, to my very great satisfaction, decently relieved; thus ended an ex|pedition, well conceived, miserably conducted, and pitifully marred.

From this mingled scene of laughter and woe I went to Chester, where I again met Mr. Whitley; having several cor|dial and respectable friends in the city, I resolved to pass some time there as a private visiter. At my leisure hours I wrote the Modish Wife, and though I had no connection with, or emolument from the company, I gave my manuscript to the manager to use it he chose it; he received the offer po|litely, and got the piece up with care; it was very well per|formed, and most kindly received for four nights, though full three quarters of an hour longer of performance than in its present state; Mr. Hurst, who did a material part, can testify this.

During my stay I also pieced together a little interlude, cal|culated for an admirable set of children, called the Fairy Court; this trifle was so excellently presented, so indescribably supported by the little ones, especially by one Miss Wheeler,

not then eight years of age, that it ran fifteen nights (〈◊〉〈◊〉 be|nefits) a circumstance scarce ever known in a country town, save in the case of the Beggar's Opera, when it find came out; I don't mention this any further in praise of myself, than in furnishing ideas which the children so aptly conceived, and so excellently expressed; besides, I had novelty on my side, as so very young a dramatis personae had never been seen there.

At this period, being near Dublin, I was much inclined to visit my native soil, but a fresh and material disappointment irritated me to a new theatrical expedition, to which I was the more readily induced by the formation of a new company, set on foot by two persons I wished extremely well; I joined the infant society, which was very regular, 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and res|pectable in private, though the••e was not much stage merit to boast of; I made a tour of twelve months, and though some rubs interrupted us, yet I had the pleasure, at parting, to know that my friend Mr. Bates, then sole proprietor, was, if not quite, very near established, indeed a few mon••hs proved the matter; he has since maintained a very advantageous circuit in Yorkshire, wherein from his complacent disposition, good regulations, and punctual honesty, he has acquired universal esteem, and I heartily hope a c••mfortable competency, no man deserves it better, either as a conductor of a theatre or as a member of society.

It may seem odd that I make particular mention of persons little, it at all known here, but I shall always be glad of ac|knowledging worth when and wherever I find it.

Having, by my own desire, and on the utmost terms of friendship, quitted this connection just when profits began to be considerable, I went from Scarbro' (a place like Bath) made up in the summer of fantastical people of quality, and ravenous tradesmen, who prey on them, let me except how|ever the sea-faring part, who are blunt, hospitable, and sin|cere.

I now went, once more sick of public life, to an agreeable and reasonable market-town, about twenty miles from York, called Malton, remained there a year, and married a most de|serving female—excuse a sigh and tear to her loved memory— I remained in this domestic retreat four years, and expe|rienced from the inhabitants (save one with whom I had some dealings in the bill way) very kind friendly treatment, as also from some leading gentlemen in the neighbourhood. During my residence here, I wrote a thing in two volumes, called a Trip to the Moon, which had uncommon praise in that part of the world, and was not severely treated by those critical dic|tators, the Monthly Reviewers, yet the success of that pub|lication was no way considerable.

My pen was next employed, by advice of a gentleman, con|sequ•• ••n fortune and connexions, in composing a set of fables for his ROYAL HIGHNESS the PRINCE of WALES; the work was perused and approved by several acknowledged judges; it was corrected and published under the inspection of a gentleman here, whom I should think it an honour to name, were such freedom consistent with delicacy; it was dedicated, by permission, to his ROYAL HIGHNESS, was presented and graciously received: I had, in consequence a very polite letter from a Lady of Quality, eminent in her station at court—but further on this point we say not.

After this moonshine gleam of advantage had passed over, a ••••••sh prospect, the more agreeable as unexpected, started up, I mean the patronage of that justly and generally lamented friend of his country the late Marq••ss of Granby. A gentle|man, who knew my father's and my former ••••ation, recom|mended me to his Lordship, shewing him, at the same time, some of my productions; the consequence was, that he would provide comfortably for me, a promise I had afterwards from the Marquiss's own mouth. Near twelve months I waited in pleasing expectation, then came to town, and had not been above a quarter of a year, when death, my frequent friend in such cases, before and since, robbed me of my foremost hope, and a favourite son in the s••m day.

