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expand with a freedom and fulness of satisfaction, beyond what he experiences in any other part.

Such violent starts of amazement, of horror, of indignation, of paternal rage, excited by filial ingratitude the most prodigious; such a perceptible, yet rapid gradation, from these dreadful feelings to the deepest frenzy; such a striking correspondence between the tempest in his mind, and that of the surrounding elements. In the very whirlwind of passion and of madness, such an exact attention to propriety, that it is still the passion and the madness of a king. Those exquisite touches of self-reproach for a most foolish and illrequited fondness to two worthless daughters, and for the greatest injustice and cruelty to one transcendently excellent. Those resistless complaints of aged and royal wretchedness, with all the mingled workings of a warm and hasty, but well-meaning and generous soul, just recovering from the convulsion of its faculties, through the pious care of a worthy, but injured child and follower; till at length the parent, the sovereign, and the friend, shine out in the mi dest majesty of fervent virtue, like the sun after a fearful storm, breaking forth delightfully in all the soft splendour of a summer evening. These, Sir, are some of the great circumstances which so eminently distinguished your action two nights ago. They possessed by turns all your frame, and appeared successively in every word, and yet more in every gesture, but most of all in every look and feature; presenting, I verily think, such a picture as the world never saw anywhere else; yet such a one as all the world must acknowledge perfectly true, interesting, and unaffected. A very crowded audience gave the plainest proofs that they found it so. Even a French lady, if I mistook not the person, who has been used to all the polite frigidity of the French drama, was moved and melted in the most sensible manner. As to myself, I suppose that I was affected in the same way with every body else. But what struck me most, and will ever strike me on reflection, was the sustaining with full power to the last, a character marked with the most diversified and vehement sensations, without ever departing once, as far as I could perceive, even in the quickest transitions and the fiercest paroxysms, from the simplicity of nature, the grace of attitude, or the beauty of expression. What I alone regretted, was the blending of modern tragedy with the inimitable composition of your immortal Shakspeare. It was some comfort, however, that you had no share in the whining scene.

I hope, Sir, you will forgive this freedom of praise, prompted as it is hy pure esteem for the man whom forming Nature, without the least assistance from example, has placed so high in his profession, I have said so much, not because I imagine that my single approbation can be of any consequence to Mr. Garrick, amidst the approbation of the public, but merely to relieve myself in some measure from a load of sensibility with which King Lear has quite overwhelmed me.

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Sir, I beg you will do me the favour to let me know if it was by your order that my money was stopped last Saturday: you was so good, indeed, last week to bid me take care or I should be catched; I thought you was laughing, and I did not know it was a determined thing.

It was never before expected of a performer to be in waiting when their names are not in the papers or bills; the public are witness for me whether I have ever neglected my business. You may (if you please to recollect) remember I have never disappointed you four times since you have been a manager; I always have had good health, and have ever been above subterfuge. I hope this stopping of money is not a French fashion; I believe you will not find any part of the English laws that will support this sort of treatment of an actress, who has a right, from her character and services on the stage, to expect some kind of respect.

I have never received any favours from you or Mr. Lacy, nor shall ever ask any of you, therefore hope you will be so good to excuse me for endeavouring to defend myself from what I think an injury; it has been too often repeated to submit to it any longer. You stopped four days' salary when I went to Dublin, though you gave me leave to go before the house shut up, and said you would do without me. If I had known your intention. I would not have lost any of my salary, as my agreement with Mr. Barry did not begin till our house had shut up. I had my money last year stopped at the beginning of the season for not coming to rehearse two parts that I could repeat in my sleep, and which must have cost me two guineas, besides the pleasure of coming to town.

I am sure I have always done every thing in my power to serve and oblige you: the first I have most undoubtedly succeeded in; the latter I have always been unfortunately unsuc

cessful in, though I have taken infinite pains. Your dislike to me is as extraordinary as the reason you gave Mr. Sterne for it.

