off with a view of rendering assistance while there was yet a chance. But, with the exception of one person who had been brought on shore, all the crew of that vessel had perished. Ellen's curiosity now prompted her to inquire the name of the ship that had been so totally destroyed. The answer was, it was the "ELLEN;" all the crew were drowned along with the owner; the captain was the only person saved, he was at the But Ellen did not hear the rest: her wild delirious sensations overpowered her, and she had fainted away. Her presentiment was surely fulfilled-" She was a widow!"

As soon as they had recovered her, she sent for the captain of her husband's ship, who was at the neighbouring inn, and who, on learning that she was the owner's wife, immediately attended her summons. A few minutes and his knock was heard at the door: a strange foreboding tremor pervaded her frame as he ascended the stairs. The door opened, Ellen raised her eyes and started to see before her the figure of WILLIAM MOYSTYN!

William Moystyn and Ellen had been married some years, meeting with occasional reverses, but industriously working their way through the world. William was religiously inclined, and a man of much faith in the mercy of his Redeemer: what he suffered, he endured patiently; when he was blessed, he returned his blessing unto God. He lived happily, though sometimes hardly, with his wife; and he rejoiced in the affections of a parent for his children. He was of that very numerous English class of "poor but honest." Ellen's property was all gone,gone with her former worthless husband (for it turned out that he was worthless) and his ship,-and Moystyn had nothing but what he earned. One day at the end of a hard quarter he was arrested, he could not tell for what; he did not even know by whom. On the back of the writ upon which he was taken was the name of Miller, but he knew nobody of that name. The attorney who had issued the writ was not to be found, and, as far as that action went, Moystyn to the day of his death never discovered who was the plaintiff. It took him, however, in the first instance, to Horsemonger-lane gaol, and as soon as he could get money enough he moved upon it to the King's Bench prison through the form of a habeas. When there, one or two fresh suits were commenced against him by real creditors; detainers were sent down, and he became sadly embarrassed. Long time he tried to battle against misfortune; but, after his furniture was sold, and his wife and family turned into the streets, he almost despaired in his penniless condition, and gave himself up for lost. Ellen-fate-persecuted as she was— joined him with her children in his gaol, and there they subsisted upon a sum of five shillings per week, allowed Moystyn from some seaman's society, three and sixpence of county-money, and whatever little pittance his wife and his eldest daughter could earn by their needle. The family, however, suffered a great deal from illness: the prison at one time became full, and they had to pay five shillings per week to a chum ; and at last their indigence and destitution became excessive and miserable. Moystyn could never raise money enough to go through the Insolvent Court, and his imprisonment dragged on year after year, wasting his constitution and consuming his frame, so that Ellen, who nursed him with affection to the last, might truly be said to have joined him in a prison like an

angel of kind comfort to tend him on his journey to the grave. How he died it was my fate sorrowfully to witness; but the denouement to Ellen's history did not transpire till the next day.

The day after my last visit to him, Moystyn was carried out in a coffin. Poor fellow death had released him from his creditors. An inquest

was held upon his body, as is customary when men die in prison. The jury in such cases invariably consists of prisoners, some of them taken from inside the walls, others chosen from the rules. On the melancholy occasion in question I was called in to give evidence, and to witness, as it turned out, one of the strangest and most terror-striking events that ever occurred, perhaps, within the charmed pale of coincidence. In the course of the inquiry, I detailed to the jury the leading features of the story I have just narrated, and it commanded the most earnest attention from all present. When I had concluded it, with the sad portrayal of the scene in the deceased's room where I administered the sacrament to him the evening before, there was a momentary silence,—a stillness the effect of mingled sympathy, excitement, and surprise. It was broken by the fall of one of the jury from his chair in a fit of paralysis. He was an old man, and had attended from the rules.

"He had better be taken home," said the coroner. "Who knows where he lives ?"

"I know who he is," said one of the turnkeys; "but I must look in the books to see where he lives." He turned into the lobby and brought the book back.

"John Miller, alias Wentworth Stokes, Melina-place."

"Wentworth Stokes!" cried the whole room in astonishment. "Wentworth Stokes!" shrieked Ellen, (who had been dismissed after her evidence, but was then standing in the lobby,)" where, where ?— let me see." And, as they pointed to the door, she rushed in, and identified the body of her first husband!

"Poor William! then," exclaimed she, our dreams are both fulfilled. He had, indeed, come home from over the seas!" But how he had come or whence or in what manner he had escaped from the wreck of his vessel, still remains untold, for Wentworth Stokes never spoke again.

It appeared that he had been for some years a prisoner in the rules under his right name of John Miller, living upon a small income which he had preferred remaining in prison to giving up; and this (when the facts were stated) his creditors, instead of dividing amongst themselves, generously consented to assign to the hapless Ellen and orphan family. It will keep them from a recurrence of the poverty they have so long patiently endured.