With essential philosophy I looked forward and endeavoured to avoid casting a glance behind, notwithstanding a peevish state of circumstances urged perturbation; at this time I waited on Mr. Foote, who had the following comedy (recom|mended by the late Sir Francis Delaval) two years in his pos|session; he waved bringing it out, pleading the insufficiency of his company to do a five act piec••.

In lieu of rejecting my piece, Mr. Foote very kindly, and then conveniently for me, offered a summer engagement, which I gratefully accepted, played, and was, without any agreement, gratified by Mr. F••ote's generosity, with a ••al••••y, which according to the state of his theatre, and the little trou|ble performers have there, beyond my own opinion. With this gentleman I passed three agreeable and advantageous summers, an expedition to Edinburgh, one of the intervening winters was, though pleasant, rather a ballance against me, as I took no benefit; however renewing some valuable acquaintance|ships, and having the pleasure to see a great improvement, not only in the city, but in customs, manners, and critical task, I by no means lamented pecuniary deficiencies. During my connection with the Haymarket I fabricated two after pieces, the ••oba••••mist and Cupid's Revenge, which were exceedingly well received, yet again P••l G••rlick received but trifling ad|vantage. March 1773 most fatally deprived me of a compa|nion

equal to every idea of matrimonial happiness, whose loved memory no revolutions, fortunate or adverse, will ever eraze; great indeed have been the prejudices of mind and circumstances, accruing from this very fatal and most unex|pected catastrophe, health, recollection, and every mental ex|ertion were for some months thrown into absolute confusion.

About a fortnight before Mr. Foote's theatre began, I was struck with an information that he had no more occasion for my assistance; this, at a time of peculiar embarrassment, em|barrassment known to the manager, was what I could not at that time account for, nor have I to the present moment a single idea of explanation.

Notwithstanding I was thus unaccountably detached from a place my warm wishes, and utmost endeavours were attached to, I wrote intentionally for Mr. Weston, the Panthe••nites; how that piece, written in four days, and sent into the world without a procured friend to support it succeeded, is too recent a circumstance to repeat; here I cannot help remarking on a ridiculous custom of authors reading their pieces to the per|formers, this is giving a false consequence in general to the former, and is making mere machines of the latter, unless such instructors as Mr. Garrick and Mr. Foote step forth; the former from his extreme intimacy with nature, and from ade|quate power of expression, must give useful striking ideas even to the happiest natural conceptions; the latter, having a very bold singular caricature imagination of character, is indispen|sibly necessary for the exhibition of his own pieces; but after all, it is to be wished that the instructed did not catch up the peculiarities instead of the beauties of the instructors: it may be advanced that an author best knows his own ideas, I grant it intellectually, but expressively makes a wide difference; I have known some write very tolerably who could not read decently, and I have heard parsons preach very good borrowed sermons, who could not write a paragraph fit for a school-boy's theme.

The season before my separation from Mr. Foote, I was asto|nished by a most friendly line from Mr. Mossop, wishing to see me at an appointed hour, at Forest's Coffee-house, Charing-cross; though so long at a distance I punctually and cheerfully attended; he received me like and I hope as a friend, talked of his theatre in Dublin, asked my connection and salary with Mr. Foote; I gave him faithful information; he sounded my inclination for Dublin in a theatrical capacity; and suggested not only my assistance to raise recruits but to accept the stile of manager-depute; I declined all but the recommendation of some performers, and even there told him I supposed they would expect collateral security for payment of their salaries; here the great man broke out in the syllabled utterance of the word se—cu—ri—ty; however I sent two of diligence and

merit to him, warning them of his situation, as I never chose nor ever will be a kidnapper in any shape; his being arrested put an end to the negociation. Two days before he got into salva custodia (a circumstance I very sincerely lamented) in a tete a tete, I asked him why he did not close with one house or the other here? he observed that Mrs. Yates was the only thea|trical lady who could play consonantly with him, that she was then at Covent-garden, and as there was a particular reason why he could not properly be where Mr. Colman was manager (the reason I don't chuse to ••elate) he was indifferent about en|gaging: I then suggested his obtaining, which he certainly might have done, licence for six nights at Mr. Foote's, after the season, by which I told him he might at least get 500l. and if his original powers remained, by presenting himself to public view, might oblige the managers of either house to com|ply with his terms.