The year Mrs. Vincent came on the stage, it cost me above five pounds to go to and from London to rehearse with her, and teach her the part of Polly; I could not be called on to do it, as it was long before the house opened,-it was to oblige Mr. Garrick. I have never envied you your equipages nor grandeur, the fine fortune you have already and must still be increasing. I have had but a very small share of the public money; you gave Mrs. Cibber 6001. for playing sixty nights, and 300l. to me for playing a hundred and eighty, out of which I can make it appear it cost me 100l. in necessaries for the stage; sure you need not want to take any thing from it.

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I have great regret in being obliged to say anything that looks like contention. I wish to be quiet myself, and I am sure I never laid any schemes in my life to make any one uneasy or unhappy. In regard to the affair of the Devil to Pay," I sent my compliments to the managers by the prompter, at the beginning of the season, to beg that it might not be done till the weather was cool, as the quickness of the shifts puts me into a flurry, which gives me violent swimming in my head. When I was sent to, I recollected I had given my servant leave to go out, as I did not want her, who had the keys of all my things; neither had I the necessary things ready if she had been at home. I had a friend's equipage come for me from Greenwich to dine with them, and take my leave, as they are going to Bath for the recovery of their health. I was very unhappy after I was there, and the gentleman was so obliging to send one of his grooms, at half an hour after four, to let you know I would come if you could not do without me. I had a carriage ready with the horses put to when he came back, it wanted then some minutes of six.

It is very happy for me that they happen to be people of consequence, who know the truth of what I say, and who will be very much surprised to hear how I have been treated. I have nothing more to add, but that I am,

Your most obedient servant,

C. CLIVE.

G. Colman, Esq. to Mr. Garrick.

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Great Queen Street, Dec. 4, 1765. Since my return from Bath I have been told, but I can hardly believe it, that in speaking of "The Clandestine Marriage," you have gone so far as to say, Colman lays a great stress on his having written this character on purpose for me, suppose it should come out that I wrote it!" That the truth should come out is my earnest desire; but I should be extremely sorry, for your sake, that it should come out by such a declaration from you.

In the present case you must be sensible that such an insinuation from you must place me in that ridiculous light; but you know that it was not I, but yourself, who desired secrecy in relation to our partnership, and you may remember the reasons you gave for it. You know, too, that on the publication of the play the whole affair was to come out, and that both our names were to appear together in the title-page.

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I understood it was to be a joint work, in the fullest sense of the word; and never imagined that either of us was to lay his finger on a particular scene, and cry, "This is mine!" It is true, indeed, that by your suggestion, Hogarth's proud lord was converted into Lord Ogleby, and that, as the play now stands, the levee scene, at the beginning of the second act, and the whole of the fifth act are yours but in the conduct as well as dialogue of the fourth act, I think your favourite, Lord Ogleby, has some obligations to me. However, if that be the part of the play which you are desirous to rest your fame upon, I would not have differed with you about the glory of it; but cannot help being hurt at your betraying so earnest a desire to winnow your wheat from my chaff, at the very time that I was eager to bestow the highest polish on every part of the work, only in the hopes of perpetuating the memory of our joint labours, by raising a monument of the friendship between me and Mr. Garrick. If I could have awakened the genius of Shakspeare, I would have done it; not for the sake of adding to my reputation, but that it might reflect an honour on us both.

Arthur Murphy to Mr. Garrick.

Tuesday night, Sept. 30, 1766. Sir, I was really in hopes I never should have occasion to trouble you with a letter about any theatrical affairs again while I lived; and I was farther in hopes that you, Sir, would rest contented with the injuries you had upon many occasions done me. But, Sir, I find I am still to be persecuted by you, and even those I wish well to. To come to the point

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It has been these three years (near four years) that I had written for the advantage of Miss Elliot a new play, upon the subject of The Country Wife." Mr. Yates, of your playhouse, and Mrs. Yates, Mr. O'Brien, Mr. Woodward, all saw it three years ago. I have often mentioned it to Mr. Holland, though never shown it to him. It has been lately given up to Miss Elliot entirely, and this is known to people of the first fashion in England.

