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lot exactly a prison, though a great many great men es:de there. That—umph 1–that is the palace of St. ones's, where our beloved monarch holds his court.” “Afon Dieu o dat.de grand Palais Royal sacre lieu o Stop, sair; I will take down vat you have y—St. James live in de black ugly maison of de onarque, vid von hundred and seventy leetle rogue, fine scoundrels, vich he feed vid a muffin, dey ake de grande retreat ard lose dere limb– in de ecn vat—you call—honeur to Great Britain—lord wet stupid head—put de fleet in prison—Ah! dat good—dat will do, sair.” “Well, sir, have you made your proper remarks our wonderful town 7"—Sair, I’ave very much ider at your gay metropolis.” cog ENT RFA son.
Some comedians had long promised a new piece, which virtue was personified. A lady of quality o was impatient to see it, asked one of the actors y it was not represented. “We cannot represent or a fortnight, because the young lady who was lay Virtue, laas just been brought to bed.”
M.A. it It l Age port Trox. woman of Athens, once asked a Lacedemonian , by way of satire, what portion she had given to husband. “Asy chastity,” was her noble reply.
of Western do attend me to the grave, be buried at twelve at noon, and each of
them to have half-a-guinea; and I hereby order and direct, that a good boiled ham, a dozen fowls, a sirloin of beef, with plumb-puddings, may be provided at the Crown, in Western, for the said eighteen poor" people, besides the clerk and sexton. And I allow five guineas for the same; and I request and hope they will be as merry and cheerful as possible, for I conceive it a mere farce to put on the grimace of weeping, crying, and snivelling, and the like, which can answer no good end, either to the living or dead, and which I reprobate in the highest terms. Codicil: I desire that after I am buried, there be a cold collation provided at the public-house, a sirloin of beef, potatoes, and a fillet of veal, with plenty of good ale, where I hope they will refresh themselves with decency and propriety. No friends, or relatives whatever to attend my funeral.”
AW kW. A R D QUESTION. A French general, who was at once jealous and parasitical, said to the duke d'Enghien, who had just gained the celebrated battle of Rocroi, in 1643. “What will the envious now say of your glory?” “I know not,” replied the prince; I should wish to ask you the question.”
the ST Rol LING MANAGErt.
Behcli me now at the summit of my ambition, “ the high top-gallant of my joy,” as Romeo says. No longer a chieftain of a wandering tribe, but a monarch of a legitimate throne, and entitled to call even the great potentates of Covent-garden and Drury-lane cousins. You no doubt think my happiness complete. Alas, sirs : I was one of the most uncomfortable dogs living. No ore knows, who has not tried, the miseries of a manager; but above all, of a country manager.—No one can conceive the contentions and quarrels within doors the oppressions and vexations from without. I was o with the bloods and loungers of a country town, who infested my green-room, and played the mischief among my
the gave, and that six poor women and actresses. But there was no shaking them off. It
would have been ruin to affront them; for though troublesome friends, they would have been dangerous
enemies. Then there were the village critics and village amateurs, who were continually tormenting me with advice, and getting into a passion if I would not take it; joi the village doctor and the village attorney, who isi both been to London occasionally, and knew what acting should be. I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scrapegraces as ever were collected together within the walls of a theatre. I had been obliged to combine my original troop with some of the former troop of the theatre who were favourites of the public. Here was a mixture that produced perpetual ferment. They were all the time either fighting or frolicking with each other, and I scarcely know which mood was least troublesome. If they quarrelled, every thing went wrong; and if they were friends, they were continually playing off some prank upon each other or upon me; for I had unhappily acquired among them the character of an easy, good-natured fellow—the worst character that a manager can Possess. Their wagger at times drove me almost crazy; for there is poing so vexatious as the hackneyed tricks and hoaxes and pleasantries of a veteran band of theatrical vagabonds. I relished them well enough it is true, while I was merely one of the company, but as manager I found them detestable. They were incessantly bringing some disgrace upon the theatre by their tavern frolics, and their pranks about the country town. All my lectures about the importance of keeping up the dignity of the profession and the respectability of the company were in vain. The villains could not sympathize with the delicate feelings of a man in station. They even trifled with the seriousness of stage business. I have had the whole piece interrupted, and a crowded audience of at least twenty-five pounds, kept waiting, because the actors had hid away the breeches of Rosalind; and have known Hamlet to stalk solemnly on to deliver his soliloquy, with a dishclout pinned to his skirts. Such are the §. consequences of a manager's getting a character for good nature. * was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great actors
