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PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 



BY 



O'KEEFFE, KELLY, AND TAYLOR. 







BRIC'A'BRAG SERIES. 



I. 

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES by Chorley, Planche, and Youno, 

11. 

ANECDOTE BIOGRAPHIES OF THACKERAY AND DICKENS. 

III. 

PROSPER MERIMEE'S LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA; with 
Recollections by Lamartine and G^rge Sand. 

rv. 

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES by Barham, Harness, and.Hod- 

DER. 

V. 

THE GREVILLE MEMOIRS. 

VI. 

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES by Moore and Jerdan. 

VII. 

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES by Cornelia Knight and Thomas 
Raikes. 

VIII. 

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY Michael Kelly, John O'Kebffe, 
and John Taylor. 

Each I voL sq. i2mo. Per voL |i.SO. 
Sentf fcst'paid^ on receipt of price by the Publishers, 




WW 






JBcicsasSBtoc Serit0 



! PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 



O'KEEFFE, KELLY, AND TAYLOR 



RICHARD HENRY STODDARD 




■ ■ ' NEW YORK 
tRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY ' 

1S75 

W\ 



Entered, accordiAg to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 

SCRIBNBR, ArMSTRONGi AND COMPANY, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



*>1787G 



*• •• • *»• 






STBRBOTYPBD AND PRINTBD BY 
H. a HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 



CONTENTS. 



1 



JOHN O'KEEFFE • mq" 

GeoKGE Faulkner 3 

A Prophetic EprrAFH 4 

Sut Tony Butlkk ,5 

Young Vestkfs ........ 5 

Cannot afford bettbk acting 5 

Ingenious Stack Properties 6 

" I HAVE A Benefit to make " 7 

No Snakes in Irelahd 7 

Chukchill and Hogagth 8 

AuLD Ireland ,,,..... 9 

Broadsword Players id 

Cheating THE Hangman 12 

In danger of Sacrifice 13 

Henry Mossop 14 

" High Life below Stairs" 16 

"Bon Ton" ......... 17 

Charles Macklin 17 

Juliet Badgered 33 

" The CHn,D " 34 

" The Grand Bugle " 25 

"Whalebone" 27 

" The Vounq Beau " 28 

Macdonnel, the Piper ■ JP 

Cellar-books 31 

DUKJING IN IrF.I.AND . 33 

■Blessed ARE THE Pface. makers" .... 34 

Quarrelsome Irishmen 32 

Stuart, the Actob 36 

Anecdote of Congreve 39 



Vi CONTENTS. 

" I 'll bury you for nothing " 40 

Sticks TO HIS Text' 40 

Justice DoRus . • . 41 

Old Siward 42 

Samuel Foote 42 

Amateur Actors 46 

John Henderson 50 

Thomas Sheridan 52 

Moody the Actor 53 

"The Positive Man" 54 

Giordani, the Dancer . . ^ . . . . 56 

Richard Daly 56 

Fish Story 58 

O'Keeffe's Blindness 58 

Sir Joshua Reynolds 61 

An Amateur DraAcatist 62 

'* He has a Tought " 63 

Stage Habits 64 

" My servant is behind '* . . ... . . 64 

"Toby Thatch" 65 

William Lewis 70 

MICHAEL KELLY, 

Fischer, the Oboe Player 75 

Roman Critics . 76 

A Table for Six . .78 

Mozart 79 

Abb^ da Ponte 82 

Casti and Paesiello 83 

Chevalier Gluck 86 

** NozzE Di Figaro " ' 89 

Royal Taste 91 

Auctioneer and Dramatist . . . . . 91 

Father O'Leary 92 

Tate Wilkinson 94 

Irish Bulls 96 

Mistaken in his Man 97 

William Parsons 99 

John Palmer 100 

" Cymon " 103 



CONTENTS. vii 

Wrighten, the Prompter 105 

The School of Garrick 106 

Old Moody . . . 107 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan 109 

Kemble's Coolness 135 

Thomas King 137 

Kemble's Study 138 

Impish Spirits . . . . . . . . -139 

Not in the Bills 139 

A Short Part 141 

Like Garrick 141 

Robert Baddely 142 

Kelly's English 143 

Duke of Queensberry 144 

Duke D'Aguillon 145 

Kemble as a Preacher 148 

Mr. Jeff 149 

The first Mrs. Sheridan 150 

Richard Cumberland 151 

Matthew Gregory Lewis 156 

" Blue Beard " 159 

William Spencer 161 

" No Money in de Box " . . . . . . 161 

Kelly's Income 163 

Hard on Dignum 165 

The Intelligent Claquers 166 

Tobin's " Honey-moon " 167 

George Frederick Cooke 168 

Leonard MacNally 170 

Captain O'Reilly 172 

Edmund Kean 174 

Miss O'Neill 177 

Condescension of George VI 178 

JOHN TA YLOR. 

Derrick, the Poet 185 

William Oldys 189 

Samuel Jackson Pratt 193 

Angelica Kauffman 197 

Reddish the Actor 198 



Viii CONTENTS. 

Dr. Monsey 198 

William Warburton 206 

Elizabeth Montague 209 

Hugh Kelly 210 

Oliver Goldsmith 212 

John Wilkes 214 

John Kemble 218 

Richard Tickell 228 

Rev. William Peters 230 

John Horne Tooke 232 

Edward Jerningham 233 

D. Shebbeare 235 

Mr. Tetherington 236 

Following the Alphabet 237 

AuTHUR Murphy 240 

James Thomson 237 

Dorothea Jordan . 243 

Catharine Macaulay ..;.... 244 

Dr. Graham 245 

Jack Spencer 246 

James BoswELL 247 

Stephen Kemble 249 

Dr. Samuel Parr 253 

Richard Porson 254 

Samuel Ireland 256 

Charles Jervas 259 

COLLEY ClBBER 260 

Joseph Haydn . . 261 

John Opie, R. A 262 

Henry Fuseli 265 

Anecdote of Peg Woffington 266 

Capability Brown 267 

Anecdote of Handel 268 

Chevalier D'Eon 269 

David Garrick 270 

Thomas Davies 275 

Mrs. Elizabeth Inchbald 277 

Frances Abington 279 

Lewis, THE Actor 285 

Dagger Marr 286 



CONTENTS. ix 

Moody 287 

Charles Mac KLIN 289 

Thomas King 296 

" Jeremy Diddler." 298 

George Steevens 303 

Thomas Hull .• 303 

JohnO'Keeffe 305 

Michael Kelly 306 

George Frederick Cooke 308 

Edmund Kean 310 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan 313 

Dr. Dodd . 322 

Lord Byron 324 





to 

m 



IF all who figure in public during tlieir lives, and 
of whom biographies are written after their 
deaths, it would be difficult to name a man or 
of any profession towards whom the world feels 
kindly than towards the heroes and heroines of the 
There is a glamour about them which is not al- 
'*ays justified by their achievements, and which is seldom 
justified by their personality. It is not so much because 
they were great that we remember Ihem, as because they 
interested us. We cannot be said, indeed, to remember 
them at all ; it is the parts which they played that we re- 
member, the tragic or comic masks which they wore, and 
to which they imparted for the time being a more potent 
individuality than their own. It is not the elder Booth, 
ly, who rises so vividly before the mind's eye ; it is the 
rook-backed tyrant into whose devilish nature he entered 
'so vigorously. It is Richard that we see, or Sir Giles 
Overreach, or Pescara, not Junius Brutus Booth, scholar, 
madman, and man of genius. 

The biographies and autobiographies of actors and act- 
resses ought to be, one would think, the most entertain- 
ing reading in the world ; but, unfortunately, they are not 
I have read scores of them in my time, partly by way of 
i<zccreation, and lately in the way of business, and truth 



compels me to say that I found but little pleasure or prol 
in them. They are dull and tedious. They contain good', 
things, however, even the poorest of them, and it is those 
which charm the lovers of theatrical ana. The 
whole volumes lives in a few anecdotes which refuse to 
be forgotten. I have been struck by this fact especially 
since I began the preparation of this series of volumes, in 
which it was my intention from the beginning to include 
as many good theatrical anecdotes as were contained in 
the works laid under contribution, and the variety at 
which I aimed would allow. That the introduction of 
this element has been successful, 1 gather from the gen- 
eral tenor of the criticisms it has called forth. At any rate, 
it is this belief which has led to the compilation of thel 
present volume, which will be found, unless I 
taken, as entertaining as any in the series. It contains 
the anecdotal substance of three notable books : " Recol- 
lections of the Life of John O'Keeffe, Written by Him- 
self" (2 vols. London, i8z6). " Reminisc 
chael Kelly, of the King's Theatre, and Theatre Royal 
Drury Lane, including a period of nearly half a century, 
with original anecdotes of many distinguished pei 
political, and musical" (z vols. London, 1825); and 
"Records of My Life, by the late John Taylor, Esq., 
author of 'Monsieur Tonson,*" (a vols. London, 1832). 
A few particulars regarding the writers of these autobi- 
ographies, who share the forgetfulness which has over- 
taken so many of their dramatic contemporaries, will 
probably interest the reader. 

John O'Keeffe was born in Dublin on the Z4th of June, 
1747. He was designed by his parents and his own in- 
clination for a painter, and was not above six years of age 
when he was placed at Mr. West's, of the Royal Acad- 



I 
I 



I 



PREFACE. XUl 

tscstf, a Walerford artist, who had studied in Paris under 
Bouchier. The child's drawing gave him a taste for the 
Antique, and set him reading, and his fancy soon strayed 
from Latin, Greek, and French authors to Shakespeare 
and Ben Jonson, and the comic dramatist who succeeded 
them. The first edition of Farquar's comedies, with the 
prints affixed to each of them, led him to studying and 
acting private plays among his school-fellows, and this 
transition from drawing to poetizing was ultimately very 
fortunate for him. In the summer of 176a he was con- 
signed to an aunt in London, and a few weeks after his 
arrival, as he was standing in the court of St. James's 
palace, his loyal little heart enjoyed the sight of Royalty. 
" The Queen came to an open window on the left hand," 
he writes, "near the passage leading to the Park, with the 
infant Prince of Wales in her arms, to display him to the 
admiring people ; the babe, frightened at their loud 
shouts, and loyal huzzas, cried, and the Queen delivered 
him to a lady who stood by. I can acquit myself of any 
share of voice in terrifying the infant ; for at that time, 
and for the first year or so in London, I was afraid of 
opening my lips, lest I should be laughed at for my Dub- 
lin brogue. This was the first sight I (his poet) had of 
my illustrious and royal patron." 

During his two years' residence in London, O'Keeffe 
practiced the art he was studying, and frequented the 
play-houses with the ardor of a young man. He was de- 
lighted with the acting of Gaxrick, especially in Lear. 
" His saying, in the bitterness of his anger, ' I will do 
Buch things — what they are, 1 know not,' and his sudden 
recollection of his own want of power, were so pitiable as 
to touch the heart of every spectator. The simplicity of 
his saying, ' Be these tears wet f — yes, faith,' putting his 



finger to the cheek of Cordelia, and then looking at hia 
finger, was exquisite." 

He returned to Dublin in 1764, and shortly after, at 
the age of eighteen, began his career as a dramatic writer. 
His first attempt was a comedy in five acts, entitled " The 
Generous Lovers." Wishing naturally to have it per- 
formed in London, he sent a copy to his brother who was 
then residing there, and who, instead of offering it to a. 
manager, went to the tiptop booksellers, and asked them 
to buy it, and print it, and lay down a great sum of 
money for it. Of course they declined. 0'K.eeffe's 
second venture, " The Gallant," was brought out by Mos- 
sop, the tragedian, at the Smock Alley Theatre, of which 
he was manager. Whether it was successful or not 
O'Keeffe does not tell us, but as he soon abandoned 
painting, and gave himself up to dramatic writing, its 
success may be presumed. His recollections of this pe- 
riod of his life are of no general interest, consisting of 
rambling accounts of places which he visited, and persons 
whom he knew or met. In 1774 he married Mary Heap- 
hey, the elder daughter of Tottenham Heaphey, and three 
years later removed with his young family to London, 
He had written three plays in addition to those already 
mentioned, — "The India Ship," a two-act afterpiece; 
" Colin's Welcome," a one-act musical pastoral ; and 
" The Comical Duet," which was acted with great success 
in Cork and Dublin. He now brushed up a play which 
he had written four years before, as a sort of sequel to 
Goldsmith's " She stoops to conquer," This play, which 
he christened, "Tony Lumpkin in Town," he sent to 
George Colman, Patentee of Theatre Royal Haymarket, 
with a letter, requesting that if he should disapprove of 
it, he would have it left at the bar of the Grecian Coffee 



I 



PREFACE. 



XV 






House, directed to " A. B.," and if he liked it well enough 
to promise he would bring it out, that he would send an 
answer to that effect to the same place ; and tliat tlie au- 
thor, on his mentioning a time, would wait upon him. 
The next day he called at the Coffee House, where he 
found a jocular, but polite and friendly letter from Mr. 
Colman, directed to " A. B.," approving of the piece, 
promising to bring it out the following summer, and ex- 
pressing a wish to see the author at Soho Square, the 
next day at eleven o'clock. O'Keeffe congratulated him- 
self upon receiving it, as his friend Lewis, the actor, to 
whom he had shown the play, had told him it was not 
worth two-f>ence, and was punctual to the appointment. 
Mr. Colman laughed heartily at the whim of the piece, 
accepted it, and O'Keeffe disclosed his name. It was 
produced while he was at Portsmouth, and was only mod- 
rately successful, owing to the heat of the weather ; the 
account of the sixth, or author's night, yielding, after the 
eiqienses had been deducted, the pittance of ;£"26. 

In the spring of 1779 O'Keeffe returned to Dublin, 

where he finished his comic opera of " The Son-in-Law " 

in three weeks, and dispatched it to Mr, Colman, It 

was produced the same year, and its success silenced the 

croakings of his timid friends. He certainly stood in 

great need of encouragement, for his sight, which had 

begun to fail in his twenty -seventh year, was now very 

much impaired. The last piece which he wrote with his 

own hand, the opera of " The Agreeable Surprise," was 

produced in 1781. Macklinwas in the pit the first night, 

I and at the dropping of the curtain was heard to say that 

' The Agreeable Surprise ' is the best farce in the Eng- 

I llsh language, except ' The Son-in-Law.' " O'Keeffe's 

['brother was also there, and such was his anxiety that he 



xvi PREFACE. 

asked a person who sat next lo him, " Do you think theyj 
will ever let this be done again ? " 

The life of O'Keeffe, as related by liimself, is tittle else,, 
than a list of his dramatic productions, and the 
stances under which they were written. It was i 
ful, and as prosperous in the main as the life of 
man could be expected to be. He liad his triumphs and.l 
his failures, but the former far outnumbered the latter asJ 
he became a master of the profession he had adopted, 
and rose in popular estimation. No dramatist of the^ 
time was a greater favorite with the public, or more ia 
demand with the London managers. The King fr&- 
quently commanded his plays, and expressed his royal 
approbation of their merits. On the demise of White- 
head in 1785, he waited upon the Lord Chamberlain, and 
asked him to make him poet-Iaureat. His lordship in- 
formed him that he had not the slightest objection, but 
that he had previously given hia promise to another. 
This was the ingenious Dr. Warton, so O'Keeffe lost his 
claim to the Daphne wreath. For thirty-tliree years he 
supported himself and his children, hired amanuenses 
servants, etc., by his pen ; then he conceived the idea (rf' 
making an effort to realize something for the future. He' 
had previously collected his dramatic works for the 
pose of publishing them by subscription. They filled 
four volumes, but as he printed only five hundred copies 
at a guinea and a half the set, he made nothing by the 
venture. He had the satisfaction, however, of knowing 
that most of those five hundred copies were in the libra- 
ries of King, Lords and Commons, and the further satis- 
faction of a gift of fifty guineas from the Prince of Wales. 

The most life-like glimpses of himself that O'Keeffe 
gives is at this time, *', e. 1798: "I soon after went to 



I 



PREFACE. 



KVll 



I 



I 



ireside at Acton, where I had a good garden to my house, 

number of walks, and at one corner an arbor, with a 
large marble table in it, where John, my amanuensis, sat 

ith papers and ' pen and ink-horn ' before him, whilst I, 
walking among my flowers, and shrubs, and fruit-trees 
(Thalia was aided and cheered by Flora and Pomona), 
dictated to him in a loud voice, never considering who 
might hear me from the adjacent liouses, roads, and gar- 
dens, and the acres of pea-fields that stretched behind 
the house over to Turnham Green." 

In tlie summer of 1800 Mr. Harris, the manager of 
Covent Garden Theatre, gave O'Keeffe a benefit, witli 
the profits of which he purchased a small annuity for 
his life, and three years later Mr. Harris gave him an 
annuity of twenty pounds for all the dramatic works then 
in his desk, none of which, with one exception, had ever 
been performed, and that one only one night. 

The list of O'Keeffe's productions, which extended 
from 1766, when he wrote "The Generous Lovers," to 
1836, when he finished his "Recollections," is very large, 
containing no less than sixty-eight plays in prose and 
verse, comedies, after-pieces, operas, interludes, panto- 
mimes, burlettas, etc. Few have kept possession of the 
stage, the latest and best known being the five-act com- 
edy of "Wild Oats," which is occasionally revived. 

The conclusion of 0'K.eeffe's "Recollections" is a 
loyal and pleasant page. "On Sunday, the zad of Jan- 
uary, i8z6, my humble cabin was cheered by the presence 
of the Lord Bishop of Chichester, who, with the joy of 
benevolence, came to inform me of an accumulation of 
honor from the King, and a most happy and welcome 
addition to my means. His lordship read to me and my 
daughter a letter to himself from Sir William Knighton, 




among others. Monk Lewis's "Castle Spectre," 

dan's "Pizzaro," Miss Bailie's " De Montfort," Col- 
man's " Love Laughs at Locksmiths," Tobin's " Honey- 
Moon," and Coleridge's "Remorse." Between 1797 
and 1821 he assisted in the production of sixty-two dif- 
ferent pieces, the greatest number that was ever produced 
by any English composer. Bishop alone excepted. He 
died in 1825, in the sixty-third year of his age. 

Of John Taylor there is but little to be gathered from 
the voluminous records of his life, for which he appears 
to have made no preparation, resorting to his memory for 
such facts as presented themselves, without the regularity 
of dates. He seems to have had a feminine aversion to 
dates, omitting to mention the year in which he was bom, 
and most of the incidents of his childhood. He was he 
tells us, the eldest son of Mr. John Taylor, who for many 
years prosecuted the profession of an occulist with the 
highest reputation, and was admired for his wit and 
humor. Taylor's father was the only son of the cele- 
brated Chevalier Taylor, as he was called, who was ap- 
pointed occulist to George the Second, and afterwards to 
every crowned head in Europe. The Chevalier Taylor 
published his memoirs in three volumes, in which, as his 
grandson well observes, he certainly shows no remarka- 
ble diffidence in recording his own talents and attain- 
ments, as well as the influence of his person and powers 
of conversation with the fair sex. He is said to have 
been skillful, especially in the operation of couching, or 
depression of the cataract, and is described as " a cox- 
comb, but a coxcomb of parts." His griidson, our John 
Taylor, was appointed occulist in ordinary to George the 
Fourth, then Prince of Wales, in 1789, and in the follgw- 
ing year to his father, George the Third. 



I 



PREFACE. xxi 

L About this time he began to turn his attention towards 

piterary pursuits, particularly towards the public press, 

»nsidering it a shorter and more probable path to inde- 

^ndence than his profession aiforded. What journals 

s connected with, and in what capacity, we are left 

) conjecture, until we find him one of the owners of 

••The Sun," with William Jerdan, who made himself as 

Pdisagreeable as he knew how. They squabbled, as Jer- 

T.dan narrates, until Taylor was almost beside himself with 

Ixage. It is not easy to say who was most in the wrong, 

■ but from Jerdan's own showing he was the greatest ag- 

Tgressor, treating his brother editor as if he were a fool, 

■which he may have been, though he was certainly a kind- 

■Ijearted and well-meaning gentleman, to whom fussiness 

■and pomposity was natural. He was devoted to the stage 

ixnd all who were connected with it, and in a milder way 

literature and literary men. He died in 183a, 

1 brief, was the joiirnalist, the singer, and the 
ramadst, whose acquaintance the reader is about to 
R. H. S. 



-"^^^iP^ 



JOHN O'KEEFFE. 



r 



m^^ 



k 

E 



JOHN O'KEEFFE. 



George Faulkner. 



■NE day, passing through Parh'ament Street, Dublin, 
I George Faulkner, the printer, was standing at iiis 
n shop-door ; I. was induced to stare in at a bust 
the counter. He observed me, and by tlie port- 
folio under my arm, knew I was a pupil at the Royal Acad- 
emy. I remained in fixed attention, when he kindly invited 
me in to look at the bust saying it was the head of his friend 
and patron Dean Swift. To display it in all its different 
TJews, he turned jt round and about for me, and then brought 
me up-stairs to see the picture of Swift. 

George Faulkner was a fat little man, with a large w'ell-pow- 
dered wig, and brown clothes. His precision of speech in 
using the word opposite instead oi facing, was the cause of 
Swili choosing him for his printer. At this period of my boy- 
hood Swift's memory was recent ; he was greatly beloved and 
revered in Dublin. There were many signs of him in canon- 
icals : they were called the Drapier's Head, from the signa- 
ture of his letters against Wood's half-pence. I have one of 
those half-pence. Amongst a multitude of benevolent actions, 
he lent small sums to tradespeople, to be repaid at a shilling 
a. week, five pounds the greatest sum ; which practice laid 
the foundation of many a fortune obtained by industry, and 
was the support of numerous families ; but one neglect of the 
shilling a week repayment, no more money wa.s lent by him to 
that person. Whenever the Dean walked out, the people fol- 



4 JOHN CfKEEFFE. 

lowed him with shouts of blessings, and the children held hii 
cassock. My early passion for the drama made me like Swif^ 
from his having been a friend of Gay. 

A Prophetic Epitaph. 
It was, and perhaps is still, tlie Dublin cusl 
James's Day, for the relations and friends of those buried in 
St James's Church-yard, to dress up the graves with flowers, 
cut paper. Scripture phrases, garlands, chaplets, and a num- 
ber of other pretty and pious devices, where those affectionate 
mementos remained, until displaced by fresh ones the next 
year. In this state, the whole church-yard made a most in- 
teresting and pleasing appearance : everybody went to see it | 
and I, when about nine years of age, went on St. James's Day. 
On my return home, full of the fine sight, I got my materials, 
and set to at drawing St. James's Church-yard. Amongst 
tombstones in the foreground, 1 drew a very large one, with a 
high flat stone at the head, and ivrote on it, " Here lies the 

body of -" As I had exhausted my stock of names on 

my other tombstones, I was puzzled for a name for this. At 
that moment, a man happened to come into the room, with a 
pair of new shoes for my father. He was of the county of 
Wexford, a very good shoemaker, and a very honest fellow — 
in health and person remarkably well-looking ; strong, tall, 
and athletic. His name being Paddy Furlong, I, most apropos, 
wrote upon my tombstone " Patrick Furlong." He had been 
looking over my shoulder, and admiring the drawing ; but, 
■when he saw me add his own name, seemed a little startled. 
With the thoughtlessness of childhood, 1 went on writing 

" Who died on the " here I was at another stand ; when 

the Wexford shoemaker said to me, "On the Second of 
September, — put down that." I did so. "One thousand 
seven hundred and fifty-six^put down that." I complied, 
and away he went. About a week after, we heard he was ill, 
and dangerously so ; and in a few weeks more we were told 
that he had died on the ad of September, the very day " 
himself had desired me to write on the tombstone. 



i 



YOUNG VESTRIS. 



^H Sir Toby Butler. 

HF When I was a child, I saw the famous Sir Toby Butler, a 
^^favorite lawyer of his time, his powers of oratory being great : 
but he always drank his bottle before he went to the courts. 
A client, very solicitous about the success of his cause, re- 
quested Sir Toby not to drink his accustomed bottle that 
morning. Sir Toby promised on his honor he would not. 
He went to the court, pleaded, and gained a verdict. The 
client met hira exulting in the success of his advice ; when, 
to his astonishment, Sir Toby assured him that if he had not 
taken his bottle, he should have lost the cause. " But your 
promise, Sir Toby ? " "I Itept it faithfully and honorably, I 
did not drtHk a drop — 1 poured my bottle of claret into a 

Frten loaf and ate it So I had my bottle, you your ver- 

I also saw, many years after, in 1781, young Vestris, who 
owed his celebrity to springing very high, coming down on one 
toe, and turning round upon it very slowly, whilst the other 
leg was stretched out horizontally : he was about twenty years 
of age, and wore light blue, which became a fashion, and was 
called Vestris blue. When he returned to Paris, he was sent 
to prison for refusing to dance before the King and Queen. 
His father, the elder Vestris, had taught him, and was ballet 
master- On an amateur nobleman remarking to the latter 
that his son was a better dancer than he, old Vestris replied, 
1^" Very true, my lord, but my son had a better master than I 

^HT^ Cannot afford better acting. 

^^pAt Oow Street there was a little thin actor of the name of 

^^Hauulton. Barry one morning remarking to him, " Hamilton, 

you might have done your part (Drawcansir, in the Duke of 

Buckingham's Rehearsal) with a little more spirit last night," 

be replied, '• To be sure I might, and could ; but with my sal- 

y of forty shillings a week, do you think I ought to act with 



Young Vestris. 



6 JOHN O'KEEFFE. 

a bit more spirit, or a bit better ? Your Woodward there has 
a matter of a thousand a year for his acting. Give me half i 
thousand and see how I 'Jl act ! but for a salary of two pound: 
a week, Mr. Barry, I cannot afford to give you better actinia 
and I will not." 

Ingenious Stage Properties. 
Barry and Woodward, the first builders and managers, and 
all that, of Crow Street Theatre, soon fel! into a kind of 
jealously for preeminence, — one for his tragedy, and the 
other for his pantomime. As a set-off against the powers 
of harlequin's wooden sword, Barry had Nat Lee's " Alexan- 
der the Great " got up in fine style, particularly the triumphri 
entry into Babylon, which in splendor of show exceeded Mos- 
sop's ovation in Coriolanus. I have not been inside the walta-i 
of a theatre for upwards of twenty-sijc years, therefore knoMHJ 
not how they manage these affairs now ; perhaps in a supea 
riorway, but I hardly think it possible. Alexander's high and" 
beautiful chariot was first seen at the farther end of the 
stage (the theatre stretching from Fownc's Street to Temple 
Lane). He, seated in it, was drawn to the front, to triumphant 
music, by the uuariried soldiery. When arrived at its station 
to stop, for him to alight, before he had time even to speak, 
the machinery was settled on such a simple, yet certain plan, 
that the chariot in a twinkling disappeared, and every soldier 
was at the instant armed. It was thus jnanaged : each man 
having his particular duty previously assigned him, laid bis 
hand on different parts of the chariot ; one took a wheel and 
held it up on high — this was a shield ; the others took the 
remaining wheels ; all in a moment were shields upon their 
left arms ; the axle-tree was taken by another, — it was a 
spear: the body of thethariot also took to pieces, and the 
whole was converted inh) swords, javelins, lances, standards, 
etc. ; each soldier thus armed, arranged himself at the sides of. 
the stage, aud Alexander standing in the centre, began hisj 

1 have seen in my day operas, ballets, panlomiraes, melo* 



< 






NO SNAKES m IRELAND. 7 

J-dramas, etc-, at Covent Garden, Drury Lane, tlie Haymarket, 
I and the Opera House, but never saw anything to equal in 
L Bimplicity and beauty this chariot maoceuvre of Alexander the 



" I HAVE A Benefit to make." 

Holland, whom in Garrick's time I often saw a 

:, and a fine tragedian he was, went to York o 

BitDgagement, where was also one of the subordinate Drury 

f I.ane actors ; the play was " Macbeth." In the banquet scene 

~ s underling, as one of the murderers, in his reply to Mac- 

Jbeth's remark, " There 's blood upon thy face ; " instead of the 

Usual half-whisper, vociferated the answer of '"Tis Banquo's 

n a most ftuiously loud tragic tone. The scene over, 

Holland gently hinted to him, that there was no occasion to 
■peak that speech qitite so loud, quite so tremendous ; the 
r replied, " Harkye, Master Holland, / have a benefit to 
; in this town as well as _>-<?«." This observation was un- 
inswerable. 



No Sn, 
So perfectly unknown, e 



< Ireland. 



e all 



I through! 
(ward's pan to mil 
s introduced 



blessed Erin, that in one of Wood- 
Crow Street Theatre, amount the tricks, 
serpent, which, in the business of 
round the stage. This was effected 
by grooves, and the machinery gave the carpenters and scene- 
men a great deal of labor and vexation, for the serpent often 
stuck by the way. Three or four of these men practicing, 
with little success, the best manner of making it glide 
It, one of them at length vociferated, " I wish the devil 
Id eat this /isk once out of this house t we have trouble 
lough with it, and all to get our good master, Mr. Woodward, 
:nty of hisses ; and he will give us plenty of ' boobies,' 
id 'blundering idiots,' and 'stupid fools ! ' the devil bum or 
this great fish, I say." 



but on sign, at a print-shop i: 

1 w^ in a coffee-house i 

morning when No. 45 came ( 

came in, and, ; 



w Hogarth* 
n the very> 



8 yOHN aKEEFFE. 

Churchill and Hogarth. 

Churchill's " Rostiad," when it first came out, gave g 
offense 10 some oE the actors, and the unknown author w 
to be bamboo'd into repentance. He avowed himself, aii4 
walked, with great compo.iure, in the Piazza of Covenl Garden. 
He was a large nan, of an athletic make, dressed in blacl^, 
with a large black scratch wig. I have seen him. Hogarth 
was the great opponent to him and Wilkes, and to it the^ 
fiercely went, — lampoon and caricature. I neversi 
"n Cheapside. 
n St. Martin's Lane, 1 
jut. The unconsciou 
course, laid it on the table before^ 
le. About the year 1777, standing talking with my brothefc 
at Charing Cross, a slender figure, in scarlet coat, large b 
and fierce three-cocked hat, crossed the way, carefully chooa? 
ing his steps, the weather being wet. " Who do you think; 
that is ? " asked Daniel ; on my sajn'ng I did not know, he 
replied, "That is Johnny Wilkes." 

In Hogarth's etchings Churchill was represented aa a great 
bear ; himself as a pug dog ; and Wilkes, a whole lenglfe 
figure, sitting in a chair, with a pole, and a cap of liberty o 
it. One day, many years after, dining at Mr. Colman's, Sohv 
Square, where there was a good deal of company, the con. 
versation turned on Hogarth. Colman said he had a fine orig-^ 
inal of his in the ne:<t parlor ; I rose, and went to have S 
close look at it ; it was a Hazard table, the figures likenesses v 
amongst them Lord Chesterfield and William Duke of Cum- 
berland, uncle to George the Third ; the former a front face j 
the Duke sat with his back to the spectator, the contour of th« 
cheek visible, a large cocked hat, bound with point d'Espagnt^ 
and bag. On my return to the drawing-room, Mr. Colma* 
asked me which of the figures I liked best. I told bin 
of the groom porter, the others showing the various passions 
of the gamester, but his being a placid face (void of all c 
pression). " There," said Mr. Colman to the rest of the com- 



I 



AULD IRELAND. 9 

pany, " I have won my wager, I knew O'KeefEe would hit upon 
the groom porter's face as the best thought of the painter." 

AuLD Ireland. 
In my early tiroes, all the great outlets from Dublin had, 
inside the hedges, parallel footpaths with the road ; and the 
stiles, where the hedges divided the fields, were models for 
stiles al! over the civilized world : they were formed thus : 
three steps, a small flat, and then a perpendicular narrow 
stone, about a foot high, which you stepped over on the other 
flat, and then three more steps on the other side, so that 
the milkmaid might poise her pail upon her head, and cross 
over the stile without fear of spiliiug her milk ; and the 
old weary Boccaugh (beggarrnan), and the poor women bring- 
ing fruits and vegetables to market, might sit down and 
rest themselves. All through Ireland, whenever they see 
a good-looking cow, they say, " A fine cow, God bless it ! " — 
except to the human, this is the only animal to which they 
say "God bless iL" In my time there was not one wagon 
all over Ireland, and no cart above four foot long ; the only 
carriage for goods, etc, was the little car and the one horse : 
thwe were no gypsies - — no poor-rales — no pawn-brokers ; 
the word village was not known; but every group of cabins 
bad a piper and a school-master ; and before every cabin 
door, in tine weather, there was the Norah, or Kathlene, at 
ber spinning-wheel (no women ever worked out of doors, or 
in the fields). The yearly payment for the figure on the 
coach, the noddy, and the sedan, in Dublin, was applied to 
the purchase of spinning-wheels ; which, on a cert.iin day, 
were set out in a large square, before the Foundling Hospital, 
at the lop of St. James's Street, and distributed gratis to the 
females who came to ask for them. This was one cheering 
>k forward towards the staple manufacture of Ireland — its 
en. The great pride of a countryman on a Sunday, was 
have three or four waistcoats on him ; and of a country- 
roman, a laige square silk handkerchief of Irish manufact- 
re pinned on the top of her head, and the corners hanging 



10 JOHN CfKEEFFE. 

down on her shoulders. The counlryman's boots were pieci 
of an old felt hat, tied about his ankles. The milkmaid s 
ways sung her melodious Irish tunes while milking: if s] 
stopped, tlie cow's mode was to kick the pail about Tl 
different families dug the potato, and cut the turf, ai 
brought them home mutually for each other ; lending it 
themselves, their horse, and their car, so that the want 
money was not felt ; the great object was the half-penny o 
Simday evening for the piper, who was the orchestra for thell 
jig. The peasant himself built his mud tenement, and thn 
clapped ils straw hat upon it, and this was the only slale, tilSiJ 
and thatch. Cricket was not known ; the game was foob" 
ball, and hurling : Ihe latter striking the ball with a woodeni 
bat, the ball as large as a man's head, but so soft it couU 
not hurt, being leather stufied with straw. 

" My Lord's," or " the Squire's," was called the big Houses 
and had its privileged fool or satirist, its piper, and its r 
ning footman : the latter I have often seen skimming or flyinj 
across the road ; one of them I particularly r 
dress a white jacket, blue silk sash round his waist, iighl blacfe 
velvet cap, with a silver tassel on the crown, round his nee' 
a frill with a ribbon, and in his hand a staff about seven f« 
high, with a silver top. He looked so agile, and seemed all ai 
like a Mercury: he never minded roads, but took the short cu^ 
and, by the help of his pole, absolutely seemed to fly over hedgej 
ditch, and small river. His use was to carry a 
ter, or dispatch ; or, on a journey, to run before and prepare tha 
inn or baiting-place, for his family or master, who c 
regular road in coach and two, or coach and four, or coach an^ 
six ; his qualifications were fidelity, strength, and agility. 

It was the general rule of every man, in the character of 8 
gentleman, never lo gallop or even trot hard upon a road, ex- 
cept emergency required haste. 

li ROADS WORD Players. 
One of oiu- favorite summer walks about 1765, 
Ringsend, to e?t cockles, at a very good tavern, the sign tit 



BROADSWORD PLAYERS. 



(the Highlander, and lo play billiards at a Mrs. Sherlock's, the 
price twn-pence a game (o the table. The owner of the bill- 
iard table always remained in the room, as she was herself 
the marker, and giver of judgment when appealed to. She 
was sister to the Sherlock who many years before had been 
victor in every broadsword contest of consequence, at a lime 
■when the skillful management of that weapon was considered 
of importance in London. A highly distinguished mihtary 
commander, and patron of the art, or, as it was then called, 
(he science of defense, not much liking the idea of Sherlock 

» being winner of all the stage-fought laurels, imported into 
Ijandon from the Continent a grand broadsword player, of the 
name of Figg, and the word now was " a Figg for the Liffey 
boy." Emulation arose to animosity, and on the day of trial 
the place of action was thronged by both civil and military. 
Expectation and bets ran high, but mostly in favor of the for- 
eign champion. 

The two combatants on the stage, their swords drawn : 
Sherlock shook hands with his opponent, and said, " Mynheer 
^'EEi guai^ it as well as you can, 1 '11 cut off the third but- 
ton of your coat." To it they went, the foreigner parried, yet 
Sherlock, with the admirable sleight of his art, had the third 
button on the point of his sword. ■' Now," said he, " I have 
been told, and f believe it, that, under this show of a mere 
contest for superior skill at our weapon, you intend to put a 
finish to me at once. I have proved to you that 1 could take 
your third button, and now, if i choose, I '11 take your upper 
button ; so guard your head." While his antagonist was en- 
deavoring to guard his bead, Sherlock's sword took a little 
slice o£E the calf of his leg, and thus, by the terms of the en- 
countel', Sherlock having drawn the first blood, was declared 
conqueror. Thousands of guineas were sported upon this 
broadsword match. 

About the time that these affairs were going on in London, 
my companions and myself were active in learning to fence. 
The fencing- master of first note in Dublin, was Cornelius 
Kelly, a tall old gentlemanly man, highly respected : next to 



12 JOHN aXEEFFE. 

him was Dwyer. I and other youths learned of a FruidiiUB 

of the name of Cittarre, with whom we met to practice at one 
of the corporation halls. As 1 took peculiar delight in ihe 
art, I fenced well. The sword by (be side, in those times, 
when in the street, was as much an appendage as the hat on 
the head ; this was a very good fashion for the haberdasher's 
and milliner's shops, as the fashion of the sword-knot was 
as quick in succession as that of the shoe-buckle. Many 
of our sword-hilts were of the finest cut polished steel, and 
very expensive. Another of the customs of that period was 
an ofEcer in the army never appearing but in regimentals. I 
was one day walking in Chequer Lane, Dublin, with Captain 
Munro, a little fellow. We had to pass the bulk of Travair, 
the remarkable witty cobbler : he was lame, and 
crutches. My friend had left me whilst 1 stopped to speak to 
a third person, and turned the corner of William Street 
lowing him shortly after, 1 asked the cobbler did he s 
officer go that way ? " An officer I " said he, " I saw a 
go that way, and something red tied to it" Travaij ? 
French extraction ; crowds used to gather to listen to his wit, 
which was at times truly brilliant. He was frequently oSered 
pecuniary aid, but would accept of none ; he lived by his trade 
of mending shoes. 

Cheating the Hangman. 
la my youth I often saw Glover on the stage : he was 3 
surgeon, and a good writer in the London periodical papers. 
When he was in Cork, a man was hanged for sheep-stealing, 
whom Glover smuggled into a field, and by surgical skill, re- 
stored to life, though the culprit had hung the full time pre- 
scribed by law. A few nights after. Glover being on the stage 
acting Polonius, the revived sheep- stealer, full of whiskey, 
broke Inlo the pit, and in a loud voice called out to Glover, 
" Mr. Glover, you know you are my second father ; yoi 
brought me to life, and sure you have to support 
have no money of my own ; you have been the means of bringJ 
ing me back into the world, sir ; so, by the piper of Blessii 



:to.^ 

i 



IN DANCER OF SACRIFICE. 13 

fciD, you are bound to maintain me," Ophelia never could 
nippose she had such a brother as this. The sheriff was in 
; house at the time, but appeared not 10 hear this appeal ; 
lad, on the fellow persisting in his outcries, he, through a 
^agiple of clemency, slipped out of the theatre. The crowd 
it length forced the man away, idling him that it the slieriff 
^und him alive, it was his duty to hang him over again. 

In danger op Sacrifice. 
I The first character I saw Barry in was Jaffier ; Mossop, the 
Pierre, and Mrs. Dancer the Belvidera. According to the 
Imsual compliment of assisting a dead tragic hero to get upon 
~ s legs, after the dropping of the curtain, two very civil per- 
s walked on the stage one night, to where Barry (who had 
performed Romeo) lay dead, and stooping over him with great 
politeness and attention, helped him to rise. All three thus 
standing together, Barry in the centre, one of them whispered, 
" 1 have an action, sir, against you," and touched him on the 
|_ shoulder. "Indeed ! " said Barry, "this is rather a piece of 
reachery ; at whose suit ? " The men told him the name of 
' & plaintiEf, and Barry had no alternative but to walk off the 
»ge, and out of the theatre in their custody. At that mo- 
it, the scene men and carpenters, who had observed, and 
/ understood how it was with their master, poor Barry, 
ir a little busy whispering conversation, went off, and al- 
: immediately returned, dragging on with them a piece of 
achinery, followed by a particular bold and ferocious car- 
RX, who grasped a hatchet. Barry surprised, asked them 
t they were about ? Said one, " Sir, we are only prepar- 
ing the altar of Merope ; because we are going to have a 
pacHfice." And " Atia-KiiUa-Kulla," the "little carpenter," 
irietded his hatchet, and looked at the ts 
led, said " Be quiet, you foolish fellov 
g they were serious, he was apprehensive 
d beckoning the two catchpolls, made signs that he would 
D along with them ; and they, now fearing their persons were 
Ctnally in danger, followed, or rather went before him, leaving 



I baiiiSs. Barry 
' but, perceiv- 
a real tragedy. 



14 JOHN O'KEEFFE. 

Barry between themselves and the intended mcrifica ^^ 

led tbem through the lobbies and passages in safety, to tha 
outward door of the theatre, where they quitted him, on rw 
ceiving his word of honor, that the debt should be settled 
next morning ; they wished him good-night, thankful for his 
protection, and rejoicing in (heir escape. 

Henry Mossop. 

When Mossop quitted Barryand Woodward, at Crow Street 
where he had thirty-six guineas a week, and set up for himself 
at Smock Alley, he was often fearful that the money coming i 
might not be sufScient to answer his outgoings, and when h 
played himself, he dreaded a thin house, lest his name should 
go down. I was one night in the greenroom, with mxaj, 
others, when Mossop, ready dressed for Achmet, in ~ 
rossa, accosted Crisly, his treasurer (who was just e< 
from the street), in these words : " Mr. Cristy, does it s: 
Cristy, rot comprehending the eause of the manager's questioaj 
hesitated; upon which, Mossop repeated calmly and delibef<^ 
ately, " Does it snow, sir ? " Cristy still gave no answer ; 
Mossop, a third time asked, " Pray, does it snow ? " A 
deal of what is called humming and hawing followed c 
part of the treasurer, but no decisive answer ; upon whicbj 
Mossop addressed him in his lofty and superb n 
you know what snow is ? — snow is a small white feathered 
thing, that fails from the clouds ; it lies upon the ground li' 
a white sheet ; now be so obliging as to step into the stree^ 
and bring me word whether it snows." Mossop's anxiety 
arose from doubts of the state of the weather, well knowing 
that on that depended a full or an empty house. 

Mossop was most rigid at rehearsals : one morning going 
over Macbeth's scene of terror and distress in ' ' 
has to call " Sealon ! " The actor, who, for the first dme, per* 
formed that part, came on, hut Macbeth having r 
speak before Seaton should appear, Mossop, in high anger;^ 
desired him to go back, and enter at his proper cue, and then 
' G proceeded with his speech, — 



b 



HENRY MOSSOP. 



Saton, I uy I • 

again tbe aniucky actor made a premature appearance, and 
Mosaop ^^n told him to go away and watch better for his cue ; 
and added, " To make you mind your business, sir (turning 
to the prompter, who had his forfeit book and pen and ink 
ready on the table), set hira down two half-crown forfeits ; that 
may, perhaps, prevent his spoiling the scene this night by his 
carelessness," Mossop began his soliloquy, and, to his vexa- 
tion, and that of the standers-by, the unlucky blundering actor 
still came on too soon ; this was repeated four or five times, 
and he was forfeited each time. No one pitied his punish- 
ment, it being in his own power by simply reading Macbeth's 
speech, to have known his proper cue : however, though aU 
went wrong with him at the rehearsal, everything was correct 
that night when in the presence of the audience. 

I was one night witness to an untoward circumstance at 
Smock Alley Theatre. Congreve's " Mourning Bride " was 
the tragedy ; Mossop, Osmin, and a subordinate actor, Sellm. 
Selim being stabbed by Osmin, should have remained dead on 
the stage, but seized with a fit of coughing, he unluckily put up 
bis hand and loosened his stock, which set the audience in a 
burst of laughter. The scene over, the enraged manager and 
actor r^led at his underling for daring to appear alive when he 
was dead, who in excuse, said be must have choked had he 
not done as he did : Mossop replied, " Sir, you should choke 
a thousand times, rather than spoil my scene." 

At a period when the payments were not very ready at the 
Smock Alley treasury, one night Mossop, in Lear, was sup- 
jiorted in the arms of an actor who played Kent, and who 
wliispered him, "If you don't give me your honor, sir, that 
you '8 pay me my arrears this night, before 1 go home, I '11 let 
you drop about the boards." Mossop alarmed, said, " Don't 
talk to me now." " I will," said Kent, " I wiU ; I'll let you 
drop." Mossop was obliged to give the promise, and the actor 
thus got his money, though a few of the others went home 
without theirs. Such the effect of a well-timed hint, though 
desperate. 



l6 JOHN O'KBEFFE. 

" High Life below Stairs," 

The author of " High Life below Stairs " was Mr. JameR 
Townley, a clergyman. I knew his son, a celebrated miniai; 
ture painter, and an acquaintance of my brother's. When thigi 
piece was played in Dublin, Knipe, remarkable for saying 
smart things, and who also liked "the joys of the table," 
feasted by anticipation on the good roast fowl, and bottle o" 
wine at the supper in the last scene ; but the property ma^ 
who provided it, was of the saving cast ; Knipe stuck his fork 
into tile fowl to dissect it with carving skill, — it was a pieca 
of painted timber! He filled his glass, as he thought, v ' ' 
wine, it was mere colored element 1 " Ha ! " said he, " instead' 
of our bottle and our bird, here is a fine subject for a land- 
scape-painter, luoad ind -waier." 

The first night of R. B. Sheridan's " Camp," Parsons ha4 
in it the part of an exciseman or gauger, and had seized a 
pound of tea from a smuggler : it was neatly done up in paper, 
and he had it in his hand. Mrs. Wrighten, who played a kind 
of termagant follower of the camp, according to the violence 
of the character, was rather rough with the exciseman, aa4'. 
knocked the pound of tea out of his hand ; it fell, the p 
bag burst, and out came upon the stage a great quantity of 
saw-dusL This was property-man economy, but it made great 
diversion among the audience. 

Previous to the coming out of " High Life below Sla 
London, the upper gallery was free for the servants of thosK 
who had places in the boxes. The whole race o£ the domestic 
gentry, on the first night of this excellent little piece, w 
a ferment of rage at what they conceived would be their 
and from the upper gallery, to which they were admitted gratis, 
came hisses and groans, and even many a handful of half-pence 
was flung on the stage at Philip and my Lord Duke, and Sir 
Harry, etc. This tumult went on for a few nights, but ulti- 
mately was a good thing for all theatres, as it gave Carrick, 
then manager, a fair occasion to shut the galleries from the ser- 
vants, and ever after make it a pay place, which to this day W 
has continued. 



CHARLES MACKLIN. 



r" Bon Ton." 
Garrlck's farce of " Bon Ton," or High Life above Stairs, I 
never liked much. It was written as a set-ofi to the other, 
but bears too hard against the upper classes of society, I think 
unjustly so. The satire in this piece is more poignant than 
any that appears in the comedies of Cibber, Congreve, Farqu- 

Rr, or even Shakespeare. 
The first night that " Bon Ton " was acted in Dublin, 
ereton spoke the prologue to it ; and at the words " Bon 
m's the thing," the feathers of a lady's head-dress caught 
fire from the chandelier hanging over the box ; it was soon in 
a blaze, and her life hardly saved. At this time a lady in full 
dress could not go in a coach ; a sedan-chair was her carriage, 
and this had a cupola. The seat was in grooves, to be raised 
or lowered according to the altitude of the head-dress. I have 
seen a lady standing in the street, the chairman looking up at 
her feathers and capwings, and several times raising or lower- 
ing the seat : at last he thrust it in not above three inches 
from the floor, and there the belle was obliged lo squat, the 
feathers rising three feet perpendicular, and the face the cen- 
tre of the figure, with her hoop up on each side of her ears j 
and there she sat laughing like the lady in the lobster. Nay, 
even the foretop of the beau was built up tier upon tier as 
Diana's song in "Lionel and Clarissa "says, 



H^ CHAEiLES MACKLIN. 

Macklin brought with him his own pieces, in which he 
played, and a tragedy written by himself, at which nobody ever 
had a peep, even upon paper. This tragedy he intended to 
bring out in Dublin ; and previous to leaving London, em- 
ployed the ingenuity and taste of the great dressmaker of the 
Opera House in the Haymarket, to make most splendid dresses 
for it. However, when Macklin got to Dublin, he gave up all 
loughts of having his tragedy acted, and was at a loss what 



i8 



JOHN, O'KEEFFE, 



to do wilh the dresses. Dawson and Mahon having got ^ 

Garrick's" Stratford Jubilee," made a bargain with him to have 
those dresses for their grand procession, which was to dose 
that entertainment, They had them, and the Jubilee v 
acted, but Macklin could not get his money. As he had n 
an agreement particularly with Robert Mahon, he looked | 
him alone for payment. 

One morning, in the greenroom, I was present at a 
sation which ran thus : " Bob," said Macklin, " I intend \ 
have you arrested for this debt you owe me ; but I a 
ering whether I shall arrest you be/ore or after your benefit 
" Oh, sir," said Mahon, " don't arrest me at all." "Yes, yi 
Bob, you know I must. I must send you to prison." 
no, sir, there's no occasion." "Oh, yes, I must." " 
then, sir, if you must, wait till my benefit is over." " 
no, Bob ', then you take the money, and knock it about no o: 
knows where or how, and I shall never see a shilling of ita 
but if I arrest you before your benefit, some of those lord 
that you sing for in your clubs, and taverns, and jovial boutaj 
may come forward, and pay this money for you. No, no, I % 
have you touched on the shoulder before yoior benefit — 

Yet, with all this seeming rigor of wards, \ am certain tl 
Macklin, through his whole long life, never was the cat 
depriving a fellow croture of his liberty ; he was the 
Shylock who would have " his bond," but that only o 
boards of a theatre ; for when the verdict of a London jury 
awarded him damages, the unreal Shylock never " pursed the 
ducats " for himself. This circumstance he wrote me a full ac- 
count of in a letter to Ireland soon after the trial ; and I must 
say, and that from myself, that I never heard of any of the 
children of Thespis engaged in legal affairs that might im- 
prison a liuman being. I venture to declare this upon Rocbe» _ 
foucault's maxim that " praise withheld, where deserv 
amounts to a kind of slander." 

In the above cause, Macklin was his own pleader, a 
the verdict being given in his favor, Lord Mansfield, the p 



CHARLES MACKLIK. 19 

siding judge, said, " Mr. Macklin, t have often heard you with 
pleasure repeat the words of others, but never felt more satis- 
faction than in hearing you this day repeat your own words." 
Macklin had a pupil, Philip Glenville, a handsome, tall, tine 
young man, whom he was preparing for the stage. In 
Macklin's garden, there were three long parallel walks, and 
his method of exercising their voices was thus. His two 
young pupils with back boards (such as they use in boarding- 
schools) walked firmly, slow, and well, up and down the two 
sidewalks ; Macklin, himself, paraded the centre walk : at the 
end of every twelve paces he made them stop ; and turning 
gracefiiliy, the young actor called out across the walk, " How 
do you do. Miss Ambrose ? " — she answered, " Very well, I 
thank you, Mr. Glenville." They then took a few more paces, 
and the next question was, " Do you not think it a very fine 
day, Mr. Glenville ? " "A very fine day, indeed. Miss Am- 
brose," was the answer. Their walk continued ; and then, 
"How do you do, Mr. Glenville ?" ^ " Pretty well, I thank 
you, Miss Ambrose." And this exercise continued for an 
hour or so (Macklin still keeping in the centre walk), in the 
full hearing of their religious next-door neighbors. Such wa.i 

^ Macklin's method of training the management of the voice : 
if too high, too low, a wrong accent, or 3 faulty inflection, 
|k immediately noticed it, and made them repeat the words 
twenty times till all was right. Soon after this, Glenville 
played Antonio to his Shyloek in "The Merchant of Venice," 
and Miss Ambrose, Charlotte in his own " Love i-la-mode." 

A country manager, many years ago, took upon himself to 
bring out Macklin's " Love fi-la-modc," at his theatre ; upon 
which Macklin wrote him word that if he attempted to do so, 
he would send him sheets of parchment that would reach 
from Chancery Lane to the next gooseberry-bush, the nearest 
verge of Yorkshire to John O'Groat's house. The manager's 
answer to Macklin ran thus : " Your ' Love k-!a-mode,' Sir ! 
I 'm not going lo play_j'owr Love i-la-mode ; 1 '11 play my own 
Love 4-la-mode ; I have twenty Love i-la-modes. I could 
■jrrite a I-ove i-la-mode every day in the week, I could write 
c hundred and sixty-J/jr Love S-la-modes in a year." 



20 

The r 



yOllN O'KEEFFE. 




1 of Maclclin's tenacity with respect to hb p 
was his never having sold ihe copyright to any one, and he 
never had it printed : therefore, whenever it was acted in 
England, Scotland, and Ireland, his terms were, half tho._ 
profits over the nighlly charges, and he always played i 
himself. When he came to rehearsal, his method was to ' 
his MS. from the breast of his greal-coat, where he had bill 
toned it up, put it into ihe hands of the prompter and, i 
hearsal done, walk quietly over to him, saying, "Give i 
that," — take it from [he prompter's hand, button it up cloi 
again in the breast of his coat, and walk out of the house I 
his own lodgings. 

Macklin was tenacious, and very properly so, of the [ 
formers throwing in words of their own. Lee Lewes OIH 
morning at Coven t Garden, at the rehearsal of "Love k-bf' 
mode," in which he played Squire Groom, said something 
which he thought very smart. " Hoy, hoy I " said Macklin, 
"what's that?" "Oh," replied Lee Lewes, "'tis only a 
little of my nonsense." "Aye," replied Macklin, "but I 
think my nonsense is rather better than yours; so keep to 
that, if your please, sir." Though so parlicular in drilling the 
performers at rehearsals, aware of the consequence of irritaM- 
ity, he kept his temper down. An instance of this happened 
in Dublin, one morning at rehearsal ; one of the perfotmefl 
got tired with over-particularity as he called it, and s 
" Why, this is worse than the Prussian exercise I " Macklli^ 
after a pause, looked at the refractory actor, and said, ' 
pose we all go and sit down a little in the greenroom ? " 
walked in, and they followed ; he sat down, and they seat»l 
themselves ; he then took out his watch, looked at it, and 1: " 
it on the table. " Now," said he, " we '11 just sit her 
hour." The performers, knowing his great money-drawi 
importance, acquiesced, and kept rather an awful ! " 
The hour being expired, he took up his watch, " Now," 
said, "we are all in good humor, and we '11 go upon the s 
and begin our rehearsal." This circumstance took plac 
Capel Street Theatre. Dawson was manager, and w 



I 



■ CHARLES MACKUN. 21 

glad thai Macklin could be induced to continue on his boards, 
as ali the boxes were taken for twelve nights of Macklin's 
performance. When the evil effects of hasty anger approach, 
the consequences of which may be irretrievable, it would be 
no harm, if all of us could suppress our own feelings, even 
for Macklin's greenroom hour. 

I was, when young, ever in high good humor, and Macklin 
liked the company of younkera. He was full of information, 
had a powerful mind, and his conversation gave me great 
pleasure. I often contradicted him, purposely to draw him 
out ; this few dared to do except myself, but I was his favorite 
of all whom he made happy by his society. His conversation 
among young people was perfectly moral, and always tended 
to make us better: he was, in my opinion, as to intellect, a 
very shining character, and in al! instances I knew him to be 
a worthy man, but a great sitler-up at nights for sake of 
conversation ; many a morning sun has peeped into our con- 
invial parlies ; he was then between seventy and eighty. 
From the loss of his teeth, his nose and chin were promi- 
nent; he took no .snuff, and haled swearing, or broad, vulgar 
jests in conversation, though smitten much with repartee. 
Dawson, the Dubhn manager, put his pen over some smart 
things in my little piece of " Colin's Welcome." On Macklin 
remarking that Dawson had wit, and cut good jokes himself, 
I replied in a couplet : ~ 

He finds ihiiin m nc» plays— und cuts Ihem oJl." 

Uscklin repeated this in high glee to Dawson, who in con- 
sequence restored my jokes, and said I might dash away as 
much as I pleased ; but if the audience hissed, that must lie 
at my door. 

Another of my hits pleased Macklin. Mr. Harris com- 
plaining to us that a certain charming songstress had got into 
her airs, and would not sing the next night, I answered : — 

U mkir ah-i, Ihe B^llingtoTi would sing." 



22 



JOHN O'KEEFFE. 



Before I dismiss my old friend, I nnist give a capital record 
of his opinion of the good people of the sod. He and I were 
walking through the Little Green, in Dublin (at that time the 
market for fruits and vegelahles). I seemed much pleased 
with the good-humor of the sellers. " Aye," said he, " they 're 
comical and good-natured, and ready-witted, and obliging — 
that is, I mean, what we call the lower order ; but you never 
can get a direct answer from them." "Oh," I said, "that's 
not fair; put your question first." "Well," said Macklin, 
coming up to an old woman who had a basket of vegetables 
before her, "what's the price of that cauliflower?" "That 
cauliflower ! " said she, taking it up in her hand, " Sir, that 's 
as fine a cauliflower as ever was seen, either in a garden or 
out of a garden." " Well, but what is the price of it ? " 
" The price I the devil a prettier cauliflower could yon see of 
a long summer's day." " Well, it 's pretty enough, but what 's 
the price of it?" "What's the price of it ! arrah, sir, you 
may talk of your tulips, and roses, and pinks, and wall-flowers, 
and gilliflowers, but the flower of all flowers is a cauliflower." 
"But why not tell me the price of it?" "Ah, you'll not 
get such a cauliflower as this, sir, all over the market 
here, feel the weight of it, sir," "There, O'Keeffe," 
Macklin, " if you had laid a wager with me that I couli 
3 direct answer when I put a question to them, you 'd 
lost it." 

Macklin's last attempt on the stage was Shylock : he 
ready dressed for the character info the greenroom, where all 
the performers were assembled and prepared : looking round, 
he said, "What, is there a play to-night?" All were as- 
tonished, and no one answered. He repeated, " Is there a 
play to-night ? " Portia remarked ; " Why, sir, what is the 
matter ? ' The Merchant of Venice,' you know." " And 
who is the Shylock ? " asked Macklin. " Why, you, sir, you 
are the Shylock." " Ah 1 " said he, "am I ? " and sat down 
in silence. Every one was much concerned and alarmed ; 
however, the curtain went up, the play began, and he got 
through the part with every now and then going to the sid«H 



et — 



JULIET BADGERED. 



23 



Mief the st^e, lifting up his hairs with one hand, and putting 

B<Us ear down to the prompter, who gave him the word ; he 

r then walked to the centre of the stage and repeated the words 

tolerably weli : this occurred often through the play, but 

sometimes he said to the prompter, " Eh, what is it ? what 

do you say f " The play was got through, and from that night 

Macklin's great talents were lost to the public. For some 

[ time before his death, he never went into a bed, but slept in 

n elbow-chair. He died at his house in Covent Garden, the 

^ht-hand corner of Tavistock Court. 

Jdliet Badges ED. 
society called " The Badger's Club," consisting of the 
rst gentlemen in the county, be.ipoke a play, " Romeo and 
Ifhliet." The members were seated on forms at each side of 
e stage, and the Grand Badger, or President, in a high chair 
, in the centre, at the back. He was a very old gen- 
I'tteman, wilh a full powdered wig, and wore, according to the 
rules of the club, a large high cap on his head, made of a 
badger's skin. The tragedy went on smoothly enough, until 
fl»e death of Juliet, a very pretty, thin, delicate, little lady. 
The Grand Badger had, with others of the club, gone in and 
ou^ backwards and forwards, taking their glass, etc., and on 
his return, touched with compassion for Juliet's griefs and 
wailings, he stepped gravely down from his throne, and whilst 
she lay lamenting over the dead Romeo, walked towards her 
and said, " Oh, my poor pretty little soul ! don't be lying there, 
80 distressed with your tears and your sorrows. Oh, pho I 
^('et up, get up, my gentle little lady ; leave off your cryings 
^Knd your sobbings, and go and step yonder, and take a glass 
^Hf lemonade or orgeat, to comfort and restore you." He 
^Hlooped over Juliet, badger<skin cap, wig, and alt ; and though, 
^Th an under-lone she endeavored to remonstrate against his 
kindness, he hfted her up tenderly, and took her to the side- 
board, where there were refreshments. Thus the tragedy 
ended, with universal laughter from audience, actors, and play- 
~Kbespeaking Badgers. 



yOHN aKEEFFE. 



There was at that 
good fortune, who, on 
mischievous dispositi 
in company with him , 
many other young 



"The Child.' 

ne in Limerick, a young 



gentleman O^^H 



: his handsome boyish face, 
n, was named " the Child." 1 was once 
L Mac Manus's Tavern, in Limerick, with 
of whom had just gone 



army, and was that day, for the first time, dressed 
and expensive scarlet and gold regimentals. "The Child ■ 
got into an argument with this young officer, that his ci 
would fit him ; upon which, the other was foolish enough 
let him try it on. " The Child " instantly ran down-staira into 
the street, and rolled himself in the mud, then reentered the 
room to the surprise of all, and grief and dismay of the mil- 
itary youth. Taking out his purse, " the Child " reckoned 
down on the table before the officer twenty guineas, then took 
off the muddy coat, flung it out of the window, slipped on his 
own, and ordered a dozen of claret for the company present. 
A few nights after this, " the Child " {who had always a party 
of hangers-on encouraging him in all his pranks for tkeif 
profit and his own diversion) went to the theatre. He had 
engaged two whole rows ia the gallery, one for his company^', 
and the bench before them for their bottles of wini 
were all ranged in order. His aunt and other ladies 
the side-boxes ; it was the assize time, and Ihe house _ 

and brilliant. During the performance, he stood up, and 
roared out; "A clap for Mahon the player on the stage 1" 
His party all stood up and clapped their hands in a full vol- 
ley [ then each took a bumper : they sat down for a little 
while ; in about half a minute he again rose, and bawled out 
" A groan for my aunt in the side-boxes ! " His obedient band 
again rose, and joined in a tremendous chorus of groans. They 
then sat down and each took another bumper. By this time 
the ladies were disconcerted, and the whole house in confu- 
sion. Hero Jackson was sheriff that year, and sitting in the 
side-box opposite to those ladies. In his official capacity, he 
stood up, and called out to " the Child " by his 



nto ' 



<4B 



" THE GRAND BUGLE." 25 

;quiet and behave himself. A burst o£ laughter trom the 
meny ones, was the answer to this. Upon which Jackson 
:quitted his box, went round into the street and up to the gal- 
lery, and called to him to come out, since he could not sit 
there without rioting ; this was noticed only by the party fill- 
Jug more bumpers with "your health my Hero! Huzza!" 
Jackson, conscious of his own personal strength, and with a 
^oper attention to his magisterial duty, stretched over the 
people that were between him and " the Child," seized him by 
tte back of tl)e collar of his coat, lifted him up and holding 
■|n out at arras' length (the other kicking, sprawling, and fist- 
\ it about), he thus brought him out of the gallery, down 
ihe steps and set him on his legs in the street. After about a 
s conversation with some of the audience who had also 
lut of the theatre, the sheriff returned to his box, and 
o his astonishment, saw opposite to him sitting smiling 
/ his lady-aunt, " the Child " quite sober and civil. After 
I lapse of some years, I was in Londonderry, and walking on 
~ e walls ; there to my surprise, 1 met "the Child." I did not 
:omroence our acquaintance, lest he sliould bring me 
nto some scrape by his nonsense ; for frolic was his whole 
lis world. He had laid a wager with a gendeman of 
Jerry, that he would, in a given time, gallop on his Munster 
lorse round the walls, which he did. It might have been a 
ireak-neck exploit, for at the end of the streets that come to 
e four gates of the city, there are steps to go down, and 
a to go up. So much for " the Child." 