Sir, though subjects lie in common, yet when a man has declared himself, I apprehend, in point of honour, Mr. Garrick should not attempt to forestall it: yet the same design is this day put in rehearsal at your playhouse. Luckily, you cannot wound me; but I leave it to yourself to judge whether it becomes Mr. Garrick to contend with a girl? When the fact is known to the first people in Englaud that I have given it to her, I leave it to your own feelings to judge whether you ought to anticipate her! If you are afraid that she will do your house any mischief, why do not you give her a trial winter on your own stage! She and her play are at your service upon any terms ! And this I say, though it depends upon herself to be engaged at Covent Garden.

I vow to God I have no interest in this piece, and if it was not for her I would burn it. It consists of three plays of Moliere moulded into one. I want neither profit nor reputation from it. But I own I am stung to the very heart at this attempt to hurt her, and you must excuse me for explaining myself on the instant I heard of your intentions!

I beg, Sir, (for I want no quarrels) that you will consider of this measure.
I do not meddle with your designs. Why will you meddle with mine?

I will say no more; for I feel myself much hurried by my feelings upon this business. The more so as it is the affair of a young girl to whom I am not ashamed to be a well

wisher.

I hope, Sir, you, that have made your fortune, will not desire to clash with a poor girl. I say once more the play is known by the first people in England, and Mr. Beard has expected it any time these four years; but the want of Miss Elliot, for whom it was written, was the obstacle. Now, wherever she engages, the play must go. I hope once more you will consider of it.

I remain, Sir, your humble servant,

ARTHUR MURPHY.

I write this from the Bedford Coffee-house, where I have not been these three years before. But as it is now twelve, I desire it may not be sent to your house till to-morrow morning.

Lord Chatham to Mr. Garrick.

Burton-Pynsent, April 3, 1772. Dear Sir,-Nothing but my hand is guilty in leaving your obliging letter so long unacknowledged. I now make the earliest use of its returning strength to express how much I feel your flattering sensibility, upon a sincere tribute to genius and universal talents.

As our own age owes more to them for improvement as well as delight than it is able to pay, I might have it upon my conscience were I not to bring my mite of praise towards discharging this favourite branch of the national debt, which, however, must, I foresee, remain to late posterity. Need I say what charms the verses from Mount Edgecumbe have for all here? or, that the sentiment which dictated them makes me justly vain? You have kindly settled upon me a lasting species of property I never dreamed of in that enchanting place: a far more able conveyancer than any in Chancery Lane; for instead of laboriously perplexing rights, you, by a few happy lines, at once both create the title and fix the possession. Accept, my dear Sir, many sincere wishes that you may hear no more of that cruel kinsman to the gout, by which you have been so lately visited, and believe me with all esteem and regard, Your most faithful and obedient humble servant,

CHATHAM.

To Mr. Garrick, in answer to his verses from Mount Edgecumbe.
Leave, Garrick, the rich landscape, proudly gay,
Docks, forts, and navies, bright'ning all the bay:
To my plain roof repair, primeval seat!

Yet here no wonders your quick eye can meet :
Save, should you deem it wonderful to find
Ambition cured, and an un-passion'd mind:

A Statesman without pow'r, and without gall,
Hating no courtiers, happier than them all;
Bow'd to no yoke, nor crouching for applause,
Vot'ry alone to freedom and the laws.

Herds, flocks, and smiling Ceres deck our plain,
And interspersed, an heart-enliv'ning train

Of sporting children frolic o'er the green;

Mean time, pure Love looks on, and consecrates the scene.
Come then, Immortal Spirit of the Stage,

Great Nature's proxy, glass of every age,

Come, taste the simple life of patriarchs old,

Who, rich in rural peace, ne'er thought of pomp, or gold.

Mr. Bickerstaff to Mr. Garrick.

Still, dear sir, so much good-nature
You have shewn to me your creature,
That 'tis now a thing of course,
And you are my first resource.
Fifty times, as I suppose,

I have troubled you in prose;
Let me, if I can, awhile

Strive at least to change my style:
Change of style is all my aim,
For my subject is the same;
And in prose and verse a craver,
I must write to beg a favour.