Whether conscious of that natural inward decay, I plainly saw, or rather more plainly heard, or whether through native pride, he replied thus,

"old school-fellow and friend, I would not appear at Mr. Foote's theatre in London to clear 1000l. in the time you mention."

—here is a great light thrown on character. After the circumstance of his bank|ruptcy I saw him not, but heard that he passed his time depen|dantly in the south of France—dismal situation for a proud man! when he returned here I know not, nor did I know of his precipitate decline, however of his penury and obscure death I painfully heard too soon; Mr. Garrick, I am in|formed, offered to bury him, but an uncle, most generously, took that enormous task to himself. Here we place to rest an actor of as great natural powers as ever graced the stage for tragedy, and as great defects as ever cast a damp on merit even in that stile—shall we, in opposition to that charitable maxim, de mortuis nil nisi bonum, enter a little into private character, as I wish to be done by myself, so will I do in this case, with truth and brevity.

As a school-boy he was diligent in study, good-natured, and strictly honest, but rather abstracted; as a member of the college he was tolerably oeconomical, free from debauchery and equally attentive as at school; transplanted to the stage he almost instantaneously grew self-sufficient and arrogant, having very little money to command before, and rushing into what I may call a profusion for him, he forgot not only h••s early friends but even himself, was in short a Bashaw off as well as on the stage; on coming to London his arrogance rather abated, but success still cherished pride.

As to his connections with the female sex I will say no more than this, that at the age of eighteen he had, as far as I could judge, a just and generous idea of their influence; but com|mencing

a great man he was intimidated at marriage, fearing any invasion of lordly rule; however, by credible informa+tions he was a dupe to artful females, especially an old noble lady in Dublin, who used to make a tolerable audience for her dear Harry, as she stiled him, and after the play stripped him at her route of twice what her interest had procured; thus starving actors were deprived of their salaries, and the daped imperious manager was worn out of all circumstances.

Of his management it may be said, he never consulted any thing but self, not so much for gain as selfish vanity; from the whole it may be collected that he had original integrity strongly planted in his breast, that he was by nature a gentleman, by opportunity and assiduity a scholar, by uncommon requisites a great actor, and by particular failings a very reprehensible man; I arde••tly wish to cast a veil over the dark shades, but as I profess myself real••y an enthusiast of impartiality, I cannot disguise or varnish; that so little respect was paid by the thea|trical word to such an ornament is a reproach to the communi|ties of both houses, save those who attended; but he who lived rich in abilities, went to the grave poor in commemoration, very little cons••quence to the de••d, but shameful to the living.

Great ••hings were proposed respecting the amiable worthy Dr. Goldsmith, but the great folks dropped off, and he went to his grave (to their disgrace) silently, as a common ballad-singer after tu••••s were at an end.

Oh life what are thy strange variations! the idol of to day, either as a man of power or of genius, when breath departs, and that power or genius operates no more, is neglected not only by the multitude, but also by persons who plume them|selves on superior, or perhap inferior abilities; this is an i••|refragabl•• proof that all worldly applause, more than a man can conscientiously approve, is contemptible and highly below sensible regard.

Having left Mr. Mossop in that final state of liberation from sublunary cares, which we must all by one means or other reach, I shall proceed to a general view of the London stages, from my arrival in town six years ago to the present time.

After ten years absence, I found a most dreadful declension of tragic merit, comedy indeed has not suffered so much; I both ••eard and judged without prejudice, and grieved I was to find so little room for approbation, most of the faults I had formerly discovered appeared now in an enlarged state, and few ver•• few of the beauties remained; though it would be peevish criticism to deny Mr. Holland and Mr. Powell capital merit in some views, yet it must be acknowledged ••hat both were very confined; the former should never have uttered a tender sentiment, the latter should have been entirely limited to pathetic and generous characters; Mr. Powell's Macbeth was

boyish to the last degree, and Mr. Holland making love was totally preposterous; yet were these two the main props of the stage in a variety of inconsistent lights; death letting fall the curtain of mortality closed their scenes of action.