"The Grand Bugle." 
About 1767, a fashionable man, who was called " Grand 
lugle," had returned from a continental tour. 1 knew him in 
imerick. One night at the theatre, behind the scenes, the 
Je-scenes being crowded, for his own convenience, he took 
It a penknife, cut a hole in the valuable and beautiful flat 
ene, large enough for his face, and stood there at his ease 
9king through it. At dinner, at the house of a nobleman, 
im I also knew very well, " Grand Bugle" with great com- 




26 yOMN CfKEEFFE. 

posure, took up tiro forks, stuck them in at each end of a fi 
large piece of roast heef, and flung it over his head about thM 
floor -, the only notice Ihe noble host look of this, i 
ing censure of the cook : I was present. M 
this kind got him his name of " Grand Bugle," and 31 
dress was in the extreme of French fashion, a person 1 
this excellent and apt remark, that " Ihe yellow clay wou^f, 
feep Ihrough the plaster of Paris." One night at Cork, he^ 
put a female into a sedan-chair, with whom he had no previous 
acquaintance : the chair was followed by a friend of hers, a 
considerable merchant of Cork ; a scuffle ensued, and the 
young merchant was killed ; the body found, the hue-and-cry 
followed " Grand Bugle : " a magistrate took bail, and he was 
at liberty till the Assizes. When they came on, he walked 
into court, surrounded by men of rank and consequence, his _ 
companions, and was arraigned according to legal form ; after J 
which he was walking out of the dock, when the judge coin-'4 
manded him to stop, severely reproved the magistrate for tak- 1 
ing bail on such a. serious charge, and committed him to prison ; 
a company of soldiers with fixed bayonets, and the gaoler, 
took him out of court, brought him up the main street, and put 
him into gaol — there he was ironed. His trial soon came on, 
for which the young merchant's relations were all active in 
collecting witnesses against him ; amongst others, the female 
who was innocently the occasion of the disaster ; but she was 
asked no questions. A gentleman, one of his own compan- 
ions, was the principal evidence against him, and broueht 
home the facts of willful murder so broad and full, thai it was 
the general opinion he must be found guilty ; when "Grand 

Bugle's " counsel said to this witness, " Mr. , have you not ■ 

a wager ufton the event of this trial ? — ^mind, sir, you are OB'S 
your oath." The witness said, yes, he had. " And have yovfl 
not a bel with Mr. Snch-a-one thai Ihe prisoner at the bar will 1 

suffer?" Mr. answered "Yes." "Take notice," said 

the counsel, " My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, that Ulr. 

is resolved to win his wager if he can." This question, 

answer, and remark of the counsel saved " Grand Bugle 



" WHALEBONE." Zf 

s acquitted. I was in court when he was arraigned, and 
when tried. 

That summer West Digges w 
number of nights at the theatr 
parts. The same night, " Grand Bugte " and his fashionable 
friends were behind the scenes. Digges in their hearing made 
complaint of the property-man, and telling his story with some 
bitterness said to " Grand Bugle," " Look here, sir, what a 
pair of fetters he has brought me — they've cut through my 
ankles. Instead of giving me proper tin light ones, he has got 
ihem out of the gaol, and they have been on some murderer." 

" Grand Bugle," by dissipation, lavished away all his for- 
tune, and died a prisoner for debt, in the Four Court Marshal- 
lea, Dubh'n. 

" Whalebone." 

At Limerick, about this time, Glenville and I lodged in the 
«ame house, and hired a servant between us, a poor simple 
country fellow, his face resembling that of the antique of the 
Dancing Faunus. We called him Whalebone : lie had no 
Mvery, nor was his own apparel very contme il faul; in short, 
It at elbows, bare-legged, with an old scratch wig on 
liis head. One day I was going up to my own room, when I 
met on the wide stairs a gentleman, who smiled and bowed and 
passed me by. I returned the salute, and went on to my 
lapartment. Soon after, having some occasion to look over my 
dothes, I missed a handsome green coat with a velvet collar, 
■M, fine scarlet waistcoat with silver lace, buff silk stocking-web 
small-clothes, silk stockings, and a pair of shoes : I made a 
r search, and missed a gold-!aced hat, and a particular 
pair of shoe-buckles. I was getting rather alarmed, when the 
flHtlemai whom I had met on the stairs, entered my room 
!»ith — "Sir, there's the hair-dresser waiting for you, and 
'•hall I warm the water, and do you intend to shave and dress 
' "s morning ? " " Why, llie devil ! " said I, " are you Whale- 
ifcone f " I now perceived, with astonishment, that our valet 
,Was dressed in the very clothes I had missed out of my 
drawers. Just as I had worked myself into a fury, in came 



28 JOHN O'A'EEFfE. 

Phil. Glenvilie, my partner in tlie mastership of Whalebone, ' 
and to him I made complaint of this glaring, impudent, and 
unaccountable robbery, as I called it. Glenvilie burst into a 
great laugh, and said; " Now look at him ! look at Whalebone ! 
is he not a credit and an honor to us both as our servant ? 
Had my clothes fitted him, 1 would have rigged him out with 
some of my own ; but you know I am such a tali, awkward 
fellow, and you are such a smart, well-made, middling-sized 
lad of wax, so that it was I that equipped Whalebone out of 
your wardrobe ; and now, if we have a message, and a how 
d' ye do lo send, and a wait at table, and bring our horses, and 
hold our stirrups, we have now a fellow who looks like a 
creditable servant — I beg pardon, O'Keeffe, I mean a gentie- 
man." I laughed, and Whalebone went on with his own 
affairs, as our trusty and faithful lackey. The remembrance 
of this circumstance was of use to me, when years after J was 
writing the " Castle of Andalusia :" as an instance, my making 
Fedrillo come in, and say, " Master, shall I shave you this 
morning." 

"TheVoung Beau." 

There was a young man of my own age, with me at Deny, 
whom we called " Young Beau ; " we went together one day 
to the Methodist meeting-house, a large, fine building, — there 
were no pews, only forms, with a walk between the ends up 
the centre ; the pulpit was at one end, and very high, —the 
preacher proper in his manner, the discourse edifying. Yet 
" Young Beau," who sat next me, to gratify his own humor, 
and display his taste for pulpit- rhetoric, frequently laughed, 
but with a show of endeavoring lo repress his risibility. The 
sermon over, the preacher looked down towards where we 
sat, and said, in a firm and decisive voice : " Now, breth- 
ren, I hope I have fulfilled my duly : yet, there is another, 
and a very solemn one, incumbent on me, and that is, to ad- 
vise that young gentleman yonder, lo keep as much as he can 
from the company of the young gentleman who is silting next 
him, or he will certainly bring him to ruin." 

These words drew the eyes of the whole congregation upon 



I 



"THE YOUNG BEAU!' 2g 

both, and " Young Beau," with a kind of smothered laugh, 
turned to me, and said, " You see what disgrace 1 bring upon 
myself by being seen in company with you." The preacher 
heard him, and answered with authority. " No, my admoni- 
tion is to your companion to keep as much out oi your com- 
pany as he can." By this time the service being over, the 
congregation drew towards the chapel door, and many of 
them having long watched " Young Beau's" misconduct, were 
very angry with him. One of them, a large consequential man, 
chamberlain of the city, and brother to the then mayor, 
launched out against him with most severe reproof ; we had 
now reached the door. This old gentleman in his displeas- 
ure at the profanation he had witnessed, was near laying hand 
on " Young Beau," who, stepping back, suddenly addressed 
htm with the grave, quiet, humble voice of steady and collected 
impudence : " Oh, sir, if I have been to blame, you should 
consider I am young, and foolish enough, and I am sorry ; 
but certainly you, yourself, are at this moment a hundred times 
more in the wrong, in standing under this sacred roof with 
your hat upon your head." It really was so, for the pious 
chamberlain in the fury of his zeal, had put on his hat, and now 
conscious of the truth of " Young Beau's " remark^was roused 
into perfect rage. He put his hand to his shoulder, and with 
% '' Ciet along ! get out ! " shoved him down the steps into the 
street. " Young Beau " burst into a roaring laugh, and ran 
away, and many of the congregation unfortunately could 
scarcely forbear joining in the mirth. 

" Young Beau," my comical ly-woatj/ acquaintance, whom I 
mentioned when at Derry, was also with me at Kilkenny. 
Here he fixed a quarrel upon a delicate well-mannered young 
man, who thought it advisable, for the safety of his own per- 
son, to complain to the mayor, a remarkably rigid magistrate, 
who granted a warrant, and " Young Beau " was apprehended 
in the street. The officers of justice in Kilkenny were, though 
proper itv their several duties, of an alarming appearance, being 
large men, with broad silver-laced scarlet waistcoats, three- 
cocked silver-laced hats, and long painted staves. The mayor 



30 JOHN. aKEEPFE. 

was in the street, and the constables brought " Young' Beau 
before him, when the accuser repeated his fears. The magiS' 
trale gave the delinquent 3. well-merited rebuke, but told hitn 
to get bail for his future good behavior, and he would not 
cotnmit him. "Well, sir," said the culprit, with a kind of 
arch whimsical face and manner, " to oblige you, I will get 
bail," and was walking off. " What 's that ! " said the majftir, 
" to oblige me ! you get bail, to oblige me, you young scoun- 
drel! lay hold onbim." The formidable constables instantly 
took him by the collar. I was present, and the plaintiff joined 
with me in interceding with the mayor. We promised hia 
worship that the prisoner should be bailed, and begged him 
let him amuse the Kilkenny audience that night, in his charac- 
ter of " Peachum," for which his name was in the play-bills. 
The magistrate, understanding by this who he was, relaxed 
into good humor ; and " Young Beau," with more lenity than 
he deserved, was released, and appeared that night in thi 
" Beggar's Opera," to a full and feshionable audience. 

Macdonnel, the Piper. 
Macdonnel, the famous Irish piper, lived in great style, — 
two houses^ servants, hunters, etc. His pipes were small, and 
of ivory, tipped with silver and gold. You scarcely s 
fiogers move ; and all his attitudes, while playing, were steady 
and quiet, and his face composed. On a day that I was one of 
a very large party who dined with Mr. Tliomas Grant of Cork, 
Macdonnel was sent for to play for the company during dinner ; 
a table and chair were placed for him on the landing outside 
the room, a bottle of claret and a glass on tlie table, and a ser- 
vant waiting behind the chair designed for him : the door left 
wide open. He made his appearance, took a rapid survey of 
the preparation for him, tilled his glass, stepped to the dining- 
room door, looked full into the room, said, " Mr. Grant, your 
health and company ! " drank it off, and threw half a crown on 
bis little table, saying to the servant, "There, my lad, is two 
shillings for my bottle of wine, and keep the sixpence for your- 
self." He ran out of the house, mounted his hunter, and 
galloped off, followed by his groom. 



1 



1 

I 




I 



CELLAH-BOOKS. 31 

The host and his company, at first astonished at his audacity, 
r »oon ran after him, in full hue and cry ; and had they caught 
I him, piper and pipes would have been tlirown into the River 



About the same season I prevailed on Macdonnel to play 
cne night on the stage at Cork, and had it announced in the 
bills that Mr, Macdonnel would play some of Carolan's fine 
airs upon the Irish organ. The curtain went up, and dis- 
covered him sitting alone, in his own dress ; he played, and 
charmed everybody. 

The Irish pipes have a small bellows under the left arm, a 
Lg- covered with crimson silk under the right arm ; from these 
jjiasses a small leather tube of communication for the wind to 
reach, first, from the bellows to the bag, as both are pressed 
by the elbows ; and from this tube, another small one conveys 
the wind to the several pipes ; that on which the fingers move, 
is called the chaunter, or treble ; there are three other pipes 
which hang over the wrist : the longest of them is called the 
drone, or bass. 

This distinguishes the Irish from the Scotch bagpipes, 
■which are blown by the pipe in the mouth. 

Cellar-books. 
It was a custom with the students to lend their cellar* 
■ books to a friend. These books, consisting of seven leaves, 
I were passports to the college cellar. One of them being lent 
^, I brought with me two companions, and, on hearing the 
r bell ring at nine o'clock, llie notice that the cellar is open, we 
" . was on the left hand of the first court, and stretched 
I under the great dining-hall, in low arches, extending very far, 

I and containing large butts of ale regularly arranged. Close 
i by the entrance, on the left hand, was a L'ttle box, like a kind 
L of pulpit, and there sat the college butler, as he was termed. 

I I delivered to him the little book ; he with few words, quiet 
Land proper in his manner, gave his orders to his attendants, 

ere led to a large table, of which there were many in 
P-the cellar. On our table was a great iron candlestick with 







32 yO//JV O-KEEFFE. 

tbree legs, and io it a wax candle, as thick as my wrist, whi 
spread a brilliant light through the vaulted gloo 
cup or vase, with Iwo handles, was placed before 
full of the college ale, called Lemon October: the cup held. 
about three quarts. A wicker basket was brought full 
small loaves, called by them Manchets ; but such ale or 
bread, I never tasted before or since, except in this collet 
cellar. The tinkling bell continued ringing until half-past' 
nine, the signal when the cellar doors are closed. While 
were enjoying this, indeed, delicious regale, we observed num- 
bers of the servants of the collegians giving the little books to 
the butler up in his box, for them to receive ale, and take It to 
their masters in their several apartments ; the butler's busi- 
ness was to put down in those books the quantity delivered 
out or drunk in the cellar. I once went to the entrance of the 
college kitchen, and saw five or six spits, one over another, 
and of great length, full of legs of raution roasting ; the notice 
for dinner was a man bawling under the cupola, " The Dean 's 
in the hall ! " 

I thought it whimsical to see the students, some sixteen 
years of age or so, thrust their heads through windows, and 
cry "Boy ! " when a little old man would get up from a bench 
in the court or hall, and shutHe up to him, answering, 
air." These old men, constantly in waiting, are called Boyi 

Dueling in iREi-ANn. 
I am sorry to say that, in my time, pistol dueling v 
prevalent in Ireland. A friend, stili living, walking ■ 
George's Lane with me, a young gentleman, an acquaintance d 
both of us, happened to be coming down Stephen Street ; and, 
as we met at the corner, " Oh, oh ! " said he, " I 'm very glad 
to see you ! " The answer of my friend was, " And I 'm very 
glad to see ysu, and I '11 not part with you, now that I've 
caught you, till you give me satisfaction." I found that the 
night before ihey had had a few accidental words of dispute 
in the pit at the theatre, since which time they had been ia 
search of each otlier. My companion laid liold of the coat <i>'\ 



r 






DUELING IN IRELAND. 33 

, and we all three walked in silence the whole 
length of George's Lane, into Dame Street, op Cork Hill, 
□ Castle Street, and there entered by a litlle passage into a 
_^vem, the Carteret's Head : the waiter showed us into a small 
n the yard. There was a table in the middle of the 
" Now," said my friend, taking from his pocket a small 
e of pistols, and laying them on a chair, " 1 was on the 
"look-out for you, and am partly prepared ; we '11 now decide 
this affair across the table ; and, as I cannot part with my 
jwaKH^r/f gentleman here, do you, O'Keeffe, step to the plumb- 
er's shop, in Cook Street, you know it very well, and buy rae 
some balls ~- 1 have powder." He clapped half a crown in my 
hand, and they both seated themselves, swelling with ire and 
indignation ; 1 left the room, walked into the street, and paced 
a little up and down, very much troubled, and full of reflection 
how 1 could prevent this mischief. I bought no bullets, but 
in a quarter of an hour returned, when I found them walking 
about the room in silence. After standing a moment at the win- 
dow, I went over 10 one of ihem, and, as he had been the ag- 
gressor, whispered something aBout concession ; he looked 
grave, then smiled. I took his -hand, and then my friend's 

I hand, joined them, and made their reconciliation a good sign 
for the Union Fire Office. 
A short lime before this, at Ennis, on a gaming dispute, two 
^ry clever gentlemen fought in a tavern, and fired across the 
table ; one was killed. I was very well acquainted with both. 
I Once, at Limerick, I bad a more difficult stretch at the olive- 
^nch. After dinner at the Turk's Head, words arose be- 
(treen two of our party, and in the altercation the epithet 
ruyfd/was unhappily used ; he to whom it was addressed, im- 
mediately quitted the room, but returned in a few minutes with 
a pistol in each hand, and desired the rash pronouncer of the 
opprobrious word lo follow him. In an instant they were both 
down-siairs, and in the street. I and others of our party ran 
down after them, ll was dark — I was confounded and 
alarmed, as 1 very well knew that the man who brought the 
, was remarkable for practicing pistol-shots. We did 
3 



34 



JOHN O'fiEEFFE. 



not know which way they had gone. I ran along the I 
Street, and with all tny speed down Quay Lane, looking evi 
way about, and listening to hear their angry voices, but all n 
silent. Ai ksi 1 reached the canal that leads from the Shi 
non, and here I found them. Being on (he most in 
friendly terms with both, particularly with him who really b 
offended, I spoke first to him, but words were nothing. < 
knew that it was next to a certainty his adversary tt 
him ; and I was determined by main force to prevent a d 
if possible. My friend had the pistol in his hand ; I laid h 
of it, wrenched it from iiim, and dung it with all my might a 
strength across the canal. " Now," said I, " if you will figl 
having only one pistol, you must toss up for the first sha 
and, though it is so dark, that you cannot distinguish the ha 
from the harp, yet one of your foohsh heads may have EJ 
brains blown out ; whilst there above, at the Turk's Head,l4 
the choice bottle of claret you left upon the fable, i 
along you pair of foolish fellows." And taking each of tl 
enraged heroes under an arm, I endeavored to laugh, and joli 
and sing ; and thus we relifrned lo our room of convivialU) 
where we were again joined- by many of our party. My s' 
cess in this make-up gave me great joy, as 1 was partly ii 
cated in the quarrel, the other having advocated my c 
when he thought my friend was in the wrong. 

" Blessed are the Peace-makers." 
At a suburb near London, in one of my lone walks, 1 s 
great basket of crockerj'-ware on the ground, close to the n 
and a man, seemingly a farmer or gardener, grappling the a 
lar of another man : the latter, it a]}peared, had stepped over 
the hedge, and taken a turnip out of a field, and was eating it ; 
this was seen by the owner, who now threatened to put him 
into the hands of a constable, and send him to prison, for the 
trespass and robbery, I ventured to talk to him on the sub- 
ject, a little in my way, while the poor crockery-man waa ex- 
cusing himself by saying that he thought it no harm to take ji 
turnip to cool his mouth. " Aye. but," says the husbandm; 



QUARRELSOME IRISHMEN. 



35 



^Bsif every fellow that passes this road lakes a turnip out of my 
^■Beld, will that story satisfy my landlord on quarter-day ? " I 
^Hwked [he other, " Well, now, what may be the value of this 
"damage done lo you ? '' " Why, as to Ilial, the value of a tur- 
nip is not so much here or there ; a penny may pay a bunch 
of lurnips." " Well, then," said I, " there 's the price of six 
bunches of lurnips. and let him go, and say no more about it." 
" Ecod ! " said the gardener with a smile, '' that 's very hearty 
ir, on your part, and I 'II not be worse on mine ; one 
ialf-penny of this shall not go into my pocket. So, turning to 
bie poor crockery-man, " Step with me over to Slockings'a, 
Wd this sixpence gels me a pot of beer, which you shall be 
[be first to dip your beak in ; so come along. Tliank ye, sir." 
e crockery-man got his ware upon his head, and otf they 
Kt in perfect good-humor. 

Quarrelsome Irishmen. 
[ A certain tavern at the corner of Temple Lane and Essex 
(treet, being so near the theatre, was a convivial and frequent 
I^Eort, as well for performers as persons who had been at the 
Ben Lord, the landlord, had a most happy and inviting 
^urish in drawing a cork. It was our mode to ask each 
, " Do you sup at Commons to-night ? " " Oh, no ! I sup 
kl the house of Lords." I was there one night with Dawson 
, and some others ; amongst the company was a Mr. 
Brady, once a school-fellow of mine at Father Austin's, but at 
this time a considerable merchant ; a trifling altercation took 
place between him and Dawson, and some words of taunt and 
retort, when Brady made use of the expression, " You 're bs- 
atk me." This was a cut at the profession, and might have 
n spared, particularly as many of the performers were pres- 
Qawson instantly took a leap, jumped upon the table, 
id, with an exulting smile of triumphant superiority, shuffled 
n-pipe step among the bottles and glasses, and ex- 
aimed, " Now, I 'm above you, Brady ; Brady, now I 'm 

This comic and sudden practical truism stopped the ap- 



36 JOHN aKBEFFE. 

proadiing quarrel, and turned the whole njom, Brady and al 
into social mirth and good fellowship, which was kept up un( 
the watchman's " Past two o'clock " warned us to separati 
and go home lo pillow 

Another instance of an alert iaugh turning bully frown en 
of doors, occurred in a coffee-house near the Exchange 1 
Cork, where I was sitting quietly taking my dish of coffe 
Hero Jackson and John Mac Malon, at that lime quite ayoutl 
were walking up and down the room, arm in arm, — the on 
above six feet high, and athletic as Alcides — the other th! 
and delicate, indeed remarkably slim and slender. W 
arose, I know not how, between Jackson and one of the con 
pany, and continued for some lime with great acrimony o 
both sides ; at length the hero, making a full stop, and loot 
ing with determined aspect at the other gentleman, said in 
firm, decisive tone, at the same time turning upon young Ma 
Mahon, and grasping him with his right hand by the middl 
of the waistcoat, " Sir, if you repeat such language to ns 
again, I '11 rallan you out of the room." The word rattta 
and the action which accompanied it (for Jackson had no stic 
of any kind in his hand), produced a loud and universal laug] 
in which the gentleman himself, who was thus addressed 
could not help joining heartily. 

Stuart, the Actor. 
These plays by army officers took rise from the children 
Mr. Samuel Whyte's school in Grafton Street, getting u 
" Cato," at Crow Street Theatre. Whyte's son played Cat 
admirably. The Marquis of Kildare one morning on the st 
started the thought, that if these boys repealed their playli 
the public at large, and money were taken at the doors (whit 
was not done at first), the profits might be applied to some ■ 
the charitable institutions of Dublin. Stuart, an actor, and 
great oddity, slapped the Marquis on the shoulder, with ". 
good move, my lord." " Why, I think it is, Mr. Stuart," r 
plied Lord Kildare, with the sense and good-humor of his nab 
urat character. The plan was adopted and succeeded, to the 



STUART, THE ACTOH. 37 

Hight of every feeling mind. Several officers in the army 

mongst others, poor Captain Bowater) took it up afterwards, 

Bid the produce went to the Dublin hospitals and infirmaries. 

. The actresses played gra.tis, and gentlemen of the fir.st rank 

e door-keepers. Many years after I attempted to promote 

this laudable custom, by making Lady Amaranth, in my comedy 

of "Wild Oats," adopt the same plan. 

About the time that Whyte's boys acted, as above men- 
tioned, the master of a most eminent classical school in Dub- 
lin permitted and encouraged his boys to act the First Part of 
Shakspeare's Henry IV. The school-room was fitted up as a 
theatre in very good style ; the parents and friends of the 
pupils were invited, and came to see them, and made a fine, 
dressy, delighted, and attentive audience ; the young perform- 
ers had been trained and instructed well by their master and 
ushers, and all was proceeding in a very high pilch of regularity 
and decorum. 

n behind the scenes; my humorous friend, 
! with me, and some others were also in 
V Stuart amongst them, and was suddenly 
struck with the fancy to try a bit of mischief. Fully acquainted 
with Stuart's foible, and eccentricity of character, he called 
him aside, and whispered : " Now, Stuart, you see how non- 
sensically these young caitiffs are pulling the ' Sweet Wi!ly-0,' 
to pieces, and before such a polite and brilliant company, too ! 
How should such curs know how to act ? In perfect pity and 
good-nature, do you go on, and oblige and charm the audience 
with a real recital of Hotspur or Prince Harry." " Why, aye," 

Kd Stuart, "Jack Martin, you're right, very right, the true 
fit of Barry and Mossop ar^ here and here " — striking his 
last and forehead. " Aye," said Martin, "the words, the 
k, the action, are everything ; do go on,-— go, and oblige 
■ audience." " You 're ri^ht, I will, — I will oblige the au- 
dience." His dress was black, with a large scratch-wig on his 
head, sticking-up behind, and three cocked hat ^altogether a 
most grotesque appearance. On he stepped with, " Stand 
"^ rt of the way, boys ! get along ; your parts are to hold your 
— look and listen I " and then vociferated ; - — 



I got admissio 
Jack Martin, was 
groups ; Martin s 



38 JOHN 0-KEEFFE. 

" And if lie d«il cnmt aod rair iat them, 
I wiU BDI Htid Ihen ; I will afln Hnil, 
And Idl hira w ; for I will ox my heart. 

All was for some time, bolh off the stage and 
and astonishment; but the person of the iil-tiraed intruder wi 
sooQ recognised, and some cried out, " Eh, what 's all thi; 
why 't is Stuart ! Oh, get along 1 " The master, the ushers 
the boys, the servants, all at once, rushed upon poor Stuart 
and tugged, and shoved, and hustled him off the stage, ova 
the lights and fiddles and fiddlers, out of the house, — Jacl 
Martin, myself, and others, enjoying the scene highly. 

The characters intrusted to Stuart were rather of an imde^ 
ling kind, such as " Oswald," or "Lord Stanley," or " Tl 
coach is at the door," or, "Thoughts black, hands apt, tin 
agreeing ; " and in such parts he gave no great sublimity ' 
the tragic scene ; yet certain of the audience adopted a fani 
to give thundering applause to every line and word he 
either in " tragedy, comedy, pastoral, history, or poem on 
limited ; " so that, by this nightly custom, the real and genuine) 
monarch of the boards was totally overlooked \ and whelhQ 
it was a Hamlet or a Lear, an Othello or a Posthumus, Beattjl 
Stuart's single line engrossed all the applause. Smith, tM 
capital London actor, coming over to Dublin had Richarc 
for one of his characters.- Stuart was the Catesby, aa«t 
Stuart received his usual share of plaudit Smith 
ished and confused, and strutted and stamped ; and when htf 
went off, laid a strict injunction on the manager never to sens 
that actor on with him again ; however, this unhappy applaud 
ing persecution continued night after night. At length, 
baited Stuart ventured suddenly to stop, walk forward, 
address the audience thus : — 

"Gentlemen (or whoever it is that have got it into t! 
heads to hunt me down in this manner), I acknowledge I 
no very great actor, nor do tliey give me any very great 
to spoil \ hut, in such as I am allotted, I do my best, and b; 
my endeavors, poor as they are, 1 contrive to support mysell 



ANECDOTE OF CONGREVE. 39 



Ijiy wife, and my family of children. If you go on this way 
Wth roe, Ihe manager must turn me off ; and thus you deprive 
ine of my morsel of bread. It may be fine fun for all of you : 
- but remember — (and he dapped his hand (o his breast in a 
feeling and affecting manner, and burst out with) remember 
the fable of the boys and the frogs— ''tis spott to you, but 
death to me ! ' " 

This heart-sent appeal had an inslanlaneous eflect. and, be 
it spoken to Ihe humanity of a Dublin audience, from that 
night Mr. Sluart never had one hand of applause. 

I happened to be one day in the Four Courts, at a trial of 
life and death, in the King's Bench (where, in Dublin, criminal 
causes come on). Stuart was among the crowd, and had 
clambered, by some roundabout means, up to the Bench, just 
as the judge was going to pronounce sentence. Stuart, who 
had got close to him, exclaimed, " My lord, my lord, don't 
hang him 1 — clever- looking young man, send hini^to serve the 
King — don't hang him, he '11 repent, he 'II repent ! don't hang 
him, my lord ! — fine young man I mercy 1 mercy ! " 

This ill-timed remonstrance raised considerable tumult, and 
Stuart was ordered to be hauled down over the benches and 
forms, — he and his clemency were shoved out of Ihe court 
into the street. With an excellent heart, he was most certainly 
a very queer fellow ; he used to call Mossop his " swarthy ac- 
quaintance," and Barry the " tall boy," and T. Sheridan the 
"mad ketde-drummer." I happened, one day, to be reckon- 
ing in my hand the change of half a guinea, and he looked at 
me and my modicum of silver with high consequence, and 
^niuch wonder at my importance, and, after a moment's silence, 
^^Kidin his glib quick mode of speech, " Jack, why don't you 
^^nr a watch 7 " 

^^K Anecdote of Congreve. 

^^ Speaking of persons addressing an audience in their own 

diaracter, dramatic tradition gives the following circumstance 

relative to Congreve. On the first night of the representation 

of his last play, "The Way of the World," the audience 

■lu^ed it violently ; the clamor was loud, and originated in a 



40 



yOHN O'KEEFFE. 



party.for Congreve was a statesman and a placeman 
standing al tlie side of the stage, and when the uproar of hi»s 
and opposition was at its height, he walked on {the first a 
last time this poet ever stood before an audience), and i 
dressed them thus: "Is it your intention to damn 1 
play ? ■' The cry was, " Yes, yes I off, off ! " and the 
increased in violence. He again obtained a little silence, and 
said, '■ Then, I tell you, this play of mine will be a living play 
when you are ait dead and damned 1 " And walked slowly ofi. 

"I 'll bury you for nothing." 
1 remember in Dublin a very capital man of business, an 
upholsterer, undertaker, and so on, who liked his bottle, and 
was much in company with the principal actors. One day he 
dined with a parly with Jack Vandermeer, who, from being a 
great favorite for his performance of Skirmish in the " De- 
serter," wa^ also much admired by this same upholstere 
Vandermeer after dinner came out with sorae handsome jolei 
and sang a capital song, and the decanter went round, wh| 
the tradesman clapped the "glorious boy" on the shoul 
saying, in high glee, " You 're a fine fellow I I '11 make y 
present of a capital mahogany dining-table," "No!" 
Vandermeer, " I want no tables ; I 'm in furnished lodging! 
"Are you?" said the other; and on Vandermeer's ( 
out with another joke or two, and tlie glass going round, % 
"You are a fine fellow! you're such a tine fellow, I '11 t 
you for nothing — you're a bachelor, you shall have i 
feathers on your hearse ! 1 '11 bury you for nothing.'' 

Sticks to his Text. 
Vandermeer had been a fellow-student with me at W« 
Academy, and was afterwards with Foote at the Haymaife 
Theatre. Whilst in Dublin, he was full of arch pranks. Irf 
Sparkes, that very capital comedian, and the greatest favo 
the Irish ever had, was most particularly correct in keepipi 
the words of his author. At this time he was old, fat, andn 
wieldly ; be had a vast double chin, and large bushy gray a 



JUSTICE DORUS- 



41 



rows, that stuck out. One niglit of Dryden's " Amphitryon, 

r the Two Sosias," he was doing Justice Gripus. Vander- 

-, who played Mercury, had, in the course of the business, 

p take the Justice by the ear, and give him a shaking. Mcr- 

slruck with a whimsical fancy, laid hold of Sparkes's 

^ebrows, and kepi pulling them, while the poor Justice roared 

1 Dryden's exact words, "Will you never leave lugging 

e by the ears,? " 

Justice Dorus. 
L The first night of Garrick's " Cymon," in Dublin, an actor 
pom London played Justice Dorus ; he was rather a heavy, 
1, and Vandermeer. who did Li nco. conceived he mas 
livery good subject to pass a joke upon. In the course of the 
ae, Linco has to place a kind of magisterial chair for the 
Justice to sit upon, and hear the complaints the two shepherd- 
\ bring against Sylvia. The scene that follows this, is 
:ent of the four demons. The arch Linco fixed the 
'b chair upon the trap, over the very spot where they 

rise, having previously given instructions to Ihe car- 

1 below, that when they heard him give a knock with 
B foot above, liiey should lower the one trap, and raise the 
^er with the demons. Vandermeer being one of the princi- 

1 actors of that day, they considered that his instructions 

t be right. The old comedian was very proud of his per- 

in this same scene of Justice Dorus and the two 

shepherdesses. Just as he was seated, and they ready to 

come 00, Unco, by a stamp of his foot, gave the signal to the 

carpenters below ; down went Justice Dorus in his great chair, 

up came four Furies, in red stockings, and hooEs and 

ns, Hashing their burning flambeaux about. This happened 

le his first season in Ireland, and he swore that Vander- 

'X was the most unfair lad that ever lived, and he would 

It back to Enjiland as fast as he could ; however, he forgot to 

^p his word, for he remained in Dublin many years. 



nil 






•s— »• 




r -n — Lr z rrs: r.r ^misni^ 






' -r- - z.iLC-^ ^:2i "He 3iiL;*» r« 



■• •• ' '• * -' »*-:..*. V :.■ LIT itsiiT nm. ii. rs* rci. 

•'' -. . '/ "t y\ r." leinii tibt sct^xs. 

« ■■ • ■ ■"•■ •'/••,■ ',-■-.'. -V'-- '-lit ^-=g* irrii SiTrard's 

J , . J . . . 

I . . i< >.><,>i{/l.i I .iti Willcirj'.on on the stage as his pupil in 
,..ii. I' I I / v/illfn^<fii w;i^ <ln-ss«:r1 in a full suit of black vel- 

,1 I...,, ;,.,iii:iiii , .iikI Iiim- piistc knee and shoe-buckles. 
I .1. Ill • iiMii \t I 'il lii^ ni.r.UT, ^;ivc him his orders to take 

II . ,„ h .,,,.1 Il ji i.iui. .i« inv.M-s, and indeed every one else 



J 


m 


1 


J 


H ^ ' \1'' 


!^H 


1 




[ 



42 JOHN O'KEEfFE. 

Old SiwARD. 

The father of ihis said Justice Uonis was manager of the 
theatre in one of the great towns in Englatid, when 
the leading people there encouraged him to engage Ross, the 
great actor, to come from London, and perform a few of his 
most celebrated characters. Ntacbeth was the first play, and 
the manager remarked, that Mr. Ross might act the ustirpi 
and wicked villain of a tyrant, who was only a Scotch general, 
but he, himself, would do Old Siward the English general, and 
uncle to Prince Malcolm, heir to the crown. The play 
and Ross in Macbeth had his well-merited applause, and the 
audience were all in high gratificati 
trance of Old Siward — when there was, what is phrased, a> 
dead itatid. This manager, a kind of absent-minded r 
stead of being on the stage enacting the aforesaid English gen*. 
eral, was now quietly seated in the middle of the pit looking. 
round, reckoning the house ; but at the chasm in the play, he 
became surprised, vexed, and at last quite enraged. "Hey "' 
said he, " why does not Did Siward come on ! I '11 forfeit him, 
I '11 turn hini off; he fit to act in my ilieatre I I '1! send him to 
rant in a barn I I will. Where the plague can the fellow be ? 
Eh! who was it Icastfor Siward? — 1 '1! turn him off, who- 
ever it is." One of the audience, who sat near him in the pi^. 
put the play-bilJ in his hand with, " Siward by Mr. 
not that your name, sir?" The affrighted managerial ab- 
sentee started up, ran out of the pit, got behind the scenes, 
and in his own clothes rushed upon the stage with Siward' 
first speech : — ■ 



"What 



.is belon 



Samuel Foote. 
Foote brought Tale Wilkinson on the stage as bis pupil is 
mimickry ; Wilkinson was dressed in a full suit of black vel- 
vet, bag Solitaire, and tine paste knee and shoe-buckles.' 
Foote, in character of his master, gave him his orders to take 
ofi such and such actors, actresses, and indeed every one else 



SAMUEL FOOTE. 



43 



might be we!l known lo Ihe public. In imitating Barry, 
ilossop, Mrs. Fitzhenry, Mrs. Dancer, Mrs. Bellamy, and 
Garrick (for, previous to this, Garrick had been acting in 
Dublin), the pupil acquitted himself with great success, and 
TODsequent applause, which his teacher Foote shared, by mak- 
3. low bow lo the audience, whenever a round of applause 
Hepaid Wilkinson's exertions. 

The entertainment over, both were preparing to make their 
t, when Wilkinson said, " Stop, sir, I have another person 
to take off. " Another ! no, you have n't " — " Oh, yes, sir. 
Kit I have, and I think 1 shall do it so well, and so like, that 
\ shall have no occasion, like the sign-painter, to write under 
' This is the sign of the goose ; ' " and immediately he 
btmicked Foote admirably. Foote seemed confounded and 
i>exed; and stamped and walked about, desiring him to hold 
his prate, and be off with himself, while the whole house was 
i& a commotion of delight. Wliether this was a settled trick 
Ktween master and pupil, 1 do not know, for at that lime I 
^ young, and knew nothing of the arcana of the stage. I 
vas in the pit, and saw and enjoyed this piece of business 
(Ely much. 

Foote wrote his httle piece in one act, called "Piety in 
Pattens," lo ridicule the sentimental comedies, at that time 
jetting into a kind of fashion. It had only three characters, 
the Squire, the Butler, and Polly Pattens ; the latter was 
played by Mrs. Jewell, a very handsome and pleasing actres.s, 
and a good singer. The piece consisted of the most trifling 
and commonplace thoughts, wrapped up in a bundle of grand 
phrases and high-flown words ; and had its full effect as a 
laugbable burlesque on forced sentiment. Foote, himself, did 
ct in it. I wa' in the house the first night of its per- 
ince in Dublin. The dialogue went on smooth enough, 
it came lo a part where Polly had to sing a song : here 
a full stop, she repeated the last words very often, but 
ne note from a fiddle, or tinkle from a harpsichord fol- 
1. Distressed and confused, Mrs. Jewell walked to and 
), stili looking at the leader of the band, and making signs 



44 JOHN OKKEFFE. 

to him to play; but he niutlered, and seemed not to undeiv 
stand her. Foote, who had been watching behind the scenes, 
altenlive to the effect of his sarcastic drama upon his audi- 
tors, at length limped on, walked over to the orchestra, and in 
an angry lone asked the tirst iiddle why he did not strike up 
tlie symphony of the song ? The vexed musician answered, 
" We 've no music ! " Foote instantly, in his own peculiar 
humorous manner, came forward and addressed the audience : 
'■Ladies and Gentlemen, — sorry for your disappointment, 
but the cause is explained— There's no musk in the Orekes- 

This raised a genera! laugh in the whole house, at the ex- 
pense of the musicians, who, however, were really not in fault,, 
as Mrs, Jewell had rehearsed her song that morning at tha 
harpsichord in the greenroom, instead of on the stage, and 
the person whose office it was, had neglected to distribute tOi 
the band the accompaniments ; and even the leader of Qis 
band did not know there was a song in the piece. 

Foote was in Dublin at Christmas, but he told the man; 
he was ill, and could not play ; this was in the greenroom, 
when some of the performers, men and women, remarked. 
'• Ah, sir ! if j'ou will not play, we shall have no Christmas 
dinner." " Ha ! " said he, "if my playing gives you a Christmas 
dinner, play 1 will 1 " and he did so. With all his high comic 
humor, one could not help pitying him sometimes, as he stood 
npon his one leg, leaning against the wall, whilst his servant 
was putting on his stage false leg, with shoe and stocking, and 
fastening it to the stump \ he looked sorrowful, but instantly 
resuming all his high comic humor and mirth, hobbled forward, 
entered the scene, and gave the audience what they expected 
— their plenty of laugh and delight 

Foole's great hobby was to tell stories, jest, anecdote, etc., 
and be surrounded by laughers ; their laugh was the fuel : 
that not supplied, his fire soon became dull ; but he certainly 
was most powerful in exciting laughter. He gave his good 
dinners and wines, and was rather ostentatious in display of 
affluence, much given lo parade, but this made part of the 



SAMUEL FOOTS. 45 

mfession. He had not that comrortable substance of temper, 
which in Macklin marked the reality of the man, whose mind 
lou saw in his comportment to you. Every bod/ laughed at 
foote, for they could not he!p it ; but Macklin was often lis- 
lened lo with uninterrupted attention and respect. Foote once 
laid to me : " Take care of your wit, bottle up your wit." 

He had a wink, and a smile with one corner of liis mouth, 
t harsh voice, except when mimicking. His manner on- the 
itage was not very pleasant to the performers on with him, for 
le tried to engross all the attention ; in speaking, his own 
Sue was turned full to the audience, while theirs was constantly 
a profile. It is 3 method with an old stager, who knows the 
idvantageous points of his art, to stand back out of the level 
rith the actor who is on with him, and thus he displays his 
KWn full figure and face 10 the audience. But, when two 
aiowing ones are on together, each plays Ihe trick upon the 
Ither. I was much diverted with seeing Macklin and Sheri- 
lan, in Othello and lago, at this work ; both endeavoring to 
tcep back, they at last got together up against the back scene. 
Sarry was too much impassioned to attend lo such devices. 

Foote brought many of his plays with him to Dublin : 
'The Cozeners," "The Maid of Bath," "The Bankrupt," 
PTfae Nabob," "The Commissary," " The Mayor of Garrat," 
K,, which comic slock was all together a very rich feast. At 
le rehearsal of one of his peices, he himself drilling the per- 
inners, one of them, whom I have mentioned before, " Young 
eau," had in his part the word "Sarcophagus,"' which he 
rr mispronounced by a wrong accent. '■ Ha, ha," said 
:e, " what 's that, Sarcophagus ? the word is sarrapha- 
— not sarcophagus, as you pronounce it — 'tis derived 
the Greek, you know ; I wonder that did not strike 

iiese words, and his manner, raised a smile among Ihe 
ers against poor " Young Beau," who was known to 
! early neglected his school-learning. Though naturally 
essed of most powerful effrontery, he stood all abashed ; 
;ver, he was not long without most ample revenge. The 



46 JOHN ffKEEFFE. 

favorite amusement of Foote, as \ have already said, was n 
counting anecdotes in the greenroom, where he sat w* " 
circle of tRe performers, all in full laugh at and with hin 
" Young Beau " walched liis opportunity, dnd, lixing hire 
among the company full before Foote, whilst the latter -i 
going on in the high career of joke and whim, looked stea 
fastly upon !iim with a calm, grave, quiet face ; thi 
ble- conduct of " Young Beau," at length totally disconcerb 
Foote, and cast a complete cloud over his jocularity, and^ 
was thought, gave him more real distress and vexation, tl 
if a whole audience had hissed him when acting on 

Amateur Actors. 

It was a kind of custom (not very laudable) of the Irii 
managers to encourage siage-btt young Englishmen to O 
over to Dublin, where they might initiate themselves by O 
at Macbeth, Hamlet, Othello, etc, and be prepared I 
mand afterwards, vast salaries at the London theatres, ail^ 
make Bettertons, Booths, Barrys, and Garricks of thei^ 
selves ; but woeful was the disappointment to many of the! 
often attended with serious distress. One of liiese 
tragedians from London was suffered to have a trial part d 
Richard III^ at Smock Alley Theatre, but was only allowed » 
play it once. About a week after, I met him going through 
Capel Street, with a small new trunk under his arm ; much 
surprised, I asked him what all that was about? "Why, sir," 
said he, " this is my trade ; for, in London, I was a trunk- 
maker ; last week, I made this new trunk, and am now carry- 
ing it home by desire of the master, who keeps a shop, and 
gives me employment. Had 1 been without a trade, I might 
have starved : for two Saturdays came round, and no money 
to me from the play-liouse treasury. " Yet you will agree that, 
in offering ' My kingflom for a horse,' 1 was loud enough : 
so my new acquaintance, Mr. Mossop, got envious of my 
hammer, and said, 1 make more noise than ■work.'" 

There were many more actors much in the same forlorn 
■tate as the trunk-maker, and unfortunately for them, without 



AMATEUR ACTORS. 47 

I'good trade by which to earn their daily morsel. And here I 
!»k back with rather a happy self- approbation, that, to several 
f these visitors to a strange land, I gave as much assistance 
■ I possibly could ; for from my own resources I bad it in 
By power to be their friend. 
I particulariy remember two of these London misled youths, 
1 were engaged at Crow Street ; both had education, were 
1 brought up, and dressed well; one was Mr. Forest, the 
Kher Mr. Layton. Layton one morning came to rehearsal 
rilh 3 small bit of paper stuct in his ear : being asked what 
iiat was, said he, " 'T is my part ; the manager, when in 
jondon, engaged me to come over to Dublin and play Macbeth, 
nit the Wounded Soldier is now all I have to do or say. I 
wrote it out, and here it is in my ear, to get into my head, 
nd so to have it by heart." Forest had to play Elliot, one 
f the conspirators in " Venice Preserved ; " Glenville, the reg- 
r Dublin performer, ever given to his jokes, gravely told 
bis young English novice that in his part he should not say 
* Frenchman, you are saucy," but, to please an Irish audience, 
s should say " Frenchman, you are cobbaugk" Forest took 
Ms facetious advice as very friendly, and the same night 
lune out with " Frenchman, you are cobbaugk;" which pro- 
luced hisses and uproar among the audience, as an intended 
lisrespecl to them, although the word in the Irish language 
OS much the same meaning as saucy, or full of prate. 
I was one day walking up Sackville Street with these two 
Hiihs, Messrs. Forest and Layton, when, making a full slop, 
-looked at both steadfastly, and rather signitiaanUy, said ; 
>Now, come, confess a truth thai I will venture to guess at. 
ot Forest, nor yours Laylon ; but when you 
rere meditating on this fine Irish theatrical excursion, you 
^jpened to he walking together near Hackney ; you pro- 
laed to change your names ; you were then near Low 
'Mylon, and not a great way from Epping Forest, and this 
hrew the sudden thought across your minds of assuming 
r present names. One of you said to the other, ' You 
llall be Mr. Laylou, and I will be Mr. Forest.' " They looked 



48 JOHN O'KEEFFE. 

at me, then at each other, smiled, laughed outright, and, 
surprise at my wizard penetration, confessed that absolutely 
that was the fact. 

"Very well," said I, "my random shot has hit you; biU 
keep your secret, and let us now walk to Jemmy Candy's^ 
where I have bespoke dinner." 

Amongst these candidates, ambitious of theatrical fame,. 
■was a young lady with a handsome face, a tall, fine, slender 
person, and a clear melodious speaking voice, She had taken 
up the idea that Crow Street stage might make a convenient 
horse-block, from whence to mount a fine caparisoned palfrejr 
on Covent Garden or Drury Lane boards ; and got a letter (rf 
recommendation from some great person in London, to Barry, 
the Irish manager. She posted from London, and sailed 
over to Dublin. Barry consented to grant her a trial char- 
acter ; and she chose Roxana, but, on her rehearsing a few 
scenes of it, he was afraid 10 trust her with such a part before 
an audience ; yet being compelled (o give her some sort of 
engagement, upon the strength of her recommendation, he 
allotted her the character of an attendant lady, in Lee's tragedy 
of " Theodosius," which, from his own acting of Varanes, and 
Mrs. Dancer's Athenais, was in high vogue in Dublin. Tbis< 
new actress bad a fine speech to address to Athenais : 1 foiget 
the words, but it is amply descriptive of the coolness or dis- 
content which had taken possession of the Emperor Theodo- 
sius's heart, in place of the love he pnce entertained for her. 
She came on, looked full at the heroine Athenais, attempted 
to addres.s her, but, unable to recollect a single word of her 
long speech, stood staring for half a minute, when, suddenly 
recovering herself, with a solemn tragedy tone she came out 
with an impromptu of her own, in these words, " Madam, 
the Emperor despises you." Mrs. Dancer was astonished, 
and confounded, and most of the audience who knew the 
real words, were much surprised, yet highly diverted. 

After this grand speechment, it was thought advisable not to 
let her have anything at all to say, yet, as she had a very hand- 
some face, and line slim tragedy presence, they made another 



AMATEUR ACTORS. 



49 



tempt with her, and suffered her once more to come on ; 

l^and come on she did, in the tragedy of "AlexanJer ihe Great," 

n attendant to one of the rival queens. And thus she 

performed her part ; in the violent quarrel beliveen Roxana 

and Statira, she walked over, and looked full in the face of the 

Queen, who was then speaking : that speech done, and Ihe 

other Queen having to make her grand speech, this attendant 

idy walked gravely over, and kept staring full in her face ; 

' e other spoke, and again she turned round, walked over, and 

" .t her: and this was her conduct through the whole of 

Bnieir scene. In real !ifc, one of these furious Princesses 

rtiuld Iiave desired her, like I.ingo, to " leave the presence i " 

It they wanted her genius to substitute impromptus. 

A few nights after, James Wilder was doing Mungo, in the 

** Padlock ; " in which character Ireing a great favorite, he was 

I'Tery proud of himself. As he was singing the song describing 

'I the different musical instruments, 

"Cymballoand lymballo, Binl [ymlnllo and rymbaUo, li bpol;^ 

e heard a violent hissing! Could he think a hiss possible? 
■and from the audience ? No — -that was to him I'mpos- 
Casting an eye towards the stage door, he saw it a few 
kches open, and discovered the new actress's pretty face 
' rnst forward ; he looked, listened, heard another loud liiss, 
d found it was she who was hissing him ; he stepped over 
^nd muttered some abuse, returned, gabbled through his song 
Ji wet] as he could, and, coming off the stage, shuffied up to 

ler with, "'Why, madam! you most infernal ! what did 

y hissing me ? Was it certainly you ? hiss tnet 
n most daring, bold — — ! What did you mean by hissing 
The lady answered with her fine placid inanimate face 
)ice : "Why, Mr. Wilder, why should I not hiss you ? 
a didn't sing your song well ; I heard that song sung much 
own. " By town she meant London ; as most of 
e English performers, when they went over to Ireland, made 
« of that phrase, this gave great offense to some of the Irish 
1, and brought a reply of, " Town ! what do you mean by 



1 

very 

l(0 3 

heel 

1 



50 JOHN O-KEEFFE- 

town \ is nol Dublin, where you are now, a town, and 2 
good lown ?■' It was Wilder's cuslom, before he went into a 
carriage, to feel, with great care, the linch-piri of each wheel 
and be certain that all was safe and riKht. When in a passiotv 
his exclamation was, " Oh, I could pull the lincli-pin o"" - ' •' - ^ 
globe I" so he was called "Linch-pin." 

John Henderson. 
Henderson was playing at Bath on a guinea a w 
about the year 1776 went to Drury Lane, 1 suppose at a vi 
high salary, for he well deserved it. Though the memory q 
Garrick was then so recent, yet Henderson completely siic- 
ceedeH in his most remarkable characters, particularly in 
Benedict, in " Much Ado," and Don John in the "Chances." 
I saw him with great pleasure in isoth, as also in Falstafi: 
he had a great deal of Garrick in his manner, and his figure 
was not very much unlike, only rather taller : his limbs 
neat, and his face round and pleasing ; his manner lively, 
Hmarl, and perfectly full 10 the comprehension of his audience. 
Hia FalstafT was the most attractive of any of his characters. 
Some time after this 1 was very well acquainted with him iti 
Cork, and found him a pleasing, cheerful companion. His 
great forte In a room was reciting some of Prior and Parnell's 
Tales, which he did capitally, and likewise a dialogue between 
a nobleman and Garrick — the Irish peer recommending 
Mossop, his college fellow-student, to Carrich, by every argu- 
ment of praise as to voice, and action, and literary attain- 
ments ; which Garrick with great art acquiesced in, but slyly 
threw out some keen stroke against Mossop's qualifications, 
which was immediately taken up by the noble advocate, who 
went far beyond Garrick in his censures, as thus : — 

NcfltiKan. Now, Mr. Giirick, Mussp's vcia — whil i Sue voice, >o Atsx, Ml, 
and Buhlime for tracedy [ 

Gtrrick. OhI ja, in; Isrd; Mauop*! voice i^ {nileed, vei^ (Dod—ind full— 
.nd— iBd — Bui— loy lord, don't you thiok Chat itmr/wici he a lalhet loo Irud ? 

IfMtmm. Loud? Very ln», Mr. Garrick,— t(wl(nid, — Iao UDoTTmB! — when 

low. Whywe uKd Wall him "^WmjI ;*[ Bb//." Bunhcn, Mi, Garrisk, jw 



'JOHN HENDERSON. 



<p: I m. 



Dl tliiDk his step a 



iiibcr r. 






at da 



NMifum. GenIlE 1 call you ii, Mr. Garrick ! not at lU 

Garrkk. Yea, my iDrdi 1 graar, ibdeedi hib oclion ia very 

I vcted with me oHgiiuJly IP QarbarDaaa. when I was The Achmet; 4M hti action 

u — a — a — to be tare BarbaiosAB js a sreaf tyrant — bat then* Mcaopi adcklng 






It that 



NMniaH. Gnceful, Mr. Gairidil Oh, 
the HraTiary. 
7, at coUei^ ve used 1o ca3L hi 






I hy„, 



^ other ti 



M„!Kf Hi T 






' HeniJerson's imitation of the Nobleman and GarricV in the 
A)ove dialogue was powerful and laughable. He also gave 
•■Recitations " at Freemasons' Hall with Thomas Sheridan ; 
■nt to hear them, and was very much pleased. Hender- 
B chief source of humor was reciting Cowper's "Johnny 
Cilpin ; " and Sheridan's tools were " Milton's Paradise Lost," 
" Alexander's Feast." 1 also heard Henderson's power- 
fel mimicry in a privaie company at Cork. Among other 
Jaughables, he gave us an interview between himself and a 
Uieatrical manager; the subject was ihe manager teaching 
tor, how to perform Shylock. " This Shylock," 
mid he, "that is. Shakespeare's Shylock, though he is a Jew, 
le 's a Jew that walks the Rialto at Venice, and talks to the 
^ificos ; and you must not by any means act such a Jew as 
le was one of the Jews that sell old clothes, and slipfiers, 
Md orajiges, and sealing-wax, up and down Pall Mall." In 
s piece of humor Henderson had the manager's voice and 
;r perfectly correct, and it gave a great deal of harmless 
wusement. A year or two after, I was indiscreet enough, on 
he mention of Henderson, to tell this very manager hew 
3everly he look htm off; he was much nettled, and said, 
.'Take me off, a very impudent thing of him ! " The last lime 
¥ Henderson, was in the Mall in the Park, where we met 
accidentally; in walking the whole length from Buckingham 
j ate to Spring Garden.s, he entertained me with many pleas- 
intries. Amongst others, of an Irishman just come lo Lon- 
L, and 3 friend, who had been resident there a long time. 



52 



JOHN O'KEEFFE. 




showing him all the sights, and expatiating on the magnltade 
and grandeur of the buildings, and so on. In their walk to- 
gether, coming up Ludgate Hill, on the first sight of St Paul's, 
lie pointed out to his new-come friend the stupendous grand.^ 
eur of the Cathedral ; the Irishman looking up at it, said ii 
very calm tone, " 'Pon my honor, 't is mighty ni 

Thomas Sheridan. 
The plan of Thomas Sheridan's dictionary was to bring tli»| 
spelling of English words nearer to the established modes of 
pronunciation ; yet still to keep in view the several language* 
from which each word is derived. In a letter of his to T" 
Heaphy, which I saw, he had to speak of the Parliament m._ 
ter in Dublin, and spelt the word parUment. I heard Sherifl 
dan recite on Smock AUey stage, and show, by illustration»J 
that in a verse of eight syllables, the sense might be change^] 
five times by removing the accent from one syllable to anothej 
thus: — 

" AVjw bu[ ihe tfravo deserve the fair \ 

None Iml tbe bnve deserve ■Cat fair, 

Kune huE the hr^sjt deserve the fair, 

Ndk hul the hnve distrct ihe fu,, 

None bul the brave deserve the/vr," 

Thomas Sheridan wrote a piece called " The Brave Irish- 1 
man " (the plot from the French),, in which he worked up a very I 
high character for Isaac Sparkes ; it had a powerful effect, 



played very often. There \ 



many signs of 



Sparkes in this same Captain O'Blunder. One day he was 
walking under one of these, when a chairman looking first at 
him with great admiration, and then up at the sign, vociferated, 
" Oh, there you are, above and below ! " 

When Thomas Sheridan was at his zenith in Dublitj, Lay. , 
field was in high estimation as an actor also. His distin- 
guished parts were Ventidius, lago, Cassius, Syphax, and ' 
Apemanlus. One night, doing lago (Sheridan the Othello), ' 
Layfield came o"* ""''■ ■ 



MOODY THE ACTOR. 



S3 



id died somewhat in 
poet. The above 
poor Lnyfield gave 



r this the play could go no farther 

t struck with incurable madness, : 

manner of Nat. Lee the fine tra 

j^ green-eyed lobster" was the first ir 

" 's dreadful visitation. 

fridan was one day Cold a gentleman wanted to speak to 

a stranger entered, seemingly much agitated, saying, 

y dear sir, I have a thousand pardons to ask you, and hope 

ir forgiveness." " Sir," said Sheridan, " I have not the 

re of knowing you ; what is the nature of the offense 

to me ? " " Oh, sir 1 the irreparable injuries I have 

e to your professional reputation." " Indeed ! but how ? " 

Ir ! by my persisting in writing you down in a much 

d popular publication" (mentioning the title). " I am sure 

lust have hurt your mind most exceedingly." "Hurt my 

d 1 this the first knowledge I ever had of the circumstance ; 

, as to injuring my professional reputation — here! bring 

e btn-book " {calling at the door, the box-keeper brought in 

! book); "there, sir, look," continued Sheridan, "I play 

s night ; and, as you see, every box is taken by persons (A 

B first rank and consequence in Dubhn ; therefore, pray 

pamfort yourself, as to having hurt either my mind, or my 

hpulalion. " 

these circumstances happened about the year 1750, 

e was manager of Smock Alley, and were told me by 

n himself, with many other anecdotes, when I had the 

Uppiness of his company, much to the proSt of my own 

n the years 177s and 1776. Sheridan's best characters 

i Brutus, Cato, and King John, His manner of saying 

" I could be merry now, Hubert," got him most 

iDdant applause. 

Moody the Actor. 
I I knew Moody well ; he was very solicitous to form a club 
ncipal actors and dramatic poets, by their giving a 
routine at some tavern, whiclj the giver had a riglit 
s choose. They enlisted me in this, but my sight was so 



JOHN O-KEEFFE. 




54 

impaired, and my studies requiring 
spirits, and such intellect as I was 
but once ; however, I gave my dii 
it cost me about lo/. Tliis gay, 
called themselves '-The Stroller; 

lasted long ; they spoiled it by adTnilling strangers, which 
a damp to their own flow of humor. Part of Moody's Stroll- 
ers' Club plan was, for the members to attend their featii^ 
meetings in dramatic character dresses ; this fancy was I 
ever overruled by some, who thought that the stage alone 
the proper spot for such gambols. Moody soon wound up 
ball, and ended his days in peace and comparative affln- 

Many years before, a clamorous party rose up against Gar- 
rick and his theatre, for introducing what was called the 
" Chinese Festivals," Moody stood bluff champion tor him, 
and Garrick's gratilude induced him to be Moody's friend 
ever after. In 1783 I was silliDg in my front parlor at Barnes 
Terrace after my wine (1 had dined alone that day), my papers 
on the table, waiting for my amanuensis, who had gone to his 
dinner in the next parlor (I was writing " Fontainebleau "), 
when the window was suddenly flung up by somebody on thti 
outside, and a gruff voice said, " Send over the plates." 
was thrust a covered plate of turtle ; this was Moody, 
had dined with a party at an inn near me. 

" The Positive Man." 
1 had written Rupee, in " The Positive Man," for Willi: 
Lewis, but he kept out of afterpieces as much as he couldV 
and it fell to Edwin, who gave Rupee's by-word of "Apro- 
pos ! " with great comic effect. Lee Lewes and Fearoa dis- 
tinguished themselves in Tom Grog and Sam Stern, which 
scene, Mr. Colman declared, was the best sailor scene on the 
English stage ; and he was no bad judge of such affairs. It 
became such a favorite, that as soon as Lee Lewea and 
Fearon were seen coming on, a general peal of applause wa» 
given by the audience, which was succeeded by the greatest 
silence and attention. 



roll- l| 

4 

iffln- " 



ili>i^H 

UldlS 



"THE POSITIVE MAA 



SS 



of ray works are now out of print, and this play is 

ever, acted ; it may be amusin;^ to my readers to 

se tliis scene, which, 1 may repeat without much boast, 

the delight of the audience. 1 give it as a sample of my 

^aracter writing. 



far this lubber Ihat ai 
Admiialiy. Hold, is 



Vliiilhiin — Vol 
SUrtt^ WhatchEi 
Grig. You're SaJ 



Lo li£ht, maybap he 'd 



'il fight me ? 



Cng. Mijhapjoi 
Sltnt. IwLll — when, snawnere; 
'Grtg- Tb^rt^rrr » hcfe, the WJklM i 
kii kaiieir). Bui hold, we muit itR 
Sttrn. But I 've neither cutlash nor p 
Grog. I saw a bandBonie cudiuh, and 

SIcm. I itaould like to touch U the Ir 
Grtg. Why, han't joii dined? 

I-venBBEtoeni. 
Grtg. A Haman ia England wilhc 
■m '• money -pay me when you can I 
Sun. How much? 

Peptfard, atjd, ibiver me like a l^scui 

Gng. Tiuei but mayhap you m.y 1 
icasonforii. 

SUrm. RighU 1 ios%a\ that (n-i>ri hU 
Grig. Whaidoyoujuivelforf 
SIrrm. What a dog am I to use a man 



56 



JOH^• QKEEFFE. 



nned if 1 do. 
rhenlakc il wilhout a 
id hark 'jE Sun, the 1 



GiOROANi THE Dancer, 
A brother of Signer Giordani was wilh him when in DuUia. 
he was a first-rale dancer. They had iheir Italian opera £C 
the Smock Alley Theatre ; and soon after the opening, Gioi 
ani, the hne dancer, who could not speak English, came to 
pit-door, and, as he had been made free of the house, 
pected to be admitted to sit and see the play. The d( 
keeper, not knowing him, refused to let him in ; at the samB 
time people were entering, paying, their money, etc. GiordaiU 
suddenly hid upon this expedient : stepping back, he gave 
spring and caper in the first style of his graceful and 
talent. The door-keeper immediately knew who he w 
with a low bow admitted him into the pit. This fine dancei 
Giordani, was also a fine skater. He skated a mile 
minute ; and, on one leg only, faster than the most expert 
could upon two. He had a string stretched about four feet 
high from the ice, and in his full course used to go fairly over 
it- When he had his benefit at the theatre, he put i 
that he would skate on ihe stage ; and thus he managed it 
he had a number of grooves made, and gliding through thef 
with his great proficiency in his dancing art, displayed all 
attitudes of skating to the perfect delight of the spei 

^ Richard Daly. 

I remember Richard Daly a fellow-commoner in Trinity 
College, Dublin ; he was of good family in Ihe province i 
Connaught ; but, when at college, was so given to commi 
tion, that he was the terror of all public places. In the ye; 
1772 I was in the greenroom of Smock Alley Theatre, whe 



RICHARD DALY. 