"Well!" cry you with peevish brow,
"What the plague's the matter now?
Teased and worried at this rate :

What's enclosed here-after date?
Promise in six months to pay
Griffin-ay, this is his way;
Every now and then to send me :
To these Irishmen commend me!

But if in again I'm drawn,

Next he'll send his brogues to pawn,

And expect me at his need:

Fifty pounds!-not I indeed.

Hark'e, George, come hither quick,

Give this paper back to Bick;

Tell him that I gladly wou'd

Do him any sort of good;
But demand upon demand,
Forces me to stop my hand;

And in short-(but don't be rough)

Say I can't, and that's enough."

Thus, dear sir, however I

Your good-nature mean to try,

'Tis not but I know in fact

How your judgment ought to act;

And whatever my success,

I am not obliged the less;
But while memory endures,

Shall remain for ever yours.

And here we close, promising ourselves, for we hate promising our readers, a renewal of the subject on the publication of the second volume.

THE EDITOR'S ROOM.

We have just recovered from the fit of nausea which the reading of Galt's Lives of the Players had brought on, and have proceeded with something like resolution, to clear off a few of the numerous books which had accumulated on our table. How many of the modern volumes we have consigned to oblivion it would be difficult to tell. It is only when a book deserves notice, or the world has been deceived as to its real value, that we bestow much space upon a review. It is only when a work is neither worth notice, nor puffed into notice, that we pass it over altogether. An exception, however, inust be made in respect to periodicals, which may be very good of their kind, yet not entitled to a place on the first of each month. The old adage "Good folks are scarce," may be paraphrased in respect to literature, "Good books are scarce," scarcely one in twenty are doomed to be placed on the shelves of any library; one of the illustrations of this fact is, that the houses which usually publish valuable standard works have been doing nothing. We select a few from the mass, and wish our space and time would enable us to do

more.

1.—Journal of a Tour in the States of New York, in the year 1830. By John Fowler. London, Whittaker and Co.

2.-Narrative of the Ashantee War, with a View of the present State of the Colony of Sierra Leone. By Major Ricketts. Simpkin and Marshall.

3.-Key to the familiar Grammar Exercises, adapted to the Compendious German Grammar. By A. Barnays. Treuttel and Würtz.

4.-Gems of Modern Sculpture. Lupton Relfe.

1. This volume is one of the few entertaining offsprings of intelligent travellers. Mr. Fowler is not a writer by the yard, spinning out unimportant facts to fill a book, but a clear-headed and straightforward narrator of what he sees and hears, and has sketched a vivid picture of American manners. The book is better worth its price than half the new publications.

2.-A book of horrors. Major Ricketts was the only surviving officer, and his narrative of the massacres and tortures to which those who surrounded him and eventually perished, were victims, makes the blood run cold. We seriously recommend it to the supporters of that wretched Colony, which has been the grave of so many brave fellows.

3.-This is a useful auxiliary to the German Grammar of M. Bernays, which we have already noticed with deserved commendation. We do not, however, profess to understand what our author means in his "advertisement," when he says this volume has been "edited with the utmost care, and rendered nearly as free from typographical errors as a work of this description should be." We are not aware that it is absolutely necessary for any book to be incorrect; therefore we cannot say what are the gradations of blundering allowable in "works of this description." But we remember we had occasion to read M. Bernays a little lecture about the enormous errata which appeared in either his Prose or Poetical Anthology, and we suppose this notification is to pacify us.

4.-The idea of engraving from some of the best specimens of modern sculpture is good, and, if well executed, must be profitable. Of four subjects in the number submitted to us three are Canova's, the other from Westmacot's Psyche.

ITALIAN OPERA.

At the very end of the season, no less than three new opera's were crammed together; Gnecco's Prova d'un Opera seria, Donizetti's Anna Boleyn, and

Bellini's Somnambula, followed each other in quick succession. The reason of this nobody can tell. During the height of the season, when the house

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