who came down starring, as it is called, from Laos. Of all baneful influences, keep me from that of s Lodon star. A first-rate actress, going the rounset to country theatres, is as bad as a blazing conse, whea. ing about the heavens, and shaking fire and poss and discords from its tail. The moment one of these “heavenly odor peared in my horizon, I wassure to be in Ło worMy theatre was overrun by provincial dano coperwashed counterfeits of Bond-street loosen wo are always proud to be in the train of an art-sotown, and anxious to be thought on exceeding roo terms with her. It was really a reliet to me • * some random young nobleman would come it os of the bait, and awe all this small fry at a dowI have always felt myself more at ease with a coman, than with the dandy of a country town. And then the injuries I suffered in my redignity and my managerical authority, from **= of these great London actors' Sblood, str. i -t, longer master of myself on my throne. i -- ~~ tored and lectured in my own green-room, to or an absoluted nincompoop on my own stage. To is no tyrant so absolute and capricious as a 1star at a country theatre. I dreaded the so = of them, and yet if I did not engage them, I --of having the public clamorous against tre drew full houses, and appeared to be matro fortune; but they swallowed up all the Foxes their insatiable demands. They were absolute tworms to my little theatre; the more it to a poorer it grew. They were sure to ieave = ** exhausted public, empty benches, and a sov-- * of affronts to settle among the town's folk, r == quence of misunderstandings about the sis: places. But the worst thing I had to undergoin -- ** gerical career was patronage. Oh, sir; cf so * deliver me from the patronage of the great rea country town. It was my ruin. Yoo roo that this town though small, was filled ** * and parties, and great folks; being a “* * trading and manufacturing town. The roo that their greatness was of a kind not to be settled by reference to the court calendar, or college of heraldry; it was therefore the most quarrelsome kind of greatness in existence. You smile, sir, but let me tell you there are no feuds more furious than the frontier feuds which take place in these “debatable lands” of gentility. The most violent dispute that I ever knew in high life was one which occurred at a country town, on a question of precedence between the ladies of a manufacturer of pins and a manufacturer of needles. At the town where I was situated there were perpetual altercations of the kind. The head manufacturer's lady, for instance, was at daggers-drawings with the head shopkeeper's, and both were too rich and had too many friends to be treated lightly. The doctor's and lawver's ladies held their heads still higher; but they in their turn were kept in check by the wife of a country banker, who kept her own carInge; while a masculine widow of cracked character and second-hand fashion, who lived in a large house, and claimed to be in some way related to nobility, looked down upon them all. To be sure her manners were not over elegant, nor her fortune over large; to then, sir, her blood—oh, her blood carried it all hollow; there was no withstanding a woman with such blood in her veins. . After all, her claims to high connexion were questioned, and she had frequent battles for precedence a balls and assemblies with some of the sturdy dames of the neighbourhood, who stood upon their wealth and their virtue; but then she had two dashing daughters, who dressed as fine as dragoons, had as high blood as their mother, and seconded her in every thing; so they carried their point with high heads, and every o, hated, abused, and stood in awe of the Fantadlins. Suth was the state of the fashionable world in this *'' important little town. Unluckily, I was not as *ll acquainted with its politics as I should have *en. I had found myself a stranger and in great P"Plexities during my first season; I determined, therefore, to put myself under the patronage of some Powerful name, and thus to take the field with the
prejudices of the public in my favour. I cast round my thoughts for the purpose, and in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs. Fantadlin. No one seemed to me to have a more absolute sway in the world of fashion. I had always noticed that her party slammed the box door the loudest at the theatre ; that her daughters entered like a tempest with a flutter of red shawls and feathers; had most beaux attending on them ; talked and laughed during the performance, and used quizzing glasses incessantly. The first evening of my theatre's reopening, therefore, was announced in staring capitals on the play bills, as under the patronage of “the Honourable Mrs. Fantadlin.” Sir, the whole community flew to arms | Presume to patronize the theatre! insufferable ! and then for me to dare to term her “The Honourable !” What claim has she to the title, forsooth The fashionable world had long groaned under the tyranny of the Fantadlins, and were glad to make a common cause against this new instance of assumption. All minor feuds were forgotten. The doctor's lady and the lawyer's lady met together, and the manufacturer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady kissed each other; and all, headed by the banker's lady, voted the theatre a bore, and determined to encourage nothing but the Indian Jugglers and Mr. Walker's Eidouranion. Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over the patronage of the Fantadlin family. My house was deserted ; my actors grew discontented because they were ill paid ; my door became a hammering place for every bailiff in the county; and my wife became more and more shrewish and tormenting the more I wanted comfort. I tried for a time the usual consolation of a harassed and henpecked man : I took to the bottle, and tried to tipple away my cares, but in vain. I don't mean to decry the bottle; it is no doubt an excellent remedy in many cases, but it did not answer in mine. It cracked my voice, coppered my nose, but neither improved my wife nor my affairs. My establishment became a scene of confusion and peculation. I was considered a ruined man, and of course fair game for every one to pluck at, as every one plunders a sink.
ing ship. Day after day some of the troop deserted, and like deserting soldiers carried off their arms and accoutrements with them. In this manner ny wardrobe took legs and walked away, my finery strolled all over the country, my swords and daggers glittered in every barn, until, at last, my tailor made “one fell swoop,” and carried of three dress coats, half-adozen doublets, and nineteen pair of flesh-coloured pantaloons. This was the “be all and the end all” of my fortune. I no longer hesitated what to do. Egad, thought I, since stealing is the order of the day, I'll steal too; so I secretly gathered together the jewels of my wardrobe, packed up a hero's dress in a handkerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy sword, and quietly stole off at dead of night, “the bell then beating one,” leaving my queen and kingdom to the mercy of my rebellious subjects, and my merciless foes the bumbailiffs. Such, was the “end of all my greatness.”