57 



paly, at the head of a college party, forced his way into the 

use a.t the stage-door, beat the door-keepers, and dashed 

lllU> the greenroom. Miss Pope (the celebrated actress, and 

■i^ a most estimable private character) was there, having come 

Tfrom London to play a few nights. Under the impression 

fpf every outrage from the wild Irish, she was greatly terrified, 

^hen, for the honor of our Green Island, I brushed up my bit 

E Milesian valor, desired her to take my arm, and with my 

[Jheathed sword in my hand (all wore swords in those days) I 

I her through the riotous group. They looked surprised, 

t made a lane for us, and gave no opposition. I saw the 

bir lady to her chair, and walked by her side to the door of 

r lodgings, where she thanked me for my knight-erranlry. 

Tiat renders the above circumstance remarkable is, that this 

very dread and disturber of all theatres was, as is shown 

above, afterwards himself an actor and manager of this very 

theatre of Smock Alley. I was very intimate with him, and 

found him a man of great humanity, and a zealous friend. He 

Tied the widow of a Mr. Lister, a man of fortune : her 

n name was Barsanti, a fine comic actress. Her father 

D Italian, and tranfdator to the Italian Operas in London. 

!. Daly was capital in all Mrs Abingdi 

y Arionelli in " The Son- 



Opera. I 

's parts. 1 saw her 

being her fixed de- 

I's clothes, she dressed the 

Arbaces in " Artaxerxes," 



mnation never to appear m m 
in the Eastern style, a 
hi first saw in 1762. 

uring the first season of "The Castle of Andaiu.';ia," 
' came over to London, and, eager to see it acted at 
;nt Garden Theatre, he dined with me, and we went to- 
)^her to the upper boxes ; the house was full. 

naturally of an ardent and impatient character ; but 

iw, during the representation, he was so full of the subject, 

vn cleverness as manager, that, according as the dif- 

fereat characters came on and ofE, he said to me with great 

lehemence: "Why, O'Keeffe, instead of P. S. I make my 

le on O. P. ; and why does that Alphonso go off at 

e side-door f 1 make my fellow go off at llie centre-door. 



58 



JOHN ffKEEFFE. 



TTiat Victoria very beautiful ; a lovely c 
simply dressed as my Victoria. Now I make my fellow dro 
on his knees to her. Lorenza in fine voice ! your Pedril 
does not kick off his slipper ! now I make my fellow kick c 
his." And thus the inspired manager, without giving hirose 
the trouble to remeigiber the names of his several actors, wel 
on with "my fellow," and "my fellow," to the end of tl 
opera. The persons near us were much diverted with thi 
box-scene. 

Fish Story. 
Garten, thetreasurer o£.Covent Garden Theatre, had been 
purser in the navy ; and one day at dinner at Mr. Colman' 
many ladies being present, the conversation turned an 
other sea affairs, upon the nature of the shark. To the 
prise of ihe company, Garten gravely observed, " A shark \ 
very good eating;" and upon remarking our doubtful s 
he added in a still graver tone, " Why, 'I is as good eating a 
a dolphin." We looked at each other, and with comical s 
riousness the word passed round the table — " Ditl you ev 
eat a dolphin? Not 1, — nor 1,-1 never ale a dolphin." 

O'Keepfe's Blindness. 

On my return to town 1 applied to Baron Weniel the occ 
list about my sight ; and sent him his demand of twenty-fiv 
guineas : he was to have Iwenty-five more had he succeedec 
but asked his additional fee of two guineas as physician : thi 
my brother, who look him the money, would not pay. 

My most excellent and truly zealous friend, Mr. Brande, i 
Soho Square, thinking that electricity might help my sigh 
brought me to John Hunter for his opinion ; he did not obj 
to Ihe trial being made, but gave no hopes of success ; a 
some time after, I seated myself in the chair at Mr. Branded 
house, and held in my hand the electrical chain. At his hos 
pitable table I have at different times met Macklin, Counselo 
Mac Nally, my good friend Mr. O'Bryen, Captain (and Conn 
selor, for he was both) Robinson (who being a Dublin maiif 
sung very good Irish songs), Dr, Kennedy, of Great Queeir 
Street, and many other literary characters. 



r 



O-KEEFFES BLINDNESS. 



\ 



59 

I went jJso to Mr. Percival Pott, who had then the first 
name as surgeon, but he instantly pronounced that neither 
medica.1 aid nor art could help me, and since that I tried none. 
The first cause of this injury lo my sight was from a cold I got 
by a fall off the south wall of the Liftey, Dublin, in a dark 
December, by going out to sup at Ringsend. when ihe play 
was over ; thus drenched, I sat up with my parly for some 
hours in my wet clothes, and in about a fortnight the efiecls 
appeared in a violent inflammation of my eyelids. 1 then tried 
many remedies, each crossing the other, which increased the 
malady, and my persisting to use the pen myself impaired my 
sight beyond alt hope. 

Although, from the opinion of the first medical people, ray 
complete recovery of sight was quite hopeless, yet I never had 
An ambition to be pitied ; and, indeed, effort to l>e envied, 
mher than pitied, often proves a successful stimulus to the 
greatest actions of human life. It is true, that since the decay 
flf my sight I never made a boast that I could see as well as 
other people ; yet to avoid exciting compassion, my show of 
better vision than I really possessed was, about thirty years 
back, often attended with most ridiculous and whimsical eSects, 
at which, on reflection, no one laughed more heartily than my- 
self. 

Being with my brother at Margate, in Austin's reading- 
room, at a great table covered with newspapers, magazines, 
and such like, 1 wished Daniel to give me some news by the 
help of his optics, and having just sight enough to see the 
white papers on the green cloth, i hastily caught up a news- 
paper that lay spread on my right hand, and with my left 
stretched it out lo my brother, saying, " Read that for me." 
A loud and surly voice the same instant came to my right ear 
from lipa not two feet from me. " What Ihe devil, sir, do you 
mean by snatching the newspaper out of my hands ; 1 have n't 
doAe with it." I was too confounded lo attempt an af>ology, 
but rising, walked off \ leaving my brother to calm him by ex- 
plaining the state of my sight which led me into the mistake 
af my only seeing the newspaper, and not the gentleman who 
reading it ; his anger instantly changed to politenes&. 



6o JOHN OKEEFFE. 

When I lived at Acton I sometimes walked to Oxford Street 
to buy my working tools — a quire of paper, some pens, a 
bottle of ink, or any other stationery Y might want. Being 
one day on the foot-path, pushing on before my servant, who 
always attended me in my walks to town, a figure came up full 
against me with a stamping kind of rough noise : I stopped, and 
looking up far above his head, said, '^ I think the road might 
do for you and not come upon the foot-path." An angry voice 
from a face level with my own, replied, " But I believe I have 
as good a right to walk on the foot-path as you — who the 
plague are you ! indeed ! '* I endeavored to explain by saying, 
what was fact, " I beg pardon, but I thought you were on 
horseback ; " — an unlucky error caused by my having been 
greatly annoyed and endangered the day before, by a man 
riding on the foot-path close upon me. This mistake did not 
wind up so agreeably as the first, for he stumped on mutter- 
ing. 

And yet I used to make my way, and safely and nimbly too, 
by my servant John walking rapidly before me, through the 
most crowded streets of London. His method was, if a handle 
of a barrow came across him, to move it aside ; if anything on 
a person's head, whether hamper, trunk, furniture, etc., to put 
up his hand and turn it away, still keeping on without saying a 
word, or turning his own head about, and I posting after him 
through a gauntlet of people of all kinds, who stopped to 
abuse and call him fifty names, such as, " Impudent scoundrel ! 
rascal ! " etc., all which my walking harbinger never seemed 
to hear or notice, and on we clearly went. This was from 
apple-women, fish-women, porters with knots on their heads, 
etc. ; thus, in the throng of a London street, he cleared a lane 
for me. 

According to the privilege of an author franking a fiiend to 
the theatre now and then, my brother, one morning, asked me 
for an order ; but having already written and given away to 
my acquaintances and their acquaintances, more than was 
strictly proper, I refused. The same evening I unexpectedly 
went to the play myself ; I was alone, and being in the lower 



SIR JOSMCA REYNOLD';. 



r boxes, towards the close of the third act, a gentleman coming 
in, and standing near me, I looked up, half turning round, and 
Said, " How the deuce did you get in F " A strange voice an- 
swered, " How did t get in, sir ! why, with my money. How 
did yourself gel in ? " I unfortuaately mistook him for my 
brother ; and this last mistake might have led me into a more 
dangerous dilemma than eilher of the former, had not another 
gentleman, in the adjoining box, who knew who J was, and, 
consequently, the imperfect slate of my sight, kindly explained i 
thus saving me from pistol work, either on the strand of Clon- 
^—larf, or behind Montague House, or in a liltle tavern room 
^Kkross a table, or any other field of batlle, west of Mother 
^n^ed-cap's. 

^V- Sir Joshua Reynolds. 

^^ Coming into my parlor in Stafford Row, Buckingham Gate, 
one day, tired with my walk, and my spirits wearied by a long 
rehearsal, I found a gentleman looking very close at a picture 
w hich hung up ; he bowed, and then went again to the picture, 
^Hboked at me, and said something, 1 don't know what. We 
^^^nre completely at cross purposes \ my eyes could not distin- 
^Hpiisb his features, and his ears could not hear my voice ; he 
^^Was deaf, and 1 could not see. In the midst of our embarrass- 
ment, my landlord came into the room, and addressing him 

very respectfully, yet loud, said, " Mr. , the picture -dealer, 

lodged up stairs," The stranger then turned to me, made an 
apology, and went out of my parlor. When he had left the 
house. 1 asked my landlord who the gentleman was. He an- 
swered, that il was " Sir Joshua Reynolds," I then too late 
regretted my not having known this before, that I might have 
enjoyed a httle of his company, as 1 greatly adm' 
of his pencil. Fortunate, thought I at that 
infirmity is not on his side of the question ! 
. One day walking with Mr. Colman, and adm 
n at Richmond, he told me Sir Joshuj 
D with him the day before, and also liked his 
k-houaes extremely ("and by the way, O'Keeffe, my gar- 
a capit;d one, and your countryman; he brings c 



!d the works 
that my 



iring his beauti- 
1 Reynolds had 
s parterres and 




62 JOHN O'KEF-fFE. 

pine-applea and melons for me at very little expense.") Hn 

Colman added, Ihal he had been a good deal annoyed by a 
timber-yard to the left ; besides ihe noise, it was a disagreea- 
ble object, so, continued he, " I raised up that tine screen of 
trees to hide it. I was |X>inling out this exploit of mine 
yesterday to Sir Joshua. ' Aye.' said he, 'very well, Colman, 
now you cannot see the wood for Irets! " 

An Amateur Dramatist. 

In 1734 a reverend doctor brought with him from Ireland, 
his native country, live tragedies and live comedies, all to be 
acted at Drury Lane and Covent Garden : he plagued me 
much to bring him to Mr. Harris at Knightsbridge ; but, be- 
fore I could do so, the doctor himself found 
through Hyile Park turnpike. The circumstances of their 
terview I had from Mr. Harris himself, who thus humoroi 
hit upon an effectual method to get rid of him and his 
plays. 

One of his tragedies was called " Lord Russell, 
his comedies " Draw the Long Bow." Mr. Harris received him 
at his house with his usual politeness, and sat with great 
patience and much pain listening lo the doctor reading 
his plays to him ; when he had got to the fourth ac 
Harris remarked that it was very fine indeed — eitcetl 
" But, sir, don't you think it time for j'our hero to make 
appearance?" "Hero, sir! what hero i" " "Your prim 
character, Lord Russell. You are in the fourth act, and 
Russell has not been on yet." " Lord Russell, sir ! " exclui 
the doctor ; " why, sir, I have been reading to you my 
of ' Draw the Long Bow." " Indeed I I beg you a thousani 
pardons for my dullness ; but I thought it was your tragedy of 
' Lord Russell ' you had been reading to me." The angry au- 
thor started from his chair, thrust his manuscript into his 
pocket, and ran down-stairs out of the house. When I again 
met the doctor, he gave a most terrible account of the deplor- 
able state of the English stage, when a London manager did 
not know a tragedy from a comedy. I laughed 



J 



"HE HAS A TOUGHT." 63 

SO whimiscally deta.i1ed to me, and he was all astonishment and 
anger at my ill-timed mirth. This reverend genlleman (his 
dramatic mam'a excepted) was a man of piety and learning; 
and I believe Mr. Harris's witty expedient eHectually cured 
him of profane play-writing, and changed a mad scholar into 
an edifying divine. He translated some of the books of Milton 
into Greek, which were, I understood, printed at Oxford. 

"He has a Tought." 
In the autumn of 1785 I was asked to a venison feast, to 
meet a lai^e company of convivial, pleasant, and disljnguished 
persons. It was at a house near the corner of Gerard Street, 
almost opposite Newport Alley. My brother brought me there, 
and with him came a reverend acquaintance, a young Prussian 
clergynian : from my dramatic successes the whole party were 
inclined to think me an acquisition lo their society ; there 
were some of the first performers present, and some small witf!, 
and large wits and literati. The joke and glass and song went 
round, and many wished to speak to me, and I to speak to 
them ; but, through the wonder and high admiration of the 
Prussian clergyman, I was made a complete nullity, and al- 
most sent to Coventry ; for, when 1 attempted to speak, he 
placed himself in an attitude of vast attention, and called out 
io an audible voice and foreign dialect, " mind, all be silent ! " 
This produced much mirth ; and if any of them made an at- 
tempt to speak to me, he winked and grimaced, and in a half- 
whisper said, " Let him alone, let him alone I lie has a toughl 
— let him alone I" This was one of my grand vexations of 
celebrity. King was of this party, also Charles Bannister and 
bis son, Edwin, Moody, Baddeley, etc. John Bannister, that 
L Kscellent actor and worthy man, enlivened the company with 
I i^ving his imitations, but my busy, wonder-struck Prussian 
I clerical, with his great delight in my high reputation, deprived 
I me of the pleasures of the day. 




04 JOHl'f O'KEEFFE. 

Stage Habits. 
The meoiion of liie drjoiafLove in a Camp "] leads m«1 
remark on (he great improvements in stage dress. Whi ° 

Earl of Warwick " was first performed in Dublin, Mrs. K4 
a most beautiful woman, and a line actress in boih tri 
and comedy, played Lady Elizabeth Grey. She dressed 
a picture of Vandyke, and her appearance had a novel 
most pleasing effect, it being quite a new thing to dress in rtit 
habits of the times or country when and where the scene was 
laid. I saw Barry play Olhello, the Venetian Moor, in a com- 
plete suit of English regimentals, and a three-cotked gold- 
laced hat! — and Thomas Sheridan, in Macbeth, dressed ic 
scarlet and gold English uniform ; and when King, he wo 
Spanish hat turned up before, wilb a diamond and feithe: 
the front. All the characters in the play of " Richard \V. 
appeared in the same modern clothes as the gendemen in 
boxes wore, except Richard himself, who dressed as Richi 
and thus looked an angry Merry Andrew among the rest 
the performers. In the play of "Henry Vlll." none wore 
the habits of the limes but Henry himself : his whole court 
were appareled in the dress only known two hundred years 
after. 

Some of the great performers had peculiar tricks of fency 
in their acting. Digges, in Macbeth, preparing for his combat 
with Macduff, always put his fingers to the bosom of his 
waistcoat, and flung it entirely open ; this was to show he was 
not papered — a previous defense, which was thought unfair 
and treacherous ; he then with his open right hand gave a few 
taps to the side of his hat, drew his sword, and fought until 
was killed. 

" My Servant is behind." 
On one of our journeys from Dublin to Cork, a proud yoi 
1 of my acquaintance hired one of his best hor 
'e rode together — he had a servant on horseback 
ic. We dined at Timolin ; dinner over, he we 
om, and, after a little while waiting for him, 1, 



1 

laffl^H 






of the r 



'■ Toey thatch;- 65 

nstial atle&tion to my horse, went into the stable ; there I 
found my friend very busily employed in taking the line, hand- 
some, ornamented bridle oS my horse, and putting it on that 
of his servant, " Oh, ho ! " said I, " what the deuce is all 
this ?" He was embarrassed at being caught in his knavery, 
but endeavored to put it off with a joke. I made him replace 
it The next day, whilst continuing our journey, he suddenly 

- stopped, and sent his servant back to the inn for a hand- 
kerchief he had left on the table. Leaving them together, 
giving and receiving orders, I trotted on, and came to the 
turnpike at Callan ; when I was asked for payment, " Oh I " 
I said, "my servant is behind, he will pay for himself and 
me ; " bo through I went, and pushed on. My proud com- 
panion soon after overtook me ; he was in high dudgeon. 
*' A pretty afiair, with your jokes upon me, Mr. Jack ! there 
was I, stopped by the turnpike people, and desired to pay for 
my master and myself. Do I look like a servant to anybody ? 
— and the woman came out with " 'Pon my word, your master 
.went through like a civil young gentleman, as he is, but you 
must set yourself up with a Who but you, indeed ! " If, in- 
stead of a woman, it had been a turnpike-man, how my horse- 
twhip would have whistled over his head." " Come, come, 
W ," said I, " do not be vexed ; but the next time I 
tire a horse from you, never attempt to change my bridle." 
"ToBV Thatch." 
Rising rather early this morning, and walking in the garden 
behind the house, I fell into conversation with Toby, who was 
drawing water from the well for our tea-kettles. I here give a 
description of the honest man, the greatest original in person, 
manner, or dress, perhaps ever seen ; six feet high or more, 
thin, but bony and well made, his head a complete black crop, 
a long stretched sallow face, and dark staring eyes ; his coun- 
tenance the emblem of vacuum. His common dress a very 
short white flannel coat, the collar half a foot from the top of 
lus neck, which seemed thrust up from it, and the head stuck 

ttqwn that, somewhat like a great bird with the feathers plucked 



66 JOHN aKEEFFE. 

off the neck ; a glaring scarlet waistcoat with brass butlonj, 
brown corduroy breeches, the knees open (but on Sunday, 
black plush with knee-buckles), brown thread stockings, thick 
solid shoes, and iron buckles. When speaking, his gesticula- 
tion W3S wild and violent, swinging both head and arms about, 
uncouth and odd, and interspersed witli many attempts at hard 
and fine-sounding words ; his speech was quick, and came out 
in broken stammerings. On my asking him had he ever been 
in London : " Yes, sir," said Toby, " ten years ago 1 was in 
London," and laying down his full pail, which "John Gmm" 
took in, he began an account of his travels. 1 give it i 
own words, which, fearful of losing, I committed to paper ii 
mediately after breakfast : — ■ 

" Sir, I wanted to get into bread at London ; I bad a rda^l 
tion, a great shoemaker, in Oxford Road ; and sir, he worked 
for all the topping gentility round about. But I walked up 
and down Oxford Street four times, putting raj interrifica- 
tions to all the folks that were walking up and down like my- 
self ; I wondered that they had nothing else to do; but ni 
of them knew my cousin. I was so fatigued {for 1 had walk* 
to London) that I thought of getting an apartment for mysctf'^ 
so then ! went on, and on, and on, over the bridge ; and ai*d 
where 1 be gotten to ; tliey called it Newington Butts, and 
't WHS ten o'clock at night ; the people were mostly out of the 
streets, and I had no apartment yet ; all the shops were shut 
up, so 1 goes over to a man (he was the watchman), says 
I to him, ' Good man, I don't wish to come to any harm to- 
night, so 1 '11 restore my person up to the watch, for I am in- 
formed 1 might demand you to take care of me,' 

" ' Well,' says the watchman, ' go over to that tliere house 
over the way, and if they will not lake you in, we '11 see if we 
can take care of you ; ' so I goes me over. Though it was a 
public-house, 1 did n't feel any consternation, as 1 had a good 
hall-crown in my pocket. I ax'd for a bed, so the woiniin.;^ 
bid me come in ; and I told her I required supper. ' Whatl^ 
will you have ? ' says she. ' I 'II have,' says 1, ' a good bee£-4 
aieak, as I have l>een told beefsteaks are nowhere so £ 



:iia"^| 

rda^ 
rked 

-my- 
non«^ 
all^ea 
'sel£f^ 



I 



" TOBY THATCn." 6/ 

^ in London.' She said 'that was n't so easy to be gotten, 
but that there was a cook-shop at hand, where I could get 
every sort of victuals cold.' 'Then,' says I, 'good woman, 
choose what you like best; I submit myself to your fancy.' 
' Then,' says she, ' the hoy shall get you a nice morsel of 
pickled salmon, and a slice of plum pudding.' Well, sir, I 
made a very hearty supper ; and a pint of porter put me into 
a very good jolUficatioa ; but I ruminated on a bit of cheese 
that 1 had left in my pocket ; I took it out, and ax'd, the mis- 
give it a bit of a toast ; but Lord a' marcy ! sir, she 
so reviled me — that her boy was gone to bed, and her fire 
iras out, and said I might go to bed too, if I was an honest 
man ; so, sir, I did for sartain. 

" But, in the middle of midnight, I was awakened with a 
terrible admiration of people bawling ' Watch ! watch ! ' and 
some I fancied cried out ' Murder ! ' and some ' Thievery ! ' 
says I to myself, this won't do ; so up I gets, and walks along 
a long passage to alarm the people what was to be done ; but 
1 found I was the only passenger that was up in the house, so 
1 gets my way back to ray own chamber, and sleeps a bit. It 
was now pretty lightish, and I puts on my apparei, and goes 
me down again. I saw by the clock it was five o'clock, so as 
there was none of the possessors up to take my money in the 
house, I leaves me a shilling on the post of the bannisters, 
that Ihey might find it there for my reckoning ; for, sir, ax all 
the people of Lulworth if 1 an't as honest a man as any in 
the whole county of Dorset. 

■ " So 1 unbolts me the door, and coming into tiie road, I 
finds everything as quiet as if nothing had happened ; thinks 
I, they've all murdered one another, and now think nothing 
about it 1 so I walks along to get into the streets, till I found 
myself again at that tall, high-topped noblix that sticks up 
there in the middle of the roads. I gets me again over the 
bridge, but 1 thought they had lowered the bannisters of each 
side i and then 1 got me into a long wooden market, that I 
had n't seen before ; here the people looked all alive — bull 
listened to the great church clock, and 't was eight. 1 could n't 



68 



yoHN O-KEEFFE. 




give imagination where they were all running 
thought I might see a.s Tiell as the beHt. I was obligated 
they shouldered me about so, and I walks up a high 
street, and theie. Lord a' mercy ! there was a million of folks 1 
I gels up to a great stone house — Lord o' Heaven 
was n't Newgate, that I read of often in a newspaper 
heart was all in a palflication, though what has an honest, 
man to be afraid of ? 

" I was walking out of amongst it, when a gentleman said 
me, ' sir,' said he, ' if you stop a few minutes, you "" 
men put into the cart to go to Tyburn." I thought that 
civihsh enough, so what will you have of it f Stand there 
did ; but oh ! Lord a' mercy, mercy I I was ready to drop 
the spot when the third man stepped into the cart with tl 
rope about his neck. I saw — I looked in his face ■ 
town's lad of my own 1 we were like two brothers, 
were the dearest friends when we were two boys. O Lord, 
sir, 1 was so fearful ! there was two carts full ; but 
Robert I Yet I was so dismal to see him look so hardened 
but he was dressed quite genteel : all the rest that were 
hanged was in black ; but Robert, he had on as pretty 
coat, and a red waistcoat, better than this— his white < 
stockings, handsome buckskin breeches, and very good plate 
buckles ; his shirt was quite clean, his hair tied and pow- 
dered ; a laborer, sir, and as honest a fellow as any in Dor- 
setshire. 1 was in no great haste to go after him, my i 
got so troublesome ; but I could not help myself, the ci 
shoved me on so. Yes, sir, I went all the way; but, si 
see that Jack Ketch ; such an iU-oraened dirty devil 
looked as if all the rest were gentlemen, and that he can 
wait on them ; he took it so light, too ; his ugly face wa 
joyish laughing, and talking and spitting his tobacker about. 

" Well, sir, sure enough, under the gallows tree 1 did come 
up and speak to Robin. I ax'd liim how he did, and he shook 
hands with me. I was all in a trembling, but he was so bold ! 
I said, ' Robin, remember where you 're going ; God loves not 
proud hearts — remember thy Creator in the days of thy 



ow- 
tor- '. 

I 



F 



" TOB V THA TCH." 6g 

youth. God be merciful to you, Robin!' 'Amen,' he said, 
— 'good-by to you, old friend.' Then the parson bid him 
not mind vanities, O Lord ! sir, I would see the last of him, 
though it shocked my soul, and I cried for him, sir, more than 
I did for myself, for Robin was once as good a lad, sir t but 
bad company, sir , 

" This melancholy put me out of conceit with London, and 
I walked softly on so dismallish, and came to a stone man and 
horse : it was Charing Cross, and a man said to me : ' Take 
care of yours^f, my lad, or you '11 be pressed, for the press- 
gang is about, and they are hot.' I said to myself ; ' I 'II not 
go to sea ; so what does me do, but I orders a coach, and bids 
the man of it bring me up to High Park comer ; there I gets 
me out, and pays hlfn his wages, which he ax'd, with my other 
shilling ; then, thinks 1, with my sixpence I '11 get a bite of 
bread and cheese at the first public-house straight on ; but, 
before I wanted it, I put my hand in my pocket ; and lucky I 
did so, for no sixpence was there. Here, says I, is a fine 
thing I this was misfortunate enough ; so I went by the house, 
and walked on ; but I had a good heart — ' I will go back 
home, says I, ' one hundred and twenty-five miles, and not a 
farthing in my pocket.' 

" I walked on stoutish enough, till I got to Brentford ; there 
1 got very hungry and faintish, and I thought to ax somewhat, 
but my heart misgave me ; but, sure enough, at Hounslow I 
did pluck up courage to tell a gentleman how it was with me, 
and he gave me three-pence : that, all the people of Lulworth 
can say, was the first charity Toby Thalch ever put into a 
pocket of his ; so I got me a pint of ale, and just a bile of 
bread and cheese, and then, says I, ' Here goes,' and cleverly 
1 walked on. But near Basingstoke there, sir, I met a 
wa£on ; it was the property of his honor the Duke of Bolton, 
and says his honor's driver to me, ' How far are you going, 
young man ?' I told him, I was making the best of my way 
into the county of Dorset. '/'»i going that way,' says he, 
' and 1 '11 give you a lift as far as Salisbury.' I was full of 
happiness at this. Says 1, ' 1 thanks you for your kind offer. 



70 JOHN O'KEEFFE 

but I won't deceive yoti ; like an honest man, I tell you t 
forehand, downrightedlj-, I have n't got a farthing to ( 
the recompense.' ' Ne'er heed your money,' says he ; 
thee drive ? ' ' Why,' says I, ' I thinl(s I know a little bit a 
that.' ' Aye, 1 warrant you docs,' says he ; 'to tell you truljri 
I don't find myself very well, and I must be going all nightfl 
so if you take the whip and drive, you shall have the ride a 
plenty of victuals to boot.' 

" I thought the cart had dropped from heaven, sir, it w; 
blessed. Well, sir, I got ttie in } this brought me on al! 
way to Salisbury ; and after that, if I could n't walk, tc 
shame be it spoken : so neither stop nor stay did 1 maki 
1 got me home here to Lulworth, my native place. Now, { 
to pleasure you, there was my London Journey." 

Thought I, were I old Lear selecting my hundred knigfatH 
Toby Thatch should be one. 

William Lewis. 

I was many years in friendship with Lewis : his gayety of 
temper was perhaps congenial to my own : he was from boy- 
hood a great favorite with the people of Ireland. 

His first appearance on the stage was the infant dandled In 
the arms of Don John, in Beaumont and Fletcher's excellent 
five-act comedy of " The Chances : " he grew up to Jeremy, 
the Sleeping Boy, in " Barnaby Brittle j " and the first time 
Mr. was put to his name in the pLiy-bills, was when he per- 
formed Colonel Briton in Mrs. Centlivre's comedy of " The 
Wonder." 

Being very happy in his manner of speaking Moreen's 
epilogue, called " Bucks, have at ye all," he was frequently 
called upon for it, whether he played that night or not. Tired 
at last, he endeavored to get out of his trammels. The 
college students misconstrued this into obstinacy and dis- 
respect, and threw the house into nightly tumult, by insisting 
that he should appear and speak it. His real friends pitied 
him, and strove to rescue him from this persecution j amongst 
others, Captain Jones, a companion of ours, who, from the 



WILLIAM LEWIS. 



71 



upper boxes, used to gruff out, " No Bucks I no Bucks ! " 
■Lewis at length told them he would speak the epilogue any 
certain number of nights they chose to name ; but, that 
number out, he would not speak it again except it was specified 
in the play-bills. They persisted in their nightly demands, 
and he then listened to the proposals of the London man- 
agers. Garrick offered him a trial-part at Dniry Lane : and Mr. 
Harris 3 certain engagement, and all the deceased Woodward's 
characters, at Covent Garden. He wisely chose the latter. 
Lewis modeled his fine gentlemen from the life — - Lord Bella- 
mont, Lord Muskerry, and Gerald BlennerhasseL Being an 
admirer of Mossop, and acting with him in his own boyhood, . 
be involuntarily caught much of Mossop's manner, which 
brought him into some of the new tragedies in London : 
unoDgst others, he acted Percy in Mrs. Hannah More's fine 
, tragedy of that name. 




MICHAEL KELLY. 




MICHAEL KELLY. 



FiscKEit, THE Oboe Plaver. 

fUBLIN, in those days, had to boast of much musical 
excellence. The greatest performers in Europe who 
to London, were engaged there in the summer 
1 by the governors of the principal charities, 
who were also managers of the Rotunda Concerts. I can re- 
member at different times that Mr. and Mrs. Barlhelemon 
(Barthelemon was a fine performer of the old school on the 
violin), Le Vacher, Pepe, La Motle, Cramer, Salomon, Pinto, 
and all the most celebrated violinists of the day ; not forget- 
ting two Irishmen : honest Sam Lee (father to Mr. Lee who 
now keeps a music shop in Dublin), and Mr. Mountain, who 
also kept a music shop, and. was an excellent violin player, and 
a very worthy man. 

They also brought Ritler, the finest bassoon player I ever 
heard ; Crosdil, on the violoncello, who was unrivaled on that 
instrument, and is still alive and merry ; and though last, not 
least, Fischer, the great oboe player, whose minuet was then 
all the rage ; he was a man of singular disposition, and great 
professional pride. Being very much pressed by a nobleman 
to sup with him after the opera, he declined the invitation, 
saying, that he was usually very much fatigued, and made it a 
rule never to go out after the evening's performance. The 
noble lord would, however, take no denial, and assured Fischer 
that he did not ask him professionally, but merely for the 



L gratification of h 



ciety and conversation. Thus urged and 



r 



76 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



encouraged, he went ; he had not, however, been many mliH 
iiles in the house of the consisient nobleman, before his lord-J 
ship approached him, and said, " I hope, Mr. Fischer, yoilB 
have brought your olioe in your pocket." "No, my lordi^r 
said Fischer, " my oboe never sups." He turned on his hee^fl 
and instantly left the house, and no persuasion could e 



Roman Critics. 
The Romans assume that they are the most sapient critieS 
in the world ; they are certainly the most severe c 
have no medium, — all is delight or disgust. If asked whethel' 
a performance or a piece has been successful, the answer, Hf J 
favorable, is, " i andata al sellima cielo," — ^^ \t has a^cended^ 
to the seventh heaven." If it has failed, they say, '' 
al aibisso delin/erna," — "it has sunk to the abyss of hell." 
The severest critics are the abb^s, who sit in the first row of 
tlie pit, each armed with a lighted wax taper in one hand, and _ 
a book of the opera in the other, and should any poor devil o 



a word, they call out, " bra-vo, bestia," 



"brava 



you beast ! ' 

It is customary for the composer of an opera, to preside a 
the piano-forte the iirst three nights of its performance, and t 
precious time he has of it in Rome. Should any passage 
the music strike the audience as similar to one of another a 
poser, they cry, "Bravo, il ladro," — "bravo, you thief [" 
'^ bravo, Paeiicllo ! bravo, Sacchini/" if they suppose 1 
passage stolen from them ; " the curse of God light ( 
first put a pen into your hand to write music I " This I hear 
said, in the Teatro del Altiberti, to the celebrated c 
Gazzaniga, who was obliged to sit patiently at the piano-forb 
to hear the flattering commendation. 

Cimarosa, who was their idol as a composer, was once s 
unfortunate as to make use of a movement in a comii 
at the Teatro de La Valle, which reminded ihem of oni 
own, in an opera composed by him for the preceding c; 
An abbi* started up, and said, " Bravo, Cimarosa I ; 




ROMAN CRITICS. 



77 



; (he Romans. 

1 fear, as his opinion was looked up 
>, and when he approved none 



wdcome from Naples ; by your music of to-night, it is clear 
you have neilher left your trunk behind you, nor your old 
music ; you are an excellent cook in hashing up old dishes ! " 
Poggi, the most celebrated bul¥o singer of his day, always 
dreaded appearing before those stony-hearted critics ; how- 
ever, tempted by a large sum, he accepted an engagement at 
the Tealro de La Valle. He arrived in Rome some weeks 
I previous to his engagement, hoping to make friends, and form 
\ party in his favor ; he procured introductions to the most 
f'cevere and scurrilous, and thinking to find the way lo their 
■'hearts, through their mouths, gave them splendid dinners 
I daily. One of them, an abbi!, lie selected from the rest, as his 
\ bosom friend and confidant ; he fed, clothed, and supphed him 
I with money ; he confided to him his terrors at appearing before 
I :Sn audience so fastidious as (he Romans. The abb^ assured 
Ibim, that he had nothing to 
mta by the whole bench of c 
f dare dissent. 

The awful night for poor Poggi at length arrived ; his ^dus 
Achates took his usual seat, in his little locked-up chair, in 
5 agreed between them, that he was to convey 
' Pi^Sii by signs, the feeling of the audience towards him ; 
f they approved, the abb€ was to nod his head ; if the con- 
fttrary, to shake it. When Poggi had sung his first song, the 
■tabbd Dodded, and cried, '^ Bravo.' bravissimo 1 '" but in the 
P«econd act, Poggi became hoarse, and imperfect ; the audience 
1 gave a gentle hiss, which disconcerted the affrighted singer, 
laud made him worse : on this, his friend became outrageous, 
and standing up on his chair, after putting out his wax-light, 
and closing his book, he looked Poggi in the face, and ex- 
claimed, " Signor Poggi, 1 am the mouth of truth, and thus 
declare, that you are decidedly the worst singer tfiat ever 
appeared in Rome I I also declare, that you ought to be 
L booted off the stage for your impudence, in imposing on my 
I fiimple and credulous good-nature, as you have done." This 
■ -produced roars of laughter, and poor Poggi retired, never to 
r again, without even exclaiming, " Et (u, Bnile," which 




8o MICHAEL KELLY. 

hall and Baron Diderstoff, and, whal was to me one Of ths 
greaiest gralilications of my musical life, was there introduced 
to thai prodigy o£ genius, Mozart. He favored the company by 
performing fanlasias and capriccios on llie piano-forte. His 
feeling, the rapidity of his fingers, the great execution and 
strength of his left hand, particularly, and the apparent inspira- 
tion of his modulations, astounded me. After this splendid 
performance we sat down to supper, and 1 had the pleasure to 
be placed at table between him and his wife, Madame CoDr 
stance Weber, a German lady of whom he was passionately 
fond, and by whom he had three children. He conversed 
with me a good deal about Thomas Linley, the first Mrs. 
Sheridan's brother, with whom he was intimate at Florence, 
and spoke of him with great affection. He said that Linley 
was a true genius, and he felt that, had he lived, he would have 
been one of the greatest ornaments of the musical vrorld. 
After supper the young branches of our host had a dance, and 
Moiart joined them. Madame Mozart told me, that great as 
his genius was, he was an enthusiast in dancing, and often 
said that his taste lay in that art, rather than in music. 

He was a remarkably small man, very thin and pale, with a 
profusion of line fair hair, of which he was rather vain. He 
gave me a cordial invitation to his house, of which I availed 
myself, and passed a great part of my time there. He always 
received me with kindness and hospitality. He was remarka- 
bly fond of punch, of which beverage I have seen him t^e. 
copious draughts. He was also fond of billiards, and had an 
excellent billiard table in his house. Many and many a game 
have I played with him. but always came off second best. He 
gave Sunday concerts, at which I never was missing. He was 
kind-hearted, and always ready to oblige, but so very particu- 
lar when he played, that if the slightest noise were made he 
instantly left off. He one day made me sit do 
and gave credit to my first master, who had taught me to pi; 
my hand well on the instrument. He conferred on me wl 
considered a high compliment. I had composed a little 
ody to Metastasio's canionetta, " Grazie agl' inganni tuori,* 



I 



MOZART. 



8i 



I 



which was a great favorite wherever I sang it. It was very 
simple, but had the good fortune to please Mozart. He took 
it acd composed variations upoa it, which were truly beautiful ; 
and had the further kindness and condescension to play their 
wherever he had an opportunity. 

Encouraged by his flattering approbation, I attempted sev- 
eral little airs, which I showed him, and wliich he kindly ap- 
proved of, so much indeed, that I determined to devote my- 
self tf the study of counterpoint, and consulted with him by 
whom I ought to be instructed. He said, " My good lad, you 
ask my advice, and I will give it you candidly ; had you stud- 
ied composition when you were at Naples, and when your 
mind was not devoted to other pursuits, you would perhaps 
have done wisely ; but now that your profession of the stage 
must and ought to occupy all your attention, it would be an 
.easure to enter into a dry study. You may take my 
worti for it. Nature has made you a melodist, and you would 
only disturb and perplex yourself. Reflect, 'a Utile knotul- 
edge is adangerous thing ; ' should there be errors in what you 
irrite, you will And hundreds of musicians, in all parts of the 
world, capable of correcting them, therefore do not disturb 
your natural gift." 

-" Melody is the essence of music," continued he : " /com- 
pare a good melodist to a line racer, and counterpoinlists to 
hack post-horses, therefore be advised, let well alone, and re- 
member llie old Italian proverb, ' Chi sa piA, meiio sa — 
iWho knows most, knows least.' " The opinion of this great 
roan made on me a lasting impression. 

My friend Attwood (a worthy man, and an ornament to the 
musical world) was Mozart's favorite scholar, and it gives me 
great pleasure to record wliat Mozart said to me about him ; 
his words were, " Attwood is a young man for wliom I have a 
sincere affection and esteem ; he conducts himself with great 
propriety, and 1 feel much pleasure in telling you, that he par- 
takes more of my style than any scholar I ever had, and I 
predict, that he will prove a sound muaieiau." Mozart was 
very liberal in giving praise to those who deserved it ; but felt 



82 MICHAEL KELLY. 

a thorough contempt for insolent mediocrity. H 
ber of the Philharmonic Society of Bologna and Verona, and 
when at Rome the Pope conferred on him the Cross and 
Brevet of Knight of Le Spiroa de I'Ora, 

Abb^ da Ponte. 

It was said, thai originally he was a Jew, turned Christian, — 
dubbed himself an abb^, and became a great dramatic writer. 
In his opera there was a character of an amorous eccentric 
poet, which was allotted to me; at the time I was esteemed a 
good mimic, and particularly happy in imitating the walk, coui> 
tenance, and attitudes of those whom I wished to resemble. 
My friend, the poet, had a remarkably awkward gait, a halnt 
of throwing himself (as he thought) into a gracefiil attitude, by 
putting his stick behind bis back, and leaning on it ; he had 
also, a very peculiar, rather dandyish, way of dressing ; for in 
sooth, the abb^ stood mighty well with himself, and had the 
character of a consummate coxcomb ; he had also a strong 
lisp and broad Venetian dialect. 

The first night of the performance, he was sealed in the 
boxes, more conspicuously thau was absolutely necessary, con- 
sidering he was the author of the piece to be performed. As 
usual, on the first niglit of a new opera, the Emperor was pres- 
ent, and a numerous auditory. When I made my entrie as 
the amorous poet, dressed exactly like the abb^ in the boxes, 
imitating his walk, leaning on my stick, and aping his gestures 
and his lisp, there was a universal roar of laughter and ap- 
plause ; and after a buiz round the house, the eyes of the 
whole audience were turned to the place where he was seated. 
The Emperor enjoyed the joke, laughed heartily, and ap- 
plauded frequently during the performance ; the abbi was 
not at all affronted, but took my imitation of liim in good part, 
and ever after we were on the best terms. The opera was 
successful, had a run of many nights, and I established th«i 
reputation of a good mimic. 



1 



\ 



1 



CASTI AND PAESIELLO. 



Casti and Paesiello. 

About the time of which I am now speaking, the celebrated 

jet, L'Abbate Casti, came from Italy to Vienna, on a visit 

; Rosenburg. He was esteemed by the literati the 

satirist since the days of Aretin. The "Animali 

•JParlanti," for its wit and satire, will always be remembered. 

e same period, the celebrated Paesiello arrived at 

■ Vienna, on his way to Naples, from Petersburg, where he had 

e years, and amassed very great wealth. I had the 

Bjileasure of seeing him introduced to Mozart ; it was gratifying 

Bito witness the satisfaction which they appeared to feel by be- 

■eoming; acquainted ; the esteem which they had for each other 

fe.tras well known. The meeting took place at Mozart's house ; 

I dined with them, and often afterward enjoyed their society 

together. 

The Emperor hearing that Casti and Paesiello were in 

:nna, wished to have Ihem presented to him on the first 

ee day ; they were accordingly introduced to his Majesty 

f the Great Chamberlain, The compositions of Paesiello 

e always in high favor with the Emperor. His Majesty 

3 them, with his usual affability, " I think I may say, f 

low before me two of the greatest geniuses alive, and it 

mid be most gratifying to me, to have an opera, the joint 

Mluclion of both, performed at my theatre ; " they of course 

eyed the flattering command, and the greatest expectations 

re excited by the union of such talents. 

One day, during the stay of Paesiello, I heard him relate an 

toecdote illustrative of the kindness of the Empress Catherine 

f Rtissia tosvards him. She was his scholar; and while he 

s accompanying her one bitter cold morning, he shuddered 

h the cold. Her Majesty perceiving it, took off a beautiful 

jak which she had on, ornamented with clasps of brilliants 

;at value, and threw it over his shoulders. Another 

of esteem for him, she evinced by her reply to Marshal 

ilsky. The Marshal agitated, it is believed, by the 

n-eyed monster," forgot himself so far as to give Paesi- 




84 MICHAEL KELLY. 

ello a blow ; Paesieila, who mas a powerful, athletic man, gave 
him a sound drubbing. In return, the Marsha] laid his com- 
plaint before tlie Empress, and demandiid from her Majesty 
the immediate dismissal of Paesiello from the court, for having 
had the audacity to return a blow upon a marshal of the 
Russian Empire. Catherine's reply was, " I neither can nor 
will attend to your request ; you forgot your dignity when you 
gave an unoffending man and a great artist a blow ; are you 
surprised that he should have forgotten it too f and as to rank, 
it is in my power, sir, to make fifty marshals, but not one 
Paesiello." 

I give the above anecdote as I heard it, although I confeg^ 
it is rather a strange coincidence, that a similar circumstaDCfi^ 
should liave occurred to Holbein, when a complaint was made 
against him to Henry VIII. by a peer of Great Britain. 

Casti was a remarkably quick writer ; in a short time he 
finished his drama, entitled " II Re Teodoro." It was said 
Joseph II. gave him the subject, and that it was intended as 
a satire upon the King of Sweden, but the fact I believe was 
never ascertained. The characters of the drama were Teo- 
doro, Signor Mandini ; Taddeo, the Venetian innkeeper, 
Bennuci ; the sultan Achmet, Buasani ; his sultana, Sig^or^ 
Laschi ; Lisetta, daughter to the innkeeper, Signoi 
and Sandrino, her lover, Signor Vigannoni ; all these 
formers were excellent in their way, and their characters 
strongly portrayed ; but the most marked part, and on which 
the able Casti had bestowed the most paios, was that of 
Gafferio, the king's secretary. This character was written 
avowedly, as a satire on General Paoli, and drawn with a 
masterly hand. Casti declared there was not a person in our 
company (not otherwise employed in the opera) capable of 
undertaking this part. It was decided, therefore, by the 
directors of the theatre, to send immediately to Venice, to 
engage Signor Blasi, at any price, to come and play it. This 
delayed us a little, and in the interim, Storace gave a quartet 
party to his friends. The players were tolerable, not i 
them excelled on the instrument he played; but there 



eeper, 

gior^'M 

iraca^ai 

■■ p«eH 

acten ■ 



CASTI AND PAESIELLO. SS 



r little science among them, which 1 dare say will be acknowl- 
edged when 1 name them. . 
The Fiiil Violin Haton. 
" Second Violin Baron DirrassDoar. 
:S-" :::::;:;;: = 
The poet CasCi and Paesiello farmed part of the audience. 
I was there, and a greater treat or a more remarkable one can- 
not be imagined. 

On the particular evening to which I am now specially refer- 
ring, after the musical feast was over, we sat down to an ex- 
cellent supper, and became joyous and Uvely in the exlreme. 
After several songs had been sung, Slorace, who was present, 
asked me to give tliem the canzonetta. Now thereby hung a 
tale, new to the company ! The truth was this ; There was 
an old miser of the name of Varesi living at Vienna, who 
absolutely denied himself the common necessaries of life, and 
wbo made up his meals by pilfering fruits and sweetmeats 
'jbora the parties to which he was invited; the canzonetta for 
'hich Storace asked, be was particularly fond of singing with 
tremulous voice, accompanied by extraordinary gestures, and 
shake of the head ; it was in fact, this imitation which I 
was called upon to exhibit, and 1 did so. During my per- 
formance, I perceived Casti particularly attentive, and when 
I had finished, he turned to Paesiello, and said, " This is the 
very fellow lo act the character of Gafferio in our opera ; 
tliis boy shall be our old man I and if he keep old Varesi in 
his eye when he acts it, 1 will answer for his success." The 
Opera was brought out, the drama was excellent, and the 
music was acknowledged the ckef-ifixuvre oi Paesiello. Over- 
fiowiog houses for three successive seasons, bore testimony to 
its merits. I played the old man, and although really little 
more than a boy, never lost sight of the character I was per- 
sonating for a momEnt. 

After the first oiglit's performance, his Majesty, the Em- 
peror, was pleased to have it signified to me, through Prince 
iburg that he was so much surprised and pleased with 



wl 

i 



86 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



my perfomiance, that he had ordered an addition to iny 
saLirjr of one hundred lecchinos per annum (about fifty 
pounds British), which I ever after enjoyed, during my stay 
at Vienna i ia short, wherever I went I was nicknamed Old 
GafTerio. 

P;iesieIlo was particularly kind to me during his stay 
Vienna, and was much diverted with my monkey antics. 
When at Naples, he wrote to me, to say that the King of 
Naplfes had commanded him to put the opera of '• II Teo- 
doro," in rehearsal, and wished me to ask the Emperor for 
six months' leave of absence to go to Naples and perform in 
it, and 1 should have my journey paid, and a most ample re- 
muneration given me. This offer, liberal as it was, for private 
reasons not worth recording, I refused. The song in Old 
GaJIerio's part, which I may say was the lucky star of my 
professional career, strange as it may appear, I had the folly 
to refuse to sing, thinking it too trivial for me. I sent it back 
to Paesielto; he desired to see me — I went — and he played 
me the beautiful accompaniment for it which he had v 
but which was not sent me, 1 having received only thi 
part. When I was going away, this great man gave me a 
admonition, not to judge of things rashly ; a piece of ad' 
not thrown away upon me. 

Chevalier Clock. 

A number of foreign princes, among whom were the Due de 
Deux Fonts, the Elector of Bavaria, etc., with great retinues, 
came to visit the Emperor, who, upon this occasion, signilied 
his wish to have two grand serious operas, both the compjo- 
sition of Chevalier Gluck : " L'Iphigenia in Tauride," and 
" L'Alceste," produced under the direction of the composer ; 
and gave orders that no expense should be spared to give them 
every effect, 

Gluck was then living at Vienna, where he had r 
crowned with professional honors, and a splendid fortune,! 
courted and caressed by all ranks, and in his seventy-fourt' 
year. 



3y 

:9. ■ 



I 



CHEVALIER GLUCK. %J 

" L'Iphigenia " was the first opera to be produced, and Gluck 
was to make his choice of the performers in it.' Madame Ber- 
nasconi was one of the first serious singers of the day ; lo 
her was appropriated the part of Iphigenia. The celebrated 
tenor, Ademberger, performed the part of Orestes finely. 
To me was allotted the character of Pylades, which created no 
small envy among those performers who thought themselves 
better entitled to the part than myself, and perhaps they were 
right ; however, I had it, and also the high gratification of be- 
ing instructed in the part by the composer himself. 

One morning, after I had been singing with him, he said, 
" Follow me up-stairs, sir, and I will introduce you to one, 
whom, all my life, I have made my study, and endeavored to 
imitate." I followed him into his bedroom, and opposite to 
the head of the bed saw a full-length picture o£ Handel, in a 
rich frame, " There, sir,'' said he, " is the portrait of the in- 
spired master of our art ; when I open my eyes in the morn- 
ing, I look upon him with reverential awe, and acknowJedge 
him as such, and the highest praise is due to your country for 
having distinguished and cherished his gigantic genius." 

" L'Iphigenia " was soon put into reliearsal, and a corpi de 
ballet engaged for the incidental dances belonging to the piece. 
The ballet master was Monsieur De Camp, the uncle of that 
excellent actress and accomplished and deserving wornan, 
Mrs. Charles Kemble. Cluck superintended the rehearsals, 
with his powdered wig, and gold-headed cane ; the orchestra 
and choruses were augmented, and all the parts were well 
filled. 

The second opera was "Alceste," which was got up with 
magnificence and splendor worthy an imperial court. 

For describing the strongest passions in music, and proving 
grand dramatic effect, in my opinion no man ever equaled 
Gluck — he was a great painter of music ; perhaps the expres- 
sion is far-fetched, and may not be allowable, but I speak 
from my own feelings, and the sensation his descriptive music 
always produced on me. For example, I never could hear, 
I without tears, the dream of Orestes in " Iphigenia ; " when in 




88 MICHAEL KELLY. 

sleep, he praya the gwls to give a ray of peace to the parr 
Oresles. What can be more expressive of deep and dark de- 
spair ? And the fine chorus of the demons who surround his 
couch, witli the ghost of his mother, produced in me a feeling 
of horror mixed with delight. 

Dr. Burney (no mean authority) said Gluck was the Michad 
Angelo of living composers, and called him the simplifyil^ 
musician, Salieri lold me that a comic opera of Cluck's 
ing performed at the Elector Palatine's theatre, at Schwetxin^ 
gen, his Electoral Highness was struck with the music, ai 
inquired wlio had composed it ; on being informed that he w 
an honest German who loved aid ■wine, his Higliness immedtf 
ately ordered him a tun of Hock. 

Paesiello's " Barbiere di Siviglia." which he composed il 
Russia, and brought with him to Vienna, was got up ; 
Mandini and I played the part of Count Almaviva alternateljl 
Storace was the Rosina. There were three operas now o 
tapis, one by Regini, another by Salieri (" The Grotto of Tn> 
phonius,") and one by Mozart, by special command of the Etrt- 
peror. Mozart chose to have Beauraarchais's French comedy, 
"Le Mariage de Figaro,'" made into an Italian opera, which 
was done with great ability by Da Ponte. These three pieces 
were nearly ready for representation at the same time, and 
each composer claimed the right of producing his opera for 
the first. The contest raised much discord, and parties were 
formed. The characters of the three men were all very differ^ 
ent. Mozart was as touchy as gunpowder, and swore 1 
would put the store of his opera into the fire if it was no' 
duced first ; his claim was backed by a strong party : o 
contrary, Regini was working like a mole in the dark t' 

The third candidate was Maestro di Cappella to the co 
clever, shrewd man, possessed of what Bacon called, crc 
wisdom, and his claims were backed by three of the principal.^ 
performers, who formed a cabal not easily put down. Every 1 
one of the opera company took part in the contest. I alonA'g 
was a stickler for Mozart, and naturally enough, for he had i 



"J^OZZE DI FIGAROr 89 

my warmest wishes, from my adoration of his power- 
hl genius, and the debt of gratitude I owed him for many 
^personal favors. 

The mighty contest was put an end to by his Majesty issu- 
^g a mandate for Mozart's " Noize di Figaro," to be instantly 
rehearsal ; and none more than Michael Kelly en- 
oyed the little great man's triumph over his rivals. 

"NozzE DI Figaro." 

Of all the performers in this opera at that time, but one sur- 
— myself. It was allowed that never was opera stronger 
tast. I have seen it performed at different periods in other 
countries, and well too, but no more to compare with its orig- 

J performance than light is to darkness. All the original 
wrformers had the advantage of the instruction of the com- 
oser, who transfused into their minds his inspired meaning. 

never shall forget his little animated countenance, when 
ighted up with the glowing rays of gerilus ; it is as impossible 
O describe it as it would be to paint sunbeams. 

I called on hiro one evening ; he said to me, " I have just 

Inished a little duet for my opera, you shall hear it." He sat 

lown to the piano, and we sang it. I was delighted with it, 
nd the musical world will give me credit for being so, when I 
leutioii the duet, sung by Count Almaviva and Susan, " Cru- 
el perchfe finora farmi languire cosl." A more delicious »»or- 
:r was penned by man, and it has often been a source 
if pleasure to me to have been the first who heard it, and to 

ve sung it with its greatly gifted composer. I remember at 

3 first rehearsal of the full band, Mozart was on the stage 
irith his crimson pelisse and gold-laced cocked hat, giving the 
"erf the music to the orchestra. Figaro's song, " Non piii 

Irai, farfallone amoroso," Benuci gave, with the greatest 
Btmation, and power of voice. 

I was standing close to Mozart, who, sotto voce, was repeat- 

;, BraTO ! Bravo I Beonuci ; and when Bennuci came to the 

E passage, " Cherub in o, alla'viltoria, alia gloria militar," 
lirhich he gave out with stentorian lungs, the effect was elec- 



beslag^roS 



90 MICHAEL KELLY. 

tricity itself, for the whole of the performers 
those io the orchestra, as if actualed by one feeling of delight 
vociferated. " Bravo ! Bravo ! Maestro. Viva, viva, grande 
Mozart." Those ia the orchestra I thought Vfould never have 
ceased applauding, by beating the bows of their violins against 
the music desks. The little man acknowledged by repeated 
obeisances, his thanks for the distinguished mark of enthusi- 
astic applause bestowed upon him. 

The same meed of approbation was given to the finale at the 
end of the first act ; that piece of music alone, in my humble 
opinion, if he had never composed anything else good, would 
have stamped him as the greatest master of his art. In the 
sestetto, in the second act (which was Mozart's favorite piece 
□f the whole opera), I had a very conspicuous part, as the 
Stuttering Judge. All through the piece I was to stutter ; but 
in the sestetto, Mozart requested I would not, for if I did, I 
should spoil his music. 1 told him, that although it might 
appear very presumptuous in a lad like me to differ with him 
on this point, I did, and was sure the way in which I intended 
to introduce the stuttering would not interfere with the other 
parts, but produce an effect : besides, it certainly was not in 
nature that I should stutter all through the part, and when I 
came to the sestetto speak plain, and after that piece of music 
was over, return to stuttering ; and, I added (apologizing at 
the same time, for my apparent want of deference and respect 
in placing my opinion in opposition to that of the great Mo- 
zart), that unless I was allowed to perform the part as I wished, 
I would not perform it at all, 

Mozart at last consented that I shotUd have my own way, 
but doubted the success of the experiment Crowded houses 
proved that nothing ever on the stage produced a more power- 
ful effect ; the audience were convulsed with laughter, in which 
Mozart himself joined. The Emperor repeatedly cried out 
" Bravo 1 " and the piece was loudly applauded and encored. 
When the opera was over, Mozart came on the stage to me, 
and shaking me bybotli hands, said, "Bravo ! young man, I 
feel obliged to you ; and acknowledge you to have been in the 



AUCTIONEER AND DRAMATIST. 



91 



i right, and myself in the wrong." There was certainly a risk 
■run, but I felt within myself I could give the eSect I wished, 
I' Slid the event proved that I was not mistaken. 

I lave seen (he opera in London, and elsewhere, and never 
law the judge portrayed as a stutterer, and the scene was 
rften totally omitted. I played it as a stupid old inan, though 
■ 9t the time I was a beardless striphng. At the end ot the 
c opera, I Ihought the audience would never have done applaud- 
rlng and calling for Moiart ; almost every piece was encored, 
Ltrhich prolonged it nearly to the length of two operas, and in- 
I duced the Emperor to issue an order on the second represen- 
tation, that no piece of music should be encored. Never was 
anything more complete than the triumph of Mozart and his 
" Nozze di Figaro," to which numerous overflowing audiences 

Royal Taste. 
I heard an anecdote, which I was assured was authentic, of 
King George the First, touching oysters. When his Majesty 
'went from Hanover to England, the Ro)^ Purveyor, having 
lieard that the King was very fond of oysters, had a dish put 
down every day; of course they were the finest that could be 
procured, but the King did not like them. This being men- 
tioned to one of the pages who went over with him from Han- 
over, he toid the Purveyor that the King did not find the same 
Ttlishiitg taste in the English oysters, which he admired so 
buch in those which he had in Hanover. " Endeavor," said 
Ibe courtier, " to get his Majesty some that are stale, and you 
irni find he will like them." The experiment was tried, and 
iutuallj succeeded, for his Majesty constantly ate them, and 
uid they were delicious. 

Auctioneer and Dramatist. 
■ I remember one day, shortly after my first appearance, din- 
ing with my friend Jack Johnstone, in Great Russell Street, I 
met an eccentric Irishman, well known in Dublin, of the name 
of Long, who was, by turns, an auctioneer and dramatist ; he 




g2 MICHAEL KELLY. 

wrote 3 play called "The Laplanders," which * 
very coolly received by the audience, and after«-ard very warmly 
condemned. He came lo England to propose to govemmeiil 
a plan for paying off the national debt, or some such thing. 
He was, however, full of anecdote, and bad a happy knack of 
telling stories against himself s one, I recollect, was, that, in 
his auctioneering capacity, among other schemes, he offered 
for sale, woolen cloths nt a farthing a yard ; yet so completely 
was his character known, and so well appreciated, that be 
could not advance a bidding even upon that price. At ooe 
time, he told us his patience was actually worn out, and, in an- 
ger towards his auditory, he said, he thought they would treat 
him with the same inattention if he were to offer a guinea for 
sale. He then literally took a guinea out of his pocket, and 
put it up ; there were certainly advances, shilling by shilling, 
until it reached seventeen shillings and .sixpence, at which 
price he knocked it down, and, handing it to the buyer, wished 
him luck of the bargain ; the purchaser went immediately ti 
try the value of his lot, when it appeared, being weighed. Id be _ 
of eighteenpence less value than he had paid for it. 

He mentioned another anecdote of a Mr. Lennan, a saddlel 
in Dublin, who was seriously stage-stricken, and volunteeredl 
to act Major O'Flaherty, in which he was execrable ; after this 
was over, however, he exhibited himself at the Cockle Ciub^ 
where the facetious Isaac Sparks presided, and Jack Long was 
vice-president ; they made Itim extremely tipsy, and then gave 
him in charge to the watch for having murdered MajoTJ 
O'Flaherty, and letl the poor saddler ail night in durance viI%M 
who afterward stuck to making saddles, and never again w 
found guilty of murdering majors even on the stage- 

Father O'Leart. 
I had the pleasure also to be introduced to my worthy ci 
trjTiian, the Reverend Father O'Leary, the well-known Roman 
Catholic priest ; he was a man of infinite wit, of instructive 
and amusing conversation. I felt highly honored by the no- 
" « of this pillar of the Roman Church j our tastes were con- 



yto 
ab. 




I 



FATHER O'LEARY. 93 

genial, for his reverence was mighty fond of whiskey punch, 
I; and many a jug of St. Patrick's eye-waler, night 
after night, did his reverence and myself enjoy, chatting over 
that exhilarating and national beverage. He sometimes fa- 
vored me with his company at dinner ; when he did, I always 
had a corned shoulder of mutton for him, for he, like some 
others of his countrymen, who shall be nameless, was raven- 
ously fond of that dish- 
One day the facetious John Philpot Curran, who was also 
very partial lo the said corned mutton, did me the honor to 
meet him. To enjoy the society of such men was an intel- 
lectual treat. They were great friends, and seemed to liave a 
mutual respect for each other's talents, and, as it may easily 
be imagined, O'Leary versus Curran was no bad match. 

One day, after dinner, Curran said to him, " Reverend 
Father, I wish you were Saint Peter." 

" And why, Counselor, would you wish that I were Saint 
Peter ? " asked O'Leary. 

"Because, Reverend Father, in that case," said Curran, 
"you would have the keys of heaven, and you could let me 

" By my honor and conscience, Counselor," replied the di- 
vine, " it would be better for you that I had the keys of the 
other place, for then 1 could let you out." 

Curran enjoyed the joke, which he admitted had a good deal 
of justice in it. 

O'Leary told us of the whimsical triumph which he once en- 
joyed over Dr. Johnson. O'Leary was very anxious to be in- 
trodnced to that learned man, and Mr. Murphy took him one 
jnorning to the Doctor's lodgings. On his entering the room, 
the Doctor viewed him from top to toe, without taking any 
notice of him ; at length, darting one of his sourest locks at 
him, he spoke to him in the Hebrew language, to which 
O'Leary made no reply. Upon which the Doctor said to him, 
" Why do you not answer me, sir ? " 

" Faith, sir," said O'Leary, " I cannot reply to you, because 
I do not understand the language in which you arc addressing 



94 MICHAEL KELLY. 

Upon this, the Doctor, with a. contemptuous sneer, said to 
Murphy, " Why, sir, this is a pretly fellow j-ou have brought 
hither; sir, he does not comprehend the primitive language." 

O'Leary immediately bowed very low, and complimented the 
Doctor with a long speech in Irish, of which the Doctor, not 
understanding a word made no reply, but looked at Murphy. 
O'Leary, seeing that the Doctor was puzzled at hearing a lan- 
guage o£ which he was ignorant, said to Murphy, pointing to 
the Doctor, " This is a pretty fellow to whom you have brought 
roe ; sir, he does not understand the language of the sister 
kingdom." The Reverend Padre then made the Doctor a lo« 
bow, and quitted the room. 

Tate Wilkinson. 

Mrs. Crouch was perfectly acquainted with the eccentiicf 
ties of Tate, and told us many anecdotes of hin 
great epicure, very fond of French cookery, and small dishes {,-1 
large joints he never allowed lo come to his table, and abovQ J 
all, had the most sovereign contempt for a round of beef | ■ 
hearing this, it came into my head to play him a trick, and I I 
got Mr. and Mrs. Crouch to aid me in my frolic. 

We got lo the inn at York just at supper-lime, 
larder a huge round of beef ; I ordered it up, and had it put 
on the table before me ; I pulled off my coat and waistcoat, 
and tucked up the sleeves of my shirt, unbuttoned my collar, 
took off my cravat, and put on a red woolen nightcap ; thus 
disrobed, and with a large carving-knUe in my hand, I was 
gazing with seeming delight on the round of beef, at the mo- 
ment Manager Wilkinson, to whom Mrs. Crouch had pre- 
viously sent, entered the house. He had ne 
went up to Mrs. Crouch, and congratulated her on her arrival J 
in York ; turning from her, he espied me, and starting bacl^ j 
exclaimed : — 

" Ugh ! ma'am, who is that, with the enormous round of beef 
before hira ! How the devil came he here, ma'am ? " Mrs. 
Crouch said, with a serious countenance, " That is Mr. Kelly, 
whom you have engaged to sing with me." 