RECORDS OF A STAGE VETERAN.-NO. VI.

A Coalition. When Cooke and Kemble met to arrange what characters they should perform together, George Frederic was determined to be as courtierlike as his more polished rival. Iago and Othello, Iachimo and Posthumus, were easily agreed upon, being equal parts; the conversation then proceeded :

Kemble.-I will with pleasure play Richmond to your Richard, Mr. Cooke; will you in return play Pizarro to my Rolla?

Cooke. With great pleasure, I assure you, Mr. Kemble.

Kemble.-If I do Bassanio to your Shylock, you will do Macduff to my Macbeth?

Cooke.-Most undoubtedly, my dear Sir.

Kemble.-I will act Wellborn to your Overreach, if you will perform Horatio to my Hamlet?

Cooke.-What! Horatio! I'll see Covent Garden in h―'s flames first! George Frederic Cooke play Horatio to your Hamlet--yours! John perceived that the

"Storm was up, and all was on the hazard," and wisely waived the point.

Cooke having failed in London when two-and-twenty, returned to the provinces, and was not again summoned to the great dramatic arena until after a probation of twenty-three years. This might have soured a greater philosopher than poor George Frederic.

Vandenhoff.-This gentleman's theatrical history has been a singular one; I believe he, like John Kemble, was originally intended for the Catholic church. I remember seeing him (Vandenhoff), for the first time, in the company of Lee, the Taunton manager, at that town in 1808. He was then, I suppose, just of age; acted Achmet and Norval, and, I think, Iago and Othello. He then impressed me with the notion of his possessing a mature judgment, but lacking energy. He afterwards went to Bath, where he was not very successful, and from thence to Liverpool, where, in a short time, he became the idol of all classes; came to London in 1820, and was but coldly received; returned to Lancashire, and regained his provincial celebrity, and ultimately came again to town as a leading tragedian. It is fatal to an actor's greatness that he should have been a favourite for any number of years in any one province. All our metropolitan actors who attained great fame were rather birds of passage in their early days take for instances, Garrick, Kemble, Cooke, Kean, Henderson, Mathews, Munden, Dowton, &c. The idols of particular provincial towns have attained a respectable station in London, seldom more: for instance, Miss Jarman, Miss Huddart, Mr. Balls, Mr. Egerton, &c. There are some exceptions to this rule, but they are rare.

The Dublin Audience.-The visitors of the galleries in the Dublin, and indeed all the Irish theatres, differ in conduct from the natives of any other country. They single out individuals whom they know in pit or boxes, and keep up a fire of interrogatories by no means pleasant and not always decorous. On one occasion a Mr. C- a wine-merchant, about whom some delicate affair was then murmured, was in the pit: a lad in the gallery began to inquire of Mr. C, "How's Mrs. So-and-so, Mr. C? Why wouldn't you bring her along wid you, Mr. C-?" &c. &c. Mr. C- bore this for some time with great good humour, but at last rose, and said, "As the gentleman wishes to have a chat with me, will Sept.-VOL. XLV. NO. CLXXVII.

D

some of ye just throw him over to the pit, and then we shall be able to converse at our ease?"

On another occasion when there was a cry of "Sit down in front," a gentleman at the back of the gallery immediately replied, " Wid all my heart, only let me get there, I'll sit down fast enough."

When Tom Cooke was leader of the band, they used to call to him whenever any body in the course of the scene had to make love to Mrs. Cooke (who played the chambermaids); and a song of "When I'm a widow" was commonly honoured with a double encore, that the gods might reiterate again and again, “ D'ye hear to that, Tom Cooke?"

I am speaking of Dublin Theatre twenty years since, when they were, if they took to an actor, the most liberal auditors in the world; but woe betide the unhappy wight to whom they did not take.

Holman and Miles Peter Andrews.-Holman having been annoyed by some anonymous criticism, wrote on a pane of glass at the Booth Hall Inn, Gloucester

My life is like the glass I mark, at best,
Shining but brittle-easily impress'd;
The missile of a wanton, unseen foe

Can smash a glass or actor at a blow.-J. G. H.

Miles Andrews, who was travelling with him, wrote under it before they left

Your life like to this glass! Not so, my lad:

This has reflection, which you never had.-M. P. A.

Building Theatres.-In 1585 the Rose (on Bankside, near the foot of London Bridge) was built at the expense of 1037. 28. 7d. In 1812 Drury Lane Theatre was built at an expense of 100,000l., and the interior has since been altered at an additional cost of 15,000l.