The Low Esick La DY AND in Ert a bigai i. From an unfinished Drama.
Euphemia. Oh, 'tis a weary night! alas, will sieep Ne'er darken my poor day-lights I have watched The stars all rise and disappear again; Capricorn, Orion, Venus, and the Bear: I saw them each and all. And they are gone, Yet not a wink for me. The blessed moon Has journeyed through the sky: I saw her rise Above the distant hills, and gloriously Decline beneath the waters. My poor head achs Beyond endurance. I'll call on Beatrice, And bid her bring me the all-potent draught Left by Fernando the apothecary, At his last visit. Beatrice she sleeps As sound as a top. What, oh, Beatrice Thou art indeed the laziest waiting maid That ever cursed a princess. Beatrice?
Beatrice. Coming, your highness, give me time to
My night-gown o'er my shoulders, and to put
ne Walk barefoot o'er the floors? Lord, I should catch My death of cold. Euphem. And must thy mistress, then, I say, must she Endure the tortures of the damned, whilst ther Art groping for thy slippers? selfish wretch Learn, thou shalt come stark-naked at my bidding, Or else pack up thy duds and hop the twig. Beat. Oh, my lady, forgive me that I was so slow In yielding due obedience. Pray, believe tee. It ne'er shall happen again. On, it would break My very heart to leave so beautiful And kind a mistress. Oh, forgive me ! (orror.) Euphem. Well, well; I fear I was too hasty: But want of sleep, and the fever of my b, cod, Have soured my natural temper. Bring me the Foil Of physic left by that skilful leech Fernando, With Laudanum on the label. It stands Upon the dressing-table, close by the roese And the Olympian dew. No words. LaPorstBeat. I fly [A→ Euphem. (sola.) Alas, Don Carlos, mine o-a Dear wedded husband' wedded yes; wedded In th' eye of heaven, though not in that of maa, Which sees the forms of things, but least Araws That which is in the heart. Oh, can it be. That some dull words, muttered by a parson In a long drawling tone, can make a wife. And not the—
Beat. Laudanum on the label; right: Here, my lady, is the physie you require. Euphem. Then pour me out one hundred do and fifty, With water in the glass, that I may quaff Oblivion to my misery. Beat. 'Tis done. Euphem. (drinks.) My head turns rousl: it sointo my brain.
An elderly lady went to pay a visit to an old friend of the other sex, who was on the point of death. The daughter of the gentleman refused to allow her to enter his chamber, observing to her that her father no longer saw women. “Ah, madam, remarked the lady, at my age there is no longer any se.".” tii E. coal Miss.art Y. Eat b.A. it it assed. A duchess was accused of witchcraft. A commissary was appointed to examine her. The flightful ugliness of the magistrate and his assumed gravity, might have alarmed any one else than the lady in question. However she quietly suffered him to fulfil his commission. She acknowledged that she had a great desire to converse with the devil, and that she had even seen his infernal majesty. “How is he formed 2" asked the commissary. “In good faith, sir, if you wish me to describe him to the very nature, 1 most tell you that he resembles you as completely as two drops of watcr.” Then addressing the clerk, she added, “Write down my answer.” The commissary, who saw that this !. would cause o o at his expense, thought it prudent to suppress the procès verbal, -
ch An ActreR of AN UN dent Akert.
He is the master of the ceremonies at burials and mourning assemblies, grand marshal at funeral processions, the only true yeoman of the body, over which he exercises a dictatorial authority from the moment that the breath has taken leave to that of its final commitment to the earth. His ministry begins where the physician's, the lawyer's, and the divine's, end. Or if some part of the functions of the latter run parallel with his, it is only in ordine ad spiritualia. His temporalities remain unquestioned. He is arbitrator of all questions of honour which con: cern the defunct ; and upon slight inspection will pronounce how long he may remain in this upper world with credit to himself, and when it will be prudent for his reputation that he should retire. His determination in these points is peremptory and without appeal. Yet with a modesty peculiar to his profession, he meddles not out of his own sphere. With the good or bad actions of the deceased in his lifetime he has nothing to do. He leaves the friends of the dead man to form their own conjectures as to the place to which the departed spirit is gone. His care is only about the exuviae. He concerns not himself even about the body, as it is a structure of parts internal, and a wonderful microcosm. He leaves such curious speculations to the anatomy professor. Or, if any thing, he is averse to such wanton inquiries, as delighting rather that the parts which he has care of should be returned to their kindred dust in as handsome and unmutilated a condition as possible ; that the grave should have its full and unimpaired tribute, a complete and just carcass. Nor is he only careful to provide for the body's entireness, but for its accommodation and ornament. He orders the fashion of its clothes, and designs the symmetry of its dwelling. Its vanity has an innocent survival in him. He is bed-maker to the dea;. The pillows which he lays never rumple. The day of interment is the theatre in J. he displays the mysteries of his art. It is hard to describe what he is, or rather, to tell what he is not, on that day: for, being neither kinsman, servant, nor friend, he is all in turns;