\ 

t 

J 



TATE WILKINSON. 95 

"What, that figure ! " said Tate, "what, that my Lord Aim- 
worth — my Lionel — my Young Meadows! Ugh! send him 
away, ma'ara ! send him hack 10 Drury Lane 1 send him to 
Vienna ! I never can produce such a thing as that to a York 
audience, ma'am." 

While he was abusing the bad taste of the Drury Lane 
managers and those of Vienna, I slipped out of the room, 
dressed myself, and in propriA persottA, was introduced to Tate, 
who participated in the joke, and laughed heartily, and ever 
after we were the greatest friends. 

Wilkinson was certainly one of the most eccentric men I ever 
met with ; one of his whims was, to hide chocolate drops and 
other sweetmeats in different holes and corners of his house, 
his great pleasure consisting in finding them, as if by accident, 
some days after. When he had taken a few glasses of Old 
Madeira, of which he was very fond, he would mix his conver- 
sation about theatricals and eatables together, in a manner at 
once ludicrous and incomprehensible. I was sitting with him 
one night, in high spirits, after supper, and we spoke of Barry, 
Ihe actor : "Sir," said he, " Barry, sir, was as much superior 
to Garrick in Romeo, as York Minster is to a Methodist 
chapel — not but I think, that if lobster sauce is not well 
made, a turbot isn't eatable, let it be ever so firm. Then 
there 's that Miss Reynolds ; why she, sir, fancies herself a 
singer, but she is quite a squalini, sir ! a nuisance, sir ! going 
about my house the whole of the day, roaring out " The Sol- 
dier tired of War's Alarms," ah ! she has lired me and alarmed 
the whole neighborhood ; not but when rabbits are young and 
tender, they are very nice eating. There was Mrs. Barry, for 
example ; Mrs. Barry was very fine and very majestic in 
Zenobia ; Barry, in the same play, was very good ; not but 
that the wild rabbits are better than tame ones. Though Mrs. 
Barry was so great in her day, yet Mrs. Siddons — stewed 
and smothered with onions, either of them are delicious. Mrs. 
Pope was admirable in Queen Elizabeth — a man I had here, 
made a very good Oronooko ; not but I would always advise 
you to have a calPs head dressed with the skin on, but you 



96 MICHAEL KELLY. 

must always bespeak it of the butcher yourself ; though fte 
last bespeak of Lord Scarhorough did nothing for me, nothing 
at all — the house was one of the worst of the whole season ; 
with bacon and greens — not twenty pounds altogether, with 
parsley and butter ; " and on he went talking, until he talked 
himself asleep, for which I did offer my thanks to Somnus, 
with all my soul ; yet when clear of these unaccountable rev- 
eries, he was an amusing companion. 

I have heard my friend King assert, that such was the 
power of Wilkinson's mimicry, that ugly as he was, he could 
make hip face resemble that of Mrs. Woffington, who was a 
beauty of her time. I once requested him to make Mrs. Wof- 
fington's face for me, which he good-naturedly did, and to my 
utter astonishment, really made a handsome one. He was 
very fond of talking of his Peg, as he called Mrs. Woffington, 
and avowed that, in his younger days, he was passionately in 
love with her. 

Irish Bulls. 

Tate Wilkinson was not singular in mixing with whatever 
subject he was talking about, that of eating. I knew a coun- 
tryman of mine, a captain in the Irish brigade, whose constant 
habit was always to bring in something or other about eatables. 
A gentleman praising the Bay of Dublin, and its similitude to 
the Bay of Napli^s, " Dublin Bay, sir," said my countryman, 
" is far and away liner than the Bay of Naples i for what 
earth can be superior to a Dublin Bay herring? " 

" I am told," said the gentleman, " that the Irish brigade, 
the Empress Maria Theresa's service are a line set of mtfn,"! 

" You may say that, sir," said my friend, "and she has abp' 
in her dominions the Unest beef and mutton I ever tasted 

One winter there was a severe frost in Dublin, and such 
scarcity of coals that hardly any were to be got for love or 
money ; a gentleman was lamenting the situation of the poorer 
orders from the severity of the weather. 

"It's very true, they are much to be pitied, poor devils, 
said the captain ; " and the cold is very shocking, but it will 
bring in the curlews." 



'I 



MISTAKEN IN HIS MAN. 



Mistaken in his Man. 

Our time for departure, however, arrived, and Mrs. Crouch, 
her maid, and I, left York at five o'clock in the morning for 
Newcastle, and got to Durham to a late dinner : while it was 
preparing, I amused myself by looking about me, and in the 
hall of the inn, I saw a large bill posted, announcing the per- 
formances of the Newcastle festival ; reading which, with 
great attention, 1 perceived a man, whom I recognized as Mr. 
Hobler, the chorus singer, who sang at the Abbey, the King's 
Concert, and the Academy of Ancient Music. The bill an- 
nounced an nncommon number of choruses and I remarked 
upon the fact to the chorister. " Why," said I, familiarly, con- 
cluding, that as I knew Hobler, Hobler must know me, "You 
will have warm work, my master, with all these choruses." 

" Not I," said the singer ; " the more choruses there are, 
the better I am pleased, 1 never tire of them." 

" Why," said I, " that is strange too, considering how much 
you have had of them in your time." 

" Not at all, I assure you," said Hobler ; " I have for many 
years regularly attended the ancient concerts and music meet- 
ings ; I have never had too much of Handel's choruses yet." 

" Egad," said I, " you are quite a fanatico per 2a. mvsua. 
And pray, now, to which of Handel's choruses do you give the 
preference ? " 

"Why, my dear Mr, Kelly," said Hobler, " I cannot decide ; 
but I candidly tell you what Cicero said, when he was asked 
which of the orations of Demosthenes he hked the best, he 
answered the longest ; so say I of Handel's choruses." 

" Bravo," said I ; " you are quite a learned Theban." 

" Not much of that either," said he, " but I am never disin- 
clined to avow an opinion of what pleases me." 

Just at this moment, the waiter came to announce dinner, 
and I asked the enthusiastic chorister if he would take a glass 
of anything. 



Lcand THY teft^^^^l 

I 

ts appea.rance, ^H 



98 MICHAEL KELLY. 

" No, [haak you," said he, '■ I have had my wi 
I ann an earlier man than you." 

" Pray," said I, " how did you travel here f " 

■' I came down in ray carri^e," replied Hobler. 

" The devil you did," cried I, 

" Yes," said he, " 1 always do." 

The landlord of the inn at this juncture made lits 
and bowingp respectiully to Hobler, told him that his carriage 
was at the door. " Good day, Mr. Kelly," said Hobler, " 
hope we shall meet at Newcastle ; " and away he went. 

While we were at Hinner, the landlord came into the rooi 
and I asked him if (he chorus singer to whom I had beenspeak<J 
ing in the hall was an old customer of his. 

" What, sir, the gentleman you were speaking to ? " said the,! 
landlord, " he is no chorus singer, sir, he is one of the oldest J 
baronets in England, and has one of the finest places ii 
shire ; nor is there a more noble or liberal gentleman 
face of the earth than Sir Charles." 

" Sir Charles," exclaimed I ; " What, is Hobler turned baro-fl 



;t?" 



aid my host, " why, that, : 



: Sir Charlea.fl 



'■ Hobler 
Turner." 

It is impossible to describe how vexed I felt at the gross 
mistake I had made, but it was too late to remedy it. I sol' 
emnly assured the landlord that Sir Charles Turner and Hob- 
ler the chorus singer were so like one another, that they were ■ 
undistinguishable apart. J 

Some time after this unpleasant equivoque, I met Sir Charles ■ 
at Lord Dudley's, and made him every apology in my power. 1 
The worthy baronet laughed heartily, and told tne that he men- 
tioned the circumstance wherever he had an opportunity as a 
capital joke. The next Christmas he sent me a fine large 
Yorkshire pie. His son, who succeeded to his lille and e' 
continued my friend to the day of his death ; and many times 
and oft, when I have dined with him, or met him at Lord Mej 
borough's and elsewhere, have we talked of my having taken , 
his father for a chorus singer. 



willliam i'arsons. 99 

William P arson s- 

Most of my theatrical readers remember, and all have heard, 
of that exquisite actor, Parsons ; to him I was particularly 
partia], and he, I may venture to say, was very partial to me. 
I have repeatedly dined with him, in a bandbox of a house 
which he had near the Asylum, at Lambeth ; it was au odd 
place for an asthmatic comedian to live in, for it was opposite 
a stagnant ditch ; he called it Frog Hall. In his little drawing- 
room were several beautiful landscapes, painted by himself; 
he was reckoned a very good artist. Among his little pecul- 
iarities, was a fondness for fried tripe, which almost nightly, 
after the play, he went to enjoy, at an eating-house in Little 
Rtissell Street, nearly opposite the stage door of Drury Lane 
Theatre, whither I used very often to accompany him ; and 
night after night have we been llte-A-lUe there. I was anxious 
to acquire what theatrical information I could, and he was very 
communicative and full of anecdote. 

One evening I was expressing a wish to see him act the 
character of Corbacio, in " The Fox," as it was one of his great 

"Ah," said he, "to see Corbacio acted to perfection, you 
should have seen Shuler ; the public are pleased to think that 
I act that part well, but his acting was as far superior lo mine 
as Mount Vesuvius is to a rushlight." 

Parsons, when on the stage with John Palmer and James 
Aickin, used to make it a point lo set them off laughing, and 
scarcely ever failed in his object. One evening over our fried 
tripe, I was condemning them for indulging their laughing 
propensities on the stage, and said 1 thought it was positively 
disrespectful to the audience. " For my own part," said I, 
" 1 enjoy your comicalities and humor as much as any one, 
when in the front of the house ; but were I on the stage 
with you, nothing that you could do would make me so far 
forget the character I was acting, as to indulge in misplaced 

" Do you think so ? " said he, " well, perhaps you are 
right." 



1 




loo MICHAEL KELLY. 

Five or six eights after ihis conversation, we were acting 
" The Doclor and the Apothecary," I was to sing a song to 
him, beginning, "This marriage article, in every particle, is 
free from flaw, sir." A full chord was given from the orches- 
tra to pilch the key ; just as it was given, and I was going to 
begin the song, he called out to Shaw, the leader, "Stop, 
slop,** and putting his head into my face, and kicking up his 
heels (a favorite action of his) he drove me from one end of 
the stage to the other, crying out all the time, " I 'II be hanged 
if you shall ever have any more fried Iripe, no more fried tripe, 
no more fried tripe," and completely pushed me off the stage. 
I could not resist this unexpected attack, and naturally burst 
out laughing. The audience were in a roar of laughter too, 
for it was enough that he held up his finger or his heel to 
make them laugh. When we got off, he said, " 1 think you 
must own, my serious lad, that I have conquered ; " then 
taking me by the hand, be dragged me upon the stage to the 
spot whence he had before driven me, and looking down into 
the orchestra, said, " Now, sirs, begin," which they did, and I 
sang my song, which was much applauded ; but the audience 
were, of course, ignorant of the joke of tlie fried tripe, or what 
he meant by it ; however, he is gone, poor fellow, and many a 
pleasant hour have 1 enjoyed in his society. 

John Palmer. 
In the month of October, there was a grand musical festival 
at Norwich. Madame Mara was engaged there, and so was 
I, as principal lenor singer. The first performance was 
"The Messiah," which I was to open on Ihe Thursday morn- 
ing. I was to quit town on the Tuesday, but on Monday night 
I received an order not on any account to leave London ; for 
Mr. Sheridan had sent a peremptory message to have Richard 
Coeur de Lion performed ; and against his decree there was no 
appeal. John Palmer, the excellent comedian, was with me 
when I received Ihe message ; he said to me, " My valued 
friend, Richard will be over by eleven o'clock ; if you choose 
to have a carriage and four horses at the door, you will get 



I 

I 

I 



I 



JOHN PALMER. lOI 

wilh ease to Norwich by twelve, on Thursday, in time to open 
' The Messiah." Norwich is the city that first cherished me, 
and where I married my beloved wife ; how I should like to 
accompany you, if you would give me a seat in your chaise." 

I said it would make me very happy to have the pleasure of 
his company. He told me he was perfectly acquainted with 
every inn on the road, and would write immediately to those 
where we were to change horses, to have relays prepared for 
us, that we might not meet with any delay on the road. I was 
much pleased with the promised arrangement, and wrote to 
Madame Mara that I should he at Norwich on Thursday ia 
time, requesting her to secure two beds at the hotel where she 
was ; one for my friend Palmer, and one for myself. 

On Wednesday evening, as I was dressing for Richard, my 
friend Palmer came to me, with the countenance of Joseph 
Surface, and sighing, said, " My best of friends, this is the 
most awful period of my life ; I cannot leave town ; my be- 
loved wife, the partner of my sorrows and my joys, is just 
confined." 

I said, under such circumstances, of course I could not ex- 
pect him to leave Mrs. Palmer, but I hoped there would be no 
mistake about the horses which were ordered to be ready at 
each post ; he sat down, and deliberately wrote down the 
names of all the places where he had ordered them to be in 
readiness. 

About eleven o'clock, having merely taken ofi my Richard's 
dress, 1 got into the carriage ; and accompanied by a Scotch- 
man who was my valet and hair-dresser, rattled oif full speed 
to Epping, where we were first to change, at the inn marked 
down by my excellent friend ; we knocked and bellowed for 
Mr. Palmer's horses ; at last out came the osller ; Mr. Palmer 
had no horses there ; he had not sent any orders ; nor did 
they even know who Mr. Palmer was. 

I never in the course of my life experienced a greater disap- 
pointment ; in short, all the way down I had to wait for horses, 
as Palmer had not written to any one of the inns ; however, 
the road was excellent, and by paying the boys well, I got on 



I 



102 MICHAEL KELLY. 

at a capital pace without the smallest accident. It w^s 
ket day at Nonvich, and as I drove in, the good folks stared 
and wondered to see me, getting my hair dressed in a cam's^e ; 
however, I reached the church door Just as the overture to 
" The Messiah " was on the point of commencing. I took my 
seat in tlie orchestra, opened the "' Oratorio," and never was 
in better voice, although naturally much fatigued. 

We had two more morning performances in the church, and 
three evening performances in the grand assembly room. 
At the conclusion of the festival I returned to town, and when 
I charged Palmer with neglect and deception, he swore that 
he had ordered all the horses exactly as he had stated. I 
thought it of no use to be at variance with him, and pretended 
to believe him, which of course prevented a quarrel, though 
his neglect might have been of the most serious consequence 
to me ; and although the fact was, that Mrs. Palmer had not 
been confined at all. 

About two months afterward he was engaged to go to Read- 
ing, to act for a benefit, but he did not go ; and wrote to the 
poor actor for whom he was to perform, (hat he could not 
leave town, because Mrs. Palmer was just brought to bed ; 
his letter was read from the stage to the audience. When I 
heard of it, I congratulated him upon the possession of a part- 
ner, who increased his family every two months. But Plausi- 
ble Jack, all his life, was blessed with inventive faculties. 

I remember there was a new comedy to be performed at 
Dniry Lane, the name of which I do not now remember, in 
which Palmer had the principal part ; it was very long, and 
the day before, at rehearsal, he did not know a single line of 
it. On the day the play was to be acted, the boxes all en- 
gaged, and a crowded house expected. Palmer sent word that 
he was taken dangerously ill, and that it would be at the risk 
of his life if he were to play that night. His letter was not 
sent to the theatre until three o'clock, wheR all was confusion, 
from the lateness of the hour at which the intelligence was 
received, Mr. Sheridan was at the box-ofEce, and I was with 
him, when Powell, the prompter, brought him the letter. 



i 



J 



" CYMON." 



103 



I 



b 



When he had read it, he said to me, " 1 'd lay my life this is 
a trick of Plausible Jack's, and that there is nothing the 
matter with him, except indeed not knowing a line of the 
part he has to act to-night. Let you and I call upon him, and 
1 am sure we shall find him as well as ever." 

He lodged in Lisle Street, two doors from my house. As 
we were passing by, Mrs. Crouch happened to he at one of 
the windows, and beckoned Mr. Sheridan to walk in ; he did 
so, and I went on to Palmer's ; and finding the street door 
open, walked up-stairs, where I found him seated at table, 
with his family, in the middle of dinner, in seeming excellent 
health and spirits. I told him to clear away the table, for Mr, 
Sheridan would be there in two minutes to see him ; "and," 
said I, " he swears there is nothing the matter with you, and 
that you have shammed sick, only because you are not perfect ; 
if he find himself right in his surmises, he will never forgive 
you, for putting off the play." 

" Thanks, my best, my dearest, valued friend," replied 
Palmer ; " I 'm sure you '11 not betray me." 

I assured him I would not, and in a moment he was in his 
bedroom, enveloped in his dressing-gown, with a large woolen 
nightcap on his head, and a handkerchief lied under his jaw, 
stretched on a sofa. As Mr, Sheridan entered the room, he 
began groaning, as if in the most excruciating torture from 
the tooth-ache. Never did he act a part better on or off the 
stage. Mr, Sheridan was really taken in ; advised him to 
have his tooth extracted, and then to study his part, and get 
perfect in the new play. We went away, and I kept his secret 
till the day of his death. 



" Cv.MOX." 
1 gave a dinner at the Piazza Coffee House t 



Mr. Sheridan 
Mr. Holland the architect of New Drury, and a number of 
his friends were present on the occasion ; among others in- 
vited, Mr, Kemble, Storace, and myself. I happen* 






r Mr. Sheridar 



who at that t 






; except my being one of his perfor 



1 the cc 



little 




I04 MICHAEL KELLY. 

ai the evening, he was lamenting to me the situation tlie 
theatre was placed in by the illness and absence of some of its 
leading performers, and wished me to suggest what operatic 
piece could be got up without them. After a little thought, I 
proposed to him to get up " Cymon," which cotUd be done 
without any of the absent performers. Mr. Sheridan replied, 
" Cymon, my good sir, would not bring sixpence to tlie 
treasury." 

" Granted, sir," said I, '■ Cymon, as it now stands, certainly 
might not ; but my reason for proposing it, is, that I saw 
at Naples an opera, at the end of which, was a grand pro- 
cession and tomTiatnent, triumphal cars, drawn by horses, 
giants, dwarfs, leopards, lions, and tigers, which was enuneatly 
successful ; and it is my opinion, that Cymon might be made 
a vehicle for the introduction of a similar spectacle. I rec- 
ollect all the spectacle part as done at Naples, and I thinlc, 
with the novelty of your present theatre, and the manner in 
which the piece can be cast, Cymon would bring a mint of 
money to the house." 

After a moment's reflection, he said he thought it would, 
that he felt obliged to me for the suggestion, and that he would 
give directions to have it brought forward with al! possible 
speed. The evening was spent with great good-humor ; hitJ 
friend, Jack Bannister, contributed to its hilarity, by giviiu^ 
us excellent imitations of several of the performers of both^ 
theatres. At the conclusion, we adjourned to another room 
to take coffee ; as Kemble was walking somewhat majestically 
towards the door, and Jack Bannister getting up to go after 
him, I hallooed out, " Bannister, follow that lord, but s 
mock him not," as Bannister, a moment before, had been A 
mocking the actors ; the quotation was thought ratlier ap^ I 
and produced much laughter. 

Mr. Sheridan told Storace that night, that he was very much I 
pleased with me, and desired him to bring me the Sunday fol- 
lowing to dine with him in Brufan Street ; he did so, and, sur- 
prising to relate, Mr. Sheridan was at home to receive ua, 
I spent a delightful day ; and, after that, to the lamented day i 



sible ^ 

bot^V 

oom ^^ 

I 



' oft 



WHIGHTEN THE PROMPTER. 



Kyal 



105 
of that great man's death, I had the IiappineKS to enjoy his 
confidence and society. Great preparaiions were made to 
prepare Cymon ; no expense was spared ; and the piece was 
produced with all splendor and magnificence. 

There was some new music inlroduced by Stephen Slorace 
and others ; the scenery was beautiful and the proces- 
sion magnificent; generally speaking, it was admirably per- 
formed. 

The car, in which were Sylvia and Cymon, was drawn by 
two beautiful horses ; and at my feet, as Cymon, lay a beauti- 
firi cupid. Before the piece was brought out, I had a number 
of children brought to me, that I might choose a cupid. One 
struck me, with a line pair of black eyes, who seemed by his 
looks and little gestures to be most anxious to be chosen as 
the representative of the God of Love ; I chose him, and 
little then did T imagine that my little cupid would eventually 
become a great actor : the then little urchin, was neither 
more nor less than Edmund Kean. He has often told me, 
that he ever after this period felt a regard for me, from the 
circumstance of my having preferred him lo the other chil- 
dren. I consider my having been the means of introducing 
this great genius to the stage, one my most pleasurable rec- 
ollections. 

Wrighten the Prompter. 

This year Drury Lane lost one of its most efficient mem- 
bers, in Mr. Wrighten, the prompter, a man most esteemed 
and respected. 1 have often heard Mr. Sheridan say, that he 
thought an intelligent prompter of the greatest importance to 

well-regulated theatre ; a stage manager was only required 

itage dayz and holidays, tiut a steady prompter was the 

of the building. Wrighten's funeral was attended 

ly all the School of Garrick, o£ which I was a member. Jack 

was detained on some particular business, and did 

not arrive until we were just setting out to the burial. Charles 

Bannister said, "For shame. Jack — why are you so much 

r your lime ? If Wrighten were alive, he 'd forfeit you 



ir being late. 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



ly belonging to ^ 



The School of Garrick. 
Speaking of the School o£ Garrick, and of n 
it, 1 ought, perliaps, to explain, that it was a club formed bj 
a few of the contemporaries of the British Roscius, who dined 
together during the theatrical winter season cnce a month. 
They did me the honor (unsolicited on my part) to admit me 
among them. I was highly flattered as a young man, and duly 
appreciated the favor. It was, o( all societies I ever have 
been in, perhaps the most agreeable; nothing could surpass 
it for wit, pleasantry, good-humor, and brotherly love. When 
I was admitted, I found the following members belonging 



J,«6 






In mentioning their names, I need not say what were 
flashes of wit and merriment, that set the table in a roar ; 
yet, with the exception of my worthy friend Jack Bannister 
(whom God long preserve !), they are all gone to that bourne 
from which no traveller returns. 

As they fell oi^ the following members were elected io. 
tbeir room : — J 



My friend Pope gave an excellent dinner, upon the o 
of his election, at his house in Half Moon Street ; and the 
first Mrs. Pope, the ci-devant Miss Young, who had acted 
many of the principal characters of our Immortal Bard, with 
distinguished iclal, was requested to become a member of the 
club, by accepting the silver medal of Garrick, which each 
member wore at the meetings of the society. She came 




r 



OLD MOODY. 107 

and seemed to appreciate the flattering attention 
high professional merits. She was the only 
iemale who ever had the compliment paid her ; but, alas ! 
she, among the rest, is now no more ; and delightful as the. 
society was, and intellectual as its recreations, were, it gradu- 
ally dwindled, either from deaths or desertions, until at last it 
has become extincL 

Old Moody. 

Old Moody, who was delighted with everything which 

minded him of his great master, was almost broken-hearted 
at the event. I was always partial to Moody's agreeable 
society ; so, to indulge the old gentleman, I proposed that 
he and I should meet once a month, dine together, and keep 
up Ihe form of the club, which we did for some time. 

I remember upon one of these occasions, I perceived, as 
we sat over our botile, that he was more than usually low- 
spirited, and I ventured to ask, what made him so ? " My dear 
fellow," said he, " I feel myself the most miserable of men, 
though blessed with health and affluence. Such is the de- 
testable vice of avarice, which I feel growing upon me, that 
parting with a single sixpence, is to me like parting with a 
drop of my heart's blood, for which reason, unconquerable as 
the growing passion is, I feel that I ought to be abhorred and 
detested by mankind." 

I endeavored to rally him out of so singular a feeling ; and 
as far as I am personally concerned, I can vouch for it, that 
he had no just reason for indulging it ; for when 1 was desir- 
ous of purchasing the lease of my house, in Pall Mall, and 
happened to say in his presence, that 1 wanted 500/. to com- 
plete the bargain, he called upon me the following day and 
oflfered me the loan of that sum, upon no other security than 
my simple note of hand. 

' At the tUe-ik-ihe meetings of the club he was, at times 
very entertaining, and told me many stories of himself. 
Among others, he said that, early in life, he was sent out to 
Jamaica ; and on his return to England, went on the stage, 



io8 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



unknown to his friends. I do not recollect the name of the 
ship in which he told me he came back to England ; but he 
informed me that he worked his passage home as a sailor be- 
fore the mast. 

One night, sgme time after he had been on the stage, when 
he was acting Stephano in the '"Tempest," a sailor, in the 
front row of the pit of Drury Lane, got up, and standing upon 
the seat, hallooed out, " What cheer. Jack Moody, what cheer, 



This unexpected address from the pit, rather astonished the 
audience. Moody, however, stepped forward to the lamps, 
and said, "Jack HuUet, keep your jawing tacks aboard — don't 
disturb the crew and passengers ; when the show is over 
make sail for the stage-door, and we '11 finish ihe evening over 
a bowl of punch ; but till then. Jack, shut your locker," 

After Ihe play was ended, the rough son of Neptune was 
shown to Moody's dressing-room, and thence they adjourned 
to the Black Jack, in Clare Market (a house which Moody 
frequented), and spent a jolly night over sundry bowls of 
rack. This story, told by himself in his humorous maoi 
was very amusing. 

Previous to the dissolution o£ the club, one night, when 
were full of mirth and glee, and Moody seated, like Jove in his 
chair, and Mathews, among other members, present, a waiter 
came in to tell Mr. Henry Johnstone that a gendeman wished 
to speak to him in the next room. In a few minutes we heard 
a great noise and bustle, and Henry Johnstone, in a loud tone 
say, " Sir, you cannot go into the room where the club is ; none 
but members are, on any account, admitted ; such are our 

" Talk not to me of your rules," said the stranger ; 
upon being admitted." And after a long controversy of, " f 
will go ; " and " You shan't go ; " the door was burst open, 
and both contending parties came tumbling in. 

The stranger placed himself next to roe, and 1 thought him 
the ugliest and most impudent fellow I ever me 
went on with a rhapsody of nonsense, of his admiration of our 






EICUARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN: rOQ 

society, lliat he could not resist the temptation of joining it, 
filled himself a glass of wine, and drank to our better acquaint- 



forn 
ber. 

The stranger replied, " I don't care for your rules ; talk not 
to me of your regulations — I will not stir an inch ! " 

"Then," cried the infuriated Moody, "old as I am, I will 
take upon myself to turn you ouL" 

Moody jumped up and throttled the stranger, who defended 
himself manfully : all was confusion, and poor Moody was get- 
ting black in the face ; when the stranger threw off his wig, 
spectacles, and false nose, and before us stood Mathews him- 
self, inprofiriA persoaA. So well did he counterfeit his as- 
sumed character, that except Henry Johnstone, who was his 
accomplice in the plot, not one among us suspected him. 

Moody, when undeceived, was delighted, and added his trib- 
ute of applause to Mathews ; and the evening passed off as 
usual with glee and revelry. The part was admirably man- 
aged by Malhews, who had taken an opportunity of leaving the 
room 10 prepare himself for his disguise, while a song was 
going on, which engrossed the attention of the company, and 
so slipped out unnoticed. I have mentioned this circumstance 
in perhaps a wrong place, for it happened many years after 
the period of which I was previously treating ; but as I was on 
the subject of the school of Garrick, I thought the anachro- 
nism excusable. 



■wori 

■row 



RJCKARD Brinslev Sheridan. 
My benefit was the last night of our engagement. In the 
ning of that eventful day, cro.wing Williamson Square to 
_ the theatre, a gentleman slopped me, and accosting me 
with the most (>ointed civility, informed me that he had a writ 
against me for 350/. ; I, at the lime, not owing a sixpence to 
any living creature. 

I said he must be mistaken in his man. He showed me the 




no ItlCBAEL KU-I.Y. 

writ, wUcfa was at dM set a< a Mr. Henderson, 
in Cowauy Socet, and ibc ilebt, he snd, had be«n iiKmrred 
for farnbtiiDg the Open Hoose witb covering for the boxes, 
pit, etc^ etc So. insiead of preparing for tbe custody of 
Loc&it, on tbe stage (for "The Beggar's Optra" was the 
piece (o be acted), I «as oUiged to go to a spaoging-hoase. 

I requested the sberifi's (rfk«r, who was cMremely civil, to 
accompany me to Mrs. Crooch, to consult what I had best da ; 
the advised me b; do means to acknowledge the debt, but to 
go tu ihe Exchange, and state publicly the cause of my arrest, 
and to ask any gentleman there to become bail ; making over 
to such bail, as a security, nearly five hundred pounds, which 
we luckily had paid into Mr. Mcywood's Bank, in IJverpool, 
three days before ; but Mr. Frank Aickin, who was then man- 
ager, rendered any such arrangement unnecessary, as he 
handsomely came forward and bailed roe- 1 was tberefi 
released, and performed Macheath that night 
house. 

1 sent my servant to London by the mail, with an account 
the transaction to Mr. Sheridan, who immediately settled the 
debt in his own peculiar way. He sent for Henderson the up- 
holsterer, lo his house, and after describing the heinous cru- 
elly he had committed, by arresting a man who had nothing to 
do with the debt, and who was on a professional engagement 
in the country, expatiated and remonstrated, explained and ex- 
tenuated, until he worked so much upon the upholsterer that 
in less than half an hour, he agreed to exonerate me and my 
bail ; taking, instead of such security, Mr. Sheridan's bond ; 
which, I must say, was extremely correct in the upholsterer. 
Hut Mr. Sheridan never did things by halves ; and therefore, 
before the said upholsterer quilled the room, he contrived to 
borrow aoo/. of him, in addition to the original claim, and he 
depitrled, thinking himself highly honored by Mr. Shefidan'l 
condescension in accepting the loan. 

I have seen many inslances of Mr Sheridan's power of 
ing money wlien pushed h;irrt ; and one among the rest, 1 
fesB even astonished mt. He was once 3,000/. in arrear 



'% 



RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 1 1 1 

the performers of the Itahan opera ; payment was put oS 
from day to day, aod they bore the repeated postponements 
with Christian patience ; but at laKt, even their docility re- 
volted, and finding all the tales of Hope flattering, they met, 
and resolved not to perform any lonjjer until they were paid. 
As manager, I accordingly received on the Saturday morning 
their written declaration, that not one of tliem would appear at 
night. On getting this, I went to Messrs. Morelands' bank- 
ing house, in Pall Mall, to request some advances, in order to 
satisfy the performers for the moment ; but, alas ! my appeal 
was vain, and the bankers were ineiorable, they, like the 
singers, were worn out, and assured me, with a solemn oath, 
that they would not advance another shilling either to Mr. 
Sheridan or the concern, for that they were already too deep 
in arrear themselves. 

This was a poser ; and with a heart rather sad I went to 
Hertford Street, Mayfair, to Mr. Sheridan, who at that time 
bad not risen. Having sent him up word of the urgency of my 
business, after keeping me waiting rather more than two hours 
in the greatest anxiety, he came out of his bedroom. I toiii 
him unless he could raise 3,000/. the theatre must be shut up, 
ajid he, and all belonging to the establishment, be disgraced. 

" Three thousand pounds, Kelly 1 there is no such sum in 
nature," said he, with all the coolness imaginable, nay, more 
tban I could have imagined a man under such circumstances 
capable of. " Are you an admirer of Shakespeare ? " 

" To be sure I am," said I ; " but what has Shakespeare to 
do with 3,000/, or the Italian singers ? " 

" There is one passage in Shakespeare," said he, " which I 
have always admired particularly ; and it is that where Fal- 
staff says, ' Master Robert Shallow, I owe you a thousand 
pounds. ' ' Yes, Sir John,' says Shallow, ' which I beg you 
will let me take home with me.' 'That may not so easy be. 
Master Robert Shallow,' replies Falstaff ; and so say I unto 
thee, Master Mick Kelly, to get three thousand pounds may 
not so easy be." 

" Then, sir," said I, " there is no alternative but closing the 



112 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



Opera House ; " and not quite pleased with his apparent care- 
lessness, 1 was leaviog the room, when he bade me stop, ring 
the bell, and order a hackney-coach. He then sat down, and 
read the newspaper, perfectly at his ease, while I was in an 
agony o£ anxiety. When the coach came, he desired me to 
get into it, and order the coachman to drive to Morland's, and 
to Morland's we went ; there he got out, and I remained in the 
carriage in a state of nervous suspense not to be described ; 
but in less than a quarter of an hour, to my joy and surprise, 
out he came, with 3,000/. in bank-notes in his hand. By what 
hocus-pocus he got % \ never knew, nor can I imagine even , 
at this moment, but cerles he brought it to me, out of the ver 
house where, an hour or two before, the firm had s' 
they would not advance him another sixpence. 

He saw, by my countenance, the emotions of surprise and 
pleasure his appearance, so provided, had excited, and laugh- 
ing, bid me take the money to the treasurer, but to be sure 
to keep enough out of it to buy a barrel of native oysters, 
which he would come and roast at night, at my house in Snfr- ^ 
folk Street. 

The next musical piece I produced at Drury Lane was ii 
junction with Mr. Dusseck, the celebrated piano-forte player; 
he composed the serious part of it, — 1 (he comic. What 
he did was masterly and effective. The piece was entitled, 
"The Captive of Spilburg ; " the story from the French piece, 
" Camille ; ou le Souterrain ; " it was ably managed by Prince 
Hoare, and had a run of seventeen nights. My next musi- 
cal productions were in a play taken from Mr. Lewis's ro- 
mance of "The Monk," by Mr. Boaden, and performed at 
Drury Lane, called " Aurelio and Miranda." I thought there 
was a great deal of merit in the writing ; but it was only 
acted six nights; many thought it indecorous to represent a 
church on the stage (which, by the way, was a fine specimen 
of the art ^ painted by Capon). But the powerful objection 
was, the unearthly appearance of Kemble, as the Monk. I 
never shall forget his attitude immediately after his entrance; 
his dress —the look — the tout eitscmbU — struck r 



- -d 



^ 



RICffARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. II3 

more than human. He was hailed with the most rapturous 
applause ; but he stood motionless, with uplifted ej'cs, and 
apparently regardless of the public tribute. 

The great sums of money produced to the theatre by " Blue 
Beard," induced the Drury Lane proprietors to prevail on Mr. 
Colman to write a musical afterpiece, to vie with it in splen- 
dor. The piece was entitled, " Feudal Times ; or the Ban- 
quet Gallery." I composed the whole of the music for it. 
Although the scenery was grand, and the piece well acted, it 
was not so successful as Blue Beard ; although performed in 
the course of the season for many nights. It was brought 
out in January, 1799. 

On the Sth of April, 1799, the musical world had to regret 
the demise of the veteran Cramer, the admirable violin per- 
former, leader of the opera band. King's concert, and all the 

On the 24th of May, in the ,';ame year, Mr. Sheridan's cele- 
brated play of "Pizarro," from Kotzebue, was produced; it 
was admirably acted, and I had the proud distinction of having 
my name joined with that of Mr. Sheridan, in its production, 
having been selected by him to compose the whole of the 

Ejtpectation was on lip-loe ; and strange as it may appear, 
" Pizarro " was advertised, and every box in the house taken, 
before the fourth act of the play was begun ; nor had I one 
single word of the poetry for which I was to compose the 
music. Day after day, was I attending on Mr, Sheridan, rep- 
resenting that time was flying ; and that nothing was done for 
me. His answer uniformly was, " Depend upon it, my dear 
Mic, you shall have plenty of matter to go on with to-morrow ; " 
but day after day, that morrow came not, which, as ray name 
was advertised as the composer of the music, drove me half 

One day I was giving a dinner to the Earl of Guilford, the 
Marquis of Ormond (then Lord Ormond), my valued friend 
Sir Charles Bampfylde, Sir Francis Burdelt, George Colman, 
J. Richardson, M. Lewis, and John Kemble ; and, about ten 



114 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



< 1^ 



o'clock, when 1 was in tlie full enjoyment of this charming so- 
ciety, Mr. Shertdan appeared before us, and informed my 
triends, that he must carry me off with him, that moment, to 
Dmry Lane ; be^ed they would excuse my absence for one 
hour, and he would return with me. I saw it would be use- 
less to contradict him, so I went lo the theatre, and found the 
stage and house lighted up, as it would have been for a public 
performance ; not a human being there except ourselves, the 
painters, and carpenters ; and all this preparation was tneretj 
that he might see two scenes, those o£ Pizarro's Tent, and the 
Temple of the Sim. 

The great author established himself in the centre of fl 
pit, with a large bowl of negus on the bench before him ; 
would he move until it was finished. I expostulated with 1 
upon the cruelty of not letting me have the words wliich I had - 
to compose, not to speak of his having taken me away from 
my friends to see scenery and machinery with which, as I was 
neither painter, nor carpenter, nor machinist, I could have 
nothing to do : his answer was, that he wished me to see the 
Temple of the Sun, in which the choruses and marches were 
to come over the platform. " To-morrow," said he, " I prom- 
ise I will come and take a cutlet with you, and tell you all 
you have to do. My dear Mic, you know you can depend 
upon me J and I know that I can depend upon youj but these 
bunglers of carpenters require looking after." 

After this promise, we returned to my house ; I found t| 
party wailing ; nor did we separate until five o'clock i 
morning. 

To my utter surprise, the next day, according ti 
pointment, Mr. Sheridan really came to dinner ; after the cloth 
was removed, he proposed business. I had pen, ink, music 
paper, and a small piano-forte (which the Duke of Queens- 
berry had given me, and which he had been accustomed to 
take with him in his carriage, when he travelled), put upon the 
table with our wine. My aim was, to discover the situations 

of the different choruses and the marches, and Mr. Sheridan's 

ideas on the subject ; and he gave ihem in the following n 



:1 



RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 115 

ner " In the Temple of the Sun," said he, " I want the vir- 
gins of the sun, and their high-priesl, to chant a solemn in- 
vocation to their deity." I sang two or three bars of music 
to him, which I thought corresponded with what he wished, 
and marked them down. He then made a sort of rumbling 
noise with his voice (for he had not the smallest idea of turn- 
ing a tune), resembling a deep gruff bow, wow, wow ; but 
though there was not the slightest resemblance of an air In 
the noise he made, yet so clear were his ideas of effect, that I 
perfectly understood his meaning, though conveyed through 
the medium of a bow, wow, wow. Having done this, and 
pointed out their several situations, he promised me faithfully, 
that 1 should have the poetry in a couple of days ; and, mar- 
velous to say, he actually did send me Cora's song, which Mrs. 
Jordan sang; and the trio, sung by Mrs. Crouch, Miss De- 
camp, and Miss Leak, " Fly away, time," which they made 
very effective- The poetry of the last, however, was written 
by my good friend, Mr. Richardson; the song really by him- 
self. Having extracted these, 1 saw that it \vas perfectly 
ridiculous to expect the poetry of the choruses from the author 
of the piay ; and as I knew a literary gentleman, whose pov- 
_>erty, if not his will, would consent to assist me, I gave him 
^-Mr. Sheridan's ideas, as I had caught them from his bow, wow, 
}, and got him to write words to them, which he did very 
F'well ; at least well enough to answer my purpose. 

But if this were a puzzling situation for a composer, what 
■will my readers think of that in which the actors were left, 
when I state the fact that, at the time the house was over- 
flowing on the tirst night's performance, all that was wriKen of 
the play was actually rehearsing, and that, incredible as it may 
appear, until the end of the fourth act, neither Mrs. Siddons, 
nor Charles Kemble, nor Barrymore, had all their speeches for 
the fifth ? Mr. Sheridan was up-stairs, in the prompter's room, 
where he was writiag the last part of the play, while the ear- 
lier parts were acting; and every tea minutes he brought 
down as much of the dialogue as he had done, piece-meal, 
3 the greenroom, abusing himself and his negligence, and 



ii6 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



making a thousand winning and soothing apologies, for \aiw 
ing kepi the performers so long in such painful suspense. 

One remarkable Irait in Sheridan's characler was, his pene- 
trating, knowledge of the human mind ; for no man was more 
careful in his carelessness ; he was quite aware of his power 
over his performers, and of the veneration in which they held 
his great talents : had he not been so, he would not have ven- 
tured to keep them {Mrs. Siddons particularly), in the dreadful 
anxiety which they were suffering through the whole of the 
evening. Mrs. Siddons told me that she was in an agony of 
fright; but Sheridan perfectly knew that Mrs. Siddons, C 
Kemble, and Barrymore were quicker in study than any other 
performers concerned ; and that he could trust them to be 
perfect in what they had to say, even at half an hour's notice. 
And the event proved that he was right ; the play was re- 
ceived with the greatest approbation, and though brought out 
so late in the season, was played thirty-one nights ; and for 
years afterward proved a mine of wealth to the Drury Lane 
treasury, and, indeed, to ail the theatres in the United King- 
dom. 

Musical pieces were often performed at Drury Lane : among 
others, Mr. Sheridan's opera of " The Duenna," in which I 
performed the part of Ferdinand. It was customary with me, 
when I played at night, to read my part over in the morning, 
in order to refresh my memory. One morning after read- 
ing the part of Ferdinand, I left the printed play of " The 
Duenna," as then acted, on the table. On my return home, 
after having taken my ride, I found Mr. Sheridan reading it, 
and, with pen and ink before him, correcting 
to me, '• Do you act the part of Ferdinand from this printed 
copy f " 

1 replied in the affirmative, and added, " that I had done 
for twenty years." 

" Then," said he, "you have been acting great nonsense." 
He examined every sentence, and corrected it all through be- 
fore he left me ; the corrections I have now, in his own hand- 
writing. What could prove his negligence more, than cor- 



\ 



r 



RICHARD BRINSLB Y SHERIDAN. 1 1 7 

reeling an opera which he had written in 1775, in the year 
1807 ; and then, for the first time, exaraining it, and abusing 
the manner in which it was printed ? 

I know, however, of many instances of his negligence, 
equally strong, two of which I will adduce as tolerably good 
specimens of character, I can vouch for their authenticity. 

Mr, Gotobed, the Duke of Bedford's attorney, put a distress 
into Drury Lane Theatre, for non-payment of the ground rent ; 
a.nd the chandeliers, wardrobe, scenery, etc., were to be sold 
to satisfy his Grace's claim. Sheridan, aroused and alarmed 
at the threat, wrote a ielier to the Duke, requesting him to let 
his claim be put in 'a slate of liquidation, by Mr. Gotobed's 
receiving, out of the pit door money, 10/. per night until the ■ 
debt should be paid ; this was agreed upon by his Grace. 
More than a twelve-month passed, and Sheridan was as- 
tonished at receiving no reply to his letter. In an angry 
mood he went to Mr. Gotobed's house, in Norfolk Street (I 
was with him at the time), complaining of the transaction ; 
when Mr, Gotobed assured him, on his honor, that the Duke 
had sent an answer to his letter above a year before. On 
hearing this, Sheridan went home, examined the table on 
which all his letters were thrown, and among them found the 
Duke's letter unopened, dated more than twelve months back- 
To me, this did not appwar very surprising ; for, when num- 
bers of letters have been brought to him, at my house, I 
have seen him consign the greatest part of them to the (ire 
unopwned. 

No man was ever more sore and frightened at criticism 
than he was from his first outset in life. He dreaded the 
newspapers, and always courted their friendship, I have 
many times heard him say, "Let me but have the periodical 
press on my side, and there should be nothing in this country 
which I would not accomplish." 

This sensitiveness of Ills, as regarded newspapers, renders 
the following anecdote* rather curious : After he had fought 
bis &mous duel, at Bath, with Colonel Matthews, on Mrs. 
Sheridan's (Miss Linley's) account, an article of the most 



L 



MICHAEL KELLY. 

i kind was sent from Bath to Mr. William WoodfaU, 
the editor of the " Public Advertiser," in London, to insert in 
that paper. The article was so terribly bitter against Sheridan, 
that Woodiall look it to him. After reading it, he said to 
Woodfall, " My good friend, the writer of this article has done 
his best to villify me in all ways, but he has done it badly and 
clumsily. I will write a character of myself, as coming from 
an anonymous writer, which you will insert in your paper. In 
a day or two after, I will send you another article, as coming 
from another anonymous correspondent, vindicating 
refuting most satisfactorily, point by point, every particle o£ 
what has been written in the previous one." 

Woodfall promised that he would attend to his wishes ; anA 
Sheridan accordingly wrote one of the most vituperative 
tides against himself that mortal ever penned, which he sent 
to Woodfall, who immediately inserted it in his newspaper, as 
agreed upon. 

Day after day passed ; the calumnies which Sheridan had 
invented against himself, got circulation, and were in every- 
body's mouths ; and day after day did Mr, Woodfall wait for 
the refutation which was to set all to rights, and expose the 
fallacy of the accusation ; but, strange to say, Sheridan never 
could prevail upon himself to take the trouble to write one 
line in his own vindication ; and the libels which he in- 
vented against himself remain to this hour wholly uncontra- 
dicted. 

I was well acquainted with Mr. Woodfall, who declared to 
me that this was the fact. 

Another instance of his neglect for his own interest came 
(among many others) to my knowledge. He had a particular 
desire to have an audience of his late Majesty, who was then 
at Windsor; it was on some point whicii he wished to carry, 
for the good of the theatre. He mentioned it to his present 
Majesty, who, with the kindness which on every occasion he 
showed him, did him the honor to say, that he would take him. 
to Windsor himself, and appointed him to be at Carlton 
House, to set off with his Royal Highness precisely at eleven 



4 



RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. llg 

o'clock. He called upon me, and said, " My dear Mic, I am 
going to Windsor with the Princf the day after to-morrow ; I 
must be with him at eleven o'clock in die morning, to a mo- 
ment, and to be in readiness at (hat early hour, you must give 
me a bed at your house ; I shall then only have to cross the 
way to Carlton House, and be punctual to the appointment of 
his Royal Highness." 

I had no bed to offer him but my own, which I ordered to 
be got in readiness for him ; and he, with his brother-in-law, 
Charles Ward, came to dinner with me. Among other 
things at table, there was a roast neck of mutton, which 
was sent away untouched. As the servant was taking it out 
of the room, 1 observed, "There goes a dinner fit for a king ; " 
alluding to his late Majesty's known partiality for that par- 
ticular dish. 

The next morning I went out of town, to dine and sleep, 
purposely to accommodate Mr. Sheridan with my bed ; and 
got home again aliout four o'clock in the afternoon, when I 
was lold by my servant, that Mr. Sheridan was up-stairs 
still, fast asleep — that he had been sent for several times, 
from Carlton House, but nothing could prevail upon hira to 
get up. 

It appears that, in about an hour after I had quitted town, he 
called at the saloon, and told my servant maid, that " he knew 
she had a dinner fit for a king, in the house, a cold roast neck 
of mutton," and asked her if she had any wine. She told 
him there were, in a closet, five bottles of port, two of Madeira, 
and one of brandy, the whole of which, I found that he, 
Richardson, and Charles Ward, after eating the neck of mutton 
for dinner, had consumed : on hearing this, it was easy to 
account for his drowsiness in the morning. He was not able 
to raise his head from his pillow, nor did he get out of bed 
until seven o'clock, when he had some dinner. 

Kemble came to him in the evening, and they again drank 
Tery deep, and I never saw Mr. Sheridan in better spirits. 
Kemble was complaining of want of novelty at Drury Lane 
Theatre ; and that, as manager, he felt uneasy at the lack of 



120 



MICHAEL KELLY. 




it. "My dear Kemble," said Mr. Sheridan," don't tallc of 
grievances now." But Kemble still kept on saying, " Indeed, 
we must seek for novelty, or the theatre will siok — novelty, 
and novelty alone, can prop it." 

"Then," replied Sheridan with a smile, "if you want n( 
elty, act ' Hamlet,' and have music played between yoi 

Kemble, however he might have felt the sarcasm, did not 
appear to take it in bad part. What made the joke fell at the 
time, was this : a few nights previous, while Kemble was act- 
ing Hamlet, a gentleman came to the pit door, and tendered 
half price. The money-taker told him that the third act was 
only then begun. 

The gentleman, looking at his watch, said. It must be im- 
possible, for that it was half-past nine o'clock. 

" That is very true, sir," replied the money-taker ; " but re- 
collect, Mr. Kemble plays Hamlet to-night." 

Mr. Sheridan, although a delightful companion, was by no 
means disposed to loquacity ■ — indeed, quite the contrary) 
but when he spoke he commanded universal attention ; and 
what he said deserved It. His conversation was easy and 
good-natured, and so strongly characterized by shrewdness, 
and a wit peculiarly his own, that It would be hard, indeed, to 
find his equal as a companion. That he had his failings, who 
will deny ; but then, who among us has not ? one thing I may 
safely affirm, that he was as great an enemy to himself as to 
anybody else. 

One evening that their late majesties honored Drury Lane 
Theatre with their presence, the play, by roj-al command, was 
the "School for Scandal." When Mr. Sheridan was in at- 
tendance to light their majesties to their carriage, the King 
said to him, "1 am much pleased with your comedy of the 
' School for Scandal ; ' but I am still more so with your play 
of the ' Rivals ; ' that is my favorite, and I will never give it 
■ up-" , 

Her Majesty at the same time said, "When, Mr. Sheridan, J 
shall we have another play from your masterly pen?" 



\ 



b 



1 



RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 121 

replied that " he was writing a comedy, which he expected 
very shortly to finish." 

I was told of this ; and the next day, walking with him along 
Piccadilly, I asked him if he had told the Queen that he was 
writing a play? He said he had, and thai he actually was 

'■ Not you," said 1 to him ; " joo will never write again ; 
you are afraid to write." 

He fixed his penetrating eye on me, and said, " Of whom am 

I said, " YoQ are afraid of the author of the ' School for 
Scandal.' " 

I believe, at the time I made the remark, he thought my 
conjecture was right. 

One evening, after we had dined together, I was telling him 
that I was placed in a dilemma by a wine merchant from Hock- 
heira, who had been in London to receive orders for the sale 
of hock. I had commissioned him (as he offered me the wine 
at a cheap rate) to send me six dozen. Instead of six dozen 
he had sent me sixteen. I was observing, that it was a greater 
quantity than 1 could afford to keep, and expressed a wish to 
sell part of it. 

" My dear Kelly," said Mr, Sheridan, " I would take it off 
your hands with all my heart, but I have not the money to pay 
for it ; I will, however, give you an inscription to place over 
the door of your saloon : write over it, ' Michael Kelly, com- 
poser of wines, and importer of music' " 

I thanked him, and said, " 1 will take the hint, sir, and be a 
composer of all wines, except old sherry ; for that is so noto- 
rious for its intoxicating and pernicious qualities, that I should 
be afraid of poisoning my customers with it." 

The above story has been told in many ways ; but, as I have 
written it here, is the fact. He owned 1 had given him a Ro- 
land for his Oliver, and very often used to speak of it in com- 
pany. 

About this time, my good friend Major Waring bought 
Peterborough House at Parson's Green, which before had 



122 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



been the property of Mr.Meyrick; and certainly there never' 
was a more hospitable one. The society consisted chiefly of 
persons of genius. There have I met, monlh after month. 
Lady Hamilton, Mrs. Billington, the Abb^ Campbell 
Irish Master of the Rolls, Mr. Curran ; and a worthy country- 
man of mine, Mr. John Glyjn, of the Commissariat Depart- 
ment ; and many a time and oft have we heard !he chimes oi 
midnight, for that was the hour at which Curran's !amp burned 
brightest ; and round the social board, till morning peeped, all 
was revelry and mirth. 

While I am on the subject of revelry and mirth, it may not 
be amiss to give the reader an idea of the extraordinary mixt- 
ures of serious splendor and comical distress which occasion- 
aily take place in the world. 

Everybody knows, that during the short administration of 
Mr. Fox's party, Mr. Sheridan held the office of Treasurer of 
the Navy, to which oflice, as everybody also knows, a hand- 
some residence is attached. It was during his brief authority 
in this situation, that he gave a splendid f£te, to which, not 
only the ministers, and a long list of nobility were invited, but 
which, it was understood, his Royal Highness the Prince of 
Wales, his present Most Gracious Majesty, would honor with 
his presence : a ball and supper followed the dinner. Mo- 
relli, Rovedino, and the opera company, appeared in masks, 
and sang complimentary ver.ses to the Prince, which Pananti 
wrote, and 1 composed. The music in " Macbeth " was then 
performed ; and, in short, nothing could surpass the gayety 
and splendor of the entertainment, which went ofiE as well as 
was anticipated. 

But previous to the great consummation of all the hopes and 
wishes of the donor, 1 happened to call at Somerset House, 
about half-past five ; and there I found the brilliant, highly- 
gifted Sheridan, the star of his party, and Treasurer of the 
Navy, in an agony of despair. What was the cause ? had any 
accident occurred? bad news from the Continent? was the 
ministry tottering ? In sliort, what was it that agitated so ' 
deeply a man of Sheridan's nerve and Intellect, and temporary 



I 



RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 1 23 

official importance ? He had just discovered tliat there was 
not a bit of cheese id the house — not even a paring. What 
was to be done ? Sunday, ail (he sliops shut — without cheese, 
his dinner would be incomplete. 

I told him J thought some of the Italians would be prevailed 
upon to open their doors and supply him ; and off we went to- 
gether ia a hackney coach, cheese hunting, at six o'clock on a 
Suaday afternoon — the dinner hour being seven, and His 
Royal Highness the Prince expected. 

After a severe run of more than an hour, we prevailed upon 
a sinner, in Jerrayn Street, to sell us some of the indispensable 
axticle, and got back just in time for mine host to dress to re- 
ceive his company. 1 forget now who paid for the cheese, but 
the rest of the story I well remember, and have thought worth 
recording. 

Superstition often taVes possession of the strongest minds. 
A more powerful instance of the truth of this cannot be cited 
than that of Mr. Sheridan. No mortal ever was more super- 
stitious than he, as I can aver from my own knowledge. No 
power could prevail upon him to commence any business, or 
set out upon a journey, on a Friday ; nor would he allow, if he 
possibly could avoid it, a piece to be produced at his theatre oa 
a Friday night. It is a well known fact (which he never de- 
nied), that when Tom Sheridan was under the tuition of Doc- 
tor Parr, in Warwickshire, his father dreamt that he fell from 
a tree in an orchard, and broke his neck. He took alarm, and 
sent tor his boy to London instanter. The Doctor obeyed the 
mandate, and brought his pupil to town ; and I had the pleas- 
ure to meet him at Mr. Sheridan's at dinner. I thought him 
(though an oddity) very clever and communicative ; he was a 
determined smoker, and, on that day, not a litde of a soaker ; 
he drank a great deal of wine, to say nothing of a copious ex- 
hibition of hoUands and water afterward. 

I remember when he was asked whom he considered the 
first Greek scholar in Europe, he answered, " The first Gre- 
cian scholar living is Person, the third Is Dr. Burney — I 
leave you to guess who is the second." 



124 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



The Drury Lane company were performing at the Lyccnm, 
under the firm o£ Tom Sheridan, the late Colonel Crevilie, 
and Mr. Arnold, and were very successful ; and every person 
belonging to the establishment were regularly paid their full 
salaries. Tom Sheridan, for some part of the lime, was tnao- 
ager, and evinced great talent and industry. 1 had Che pies 
ure of living on terms of intimacy with him, and many a time, 
when he used to come to town from Cambridge, with his 
friend, the Honorable Berkeley Craven, have they favored me 
with their company. 

not "ape his sire" in all things; for 

1 appointment, he was punctuality per* 

n I had with liim, I always found 

r did he unfrequently lament his 

it of regularity, although he had 



Tom Sheridan did 
whenever he made a 
sonified. In every 
him uniformly cor 
father's indolence 
(indeed naturally) a high veneration for his talents. 

Tom Sheridan had a good voice, and true taste for music, 
which, added to his intellectual qualities and superior accom- 
plishments, caused his society to be sought with the greatest 
avidity. 

The two Sheridans were supping with me one night after 
the opera, at a period when Tom expected to get into Parlia- 

" I think, father," said he, "that many men, who are called 
great patriots in the House of Commons, are great humbugs. 
For my own part, if I get into Parliament, I will pledge my- 
self lo no party, but write upon my forehead, in legible charac- 
ters, 'To be let.'" 

" And under that, Tom," said his father, " write — ' Unf ur- 

Tora took the joke, but was even with him on another occa- 

Mr. Sheridan had a collage about half a mile from Houns- 
low Heath ; Tom, being very short of cash, asked his father lo 
let him have some. 

" Money I have none," was the reply. 

" Be the consequence what it may, money I must have," 
said Tom. 



i 
i 



RICHARD BRINSLEy SHERIDAK. 125 

" If thai is the case, my dear Tom," said tlie affectienate 
parent, "you will find a case of loaded pistols up-stairs, and a 
horse ready saddled in the stable — the night is dark, and you 
are within half a mile of Hounslow Heath." 

'■ 1 understand what you mean," said Tom, " but I tried 
that last night, I unluckily stopped Peake, your treasurer, 
who told me, that you had been beforehand with him, and had 
robbed him of every sixpence he had in the world." 

It is curious, after knowing such stories, and remembering 
the general habits and pursuits of Mr. Sheridan, to look at the 
effusions of his muse, in which he privately venled his feel- 
ings. 

One day, waiting at his house, I saw under the table, half a 
sheet of apparently waste paper ; on examining it, I found it 
was a ballad, in Mr. Sheridan's handwriting ; I brought it 
away with me, and have it now In my possession. On my re- 
turn home, the words seemed to me beautiful, and \ set ihera 
to music. It is, of all my songs, my greatest favorite, as the 
poelry always brings to my mind, the mournful recollection of 
piast happy days. It was also a great favorite with Mr. Sheri- 
dan, and often has he made me sing it to him. 1 here insert 



And, lunk in 


deJKlion, forever d 


ThE.»e 




While the sm 


QUil rises, to olha 


I Ihink 1 





id ugh for the da^s thai : 



And liil to the oighlingalc'E wng, 

And the iweelB ol the dayi that are gone. 

I1 k tear for the bliss that b fio«n : 

While othcrm cid) blosmms, I find but a blight. 

And siith for ihc dayi thai an ^iMie. 



126 MICHAEL KELLY. 

I had now lo experience the loss of a 
friend, in the death of that great man, Richard Brins 
Sheridan, who expired at his house in Saville Row, on 
July, l8i6, aged sixty-five. The body was removed 
house of Mr. Peter Moore, memlwr for Coventry, and thei 
the Saturday following to Westminster Abbey, near those 
Addison. Carrick, and Cumberland, followed by the Dukes 
York and Sussex. The pall was borne by the Duke 
Bedford, Lord Holland, Earl of Mulgrave, Earl of Lauderdj 
the Bishop of London, a.nd Lord Robert Spencer. Hia 
Mr. Charles Brinsley Sheridan, was chief mourner, supported' 
by Mr. Henry Ogle, The Honorable Edward Bouverie, Mr, 
William Linley, Sir Charles AsgiD, Bart., Mr. Charles Ward ; 
followed by a numerous train of the admirers of his splendid 
talents. Where the body lies, there is a plain flat stone, witi»i 
this inscription : — 

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, 
Born 1751: Died 7lh July, iSiS. 
Thii Marble » Ihc Tiibule of an lllached Frie 



There were reports industriously circulated through 
kingdom, that Mr. Sheridan, in his latter moments, was le 
want of the common necessaries of life ; and the magli 
propagators of the report, went so far to gratify their o« 
malice, as to a.isert that he called for a lemon, when exhausti 
with thirst, and that neither he, nor those about him, had tl 
means of procuring him one. I, among a thousand odiet 
heard this foolish tale asserted, but I can solemnly aver, 
my own knowledge, and from the evidence of those who WM 
nearest and dearest lo him, and who remained with him in hi 
last moments, that all such reports were groundless, and fat 
ricated for the most atrocious purposes of scandal. 

These dealers in malignity stated that the sum of tw 
hundred pounds was conveyed to Mr. Sheridan in a way ths 
wounded his feelings, and returned by his direction, with th 
resenitnent of wounded pride. It is true the money was sen' 



RICHARD BBINSLEY SHERIDAN. 



127 



I, but in a totally difierent manner to that described, aod re- 
turned in a totally ditferent manner to what the world was 
taught to believe. The real fact is, that Mr. Sheridan's 
physician, then attending him, and also one of his most in- 
timate friends, undertook to deliver it hack to the illustrious 
donor, and, with all respect, to assure him that Mr. Sheridan 
was in want of no pecuniary assistance. 

I sent, a few days before he died, for his own man, who was 
in attendance on him during the whole of his illness, and whom 
I knew to be faithfully attached to his master. He can testify 
that I entreated him to inform me if his master was in want 
of any comforts, for with anything my means would afford I 
would furnish him : but not to let him or the family know it 
came from me. John assured me that his master was in want 
of nothing, and that those who had reported to the contrary, 
and made up libelous and injurious tales upon the subjectt 
spoke falsely, and were base calumniators. 

The loss I sustained by Mr. Sheridan's death I can but 
faintly depict : he was, as a companion and friend, to me be- 
yond measure invaluable ; his readiness and tasle were cou- 
s ; his wit, though luxuriant and unbounded, never in- 
; and during the five -and -twenty years through which 
enjoyed his friendship and society, I never heard him say 
k single word that could wound the feelings of a human be- 

' His quickness in writing may be judged by the circum- 

1 I have already mentioned, relative to the slate in 

phicti his " Pizarro " was produced, and he made a similar 

Wertion at the time he brought out " The Critic." Two days 
previous to the performance, the last scene was not written : 
Dr. Ford, and Mr. Linley, the joint proprietors, began to get 
nervous and fidgetty, and the actors were absolutely au lUses- 
poir, especially King, who was not only stage-manager, but 
had tp play Puff ; to hira was assigned the duty of hunting 
down and worrying Sheridan about the last scene ; day after 
day passed, until, as I have just said, the last day but two ar- 
'ft'lived, and it made not its appearance. 




128 MICHAEL KELLY. 

At last, Mr. Linky, who, being his father-in-law, was pret^ 
well aware of his habits, hit upon a stratagem. A night rehear- 
sal of " The Critic " was ordered, and Sheridan having dined 
with Linley, was prevailed upon to go ; while they were on 
the stage. King whispered Sheridan that he had something 
particular to communicate, and begged he would step into the 
second greenroom. Accordingly, Sheridan went, and there 
found a table, with pens, ink, and paper, a good fire, an 
armed chair at the table, and two bottles of claret, with a dish 
of anchovy sandwiches. The moment he got into the room, 
King stepped out, and loclted Ihe door, immediately after 
which, Linley and Ford came up and told the author thi 
until he had written the scene, he would be keptwhi 

Sheridan took this decided measure in good part ; 1 
the anchovies, finished the claret, wrote the scene, and laughed 
heartily at the ingenuity of the contrivance. 