What remained? Mr. Garrick ever excepted, and Mr. Barry also, while he has half a leg to stand or hop on.—Mr. Reddish steps forth in Alexander when Lysimachus is as far, as with credit to himself, or justice to the public, he should go in that play; Mr. Smith did every thing at the other house, and every thing the same way; Mr. Cantherley, another ca|pital actor, has figured away in Hamlet when Laertes would rather overload him; Mr. Brereton has—I won't mention for his sake what he has done; Mr. Bensley went to school or college, as I have been informed, with Mr. Colman, so of ne|cessity must be as exquisite in acting as the late manager was, ••nd may be in writing: to say truth, absurd elevation has reduced very good second and third rate actors, into miserable apologies for the first stile, and drawn upon them frequent censures they might otherwise have reputably escaped.

I promised to give some light into the managerical artifice in making actors so exceedingly ridiculous and metamorphosable; an actor really capital is missed by the audience, and therefore will have adequate terms, without being under slavish subjec|tion to the manager; if therefore an hungry appetite for see|ing plays, however mangled, prevails through the public, and a man for seven or eight pounds per week is sent on to bungle through principal parts, which, properly sustained, would deserve twice that sum, so much is really, or supposed to be, saved; besides a stop-gap of this kind, should he assume any importance, is immediately removed, because next ours may succeed him without any public complaint; thus actors and audiences are brought effectually into the gripe of pattentees.

Let us only view comparatively the cast of one play as I have seen it done, the Orphan; Castalio Mr. Barry, Polydore Mr. Sheridan, Chamont Mr. Garrick; the other view—oh la|mentable! Castalio Mr. Reddish, Polydore Mr. Cantherley, Cha|mont Mr. Brereton; after several instances, nearly equal to this, can complaint be unjust or censure cruel?

It i•• somewhat odd tha•• female merit keeps much nearer its predecessors than that of the males; M••s. Barry, Mrs Yates, and Miss Younge in tragedy; Mrs. Abington—herself ••lone— Mrs. Bul••el••y, Miss Pope, Mrs. Mattocks, and Mrs. Green in co|medy, with the excelle••t support of Mess••s. King, particularly Woodward, Shuter, Weston, Quick, Dodd, Parsons ••n the soc••, de|serve a large share of approbation; how could imagination ac|cept, even in most uncommon abilities, such contraste transi|tions as follow; one night we see Mr. Palmer, who has con|siderable merit properly applied, exhibiting Dionisyus, a blus|tering

tyrant, the next Brush, a coxcombly valet, now Ta|merlane, a cool philosophical declaimer, then Wilding, a rhap|sodical, pert, incoherent, volatile young fellow; observe Mr. Clinch at Covent-garden, one night stuck up for Alexander, and the next stuck up for Pylades; I grant the latter much more within his compass than the former; this is annihilating the real talents of performers, it is setting a waggon-horse to run a race, and yoking a galloper into a cart.

Let us suppose Mrs. Yates put into comedy chamber-maids, and Miss Pope into tragedy heroines, would not the former promote sleep and the latter laughter? beyond doubt—why then should the men be made butts of ridicule? Mr. Reddish kept from all violent passions, might be extremely respectable; Mr. Smith, more applied to comedy, must be more pleasing; and Mr. Palmer, freed from ••umbling parts, which he is apt to overdo, might, in his proper place, be a theatrical orna|ment.

Here a remark occurs—after Mr. Mossop quitted the Eng|lish stage, his original part of Barbarossa, which he shone ex|ceedingly in, was supplied by Mr. Bransby, a worthy man, and very decent actor in his road; Mr. Mossop, with the con|sequence I have already mentioned, asked an acquaintance in Dublin, if he could think

"who was his successor in one of his principal parts?"

receiving no answer, he imperiously, but satirically continued,

"the frigid Bransby NOW represents Barbarossa;"

incapable politicians have exposed themselves as ministers of state, and why not actors vainly, mistakenly, or compulsively, render themselves, or be rendered pitiable and contemptible objects.

I could point out a number of faults in decorum and enun|ciation, but presuming I shall be deemed rather severe for say|ing so much as I have done, I shall contract myself on these points, and only observe, that in respect of the former, I have frequently and lately, seen the side wings of a chamber con|tinued three or four minutes through a grove, a garden scene, &c. I have seen gothic pillars leading to a summer-house, and wood wings to a hall; I have observed attendant lords and la|dies pay no more attention or respect to their principals, than if they were merely leading puppets; I have observed friends assist Orestes in his madness without a gleam of concern in their countenances; and even pages neglect the trains of queens, though spreading those royal ornaments is the only purpose they are sent on for, and indeed necessary for a dig|nified display of figure.