Suett's Landlady.-Suett had at one time a landlady who exhibited an inordinate love for the vulgar fluid yclept gin, a beverage which Suett himself by no means held in abhorrence. She would order her servant to get the supplies after the following fashion :-" Betty, go and get a quartern loaf and half a quartern of gin." Off started Betty: she was speedily recalled. Betty, make it half a quartern loaf and a quartern of gin:" but Betty had never got fairly across the threshold on the mission ere the voice was again heard-"Betty, on second thoughts, you may as well make it all gin."

Kemble and Liston.-When Liston was in the Newcastle company, he had a strong bias in favour of tragedy, and having been in the scholastic profession, it suited his notions of the dignity of the drama. In some case of emergency he was sent on for David in the "Rivals." C. Kemble, who was in Newcastle for practice and improvement, saw him play this one part, and advised Liston to stick to the country boys, and recommended him to the London managers, but the advice was not listened to until five years afterwards. Liston, during his tragedizing, applied to Stephen Kemble, the manager, for an increase of salary. "Pooh! pooh!" said Stephen," such actors as you are to be found in every hedge." The insult struck deep, but Liston's mode of revenging it was peculiar. Some days afterwards, as the manager was driving from Newcastle to Sunderland, to his horror, he saw his perpetrator of kings and courtiers stuck up to his middle in a quickset hedge. "Good heavens, Mr. Liston!" he exclaimed: "what is the matter? what are you doing there?" Looking for some of the actors you told me of the other day," replied the comedian.

When Liston came to the Haymarket, he lived in a neighbourhood where the mixture administered to him by the name of milk was of a very

dubious quality. He complained to his landlady, but this brought no redress, the proportions still remaining three parts milk to seventeen of water: at last, he came to the door himself, and, holding forth two jugs, said, “Give it me separate, I'll mix for myself:" the hint was taken.

Those who are unacquainted with the routine of provincial theatres will naturally look upon a man who plays Macbeth, Harlequin, Crack, and Captain Macheath, as a prodigy of versatility; but the initiated know that where there is a strong dramatic bias in any individual, he generally is "at all in the ring" during his noviciate. Elliston played every line of the drama in Swansea. Mrs. Sloman (now of Drury) was a few years ago known only as a singing chambermaid in the Canterbury theatre; and, four years since, I saw a performer in Glasgow, named *****, who played Richard, Rover, Paul Pry, Harlequin, Clown, danced clog-hornpipes, represented the "Grecian Statues" à la Ducrow, sang serious and comic songs, was stage-manager, enacted every line of the drama, and officiated as principal dancing and ballet master for a weekly salary of 40s. Within twenty-five years T. P. Cooke danced in the figure at the Royalty theatre at a weekly stipend of 158. Pearman was at Sadler's Wells, delivering messages, &c. &c. at a similar salary.

Lewis, the great light Comedian.-Lewis is rapidly whirling away from the recollection of the present generation: he blended the gracefulness of Barry with the energy of Garrick, and superadded to these acquirements his own unceasing activity, and amazing rapidity both of utterance and motion. In his early days he had been a tragedian, and retained enough of his serious powers to deliver sentiment gracefully: but his great qualification was of Nature's giving-his animal spirits. No greyhound ever bounded-no kitten ever gambolled-no jay ever chattered (sing neither the bird nor man in question can or could) with more apparent recklessness of mirth than Lewis acted. All was sunshine with him; he jumped over the stage properties as if his leapfrog-days had just commenced,-danced the hay with chairs, tables, and settees, and a shade never was upon his face, except that of the descending green curtain at the end of the comedy. A glare of light is the only thing to compare with his acting: it was too strong, too incessant, and now would appear much more so. But the tone of society forty years since excused and encouraged eccentricities, and Lewis was fooled to the top of his bent."

Murphy (the Dramatist) and Lewis.-Murphy in his early life acted Othello, Archer, Jaffier, and other parts at Covent-garden, where he was engaged for a season or two; but as his success was not great, he left the stage for the bar, and, in after life, became a commissioner of bankrupts. He made some remarks on Lewis's acting that displeased the latter, who said, "Tell Mr. Murphy if justice instead of law had been consulted, he would not have gone to the bar, but have been sent to it." This, as it impugned Murphy's character, called for explanation. "Murdering a Moor was the crime imputed to him by Lewis. The mutual friend who gossiped between the parties, unacquainted with Murphy's early life, was obtuse enough to look upon this as a serious accusation, and repeated it to Murphy, who merely said, "It is true in my youth I committed that crime, and have repented it ever since; but it is cruelly ungrateful of him to name it after my endeavour to get him made a baronet" (alluding to his having persuaded the manager to let Lewis, then a young actor, play Sir Charles Rackett in his "Three Weeks after Marriage").

[The actors who commenced their career about Garrick's retirement, amongst whom were Quick, Lewis, Palmer, Wewitzer, Edwin, and Bannister, were all subsequently accused of having degenerated from the purity of the