This anecdote I had from King himself. Another 
of his readiness and rapidity, when he chose to exert himself, 
occurred at the time when his pantomime of " Robinson 
Crusoe " was in rehearsal He happened to call in at the 
theatre one day, and found them in the greatest confusion, 
not knowbg what to introduce to give time for the setting of 
the scene ; it was suggested to Mr. Sheridan that a song 
would afford sufficient opportunity to the carpenters for their 
preparation ; accordingly he sat down at the prompter's table, 
on the stage, and wrote on the back of a play-bill the beauti- 
ful ballad of " The Midnight Watch," which was set to rousic 
by his father-in-law, Mr. Linley, in a style which has estab- 
lished it as one of the most beautiful specimens of pure Eng- 
lish melody. 

An observation Mr. Sheridan once made to me about Con- 
greve's. plays I venture to repeat, it has so much genuine wit 
about it ; he complained to me that " Love for Love " had 
been so much altered and modified for the more delicate ears 
of modem audiences, that it was quite spoiled. " His plays," 
said the wit, " are, I own, somewhat licentious, but it 






RICHARD PftlNSLEY SHERlDAiV.i 129 



Ittaroua to mangle them ; they are like horses, when you de- 
prive them of Iheir vice, they lose their vigor." 
It is of course known, that Mr. Burke, in the early part of 
his life, enlisted under the banners of Opposition, and was a 
constant frequenter of the house of a baker of the name of 
Tarcome, where the aspirants for fame, on that side of the 
question, used to meet, and debate certain proposed ques- 
tions ; the baker himself was eventually constituted perpetual 
president of the well-known Robin Hood Society; such was 
the estimation in which he was held by the disciples of Whig- 

gery- 

Upon a memorable occasion, Mr. Burke, in the House of 
Commons, exclaimed," I quit the camp," and suddenly crossed 
tlie House, and having seated himself on the ministerial 
benches, shortly after rose, and made a most brilliant speech 
in opposition to his ci-devanl friends and adherents. 

Sheridan was a good deal nettled at what he considered a 
^^.peedless defection, and replied with something like asperity 
^H^ Mr. Burke's attack, and concluded his speech with nearly 
^^HBiese words : "The honorable gentleman, to quote his own 
^^fcspression, has 'quitted the camp ; ' he will recollect that he 
^^quitled it as a deserter, and 1 sincerely hope he will never 
attempt to return as a spy : but I, for one, cannot sympathite 
ID the astonishment with which an act of apostacy so flagrant 
has electrified the House ; for neither I, nor the honorable 
gentleman, have forgotten whence he obtained the weapons 
which he now uses against us : so far from being at all as- 
tonished at the honorable gentleman's tergiversation, I con- 
sider it not only characteristic but consistent, that he who in 
the outset of life made so extraordinary a blunder as to go 10 
a baker's for eloquence, should finish such a career by coming 
to the House of Commons to get bread." 

One of Mr. Sheridan's favorite amusements, in his hours of 
recreation, was that of making blunders for me, and relating 
them to my friends, vouching for the truth of them with the . 
most perfect gravity. One I remember was. that one night. 
when Drury Lane Theatre was crowded to excess in every 



I30 



MICHAEL KELLY. 




part, I was peeping through the hole in the stage curtaio, an 
John Kemble. who was standing on the stage near me, aske 
me how the house looked, and that I replied, " By J- 
can't stick a pin's head in any part of it — it is literally chuek 
full i hsw much fuller will it be to-morrow night, when the 
King eoraes ! " 

Another of Mr. Sheridan's jests against me was that one 
day, having walked with him to Kemble's house, in Great 
Russell Street, Bloomsbury, when the streets were verydirty, 
and having gone up the steps while Mr, Sheridan was scrap- 
ing the dirt off his shoes, I asked him to scrape for me while 
I was knocking at the door. 

At one time, when hard pressed to pay the Opera Orchestra, 
who were greatly in arrear, and had resolved not to perform 
unless their debt was liquidated, threatening to make an ap- 
plication lo the "Lord Chamberlain, Mr. Sheridan was roused 
to make an effort to raise five hundred pounds, which was the 
immediate sum required. He found a person ready to make 
an advance for three months, with a proviso, that Stephen 
Storace and myself, who then managed the Opera, should 
give our joint security for the repayment. Being both of us 
eager that the concern should not stop, we did so, and he 
promised faithfully lo provide for it. The very day the bill 
became due, Storace was with me, in the morning j we were 
lioth in modi) penseroso, wondering how we could contrive to 
get it renewed ; when, to our great surprise, Mr. Sheridan 
entered, laughing, with our acceptance dangling between his 
fingers, the sight of which changed our modo pinseroio to an 
allegro vivace; he put our security into my hands, at which 
my heart did verily rejoice, and with all sincerity I made use 
of the quotation, 

" For ihit reiief, much IhBnka." 

I mention this to show, however general the impression of ' 
Mr. Sheridan's want of punctuality in money matters may be, 
. that there is no rule without an exception. 

The last time 1 saw Mr. Sheridan, was in the room in 
Drury Lane, formerly the treasury of the old theatre, where a 



\ 






KICHAFD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 131 

man of the name of Farebroiher, an old servant of his, was 
allowed, by the Drury Lane Committee, to reside. He was 
sitting alone, reading, with a muffin and a cup of coffee before 
him. On my eclering the room, he told me that he had been 
reading Davies's " Life of Garrick," which, said he, " if you 
have not read, do read, and advise every actor, from me, to do 
the same, for it is well worth their attention." 

I remained with him till four o'clock in the morning, tlte- 
A-tite. I never saw him more pleasant or communicative. 
He dwelt particularly on his father's acting the part of King 
John, and "' without partiality," he said, " his Scene with 
Hubert was a masier-piece of the art ; and no actor could 
ever reach its excellence." 1 had been told by Jefferson, the 
proprietor of the Plymouth Theatre, who had often seen old 
Mr. Sheridan act King John, in Dublin, that nothing could 
surpass it, 

Mr. Sheridan also spoke of his father's Cato, as a masterly 
performance, as well his as Brutus, in "Julius Csaar." The 
Cato of the elder Sheridan was always very popular with the 
Dublin audience. Mr. Hitchcock, who wrote the history of the 
"Irish Stage," remembered hira perfectly in the character. I 
have often heard him say that his declamation was fine and im- 
pressive ; he pronounced " Cato " with a broad a, as, indeed, 
all the Irish do. John Kemble always pronounced it " Cato," 
and when he acted the part in Dublin, the play was announced 
from the stage by an old actor of the Sheridan school, who, 
despising the innovation of Kemble, gave it out thus : " Ladies 
and Gentlemen, to-morrow evening will be performed the 
tragedy of ' Cato,' the part of Cato by Mr. Kemble." The 
manner in which he pronounced the same name in two differ- 
ent way.% produced great laughter in the audience who quite 
understood the sarcasm. When I related this anecdote to Mr. 
Sheridan, he seemed lo enjoy the pertinacity of (he Irish 

One day, Mr. Sheridan laughingly said to me, " It must be 
allowed, Kelly, that our countrjroen always show more or less 
of the potato in their brain. Yesterday, at about four o'clock 



rjJ MICHAEL KELLY. 

in the morning, I came out of Brookes's, where 1 had stayed 
the very last ; and, as 1 was stepping into the carriage, I saw 
some half-dozen Irish chairmen, loitering at the door, shivering 
with cold, waiting for a fare. It was a bitter morning, and 1 
said to one of the poor devils, ' Why do you remain here, my 
good fellow ? ' 

" ' Please your honor,' replied one of them, ' we are waiting 
to take somebody home' 

"'You may save yourselves the trouble then,' said I "for 
I have just come out of the house, and ttiere is nobody left 

" ' Please your honor, we know there is nobody in it, but 
who knows how many may come out.' " 

" It was too cold," said Sheridan, " to argue with them, so I 
got into my coach, and left them," 

It would be the height of arrogance and indiscretion in me 
to descant on, or eulogize the public character of Mr, Sheridan ; 
but I trust that his political life will be handed down to pos- 
terity by some able pen uninfluenced by favor or enmity ; for, 
take him as a statesman, an orator, a dramatist, and a poet 
united, I fear we shall scarcely ever see his like again. His 
good qualities were many ; and, after all, the greal laane of his 
life was procrastination : had it not been for that, what could 
he not have acinieved ? To me, his memory will be ever dear, 
and ought (o be so, to all who admire great and splendid tal- 
eiits. Yet he had many enemies : some of whom, to my 
knowledge, his former txiunty fed. But, alas I to use the 
language of our great bard, 

Tbe goad a oflin inHcrcd with Iheir bono." 
Much good remains upon authentic record, relative to Mr. 
Sheridan, which even his greatest enemies could never deny. 
Some of (he stories which exist against him, however, have a 
vast deal of humor in them, and one which has often been . 
told, 1 think worth inserting, because having been an eye- 
witness of the circumstance, I am enabled lo show the very J 
" head and front of his offending," 



RICHARD BR/A'SLEV StlERfDAN. 



^B We were one day in earnest conversation close lo the gate 
^Kc the path, which wa^ then open lo the public, leading across 
^pHie church-yard of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, from King 
Street to Henrietta Street, when Mr, Holloway, who was a 
creditor of Sheridan's to a considerable amount, came up to 
us on horseback, and accosted Sheridan in a tone of some- 
thing more like anger than sorrow, and complained that he 
never could gel admittance when he called, vowing vengeance 
against the infernal Swiss Monsieur Frangois, if he did not 
let him ID the next time he went to Hertford Street 

Holloway was really in a passion. Sheridan knew that he 
was vain of his judgment in horse-flesh, and without taking 
any notice of the violence of his manner, burst into an ex- 
clamation upon the beauty of the horse which he rode, — he 
struck the right chord. 

" Why," said Holloway, " I think I may say, there never was 
a prettier creature than this. You were speaking to me, when 
I last saw you, about a horse for Mrs. Sheridan ; now this 
would be a. treasure for a lady." 

" Does he canter well .' " said Sheridan. 
I " Beautifully," replied Holloway. 

^B " If that 's the case, Holloway," said Sheridan, " I really 
^^BAould not mind stretching a point for him. Will you have the 
^Hjndness to let me see his paces ? " 

^H " To be sure," said the lawyer ; and putting himself into a 
^Bpacefuh attitude, he threw his nag into a canter along the 
Knarket. 

^R The moment his back was turned, Sheridan wished me good- 
^'inoming, and went off through the church-yard, where no 
horse could follow, into Bedford Street, laughing immoderately, 
aa indeed did several slanders by. The only person not enter- 
tained by this practical joke was Mr. Holloway himself. 

Another story of him 1 shall give, because it is very little 

known, if known at all. Mr. Harris, the late proprietor of 

Covent Garden, who had a great regard for Sheridan, had at 

cUfferent times frequent occasions to meet him on business, 

L and made appointment after appointment with him, not one of 



1J4 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



whicli Sheridan ever kept- At length Mr. Harris, wearred 
out, begged his friend, Mr. Paimer of Bath, lo see Mr. Sheri- 
dan, and tell him that unless he Itept the "next appointment 
made for their meeting, all acquaintance between them must 
end forever. 

Sheridan expressed great sorrow for what had been in fact 
inevitable, and fixed one o'clock the next day to call upon Mr. 
Harris at the theatre. At about three he actually made his 
appearance in Hart Street, where he met Mr. Tregeat, the 
celebrated French watchmaker, who was extremely theatrical, 
and had been the intimate friend of Carrick. 

Sheridan told him that he was on his way to call upon 

"I have just left him," said Tregent, "in a violent passion, 
having waited for you ever since one o'clock." 

" What have you been doing at the theatre ? " said Sheri- 

"Why," replied Tregent; "Harris is going to make Bate 
Dudley a present of a gold watch, and I have taken him half a. 
dozen, in order that he may choose one for that purpose." 

" Indeed," said Sheridan. 

They wished each other good-day, and parted. 

Mr. Sheridan proceeded to Mr. Harris's room, and when he 
addressed him, it was pretty evident that his want of punctu- 
ality had produced the effect which Mr. Tregent described. 

" Well, sir," said Mr. Harris ; " I have waited at least two 
hours for you again ; I had almost given you up, and if" — 

" Stop, ray dear Harris," said Sheridan, interrupting him; 
" I assure you these things occur more from my misfortunes 
than my faults ; I declare I thought it was but one o'clock, for 
it so happens that I have no watch, and to tell you the truth, 
am too poor to buy one ; but when the day comes that I can, 
you will see I shall be as punctual as any other man." 

" Well, then," said the unsuspecting Harris ; "if that be all, 
you shall not long want a watch, for here {opening his drawer) 
are half a dozen of Tregent's best — choose any one you like, 
and do me the favor of accepting iL" 



i 



KRMBLKS COOLNESS. 13S 

Sheridui aSected the greatest surprise at the appearance of 
Sie watches 1 but did as he was bid, and selected certainly not 
arst for the cad^au. 

- Sheridan was extremely attached to Mr. Richardson ; 
1 when Mrs. Sheridan was at Bognor,' he used to take 
llichardson down with him on visits to her. One of these 
s Sheridan once described to me with infinite humor, and 
tlthough \ fear it is impossible to impart literally, the spirit 
^hich he practicaliy infused into it, when relating it, I give it 
B I remember il. 

Richardson had set his mind upon going down to Bognor 
Kith Mr. Sheridan on one particular occasion, because it hap- 
Kned that Ixird Thurlow, with whom he was on terms of in- 
:y, was staying there. " So," said Richardson, " nothing 
je more delightful, what with my favorite diversion of sail- 
— my enjoyment of walking on the sands — the pleasure of 
arguing with Lord Thurlow, and taking my snuff by the sea- 
side, I shall be in my glory." 

"Well," said Mr.Sheridan; "down he went full of antici- 
^ted joys. The first day, in stepping into the boat to go sail- 
'^, he tumbled down, and sprained his ankle, and was obliged 
be carried into his lodgings, which had no view of the sea ; 
e following morning he sent for a barber to shave him, but 
e being no professional shaver nearer than Chichester, he 
s forced to put up with a fisherman, who volunteered to 
officiate, and cut him severely just under his nose, which en- 
tirely prevented his taking snuff -, and the same day at break- 
fast, eating prawns too hastily, he swallowed the head of one, 
horns and all, which stuck in his throat, and produced such 
1 and inflammation, that his medical advisers would not 
sim to speak for three days. So Ihus," said Mr. Sheri- 
ended in four-and-lwenty hours his walking — his sail- 
g — his snuff-taking — and his arguments." 

Kemble's Coolness. 
John Kemble is so perfectly identified with the character of 
tolla, that perhaps, as anecdotes of such a person, however 



136 MICHAEL KELLY. 

trifling, if characteristic, are always interesting, I may be per- 
mitted to mention an instance of his coolness id the midst of 
difficulty, which I had forgoiten lo relate in its proper place as 
far as dales are concerned. 

In the summer of 1733 he and his unrivaled sister, Mrs. 
Siddons, were engaged at Limerick ; and Mrs. Crouch, then 
Miss Philhps, was also there, playing on the alternate nights 
with the tragedians. She was beyond measure popular, and 
the theme of universal admiration. One evening, after hav- 
ing performed Rosetla, in " Love in a Village," some of&cers 
of a militia regiment, quartered in Limerick, being very much 
intoxicated, avowed their intention of escorting her home ; 
and, in order to carry their plan into execution, obtained ad- 
mission behind the scenes, and proceeded to address her on 
the subject. She, terrified, ran into her dressing-room and 
locked the door, which these heroes declared Ihey would forth- 
with break open. 

It so happened that Mr. Phillips, her father, was laid up with 
the gout at that juncture, and had commissioned Kemble to 
see his daughter home after the play ; and thus aultiorixed, 
the moment he heard the disturbance, and its cause, he pro- 
ceeded to the scene of action, and politely requested the 
military force to withdraw ; but they positively refused to stir 
without Miss PhiUips. Upon which, Kemble took his sword, 
and said, that having been deputed by the lady's father to 
escort her to her house, he should execute his commission at 
the hazard of his life, and requested Miss Phillips to open the 
door of the dressing-room. 

With this request slie complied ; but they had not proceeded 
many paces before one of the officers, of the name of Yelver- 
ton, came behind Kemble, and make a cut al his head with 
his sabre. A woman of the name of Judy Cameron, one of 
the stage dressers, perceived the intention, and catching the 
man's arm, wresied the sword from him, and in all probability 
saved Kemble's life, Kemble saw the whole transaction and, 
without the smallest alteration in look or manner, or being 
in the slighest degree moved, be turned to his preserver, 



\ 



i 



THOMAS KING. 137 

Judy, and said, " Well done, Euphrasia ! " He then drevr 
bis sword, and conducted his fair charge in safety to her 

, Lord Muakerry, who was colonel of the regiment, called 
Upon Kemhle in the morning, and told him that every apology 
he might require should be made by the officers. This 
anecdote, extremely illustrative of chamcler, I had both from 
Mrs, Crouch and her fatlier, who always mentioned it with 
gratitude, and admiration of the high spirit and perfect cool- 
ness which Kemble displayed upon this trying o 






Thomas King. 



I During the whole of my friend King's stay in Dublin, he 
e every night after acting, and sup with me, and 
delightful indeed was his society. He had an inexhaustible 
fund of anecdote, which he told in a way peculiar to himself ; 
and, like Anacreun, blended to the last the dower of youth 
^jrith (he hoary frost of age. 

^^L I was standing behind the scenes, in Crow Street, one night, 

^^fcd I saw him for once rather put out of temper. The play, 

^Kos Ihe " School for Scandal ; " he was at the side wing, wait- 

^Tlig to go on the stage, as Sir Peter Teazle. At the stage door 

was seated an immensely fat woman, Ihe widow of Ryder. Ihe 

celebrated Irish actor, who had been the original Sir Peter 

Teazle, in Dublin, in the summer of 1777. 

The lusty dame, looking at King, who was standing close to 
her, hallooed out, with an implacable brogue, and the lungs of 
a stentor, " Arrah ! agra ! there was but one Sir Peter Teazle 
in the world, and he is now in heaven, and more is the pity. 
Ah ! Tom Ryder ! Tom Ryder ! look down upon Sir Peter 
Teazle here, your dirty representative ; " and after this com- 
plimentary harangue, the wretched lady began 10 howl most 
piteouslj-, to the great annoyance of all behind the scenes, but 
most particularly to that of King, who appeared really discon- 
certed. However, the widow was removed, tranquillity was 
restored, the cloud dispersed, and King acted with his usual 
^ptcellence. Two nights after Ihis rencontre, he had to act hia 




138 MlC'tlAEL KELLY. 

favorite part, Lord Ogilby. I was at dinner, with a couple i 
friends, at my own house, and received the following note from I 

" My dear Kelly, ~ I am just come to the theatre to 
dress for Lord Ogilby, and asked my dresser lo hand me a 
wine cork, to mark the Unes on my face ; he has seriously 
sworn to me, that he had been looking everywhere all over 
Dublin, and could not procure a cork. Now, my good friend, 
if you should have sucli a thing, by any chance, as a cork, and 
will send it to me, Lord Ogilby's visage will be much indebted 
lo you for the donation." 

I thought he was hoaxing ; but when he came to sup with 
roe after the play, he assured me it was a true bill ; and when 
I found who his dresser was, I was not surprised. He was a 
merry wag, of the name of Tuke, a fellow of low humor — a 
veritable Dicky Gossip ; whose former profession had been 
hair-dressing, and who was then the stage property- 
Dublin Theatre. 

Kemble's Study. 

On the 2ist of March the theatre opened for the represent 
talion of dramas, with " Macbeth." . A prologue, from tMe pemj 
of the Right Honorable Major-general Fitzpatrick, was spok< 
by Mr. Kemble, with great applause. 

The day previous to the opening of the theatre, Colonel' 
North, Sir Charles Bampfylde, Messrs. Richardson, Nield, 
Reed, Sheridan, and John Kembie were to dine with me in 
Suffolk Street ; an hour and a half before dinner, Kemble and 
I called at General Fitspatrick's, to get the prologue, which 
Kemble was to speak the next night. Kemble came with me 
to Suffolk Street; and had I not seen it, I could not have 
thought it possible: while we were waiting dinner for Mr. 
Sheridan, Kemble studied the prologue, which consisted of 
fifty lines, and was perfect in every word of it before dinner 
was announced ; a powerful proof of his retentive memory 
and quick study, for, to my certain knowledge, he had it not in 
his possession, altogether, more than an hour and 



I 

I 
I 



NOT IN THE BILLS. 1 39 

I have often heard him say that he would make a bet that 
in four days he would repeat every line in a newspaper, ad- 
vertisements and all, t'trbatirn, in their regular order, without 
misplacing or misKing a single word. 

Impish Spirits. 
Macbeth was splendidly got up, the costume appropriately 
preserved : the choruses were finely executed with all the 
strength of the company, I had the direction and getting-up 
of the delighiful music, and suggested a change which has 
been ever since adapted, and I think with good effect. It had 
been the custom for one witch only to sing — 



ja 



SpminuchiDDnblaDdl 

laying great stress upon the clitnajc, ^^ He shall I" The alter- 
s much approved of. 
There was another novelty in the witchery, — at the words 
•* Mingle, mingle ye, that mingle may," — a great number of 

F Utile boys came on as spirits ; I must confess it produced 
Komeihing like laughter ; they were, however, persisted in for 
several nights, but at last discontinued, for there was no keep- 
ing the little boys in order \ they made such a terrible noise 
behind the scenes ; one little urchin used to play all kinds of 

I tricks ; and that one, odd enough to say, was my ci-devant 
Cupid, Edmund Kean, and, on his account, Kemble dismissed 
Ae whole tribe of phantoms. 
botli 
Itali 
pea 



Not IK THE Bills. 
n Paris at the first representation of " Lodoiska " at 

fboth theatres. Kreutzer's was performed at the Thdatre des 
Italiens, and Cherubini's at the Feydeau, — both got up with 
Creai effect and care ; but, partiality apart, the Drury Lane 



I40 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



piece surpassed Ihem both. Slorace selected the most effect- 
ive music from either, and enriched the piece with some 
charming melodies of his own composition ; the scenery was 
picturesquely grand and beautiful, the dresses in perfect cos- 
tume. Mr. Kemble took great pains In getting up the piece, all 
the minutiiE were specially attended to, and it was enthusias- 
tically received by the public. 

In the last scene, when Mrs. Crouch was in the burning 
castle, the wind blew the flames close to her ; but still she 
had sufficient fortitude not la move from her situation ; seeing 
her in such peril I ran up the bridge, which was at a greOit 
height from the ground, towards the tower, in order to rescue 
her; just as 1 was quitting the platform, a carpenter, prema- 
turely, took out one of its supporters, down I fell ; and at the 
same moment the fiery tower, in which was Mrs. Crouch, 
sank down in a blaze, with a violent crash ; she uttered a 
scream of terror. Providentially I was not hurt by the fall, 
and catching her in my arms, scarcely knowing what I was do- 
ing, 1 carried her to the front of the stage, a considerable 
distance from the place where we fell. The applause was 
loud and continued. In fact, had we rehearsed the scene as 
it happened, it could not have appeared half so natural, or 
produced half so great an effect I always aftem-ard carried 
her to the front of the stage, in a similar manner, and it never 
foiled to produce great applause. Such are, at times, the 
effects of accident. 

On that night Mr. Sheridan came to sup with us ; and I 
told him I was lucky in not having broken my neck. He left 
us earlier than usual, to go to the Duchess of Devonshire's. 
The Duchess, who had been at the theatre, asked him if I was 
much hurt ; to which (with his usual good-nature in making 
blunders for me) be replied, " Not in the least ; I have just 
left him very well, and in good spirits ; but he has been put- 
ting a very puzzling question to me which was, — 'Suppose, 
Mr. Sheridan, I had been killed by the fall, who would have 
maintained me for the rest of my life ? " 



\ 



LIKE GARRICK^ 



H A Short Part. 

V On the zd of July, a new musical piece was produced, en- 

■ titled, "The Glorious P'jrst of June ! " written by Mr. Cobb, 
for the benefit of the widows of the brave men who fell on that 
day. It wa.s well suited to the purpose, and was a sequel to 
" No Song, no Supper ; " it was all got up in three days. Mr. 
Joseph Richardson wrote an elegant prologue on the occa- 
sion, which was spoken, with great feeling, by John KemWe ; 
the piece concluded with a grand sea-fight, and a sumptuous 
^_ Kte, in honor of our glorious victory. Storace and myself 
^^L gave it some new songs ; but the music was chiefly old. I 
^^K had to represent the character of Frederick ; and as I was 
^V BO tuuch employed in writing the music, I begged Mr. Sheri- 
^^ 'daji {who wrote a good many speeches for it), (o make as short 
a part for me, and with as little speaking in it as possible. He 
assured me he would. 

In the scene in which I came on, to sing a song (written by 

I Cobb), " When in war on the ocean we meet the proud foe ! " 
there was a cottage in the distance, at which {the stage direc- 
tion said) 1 was to look earnestly for a moment, or two ; and 
the line which I then had to speak was this : — 
I 









r The song began immediately, and not another word was there 
"n the whole part. This sublime and solitary speech produced 
a loud laugh from the audience. 

When the piece was over, Mr. Sheridan came into the 
greenroom, and complimented me on my quickness, and be- 
ing so perfect in the part which he had taken so much pains lo 
write for me ; which, he said, considering the short time I had 
to study it, was truly astonishing. He certainly had the laugh 
against me, and he did not spare me. 

Like Garrick. 
IS a Mr. Wood in the company, a very great favor- 
s esteemed an excellent master of elocution, and a 



142 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



very worthy man, but a great oddity. His great ambition * 
to do everything that Garrick used to do ; he rose at the same 
hour, shaved, breakfasted, and dined at the same hour ; ate 
and drank whatever he heard was Gam'ek's taste ; in short, 
nothing could please him more than to copy Garrick implicitly, 
and to be thought to do so. 

I was walking with him one day ; and, knowing his weak 
point, assured him that King had often toid me, that when 
Garrick was to perform any part to which he wished to give all 
his strength and energy, he used to prevail upon Mrs. Gar- 
rick lo accompany him to his dressing-room at the theatre, 
and, for an hour before the play began, rub his head as hard 
as she could, with hot napkins, till she produced copious per- 
■piralion ; and the harder he was rubbed, and the more he was 
temporarily annoyed by it, the more animation he felt in act- 
ing. This (as 1 thought it) harmless joke of mine, turned 
out a matter of serious importance to poor Mrs. Wood ; Ibr, 
a long time afterward, whenever he had to act, particularly ia 
any new part, he actually made her go lo his dressing-room, 
as I had suggested, and rub away, till she was ready to drop 
with fatigue, and he with the annoyance which her e 
produced. The effect of the process upon his performance^ ^ 
however, did not, by any means, keep pace with the labor. 

ROBEBT Baddelv. 
On the 2oth of November Drury Lane Theatre lost one of 
its greatest props in a particular walk of the drama, in poor 
Baddely. On the evening before his death, he was taken ill 
as he was dressing for the character of Moses in the " School _ 
for Scandal," which part was originally written for him. 
Canton, in the " Clandestine Marriage," will ever be femem-S 
bered with King's Lord Ogilby ; and in Jews and Frenchmeltf 
he was very good. He was a worthy man, although he 
nicknamed " Old Vinegar," only from the excellent manner in 
which he aeled a character of that name in O'KeeEFe's farce of 
" The Son-[n-Law." In his j-ounger days, he had been a cook, 
and an excellent cook, to my knowledge, he » 



1 
-I 

i 



KELLY- S ENGLISH. 



143 



"' ejttremely proud of his skill in the culinary art. He had been 
cook lo Foole, in whose service he imbibed a taste for the 
drama. He married a celebrated beauty, Miss Snow. He 
told me once, that when he was acting at the Haymarket, of 
which Fooie was the proprietor, they had a quirrel, and 
Battdely challenged him to fight with swords. On receiving 
(he challenge, Foote said, — " Hey ! what ! fight ! Oh ! the 
dog I So 1 have taken the spit from my kilchen-fire, and 
stuck it by I)is side ; and now the fellow wants to stick ///■■ with 

II ^" 

^, In his will, he left a twelfth-cake and wine for the performers 

^Kf Drury Lane Theatre, of which llicy partake every Twelfth- 
^^bght in the greenroom, and drink to the memory of the 
^^Bonor. He had a habit of smacking his lips always when 
^Speaking, In allusion to this, Charles Bannister said to him 
one day at the School of Garrick (when boasting of his culi- 
nary qualifica lions), " My dear Baddely, everybody must know 
that you have been a cook, for you always seem to be tasting 
r words." 

Keli-y's English. 
\ About the middle of May, an opera was acted, at Drury 
I which I had to perform an Irish character. My 
friend Johnstone took great pains to instruct me in the brogue, 
>ut I did not feel quite up lo the mark ; and, after all, it seems 
pi&y vernacular phraseology was not the most perfect ; for, 
when the opera was over, Sheridan came into the greenroom, 
and said, — " Bravo ! Kelly ; very well, indeed ; upon my 
bonor, I never before heard you speak such good English in all 
jny life." This sarcastic compliment produced much laughter 
n the performers who heard him.> 



iih, ] did not well UDderetiDd 

■ 0'Cullcr[lheDn]yliiiA 
ect Engllth throughout 




MICHAEL KELLV. 



cribers to lh<^| 



Duke of Queensberry. 

It was the fashion of the day for the subsci 
Opera to attend the rehearsals ; among others, the late Duke 
of Queensberry was a constant attendatit ; no weather kept 
him away — there he was, on the stage, muff and all, I had 
the pleasure, for many years, to be honored with his peculiar 
notice; and have been frequently invited to his hospitable 
table, both in Piccadilly and at Richmond. In my intercourse 
with mankind, 1 never met his superior for worldly knowledge 
and acuteness ; he was a nobleman of polished manners, of the 
^neilU (our ; he had his foibks, it is true; but then, who ha*. 
not ? On Tuesdays and Saturda)'s he had generally a largcl 
dinner party of the French nobility, who were obliged to seek. 
shelter in this country, from the horrors of the revolution ; he 
was well aware that a French lady or gentleman is au desespeir, 
unless they can goto some spectacle ; and he used the follow- 
ing delicate mode of indulging them in their favorite amuse- 
ment, knowing that they were too poor to indulge themselves, 
and too proud to accept of pecuniary a 

After coffee had been handed round, he used to ask " whor 
is going to the Italian Opera to-night ? I long to use ntf 
family privilege." I was present one evening, when the 
Duchess de Pienne asked him what this privilege meant? He 
said, it was that of writing admissions for the theatres to any 
amount he pleased, without entailing any expense. This was 
apparently a joyful hearing to the theatrical amateurs, and 
nine of the party went that evening to the Opera with his writ- 
ten admifisions. He had previously made an arrangement with 
my worthy friend, Mr. Jewel, the Opera House treasurer, and 
also, as 1 understood, with other theatres, that his orders were, 
always to be admitted, and the nest morning sent to his stew- 
ard, who had directions to pay ihe amount of the admissions 
which his Grace had sent in. This delicate manner of con- 
ferring a favor needs no comment. 

I never saw in any country such comfortable dinners as 
those of his Grace : at his side-board there was a person to 



i 



DUKE D-AGUILLON. 



^Hfau'i.'e every joint, and he never had more than three dishes at 
^K time on his table ; but all were hot and comfortable, and the 
^prisnds the most recktrcM. His chief French cook, whom he 
denominated V%^ officer de bouche, was a great artist, a real ^oral>« 
i&», who ought lo have had, like Cardinal Wolsey'a master- 
cook, a crimson velvet dress, with a collar and a gold chain. 
His wines too were of the most exquisite kind, for his Grace 
^Uras a votary of Bacchus as well as Venus. 
^■- Me was passionately fond of music, and an excellent judge 
^pWthe art ; but his being very blind and very deaf, was cer- 
^lainly somewhat against him. A favorite propensity of hia 
was, that of giving instructions in singing; he was kind 
enough to offer Mrs. BilHngton and myself, to teach us the 
songs of Polly and Machealh, in the Beggar's Opera ; and, lo 
humor him, we have often let him sing to us. It was ex- 
tremely amusing to all parlies, one person excepted, who al- 
ways accompanied him on the piano-forte, and who lived in 
the house with him ; his name was Ireland ; but I always called 
him Job, 

IJis Grace asked me one day to dine with him, llle-A-Ute ; 
after dinner he told me he had formed a resolution never to 
have more than one guest at a time ; the reason he gave was, 
Aat he had grown so deaf that he could scarcely hear. " Had 
1," said he, "at (able more than one person now, Ihey would 
be talking one to the other, and I sitting by, not able lo hear 
■^Vbat they were talking about, which would be extremely pro- 
mising; now if 1 have but one to dine with me, that one must 
; to me, or hold his longue." 




Duke D'Aouillon. 
This season the Opera House was very a 
e manager ; Viotti, the celebrated violin player, was leader 
' ttf the orchestra, and a masterly leader he was. He asked me 
one day to dine with him at the Crown and Anchor, in the 
Strand, to meet three friends of his, who formed an econom- 
ical little dinner-club, which they held there once a month. 
I went, and found his friends three of [lie greatest revolu- 



146 MICHAEL KELLY. 

tionists : Cbarles Lamelh, who hnd been president cf t1 
National Assembly ; Diipont, the popular orator of that lime, 
also a Member of the National Assembly, and who 
very person whom I had seen offer to hand the poor Queen 
of France out of her carriage, when brought prisoner back 
from Varennes, which she indignantly refused ; and the Duke 
D'Aguillon, one of the twelve peers of France, who in former 
days had an immense fortune, was a great patron of the arts, 
and so theatrical that he had a box in every theatre in Paris. 
He was particularly fond of music, and had been a scholar of 
Viotti. I passed a pleasant day with these emigris, who. 
were all men of high endowments and truly polished 
nor did lliey seem at all depressed by change of circi 
stances : all was vivacity and good-humor. 

The Duke sat next to me at dinner. 1 asked him if he hatf' 
seen Drury Lane Theatre ; his reply was, I have seen the out- 
side of it, but I am now too poor to go to theatres ; for did I 
indulge in my favorite amusement, I should not ije enabled 
have the pleasure of meeting you and my worthy friend! 
dinner to-day ; I cannot afford both. 

I told him, that as manager of the Opera Hi 
cal director of Drury Lane Theatre, 1 should have great pleas- 
ure in giving him and his friends admissions nightly, for 
either of those theatres ; and that my box at the Opera House 
was at their service on the following Saturday, and I requested 
they would do me the honor to dine with me on that day, 
and afterward visit it. They favored me with their company, 
and much delighted they were : often and often afterward did' 
they dine and sup with me. I Introduced Ihem to Mr. Sheri- 
dan and many of my friends. It was certainly, I thought, to 
be lamented, that men possessing such amiable manner^ 
should, from strong republican principles, bring themselveS' 
into misfortune ; but I had nothing to do with their politics i 
I only saw the bright side of their characters, and felt a sin- 
cere pleasure, as far as lay in my power, in administering, in 
my little way, comfort to those who were laboring under so sad 
a reverse of fortune ; tor, in this country, the French noblesse 



who.^— 

rcuiq^^l 

eha<r^ 

did I 

led to I 

ds aKH 



I 



DUKE D'ACUILLON. 147 

tould not associate with them. Even the Duke D'Aguillon, 
tough one of the. highest noblemen of France, was never 
eceived by the Duke of Queensberry, nor did he visit any- 

, One morning he called on me, and said he had a favor to 
I requested him to command my services : he 
baid, "My dear Kelly, 1 am under many obligations for your 
hpeated acts of kindness and hospitality to me and my friends ; 
still, though under a cloud, and laboring under misfor- 
es, I cannot forget Ibat I am the Duke D'Aguillon, and 
mnot sloop lo borrow or beg frein mortal; but I confess I am 
arly reduced to my last shilling, yet still I retain my health 
d spirits ; formerly, when 1 was a great amateur, I was par- 
fcularly partial to copying music ; it was then a source of 
amusement to rae. Now, my good friend, the &vor I am about 
to ask, is, that, snb rosd, you will get me music to copy for j'our 
theatres, upon the same terms as you would give to any com- 
1 copyist, who was a stranger to you. I am now used to 
'ations, my wants are few ; though accustomed to palaces, 
»n content myself with a single bedroom up two pair of 
rs ; and if you will grant my request, you will enable' me to 
jess the high gratification of earning my morsel by the 
[}rk of my hands." 

s moved almost to tears, by the application, and was at 
^ loss what lo answer, but thought of what Lear says, 

"Take phytic, pomp!" 

D what man may be reduced." I told him I thought I 
BiCould procure him as much copying as he could do, and he 
appeared quite delighted ; and the next day I procured plenty 
for him. He rose by day-light to accomplish his task ~^ was at 
work all day — and at night, full dressed, in the Opera House 
in the pit. While there, he felt himself Duke D'Aguillon; 
and no one ever suspected him lobe a drudge in the morning, 
copying music for a shilling per sheet ; and strange to say 
that his spirits never drooped; nine Englishmen out of ten 
under such circumstances would have destroyed themselves. 



148 MICHAEL KBLLY. 

But the transitory peace of mind he enjoyed na.s not rA \tlKg 
duration ; an order came from the Alien Office for him and his 
friends to leave England in two days ; they look an affection- 
ate leave of me : the Duke went to Hamburg, and there was 
condemned to be shot. They (old me that he died like a 
hero. 

He had a favorite Danish dog, a beautiful animal, which he 
consigned to my protection, until, as he told me, he had an op- 
portunity to send for him with safety. 1 pledged myself to 
take every care of him, and never shall I forget his parting 
with this faithful animal ; it seemed as if the last link which 
held him to society was breaking ; the dog had been the faith- 
ful companion of his prosperity- — his adversity — he caressed, 
and shed a flood of tears on quilting him — the scene was griev- 
ous ; but I did not then think that I should never see the 
Duke mwe, 1 took every care of his poor dog — who, miss- 
ing his kind master, after a little, refused all naurishtiuul, and 
■xXMMy pined and died. Vet he survived the being who had 
fed and cherished him. 

Kemble as a Preacher. 

The theatre at Cheltenham was, at that time, under the 

management of its proprietor, the eccentric Watson, who was 

a fellow of infinite jest and humor, full of Thespian anecdotes, 

and perfectly master of the art of driving away loathed melan* 

Many a hearty laugh have I had with him ; he was an IrishJ 
man, and had, although I say it who should not say it, all tM 
natural wit of his country about him. He was of a very r 
spectable family (Quakers) in Qonmell. In John Kemble's 
younger days, he was a near ally of his, and both belonged to 
a strolling company. They lived, or rather, by Watson's ac- 
count, starved together ; at one time, in Gloucestershire, they 
were left penniless ; and after continued vicissitudes, Watson 
assured me, such was their distress, that at that time they 
were glad to get into a turnip-field, and make a meal of its 
produce uncooked ; and, he added, it was while regaling on J 



1 

ilan- I 

Ith^H 




MR. JEFR 



149 



w vegetable, that they hit upon a scheme to recruit their 
finances; and a. lucky turn-up it turned out. It was neither 
autre nor kss Ihan that John Kemble should turn Methodist 

richer, and Wafson perform the part of clerk. 

E Their scheme was organized ; and Tewkesbury was their 

Ion ; they drew together, in a field, a numer- 

IB congregation, and Kemble preached with such piety, and 

js much effect, that, positively, a large collection rewarded his 

This anecdote Kemble himself told me was perfectly 

Mr. Jeff. 

We arrived at Plymouth, and put up at the Pope's Head. 
The theatre was then opened under the management of Mr. 
Jefferson, a good kind o£ man, who had formerly acted inferior 
parts with Mr. Garriek at Drury Lane, and was thought very 
like him. His eye was very expressive, and he was exces- 
aively proud to be considered like the great actor, of whum he 
ike with enthusiasm. He was a martyr to gout, but a most 

itertaining man, and replete with anecdotes, which he told 

lib peculiar humor. 

Before he became proprietor of the Plymouth theatre, he was 
nanager of a strolling company of comedians, who acted on 
shares. When they were at Penzance, in Cornwall, perform- 
ing in a barn, and miserably off for audiences, a French dancer 
of the name of La Croix, who had come from St. Maloes to 
seek his fortune in Plymouth, finding the theatre there shut, 
and. hearing of Monsieur Jefferson's company at Penzance, 
formed a resoiution to pack up his very " little all," and ckassl 
on foot to join them. 

When he arrived at Penzance, he waited upon Mr. Jefferson, 
offered his services, and said, that he had no doubt he should 
dmw crowded houses by the excellence of his performance ; 
for Monsieur La Croix, in his own opinion, was " Le DUu de 
la danse." He was accordingly enrolled In the company on the 
usual terms, that is to say, that all sliould share and share 
alike. He made his appearance in a fine pas seul; but un- 

ikily, in one of his roost graceful pirouetles, a very Important 







i;o MICHAEL KELLY. 

part of his drapery, either from its age or slightness, or front 
the wonderful exertion of its wearer, became auddenty rent in 
a most unmend.ible manner. Shouts of laughter and applause 
followed, which Monsieur La Croix imagined were given for 
his jumping, nor was the supposition at al! unjustifiable, for the 
higher he jumped, the more he was applauded. At last some 
one behind the scenes called him off the stage, and he was so 
shocked at the mishap which had befallen him, that he could 
never be induced to appear again. But, in the sequel, when 
he came to receive the recompense of his exertions and ex- 
posure, the salvo of his shame amounted only to a few bits of 
candle ends, which he would not accept ; he said he was a 
French artiste, and not a Russian, and therefore could not be 
expected to live on candles, and that Monsieur Jeff (as he 
called the manager) had imposed upon him with false pre- 
tenses. The poor fellow made his way to Totness, where, as, 
I heard, he got some scholars ; but nothing would induce him 
to hear Mr. Jeff, or his tallow provender, ever spoken of agaio.^ 

The First Mrs. Sheridan. 
The Linley family were all moat highly gifted - 
art combined did everything for them. I remember oneel 
having the satisfaction of singing a duet with Mrs. SheridaD' ] 
(William Liidey's sister) at her house in Bruton Street ; 
voice, taste, and judgment united to make her the rara avis dt J 

The last time I beheld her heavenly c 
Bristol Hot Wells, where she went for the benefit of 1)^ 
health, having been attacked with a severe pulmonary c 
pl^nt, which baffled every effort of art to overcome it. She 1 
was, indeed, what John Wilkes said of her, the most beautiful ■ 
flower that ever grew in Nature's garden : she breathed her 
last in the year 1792, in the thirty-eighth year of her age ; 
was buried by the side of her sister Mrs. Tickeil, in the cathe- 
dral church of Wells, 

Her mother, a kind friendly woman, and in her j-oulh reck- 
oned beautiful, was a native of Wells. Miss Maria Linley, 



HICHARD CUMBERLAND. 151 

her sister, a delightful singer, died of brain fever, in her grand- 
father's house at Bath. After one of the severest paroxysms 
of the dreadful complaint, she suddenly rose up in her bed, 
and began the song of, "I know that my Redeemer liveth," 
in as full and clear a tone as when in perfect health. This 
extraordinary circumstance may be depended upon, as my 
friend, Mr. William Linley, her brother, stated the fact to me 

I never beheld more poignant grief than Mr. Sheridan felt 
for the loss of his beloved wife ; and althougli the world, which 
knew him only as a public man, will perhaps scarcely credit 
the fact, 1 have seen him, night after nighl, sit and cry like a 
child, while I sang to him, at his desire, a pathetic iiltle song 
of my composidon, '■ They bore her to her grassy grave." 

»L Richard Cumberland. 

\ It was in this year that Mr. Cumberland, the author, prom- 
ised my friend. Jack Bannister, to write a comedy for his ben- 
efiC, which was to be interspersed with songs for Mrs, Jordan, 
which he wished me 10 compose. He was good enough lo give 
Bannister and myself an invitation to spend a few days with 
faim at his house at Tunbridge Wells, in order that he might 
read bis comedy to us ; and as we were both interested in its 
success, we accepted his invitation ; but fearing that we might 
not find our residence with him quite so pleasant as we wished, 
we i^eed, previously to leaving town, that Mrs. Crouch should 
write me a letter, stating that Mr, Taylor requested me to re- 
turn to London immediately, about some opera concerns ; by 
which measure we could lake our departure without giving 
*" J our host, if we did not like our quarters, or remain 

Mth him if we did. 

I Jack Bannister rode down on horseback, and I mounted the 
> of the Tunbridge coach. Sealed on the roof were two 
y pretty girls, and two livery servants ; this parly i soon 
Itscovered were on the establishment of the Duchess of Leb- 
er, following her Grace to Tunbridge Wells, whither she had 
fone the day before. While ascending Morant's Court Hill, 



153 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



we overtook Bannister on horseback, who called out to tne, 
" What, Michael ! who would have expected to see you on the 
top of the stage ? I hope you have brought your curling irons 
with you ; 1 shall want my hair dressed before dinner ; come 
to me to the Sussex Hotel. Tunbridge Wells is very full, and, 
I dare say, you will get plenty of custom, both as a shaver and 
dresser." 

At the conclusion of this harangue, he bade me good day, 
put spurs to his horse, and rode away. 

I resolved to follow up the joke ; and when the coach 
■topped at Seven Oaks, I sat down to dinner (my luncheon) 
with the servjnls, in the room allotted to outside passengers. 
We grew quite laniiliar ; the lady's maid and the two footmen 
promised me their protection, and declared that they would do 
everything in their power to get me custom ; although they 
could not invite me to call and see them at the Duchess's 
house, because nothing but the most rigid stinginess was 
practiced there. "I suppose," said 1, "you can give 
glass of ale now and then ! " 

" Ale," said one of the footmen, " bless your heart, wc I 
never have ale, never see such a thing, — nothing but small I 
beer, I assure you." 

Until we arrived at our journey's end, the abigails and 1 
knights of the shoulder-knot kept entertaining me with 
doles of the family, which were not very flattering, I confess, I 
but which 1 believe to have been false, having had for manj 1 
years the pleasure of knowing her Grace, the Duchess, and I 
Mr. Ogilvie her husband. 

On our parting where the coach set us down, we all vowed ' 
eternal friendship, and 1 got to Mr. Cumberland's in time for 
dinner. Tlie party consisted of myself. Bannister. Mrs, Cum- 
berland, an agreeable well-informed old lady, and our host 
who, by the bye, during dinner, called his wife mamma. We 
passed a pleasant evening enough, but wine was scarce ; how- 
ever, what we had was excellent, and what was wanting in 
beverage, was amply supplied in converse sweet, and the de- 
lights of hearing the reading, a five-act comedy. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 153 

Five acts of a play, read by its autlior after tea, are at any 
time opiates of the most determined nature, even if one has 
risen late and moved little ; but with such a predisposition to 
somnolency as I found the drive, the dust, the sun, the air, the 
dinner, and a little sensible conversation had induced, what 
nas to be expected P Long before the end of Ihe second act 
1 was fast as a church — -a slight tendency to snoring, ren- 
dered this misfortune more apatiing than it otherwise would 
have been : and the numberless kicks which I received under 
the table from Bannister, served only to vary, by fits and starts, 
the melody with which nature chose to accompany my slum- 
bers. 

When it is recollected that our host and reader had served 
Sheridan as a model for Sir Fretful, it may be supposed that 
he was somewhat irritated by my inexcusable surrender of my- 
aelf: but no; he closed his proceedings and his manuscript 
at the end of the second act, and we adjourned lo a rational 

» cupper upon a cold mutton bone, and dissipated in two tum- 
lilers of weak red wine and water. 
I- When the repasf ended, the bard conducted us to our bed- 
tooms : Ihe apartment in which I was to sleep was his study ; 
he paid me Ihe compliment to say he had a little tent-bed put 
Bp there, which he always appropriated lo his favorite guest. 
•The book-case at the side," he added, "was filled with his 
own writings." 
~ I bowed, and said, " I dare say, sir, I shall sleep very 

Ah ! very good," said he : " I understand you, — a hit, 
1 palpable hit ; you mean being so close lo my writings, 
fciey will act as a soporific. You are a good soul, Mr. Kelly, 
i. very drowsy one — -God bless you — you are a kind 
tature, to come into the country to listen to my nonsense — 
Kmimai neches! as we say in Spain —good-night I I hope it 
vrill be fine weather for you to walk about in the morning ; for 
I think, with Lord Falkland, who said he pitied unlearned 
gentlemen on a rainy day — umph — good-night, God blesa 
L you, — you are so kind." 




154 



MICHAEL KELLY. 




I could plainly perceive that tlie old gentleman was n 
overpleased, but 1 feally had no intention of giving hin 
fense. He was allowed, however, to be one of (he 
sitive of men when his own writings were spoken of; 
moreover, reckoned envious in the highest degree. 

He had an inveterate dislike to Mr. Sheridan, and v 
not allow him the prai.ie of a good dramatic writer ( whica 
considering the ridicule Sheridan had heaped upon him ia 
"The Critic," is not so surprising. That piece was worm- 
wood to him; he was also very sore of what Sheridan had 
said of him before he drew his portrait in that character. 

The anecdote Mr. Sheridan told me. When the " School 
for Scandal " came out, Cumberland's children prevailed upion 
their father to take them to see it ; they had Ihe stage-box — 
their father was seated behind them ; and, as Ihe slory was 
told by a gentleman, a friend of Mr. Sheridan's, who was close 
by, every time the children laughed at what was going on on 
the stage, he pinched them, and said, " What are you laugh- 
ing at, my dear little folks ? you should not laugh, my a 
there is nothing to laugh at7"^andthen in an underti 
"Keep still, you litde dunces." 

Sheridan having been told of this, said, " It was very a 
grateful in Cumberiand to have been displeased with his p 
children for laughing at my comedy; for I w 
night to see ku tragedy, and laughed at it from beginning || 

But with all the irritability which so frequently belongs I 
dramatists, Mr. Cumberland was a perfect gentler 
manners, and a good classical scholar. I was walking v 
him on the pantiles one morning, and took the opftortunity of 
telling him (which was the truth) that his dramatic works were 
in great request at Vienna ; and that his " West Indian " and 
" Brothers," particularly, were first-rate favorites ; this plea 
the old man so much, that (I flattered myself) it made h 
forget my drowsy propensities. 

He look me up lo the lop of Mount Ephralm, where we n 
the Duchess of Leinster and a lady walking; she had juf 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 155 

got out of her carriage, and [he two identical footmen who 
had been on the stage coitch with me, were walking behind 
her. She stopped to speak to Mr. Cumberland; and never 
shall I foi^el the countenance of the servants, when her 
Grace said, " Mr. Kelly, I am glad to see you ; have you been 
long here ? " 
I replied, " No, madam, only two days." 
" Did you come down alone ? " said the Duchess. 
" Not entirely," said I ; " I came down on the coach, and, I 
assure you, met with some very pleasant chatty companions, 
who amused me very much, by a variety of anecdotes about 
ttemselves, and their masters and mistresses." While I was 
■aying this, I kept looking at my two sworn friends, the foot- 
len, who seemed struck with wonder and surprise. 
" Well," said the Duchess, " I hope this place will agree 
Bith you." 
I said, " I fear not, for I am extremely partial to malt 
]uor, and I am told, that it is execrable here ; and that in 
:e very first houses, one meets with nothing but bad small 
;er." I again looked at my friends, and I am sure they 
iahed me al Jericho ; for il was evident, by their counte- 
inces, (hat they were afraid I should betray their confidence, 
id they seemed quite relieved when they saw me make my 
>w and walk away. 
' A letter arrived the next morning, as we had planned, which 
" 1 me to London \ we informed our host, that we were 

filiged to quit his hospitable roof, early the following day. 
My children," said he, " 1 regret that you must leave your 
"i bard, but bu.siness must be attended to, and this is the 
It day I am to have the pleasure of your company, when 
u return from your evening rambles on the pantiles, I will 
ra you what I call a treat." 
- After dinner. Bannister and myself went to the library. 
PWhat,"said I to Bannister, ''can be the treat Cumlrerland 
IS promised us to-night ? I suppose he took notice uf your 
laying al dinner, that your favorite meai was supper, and he 
fctends, as we are going away to-morrow morning, to give us 



156 



MICHAEL KELLV. 




some liltle delicacies." Bannister professed entire ignorance, 
and some doubl ; and on our return from our walk, we found 
Cumberland In his parlor, waiting for us. As I had 
pated, the cloth was laid for supper, and in the middle of the 
table was a large dish with a cover on it. 

When we were seated, with appetites keen, and eyes fixed 
upon the mysterious dainty, our host, after some preparation, 
desired a servant to remove the cover, and on the dish lay 
another manuscript play. " There, my boys," said he, '" there 
is the treat which I promised you ; that, sirs, is my Tiberius, 
In live acts ; and after we have had our sandwich and wine and 
water, I will read you every word of it. I am not vain, but I 
do think it by far the best play I ever wrote, and I think you '11 

The threat itself was horrible ; the Reading sauce was ill 
suited to the light supper, and neither poppy nor Mandragore, 
nor even the play of the preceding evening, would have been 
half so bad as his Tiberius ; but will the reader believe that it 
was no joke, but all in earnest, and that he actually fulfilled 
his horrid promise, and read the three first acts ? but seeing 
violent symptoms of our old complaint coming over us, he 
proposed that we should go to -bed, and in the morning th; 



< 



he should t 
and fifth ac 
before he h 



; but 



before we started, by reading the fourth 
saved him the trouble, for w 
of his bed. Such are the perils and hai: 



breadtli 'scapes which attend the guests of dramatists who 
live in the country. 

Mathew Gregory Lewis. 
Mr. Lewis, the author of "The Castle Spectre," though 
eccentric, had a great deal of genius. 1 knew him well, and 
have passed many plea.';ant hours in his society. I composed 
his operas of " Adelmorn the Outlaw ; " " The Wood Da- 
mon i " " Venoni ; " " Adelgillia ; " all for Drury Lane \ and 
a romantic drama, which he never brought forward, called 
"Zoroaster." The last I composed was " One o'Clock," pro- 
duced at the Lyceum. Of all his dramas the " Castle Spec- 



I 



MATHEIV GREGORY LEIVJS I 5/ 

s hfs favorite, perhaps from its having been the most 
ind popular ; and yet it has been said, it was the in- 
e of his death. 
After his father's decease he went to Jamaica, to visit his 
istates. When there, for the amusement of his staves, 
G caused his favorite drama, "The Castle Spectre," to be 
aerformed ; they were delighted, but of all parts which struck 
JQiem, that which delighted them most was the character of 
1, the black. He used indiscreetly to mix with these 
iople in the hours of recreation, and seemed, from his mis- 
akea urbanity and ill-judged condescension, to be their very 
dol. Presuming on indulgence, which they were not prepared 
r appreciate, ihey petitioned him to emancipate them, 
e told them, that during his life-time it could not be done, 
Hit gave them a solemn promise, that at his dealh, they should 
e their freedom. Alas ! it was a fatal promise for him, for 
D the passage homeward he died ; it has been said, by poi- 
Imislered by three of his favorite black brethren, whom 
3 bringing to England to make free British subjects of 
Bid who, thinking that by killing their master they should 
gtin their promised liberty, in return for all his liberal treat- 
t, put an end to his existence at the first favorable oppor- 

This anecdote I received from a gentleman, who was at 

I when Mr. Lewis sailed for England, and I relate it 

s I heard it, without pledging myself to ils entire aiitheniic- 



It is, however, notorious that he died at sea \ and it has 
n been remarked, that the death of a person so well-known 
:he circles of literature and fashion, as he was, never 
abated so slight a sensation. This evidently arose from cir- 
s which had removed him from the immediate ivorld 
lith which he had been aceuatoned to mix ; and having been 
idy absent from it for a length of time, his departure from 
lie jfflw™/ world was neither felt nor commented upon. 

nee received a command from his present Majesty, when 
e of Wales, to compose a simple English ballad for him ; 



IjS MICHAEL KELLY. 

and I had his gracious permissian to publish it, as composed 
for his Royal Highness, and dedicate it to him. I applied 
to my friend Lewis to write me one, which he did. The song 
was very popular, and suag by Incledon, at Covent Garden 
Theatre. The last verse was so applicable lo the fate of it* 
author, that I cannot resist giving the words. 

TO-MORROW, 



A bankrupt b trad«, l< 
N<i choia being Icfl, b 



leave htr to-day, 



II. 
Niy, WHp not, [hougb Fonune her smile now den] 

If fa lucky, Oh 1 doubl nnl, without more delay, 

Will 1 haalen to baokh your loiTaw, 
And bnog back a heart that adores you \rj-ia.^, 

111. 



In flome perilous fight ^ I ma 
Or, o'erwbelmed, in the oci 

Should Buch be the fala ol jm 
To hii Ion a £l liihule of t 



haply be slain, 
r Tom, ddgu lo 



Mr. Lewis had many advantages as an author ; he •* 
good German, understood Spanish, and was perfect mastered 
French and Italian. 



•'BLUE BBAKD." 



" Blue Beard." 

After the success of the " Castle Spectre," I determined to 
endeavor (o get the French programme of " Blue Beard " 
(which 1 had brought from Paris) dramatized. I accordingly 
called upon my valued friend, George Colman, and told him 
that I had hrought him ihe outline of a French romancci 
which, I believed, if he would undertake to write it, would 
prove highly successful : 1 told him, moreover, that my object 
was to endeavor to establish my name as a composer, by 
furnishing the music for it ; that I was perfectly sure a week's 
work would accomplish the literary part of the tiro acts, for 
which I would give him a couple of hundred pounds. 

After having discussed the subject, and two bottles of wine, 
the witty dramatist agreed to my terms, and I promised to ac- 
company him to his country house, and remain with him for a 
week ; I did so, and before the week was ended, the piece was 
complete, and those who have seen it — and who has not? 
win bear testimony to the admirable manner in which he ex- 
ecuted his task. 

The drama was immediately accepted at Drury Lane ; orders 
were issued to the macliinists, painters, and decorators lo 
bring it forward with the greatest possible splendor and mag- 
nificence ; and it must be admitted, that nothing couid exceed 
its brilliancy ; the music, which fortunately became extremely 
popular, I composed, with the exception of two selected pieces, 
uid the success of the whole was beyond expectation and pre- 
cedent. It may be worth noticing, that the Blue Beard, who 
rode the elephant, in perspective, over the mountains, was little 
L^mund Kean, who, at that time, little thought he should be- 
a (irsl-class actor. 

The 1 6th January, 1798, was the first night o£ its produc- 
From the bungling of the carpenters, and the machinery 
going all wrong, at one time, as it drew near the conclusion, I 
gave it up as lost ; but never shall 1 forget the relief 1 ex- 

kperienced when Miss Decamp sang, " I see them galloping ! 
I see them galloping!" She gave it with such irresistible 



cede 
f rode 

^"■tion. 



i6o 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



force of expression, as to call Irom the audience loud and COB- 
lioued shouts of applause. 

At the end of the piece, when Blue Beard is slain bj Selim, 
a most ludicrous scene took place. Where Blue Beard sinks 
under the stage, a skeleion rises, which, when seen by the 
audience, was to sink down again ; but not one inch would 
the said skeleton move. I. who had just been killing Blue 
Beard, totally forgetting where 1 was, ran up with my drawn 
sabre, and pummeled the poor skeleton's head with all my 
might, vociferating until he disappeared, loud enough 
heard by the whole house, " D — n you ! d— n you 1 why don't 
you go do^n ? " the audience were in roars of laughter at this, 
ridiculous scene, but good-naturedly appeared to en 
the feelings of an infuriated composer. 

The nestl day the piece was much curtailed ; the scenery 
and machinery were quite perfect; and, on its next representa- 
tion, it was received with the moat unqualified approbation 
by overflowing houses, and has kept its standing for six-and- 
twenty years. The music had an unparalleled sale, but 1 could 
not escape the shafts of envy and malice. The professional, 
would-be theatrical composers, the music-sellers, and their 
friends, gave oUt that the music was not mine, and that I had 
stolen it from other composers. But I laughed them to scorn [ 
conscious that I never even selected a piece from any com- 
poser to which, when I printed it, I did not afSx his name ; 
always bearing in mind, what CoUey Gibber tells us of him- 
self — that when he produced his first comedy, which was 
successful, of " Love's Last Shift," his enemies gave out that 
it was not his own ; Gibber said, if they knew the person ta 
to whom it really belonged, he had been true to his trusts, for 
he had never yet revealed the secret. The Italian proverb 
was ever present to my mind, which says, — 



i 



WILLIAM SPENCER. l6l 

In the grand march, where Blue Beard comes over the 
mounta,iii, there was to be a military band. 1 was not suffi- 
ciently conversant with wind instruments, and therefore [ 
went to Mr. Eley, a German, and master of the band of the 
Guards. I took my melody lo him, and he put the parts to it 
most delightfully. A considerable bet was made, that the mel- 
ody was his, and not mine; to decide the wager, and put the 
matter at rest, 1 was induced, after twenty-two years had 
elapsed, to write to Mr. Eley, and received his answer, a copy 
of which I insert : — 

7<J, A. .Sii. 

<S FbITH StIEET, SiSKO. 

Dear Sir, — I received your letter concerning the march in 
"Blue Beard," of which you gave to me the melody, to put 
part for the orchestra wind instruments, to which 1 added 
some part to finish the trio, and to lead into the next chorus. 1 
wrote this score in the music room at Covent Garden Theatre, 

t during the acts of the play, which several of the orchestra did 
gie, and concluded it was my melody ; (hough I assured them 
fewas not ; from whence this error has arose. 
r I remain, dear sir, 

' Most truly yours, 

R, T. Eleit. 
Willi Au Spencer. 
On the S3d January, i8oa, at Dniry Lane Theatre, the Hon- 
' orable William Spencer produced a musical afterpiece, en- 
titled, " Urania." The music of it was the joint production of 
his brother, the Honorable John Spencer, and myself. I felt 
much honored and flattered by the association. Mr. Spencer, 

dlsnDCe; Ihese hnnn wen admirably made of paareboartt, and aiiftw«red evcTy 

mvA iDTvcU, wcnl lo iKc prDpFrTy.room of Dniry Lane Thratr?, aad Iherr {(luntJ 
Johmlon, (lie ablr and ingenious machiiuKI, it woric upon Ihp hoTKV, and oo Lht 
pan! of beiiniliiig the rlephaol which wa> to airy Blue Btard. Mr. Shtridin 
«id ID jDhnitDn,-Di)n'l you Ilunk, Johnnou, you had better go tn Pidcocli'i, at 

« Exeter Change, I deserve to he hanged.* 



1 62 MICHAEL KELLY. 

who was a scientific writer and a sound musician, composed 
aome very good music for it. I had the pleasure of being 
known to him at Vienna, when on his travels. It is by his 
tasteful selection, I understand, that the chacone of Jomelli 
(which I selected for the appearance of the Ghost in " The 
Castle Spectre ") was first introduced by him into our churches. 
and known in all of them by the tilje of " The Sanclus of 
Jomelli." 

The dialogue in " Urania " was classically beautiful, as wf II 
as the poetry. There was one song in it sung by Mrs. Bland 
(which was a great favorite), entitled, " Nature with swiftness 
armed the horse ; " a liberal translation from Anacreon, written 
with true poetic taste, to which I composed the music. The 
scene of Urania's descent was entirely new to ihe English 
stage, and produced an extraordinary effect. The piece was * 
received with uncommon applause. 

I formerly had the pleasure of being often in the society of 
Mr. William Spencer, at his own house, and of meeting him at 
that of my friend Mr. WiUiam Maddocks. Both these gentle- 
men were lovers of the stage, encouragers and judges of the 
drama, and of the chosen few who knew the value of it, under 
judicious regulations. Mr. William Maddocks possessed a 
large fund of wit and humor, and wrote a farce for a private 
theatre to which he belonged, which possessed much merit. 