In point of enunciation the blunders are innumerable, and as to emphasis the misapplication incredible, take one instance for all; from head to foot it is now become fashionable, if the words thou or thy are uttered, to mark them strongly without

any doubt of meaning; as for instance, our present tragedy orators, in saying, give me thy hand, though no hand but one is meant, childishly, or rather pedantically, pronounce thy hand—thou art a villain; this, without comparison, should be directly opposite, thou art a villain; but these, and many other essentials, are below the notice of all accomplished in|fallible performers, who are as repugnant to the tickling of criticism, as a country girl to the approaches of her lover in early hours of cour••ship.

Action, one most graceful and expletive ornament, is al|most totally neglected as to correctness; a needless extrava|gant misplaced expansion of arms, is substituted for that de|scriptive and impressive disposition of limbs, which renders the meaning more obvious and delights the view; if the wings of a paper kite (an emblem of some arms on the stage) did not move so invariably, even they would be more diverting.

Among the heroines, a strange exertion of masculine ges|tures take places, which though it may enforce expression, de|stroys essential delicacy; there is also a dreadful misapplica|tion here, such as pointing to the ground, or depressing the hand when elevation of the heart or mind is expressed.

Standing further back than where the curtain falls, is an|other constant and very prejudicial error, as in that situation the voice is devoured, and the features are obscured, nay, sometimes rendered scarce distinguishable, it is also very ob|jectionable for those who do, or apologize for, capital parts, to monopolize what they think the most favourable points of view; thus a great man stands full fronted to the pit, while another character, perhaps of cons••quence, is obliged to speak with his back three parts to the audience, forming a picture rude and unsatisfactory; characters too, in general, pay too little at••ention to each other, male and female acquaintances in pit or boxes, too often call off eyes that should be rivetted to the subject and business of the stage.

I have freely, and perhaps it will be thought severely, as I have determined to sacrifice all other feelings at the shrine of truth, exposed the lamentable declension of capital merit, it behoves me to give some reason: musical pieces have been a most detrimental alternative, and pantomime, with luxuriant scenery, have nearly swallowed up all regard for intrinsic ge|nius, and smothered every generous, useful sympathetic feeling.

Before I quit this part of my subject, a part disagreeably insisted on, I think it a duty to congratulate the public, the patentees, and the performers, that so dispassionate a regula|tor is appointed at Covent-garden, as Mr. Hall, whose head and heart, from particular knowledge, I can farely pronounce capable of ornamenting any station, except that of a politi|cian, there impartiality and liberal feelings are an obstacle; I

sincerely wish, for the credit of the stage, that every performer either would, or was obliged to keep so uniformly within their powers as this gentleman does; I cannot be unreasonable enough to wish every son of the buskin to understand his author so well, that never was nor can be.

Of Mr. Garrick's management, the policy and success have been so long and so universally known, that it will suffice as a proof of his generalship to say, that he has often, particularly of late, gained conquests without many front rank men; sorry are all true lovers of the drama, that he has condescended to call upon, as mercenaries or allies, the patched coat, wooden sword, Fete Champetre, &c. there is not a single article of that sort but renders capital acting merit unnecessary; suffer a mourning friend of the stage to utter this lamentable truth with emphatic feeling.

Mr. Foote's institution, extremely peculiar in its nature, is scarce describable, I believe he does not wish it so; if in his temple of Momus, local characters, temporary sarcasms, and biting witticisms, enriched with caricature features and gri|mace, will do, the whole end is answered; and indeed no place of public exhibition ever answered the purpose so well; let me not here be supposed scanty or churl••sh of praise, since, according to my own opinion, there is more wit, satire, senti|ment, and pleasantry, in the comic productions in this swallow season theatre, than either of the winter ones, considering the quantity of matter produced.

The English, Scots, and Irish stages, viewed as to critical taste, a very short opinion will let in sufficient light upon the whole.

In London the audience are judicious, forbearing, and fond of catching beauties, ready to make every allowance, slow to find fault, keen to seize all occasions of applause, tardy to re|sentment, yet treated properly easy to forgive; they know best what is right, and yet will soonest forgive what is wrong; they are prone to the dignity, but not the malevolence of criti|cism.