I often regretted that Mr. William Spencer did not continue 
to write for the stage. His knowledge of various languages, 
particularly German, would have furnished him with many 
good subjects. He is also perfect master of Italian, and weU 
versed in all the poets of that enchanting language. 

" No Money in de Box." , ■ 

On the zSth March Mrs. Billington performed "Meropc^ifl 
at the Opera House, for Banti's benefit, who, on this occasioi^ " 
appeared for the first time in male attire. Curiosity was on 
tip-toe to hear these two great singers in the same opera, and 
the performance drew an overflowing house. The worthy 
Signor Zacharia Banfi, lo be sure of laying hold of the money, i 



KELLY'S INCOME 163 

i the pit door barricadoed, and posted himself there, with 
lotne of his friends. An immense crowd had collected at the 
s before the usual time of admission ; and on their being 
Opened, the rush was so great, that smash went the barricado. 
which, together with the cautious Signor Banti, was carried 
forward, money-boxes and all, in the van of the crowd to the 
very extremity of the pit. 

Recovering himself, and getting on his legs, he gazed around 
him, and in disappointed anguish, exclaimed, " O Santa Maria ! 
dc pit full I de gallery full ! all full — and no money in de' box I 
'That will my Brigada — my angel wife say, when I shall have 
lothlng in my box for her ? " 

Kelly's Income. 

My next musical production at Drury Lane, was " Cinder- 

SHa ] or the Glass Slipper." The piece was written by a Mr. 

jnes ; the story was well told in action, and the poetry of the 

jngs appropriate. I was rather fortunate in composing the 

ntisic. The scenery, machinery, and decorations, were pro- 

asely splendid ; and nothing could surpass the fine acting of 

1 Decamp aa Cinderella. It was produced in January, 

'■804, and performed, during its first season, fifty-one nights. 

!n the midst of all the Mat and success or this season I had 
returned my income to the Commissioners of Income Tax, at 
500/. per annum, which, it appeared, they did not think a suffi- 
I'rient return, and sent me a summons to appear before them 
a their next day of meeting. In consequence of receiving 
1, 1 consulted a kind friend, who was my counselor on all 
asions, who advised me, if I felt myself justified by the 
.h, to adhere firmly to the amount which I had al first fixed, 
e promised to accompany me, which he did, and was witness 
the following conversation l)elween the 
toyself. 

' " So, Mr. Kelly," said oni 
s returned your income I 
lUSt have a very mean opini 
hink that you could induce u 



of the men of authority, "you 
) us, at 500/. per annum ; you 
in of our understandings, air, to 
■ to receive such a return, when 




164 MICHAEL KELLY. 

we are aware that your income, from your v 

engageniGDts. tnust amount to twice or ihree times that sum." 

" Sir," said I, " I am tree to confess I have erred in my re- 
turn ; but vanity was the cause, and vanity is the badge of aH 
my tribe. I have returned myself as having 500/. per annum, 
when in fact, I have not five hundred pence of certain in- 

" Pray, sir," said the commissioner, " are you not stage 
manager of the Opera House ? " 

" Yes sir," said I ; " but there is not even a nominal salary 
attached to that office ; I perform its duties to gratify ray love 
of music." 

"Well, but, Mr. Kelly," continued' my ( 
teach ? " 

" I do sir," answered I ; " but I have no pupils." 

" I think," observed another gentleman, who had not spok«& I 
before, " that you are an oratorio and concert singer ? 

" You are quite right," said I to my new antagonist ; "but % \ 
have no engagement." 

" Well, but at all events," observed my first inquisitor, "ytW^ 
have a very good salary at Drury Lane." 

" A very good one, indeed, sir," answered I ; "but then tt"! 

" But you have always a fine benefit, sir," said the other, wboj 
seemed to known something of theatricals. 

"Always, sir," was my reply, "but the expenses atteodiRg 
it are very great, and whatever profit remains after defraying 
them, is mortgaged to liquidate debts incurred by building 
my saloon. The fact is, sir, I am at present very like St 
George's Hospital, supported by voluntary conlributiona and 
have even less certain income, than I felt sufficiently vain to 

This unaifecled exposJ made the commissioners laugh, and 
the afEair ended by their receiving my return. The story is 
not very dissimilar 10 one told of the celebrated Horne 
Tooke, who, having relumed to some commissioners under 
the same act his income at two hundred pounds per annum, 






HARD ON DIGNUM. 165 

was questioned much in the same manner as myself ; till at 
last one of the inquisitors said : — 

" Mv. Home Tooke, you are trifling with us sadly ; we are 
aware of the manner in which yon live, the servants you keep, 
the style you maintain ; this cannot be done for live times the 
amount you have returned. What other resources have you," 

"Sir," said Home Tooke, " I have, as I have said, only two 
hundred pounds a year ; whatever else 1 get, 1 beg, borrow, 
or steal ; and it is a perfect matter of indifference to me to 
which of those tliree sources you attribute my surplus in- 
come." And thus ended the e 



Hard on Dignum. 

On the ;th December of this year, Mr. Reynolds, the 
prolific dramatist, produced a musical afterpiece at Drury 
Lane, entitled, " The Caravan ; or the Driver and his Dog." 
There was some pretty music in it, composed by Reeve, and it 
had a very great run, and brought much money to the treasury. 
The chief attraction of the piece was a dog called Carlo ; and 
when he leaped into some real water and saved a child, the 
most unbounded tumults of applause followed. It was truly 
astonishing how the animal could have been so well trained to 
act his important character. 

One day Mr. Sheridan having dined with me, we went to 
see the performance of his wonderful dog ; as we entered 
the greenroom, Dignum (who played in the piece) said to Mr. 
Sheridan, with awoeful countenance, " Sir, there is no guarding 
against illness, it Is truly lamentable to stop the run of a sue- 
cessftil piece like this ; but really " — " Really what ? " cried 
Sheridan, interrupting him. 

"1 am so unwell," continued Dignum, "that I cannot go on 
longer than to-night." 

"You!" exclaimed Sheridan, "my good fellow, you ter- 
rified me : 1 thought you were going to say that the dog was 
taken ill." 

Poor Dignnm did not relish this reply half so much as the 
rest of the company in the greenroom did. 




l66 MICHAEL KELLY, 

The Intelligent Claquers. 

One o£ those whimaical errors, which in my couDti 
are L-alled blunders, occurred on the first representation 
" The Hunter of the Alps," which is sufficiently whimsical 
be recorded here. 

It was rumored (why, it would be difficult to say) thai % 
party had been made to oppose the piece at its productioa ; 
and 1 told the circumstance lo an intimate friend, an Irish 
gentleman, who took fire at the bare mention of such under- 
handed treachery. "Just give me," said he, 
orders, and I '11 send in a few regular Garry Owen boys, wl 
shall take their shillalahs under their arms 
who '11 be after trying to hiss your music" 

I accordingly furnished him with t!ie necessary passports 
and, being quite aware of the presence of my adherents, sat 
in perfect security during the performance, although it must 
be confessed I occasionally heard the discordant whizzings (d 
hisses [ however, the applause predominated, and the piece 
entirely successful. 

After quitting the theatre, I had some friends 
me in Pall Mall, and among them, the author of the pie< 
We were enjoying ourselves with all sorts of merriment, whi 
in bolted my Hibernian supporter, who, as he entered 
room, vociferated exultingly. 

" Here we are, Mic, here we are 1 We are the boys 1 
did it, Mic ! Oh, sir, the music is movingly beautiful, and 
when the fffllow in green howled about the Hill of Howth (a 
hunting chorus, " Hiiloa ho I ") we made no small noise. Beau- 
tiful indeed was the lune ; but as for the play — may I 
stir if ever I saw such stuff and botheration ; by my hoi 
and soul, I think nobody hissed the speaking part half so a 

It never entered the head of my exclusive friend, that 
success of the piece and of the music were identified ; on 
contrary, he thought the effect of contrast would heighten 
personal compliment lo me. The author, whom he had n< 



rtsr* 

sat 

s {d 

1 
I 



TOBIN'S "HONEY-MOON." 167 

ind who was present, bore the explanation of this dis- 
t with very good humor ; and we washed down the 
subject in copious draughts of that universal panacea, whiskey 

ToBitf's " Honey-moon." 

On the 31st January, iSoj, Tobin's popular and successful 

■^y of ihe " Honey-moon " was produced at Drury Lane 

^Theatre. It had Iain for several seasons on thi shelf, and 

rould have remained there had not Wroughton, who was then 

utage manager of Drury Lane (having nothing in the shape of 

H new comedy to produce), rummaged the prompter's room, 

: many other plays lay neglected — it may be, never 

|,li)oked at. Luckily, one of the first that came to hand was 

"The Honey-moon," which Wroughlon took homei to read, 

d on his own judgment and at his own risk, had it copied, 

St, and put into rehearsal. Thus did eh:ince bring to light 

:e of the most popular comedies that had been produced for 

It was finely performed in all its parts, particularly the Duke 
I by Elliston, Juliana by Miss Duncan, and Jaques by young 
\ Collins, who was a true disciple of Nature, and, in my opinion, 
\ liad not death cut short his career, would have been an orna- 
o the stage. There was a country dance at the close of 
I the fourth act, in which Elliston and Miss Duncan displayed 
I such grace and agility, that it was always encored. There 
e also two songs, one sung by Miss Duncan, and Ihe other 
y Miss Decamp, both composed by me. 

ir Tobin had not the satisfaction to see hiS play per- 
d- Before it was produced he took a voyage to the 
Mediterranean, in hopes that change of climate and sea air 
i restore his health, which was very delicate, but death 
ruck him in the flower of his youth. 

I had the pleasure of being well acquainted with him, and 
i iittroduced to him by one of hts dearest friends, the late 
3 Pope, the admirable actress of Drury Lane, who wished 
y much that we should write an opera together, which we 
i agreed to do. Many and many a time have I accom- 



l6S MICHAEL KELLY. 

panied him to Mr. Joseph Richardson's house in Argyll 
Street, to get back his comedy of " The Honey-moon " from 
Drury Lane ; but he never succeeded even in obtwning ii 
glimpse of it ; excuse upon excuse was made for not re- 
storing it ; and no wonder, for, in fact they were ignorant 
that it was in their possession ; and after repealed calls, wait- 
ing jobs, and denials, the unfortunate and disappointed author 
gave up the piece as lost. 

George Frederick Cooke. 

The same season, in conjunction with Altwood, 1 composed 
for Covent Garden an operatic play called " Adrian and 
Orrila." Cooke played the part of the Prince in it, and the 
very deuce he liked lo have played with it ; for, on the morning 
of the day on which the piece was to be performed, he came 
to rehearsal so intoxicated that he could scarcely stand. 
Both the author and myself were on the stage alarmed, as may 
well be imagined, for the fate of a play, the principal serious 
character of which was to be performed by a man dead drunk. 

We were determined not to let our play be acted. Mr. 
Kemble, on the contrary (who then was stage manager, as well 
as co-proprieiorwith Mr. Harris), insisted that the play should 
be done, at all risks. Mr. Harris was sent for to decide. In 
the interim, Cooke was pouring out a volley of abuse against 
Kembie, calling him, " Black Jack," etc., all which Kemble 
bore with Christian patience, and without any reply. At length 
Mr. Harris, with his faithful ally on all emecgencies, the late 
James Brandon, the box book-keeper, on seeing Cooke's situ- 
ation, decided that the play should not be performed on that 
night ; but that Kemble should make an apology to the audi- 
ence, on the plea of Cooke's sudden indisposition ; which 
Kemble refused to do. " When Greek meets Greek, then 
comes the tug of war." 

Harris declared he would have the play changed. Kemble, 
on the contrary, was as peremptory to have it performed, and 
vowed that if it were changed, under the pretense of Cooke's 
indisposition, he would go forward to the audience, and inf 
them of the true cause of their disappointment. 



ilbnH 



¥ 



I 



GEORGE FREDEK!CK COOKE. 169 

Harris said, " Mr. Kemble, don't talk to me in this manner, 
1 am chief proprietor here, and will have whatever orders I 
give, obeyed." 

1 shall always remember Kemble's countenance, when, with 
the greatest calmness, he replied ; — 

"Sir, you are a proprietor — so am I. 1 borrowed a sum of 
money to come into this property. How am 1 to repay those 
who lent me that money, if you, from ill-placed lenity lowards 
an individual who is repeatedly from intoxication disappoint- 
ing the public, choose to risk the dilapidation of the theatre, 
and thereby cause my ruin ? By Heavens, I swear the play 
■hall be acted." 

Words were getting to a very high pitch, when Brandon 
coaxed Cooke into his house, put him to bed, and applied nap- 
kins, steeped in cold water, to his head in the hopes of sober- 
ing hxm. He slept from twelve till five o'clock, when he took 
some very strong eoflee, which brought him to his senses, and 
be consented to play the part ', and considering all circum- 
stances, I was struck with astonishment to see how finely he 
acted it. To be sure, he had nearly made one trifling omission, 
namely, cutting out the whole plot of the piece. And had it 
not been for the promptness and presence of mind of the then 
Miss Smith (the present Mrs. Hartley), who played the charac- 
ter (and finely she did play it), of Madame Clermont, he would 
have succeeded in doing so. " Oh I that men should put an 
enemy into their mouths to steal away Iheir brains ! " 

No man, when sober, was better conducted, or possessed 
more afiability of manners, blended with sound sense and good 
nature, than Cooke ; he had a fine memory, and was extremely 
well informed, I asked him, when he was acting at Brighton 
one day, to dine with me and Mrs. Crouch ; and we were de- 
lighted with his conversation and gentleman -like deportment. 
He took his wine cheerfully; and as he was going away, 1 
urged him to have another bottle ; his reply was, ■' Not one 
drop more. I have taken as much as I ought to take ; 1 have 
passed a delightliil evening, and should I drink any more wine, 
I might prove a disagreeable companion, therefore, good- 



170 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



night ; " and away he went. Nor could I then prev^l 
him to stop. 

In the memorable lime of the O. P. riot, some of the actont 
belonging to Covent Garden seemed to enjoy the disagreeable 
situation in wliich Kemble, as manager, stood, 
night in Covent Garden Theatre, when one of them absolutely 
and roundly asserted, that Kemble was but an tndifFefent 
actor. Cooke was in the greenroom at the time, and I said, 
"What da you think of the assertions of those genOemen, Mri 
Cooke ; do you think Kemble an indifferent actor ? " 

" No, sir," he replied ; " 1 think him a very great one, and 
those who say tlie contrary are envious men, and not worthy, 
as actors, to wipe his shoes." It gave me unspeakable pleas* 
ure, to hear him give so liberal an opinion of my esteemed 
friend, even though the expression of it was somewhat of ths 
coarsest. 

Leonard MacNally. 

I went one day to dine with my witty countryn 
the Master of the Rolls, at his pretty place at R 
Among his guests was Counselor MacNally, the author dt 
the opera of " Robin Hood." I passed a delightful day there. 
Many pleasant stories were told after dinner ; among others, 
one of MacNally's, to prove tlie predilection which 
our countrymen formerly had for getting into scrapes when 
they first arrived in London. 

The night his opera of " Robin Hood " was brought 
Covent Garden Theatre, a young Irish friend of his, 
first visit to London, was seated on the second seat 
front boxes ; on the front row were two gentlemen, who, at 
the close of the first act, were saying how much they liked the 
opera, and that it did great credit to Mrs. Cowley, who wrote 
it. On hearing this, my Irish friend got up, and tapping 
of ihem on the shoulder said to him; — 

"Sir, _)'(?« say that this opera was written by Mrs. Cowley ; 
now, /say it was not ; this opera was written by Leonard Mac- 
Nally, Esq., Barrister at Law, of No. 5 Pump Court, in the 
Temple. Do you take my word for it, sir ? " 



i 



LEONARD MACNALLY. 171 

" Most cetlaiiily, sir," replied the astonished gentleman ; 
"and I feel very much obliged for the information you have so 
politely given me." 

" Umph ! very well, sir," said he, and sat down. 

At the end of the second act, he got up, and again accosted 
the same geolleman, saying, " sir, upon your honor as a gen- 
tleman, are you in your own mind perfectly satisfied that Leon- 
ard MacNally, Esq., Barrister at Law, of No. 5 Pump Court, 
in the Temple, has actually written this opera, and not Mrs. 
Cowley ?" 

"Most perfectly persuaded of it, sir," said the gentleman, 

"Then, sir," said the young Irishman, " I wish you a good- 
night i " but just as he was leaving the box, he turned to the 
gentleman whom he had been addressing, and said, — 

" Pray, sir, permit me to ask, is_ your friend there con- 
TJnced, that this opera was written by Mr, MacNally, Bar- 
rister at Law, of No. 5 Pump Court, in the Temple ? " 

" Decidedly, sir," was the reply ; " we are both fully con- 
IJnced of the correctness of your statement." 

" Oh, then, if that is the case, I have nothing more to say," 
said the Hibernian, "except that if you had not both assured 
me you were so, neither of you "should be silting quite so easy 
on your seats as you do now." 

After this parting observation, he witlidrew, and did not 

I have often heard it said, that Irishmen are generally prone 
to be troublesome and quarrelsome. Having, in the different 
countries I have visited, had the pleasure of mixing much 
nrith them, 1 can aver, from experience, that the contrary is 
the case, and that, generally speaking, they are far from being 
either the one or the other ; and if they find that an allroDt 
is not intended, no nation in the universe will join more freely 
in the laugh, if even against themselves. I will take leave 
quote an example, — Curran versus MacNally ; — 
MacNally was very lame ; and when walking, had an un- 
fortunate limp, which he could not bear to be told of. At the 



172 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



time of the rebellion, he was seized with a military ardot 
and when the different volunteer corps were forming in Dubli| 
that of the lawyers was organized. Meeting with Curran, [ 
Nally said, " My dear friend, these are not times for a 
be idle ; I am delermined to enter the Lawyers' Corps, : 
follow the camp." 

" You follow the camp, my little limb of the law ? " said t 
wit, " tut, lut, renounce the idea; yoa never can 
plinarian." 

" And why not, Mr. Curran ? " said MacNally. 

" For this reason," said Curran ; " the moment you v 
ordered to march, yoH would Art//," 

Captain O'Reilly. 
Walking on the Parade, with Mr. Townsend, proprietor 
the "Correspondent" newspaper, he pointed out a very 
looking elderly gentleman, standing at the club-house dootjjj 
and told me that he was one of the most eccen 
world — his name was O'Reilly ; he had served many years in 
the Irish Brigade, in Germany and Prussia, where he had been 
distinguished as an excellent officer. Mr. Townsend added, 
" We reckon him here a great epicure, and he piques himseU 
on being a great judge of the culinary art as well 
'His good-nature and pleasantry have introduced 
best society, particularly among the Roman Catholics, where 
he is always a welcome guest. He speaks German, French, 
and Italian, fluently; and constantly, while speaking English, 
with a determined Irish brogue, mixes all those languages in 
every sentence. It is immaterial to him, whether the person 
he is talking to understands him or not — on he goes, stop 
him who can. He is a great friend of Frederick Jones ; and 
it is an absolute fact that Jones took such a liking to him the 
(irst day he came to dine with him, that he made him stay 
his house all night, and he has lived with him ever since 
that is to say, for seven years. Jones now : 
Cork, but sends the captain down when the Dublin comp; 
perform here. He is extremely useful, keeps a strict look-oi 



self 

iei«^ 




CAPTAIN O'REFU-.Y. I 73 



erylhing that concerns his friend's interest, and is a 
perfect Cerberus among his door-keepers at the theatre ; but 
■, and I will introduce you, — i am sure jou 
will be pleased with him." 

1 was accordingly presented to him. No sooner had the 
noble captain shaken me heartly by the hand, than he ex- 
claimed, — 
" BoKjour, man chtr Mic, jt stiis bun aise tie vous voir, as 
iay in France, yilois fdcM that 1 missed meeting you 
a you was last in Dublin ; but I was obliged to go to 
; county Galvray to see a brother officer, who formerly 
h me in Germany ; as kerlkk (i carle, as we say in 
lS ever smelt gunpowder. By the god of war, ii est 
_ tme son fp^e — c'est-A dire as brave as his sword. 

Now tell me how go on your brother Joe, and your brother 
Mark ; your brother Pat, poor fellow, lost his life I know in 
the East Indies — but c'est la fortune de la guerre, nad he died 
c koHHCUr. Your sister, Mary, loo, how is she ? By my 
s good a hearted, kind creature, as ever lived ; 
t entre nous, soil dil, she is rather plain, ma hoh i bella, 
wmel eh' i delta, i bella quel eke piace, as we say in Italian." 
'"Now, Captain," said I, "after the flattering encomiums 
ti have bestowed on my sister's beauty, may I ask how you 

o well acquainted with my family concerns ?" 
" Parbleit .' my dear Mic," said the Captain, '■ well I may be, 
for sure ^CKr-mother and my mother were sisters." 

On comparing notes, I found that such was the fact. When 
I was a boy, and before I left Dublin for Italy, I remember my 
mother often mentioning a nephew of hers, of the name of 
O'Reilly, who had been sent to Germany when quite a lad 
(many years before) to a relation of his father, who was in the 
Irish Brigade at Prague. Young O'Reilly entered the regi- 
ment as a cadet ; he afterwards went into the Prussian service, 
but my mother heard no more of him. 

The captain told me, furthermore, that he had been cheated 
some years before out of a small property which his father left 
him in the county Meath, by a man whom he thought his best 




174 MfcriAEL KELLY. 

friend. " However," said the captain, " I had vay satIsS 
tion, by calling him ovit and putting a bullet through his haZ 
but, nevertheless, all the little property that t " " ' _ 

gone. But grdce au del, I have never sullied my reputation, 
nor injured mortal, and for that ' the gods will lake care of 
Cato.' In all my misfortunes, cousin, I have never parted with 
the family sword, which was never drawn in a dirty cause 
there it hangs now in a h'llle cabin which I have got i 
county Meath. Should ever Freddy Jones discard me^J 
win end my days in riposo e pace, with the whole 

I have often thought, if Mr. Sheridan or Colman had I: 
acquainted with this worthy, yet eccentric man, he would halt 
served them as a model for an Irish character ; and how JaC 
Johnstone would have acted it. 

One of tlie captain's eccentricities I had nearly forgotten B 
mention : he was never without lemons, shalota, and Cayenat 
pepper, in a case in his pocket, which he always produced a 
table. The lemons, he said, were to squeeze over his oyster 
i la Fran^aise. The shalols tor a beef-steak, &, PAnglaiti 
and the Cayenne for every dish, foreign and domestic; 
should 1, in justice to my relatioci, omit a joke oE his which t 
almost is piquant as his sauce. 

One day he was in the streets of Clonmel, when the Tipi 
perary militia were marching out of that town ; their colonel'lj 
lather had formerly been a miller, and amassed a large fortune, 
which he had bequeathed to the Colonel himself. O'Reilly, 
seeing the gallant officer at the head of the corps, exclaimed, 
" By the god of war, here comes Marshal Sacks, with ihejlaar^ 
of Tipperary at his back." ^9 

Edmund Keax. ^^ 

On the 36th of January, 1S14, I had the pleasure to witness 
the first appearance of Mr. Kean as Shy lock in "The Mer- 
chant of Venice," and was delighted with the performance nf 
my original Cupid in " Cymon." There was not a good house, 
but the audience gave him that applause on his ^«//-A, which J 



EDMUI^D KEAN. 



i;s 



1 a first appear^tnce ; 
I In the play, and at 



ley are always liberal enough tobestov 
It during the principal part of his see 

ixit, the applause lasted for s< 
It is pretty generally known, that Mr. Whitbread received a 
gietter from the Rev. Dr. Drury, recomniEnding Mr. Kean in 
1 strong terms to Drury Lane Theatre, (hat Mr. Whit- 
sad requested Mr. Arnold to go to Dorchester (I think) to 
:, and engage him tor Drury Lane ; Mr. Arnold dined with 
e on the very day he set off on his mission. He saw Mr. 
a principal part in a play, and after it as Harlequin, in 
■ pantomime r in the latter character he is universally allowed 
I have no competitor. Mr. Arnold, with a discerning eye, 
nerit, and oSered him terms for Drury Lane, which he 
r«ou1d not accept ; as a few days previous to Mr. Arnold's see- 
tog him, he had engaged himself to the manager of the Olym- 
pic Theatre, in Wych Street, as principal Harlequin, and to 
nperintend the getting-upof the pantomimes, for which he was 
s receive two or three pounds per week. Mr. Arnold and the 
Ihprury Lane Committee made interest with the proprietor of 
le Olympic, to let Kean off his engagement, which he liberally 
m sen ted to do. 
1 I was presentathis first appearance in "Richard theThird ;" 
! a crowded hou.se, and I believe that his acting that 
ft drew more money to the treasury than any other actor's 
J. I wrote to him, to know if he had ever been in Ire- 
n his reply he informed me he had been to Walerford, 
er to Dublin. 1 wrote to my friend Jones, recommend- 
g him strongly to make him the best offer his theatre could 
lord, as I was sure he would draw him full houses every 
%ht Mr. Jones wrote, to me immediately, saying, he would 
similar terms to those which Mrs. Siddons and Mr. 
jCcmble had. Kean accepted them, and set off for Dublin, . 
accompanied by my friend Pope, who was also very instru- 
mental in procuring him the engagement. He drew a crowded 
audience every time he acted j Pope performed with him in all 
his plays, and for his reward, had a good house at his benefit. 
^ In my humble opinion, Kean's acting in the third act of 



176 MICHAEL KELLY. 

" Othello" is his best performance. The first night he aCle^ ^ 
it at Drury Lane, i sal in my seat in Ihe orchestra, which w 
appropriated to me, as Director of the Music, and next ti 
was Lord Byron who said, '' Mr. Kelly, depend upon it, this is 
a man of genius." 

Mr. Sheridan, though very curious to see him, would not go 
to the theatre ; having made a vow, in consequence of some 
offense he had received from the Committee of Management, 
never to enter its walls. Mrs. Sheridan, who at this time was 
very ill, and confined for many weeks, had also a great curi- 
osity to see Mr. Kean perform the part of " Othello ; " but as 
she could not venture lo the theatre, Mr. Sheridan requested 
Kean to come to his liouse, and read the play ; which he did. 

The following day I saw Sheridan, and asked his opinion 
of Kean : he told he was very much pleased with him, that he 
had once studied the part of Othello himself, to act at Sir 
Walkin William Wyun's private theatre, in Wales ; and that 
Kean's conception of Othello, was the precise counterpart of 
his own. This, which, as it was intended, no doubt, for a com- 
pliment, would have sounded like vanity in any body else, in a 
man of Mr. Sheridan's acknowledged ability, must have been 
highly flattering to Mr. Kean. 

I have always considered Mr. Kean an actor of great genius ; 
but I feel much pleasure in mentioning a trait in his private 
character which came under my own cognizance. There was 
a Mr. Conyngham a native of Ireland^ who, in former days, I 
remember, a favorite with the Irish audience, and for many 
years a member of the Bath company. He was acting at 
Brighton — his circumstances were not the most flourishing, 
and a good benefit would, he said, release him from all his 
embarrassments. A brother actor advised him to write to Mr, 
Kean ; for if he would come and act for his benefit, he might 
be assured of an overflowing house. 

" My good fellow," replied Conyngham, " 1 should be afr^d 
to make so bold a request. It is true, at one time, when we 
were acting together, we were very intimate, and he was a 
good-natured fellow ; but Ned Kean, then the strolling player. 



AtrsS O'NEILL. 177 

] Mr. Kean, the prop of Drary Lane Theatre, are not one 
Band the same person." 

Conyngham, however, wa^ persuaded to write to Kean, a.nd 
l',»«ceived the following letter in reply, which I have read 1 — 

" Dear Tom, — I am sorry that you are not as comfortable 
In life as I wish you ; put me up for any o£ my plays next 
Thursday, and 1 shall be most happy to act for your benefit. 
In the mean time, accept the inclosed trifle to make the pot 
boil." 

The ioclosure was a ten-pound note. 

On the Thursday he arrived at Brighton, and his perform- 
ance drew poor Conyngham an overdowing audience. But 
nothing could induce him to accept one sixpence for his trav- 
j or other incidental expenses : to descant on the kind- 
of such an action is useless — it speaks for ilself- 

Miss O'Neill. 

Though I had not the pleasure of being personally ac- 
quainted with Miss O'Neill, I feit a great interest for her 
success. The following anecdote, I believe very little known 
in the theatrical world, I had from Mr. Jones, the patentee of 
Crow Street Theatre. Miss Walstein, who was the heroine 
of the Dublin stage, and a great and deserved favorite, was to 
open the theatre, in the character of Juliet. Mr. Jones re- 
ceived an intimation from Miss Walstein, that without a cer- 
tain increase of salary, and other privileges, she.would not 
come to the house. Mr. Jones had arrived at the determina- 
tion to shut up his theatre, sooner than submit to what he 
thought an unwarrantable demand ; when MacNally, the 
boxkeeper, who had been the bearer of Miss Walstein's mes- 
sage, told Mr. Jones " that it would be a pity to dose the 
house, and that there was a remedy, if Mr. Jones chose to 
avail himself of it." 

" The girl, sir," said he, " who has been so often strongly 
recommended to you as a promising actress, is now at a hotel 
in Dublin, with her father and brother, where they iiave Just 



^^int 



r 



178 MICHAEL KELLY. 

arrived, and is proceeding to Drogheda, to act at her father's 
thealre Ihere. I have iieard it said, by persons who have 
seen her, that she plays Juliet extremely well, and is very 
young and very pretty, I aro sure she would be delighted 10 
have the opportunity of appearing before a Dublin audience, 
and, it you please, I will make her the proposal." 

The proposal was made, and accepted ; and on the folloiring 
Saturday, the girl, who was Miss O'Neill, made her ddbiit on 
the Dublin stage as Juliet. The audience were delighted ; she 
acted the part several nights, and Mr. Jones offered her father 
and brother engagements on very liberal terms, which werc_ 
thaukfuliy accepted. ^1 

Condescension of George IV. ^^k 

1 cannot here refrain from mentioning a circumstance whicTi 
occurred to me on the 1st of January, 1822, and I sincerely 
trust there will not appear any impropriety in my doing so, 
since it records a trait of gracious goodness and consideration 
in his Majesty, which, although but one of hundreds, is but 
little known, and richly deserves to be universally so. 

On that evening the King gave a splendid party at the 
Pavilion, and his Majesty was graciously pleased to command 
my attendance to hear a concert performed by his own fine 
band. His Majesty did me the honor to seat himself beside 
me, and asked me how I liked the music which I had that 
day heard in the chapel, among which, to my surprise, had 
been introduced the Chacone of Jomelli, performed in the 
" Castle Spectre," but which since has been called the 
Sanctiis of Jomelli, and is now used in all the cathedrals and 
churches in England and the. Continent, under that title. 
His Majesty was all kindness and condescension in his 
manner towards me ; but his kindness and condescension 
did not stop there. 

I had taken with me to Brighton that year a god-daughter 
of mine, Julia Walters, whom I have adopted, and whose 
mother has been, for years, my housekeeper and watchful 
attendant during my many severe illnesses. This little girl,! 



b 



CONDESCENSION OF GEORGE IV. 1 79 

at five years old, performed the part of the Child, in ihe 
opera of " L'Agn&se," under the name of Signora Julia. Am- 
brogetti was so struck with mj little proh'gie, that he begged 
I would let her play the character, which she did with grace 
and intelligence far beyond her years. This child asked me 
to procure her a sight of the King, and fixed upon the evening 
in question to press her request, when she might behold him 
in the midst of his court, surrounded by all that was brilliant 
in the .land, and in a palace whose splendor, when illumi- 
nated, rivaled the magnificence described in (he "Arabian 
Nights." 

I told my worthy friend Kramer, the excellent master and 
leader of his Majesty's private band, the earnest desire of 
little Julia, and prevailed upon him to admit her behind the 
orgaUj with a strict injunction not to let herself be seen ; but 
female curiosity, even in one so young, prevailed, and after 
the first act of the concert, when the performers retired to 
take some refreshment, Signora Julia crept from her hiding- 
place behind the organ, and seated lierself between the kettle- 
drums. The King was sitting on a sofa, between Ihe Prin- 
cess Esterhazy, and the Countess Lieven, and though the 
orchestra was at a distance, his Majesty's quick eye in a mo- 
ment caught a glimpse of the little intruder. 

" Who is that beautiful little child ? " said the King ; 
*' Who brought her here ? " and immediately walked to poor 
Julia, and asked her who she was. 

" I belong to K" said Julia, 

" And who the deuce is A' ^ " said his Majesty. 

I was seated quite at the farther end of the room, con- 
versing with Sir William Keppell, and the moment I saw what 
was going on, I requested Sir William to go to the King, and 
say that the child belonged to me, which he with great good- 

His Majesty kissed poor little Julia ; and taking her inlo 

his arms, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her across 

I to me, and placed her in a chair by my side, saying, 

, with the greatest condescension, " Why did you leave the 



l8o 



MICHAEL KELLY. 



child in the cold ? Why not bring her into the. room ? If she 
be fond of music, bring her here whenever you like." 

This act of kindness, consideration, and goodness was duly 
appreciated by all who witnessed it, ajid by me will be ever 
remembered with the most respectful gratitude. On the fol- 
fowing evening, when I again had the honor of a command to 
the palace, his Majesty was pleased to inquire after my pretb 
little girl. 

My friend. Prince Hoare, who was at Brighton at the tint 
wrote the following lines on the incident : — 



ON JUL [A PEEPING 
iFarilin°,stBrighton,i 

^ of heait, and CDitduci 

essed her, ond bore her in inumpn, n 

nd dearest friend, MIcbae] KeUy, IhEi 



.nlhe.MjMiBq, 

ity George Ihe TonRb; wl>'i>W 

Eii»on, u'ized the titde ci' '~ 



Which wak« lo guud Biiunnia's aowi, 
Would ihere thy liny lorai espy. 

For many seasons past, upon my annual night, I hai 
regularly honored with a munificent donation from my i 
ereign ; but, valuable to me as is that bounty in itself, the ^ 
has scarcely been so gratifying to the feelings of hi 
servant, as the manner of presenting it. 



ro.lty,« 






Were I to indulge my feelings, 1 should be diSuse upon 
this subject ; but 1 check myself, lest I should offend in a 
quarter where displeasure would inflict me most. 

1 therefore shall merely venture lo add, that whenever my_ 
malady casts me upon a bed of suffering, I do not forget tba 



CONDESCENSION OF GEORGE IV. 1 8 1 

the most august hand in the empire has condescended to 
place round it additional comforts ; and that no sooner does 
my relenting star restore me to society, than my benefactor's 
name blesses the first glass I carry to my lips, and I say and 
sing, with heart and voice, devoutly and gratefully, 

God save the King. 




JOHN TAYLOR. 



r 
I 




JOHN TAYLOR. 



Derrick the Poet. 

ELL [hat I can recollect to have heard o£ what passed 
in my infancy, was, that my father was intimate with 
Derrick the Poel, as he was then called, and that 
Derrick introduced a lady to my father and mother 
as his wife, who, it afterwards appeared, was not so, and that 
then, so far as the lady was concerned, the connection with 
my family ended. 

This lady, many years after, appeared on the stage under 
the name of Mrs. Lessingham, and was a comic actress of 
merit, as well as a very pretty woman. She was an extraor- 
dinary character, and one of her whims was to assume man's 
attire and frequent the coffee-houses, after her separation from 

As Derrick wliolly depended on his literary talents, he coold 
not afford an expensive habitation, and therefore resided with 
Mrs. Lessingham, his nominal wife, in a floor, two pair of 
stairs high, in Shoe Lane, Holbom. During their residence 
in this place, aa the lady felt a strong propensity towards the 
stage, Derrick took great pains to prepare her for the theat- 
riciil profession. Her talents were not at all directed to- 
waida tragedy, but she was, as I have already said, a good 
comic actress. I particularly recollect her performance of 
Mrs. Sullen, and as there was no restraint of delicacy on her 
mind, she took care to give some of the more prurient pas- 
the character with all due point and effect. 



1 86 



JOHN TAYLOR. 




When Derrick used to risit my father's cottage at HIgfagate, 
after a rural walk by himself, as there was no spare-bed in the 
house, he was accustomed to sleep in my cradle, with his legs 
resting on a chair at the bottom. He was a very little man. 

As his supposed wife was very pretty, and not likely to hold 
out against a siege of gallantry, It is not surprising that she 
was tempted to desert a poor poet, and a two-pair of stairs 
floor, in a low neighborhood. As far as her history was gen- 
erally known, she perhaps might have had as many lovers 
as Anacreon boasts of mistresses, though perhaps she could 
not so accurately recollect the number. One circumstance of 
her conduct ought to be mentioned, as it illustrates the char- 
acter of women of her description, and may operate as a warn- 
ing to those who are likely to be ensnared by purchasable 
beauty. She had been separated from Derrick many years. 
In the mean time he had become generally known, and was 
countenanced by Dr. Johnson, to whom, it is said, he sug- 
gested the omission of the word ocean in the first edition of 
his celebrated Dictionary. 

Mrs. Les%ingham had risen on the stage, and was reported 
to be a favorite with the manager. She kept an elegant house 
in a fashionable part of the town. Derrick, at this time, was 
able to support himself by his connection with the booksellers, 
and by his literary productions ; and, without any pecuniary 
views, he was desirous to renew an acquaintance with his 
forhier pseudo-spouse. He therefore called on her, and sent 
up his name bv her superb footman. The lady declared that 
she knew no person of that name, and ordered the servant 
immediately to dismiss him. Derrick, conceiving that the 
man must have committed some mistake, insisted on seeing 
the lady. At length she came forward in sight of Derrick, 
called him an impudent fellow, and threatened lo send for a 
constable unless he left the house. 

This unexpected reception from a woman who had lived 
with him some years, had borne his name, and by whose in- 
i she had been able to become a popular actress, and 
nto affluence, affected him so much, that he was quite 



\ 




DERRICK THE POET. 



187 



n sorrow 



\ 
I 



overcome, a.iid immediately departed, though " 
than in anger. 

Derrick, after his separation from Mrs. Lessingharn, or 
rather her desertion of him, lived in respectable society, and 
nrnst have conducted himself properly, as he formed many 
fashionable connections, who exerted themselves with so much 
real in his favor, as lo procure for him the situation of Master 
of the Ceremonies at Batli. He had previously published a 
volume of his poems, and as there were a considerable num- 
ber of subscribers, they afford an evident testimony in favor 
of bis character. 

Like most of those who rise from obscurity, he was, on his 
elevation at Bath, very fond of pomp and show. His dress 
was always line, and he kept a footman almost as line as him- 
self. When he visited London his footman always walked be- 
hind him, and to show that he was his servant, he generally 
crossed the streets several times, that the man might be seen 
to follow him. Derrick, I understand, was lively, but too fa- 
miliar in his conversation ; and Mr, Oldys, the celebrated lit- 
erary antiquary, another intimate friend of my father, who 
lived before my remembrance, thought him a flippant fellow, 
never spoke when Derrick was in the room, and when ad- 
dressed by him, gave him short and discouraging answers. 
As Derrick honored my birth by an ode, it would be ungrate- 
ful ia me not to rescue so sublime a composition from ob- 
livion, as perhaps no other production of his Muse is now 
eitant. 



Lillle Nincy broughl him foiih, 
Nancy, diunc o£ migbly worth ; 
Ma7 he like his mother ahme, 





l88 yOHN TAYLOR. 

Derrick published four volumes of the poetical works of 
Dryden, which were the first collection of that author's poems. 
They are referred to by Dr. Johnson, in his life of DT7deD. 
Derrick, in his own volume of poems, introduced the following 
lines as a genuiue production of Pope, v^d as they have not 
appeared in any edition of Pope's works, and as it might now 
be difficult to find Derrick's volume, they may not improperly 
be introduced in this place. 

IMPROMPTU 
By Mr. Peft, tn ilitpmg iaattd Mangltg tn Jehu Dtit ef A 



luch Ihoughla as prom| 



LDblcr bed. 



When Derrick died I know not, and I should not revei 
Mrs. Lessingham, if she had not been so conspicuous ii 
day, and if her example did not hold forth a lesson against 
the influence of beauty devoid of moral principles. The man- 
ner before mentioned was very much attached to her, and 
she might have closed her days with as much comfort as in- 
trusive retrospection if ever it did intrude upon her, would 
admit, as he was a gentleman, shrewd, intelligent, and well 
acquainted with the world. She had two or three sons by him, 
who bore a satisfactory resemblance to the father, if indeed 
such mothers ever can be trusted. 

It was said that after her desertion of Derrick she was 
married to a naval gentleman named Stott; and was subse- 
quently under the protection of Admiral Boscawen. No doubt 
she had listened to the addresses of many others who had no 
reason to consider themselves as despairing lovers. The only 
improbable part of her acting in the character of Mrs. Sullen 
was in the chamber scene with Archer, as from her general 
manner it did not seem likely that she should resist his im- 
portunities when he appeared as a gentleman. 



^V The tbea 
^H stead Heat! 
^V supported h 



WILLIAM QLDYS. 



The thealrical manager had built a house for her on Hamp- 
stead Heath, in a romantic and retired silualJon, as well as 
supported her in her town residence, Imt nothing could con- 
trol the inconstancy of her nature. Why, or when she left that 
gentleman, I never knew, for, though 1 was very intimate with 
him, her name never occurred between us. After she quitted 
him, she was sometime protected, as the delicate term is, by 
. the late Justice Addington, whom she deserted for a young 
man engaged at Covent Garden Theatre, and styled by his 
theatrical associates, the tea-pot actor, as his attitudes seemed ■ 
to be generally founded on the model of that useful vehicle 
of domestic refreshment. The Justice never mentioned her af- 
ter, but by the most opprobrious appellations. 

William Oldys. 
This gentleman, whose profound knowledge of English lit- 



; has raised his 
antiquaries, and whoi 
quent reference, was 
I was then an infant, wha 
s of my parents 



a high estimation with literary 
Its are the subjects of fre- 
frien'd of my father, but, as 
I know of him was derived from 
All that 1 could recollect from 



I 



this source of information, I communicated to my friend Mr. 
D'Israeli, who has inserted it in the second series of his very 
amusing work intituled " The Curiosities of Literature." Mr. 
Oldys was, I understood, the natural son of a gentleman 
named Harris, who lived in a respectable style in Kensington 
Square. How he came to adopt the name of Oldys, or where 
he received his education, I never heard. My father, who 
was well acquainted with the Latin and French languages, in- 
formed roe that Mr. Oldys was a sound scholar, though lie 
chiefly devoted himself to English literature. Mr. Oldys 
was of a very reserved character, and when he passed his 
evenings at my father's house in Hatton Garden, he always 
preferred the fireside in the kitchen, that he might not be 
obliged to mingle with other visitors. He was so particular in 
hia habits, that he could not smoke his pipe with ease till his 
chair was fixed close to a particular crack in the floor. He 



190 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



had suffered the vicissitudes of fortune before my fatlier knew 
hicn, but was then easy in his circumstances, having been ap- 
pointed Norroy King at Arms. I shall borrow from Mr. 
D'lsraeli's work the account of this appointment as I related 
it to him, and as that gentleman has inserted it in the tliird 
volume of his new series. 

"01dys,as my father informed me, lived many years in quiet 
obscurity in the Fleet Prison, but at last was ' spirited up ' to 
make his situation known to the Duke of Norfolk of that 
time, who received Oldys's letter while he was at dinner with 
some friends. The Duke immediately communicated the coi^ 
tents to the company, observing that he had long been anxious 
to know what had become of an old, though an humble friend, 
and was happy, by that letter, lo find that he was still alive. 
He then called for his gentleman (a kind of humble friend 
whom noblemen used to retain under that name in former 
days), and desired him to go immediately lo the Fleet Prison 
with money for the immediate need of Oldys, to procure an 
account of his debts, and to discharge them. Oldys was soon 
after, either by the Duke's gift or interest, appointed Norn^ 
King at Arms ; and I remember that his oificial regalia came 
into my father's hands at his death." Mr. Oldys had been 
one of the librarians to the celebrated Harley, Earl of Oxford, 
and in that capacity had become known to the Duke of Nor- 
folk. My father was appointed executor to Mr. Oldys, who 
had stood godfather to one of his sons. 

Soon after the Duke of Norfolk had removed all pecuniary 
difficulties from Mr. Oldys, he procured for him, as I have 
said, the situation of Norroy King at Arms, a situation pecul- 
iarly suited to his turn for antiquities. On some occasion, 
when the King at Arms was obliged to ride on horseback in 
a public procession, the predecessor of Mr, Oldys in the cav- 
alcade had a proclamation to read, but, confused by the noise 
of the surrounding multitude, he made many mistakes, and, 
anxious to be accurate, he turned back to every passage to 
correct himself, and therefore appeared to the people 1 
ignorant blunderer. When Mr. Oldys had lo recite tl 



WILLIAM OLDYS. 



191 



I 



proclamation, tliough he made, he said, more mistakes than 
bis predecessor, he read on tlirough thick and thin, never stop- 
ping a moment to correct his errors, and thereby excited the 
appJause o£ the people, though he declared that the other 
gentleman had been much better qualified for the duty than 
himself. 

The shjTiess of Mr. Oldys's disposition, aod the simplicity 
of his manners, had induced him to decline an introduction to 
my grandfather, the Chevalier Taylor, who was always splen- 
did in attire, and had been used to the chief societies in every 
court of Europe ; but my grandfather had heard so much of 
Mr. Oldys, that he resolved to be acquainted with him, and 
therefore one evening when Oldys was enjoying his philosophi- 
cal pipe by the kitchen fire, the chevalier invaded his retreat, 
and without ceremony addressed him in the Latin language. 
Oldys, surprised and gratified to find a scholar in a fine gentle- 
man, threw off his reserve, answered him in the same language, 
and the colloquy continued for at least two hours, Oldys sus- 
pending his pipe all the time, my father, not so good a scholar, 
only occasionally interposing an illustrative remark. This an- 
ecdote, upon which the reader may implicitly depend, is a full 
refutation of the insolent abuse of my grandfather hy Dr. 
Johnson, as recorded in the life of that literary hippopotamus 
by Mr. Boswell. The truth is, that among the faults and vir- 
tues of that great moralist, he could not eradicate envy from 
his mind, as he indeed has confessed in his works ; and in re- 
spect to colloquial lalinity, he who was a sloven was no doubt 
mortified to be excelled by a beau, and this is probably the 
true cause of his illiberal and unjust description of my grand- 
father. 

On the death of Oldys, my father, who was his executor, 
became possessed of what property he left, which was very 
small, including his regalia as King at Arms. Mr. Oldys bad 
engaged to furnish a bookseller in the Strand, whose name 
was Walker, with ten years of the life of Shakespeare un- 
known to the biographers and commentators, but he died, and 
"made no sign" of the projected work. The bookseller made 



192 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



a demand of tweniy guineas on my father, alleging that he had 
advanced iliai sum to Mr. Oldys, who had promised to provide 
the mailer in question. My father paid this sum to the book- 
seller soon afier he had attended the remains of his departed 
friend to the grave. The manuscripts of Oldys, consisting of 
a few books written in a small hand, and abundantly interlined, 
remained long in my father's possession, but by desire of Dr. 
Percy, afterwards Bishop of Dromore, were submitted to his 
inspection, through the medium of Dr. Monsey, who was an 
intimate friend of Dr. Percy. They continued in Dr. Percy's 
hands some years. He !iad known Mr. Oldys in the early '' 
part of his life and spoke respectfully of his character. The 
last volume of Oldys's manuscripts that I ever saw, was at my 
friend the late Mr. William GifEord's house, in James Street 
Westminster, while he was preparing a new edition of the 
works of Shirley ; and I learned from him that it was lent to 
him by Mr. Heber. Mr. Oldys told my father, that he vras the 
author of the little song which was once admired, and which 
Mr. D'Israeli has introduced in his new series, relying upon 
the known veracity of Oldys from other sources besides the 
testimony of my parents. There is no great merit in the com- 
position, but as it shows the benevolent and philosophic tem- 
per of the author, I shall submit it to the reader as an old 
family re h que. 



i 



Tilburina says, " an oyster may be crossed in love," and so, 
perhaps may a cold literary antiquary. Mr. Oldys frequently 



SAMUEL JACKSOM PRATT. 193 

indulged his spleen in sarcasms against female inconstancy, 
and oflen concluded his remarks with the following couplet, 
but I know not whether it was composed by himself. 

A pciscod would id^ike Ihcm a £dwd and a hood." 

My friend Mr. D'Israeli is mistaken in saying that, "on the 
death of Oldys, Dr. Kippis, editor of the ' Biographia Britan- 
mca' looked over the manuscript.^." It ivas not till near thirty 
3rears after the death of Oldys, that they were submitted to his 
insp'ection, and at his recommendation were purchased by the 
late Mr. Cadell. The funeral expenses had been paid by ray 
father immediately after the interment of Oldys, and not, as 
Mr. D'Israeli says, by the " twenty guineas, which, perhaps, 
served to bury the writer." 

Samuel Jackson Pratt. 
At the apartments of Mrs. Brooke I first became acquainted 
with this gentleman, who had been many years known to the 
public, and whose productions, under the assumed name of 
Courteney Melmoth, were deservedly popular and productive. 
Mr, Pratt supposed, when he wrote to Mrs. Brooke, soliciting 
the pleasure of waiting on her. that he had addressed Mrs. 
Brooke, the fair author of -'Julia Mandeville," "Emily Mon- 
tague," and the musical afterpiece of " Rosina : " the music 
of which was chiefly composed by my late friend Mr. Shield. 
On the first interview, at which I was present, he was informed 
of his mistake, but the good sense and pleasing manners of 
Mrs. Brooke induced him to cultivate the acquaintance, and I 
.passed many instructive and pleasing hours in his company, 
t length we became intimately connected. I afterwards 
Bet him frequently at the house of the celebrated Mrs. Robin- 
Pten. Though his works in general are of a sentimental and 
pathetic description, yet in company he displayed great humor, 
and abounded in ludicrous anecdotes. 1 introduced him to 
Dr. Wolcot, whose original and peculiar genius he highly ad- 
mired. They became intimate, and the collision of Iheir 
I powers furnished a very pleasant intellectual repast. Mr. 



196 



•JOHN TAYLOR. 



but tired of that occupation, he devoted himself entirely tt 
the profession of an author. He excelled in epistolary com- 
position. His second dramatic work was intituled " The School 
for Vanity," which owed Us failure chiefly to the great number 
of letters that passed betweea the several characters in the 
play addressed to each other, insomuch that when the last 
letter was presented, the audience burst into a general laugn, 
and the piece was hurried to a conclusion, and I believe never 
brought forward again. In fact, he lived amidst epistolary 
correspondents, and transferred his habits to the stage. This 
comedy he included in the four volumes of miscellanies, which 
he afterwards published. As he was once a popular writer, 
he must have derived great profits from his numerous works, 
but was sometimes in difficulties. Once, when he had juat 
received twenty pounds unexpectedly, and had doubtless full 
occasion for that sum, having observed that I appeared grave, 
and, as he thought, melancholy, in company with three sisters 
whom we were frequently in the habit of visiting, and with; 
whom I was generally in high spirits, he conceived that 
apparent dejection resulted from some pecuniary pressi 
and the next day he offered me his twenty pounds, telling 
that all he requested was as early a return as c( 
own situation exposing him to the mortification of pressing 
applications. He was totally mistaken as to the cause of my 
gravity. He was sometime in partnership with Mr. Clinch, a 
bookseller, at Bath, but preferring the writing to the vending 
of books, he relinquished the concern. When I first became 
acquainted with him, he was in the habit of gratifying the 
company with recitations from the poets, which he gave with 
impressive effect ; but latterly the violent expression and 
energy of his delivery rendered it harsh and almost ludicrous. 
Poor Pratt I he was one of my earliest literary friends, and 
I cannot but (eel much pleasure in the opportunity of rescuing' 
his character from the relentless rancor of Miss Seward'S' 
posthumous defamation. 

The end of Mr. Pratt was lamentable. - He residi 
short lime before his death at Birmingham, and was thrown 



wilfc^J 



ANGELICA KAUFFMAN. igj 

rom his horse. He sufiered severe contusions by the fall. 
kA fever ensuedj which in a few days deprived him of life. 

Angelica Kauffman. 

The celebrated Angelica Kauffman, who was a friend of Mr. 

itt, presented drawings to him for the illustrations of some 

' a works. This lady I never had the pleasure of seeing, 

i by al! accounts her person was highly interesting, and her 

i and accompiishraents were peculiarly attractive. It 

I said that Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was thoroughly ac- 

"■quainted with human nature, and never likely to be deceived 

in his estimate of individuals, was so much attached to her 

that he solicited her hand. It appeared, however, that she 

refused him, as she was attached to the late Sir Nathaniel 

Holland, then Mr, Dance, an eminent painter, whose portrait 

of Garrick in the character of Richard the Third is the best 

t spirited representation of that unrivaled actor that 

T appeared, though all the most distinguished artists of the 

mployed themselves on the same admirable subject. 

e correspondence that liad taken place between Mrs. Kauff- 

n and Mr. Dance became known, and was thought to be of 

t very interesting description, insomuch tlmt his Majesty 

" !orge the Third, who generally heard of anything worth at- 

1, requested Mr. Dance would permit him to peruse the 

■letters that had passed between them during their courtship. 

What put a period to an intercourse which, being founded 

upon mutual attachment, held forth so favorable a prospect of 

muttial happiness, has never been developed, and is only mat- 

r of conjecture. Mrs. Kauffman, after the termination of 

s promising courtship, went abroad, and was unfortunately 

itluded into a marriage with a common footman, in Germany, 

assumed a title and appeared to be a person of high 

ink and affluence. Mrs. Kauffman, it is said, by the inter- 

a of friends had recourse to legal authorities, was en- 

to separate from the impostor, but did not return to this 

■y, and died a few years after, having never recovered 

r spirits after the shock of so degrading an alliance. It is 



yON.V TAYLOR. 



It and accoin^^l 
leceptioui ^^H 



not a little surprising tliat a lady so intelligent 
plislied should have been ihe victim of such a decepti 

Reddish the Actor. 

I saw him in St. Luke's Hospital, and found him flattering 
him.self that he should be able to resume his profession, and 
fulfill his engagement with the manager of Coveat Garden 
Theatre. It was lamentable to observe the alteration in his 
person, manners, and attire. The change in the former might 
easily be accounted (or, as he was necessarily confiDed to 
spare diet. He always dressed in his sane stale like a gentle- 
man, but in Bedlam he had all the tinsel finery of a strolling 
actor, or what is styled "shabby genteel." He seemed to be 
drinking a bowl of milk, which, though several visitors were 
present, he appeared eagerly to gobble like a hungry rustic. 

His insanity took place soon after an unlucky occurreoce i^ 
Covent Garden, the first night of his engagement. He -. 
peared in the part of Hamlet, and in the fencing s 
tween him and Laertes, Whitfield, who performed the latt^^ 
character, made so clumsy a lunge, that he struck ofi the bag- f 
wig of Hamlet, and exposed his bald pate to the laughte 
the audience. In conversing with hira in Bedlam, I soothed 
him by telling him that I was present at the scene, and that 
though the accident had a risible effect, the audience knew the 
fiiult was wholly to be ascribed to the awkwardness of his 
competitor. The mortification, however, made so strong an 
impression on his mind, that he never appeared on the stage 
again, and, I heard, ended his days in the infirmary at York. 
He was the second husband of Mrs. Canning, the mother of 
our late eminent statesman, Mr. George Canning. He distin- 
guished himself chiefly in the characters of Edgar, Posthu- 
mus, and Henrythe Sixth, in the playof " Richard the Third." 
Poor Reddish I 

Dr. Monsey. 

Dr. Monsey was educated at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, 
where he caught punning, but seldom condescended to practice 
"t, yet he had all Dean Swift " by heart," to use the old e 



Dif. MONSEY. 



199 



nsed to relate many puns of his college contem- 
es, which I have forgotten. I remember only one, which 
L perhaps, not worth reviving. An old member of St. John's 
iillege, the high mart of punning, observing a carpenter put- 
g a wooden covering over a bell to prevent the rain from in- 
ning it, told the carpenter that the covering was too small, 
respectfully declared that it was large enough. 
^Why," said the inveterate punster, "in spite of your cover- 

j, the bell must be now so wet you can laying it." 
' Another sally of humor, though from a lower character, was 
"af a higher order if intended. A querulous old fellow, high in 
one of the colleges, was perpetually complaining of something 
at the table. On one occasion he found fault with a large 
pewter dish which contained a calf's head. The old gentle- 
n declared that the dish was dirty, and the cook was ordered 
p to be sconced. "Why is this dish so dirty?" said old 
Kmlous. " Dirty," said the man, " it is so clean, that you 
•X your face in it." Al! but the old gentleman took the 
: as a good joke, if not accidental ; and the old gentle- 
aeon seiousiy continued his complaint. 
f One Story is certainly worth recording. Dr. Monsey, with 
r three old members of the university, in the course of 
an evening walk, differed about a proper definition of man. 
While they were severally offering their notions on the sub- 
ject, they came to a wall where an itinerant artist had drawn 
5 representations of animals, ships, etc. After compli- 
ig him on his skill, one of the gentlemen asked him if he 
i draw an inference. " No," said the artist, " I never 
Logic then gave way to jocularity, and a man com- 
I by with a fine team of horses, they stopped him, spoke 
^hly of the condition of his horses, particularly admiring the 
" That horse, carter," said another of the gentlemen, 
IS to be a very strong one, I suppose he could draw a 
The man assented. " Do you tJiink he could draw an 
ncef" "Why," said the man, "he can draw anything 
son." "There," said Monsey, "what becomes of your 
nition, when you met a man that could not draw an infer- 
' a iorse that could? " 



JOHN TAYLOR. 




Before Monsey settled as a physician in London, he 
been very intimate with Sir Robert Walpole. Sir Robert 
foTid of wit and humor, and sometimes gave a dinner 
friends at an inn in the neighborhood of his own seat, Hough- 
Ion Hall. The landlord of this inn was reputed to be a great 
wit, and Sir Robert admired his prompt humor so much that 
he generally desired him after dinner to join the company 
take his place at the social board. The company were gem 
ally gratified by the humor of the landlord, who by the 
agement of Sir Robert was admitted upon terms of equal! 
On one of these occasions, when Monsey was of the party, 
old, dull Norfolk baronet, who had nothing to recommend him 
but wealth, was so jealous of the attention which the lajidlord 
received, that he openly remonstrated with Sir Robert 
permitting such a man to sit in his company. The landli 
modesdy observed, that as Sir Robert, who gave the dinni 
and all the gentlemen present, condescended to admit him, 
saw no reason why the baronet should lake exceptioi 
" Pho," said the baronet, "your father was a butchei 
"Well," said the landlord, "there is no great difference 
tween your father and mine, for if ray father killed calvt 
yours brought them up." All the company took the joke 
mediately, except the baronet, who replied, "What! do 
make my father a grazier ? " 

When Monsey established himself in London, his skill 
physician and the oddity of his humor, as well as his profe 
siona! sagacity, introduced him to persons of the highest 
who had sense enough to overcome the pride of nobilil 
Among others was the Lord Townshend of that day. He 
the Doctor that when the great I^rd Somers had fallen 
imbecility, he was still apparently anxious to appear in 
character of a statesman, regularly attending the cabinet c 
cil, where he sat in unobserving silence, and was regardei 
with great respect, but merely as a child before whom any dis- 
cussion might take place. The only symptom of remembrance 
or recognition that he discovered was when the Duke of Marl- 
borough began to speak, and he then uttered a shouting 



that 



DR. MONSEY. 20I 

I if he recollected that his Grace was the only authority upon 

military subject that deserved attention. The Duke, upon 

(he breaking up of the council, always used to say to Lord 

Townshend '■ if 1 ever am reduced to the stale of Lord Somers, 

r heaven's sake save me, save me." 

It happened unfortunately that his Grace was reduced to a 
idmilar slate of imbecility, and, like Lord Soraers, would always 
the cabinet council. He was also so enfeebled in body, 
^at he could not walk without the danger of falling, hut so 
that he refused assistance lest his weakness should be 
mspected ; and Lord Townshend used to say that upon such 
icasions he was obliged to pretend the Soor tvas so slippery 
at he was in danger of falling at every step, and therefore 
igged his Grace's arm, that they might support each other, 
^^ d in this manner he cheated the Duke into safely. The 
|)octor had known one of the house-porters at Marlborough 
when in a former service, and requested that he would 
^rmit him, as he never saw his Grace, to conceal himself in a 
iraerof the hall, that he might see the Duke enter his sedan- 
liair when he went on an airing. Tiie man consented, but 
esired the Doctor not to let the Duke see him, as his Grace 
as always much disturbed at the sight of a stranger. The 
lector went behind the door, but in his eagerness to see the 
Duke, he projected his head too far, and caught his Grace's eye. 
TTie Duke, all the while that he was getting into the chair, 
and when he was seated, kept his eye steadily lixed on the 
Doctor, and at the moment when the chairmen were carrying 
him away, Mousey saw his features gather into a whimper like 
a child, and tears start into his eyes, That respectable 
biographer. Archdeacon Cojte, in his life of the Duke of Marl- 
borougli, appears to represent him as having retained his 
mental powers lo the last ; but as he derived his chief mate- 
rials from the archives of the family, it is not probable that 
they would comprise any records of imbecility, while Monsey's 
testimony was the evidence of an eye-witness, and corroborates 
that of Lord Townshend on the Duke's attendance at cabinet 
council. His Grace's favorite and constant expression of cen- 
sure waa the word ^' silly." 



202 JOHN TAYLOR. 

The Duchess was asked how it happened that, among h) 
many enemies, and the numerous attacks upon her, Dothi 
was ever alleged against her conjugal fidelity. Hi 
was. that as she had the finest and handsomest man in Europe, 
nobody would believe that she could listen to the jack-a-dan- 
dies of the day. The Duchess was violent in her temper and 
coarse in her language, and Pope's character of Alossa was 
generally admitted at the time to be an exact portrait of her. 
It is well-known that Lady Mary Churchill, one of her daugh- 
ters, who married the Earl of Godolphin, was very partial 
Congreve the poet, who used generally to dine with her till hi*, 
infirmities put an end to the intercourse. On the death 
Congreve, she had a small statue of him placed always on ' 
dinner-table with a plate before it, and she used to address 
figure as if a living person, ofTering to help him to whatever 
he preferred. The Duchess, her mother, in her usual roi^ 
manner, never mentioned her but by the name of Moll Con' 
greve. 

The Earl of Godolphin, with whom Dr. Monsey resided, 
was a very mild and amiable nobleman of a retired disposi- 
tion. He was very fat and difficult to Heed, but my father, 
who attended him as an oculist by Monsey's recommendation, 
always successfully performed the operation, and the Earl 
requested his assistance in that way when his eyes were 
wholly unaffected. The noble lord only read two works, 
"Burnet's History of his oivn Times," and " Colley Cibber^ 
Apology." When he had perused these works throughout, 
began them again, and seemed to be regardless of all othi 
authors. On some occasions, the Earl wishing to get 
domestic state, used to dine in a private room at the Thatchi 
House in St. James Street with Monsey all 
these occasions, as Monsey sauntered up St. James Streetf 
leaving the Earl over a newspaper, he met old Lord Towna^ 
hend, who learning where Lord Godolphin was, said he would 
dine ivilh him. Monsey bitterly regretted what he had said, 
but there was no remedy, as Lord Townshend was a rough, 
boisierous, determined man. When he entered the taveni>» 



DR. MONSEY. 



203 



1, addressing Lord Godolphin, he said, "Now, my lord, 1 

™ yon don't like this inslrusion." The Earl mildly said 

nswer, " Why, my lord, to say the tmih, I really du not, 

nse I have only ordered a dinner for Monsey and myself, 

Uid have nothing fit for your lordship unless you will wait." 

no," said Lord Townshend, "anything will do for me," 

titting down and indulging in a sort of tumultuous gayety, 

very unsuitable to the placid temper of Lord l^odolphin. In 

course of conversation, Lord Townshend said, " My lord, 

Monsey flatter you?" "1 hope not," said the earl 

jildly. Monsey immediately said, " 1 never practiced flattery, 

se I think none but a knave could give it, and none but 

receive it." "That may be," added Lord Townshend, 

I'but by G we all like it 1 " "1 wish I had known your 

rdship's opinion," said Monsey, "before I had made my fool- 
fa speech." 

I do not mention this anecdote as interesting in itself, but 

illustration of character, and Monsey was too conspzcu- 

i his day to be unworthy of notice, and too much mis- 

lonceived not to demand from fiiendship a vindication of his 

; and conduct. The great Lord Chesterfield, as he is 

jeneraliy styled, who carried good-breeding perhaps to an ex- 

ss, was very partial to Monsey, and bore with his peculiari- 

s because he saw that, however rough his manner at times, 

t had always a moral tendency, and its purpose to condemn, 

to expose, and to ridicule vice and folly. Lord Chief Justice 

De Grey, afterwards Lord Walsingham, was also distinguished 

ir the elegance and suavity of his manners in private life, and 

e admired and cultivated an intercourse with Monsey, when he 

elired from the professio^i. to which his talents, learning, and 

Idicial conduct did so much honor. I was to dine one day with 

E Doctor at the governor's table in Chelsea Hospital, and 

on after I arrived, Lord Walsingham came in his carriage to 

k. Monsey to accompany him home to dinner. The Doctor, 

taowiag that I heard him, in his usual blunt way said, " I 

a't, my lord, for I have a scoundrel to dine with me." " Then 

tiring your scoundrel with you," said his lordship. The ad- 



DR. MONSEY. 20S 

After he had related what had occurred, " And so," said 
rarrick, "you thought of punishing yourself for her vanity 
nd folly, when you ought rather to have turned her out of the 
arriage for her obstinacy and ignorance ! Why, did you 
r hear of Potiy Brice f " Garrick then said, that though 
aiployed one of the most honest and respectable linen- 
iSrapers in town, Mrs. Garrick went into an auctiou-room and 
•ought a. large quantity of damaged stuff, and that when the 
■X required her name, she thought that she should give 
hat of an English gentlewoman, and not of a servant, when 
Jle intended to say Betty Price, but instead of that she pro- 
lounced it Potty Brice, and her own maid was obliged to ex- 
llaiii it correctly. Mousey, however, whose spleen ended 
1 few rough words, paid the lady some rough compU- 
nent, and harmony was soon restored. It is an old observa- 
ion, that " everything begets its like," and so far as relates 
p Monseys manner, it generated something of the same kind 
liliis ordinary associates, for they usually addressed him with 
same gross familiarity that characterized his own behav- 
This reciprocal freedom always existed between him and 

Monsey having heard one day that the Duke of Argyle and 
leveral ladies of distinction were to sup with Garrick, re- 
toached the latter for not inviting him. " 1 would have asked 
' said Garrick, " but you are too great a blackguard." 
'Why, you little scoundrel," said Monsey, " ask Lord Go- 
Blphin, one of the best-bred men in the world if I do not he- 
s well as the politest of iiis visitors." " Well," replied 
" if you 'il promise to behave properly, you shall 
>me." Monsey promised accordingly, and attended. Garrick, 
BWever, gave the Duke privately an intimation of Monsey's 
6aracter. All went on well till Mrs. Garrick began to help 
ET noble guests, in the intervals of whiph attention, Monsey 
id several limes presented his plate to her, but she was so 
Mmpied in showing her deference to the grandeur of the com- 
jny, that she took no notice of him. At length, after pre- 
Wting and withdrawing his plate, as other parties engaged 




2o6 JOHN TAYLOR. 

her atteniion, he could restrain himself no longer, and ez- 

cbimed, " Will you help me, you b , or not ? " Garrick 

fell back in his chair with laughter ; the Duke, though some- 
what prepared for the oddity of Monsey's character, was struck 
with surprise, and all was consternation with the rest of the 
company. Monsey, not the least abashed at the confusion 
which he had excited, gave way to his humor, related some 
whimsical anecdotes, and rendered the remainder of the even- J 
ing a scene of good-humor and merriment. I 

William Warbithton. 1 

Monsey had a great contempt for Warburton, whose learn- 
ing he distrusted, and whose abilities he despised. He told 
me that he once dined at Garrick's with Warburton and Dr. 
Brown, the author of "An Estimate on the Manners of the 
Times," of "An Essay on the Characteristics of Shaftesbury," 
and of the tragedy of " Barbarossa." He also wrote a poem 
on the death of Pope, forming a sort of parody on " The.Essay 
on Man," which Warburton introduced into his edition 
Pope's works. Brown was a more obsequious parasite 
Warburton than even Bishop Hurd was reported to have beeal!| 
After the dinner, and during the wine, Garrick said, partly 
earnest and partly in jest, " Now, Monsey, don't indulge 
your usual freedom, but let us be a little serious." " Oh ! " 
said Brown, "you may be sure that Monsey will restrain his 
strange humor before Dr. Warburton, as he is afraid of him," 
Monsey said that he waited a moment or two, to hear whether 
Warburton would say anything in rebuke to Brown, and ask 
why Dr. Monsey should be afraid of him ; but as Warburton 
maintained a kind of proud silence, Monsey said, " No, sir, I 
am neither afraid of Dr. Warburton nor of his Jack-pudding." 
This sally produced a solemn pause, to the confusion of Gar- 
rick, who saw it was hopeless to restore good-humor, and the 
party soon broke up. 

As I do not profess to write with any regard to regular or^ 
der, but relate my recollections when they occur to me, I may 
be permitted to say a few words more of Warburton, who was 



i 




WILLIAM WARBURTON. 



207 



I 



«iice addressed in a pamphlet, " To the most impudent man 
«live," and to whom proud and insolent might have been very 
properly added. Quin was in the liabit of mealing Warburton 
at Mr. Allen's, at Prior Park near Bath. Quin was a discern- 
and above all sycophantic arts. He had often ob- 
served the interested servility of Warburton towards Mr. 
Allen. Warburton was mortified at the superior powers pf 
conversation which Quin possessed, but was afraid of encoun- 
tering his talents for prompt repartee. On one occasion, after 
a conversation on the subject of the martyrdom of Charles the 
First, for the justice of which Quin contended, Warburton 
asked him "by what law the king was condemned?" Quin, 
with his usual energy exclaimed, " By all the law which he 
bad left in the land ! " an answer which was more ingenious 
than founded in truth and reason, but which however at once 
put an end to the controversy. 

On anotlier occasion, when Warburton with grave subtlety 
endeavored to degrade Quin from the social and equal com- 
panion to the player, he professed his desire to hear Mr. Quin 
recite something from the drama, as he had not an opportunity 
of hearing him on the stage. Quin delivered the speech from 
Otway's " Pierre," in which there is the following passage : — 

Ar« ihc »£t, easy cuBhiobi on which IcnBva 

alternately looking at Allen and Warburton, in so marked a 
manner that the reference was understood' by all the company, 
and effectually prevented any subsequent attacks from the 
divine on the actor. 

An evident proof of Warburton's pride was related to me by 
Dr. Wolcot. The Doctor knew a cousin of Mr. Allen, a chat- 
tering old woman ; she told Wolcot that people in general 
were much mistaken in supposing that Dr. Warburton was a 
prood man, for she had often met him at her cousin Allen's in 
the company of lords and bishops and other high people, and 
he paid raore attention to her, and talked more with her, than 
■with any of the great folks who were present. 



208 



70//A' TAYLOR. 




This fact fully illustrates Warburton's character, as it 
that he manifested his indifference, if nnt contempt, of ihe 
higher visitors by his familiarity with an ignorant woman, from 
whom he could receive no entertainment, except wiiat his 
vanity derived from the consciousness of his own supeiiorily. 
It has always been wonderful to me that Warburton should 
have acquired so high a reputation. His insolence, vanity, 
and ridiculous ambition of superior penetration, have been 
ably exposed by the severe criticism on his " Comments on 
Shakespeare's text," by Mr. Heath, in his revisal of that text, 
and by the caustic humor of Mr. Edwards on the same sub- 
ject.' Beautiful as the " Essay on Man " is as a poem, it 
an inconsistent jumble of religion and philosophy. There 
many passages in favor of fatalism which Warburton has 
tempted to reconcile and defend as supporting the CTiristiaa" 
faith and doctrines, but with refining sophistry if 
terested dissimulation and pitiable prejudice. How Pope 
could be content with such a vindication of his poem is sur- 
prising, as the frequent reference.'; to fatalism in Warburton's 
defense must have convinced him that his poem was liable in 
that respect to all the objections which had been urged against 
it. It was generally reported that the passage in the comedy 
of "The Hypocrite," where Mawworm, speaking of his wife 
when addressing Cantwell, says, " Between you and me, doc- 
tor. Molly is breeding again," was a copy of what Warburton 
had said to z.frieHdly clergyman, with whose wife he was sup- 
posed to be upon too intimate a footing. 

There is a curious letter of Warburton's, written to Con- 
canen, one of Pope's enemies, degrading the genius of the 
poet, before he had discovered the importance which he might 
derive from an alliance with him. This letter Mr. Malone has 
copied and introduced at the end of the play of "Julius Caesar," 
in his edition of the works of Shakespeare, I asked the late 
James Boswell, the son of Johnson's biographer, what had be- 



ub- 

% 



I 



t^jIradUr ftf Fofil 



.orV called, T 



Butborol -I 



Af/as. ELIZABETH MONTAGUE. 2O9 

; of the original of that letter, and he told me that he 
\ not find it among the papers of Mr. Malone, to whom he 



Mrs. Elizabeth Montague. 
Dr. Monsey and the celebrated Mrs. Montague lived long 
te friendship, and kept up a sort of ludicrous gal- 
mtry with each other. I remember I once had tiie pleasure 
f meeting her at Dr. Monsey's, and of handing her to her 
am'age. I said, as we went down-stairs, " Are you not afraid, 
[ladam, of being known to visit a gentleman in his cham- 
"Why, yes," said she, "considering my youth and 
luty, and the youth of the gallant. 1 liope the meeting will 
:t into ' The Morning Post.' " 

; published letters of this lady are admirable, and her 

■ on Shakespeare is a valuable vindication of our great 

d from the strictures of Voltaire. It was supposed that at 

n early period of her life, she had been attached to the vener- 

Jjle Lord Lyttelton, beyond the limits ot platonism ; but 

prfonsey, who would not credit any imputation upon her moral 

" ■, said that, if such a supposition could possibly have 

i foundation, it rather applied to Lord Bath, with whom 

i his lady she made a tour in Germany. There was some- 

ing remarkably shrewd and penetrating in her eyes, tending 

) disconcert those towards whom they were particularly di- 

Dr. Monsey gave me two of her letters, of which I 

mitted copies to be taken for a periodical literary vehicle, 

longer in existence. 

i. Montague, in the early part of her life, was so fond of 

J various colors in her attire, that Lord Chesterfield 

idways called her Ms. Her letters are throughout excellent, 

i I understand were written without any hesitation. In the 

"Dialogues of the Dead," written by Lord Lyttelton, -there 

Bftre two written by Mrs. Montague, which, in all respects, are 

Kmuch superior to those of his lordship. The unfavorable 

manner in which Dr. Johnsou mentions Lord Lyttelton, in his 

"Lives of the Poets," induced her to relinquish all it 



2IO 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



with him. She was indebted for some part o£ her cdacaHen 
to the celebrated Dr. Conyers Middleton, and it is said that 
such was the precocily of her powei^, that she had copied the 
whole of " The Spectator " before she was eight years of age 
but whatever might have been the maturity of her 
that early age. It is hardly possible to give credit K 

Hugh Kelly. 

Mr. Kelly's history is rather curious. The earliest 
of him represent him a pot-boy at a public-house in DubUi 
This house was frequented by the inferior actors. In this' 
humble situation he displayed literary talents, and having 
gained access to one of the newspapers, he contrived to obtain 
orders for admission into the theatre from those inferior act- 
ors, by paying frequent tributes to their merit in a public 
print. Struck with his talents, he was rescued from this de- 
grading situation and bound apprentice to a stay-maker, with 
whom he served his time with diligence and fidelity. As soon, 
however, as he was released from his indentures, having in- 
creased his literary reputation during his apprenticeship, and 
feeling an ambition above the station of a stay-maker, he de- 
termined to try his fortune in London, and soon procured a 
connection among the publishers of magazines and daily 
papers. At length he was appointed editor of " The Public 
Ledger," a prominent journal at that pcrioiJ, and he became 
well-known as a political writer in favor of government. A 
pension of two hundred pounds a year was allowed him by 
the minister of that period, which he retained till his death, as 
he had been the victim of popular fury in his character of a 
dramatic author ; and his widow was permitted to enjoy 
moiety of this pension tiU her death, which happened in : 
Mr. Kel!y died in 1777. 

Reflecting on the uncertainty of permanent support ar 
from magazines and newspapers, Mr. Kelly had turned hi 
tension to the law, add was in due time called lo the bar. Hav- 
ing a reterilive memory, and a promptitude of expression, he 
soon began to rise in reputation as a lawyer, and would 



the 



HUGH KELLY. 



211 



I 



)ly tave acquired a respectable independeni 
bnl he died in his thirty-eighth year, of a 
aide. 

It seemed to be Mr. KeUy's aim, both [n 
fn his writings, to use fine words, apparently, if possible, to 
obliterate all traces of the meanness of his origin and of his 
early employments. Soon after he was called to the bar he 
turned his attention to the drama, and produced his comedy 
entitled " False Delicacy," which, from the novelty of its char- 
acters and the refinement of its sentiments, but particularly 
from the admirable manner in which it was represented, made 
a very favorable impression on the public. He had, however, 
one great diiEculty to encounter before the manager, Mr. 
Garrick, could venture to bring the play forward. 

Mr, Kelly had written a poem entitled " Thespis," in which 
he criticised the chief theatrical performers of that time, in 
er of Churchill's " Rosciad," but with an inferiority 
of talent which admits of no comparison. This work ap- 
peared soon after Mr. Barry returned from Ireland and brought 
with him Mrs. Dancer, whom he afterwards married. She 
excellent actress both in tragedy and comedy. Her 
Rosalind was, in my opinion, one of the most perfect per- 
formances \ ever attended. She happened to be very near- 
sighted, and Kelly, in his " Thespis," when mentioning Barry, 
alluding to Mrs. Dancer, said that he had " thrust his moon- 
eyed idiot on the town." There was a severity and vulgarity 
in this censure, quite inconsistent with the character of Mr. 
Kelly, and his strictures on other performers were not more 
gentle, so that it required all the suavity of his own manners, 
and even all the zeal of his friend Mr. Garrick, to effect a rec- 
onciliation. 

As Mr. Kelly had allotted a principal character to Mrs. 
Dancer in his play, it was natural to suppose that she would 
revolt with indignation from a proposal to take any part in 
support of it. The lady, however, though at first repulsive 
and hostile, proved in the end forgiving and good-humored. 
"She supported the part assigned lo her with admirable spirit, 



212 



5'0//A' TAYLOR. 




and also condescended to speak a long and humorous epflt^inB 
written by Mr. Garrick. Her admirable mimicry of the Scotch 
and Irish characters, added much to the attraction and success 
of the comedy. 

In this play, to keep aloof from the familiar appellations of 
ordinary life, and perhaps to throw a farther veil over his 
original condition, two of the ladies were named Hortensia 
and Theodora, and the males are chiefly men of rank and title. 
Id his subsequent comedy of "A School for Wives," when 
a challenge is sent from one character to another, it is ad- 
dressed " To Craggs Belville, Esq." — Craggs liaving been 
the name of a gentleman formerly high in office, and esteemed 
by Pope and Addison ; and from what I recollect of Mr. 
Kelly, I have no doubt tiiat his choice of fine 
from the motive which 1 have assigned. 

Mr. Kelly, as I have said, was, perhaps, too lofty, pompoaa, 
and flowery in hjs language, but good-natured, afEabh 
gentlemanly in his deportment, even to an excess of elaborata| 
courtesy. An unlucky instance of Itis loftiness of language 
occurred, as well as I caJi recollect, on the trial of the noto- 
rious Harrington, who had picked a lady's pocket. The 
prosecutrix seemed to be inclined to give her evidence will 
tenderness, and the culprit might probably have escaped pun- 
ishment, but unfortunately Mr. Kelly pressed her a little too 
much, and seemed to convert her lenity into self-defense when 
he addressed her in the following words ; " Pray, madam, how 
could you, in the immensity of the crowd, determine the iden- 
tity of the man i" " 

This question was wholly unintelligible to the simple Vfom- 
an, and he was obliged to reduce his question into merely,. 
" How do you know he was the man ? " " Because," said she,' 
" 1 caught his hand in my pocket." 

Oliver Goldsmith. 

Goldsmith's life and character are so well-known to the 

world, that it would he wasting time to enter on particulars. 

I shall therefore content myself with relating one anecdote, aa 



I 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 213 

9 his character and has not been prinled. Mr. Cooke 
had engaged to meet a party at Marylebone Gardens. He had 
cash enough to pay for admission, but not for the necessity of 
coach-hire and (he casuahy of a supper. He therefore ap- 
plied to his friend Goldsmith for the loan of a guinea. Poor 
Goldsmith was in the same Parnassian predicament, but 
undertook to borrow the sum of a friend, and to bring it to 
'Cooke before he departed for the gardens. Cooke waited in 
expectation to the last moment that allowed him a chance of 
witnessing the entertainments of the place, but no Goldsmith 
appeared. He therefore trusted to fortune, and sallied forth. 
Meeting some hospitable Irish countrymen at the place, he 
partook of a good supper, and did not return to his chambers 
till five in the morning. Finding some difficulty in opening 
"lis door, he stooped to remove the impediment, and found it 
ras the guinea thai Goldsmith had borrowed for him, wrapped 
n paper, which he had attempted to thrust under the door, not 
observing the hole in the letter-box, obvious to everybody else. 
Cooke thanked him in the course of the day, but observed that 
lie ought not to have exposed the sum to such danger In so 
critical a state of their finances, as the laundress, coming early 
in the morning, or any casual stranger, might have seized the 
precious deposit. At what time Goldsmith had left the money, 
he could not recollect ; but he might naturally have thought 
fliat he brought it too late, as Cooke had Jeft the chambers. 
J Cooke's observation as to the danger of losing 
e said, " In truth, my dear fellow, I did not think 
of that." The fact is, he probably thought of nothing but 
•erving a friend. 

Goldsmith in the midst of all his luxuriant playfulness, was 
Easily put out of countenance. Miss Clara Brooke, one of my 
earliest and dearest playmates, who lived some time in my 
Other's family, being once annoyed at a masquerade by the 
tioisy gayetj of Goldsmith, who laughed heartily at some of 
the jokes with which he assailed her, was induced in answer 
lo repeat his own line in " The Deserted Village." 

die loud kugh which apake the vacant mind." 



214 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



Goldsmith was quite abasljed at the application, and retira^ 
as if by the word vacant he rather meant barren, than free 
from care. Dr. Johnson wrote the prologue to Goldsmith's 
comedy of "The Good-nalured Man," to which comedy the . 
public have never done justice. In the copy of this prolog 
which appeared in the " Public Advertiser," in 1769, the fol-1 
lowing couplet was inserted ; - 



but it was omitted in the copy which accompanied the plaji 
either from Goldsmith's or Johnson's caution, but probably 
the former. Johnson, mentioning the author in the prologue, 
had styled hira " our Utile bard," but the pride of Goldsmith 
revolted at this epithet, and it was changed 



John Wilkes, 

1 knew Mr. Wilkes, but wa.s too young at the time to be ad- 
mitted into any intimacy with him, even if I had then felt any 
turn for politics. I, however, saw enough of him to be con- 
vinced that he was irritable and passionate. I was better ac- 
quainted with his brother, Heaton Wilkes, a very good kind of 
man, but by no means calculated to take any conspicuous part 
in public life, though his brother once thought that he should 
be able to procure for him the chamberlainship of the city, a 
situation which he afterwards was glad to obtain for himself. 

Soon after the death of John Wilkes, Heaton told me that 
he had not long before asked him for the loan of twenty 
pounds, but was refused, though at that time John occupied a 
house in Grosvenor Square, and maintained an establishment 
corresponding with the situation. He added, that his brother 
had left all his property to his daughter, and that if she died 
and made no provision for him, he should be in a destitute sit- 
uation. Yet John Wilkes was a friend to the people, though 
he forgot to include his brother among them. 

John Wilkes had certainly written two biographical works, 
which he intended for publication after his death, One of 



I 




JOHN WILKES. 



215 



n account of his private and the other of his politi- 
■Cal life ; hut his daughter devoted them to the flames, as if 
! thought there was nothing in the character of her father 
rorth recording. Wilkes had a natural son, whom I knew. 
"i father sent liim for education to Germany, and he came 
:k so completely Germanized, tliat he must have been taken 
"through life for a foreigner. He went by the name of Smith, 
is father procured for him a military appointment in the 
service of the East India Company. He was a good sort of 
young man, incliaed to boisterous mirth, but without any 

t promising abilities. 
The last time I met Mr. Wilkes 1 inquired after Smith, who 
I said I had heard was at Seringapatavi. " Ves," said Wilkes, 
"he was when I last heard of him at Seringa;)rt/am," — thus 
■omewhat rudely differing from the pronunciation which I had 
adopted according to genera! usage. 
He had long meditated the publication of a correct edition 
nt " Catullus," which he at length brought out, and which was 
generally admitted lo evince his taste and scholarship. To 
show that his respect for learning and talents was not over- 
borne by political animosity, when the work came forward, Mr. 
Home Tooke informed me that he sent a copy to him. In his 
iblic controversy with that sturdy adversary, he certainly 
' to most advantage. Tooke's letters were rancorous 
n comparison with the lightness, spirit, and gayety of 
s competitor's. Wilkes was conscious that " Nature had 
lot formed him in her prodigality," but he used to say that 
e handsomest 'man could only be rated at a fortnight before 
n courting the smiles of the ladies. His wit and hu- 
i admirable, and a strong proof of their induence is, 
that they could triumph over the impression of his person. 
Those qualities, however, cannotthrowaveil over the profligacy 
of his life, the looseness of his morals, and the freedom of his 
olitical principles, — for he was, unquestionably, not merely a 
but a republican. 

e late Mr. John Palmer, member for Bath, told me that 
e passed a few days with Wilkes in the Isle of Wight. On 




2l6 JOHN TAYLOR. 

one occasion Mr, Palmer at dinner spoke highly of t 
pigeons on llie table, as of an eilraoriiinary size. Wilkes 
gave the following account of them : " I was particularly fond 
of pigeons," said he, " and wanted to encourage a fine breed. 
I procured sorae from France and other places on the Conti- J 
nent, but, having taken all possible paJns to render thetr recep- 1 
lion agreeable, after a short time they returned to their native *1 
place. At length I despaired of ever possessing a breed of 
my favorite bird, when a friend advised me to try Scotland. I 
did so, and the pigeons that you admire, of which I procured a 
large stock, have never returned to their own country." Per- 
haps the illiberal hatred of Scotland which he entertained in 
common with Dr. Jolinson, a feeling unworthy and disgracefiil 
to both, was one of the reasons why the great moralist c 
sented to be acquainted with him. 

There are many proofs of Wilkes's wit, which are too well J 
known to be introduced in this place. The following, however, f 
I believe, have not publicly appeared. A lady once asked him I 
to take a hand at whist, but he declined in the following t( 
" Dear lady, do not ask me, for I am so ignorant that I cannotfl 
distinguish the difference between a.6inga.ndainave?" HertM 
the republican tendency of his feelings is manifest. 

In 3 dispute between Sir Watkin Lewes and himself, the i 
former said, " 1 'I! be your butt no longer." " With all my I 
heart," said Wilkes, " I never like an emp/y ant." 

It was generally rumored at the time, that Wilkes wrote a: 
answer to a satirical letter to Sir Watkin from Home Tooke, ] 
when Sir Watkin was sheriff. The answer concluded a 
lows : " It only remains, sir, for me, in my office of sheriff, to 1 
attend you to that fate which you have long deserved, and A 
which the people have impatiently expected." 

Wilkes was among the persons who were suspected to 
JimiuH, but though witty, pleasant, and humorous, he ne 
could soar to the dignified height of the great inscrutable c 
sor of the times, who threw fire-brands among all ranks wi 
out distinction or remorse. Upon another occasion he dis- I 
played his sarcastic humor on royalty, for he said " he loved ^ 



JOHN WILKES. 



I 



much, that he hoped never to 

Upon having a snuff-boK presented lo him to take a pinch, 
fce said, " No, sir, I thank you, I have no small vices." 

One evening when the House of Commons was going to ad- 

um, he begged permission to make a speech, "for," said he, 

I have sent a copy lo the ' Public Advertiser,' and how ri- 
l^iculous should I appear if it were published without having 
been delivered." 

When he was member- for Aylesbury, he invited the mayor 
to visit him in London, promising him an hospitable reception. 
The mayor, who had never been in the metropolis, declined 
the invitation, alleging that he had heard London " contained 
nothing but rogues and prostitutes." Wilkes, with a confiden- 
tial air, said, "Why to tell you the truth, Mr. Mayor, I have 
believe that there are in London a tew suspected 
.^aracters." 

The last time 1 met Wilkes was in Holbom, when I resided 
in Hatton Garden, the scene of my infant days, and of all my 
youthful enjoyments. I expressed ray surprise at seeing him 
in that street, as his usual course home to iCnightsbridge or 
to Grosvenor Square, was through Cheapside and the Strand, 
and I asked him if he had been at his old friend Home Tooke's 
trial, which was then proceeding. His answer, from the loss of 
teeth, was not intelligibie ; and making a motion as if I was 
prevented from hearing, by the noise of passing carriages, he 
repeated the same sounds, which, receiving as if I understood 
him, 1 found on reflection were, " Forbid it delicacy." 

Wilkes was certainly a brave, learned, and witty man, but 

his patriotism was a mere trade for power and prolit. My 

friend Joe Richardson used ludicrously to say, that he had " an 

affectionate contempt for Wilkes." I was quite a boy when 

Wilkes was imprisoned in the King's Bench, and was on tlie 

iti of St. George's Fields when young Allen was shot, 

thinking that 1 should live to be acquainted with the fa- 

ite of the mob. 



yOHN TAYLOR. 



le first seasoo^^H 



John Keuble. 

1 became acqu^nted wiih this gentleman in the 
of his performance in London, ai Drury Lane Theatre. 1 at-, 
tended his first appearance, which was in the character of 
Hamlel. It was impossible to avoid being struck with his per- 
son and demeanor, though the latter was in general too statelj 
and formal ; but, perhaps, it only appeared so to me, as I had 
seea Carriclc perform the same character several tiroes a few 
years before, and had a vivid recollection of his excellence. 
There was some novelty in Mr. Kemble's deUvery of certain 
passages, but they appeared to me to tie rather the refinements gf 
critical research, than tlie sympathetic ardor of congenial feel- 
ings with the author. I sat on the third row of the pit, close ta 
my old friend Peregrine Phillips, the father of Mrs. Crouch. 
FhiUips was enthusiastic in his admiration and applause, upon 
every expression and attitude of Kemble, even to a fatiguing 
excess. When Kemble had dismissed one of the court spies 
sent to watch him, and kept back the other, Phillips exclaimed, 
" Oh ! tine, fine." "It may be very fine," said I, " but what does 
it mean, my friend ?" "' Oh ! " he answered, " I know not what 
it means, but it is fine and grand." The enthusiasm of my old 
friend may be accounted for from a report which prevailed at 
the time. Miss Phillips, his daughter, was very beautiful, and 
it was said (hat while Mr. Kemble was at Liverpool, immetU- 
ateiy preceding his engagement in London, it had appearedas if 
a marriage between them were approaching, and the father was 
therefore, naturally strenuous in supporting his expected son- 
in-law. However, the match, if ever intended, did not take 
place, and Pliillips, 1 suppose, felt an abatement of his admira- 
tion of the actor. 

1 was, at first, so little an admirer of John Kemble' 
formance of " Hamlet," that considering it stiff, conceited, ahd 
unnatural, I wrote four epigrams in ironical commendation of 
it, and inserted them together in a public print which I then 
conducted. The late Mr. Francis Twlss, who look a strong 
;st in the welfare of Mr. Kemble, introduced 







•JOHM KEMBLE. 



219 



tbe lobby of Dniry Lane Theatre. I bad just before seen bini 
point Kemble's notice to me and heard him whisper the word 
epigrams : I was, therefore, not prepared for the unaffected 
"vilily with which he addressed me. We immediately fell 
conversation, and I remember that Mr. Kemble very 
began a defense of declamation, stating it as originally 
instituting one of the cliief features of theatrical excellence 
the Grecian stage ; whence, on reflection, 1 inferred that he 
thought I was disposed to require too much of the manners of 
familiar life in dramatic representations. From that time we 
often met in company, became well acquainted, and, judging 
iiara myself, our intercourse gradually ripened into what is 
commonly denominated friendship. I am convinced that if he 
had been born to affluence, and in a higher station, he would 
have been a distinguished character in political lifa. He had 
suffered the privations naturally incidental to a connection 
with a provincial theatre ; but when he rose to reputation and 
fortune in the metropolis, he acted with a spirit and liberality 
that seemed as if he were " to the manner born." 

The late Mr. William Lewis, himself an cKceUent comic 
actor and a shrewd judge of theatrical merit, told me that as 
through an obscure town in Yorkshire, to per- 
," he saw John Kemble in the part of " Love- 
ill," in "The Clandestine Marriage," ill-dressed for the 
:ter, with antiquated finery, unsuitable to a merchant's 
■k, and with black unpowdered hair ; yet, notwithstanding 
the stiffness of his deportment, he displayed so much good 
sense and judgment, that Mr. Lewis assured me he silently 
predicted Mr. Kemble would rise into theatrical distinction. 

Kemble's classical and general knowledge, and the 
tesy of his manners, as well as his improving theatrical 
procured him high and- extensive connection.':, 
kept a hospitable and alegant table. He gave a liberal 
with one of his nephews to an eminent artist, and 
equal sura with another to a solicitor. When the late Mr. 
Twiss had complied an index to Shakespeare, a work 
marvelous industry and labor, and, of course, valuable to 





220 JOHN TAYLOR. 

the admirers of the great bard, but was not willing to hanvd 
the expense of publication, Mr. Kemble, with the zeal of friend- 
ship, and admiration of ihe poet, determined th: 
esling a work should not be buried in obscurity, and engage^., 
with the bookseller, at his own risk. He however inatituU ' 
a subscription among his friends at two guineas for 
copy ; but though, no doubt, he collected a considerable su]%l 
it was probably by no means sufficient to indemnify him for 
the expense of a publicalion of so very arduous and compli- 
cated a description. I hardly need add, that I became one of 
the earliest subscribers. A great part of this laborious work, 
which, most probably, will never be reprinted, was destroy! 
by an accidental (ire, so that the remaining copies have be( 
much advanced in price. 

I was in the habit of constantly visiting Mr. Kemble 
Sunday morning for many years, and if I saw Lim in th 
termediate daj's, he always said, " Taylor, remember the Heb- 
domadal." I found him generally with some book 
script before him relative to his art. Sometimes he was cold, 
negligent, and less courteous than at others, and then feeling 
disgusted, 1 resolved to forbear my visit the next week ; but 
the pleasure I always found in his company 
temporary spleen. He was fond of Dryden, r 
read to me passages from that admirable poet. 1 do not think 
he was a good reader, for he generally read in a tone either 
too low or too high. There is obviously but one tone in read- 
ing or acting that excites the sympathy of the hearer, and 
that is the tone which feeling suggests and expresses; and 
such was the charm of Garrick, which rendered his acting ia 
tragedy or comedy impressive in the highest degree.' There 
were many of Kemble's visitors who made court to him by 
telling him of faults in'Garrick's acting, or of the unsuita- 
hleness of his person for some of the characters which he 



for J 
di- 
of 



i 



Dihers, vijth admirable 






I and tamiliaiity. Ue v 



JOHN KEMBLE. 



represented ; for instance, Sir Charles Thompson, afterwards 
Hotham, a respectable old baronet, told Kemble that Gar- 

prick always gave him the idea of a little butler. Kemble 
generally told me what was said to him of this kind, not as 
appearing to believe such remarks, but to know whether they 
received a confirmation from me. On such occasions, I never 
abated in my reverence for Garriek, but always discounte- 
nanced such insidious flattery, and to the best of my recollec- 
tion and ability, asserted the wonderful powers of the departed 
actor. Kemble always listened to ray panegyric on his great 
predecessor with apparent conviction, but I cannot help be- 
lieving that he would have liked me much better if I had never 
seen Garriek. 

Kemble, with all his professional Judgment, skill, and ex- 
perience, like all other mortals, was solnetimes induced to 
mistake the natural direction of his powers, and to suppose 
that he was as much patronized by the comic as by the tragic 
muse. When I called on him one morning, he was sitting in 
his great chair with his nightcap on, and, as he told me, cased 
in flannel. Immediately after the customary salutation, he said, 
"Taylor, I am studying a new part in a popular comedy, and I 
should like to know your opinion as to the manner in which I 
am likely to perform it." "As you tell me it is a comic part," 
said I, " 1 presume it is what you style intellectual comedy, 
such as the chief characters in Congreve, Wycherley, and 
Vaoburgh." " What do you think," said he, " of Charles, in 
the ' School for Scandal ? ' " " Why," said I, " Charles is a 
gay, free, spirited, convivial fellow." " Yes," said he, " but 
Charles is a gentleman." He tried the part, but his gayety 
did not seem to the town to be of " the right flavor." It was 
said by one of Mr. Kemble's favorable critics in a public print, 
that his performance was " Charles's restoration," and by an- 
other, that it was rather Charles's martyrdom." 

Another time he attempted a jovial rakish character in one 
of Mrs. Behn's licentious comedies, from which, however, he 

I expunged all the oSensive passages ; but he was not success- 




222 JOHN TAYLOR. 

ful.i I met him one day as I was hurrying hi 

dinner abroad, and he strongly pressed me to go and dine 

him, alleging that as Pop (Mrs, Kemble) 

should be lonely and dull. I told him I was positively 

gaged, and should hardly be in time. " Well, then," said he, 

'■I 'U go home and study a pantomime." It is hardly possible 

to conceive so grave a character contemplating new tricks and 

escapes for harlequin, and blunders for the clown. 

He had determined to act Falstaff, and I was in the greefti, 
room at Covent Garden theatre one Saturday, when, after hiB' 
performance of some character which I do not recollect, three 
beards were brought to him, that he might choose one iof 
Falstaff. We were invited to dine the next day with the late 
Dr. Charles Burney, rector of Deptford. Kemble took me in 
his chariot, and we talked on the road of his intended Falsiafi. 
He said that he had resolved to attempt the part, but was 
afraid that, when " he came to the point, his heart would fail 
him." A ludicrous incident happened at this dinner. The 
doctor, in helping Kemble to part of a pudding, gave him a 
very large portion, which induced me to say, " Burney, you do 
not observe Kemble's rule in your ample allotment to hira. 
" What is that ?" said the Doctor. " Why," said I, "when I 
last dined with him, I was as lavish as you in distributing a 

1 Ktmblc ccitainly bdieved that he posKased comic laTents, and as lor u i ■Trong 
EPnae af humor aad a. diapontiDll lo enjay yxt^arCcy could lead fo exdte aocb a c«t 
^cdon, lie mi^hl i^atuiHlly yield Eo KFf.d«pplioii. My lively fiiditd, George CiJnuw, 
whose tmherani EayEty »iBirM nobody, and lo whose Badrical lura 1 hnve alln 
t»En a witness and 1 victim, beiDg ulced his opinion ol Kemble'i " Don Felix,'' taid 
that it displayed loo mudi of the Don and ton UlUe dI [he Fein. Kemble conld 
bear jocular remaAs cjn his aclina with unaffected BiMjAhiunor. 1 remember Ihil 
after we became tolerably well acquainted, and were one day talkil 
of his Hamlet. I, perhapa loo freely, aaid; " Come, Kemble, 1 11 gi 
cf yaur HamleL'' " I 11 be glad," naid he, " lo uhptove by the reflec^on." t ^ 



\ 



Ihe plalfoi 



n scene, eii^laimed, " My lalher," and then bending my 1 
opera^lasB and peeping; ihrough it, continued, "McthI' 
[e look this freedom in Rood pan, and only uid, " Why, t 



m 



JOHIf KEMBLE. 223 

ritrrilar djsh. Kemble said, ' Taylor, don't help so much to an 

individual, for if jmu do it will not go round (he tabic' " Being 

somewhat in the habit of imitating Kemble, I spoke these 

words in his manner, forgetting that he was before me. 

" Now," said Kemble, " he thinks he is irnitating me — I 

appeal to the lady ; " and these words he delivered so much 

^^a the manner which 1 had assumed, that Mrs. Burney and 

^Bfte Doctor could not help laughing, Kemble gave way to the 

^^fcme impulse, and I was relieved from embarrassment. 

^V^ I was one night in a box with him when the theatre was 

^uluminated preparatory to the opening for the season, and a 

Mr. Rees was employed to give imitations, in order to try the 

effect of the voice. Kemble was one of the persons imitated, 

and while the mau was delivering an imitation of biai, Kemble, 

in tittle above a whisper, knocking his stick on the ground, 

said, with perfect good-humor, "Speak louder, you rascal, 

speak louder." The man did not hear, nor did Kemble intend 

_,iie should. 

^^m Before the return of Mrs. Kemble from the country, I dined 
^Brith him one day tlte-A-lete, and a very pleasant evening I 
WjjasBed. I submitted to him my tale of Frank Hayman, on 
"which he made some judicious corrections in writing, on the 
spot, and afterwards read to me his translation of Ovid's epis- 
tle from (Enone to Paris, which, so far as I could judge by 
mere recitation, was rendered with poetic spirit and beauty. 
He told me that he intended to publish it with graphic illus- 
trations by his Mend Sir Thomas Lawrence. It is to be re- 
gretted that it was not published, as it would do honor to his 
memory. He held Sir Thomas Lawrence in the highest es- 
teem and friendship, and these feelings were evidently returned 
in full measure by the great artist, as by the many portraits 
which he painted of Mr. Kemble it is obvious that his time 
and talents might have been employed to much pecuniary ad- 
vantage while they were thus devoted to friendship. I believe 
no friendship which history has recorded, was more sincere 

and warm than that between the great painter and the great 

r, — both with minds well stored, both men of correct 
^te and polished i 



224 



JOHN TAYLOR. 




Mr. Kemble possessed a high and manly spirit, 
involved in a duel with Mr. Daly, the manager of the Dublin 
Theatre, before he first came to London ; and another with 
Mr. James Aikin, a. respectable actor of Drury Lane Theatre, 
when Mr. Kemble was manager- Aikin, though a sensible 
and worthy man, was irritable and obstinate. Mr. Kemble 
■night easily have avoided the last duel, but would not suffer 
his spirit to be called in question. 

The late Hon. Mr. St. John had written a tragedy entitled 
" Mary Queen of Scots," which he had submitted lo the Drury 
Lane manager, and which had been accepted for representa- 
tion ; but the anxiety of the author induced him to complaia 
of delay in bringing it before the public. Some hasty 
passed in the greenroom on the occasion between him and' 
Mr. Kemble. At length, in the irritation of literary vanity 
and aristocratic pride, he told Mr. Kemble that he was a man 
whom '■ he could not call out" Mr. Kemble answered with 
perfect coolness, " But you are a man whom I can turn out, 
and therefore I desire you will leave this place immediately." 
Mr. St. John prudently retired, but, reflecting on the insult 
which he had offered to a scholar and a gendeman, soon re- 
turned, and made an apology, which restored good-humor, and 
the play was soon afterwards represented, but not with muclt 

Mr. Kemble was known to be of a convivial turn of miii4i 
and not in a hurry to leave a jovial party. He parsed an 
evening with my late friend Dr. Charles Burney, who kept an 
academy on the Hammersmith Road, near to the three-mile 
stone. Mr. Kemble remained there till five in the morning, 
when looking out of the window he saw a fish-cart on its way 
to Billingsgate, and having no other conveyance to town, he 
bailed the driver, and desired to be his passenger. The man 
readily consented, when Kemble adapted himself to the capac- 
ity of the man, who declared that he never met so pleasant a 
gentleman before. Instead of gelling out, he desired the man 
tti take him on to Billingsgate, where some of the people hap- 
pened to know his person and (old it to the rest. The people 



\ 



\ 



yOHN KEMBLE: 225 

left their business, gathered round him, and gave him a. cheer. 
Mr. Pearce, then an eminent fishmonger in London, and aa 
old friend of Maeklin the actor, advanced towards Mr. Kemble, 
and offered to show him the place. Mr. Kemble remained 
some time, gratified the crowd with some humorous sallies, and 
then told Mr. Pearce that if he could get a coach he would 
take home a turbot for Mrs. Kemble. Mr. Pearce dispatched 
one of his servants, who soon brought a coach, and Mr. 
Pearce took care to procure for him the best turhot the market 
afforded, and he went off amid the shouts of the people, which 
he returned with gracious salutations. Mr. Pearce has some 
years retired to Margate, and from him 1 learned the latter 
part of this anecdote. 

Mr. Kemble resided some time on Turnham Green, during 
the summer season, where 1 had the pleasure of dining with 
him, and he read to me his romantic entertainment of " Lodo- 
iska." There was a club at the Packhorse Tavern, consisting 
of the chief gentlemen of the neighborhood, of which Dr. 
Wotcot, Mr. Jeas^ Foot, and Mr. Jerningham were admitted 
members. Mr. Kemble was invited to dine at this club, and 
Mr. George Colman happening to call on Mr. Kemble, he was 
invited also. They kept up the ball till most of the members, 
who had remained long beyond the usual time, entertained by 
the remarks of Kemble and the gayeties of my friend Colman, 
gradually withdrew ; and Kemble and Colman did not break up 
till twelve o'clock the next day, having been left by themselves 
for many hours. 

I have been more than once kept up by Mr. Kemble till 
lour and five in the morning. This I remember particularly 
to have happened after his first performance of Oclavian, in 
"The Mountaineers." At length, however, he became quite 
temperate ; and the last time I dined with him at hjs own 
house in Russell Street, Bloomsbury, I said 10 him, " Come, 
- Johnny, we have not drunk a glass of wine together." Mrs. 
Kemble then said, " I am Johnny, Mr. Kemble does not drink 
, and I am ready for you." Mr. Kemble did not drink 
'S 




226 yOHN TAYLOR. 

wine all the time, but was in such good spirits a^ to show^ 
he had no occasion for siicli an auxiliary. 

He often pnid me the compliment of consulting n 
passage of Shakespeare that appeared dottbtf ul,* and i 
listen with great attention to any opinion that differed from 
his awn ; and J do not recollect any occasion on which I had 
not reason to assent to his explanation oC the test. But 1 
never knew any person who was more ready lo attend lo the 
suggestions of others. He often desired that I would let bim 
know where I did not approve of his acting ; and his man- 
ner was so open and sincere, that 1 did not scruple to give my 
opinion, even to such a master of his art, and so acute a critic 
He never spared pains to ascertain the meaning of what he or 
anybody thought doubtful. 

I remember once, in compliance with his request, I told him 
I thought that in one passage of "Hamlet," Garrick as well 
as himself, and all others, were wrong in delivering it. The 
passage was where Horatio telis Hamlet that he c 
his father's funeral, and Hamlet says it was rather to see hiv _ 
mother's marriage, when Horatio observes " it followed baitf ■ 
upon." Hamlet replies. 



■' Thrift, (hrifl, Horatio, ihe funeral bakEd m 
Did coldly (umlsh lonh Ihe mam^:c ublE 



I observed that Ihis passage was always gi 
whereas in my opinion it ought to be delivered with iromcal 
praise. He immediately took down a Polyglot Dictionary, and 
examined the derivation and accepted meaning of the word 
thrift in all the languages, and finding that it was always giv« 
in a commendatory sense, he thanked me, and always afM| 
gave the passage in the manner I had suggested. 

I ventured to point out other alterations in " Hamlet " whid 
it might appear vain in rae "to mention. Suffice it to say, that 
in hearing them he said, "Now, Taylor, I have copied the 
part of Hamlet forty limes, and you have obliged me to con- 
sider and copy it once more." This is a proof of the labor and 
study which he devoted to his profession. It is but justice U ~ 



hiv J 

cil 

>rd 

given^^ 

vhicjH 
, thai'^ 




JOHN KEMBLE- 



227 



it of his family, aa well as to himself, to say they were 
all so perfect in their parts that the prompter never was ap- 
pealed to in their acting. 

In the evening whicli I passed with him and Mr. Richardson 
at the Bedford Coffee House, though he admitted Mr, Garrick 
to be probably the greatest actor that ever existed, yet, re- 
ferring to the play of " Pizarro," of which he seemed to be 
as proud as he had reason to be of his original works, he 
observed that he thought Garrick could not have performed 
RoUa so well as Kemble. This opinion may be considered as 
a sort of parental bigotry, from which even the highest minds 

On the first representation of "The Mountaineers " at the 
Haymarket Theatre, I met him in the greenroom at the end 
of the play, when he had performed the part of Oclavian, and 
he asked me lo take a glass with him at Mrs. Stephen Kern- 
ble's, who lodged in the Haymarket, and who was sister to my 
fiist wife. I objected, observing I wa.s afraid he would keep 
me up too late. He said I need not be afraid, for that he 
lived at Turnham Green, to which he must go that night, and 
as (he play succeeded, and was likely to have a long run, and 
he had a fatiguing part in it, he required rest too much to keep 
late hours. I consented, but was actually kept by him till 
seven in die morning. His carriage had been waiting at the 
door all the lime, and he then offered to carry me home to 
Hatton Garden ; 1 however dedinet! the offer. 

He was very desirous that I should introduce him to my 
friend William Gilford, whom he highly respected, not only for 
his learning and poetical talents, but as the shrewdest and 
most intelligent of all the editors of dramatic authors. I 
settled an evening with Mr. Gifford, and went with Mr. Kem- 
ble at the time appointed. They had all the talk to themselves, 
and seemed to be highly gratified with each other. Mr. Kem- 
ble offered him the free use of his library, if he thought it 
'would assist him in his illustration of Ben Jonson, whose works 
Mr. Gifford was then preparing for publication, Mr. Gifford 
availed himself of this offer, and all the books he wanted were 
[I'tmmediately sent to him, and were carefully returned. 



"JOHN TAYLOR. 



1 supping at i^^| 



Richard Tickell. 
1 trick with Tickell, when s 
coffee-house with a friend, to quit the room upon a 
tence for a few moments, and leave the friend to pay the reck- 
oning. I met him and Joe Richardson one nighl in the Piazza 
at Covent Garden, and they insisted on my going with them 
into the coffee-house to take a few oysters. I readily com- 
plied, but reflecting that I had only a few shillings in my 
pocket, and fully aware of Tickell's practice, I kept wat(^ 
over him, that 1 miglit run no hazard. At length, remaining 
till a very late hour, as might naturally be expected with men 
of snch talents, I desired my friend Richardson to pay my 
share, and retreated. This habit was certainly not the effect 
of meanness or of parsimony in Tickell, but of a waggish hu- 
mor, by which I should assuredly have suffered, as it would 
have been an additional pleasure to play it ofT on a novice. 

1 was well acquainted with the characters both of Tickell 
and Sheridan. It was supposed by some of their friends, 
though not of the most discerning, that Sheridan w;is jealous 
of the conversational powers of Tickell. If there really was 
any jealousy between them, which I sincerely hope was not 
the case, as they were originally warm friends, besides being 
connected by marrying two amiable sisters, the jealousy was 
more likely to be on the side of Tickell, as he had failed tn an 
opera, entitled "The Carnival of Venice," and Sheridan had 
been successful in all his dramatic pieces, which are styled 
stock-plays, and had, moreover, become one of the chief na- 
tional characters as an orator and a politician. 

Besides, Sheridan's poetical genius was of a higher cast, 
as evinced in his " Monody on the Death of Garrick," and his 
admirable prologues and epilogues, which are equal to any in 
our language. It is not, however, to be inferred, that though 
Sheridan's powers were of a superior order. Tickell was not 
possessed of considerable talents, — in fact, that he was not a 
man of genius. He displayed great wit, humor, and an appro- 
priate delineation and characteristic diversity of character in 



I 



p 



RICHARD TICKELL. 229 

his " Anticipation, " and poetical spirit in his " Wreatli of 
Fashion," and more in his " Charles Fox, partridge shooting, 
to John Townshend, cruising." He was peculiarly spirited and 
entertaining in conversation. 

A whimsical circumstance, exemplifying this last quality, 
occurred during 3 short visit which he paid at Oxford, to the 
head of one of the colleges. Dining in the common room, 
and happening to be more than ordinarily facetious, a very old 
member of the University, whose mind had been impaired by 
study and lime, and who was very deaf, observing the effect of 
his lively salUes on the company, and hearing that his name 
was Tickell, asked the gentleman who sat next to him, and 
who was a wag, whether that was the Mr. Tickell who had 
been the friend of Mr, Addison. The gentleman told him it 
was the same person. The old member then expressed great 
regret that he sal at such a distance, and was loo deaf to hear 
the brilliant effusions of Mr. Tickell's genius, particularly, too, 
as he might also hear some original anecdotes of his immortal 
friend the author of " Cato." The wag, to console him, prom- 
ised that whenever Mr. Tickell uttered anything of striking 
humor, or told an interesting anecdote, he would relate it to 
him. The wag gave a hint to the company, most of whom 
happened to be as sportive as himself, of the old member's 
misconception in taking the Mr. Tickell present for his grand- 
father, and promised themselves much entertainment from the 
mistake. Tickell exerted himself with great gayety to exiiibit 
his genius and learning, and the old member was quite agog 
to hear what passed. Whenever a laugh was excited by what 
Tickell said, the old gentleman resorted to his waggish friend, 
to know what he had heard. The wag either invented a bon 
mot, or told a ludicrous incident, which, perhaps, delighted the 
former even more than if he had heard Tickell's real efiusion. 
This whimsical entertainment continued till the humor was no 
longer diverting to the party ; and the object of this hardly 
allowable jocularity retired, proud that he had been in com- 
pany wilh the friend of Mr. Addison, but lamenting that he 
could only profit by his wit and humor at second-hand, 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



iety of resignii^^^l 



Rev. Wrx-LiAM Peters. 

Mr. Peters lold me that besides the propriety 
his academical honor, he was induced to relinquish his pro- 
fession of an artist by the following circumstance -. A lady of 
quality having requested he would recommend her to a good 
landscape painter, as she wanted a couple of pictures of that 
description, he replied, that considering Richard Wilson as 
the best painter of landscapes, he recommended him. The 
lady tlien desired that he would accompany her to the painter's 
house. He accordingly went with her, and found the artist at 
home. The lady desired to see some specimens of his skill, 
and Wilson had luckily not sent home two pictures which he 
had just finished, and brought them to her. Peters said he 
was afraid that Wilson's bold style and rough coloring would 
not be suitable to female taste, and that the lady would not be 
duly impressed with the grandeur o£ his conceptions ; that he, 
therefore, placed them at some distance, in order to make theni 
appear to more advantage. The lady, however, happened to 
be struck with them, and gave him a commission to pajnt two 
landscapes, at a liberal price, on subjects chosen by himself. 
As Peters was going to hand the lady into her carriage, not 
intending to return with her, Wilson whispered that he wanted 
to speak to him. Peters, of course, returned with him. WU- 
son, after thanking him warmly for his kind recommendation, 
told him he was so distressed, that if Peters would not lend 
him ten guineas, he could not fulfill the order, as he had no 
Money to buy colors or canvas. Peters promised he would 
send the money to him as soon as he reached home. Peters 
assured me that the distress of this great artist produced a 
strong effect upon his mind ; for if Wilson, who was decidedly 
the best painter in his province of art, was so reduced, what 
must he expect who had so many rivals of distinguished talent 
in the line of portrait ? 

Peters after this began to prepare himself for the chui 
and entered his name at one of the colleges at Oxford, 
this university he became acquainted with the late Mr. Willi 



1 






REV. WILLIAM PETERS. 23 I 

GifEord, whose translations of "Juvenal" and "Persius 
prove his learning and poetical vigor, and whose editions of 
the works of Massinger, of Ben Jonson, and of Ford, may 
fairly rank him as the best dramatic critic in our language. 
Mr. Peters, no doubt, improved his classical knowledge, and 
prepared himself for the sacred calliag, by the assistance of 
Mr. Gifford. Mr. Peters and Mr. Gifford remained in in- 
timacy and friendship for some years, but, as Drjdcn says. 






id, unhappily, friendship is founded on the sar 
tenure. At length these friends became bitter enemies : but 
before this melnncholy event took place, I dined with Mr, 
Peters at a house in Millbank, which belonged to the late 
Lord Grosvenor, and In which his lordship permitted him to 
teside. On this occasion I first met Mr. Gifford, to whom 
Mr. Peters had expressed a desire to introduce me. What 
was the immediate cause of the dissension between these old 
friends I never heard, but their hostility to each other was of 
the bitterest kind. 

When Peters quitted Oxford, he continued to correspond 
with Gifford, who remained there ; and, to save the expense 
of postage, Peters obtained franks from Lord Grosvenor for 
his letters to Gifford, and his lordship permitted the letters of 
Gifford to Peters to pass under cover to his lordship. On one 
occasion Gifford forgot to seal his letter to Peters, and Lord 
Grosvenor frankly confessed that he had the curiosity to read 
it. Hia lordship was so struck by the literary merit of this 
letter, that he thought the author would be a proper travelling 
tutor for his son, the present Lord Grosvenor. He, therefore, 
desired Peters to invite GiSord to London, where he soon 
received an invitation to reside at his lordship's house in 
Grosvenor Square. Gifford was sliortly appointed tutor to 
Lord Belgrave, and afterwards accompanied his noble pupil 

During the time that Peters and Gifford remained in friend- 
fhip, the former considered the unsealed letter as an ac- 




232 JOHN TAYLOR. 

cideot, but when they quarreled, he represented it to me u 
an artifice, by which Gifford thought to tempt the curiosity o£ 
Lord Grosvenor. He had taken, it seems, uncommon pains 
with the letter, in order, as Peters alleged, to make a forcible ■ 
impression on his lordship, and his pku succeeded. J 

John Horne Tooke. I 

I once called on him in Richmond Buildings, with Mr. Meny, 
the poet, just as the latter was on the eve of being married 
to Miss Brunton, the actress. In the course of conversationj 
Mr. Tooke adverted to this intended marriage, and directing 
his discourse to me said, " 1 told this gentleman that I was 
once as near the danger of matrimony as he is at present, but 
an old friend to whom I looked with reverence for his wisdom 
and eiiperience, gave me the following advice : Yon most first, 
said he, consider the person of the lady, and endeavor to 
satisfy yourself that if she has excited, she is likely to secure, 
your admiration. You must deeply scrutinize her mind, reflect 
whether she possesses a rate of intellect that would be likely 
to render her an intelligent companion; if you are satisfied 
she does, you are to examine her temper, and i£ you find it 
amiable, and not likely to irritate your own <: 
you must proceed to obtain all the information you can pro:. 
cure respecting her parents and other rcblives, and if yoQ| 
have no reason to object to their being your relations 
panions, you must then inquire who and what are her friends, 
for you must not expect her to sacrifice all her old connections 
when she becomes your wife, and if you find them agreeable 
people, and not likely to be burdensome or intrusive, and are 
quite satisfied with the prospect, you may then order your 
wedding- clothes, and fix tlie day for the marriage. When the 
bride is dressed suitable to ihe occasion, the friends at church, 
and the priest ready to begin, you should get upon your horse 
and ride away from the place as fast and as far as your horse 
could carry you." "This counsel," added Mr. Tooke, "from 
one who was thoroughly acquainted with the world, made me 
investigate the nature of wedlock ; and considering the dif- 



\ 




EDWARD JERNINGIIAM. 



233 



b 



ficulties attending the advice which he recommended, made me 
resolve never to enter into the happy state." 

This counsel, however, had no effect upon Mr. Merry, who 
I after married, though certainly he was solicitous to avoid 
the match. Mr. Tooke, however, was a man of gallantry. He 
had two amiable daughters, with whom I have had the pleas- 
ure of being in company, and was assured by tlie late Dr. 
George Pearson, that they were good Latin scholars. He had 
also a son, but whose conduct he represented as so different 
from that of his daughters, that on Mr. Merry asking what 
had become of him, Mr. Tooke said he did not know, but hoped 
the next news he should hear of him would be that he was 
hanged. 

Edward Jerningham . 

He told me that he had been always a great admirer of po- 
etry, and at a very early period had become a votary of the 
muse ; that he, therefore, had felt great pleasure in bringing 
from France a letter of introduction to the celebrated Miss 
Martha Blount, the favorite of Pope. He described her as 
short, plump, and of rather a florid complexion, agreeable and 
lively in her manners, but not with such an understanding, or 
such marks of elegance and high -breeding, as might have been 
expected in the favorite of so distinguished a poet as Mr. 

Mr. Jerningham was admitted to a famihar intercourse with 
the great Earl of Chesterfield, who told him that, seeing Miss 
Blount at a large party one evening when the report of the day 
had been that Mr. Pope was dead, he made his way to her in 
the room, and expressed the peculiar pleasure which he felt in 
seeing her, as her presence contradicted the melancholy rumor 
of the morning, concluding that if it had been well founded he 
should certainly not have seen her in that place. When the 
lady understood the nature of it, she affected some surprise 
that such a report should be expected to prevent her from 
visiting her friends, and displayed so much flippant indifference 
on the subject, that the nobleman, who had a great friendship 
for Mr. Pope, resented her levity so much that he never spoke 



234 yOHN TAYLOR. 

to her again. Pope manifested !i[s opinion of Lord Chester^ 
field by the following couplet on using his lordship's pendljj 
which ought to have been included in the poet's works, — 




Mr. Jemingham nsed to dine very frequently with 
Chesterfield towards the close of that nobleman's life, 
dinner-hour was three. The party generally consisted of thi 
earl, his countess, and an old Roman Catholic priest, 
lady and the priest were perpetually Jangling, chiefly on relig- 
ious topics. They were both very violent, and though the 
ear! could not hear them, he saw by their gestures that they 
were engaged in controversy, and used to console himself that 
there was one advantage in his deafness, as it prevented him 
from hearing the grounds o£ Iheir disputes, and consequently 
from being appealed to as an arbiter by either party. The dis- 
putants paid no regard to his lordship, or to his guest Mr. 
Jeminghara, who, by the assistance of the earl's ear-trumpet, 
was enabled to converse with him, and described his conversa- 
tion as a source of the most interesting and instructive obser- 
vations. Here I may properly introduce a very elegant com- 
pliment which Mr. Jerningham paid to Lord Chesterfied 
some verses, the whole of which would do honor to Ihi 
pages. After a general reference to the earl's merits, he tl 
ingeniously adverts to his deafness; — 

" Though deaf nesa, hy a daoni aeverP, 
Stills From Ihioe ur tbc mnim'nim; riU, 
AhI Pbilamel's deli^tful air, 



£'ep deem 
Ah I it aoen Ihini 






iS,hylh 






thadoM 
to the authi 
Hanover Si 
chestra 



ithnwith Ihe 

an opportunity of applying the last line very aptly 
himself. We were at a concert togedier ' 
are rooms, when, observing him lean 



I 



\, 1 softly asked him If it 



''Stun him with the chora! sound." He did t 



1 first . 



DR. SHEBBEARE. 



235 



<dlect the reference, but in a moment turned away with a 
iort of bughing coofusion. 

I have seldom passed so agreeable a day as when I accom- 
panied a lady and Mr. jemingham on a visit to Mr. Pope's 
villa at Twickenham, before " the spoiler came," and destroyed 
every vestige of its interesting state as left by the poet. A 
j^^nistic lad, when we entered the memorable grotto, pointed to 
^^Hn old deal table, and said with ludicrous simplicity, " There 
^^Wr. Pope used to sit and write a copy of verses." There was 
^Hh impressive solemnity in that part of the grounds which was 
^^ttinsecrated to the memory of the poet's mother, Mr. Jerning- 
ham, who had often visited the place, abounded with anecdotes 
of the bard, and with some accounts of his personal habits, 
I which he learned from an old boatman who used to convey 
■Btr. Pope from Twickenham to Richmond. 



. Skebbeaue. 



I slightly acquainted with this gentleman, and intro- 
duced Dr. Wolcot to him one evening as we returned to town 
alter having dined with Dr. Monsey at Chelsea Hospital. We 
dined at the Governor's table, as it B'as then styled, but which 
has long been abolished. We let Dr. Shebbeare have all the 
talk to himself, as he had once been a distinguished character, 
and we wished to know, so far as we had opportunity of judg- 
ing, what were his pretensions to the fame he had acquired. 
He was loud, positive, loquacious, and dictatorial. To keep 
him in good-humor, I spoke in praise of his novel, entitled 
" Lydia, or Filial Piety," which I had read in my early days, 
andwhich I recollected with pleasure ; and this notice of his 
work induced him to say that he had lately called on a friend, 
who not being at home, he took up a book which he found 
upon the table, and opened it in the middle. After reading 
some pages, he said he found the " author's train of thought " 
(such was his expression) so congenial to his own, that he 
turned to the title-page, and found it was actually his own 
work, of which I had been speaking. This statement was 
~ ividently a falsehood, for the work deals litde in reflection, 
d it was impossible for him to have read a single page with- 



236 



JOHN TAYLOR, 



e of the characters of which 




out meeting the names of 
work consisted. 

I never read his " Letters to the English Nation," whicll 
contained the libel for which he was sentenced to the pillory. 
From respect to his function as a clergyman, 
have heard, pennitted to stand upon the board, instead of put- 
ting his head through the hole. During the hour while be 
stood, there was a very hard rain, and an Irish chairman held 
an umbrella over him all the time. When the punishment 
ended, he gave the man half a crown, " What, no more, plase 
your honor ? " said the man. '■ Why you stood but aa hour," 
said the Doctor, " and surely that is enough." "Aye, but con- 
sider the disgrace, plase your honor," rejoined the man, and 
the Doctor, far from being offended, gave him a guinea for his 
humor. This trait of the Doctor's temper is the most favorable 
anecdote I ever heard of him. 