In Scotland they well know bad performance, and bear it with inconceivable sufferance in public, yet are sure to re|member it in private; and if a public conviction generally takes place it is rigorously enforced: the point of criticism in which they are most judicious is declamation, here judgement holds a very nice scale, and among them would sooner gain applause for a cool deliberate sentiment, well delivered, than for all the enthusiastic rants of Lee, poured forth with force; their idea of players, in a private capacity, has been much, but justly vitiated by the misconduct of individuals, who, un|der public favour and great emoluments, for that place, have shamefully evaded the engagements of honesty, I could name

particulars but wish to be excused; however, be it enough to say, that those who should have preserved the stage from shame in that part of the world, and had it most in their power, have laboured most for its reprobation.

As to the Dublin stage, which has been a most excellent nursery for this metropolis, a variety of storms has assailed it; some owing to proud obstinate managers, others to proud luxu|riant managers, and several to proud ignorant managers; to say truth, though they are excellent critics in the Hibernian metropolis, yet the warmth of passion occasions unwarrantable prejudice and savage opposition; support is equally violent, and a stranger has exceeding fair hospitable play: they, as well as we here, have been, from vic••ssitudes and want of leading genius, most miserably off for some seasons, insomuch th••t not a performer has been thought worth importing but Mr. Lewis, who we freely admit a pleasant comedian—keep him out of tragedy his and our good stars!

The taste of Bath, in and out of the theatre, is frippery, governed by coxcombly fashion; people of consequence there think dramatic entertainments mere time killing amusement: the box customers are inattentive and insolent; the pit and gal|leries, made up of their domestics or tradesmen, are submissive and ignorant; if a Lady of Quality commands, (a case common there) that play must be liked. As a proof of profound judge|ment, a Royal Personage, in my remembrance, bespoke Shakespeare's As You Like It, there was a very pleasant Rosa|lind, and a good Touchstone, the rest could not be much out of the way; scarce a creature appear••d in the boxes till—the glorious farce of Chronon••otonthologos was beginning, th••n came the grande••s—oh wonderful!—Lord Chesterfield among the rest! but it may be easily conceived he politely sacrificed to folly, though it never could be his favou••••••e. What I have advanced of Bath may serve all the watering places in the kingdom.

Manchester I have already mentioned as a place of opulence, affability, and spirit, the upper class are not very keen, yet they are very sensible and very candid critics; th••y would rather praise than fin•• fault, yet they expect somewhat more than bare decency; attention is the chiefest put of their ap|plause, and indeed the best any audience can give; that can|not be obtain••d by puffing; the lower class, freed from their industrious avocations, are willing to receive relaxation in the most agreeable manner.

At Chester, having had many excellent companies from London, and many of the inhabitants going frequently to Dub|lin, there is a capricious opinion prevails, and they are rather to be t••ken with a Theatre Royal name, than real merit with|out that very honourable addition; there is much politeness,

hospitality, and friendship in this city, but too much affecta|tion in their criticism.

York is good-naturedly dull; audiences there are remarkable for fixing public regard on individuals, whom they pronounce incomparable; they are a kind of parents to such actors, and maintain them from youth to grey hairs, even against judge|ment; private character, much to the city's honour, is pecu|liarly considered, and, when good, is sure to be patronized. Mr. Wilkinson, the present pattentee, has given, in a few years, much spirit both to the theatre, performers and frequenters of it.

Thus much for the stage—My school fellows Deuter and Derrick paid the debt of nature under the age of thirty; the former was placid in public and private life, gave no particu|lar offence or pleasure on or off the stage; he was liberal, a gentleman, and a scholar; an unhappy matrimonal connec|tion breaking his temper broke his heart.

Mr. Derrick, when astonishingly chosen master of the cere|monies at Bath, without a single requisite for the place, pro|mised a grateful return, and actually began to make it; but being involved amongst ladies of easy virtue, he soon forgot his friend, and sacrificed his unhappy life to the shrine of Venus.

As to myself I am still scrambling on the surface of existence, "with more offences at my beck, &c." as to them let some future commemorator set them down, and, if I have any good qualities, join them; from my heart I wish to be treated with the same honest veritable freedom with which I have treated others; if anatomizing my mind, even while living, and ana|tomizing my body when dead, can render any public use, I freely subscribe to both; one favourable circumstance only, I shall advance, and venture to maintain, that I would in no case, nor upon any view, flatter a monarch, or insult a beg|gar.