Mr. Tetherington. 
This person I have met in private and in tavern parties, 
He was an Irishman, and chiefly known at gaming-tables, and 
places of a similar description. 1 have heard that when he first 
came from Dublin, he aSected great simplicity, and the persons 
in general with whom he associated, expected to find him so 
easy a dupe, that he went by the name of " The Child ;" but 
it soon appeared, to use their language, that he was "a deep 
one," and more than a match for all of them, as they found to 
their cost. He, however, retained the name of "The Child." 
He had more of that mode of speaking which is styled slang 
than any man I ever met with. As I was once retumiog 
very late with Dr. Wolcot from a company with whom we 
had passed the night, we met Tetherington, who was so tipsy 
that he hardly knew me, but notwithstanding his convivial 
stale, all he said was, " Will you go and have a booze ? " We, 
however, declined the overture, ajid wished him good-night 
He had an agreeable person ; and an actress of merit on the 
London stage was so attached to him, that she relinquished a 
i situation to live with him, and thereby lost her reputa- 
tion, and finally sunk into dejection and ri " 



i 




JAMES THOMSON. 237 

The late Mr. Lewis, the greatcomicactorand the unaffected 
I gentleman, lold me the following anecdote of Mr. Tetliering- 
I ton. An elephant was brought to Dublin, and as it was the 
Lonlyone that had ever been seen in Ireland, the proprietor 
Pieharged a crown for the sight. Tetherington, who wanted to 
t inclined to pay, hastily entered the place, ex- 
f claimed in a hurry, " Where 's your elephant f What ! is that 
him ? Turn him about ; Lord, how he slinks \ 1 can't stay 
any longer | " and, holding his nose while he uttered this com- 
plaint, he as hastily left the place as he had entered, and the 
t keeper was afraid to slop him and demand payment, lest he 
sbould bring a disgrace upon the animal, and lessen its attrac- 
tion. If this story had reached London before Tetherington, 
be might have been deemed, in the words of Pope upon Gay, 
►"in wit a man," rather than "in simplicity a child" 
Following the Alphabet. 
The late King, when Prince of Wales, gave a magnificent 
f6te at Carlton House, and for a few days after persons having 
previously obtained tickets were permitted to see the tables 
and the adjoining rooms of that palace. Lady W com- 
plained bitterly Co Colonel Bloomfield that her husband was 
not invited. The Colonel attempted to soothe the lady, ob- 
serving his Royal Highness had so many persons to invite, 
that, to avoid.giving offense to any, it had been deemed expe- 
dient to follow the alphabet for Ihe order of names, but the 
'Company was found to be complete before the list reached down 
to W. •' Pooh, pooh ! " said the lady, " don't tell me, for I 
<iare say there were many Ws there." 

James Thomson- 
The merit of this poet is universally acknowledged, and 
\ tiierefore all eulngiums on his works are unnecessary; but 
, the character of these and the conduct of his life were essen- 
tially different. Nobody could describe the excellences of 
L the female character with more delicacy than he has done, but 
3 a man of gallantry, if such a denomination may be applied 



23S JOHN TAYLOR. 

lo him, his tasle was of the most vulgar description. My 
friend Mr. Donaidson, resided at Richmond when Thomson 
lived at the same place, and was very intimate with hnn, aa 
may easily be supposed, for Mr. Donaldson was a scholar,a-| 
poet, and a wit. Thomson, spealsing of Miisidora, aajs, thatJ 
she possessed I 



Yet Mr. Donaldson assured me, that when once in company 
with Thomson, and several gentlemen were speaking of the 
fair sex in a sensual manner, Thomson expressed his admira- 
tion of them in more beastly terms than any of the compan] 
and such as, though I well remember, I do not think proper 
preserve. 

The most extraordinary fact in the history of this excellent 
poet I derived from my late friend Mr. George Chalmers, whose 
industry, research, and learning are well known. It was Mr. 
Chalmers's intention to write the life of Thomson, but whether 
to introduce into his elaborate work, " Caledonia," or not, I 
do not recollect ; he fold me, however, the following remarka- 
ble fact, on which he assured me I might confidently depend. 
Mr. Chalmers had heard that an old housekeeper of Thomson's 
was alive and still resided at Richmond. Having determined 
to write a life of the celebrated poet of his country, he went 
to Richmond, thinking it possible he might obtain some ac- 
count of the domestic habits of the poet, and other anecdotes 
which might impart interest and novelty to his narration. He 
found that the old housekeeper had a good memory, and was 
of a communicative turn. She informed him Thomson had 
been actually married in early life, but that his wife had been 
taken by him merely for her person, and was so little calcu- 
lated to be introduced to his great friends, or indeed his 
friends in general, that he had kept her in a state of obscurity 
for many years, and when he at last, from some compunctious < 
feelings, required her to come and live with him at Richmondj 
he still kept her in the same secluded state, so that shi 
peared lo be only one of the old domestics of the family. 



he 
^nt'^^ 




JAMES THOMSON. 



239 






nigth his wife, experiencing little of the attention of a hus- 
K band, though otherwise provided with every thing that could 
K^uake her easy, if not comfortable, asked his permiasion to 
)r a few vfeeks to visit her own relations in the north, 
ffhomson gave his consent, exacting a promise that she would 
it reveal her real situation to any of his or her own family. 
: agreed, but when she had advanced no farther on her 
journey than to London, she was there taken ill, and in a short 
lime died. The news of her death was immediately conveyed 
to Thomson, who ordered a decent funeral, and she was 
buried, as the old housekeeper said, in the church-yard of old 
L Marjlebone Church. 

Mr. Chalmers, who was indefatigable in his inquiries, was 
it satisfied with the old woman's information, hut immedi- 
ately went and examined the church register, where he found 
the following entry : " Died, Mary Thomson, a stranger," in 
confirmation of the housekeeper's testimony. My late worthy 
friend Mr. Malone, I doubt not, would not have been satis- 
fied with this simple register, but would have pursued the in- 
quiry till he had discovered all the family of Mary Thomson, 
the time of the marriage, and everything that cotdd tlirow a 
^^Ight on Ihls mysterious event, important and interesting only 
^^us it relates to a poet who will always be conspicuous in the 
^^unals of British literature. Thus we find that tlie letter from 
^^Rtbomson to his sister, accounting for his not having married, 
^^rhich is inserted in all the biographical reports of Thom- 
son, is fallacious, and that his concealment of his early mar- 
riage was the result of pride and shame, when he became ac- 
qo^nted with Lady Hertford, Lord Lyitelton, and all the high 
mnections of his latter days. 

■. Boswell, in his ever-amusing, and I may add instructive 
e of Dr. Johnson says, " My own notion is, that Thomson ' 
s a much coarser man than his friends are willing lo allow. 
I ' Seasons ' are indeed full of elegant and pious senti- 
ats, animated by a poetic and philosophic spirit ; yet a rank 
., nay, a dunghill, wii! produce beautiful flowers." Bos- 
1 knew Thomson, but the report of the poet's surviving 



240 yoHN TAYLOR. 

friends, who would not suppress the truth, fully confirtns tl 
account of Mr. Donaldson, who was personally ii 
the bard, 

Mr. Chalmers, finding that the old housekeeper retainoj 
some of the furniture which had bel&nged to Thomson, puM 
chased his breakfast-table, some old-fashioned salt-cellars a 
nine-gtasses. I had the pleasure of drinking tea with Mu 
Chalifters on that table. 

Arthur Murphy. 

It was no slight advantage to 
lleman intimately for many year; 

edge of the world from his sagacity and experience. No 
son was better acquainted with mankind. I observed 
attentively and studied his character. In the earlier part 
his life, I understood he had the reputation of being remarka- 
bly well-bred, insomuch that he was said to have realized Dr. 
Johnson's notion of a fine gentleman. However, when I first 
became acquainted with him he had contracted something of 
Johnson's positive, though not his dictatorial manner. 

The chief reason why the Doctor thought Mr, Murphy so 
well-bred was, that he never ventured to oppose his opinions 
directly, but covertly expressed his own. If Johnson di 
matically urged an argument to which Murphy did 
the latter used to say, " But, Doctor, may it not be said 
answer" — and then stated his own opinion, 
plied Johnson sometimes, " it may, by a fool, 
with more courtesy, " Yes, sir, but with more plausibility than 
truth." On other occasions when Johnson was vehement in 
delivering his sentiments, Mr. Murphy used to say, " I think, 
Doctor, a French author, much esteemed, was not of your 
opinion. He says, as well as I remember" — and then Mr. 
Murphy again covertly delivered his own opinions. The 
Doctor'satiswer was generally, "Well, sir, the French liti 
are a learned and intelligent body, and their opinions shot 
not be hastily rejected." By these means Mr. Murphy 
clared thai ihe Doctor was prevented from ever having 



lerai^H 

loub^H 

J 




ARTHUR MURPHY. 24I 

Ted him with direct rudeness on any occasion, though Mr- 
:urphy never servilely submilted to his dictates. 
Mr. Murphy told me that his respect for Johnson induced 
him to have recourse to these expedients, and that even when 
he perfectly agreed with him, lie used 10 adopt the same plan, 
in order to sec how far the Doctor was able to press and illus- 
trate his arguments. Boswell, with all his subserviency to 
inson, sometimes opposed him so bluntly, and consequently 
'ered under the Doctor's formidable rebukes to such a de- 
that Mr. Murphy said he had seen him leave the room 
tears. Mr. Cooke, the old barrister, described the tremen- 
dous force of Johnson's reproofs in the same manner, and 
tiscd to add that there was no living with him without implicit 
sabmission. Fortunately for Johnson, Murphy was intimately 
connected with the Thrale family, to whom he introduced the 
Doctor, who, in consequence, passed many of his years under 
their kind protection. 

Mr. Murphy could not bear to recollect that he had ever been 
on the stage, and I remember to have been present when he 
was reading a sketch of his life, in a periodica] work entitled 
" The Monthly Mirror ; " coming to the passage which alluded 
to his acting, he passed it over with a peevish interjection, 
and proceeded to the rest of the article. He was most bru- 
tally treated by Churchiil, who, indeed, paid no respect to per- 
sons if they happened to differ from him in politics. Murphy, 
length answered him, and other enemies, in a 
m, which excited the approbation of Dr. John- 



^pigoi 



Mr. Murphy was too apt to quarrel with theatrical man- 
agers and booksellers, and this he did with Garrick, whom he 
idolized as an actor, but certainly never liked as a man. It is 
strange that when he mentioned Garrick, it was always in the 
following manner: "Off the stage he was a little sneaking 
rascal, but on the stage, oh, my great God ! " I have heard 
him utter these words several times during the same evening 
without any variation. 

The original ground of difference arose from Garrick's hav- 




242 JOHN TAYLOR. 

ing promised to bring forward Murphy's first play, ' 
Orphan of China," and then rejected it. Owing, however, to 
the friendly inlerposition of Lord Holland, the father of 
Charles Fox, the play was represented, and with great suc- 
cess, Garrick performing the chief character. Mr, Mutphy, 
in his " Life of Garrick," relates a kind artifice which Lord 
Holland adopted to obtain Garrick's consent In that " Life " 
he speaks with great respect of Garrick's private character, 
though he mentioned him so harshly in conversation. 

Another ground of difference between them arose from the 
success of the admirable farce of " High Life Below Stairs." 
Murphy had presented a farce to Garrick on the same subject, 
and said he was convinced that Garrick borrowed the plot 
from his farce, but, fearful of his resentment, induced Mr. 
Townley, one of the Masters of Merchant Taylor's School, to 
appear as the author. If thai, however, was really the fact, 
why did not Murphy publish his own farce, as he never was 
accustomed to suppress his resentments, except, perhaps, that 
Garrick had improved so much on the original conceptioiit 
that he did not think proper to hazard the comparison ? 

Mr. Murphy was a liberal admirer of other writers. He 
told me that he was formerly a constant visitor at a booksell- 
er's shop at the Mews Gate, kept by Mr. Paine, whose son is 
now in partnership with Mr. Foss, in Pall Mall. He further 
assured me, that his chief reason for frequenting that place, 
which was the principal resort of literary characters at the 
time, had been lo listen to the conversation of Dr. Akenside, 
while he himself pretended lo be reading a book. He said 
that nothing could be more delightful than the poet's conver- 
sation. I asked him if he ever became acquainted with him, 
and be answered in the negative. I then asked him why he 
had not endeavored to make himself known to so eminent a 
man, as he was himself a scholar, and well known as a dra^ 
malic writer. " Oh ! " said he, " I had only written farces, and 
thfe Doctor would not have condescended to notice itic." This 
modest delicacy shows that he had no overweening confidence 
in his own powers. He assured me that he had read " Thgj 



I 



DOROTHEA JORDAN. 243 

Pleasures of Imagination " twenty-three times, and always 
with new pleasure. 

After Mr. ^fu^phy had quitted the bar, and resigned his 
First Commissionership of Bankrupts, he lived in retirement 
and neglect. He was always improvident in money matters, 
and 3t one time his chief means of support were founded on 
the expectation of selling the copyright of a complete collec- 
tion of bis works, and his translation of Tacitus. In this 
situation he found it necessary to dispose of a part of his 
valuable library ; and here 1 must relate an incident of an af- 
fecting kind, at which I was present. He called upon the late 
Mr. Coutts, the eminent banker, in the Strand, and tendered 
a part of his library to that gentleman for three hundred 
pounds. Mr. Coutts told him that he liad no time for books, 
and did not want to buy more than he had, but said, *' It shall 
make no difference to you, Mr. Murphy, as you shall find when 
you lake this down to the office," presenting him with a draft 
for that sum. Mr. Murphy was so overcome by his feelings, 
that, after taking a grateful leave of Mr. Coutts, he hurried to 
the Sun Office, in the Strand, and entered the room where Mr. 
Heriot, then principal proprietor of the Sun newspaper, Mr. 
Freeling, now Sir Francis, and myself, were present. He en- 
tered the room hastily, with the draft in his hand, and his eyes 
iiill of tears, and related this generous act of Mr. Coutts, Mr. 
Freeling was then a stranger to Mr. Murphy, whose gratitude 
was so strong, that he was unable to suppress or control it. 
Mr. Murphy afterwards, as some return to Mr. Coutts for (his 
act of kindness, dedicated his Life of Garrick to him with 
suitable expressions of esteem, respect, and gratitude. 

Dorothea Jordan. 
I cannot deny myself the pleasure of saying a few words of 
respect and regret concerning this famous woman. Though 
she did not find me among her warm admirers when she first 
came upon the London stage, she was not ofEended at my re- 
marks on her acting, but had good sense enough 10 prefer 
■incerity to adulation. Mrs- Jordan, though so full of spirit, 



244 



•JOHN TAYLOR. 




and apparently of self -con fidence. was by 
her acting. I remember silting with her one night in the 
greenroom at Covent Garden Theatre, when she was about to 
perform the part of Rosalind, in " As you like It." 1 happened 
to mention an actor who had recently appeared with wonderful 
tuccess, and expressed my surprise at the public taste in this 
Instance. " Oh 1 Mr. Taylor, don't mention public taste,'" 
said she, "for if the public had any taste, how could they 
bear me in the part which I play to-night, and which 
above my liabits and pretensions ?" Yet this was one of 
characters in which she was so popular. 

Catharine Macaulav. 

This lady was ihe sister of Alderman Sawbridge, and agrf 
with him in all his republican notions. According to repol^ 
she was almost as fond of cards as her brother the alderman 
was of politics. One evening as she was playing at whist, she 
was so long deliberating what card to put down, that Dr. 
Monsey, who was one of ihe parly, and distinguished for 
blunt sincerity, told her that the table had waited for her some 
time. She expressed great surprise as well as resentment at 
such a rebuke, as she said she was known to be always vety 
quick at cards. " Well," said the Doctor, " if so, yoiu«, 
madam, is a new species of celerity," The rest of the com- 
pany could not help laughing at a declaration so contrary to 
her practice, which increased the spleen of the lady. 

While she was employed on her " History of England " she 
visited the British Museum, and desired to see the letters 
which had passed between King James the First and his 
favorite, the Duke of Buckingham, whom his Majesty used to 
address under the name of Stennie. Dr. Birch, whose duty 
was to take care of the papers, attended her tor that purpose. 
The Doctor, who was well acquainted with the contents of 
those papers, and knew many of them lo be very obscene, 
requested that she would permit him to select a certain por- 
tion for her perusal, observing that many of them were wholly 
unfit for the inspection of any one of her sex- " Phoo," s;iid 



the^ 



\ 




DR. GRAHAM. 245 

'she, "a historian is of no sex," and then deliberately read 
tbrough all. 

She consulted the noted Dr. Graham upon the state of her 
health, and the Doctor, who knew that she had money, con- 
trived to introduce his brother to her as a better adviser than 
himself. She soon forgot that " a historian was of no sex," 
married him at a time of life when she ought to have been 

riser, and then lost all her historical reputation. She, how- 
'er, soon after published a tract, which she oddly entitled, 
Lo6se Thoughls on Literary Property," and tliereby exposed 
ifself to the raillery of the newspaper wits. 
V 



Dr. Graham. 



I 



knew Dr. Graham very well. He was a sensible and, as far 
I could judge, an extremely well-informed man botli gen- 
erally and professionally. Being too fond of notoriety, he was 
considered a quack, and having lost the good opinion of his 
medical brethren, he became careless of his medical character, 
adopted expedients for support of a licentious description, and 
died in great distress. When sober, he was a remarkably well- 
bred man, with most polished manners ; but when he had con- 
fused his senses with ether, of which he carded a bottle which 
was constantly at his nose, he used to walk in a morning dress 
through the streets, and scowl with misanthropic gloom upon 

, those whom he appeared most to esteem when his faculties 
■were clear. He seemed to consider me one of his favorites ; 
ibut when I have met him in his wandering moments, he has 
frowned upon me with so terrific an aspect, as if he considered 
MIC his bitterest enemy, that 1 found it necessary to make a 
hasty retreat In order to avoid a mob. 

When he lived in Pall Mall, I sometimes called on him in 
the evening, and used to find him on a straw bed with one of 
his children. His hair was dressed as if he had been going 
on a visit. There was always a clean sheet over his straw 
bed. His conversation was grave and intelligent, and his man- 
ners easy and polite. His earth-bathing and his other quack- 

llCrieB are too well known to the public to require any notice 



246 yoHN TAYLOR. 

in ihis place. He was a tali, handsome man, and If he had 
remained stationary at his lirst residence in Pall Mall, where 
he was successful in practice as a regular physician, he would 
have held a respectable rank ; but his recourse lo empirical 
expedients of a ticeijtions kind exposed him to disgrace and 
ruin. He possessed a tine collection of preparations repre- 
senting diseases of the eye, which I have reason to think had 
been formerly the property of my grandfather, the Chevalier 
Taylor. Indeed I do not believe thai the Doctor was par- 
ticularly conversant with diseases of the eye, though at one 
period he held himself forward as an experienced oculists; 
What became of Mrs. Macaulay, or his brother, 1 ne^N 

Jack Spencer. ^ 

A relation of the Duchess of Marlborough of an eccentric' 
character, and who was commonly called Jack Spencer, used 
always to. pay his respects to her on her birthday. On one 
occasion he went in a chairman's coat, which he threw off in 
her presence, and appeared naked. Her Grace remonstrated 
with him on .such a shameless appearance. " Shameless ] " 
said he, " why I am in my birthday suit." 

Another time, for a wager, he drove a hackney-coach 
through the streets quite naked. He was very properly taken 
before a magistrate, who, having heard who he was, and with 
what family he was connected, mildly expostulated with him 
on the indecency of his appearance. " Indecency ! how do 
you mean ? " said Spencer. " In being naked," the magistrate 
replied. " Naked ! why, 1 was born so," rejoined Spencer, 
with an affected simplicity, as a man might be supposed to 
evince who had some natural deformity. 

One of his whimsical freaks was to take a hackney-coach 
with three friends in a dark evening, and order the man ta 
set them down in a gloomy part of the Strand al the side of 
the New Church. He had previously opened the door oppo- 
site to that where the coachman waited, and as Spencer and 
his friends quilted the coach on one side, they went round and 
entered at the other. The coachman was at first surprised. 



1 



JAMES BOSWELL- 



247 






dial more issued from the carriage than he had taken in. As 
they continued to go round and come out, he became dread- 
fully alarmed, and at length his terror was so great that he ran 
from the coach, and rushed into ihe first ptibhc-house, telhng 
the people there he must have taken in a legion of devils ; for, 
he added, witli every sign of horror, that he had only taken 
four in, but had counted eighteen out, and that more were 
coming when he left his coach. 

said that he once contrived to collect a party of hunch- 
backed men to dine with him, some of whom indignantly 
the table. Another whimsical party which he assem- 
bled at his hoTise consisted merely of a number of persons all 
of whom stuttered ; but this meeting at first threatened serious 
consequences, for each supposed he was mocked by the other, 
^d it was with great dillicutcy that their host restored peace, 
,)by acknowledging the ludicrous purpose of his invitation. 

James Bos well. 

Soon after Mr. Burke was appointed army -paymaster, I 

dined at the Governor's table, on the anniversary of his 

Majesty's birthday, and in the course of conversation Mr. 

> Burke said, in answer to something that fell from Boswell, 
" I can account for Boswell's Jacobitism, which, with all his 
present loyalty, he never will get rid of ; when he was a child 
iic was taken to see Prince Charles at Edinburgh. The sight 
of a. fine young man coming upon a great occa.sion splendidly 
Btllred, with drums, trumpets, etc., surrounded by heroic chief- 
tains, and all the ' pride, pomp, and circumstance,' attending 
the scene, made an impression on his imagination that never 
can be efiaced." Boswell admitted that this impression on 
bis raind still remained in vivid strength, notwithstanding all 
his attachment to the House of Hanover. Boswell then told 
the story of what passed that morning between Dr. Johnson 
and Mr. Windham. 

Mr. Windham had been appointed secretary to the Irish 

government, and called upon Dr. Johnson, expressing his 

I fears that his habits had been so different from those of a 



248 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



public functionary, that he feared be was not qualilied for 
situation. " Don't be afraid, sir," said Johnson, " the subor- 
dinates will do all the business, and as for Ihe rest, take my 
word for it you will make a very pretty rascaL" The 
pany, which was very numerous, laughed heartily 
dote, and Mr. Burke loudly said, " That is so like Johnsoa." 
Boswell has said to me more than once, " I should not <Ue 
happy if I were not to see Grand Cairo," but if he stated the 
grounds of his curiosity 1 have forgollen them. 
ever, of a roving turn, and if he bad been gratified with the 
sight of that place, he would have been restless till he had be- 
held some other. 

The last, or nearly the last time I saw Boswell, I met bim 
Henrietta Street, Covent Garden. I told him that 1 
engaged, and was going to dine at a chop-house, and asked 
him if we should take a chop and a bottle together. He said 
no, he was going to dine in the city, and added, " I must keep 
in with those men." His reason was, perhaps, that he might 
have a chance of being one of the city council, or of attaining 
some higlier city honor, not without the attendant advantage 
of the good tare connected with such offices. The only time 
1 ever oiTended him was, when at one of the dinners given by 
the Royal Academy on the birthday of the late Queen Char- 
lotte, I proposed, in a convivial moment, as he Hked to see 
original characters, to introduce Dr. Wolcot, aUm Peter Pin- 
dar, to him. He answered vehemently and indignantly, that 
he never would know that man, for he had abused the King ; 
thougli it is very probable his loyally on this occasion was not 
unmised with the resentrnent which he felt at the Doctor's 
poetical epistle to James Boswell. Wolcot would have had lU) 
objection to take him by the hand, and it was a settled p<ant 
with him never in the slightest degree to attack those whom 
he had before satirized, after he became at all acquainted with 
them. On the contrary, when he became acquainted with the 
ingenious Mrs. Cosway, whom he had ridiculed in his " Odes 
to Painters," he changed the tone of his lyre, and wrote tome 
elegant verses in praise of her talents and personal worth. 



he 




STEPHEN KEMBLE. 



349 



I 
I 



wonder that Mr. Boswell was universally well re- 
ceived. He was full of anecdote, well a.cqiiaii]Ied with ihe 
distinguished characters, good-humored, and ready at 
repartee. There was a kind of jovial bluntness in his manner, 
which threw off all restraint, even with strangers, and imme- 
diately kindled a social familiarity. Mis brother, Sir Alexan- 
der Boswell, was of a more conciliating disposition. I was a 
little acquainted with him, and he, knowing ray intimacy with 
Dr. Wolcot, requested I would make Ihem acquainted. 1 
expressed some surprise, as he had attacked hia brother. 
"Pooh," said he, "that was fun, and not malice. He is a 
man of original genius, and I should like to know him." The 
introduction never took place, for the worthy baronet, who had 
himself a turn for satire, by too free an exertion of his pen 
was involved in a quarrel, and unfortunately lost his life in a 
duel. 

Stephen Kemble. 
Mr. Stephen Kemble was an actor of considerable merit, 
and only precluded from representing ilie first heroic charac- 
ters by his extraordinary bulk. He was a remarkably hand- 
some man. He had been apprenticed to a surgeon in some 
provincial town, but his devotion to the stage induced him to 
resign his profession. He had a strong sense of humor in 
pnvate life, and related anecdotes, particularly of the theatri- 
cal kind, with admirable effect. He also possessed poetical 
talents which appear to advantage in a large octavo volume 
published by subscription. His skill in recitation was so well 
known, that he was generally requested in company to indulge 
them with some passage, which he chiefly repeated from 
Shakespeare. He was so fat, that he required no stuffing to 
appear in Falstaff, which character he supported with a fiow- 
ing manly humor, and, 1 may venture to say, with a critical 
knowledge of his author. All characters of an open, blunt 
nature, and requiring a vehement expression of justice and 
late^ty, particularly those exemplifying an honest indignation 
ag^nst vice, he delivered in so forcible a manner, as to show 
obviously that he was developing his own feelings and eharac- 



2SO 



yoim TAYLOR. 




ner was very successfully displayed id his rep* 
I of the Governor, in Ihe opera of " Inkle and | 

He had experienced all the vicissitudes of a theatrical life ' 
in provincial theatres, if they may be so styled, but by pru- 
dence, good conduct, and the general respect in which his 
character and talents were held, he surmounted all difficulties, 
and was able to leave a competency to his widow. Indeed, 
his wife had essentially contributed to the improvement al his 
fortune. She had acquired a well-merited reputation for her 
talents as an actress at Covent Garden Theatre, under her 
maiden name of Miss Satchcil. J 

Mr. Stephen Kemble made his first appearance at the same I 
theatre, in the character of Othello. Though stout in person, \ 
he was not then of a size that precluded him from performing 
any of the higher order of characters. He was soon at- 
tracted by the person and talents of Miss Satchel], and they 
were married. Their conjugal state was marked by mutual at- 
tachment, as I had abundant opportunities of knowing, for I 
married one of her sisters, who was admired by all who knew 
her, for her personal beauty and the excellent qualities of her 
mind. All who had been acquainted with her deeply sympa- 
Ihiied with me when I had the misery of losing her, about nine 
months after our union. Twelve years elapsed before I again 
married, and I have reason to declare that I have not been less 
fortunate in my second choice, after a union of nearly thirty years. 

Mr. Stephen Kemble was so little scrupulous in relating the 
outward events of his theatrical life, that 1 may advert to them 
here, as they may operate as a warning to young candidates 
for theatrical fame, and prevent them from rashly quitting a 
regular employment which might lead them to independence, 
one of the first of earthly blessings. He said that before his 
marriage, when he was in one of tlie towns of Yorkshire, 
where a large barn was formed into a sort of theatre, the per- 
formances were so little attractive that he and the rest of the 
Thespian party were reduced to the greatest extremities, un- 
able not only to defray the expense of their lodgings, but e 



I 



I 



STEPHEN KEMBLE. 25 I 

to provide food for the passing day. He was persecuied by 
his landlady, whose wretched garret he occupied, with ihe 
daily question, " Why don't you pay your charges ? " and in 
order to disguise the necessity of abstinence, he remained 
two days in bed under pretense of indisposition. On the third 
day he ventured to sally forth, and at the distance of three 
miles luckily discovered n turnip-field, which he entered, and 
there made a cold but mo.'it acceptable repast. The next day 
as he was proceeding to the same hospitable banquet, the late 
Mr. Davenport, husband of the present popular actress of 
Covent Garden Theatre, who was one of this wandering tribe 
of Thespians, met Mr. Kemble, declared he was nearly fam- 
ished, and earnesdy entreated for some assistance. Mr. 
Kemble, whom no distress could deprive of fortitude and 
good humor, told Mr. Davenport that it was 3 lucky meeting. 
for he was going to dine with a friend and could take the lib- 
erty of bringing a friend with him. Here was another diffi- 
culty to poor Davenport, who said his shoes were so cracked 
that he was ashamed of going into company, proposing that 
he should cover them in part with mud, in order, if possible, 
to conceal the fissures. Mr. Kemble assured him that the 
friend to whom they were going was wholly devoid of cere- 
mony, and would care nothing whether he was well or ill 
shod. They then proceeded on their journey ; but Davenport, 
Dearly exhausted by the condition of his stomach, made heavy 
complaints of the length of the way. Kemble endeavored to 
raise his spirits, assuring him that he would find an ample 
feast and no unwelcome greeting. At lengtli they reached 
the vegetable pantry, and Kemble congratulated him on hav- 
ing arrived at the hospital mansion of his friend. Davenport 
looked around with anxiety for a house, and then cast a look 
of dejection and reproach at Kemble for having deceived him 
at so distressing a crisis. Kemble pointed to the turnip-field, 
and said, this is my only friend, it afforded me a dinner yes- 
terday, and I suppose I shall be obliged to trespass on the 
same kindness till the end of the week. Davenport, who was 
iible and respectable man, though an inferior actor, as- 



II, I conte^^^H 
: brought ma ^^| 



252 JOHN TAYLOR. 

sumed better spirits, and said with a smile, " Well, 
though 1 do not lind the fare f expected, you have brought 
to an ample table and 00 spare diet" 

Mr. Kemble used to relate an incident of a more whimsical 
description. He said that while he was manager of a theatre at 
Portsmouth, which was only opened twice or thrice in the neel^ 
a sailor applied to him on one of the nights when there was no 
performance, and entreated him to open the theatre, but was 
informed that, as the town had not been apprised on the oc- 
casion, the manager could not risk the ejtpen.se. " What will 
it cost to open the house to-night, for to-morrow 1 leave the 
country, and God knows if I shall ever see a play again," said 
the sailor. Mr. Kemble told him that it would be five guineas. 
" Well," said the careless tar, " I will give it upoa this condi- 
tion, that you will let nobody into the house but myself and 
the actors." He was then asked what play he would choose- 
He fixed upon " Richard the Tliird." The house was imme- 
diately lighted, the rest of the performers attended, and the 
tar took his station in the front row of the pit ; Mr. Kemble 
performed the part of Richard, the play happening to be 
what is styled one of the stock pieces of the company. The play 
was performed throughout ; the sailor was very attentive, 
sometimes laughing and applauding, but frequently on the 
loek-But lest some other auditor might intrude upon his en- 
joyment. He retired perfectly satisfied, and cordially thanked 
the manager for his ready compliance. It may seem strange 
that a sailor, who in general is reputed to be a generous char- 
acter, should require so selfish an indulgence; but it hardly 
need be observed, that whims and oddities are to be found ia 
all classes of so changeable a being as man. 

Stephen Kemble, who was an accurate observer of human 
life, and an able delineator of character and manners, was so 
intelligent and humorous a companion, that he was received 
with respect into tlie best company in the several provincial 
towns, which he occasionally visited In the exercise o( his pro- 
fession. This favorable reception is the more honorable to his 
conduct, because the llieatrical tribe are held in 



i 

I 



I 



DR. SAMUEL PARR. 253 

very little respect in Ihe provinces. The following instance, 
while it is a proof of the respect in which he was held, is 3 
proof also of the indifference, Ijordering on contempt, with 
which country actors are treated. 

He once told me, tliat while he was walking in 3 town in 
Ireland, with the mayor, who honored him with his arm, one of 
the inferior actors Ixiwed to the m3gistrate with the most ob- 
sequious humility, but did not attract any notice. The man then 
ran before them, and at another convenient spot repeated his 
humiliating obeisance. Still, however, he was passed without 
observation. Again he ran to a place where he thought he 
was more likely to draw attention, but was equally unsuccess- 
ful. Anxious to testify his respect for the mayor, he tried 
again 3t another convenient point, manifesting, if possible, 3 
more obsequious courtesy. At length the obduracy of the rasyor 
softened, though not subdued in pride ; he turned his head to 
look at the persevering actor, but without even a nod of recog- 
nition, and hastily uttered, " 1 see you, I see you," which the 
poor actor considered as an act of gracious condescension. 
The profession has risen since then in the world's estimation, 

Dr. Samuel Parr. 
I never had the pleasure of knowing this gentleman, and 
only once saw him. I will relate one anecdote of him upon in- 
disputable authority, and which has not, I believe, been re- 
corded in any of the numerous memoirs which appeared after 
his death. During the trial, or rather the persecution of Mr. 
Hastings, Burke, Fox, and Sheridan, were in company with 
Parr, who thought proper to give his opinion of the respective 
Speeches of Foi and Sheridan on that memorable event. The 
Doctor -was diffusive in his comments on the last two, mixing 
censure with panegyric, but said nothing of Burke's speech. 
Burke paced the room some time in evident expectation ; the 
doctor, however, remained silent. At length Burke, who could 
restrain his impatience no longer, said, "You have made an 
able comment on the speeches of my two friends with acute, 
judicious, and eloquent impartiality ; but as you say nothing 



254 ^OHN TAYLOR. 

upon my speech on the subject, I conclude you are too deli- 
cate to greel me with mere praise, and that you could c 
cover any faults in it. " Not so, Edmund," replied the Doctor i 
"your speech was oppressed by epithet, dislocated by paren- 
thesis, and debilitated by amplification." 

The following story is told of Dr. Parr, but I do not pretend 
to vouch for its authenticity. It seems he did not live happily 
with his first wife, and had a cat that was a greater favorite. 
When he returned home one day, and was going into his li- 
brary, the feelings of a previous domestic feud not laving sub- 
sided on either part, on opening the room door something 
bobbed forcibly on his face. Upon examination he found that 
his favorite cat had been hanged, and placed in that situation 
on purpose to annoy him. Upon discovering this, he suddenly 
hastened to a portrait of his wife and cue the throat, exclaim- 
ing with vehemence, " Thus would I serve the original if the 
law would permit me I" 

This reminds me of another strange connubial squabble. 
A tradesman and his wife having had a bitter quarrel, in order 
to appease their fury they threw all their portable furniture out 
of window. The wife then drew the bed to the window, lipped 
the ticking, and set all the feathers afloat in the open air ; then 
rushing to the banisters of the stairs and breaking her arm 
upon them, with an insane energy exclaimed, "Now, you 
scoundrel, you must pay for a surgeon 1 " 

Richard Porson. 
The first time I met this literary Leviathan was at the house 
of the Rev. Mr. Peters, one evening, when he was accompanied 
by Dr. White, the author of the celebrated " Bampton Lect- 
ures." It was invidiously discovered, or repreheasibly be- 
trayed, by Mr. Badcock, that he had given essential assistance 
to the Doctor in the composition of those lectures. It may 
reasonably be inferred, that Mr. Badcock assisted Dr. White 
from motives of friendship or of interest. In either case he 
violated confidence. If he gave his assistance from friend- 
ship, his disclosure was vain and treacherous ; if from interest. 







RICHARD FORSON. 



2SS 



I 



I 

I 

I 



mean and unjust ; for it is probable that the Dgclor 
would not have solicited or purchased his aid, if he had 
thought the secret would have been disclosed. Upon the 
principle, with all my reverence for the character of Dr. 
Johnson, I always thought he acted illiberally, if not unjustly, 
in discovering to Mr. Boswell all (he productions which he 
had written for other persons, for many of which be had act- 
ually been paid; and having given the rest, ihey were no 
longer his own ; for he had suffered them to pass under the 
names of others, and had therefore no longer any claim to 
them. 

Whether Porson was drunk when I met Mm on this occa- 
sion, or whether he intentionally showed his contempt for the 
Doctor, Mr. Peters, and myself, I know not ; but he did not 
once join in conversation, and kept playing with a little dog 
all the time he was present, except when oysters and brandy 
and water were introduced, — then the dog was deserted, and 
the oysters came into play. When he had finished with these, 
he resorted to the brandy, and resumed his attention to the 
dog. 

For myself, I did not mind his indifference ; but was shocked 
see such contemptuous negligence towards his host, Mr. 
Peters, and Dr. While, his friends. The 'dog and the brandy 
wholly engrossed his attention. He did not quit 
the house til! a late hour. Dr. White seemed to view the con- 
duct of his friend with composure, as if it was nothing ex- 
traordinary, but "his custom ever of an afternoon." Mr. 
Feters, on the contrary, justly considered it as rude, con- 
temptuous, and insolent. 

1 afterwards used to meet Porson every night at the Turk's 
Head in the Strand, where he retained his devotion to brandy 
-, and often tired the company with his recital of a 
burlesque parody of Pope's exquisite poem of "Eloisa to 
Abelard." It was doubted whether this traveslie of Pope's 
beautiful poem was his own writing ; but the warmth and fre- 
quency of his obtrusive recitations, evidently manifested par- 
ental dotage. A limited number of this offensive poem has 



JOHN TAYLOR. 
I large price, ; 



Samuel Irelanu. 
I became acquainted with this gentlen 



indecency were ^^^L 
X the lime when 



he prwliiced the mass of papers, letters, dramas, etc., which 
he publEshed upon the information of his son, who represented 
them as the genuine reliques of Shakespeare, chiefly in the 
handwriting of the great poet. I was invited as one of a com- 
mittee 10 examine all the documents, and to decide upon the 
question of their authenticity. As I was not conversant with 
old papers, I did not attend the meeting with any intention of 
joining in the decision, but to see the various articles that 
were brought forward as once the property of Shakespeare. 
After the company, consisting of many very respectable and 
intelligent characters, had looked at all tlie books which were 
said to have actually formed a portion of Shakespeare's li- 
brary, as wel! as other matters, they wailed for young Mr. 
Ireland, who had promised to develop the source of these 
valuable reliques. At length he appeared, and after some 
private conversation between him and Mr. Albany Wallace, 
an eminent solicitor at that lime, the latter addressed the com- 
pany, and told them that Mr. Ireland, junior, had not been au- 
thorized by the person from whom he had derived the matters 
in question, but that at a future meeting a full explanation 
should be given. Whether that meeting was ever convened I 
know not, but I remember that the previous meeting did not 
break up without manifest tokens of discontent on the part of 
several of the members. 

During the time that this subject engrossed public atten- 
tion, and it was understood that Shakespeare's manuscript 
play was to be represented, the elder Mr. Ireland invited the 
late John Gifford, Esq., the author of " The Life of Mr. Pitt," 
of " Letters to Lord Lauderdale," " The History of France," 
and many other works, a gentleman of the bar, and myself 
to hear the tragedy of " Vortigern and Rowena" read by him, 
that we might form some judgment as to its merits and au- 



I 



SAMUEL IRELAND. 



357 



thenticify. Among the imputed reliques of the bard there was 
an old-fashioned long-backed chair on which the arms of 
Shakespeare were embossed. The chair, though antique in 
its form, was in perfect preservation. Tea was soon dis- 
patched, and the reading was about to commence, when I re- 
quested to sit in Shakespeare's chair, as it might contain some 
inspiring power to enlighten my understanding, and enable me 
the better to judge. They laughed at my whim, but indulged 
me with the chair. During the reading there appeared to be 
passages of great poetical merit, and of an original cast, but 
occasionally some very quaint expressions, upon ^hidi Mr. 
GifTord commented as often as they occurred. Mr, Ireland 
observed, that it was o£ course the language of the time, and 
that many of the words which were then probably familiar and 
expressive, had become obsolete. One passage, however, Mr. 
Ireland admitted to be so quaint and uninlelligible, that it 
would not be suitable to the modem stage. He then referred 
K'^ Mr. Gifford and the barrister, and asked them if they could 
[oggest any alteration or remoulding of the passage; and 
irhen they declined to propose anything, he asked me if I 
could suggest any modification of it. At this question I 
iffected to start, and said, " Good bless, me, shall 1 sit in 
iSbakespeare's chair, and presume to think I can improve any 
c from his unrivaled muse ? " Mr. Ireland then calmly 
loubled down the page, observing that he was going into the 
inlry, and should have leisure to make any alteration. This 
lervalion first induced me to suspect that he was actually 
EOncemed in devising what was afterwards acknowledged to 
ere fabrication. Yet on full consideration, I am in- 
clined to think that Mr. Ireland really confided in the story 
of his son, and relied on the authenticity of tlie imputed ma- 

s present at the representation of the tragedy, and per- 

i more crowded theatre was never seen. Mr. Ireland 

s family occupied a conspicuous station in the front 

The play was patiently heard for some time, but at 

ast the disapprobation of the audience assumed every vocifer- 



258 



"JOHN TAYLOR. 




ous mode of hostility, together with the more hopeless ai 
ancfi of laughter and derision. Mr. Ireland bore the s 
for some time with great fortitude ; but at last he and his 
ily suddenly withdrew from the theatre, and the play ended id 
the tumult. 

The elder Mr. Ireland afterwards published all these pro* 
sumed documents in a large and expensive form, and in 
written volume defended himself against the attacks of Mr. 
Malone. Mr. Malone had given him an advantage in refusing 
to look at these alleged remains of our great bard, and Mr. 
Isaac Reed also declined to inspect Ihem. As I respect the 
memory of both of these gentlemen, I cannot but think that 
they displayed some degree of prejudice on the occasion, Mr. 
Malone, in particular, however welt-founded his doubts and 
suspicions might be, could only depend on rumor as to their 
nature and the quality of the materials. Yet he wrote a large 
volume on the subject, though his objections must necessarily 
have been chiefly conjectural. He was ably answered by my 
late friend, Mr. George Chalmers, not that he believed in the 
authenticity, but to show that the believers had grounds to 
justify their opinions. He published a second volume on the 
same subject, which displayed great labor, assiduity, and per- 
severance, and brought forward many anecdotes and illustra- ] 
tions of our poetical history. 

It is well known that Dr. Parr was at first a sincere b 
in the authenticity of these documents, and that Mr. Boswett I 
went upon his knees, kissed the imputed reliques, and ex- 
pressed great delight that he had lived to see such valuable j 
documents brought to light. It certainly was a bold attempt .1 
on the part of the fabricator, to bring forward such a mass of ] 
surreptitious productions ; but the variety proved that he pos- 
sessed talents and great ingenuity, as well as industry, for they | 
must have taken up much time and labor in the composilion,fl 
It is said that he at last acknowledged the whole to be a " 
ception. 

I met him one night at the theatre, and to show me t 
what facility he could copy the signatures of Shakespeari 




CHARLES JERVAS. 



259 



which there are but two f 
other, he took a pencil and 
and wrote botli of them wit: 
if he had been writing his i 
mpared the aigc 



nt, and they differ from each 
(iece of paper from his pocket, 
i much speed and exactness as 
I name. He gave tlie paper to 
with the printed autogrjphs 



of the poet, and could not but be surprised at tlieir accuracy. 

»The elder Mr. Ireland must have been mad to incur so great 
SD expense in preparing and printing these document.";, if he 
was conscious of the deception ; but I am still disposed to 
believe that he thought them genuine, notmitiistanding the 
case with which I have mentioned his avowed intention to 
alter the text of Shakespeare. Before this transaction took 
place, he was a remarkably healthy-looking man, with a florid 
^^ complexion, and stout in his form ; but afterwards he was so 
^^Lyeduced :n his body, and seemed to be so dejected in spirit, 
^^^Ubat I naturally inferred the disappointment, expense, and 
^^Ecrilical hostility which he had suSered, had made a powerful 
^^Vbnpression on his mind. He did not long survive this extraor- 
^H.dinary attempt to delude the public, 

^V Charles Jervas. 

This artist, the friend and favorite jiainter of Pope, who re- 
ceived inslnictions from him at a time when the poet was in- 
timate with Sir Godfrey Kneller (who doubtless would have 
been proud of snch a pupil), was but an indifferent artist, and 
totally unworthy of the poet's high panegyrics on his profes- 
sional skill, Mr. Norlhcote. who was a domestic pupil of Sir 
Joshua Reynolds, and lived many years in the same house, 
told me that one day after dinner the name of Jervas was men- 
tioned, when Mr. Northcote expressed his surprise that, read- 
ing the high encomiums of Pope, he had never seen a picture 
by Jervas. Miss Reynolds, the sister of Sir Joshua, and a 
good artist herself, to whom the observation was addressed, 
coururred in the same surprise, never having seen one. She 
then addressed Sir Joshua, who was deaf, and raising her 
^ voice, asked him what was the reason (hat no pictures of Jer- 
ire to be seen- " Because," said Sir Joshua, "they are 



26o 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



all in Ihe garrets." It is certain that Pope, though very fond 
of painting, had little knowledge of the art, and praised Jervas 
with the zeal of a friend rather than with the judgment of 
critic. It would now probably be impossible to find a plcti 
of the painter whose name the poet has immortalized, 
somewhat strange that Mr. Northcote had never heard 
Howard, a painter, immortalized by Prior (he poet. 

COLLEV ClBBER. 

The late Mr, Arthur Murphy, speaking of CoUey, told 
that he once dined with him at Mrs. Woffington's, when he 
spoke with great contempt of Garrick ; and she havii^ said, 
" Come now, Colley, you must acknowledge he is a very clever 
young man," his answer was, " He is very well in Fribblt 
and on further urging him, he said, " He does not play Qa 
so well as my son." But at last when Murphy joined with 
' lady in high eulogiums on Garrick, comparing his animal 
representations of life, and diversities of character, with 
stately piomposity of Quin, he was induced to admit that G: 
rick was an extraordinary young man. 

In the course of the evening, Cibirer was earnestly 
to repeat some passage from any character he had performed? 
and after much importunity he said, " Well, you jade, if you 
wiil assist my memory, I will give you the first speech of Sir 
John Brute." He then delivered the speech with little 
ance from the lady, in the most masterly manner, as.M: 
phy assured me ; and when he bad praised the good qualit 
of Lady Brule, closing with " But here she comes," his expn 
sion of disgust was more strikingly characteristic of a siu-feii 
husband than anything of a similar nature he h: 
nessed on the stage, 

Mr. Murphy told me, also, that he was once present 
Tom's Coffee House, in Russell Street, Covent Garden, which 
was only open to subscribers, when Colley was engaged at 
whist, and an old general was his partner. As the cards were 
dealt to him, he look up every one in turn, and expressed hiK 
disappointment at every indifferent one. In the progress of tfal 



me ^ 




I 



JOSEPH HAYDN. 26 1 

Jsme he did not follow suit, and his partner said, " What, have 

, Mr. Cibber ? " The latter, looWng at his 

■■cards, answered, " Oh, yes, a thousand ;" which drew a very 

•t from the General. On which Cibber, who 

s shockingly addicted to swearing, " Don't be angry, for 

n play ten times worse if I like." 
Colley Cibber lived in Berkeley Square, at the north corner 
of Bruton Street, where my mother told me she saw him once 
standing at the parlor window, drumming with his hands on 
the frame. She said that he appeared like a calm, grave, and 
reverend old gentleman. With all our admiration of the poeti- 
cal and moral character of Pope, it must be acknowledged that 
he absurdly as well as cruelly persecuted Cibber; but tlie lat- 
ter well revenged himself in two weU known letters published 
against " The wicked Wasp of Twickenham," as Pope was 
styled at the time ; and the younger Richardson, who was 
present when Pope was reading one of them, has recorded 
their effects on the irritable temper of the bard. 

Joseph Haydn. 
The first time that 1 saw this celebrated composer was at 
[adame Mara's, in what is now called Foley Place, Maryle- 
Ijone. I had dined there in company with my late friends. 
Dr. Wolcot and Mr. Crosdill, the most eminent performer on 
the violoncello that perhaps ever existed. Before the wine 
was removed, Mr. Salomon, the great violin player, arrived, 
and brought Haydn with him. They were both old friends of 
Madame Mara. Haydn did not know a word of English. As 
soon as we knew who he was, Crosdill, who was always in 
high spirits, and an enthusiast for musical talent of all kinds, 
proposed that we should celebrate the arrival of Haydn with 
three times three. This proposal was warmly adopted and 
commenced, all parties but Haydn standing up. He heard his 
name mentioned, but, not understanding this species of con- 
grattdatioD, stared at us with surprise. As soon as the cere- 
mony ended, it was explained to him by Salomon. He was a 
aoodest, diffident, and delicate man, and was so confused with 




262 JOHN TAYLOR. 

this unexpected a.nd novel greeting, that he put his haoda 
fore his face and was quite disconcerted for 

Finding that lie was in company with so celebrated 
performer as Crosdill, and so popular a poet as Peter Pint 
whose fame had reaclied him in Germany, he felt himself com- 
forlabie, and we did not separate till a lale hour, to the perfect 
satisfaciion of Madame Mara, who was delighted to see so 
great a genius as Haydn enjoying the animated character of 
Crosdill, the sarcastic shrewdness of Salomon, and the whim- 
sical sallies of Peter Pindar. A few months after, when 
Haydn had acquired some knowledge of the English language, 
Mr. Salomon invited him, Dr. Wolcot, and myself, to dine at 
the cofEee-house in Vere Street, Oxford Street, in a private 
room. Salomon, who was a very intelligent man, entertained 
us with anecdotes of distinguished characters in Germany, 
and explained many observations which Haydn made on the 
works of Handel, Mozart, and other eminent musicians ; at 
length the name of Pleyel was mentioned, and Dr. Wolcot, 
who was apt to blunder, burst into a rapturous eulogium on 
the admired concertante of that composer, and on his taste and 
genius as a musician. The Doctor carried his zeal to stich an 
extent, forgetting thai there was so great a musical genius in 
the room, that Haydn at last, readily admitting the merit of 
PleyeJ, could not help adding a little warmly, '" But I hope it 
will be remembered that he was my pupii." The Doctor felt 
this remark as a rebuke, and attempted a confused apology. 

John Opie, R. A. 
This artist was one of those whom Nature ord^ns to rii 
into eminence, notwithstanding the lowness and obscurity 
their origin. He was the son of a carpenter in Cornwall, at 
at an early period, discovered a propensity to drawing, whitdi 
his father did not discourage. Dr. Wolcot, having heard (rf 
the boy, and being fond of painting, desired to see him. For 
that purpose he went to the father's house, where he asked for 
John, and the boy presented himself. The Doctor desired to 
see his drawings, and he ran across the yard to fetch them. 



1 

•II 

of ■ 



yOHN OPIE, R. A. 263 

Wolcot told me that he should always have io his ears the 
sound of the boy's leather apron clattering between his knees, 
as he ran eagerly to bring the proofs of his graphic skill. 
Rough and uncouth as these specimens of his talents were, 
the Doctor was persuaded that he saw indications of a genius 
which deserved cultivation. He therefore took him into his 
1 house at Fowey, and gave him all the instruction in his 

\ Opie made such rapid improvement under the Doctor's tui- 
1, that he had soon the courage to offer himself to the in- 
s a portrait-painter. His efforts were encouraged, 
t his gains at lirst were very small. I believe his original 
; was live shillings for a likeness. The next price was 
a guinea, and he raised his demand in his progress to Ei- 
Vter, where he boldly required a guinea, and then thought him- 
self in the high-road to affluence. He lived many years with 
Dr, Wolcot, as well as I can recollect, with whom he profited in 
literature as well as in painting. 

Opie possessed a strong mind and a retentive memory. 
He soon became conversant with Shakespeare and Dryden, 
and both understood and felt their beauties. He did not im- 
prove in his manners, in proportion to his other attainments, 
for a blunt sincerity always characterized bis behavior. He 
had a. strong sense of humor, and was capable of lively sallies, 
as well as of shrewd and forcible remarks. He readily aC' 
knowledged the merit of his competitors, particidarly Sir 
Joshua Reynolds, and I never saw the least symptom of envy 
in his disposition. I was ver)i> intimate with him for many 
years, during the life of his first wife ; but as his second wife 
introduced new connections, and a coolness had arisen be- 
tween him and Dr. Wolcot, and as I was upon the most 
friendly footing with the Doctor, I did not think it proper to 
keep up a close intercourse with both, and therefore seldom 
saw Opie again till during the illness which tenninated in his 

It was reported that a written compact had taken place be- 
1 the Doctor and Opie in which the latter had agreed to 



264 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



give a certain share of his profits to the former for the instms- 
tion which he had derived from him, as well as for his board, 
lodging', and other supplies, while they had lived together, I 
believe this report was not wholly unfounded, and Ihat the 
compact was dissolved by the interference 0/ the father of 
Opie's first wife, which induced the Doctor, in anger and dis- 
gust, to relinquish all claims uf>on the successful artist. The 
consequence was, (he coolness which 1 have mentioned ; and 
after this adjustment, Wolcot and Opie seldom, if ever, met 

It must be admitted, that Opie was much indebted to Wol- 
cot for his early patronage, and afterwards for his zealous liter- 
ary support, particularly in his " Odes to the Royal Academi- 
cians." Indeed, there is too much reason to believe that the 
Doctor's unjust and persevering attacks upon the works of Mr. 
West were indirectly intended as a sacrifice to the rising repu- 
tation of Opie. It was not to be expected that Opie would 
object to this poetical incense in his favor, because he had to 
rise among innumerable competitors ; yet, from all I observed 
of his disposition, I am persuaded he was too liberal to excite, 
or to encourage the Doctor in his severity on others, particur 
larly on Mr. West, of whose talents and knowledge in his ait 
he has often spoken to me with respect. 

His rustic habits were too firmly fixed for him whcJty- to' 
subdue them, yet nobody could better conceive what a gentle 
man should be ; and during the latter years of his life, he 
endeavored, and not without success, to illustrate his concep- 
tion by his manners. His rough sincerity, however, was not 
merely the effect of his early associations with rustic sodety, 
for much of it was doubtless imputable to his domestic inter- 
coursC'With Dr. Wolcot, The latter was vigorous in his sen- 
timents, energetic, and, indeed, rough in his manners, and 
according to the adage, that "everything begets its liki 
there is a contagion in temper from which it is difficult 
escape in close association. 



4 




HENRY FUSEL/. 



26s 



I 



Henst Foseli. 

A few words on Fuseli, and he deserves but few. His 
works are in general distortions, and no person of sound taste 
would ever afford Ihem house-room. I remember that Opie 
said to me of Fuseli's picture of a scene in Hamlet, represent- 
ing the ghost of Hamlet's father, " Tlie Royal Dane," that the 
ghost reminded him of those figures over the dials of chamber- 
clocks, which move by starts, according to the movements of 
the works within. In my opinion a very apt comparison, not- 
withstanding the opinion of my friend Mr. Combe {Dr. Syn- 
tax), who said of this picture that it gave him the only idea 
which painting had ever suggested to him of an apparition. 

Dr. Woleot said of Fuseli's representation of a scene in 
" The Midsummer Night's Dream," that the number of wild 
fantastic figures scattered over it made it look exactly like a 
toy-shop. I never liked Fuseli, and, fearless of his satire, 
never concealed my opinion, Tlie late Mr. Faringlon, an 
excellent artist and a worthy and intelligent man, knew that 
Fuseli was no favorite with roe, and anxious to serve him, he 
came and invited me to meet him at dinner, bringing with him 
Fuseli's lectures, which had just been published, and request- 
ing that I would take extracts from them for insertion in a 
public journal which I then conducted. He said, "I know 
you do not like Fuseli ; but when I tel! you that he is in but 
indifferent circumstances, I know you will meet and endeavor 
to serve him." I met him, and the late Sir George Beaumont 
was of the party. The mild and elegant manners of that 
amiable baronet had an influence upon Fuseli, who endeav- 
ored to make himself agreeable, and the day passed off very 
pleasantly. 

Not long after I met Fuseli in company, and he asked me 
when I had seen Faringlon, and having told him that it was 
some time ago, he said, loud enough for the company to bear 
him, " Then he don't want a puff." Such was his gratitude 
to the liberal friend who had interfered in his favor. 

Another time I dined with him at the house of Mr. Boaden, 




yoH.V TA YLOR. 

1 the literary world, 
were among the company. Fuseli 
being asked for a toast, gave " Peter Pindar." When his 
came to drink his own toast, he refused, sapng, " I give hini 
as a toast, but I will not drink to his honor." Stupid 
conduct was, his admirers, perhaps, may consider his answer 
as a boa tttot. 



Anecdote i 



' Peg Woffingtos. 



The celebrated Mrs. Woffington, who had lived with Gar- 
rick, afterwards lived with Lord Darnley, who fancied that he 
could attach her to him by more than interested motives, if he 
kept her from the sight of Garrick, whom she professed to 
have really loved. Lord Darnley therefore exacted a promise 
from her, that she would not see Garrick during his absence 
from town, freely permitting her to see anybody else. He 
however thought proper to have a spy to watch her, and found 
that, notwithstanding her promise, Garrick visited her in his 
absence. He took the first opportunity of telling her he had 
thought he could depend on her promise, but found he was 
mistaken, accusing her of having seen Garrick. '* Garrick ! " 
said she, thinking that what he said arose from mere jealousy, 
" I have not seen him for a long time." Lord Darnley then 
declared he knew she had seen Garrick the night before- 
Finding evasion useless, she exclaimed, " Well ! and is not 
that a long time ? " She was a perfidious woman. She lived 
till her death with General Ciesar, and they had agreed that 
the survivor should possess all the property of both ; but when 
she was really on her death-bed, she sent for an attorney, 
made her will during the absence of the .General, and be- 
queathed the whole of her property to her sister, Mrs. Chol- 
mondeley. Lord Cholmondeley, whose nephew had married 
Mrs. Woffington's sister, was much offended at what he con- 
sidered a degrading union in the family ; but, on being intro- 
duced to Mrs. Woffington, some months after the match, he 
was so much pleased with her that he declared, though he had 
been at first offended at the match, he was then reco 



I 



t 



CAPABIL/TV BROWN. 26/ 

Mrs. Woffington, who had educated and supported her 
' sister, coldly answered, "My lord, 1 have much more reason 
to be offended at il than your lordship, for I had before but 
one beggar to maintain, and now I have two." 

Capability Brown. 

This gentleman may be numbered among the acquaintance 
of my family j but he flourished before my time. He was 
femous for his taste in ornamenting grounds, and acquired 
the title of " Capability," as it was his custom in looking over 
parks, gardens, and their vicinities, to say that they displayed 
tapabilities. He was undoubtedly a man of great taste, and 
liad improved many noblemen's seats and situations that 
seemed iitcapablc of deriving much advantage in point of 
prospect, and also in interior embellishments. He was at 
length so much celebrated, and his practice so successful, — 
he had, moreover, such a full reliance on his own genius, and 
his judgment was so much respected, that he made no scruple 
on all occasions to maintain his decided right to the reputa- 
tion he had acquired. He was received into the best com- 
pany, not only on account of his professional skill, but for his 
humor and promptitude at repartee. 

One day when he was walking through the royal gardens with 
King George the Third, his Majesty having asked his opinion 
of the arrangement of the grounds, Brown expressed his ap- 
probation of it, and said it must have been designed and exe- 
cuted by " the Brown of the time." When the great Lord 
Chatham, disabled by the gout, was descending the stairs of 
St. James's Palace, Brown offered to assist his lordship and 
attend him to his carriage. As soon as the noble lord was 
seated, he said, " Thank you, Mr. Brown ; now, sir, go and 
adorn your country." Brown instantly answered, " Go you, 
my lord, and save it." An ingenious and happy return. 

Having dined one day at the house of a nobleman, and the 
conversation turning upon gardening, some of the company 
spoke in favor of clumps. On departing with a nobleman, 
a double row of servants, like a "hveried army," to use the 



z68 



yOHN TAYLOR. 



words of Dr. Johnson, lined the passage in expectation of 
receiving what are called vaih from each of tlie guests ; 
Brown, casting his eyes on both sides of the passage where 
tliese loU-gatherers were assembled, " Don't you think, my 
lord." said he, " that this vista ought to be clumped f " This 
mode of levying contributions on visitors was carried to an 
almost incredible extent, till some persons of distinction 
united in forming a determination to abolish such a disgrace- 
ful taxation. , 

It is said that this practice prevailed to such a degree, eveft 
at the heuse of the great Lord Chesterfield, that when he 
vited Voltaire a second time to his table, the French wit 
his answer declined the invitation, alleging that " his lord- 
ship's ordinary was Uo dear." 

Another evil practice of servants to the higher orders, at 
that time, was carried to such a height that it wrought its ow 
cure. It was usual at the old Italian Opera House to allot 
gaiiery to the footmen, that when their masters or mistresses 
had appointed the time to leave the theatre, their servants 
might be ready to attend. But tliese /ivery-men took 
their heads to become critics upon the performances, and de- 
livered tlieir comments in so tumultuous a manner, that the 
managers found it absolutely necessary to close the gallery 
against them, and to assign it to those only who paid for ad- 
Just before the abolition of this party-colored tribunal, a 
wag who was fond of music, but who had more wit than 
money, appeared at the gallery door, where the porter de- 
manded the name of his master. The wag boldly answered, 
" 1 am the Lord Jehovah's servant," and was admitted, one of 
the door-keepers saying to the other, " I never heard of that 
man's master before, but suppose it is some scurvy Scotch 
lord or other." 

Anecdote op Handel. 
Handel, when he first visited Ireland, in consequence of his 
disgust at the preference given to Bononcini in London, car- 



I 

i 

i 
i 



CHEVALIER D'EON. 



269 

to Dean Swift. When the Dean 
id a German, he declined re- 
added that the bearer of the 

A genius and a German ! " said 



ried a letter of inlrodi 

heard that he 

ceiving him ; but when hi 

letter was a great geniu. 

Swiff ; " Oh, then, show him up immediately.' 

I had the pleasure of a slight acquainfance with Dr. Morell, 
well known for learning and piety, and who selected subji 
from the Scriptures for Handel' 
that, one fine summer morning, he 
five o'clock by Handel, who came i 
tance from London. The Doctor 
spoke to Handel, who would not le 
was at the time composing 
asked him what he wanted, he said. 



I heard 1; 
roused out of bed at 
i carriage a short dis- 
t to the window, and 
jis carriage. Handel 
the Doctor 
What de devil means 



\ 



de vord billow ? " which was in tlie oratorio the Doctor had 
written for him. The Doctor, after laughing at so ludicrous a 
reason for disturbing him, told him that billow meant wave, a 
wave of the sea. " Oh, de vave," said Handel, and bade his 
coachmen return, without addressing another word to the 
Doctor. 

Chevalier D'Eon. 

The mysterious character of D'Eon, and his appearance 
both as a male and female in this country and in many parts of 
Europe, rendered him a subject of general conversation, in- 
somuch that poUcies were opened to ascertain his sex, while 
he appeared in male and female atlire. 

D'Eon, before the revolution, had assumed the male attire, 
but by an order of the French court, from which it is un- 
derstood he received a pension, he was compelled to appear 
again like a woman, as originally directed by the French gov- 
ernment,, for reasons which have never been satisfactorily de- 
veloped. 

1 was assured by a very old friend of my father, who was 
well acquainted with D'Eon in the earlier part of the time 
when he appeared in male attire, and was connected with an 
agency from France, that his manners were captivating, and 
that he might have married most advantageously, as several 




2/0 JOHN TAYLOR. 

ladies of good families, and with large fortunes, had 
overtures to him at country-seals where he visited, and that 
on all such occasions he immediately left the house. Hence 
h was inferred he quitted the place on account of his being 
really of the female sex. It is difficult to discover what were 
his real motives for retaining the female attire after the de- 
struction of the monarchy in France, and when he ceased to 
have any connection with that country, , 

I met the Chevalier in his advanced life at the late Mr., 
Angelo's, in Carlisle Street, Soho, and if his manners had' 
been once so captivating, they had undergone a great altera- 
tion, for though he was dressed as a woman, he spoke and 
acted with all ihe roughness of a veteran soldier. From all I 
have heard of D'Eon, he must have been a very intelligent 
man, full of anecdote and fertile in conversation ; and 1 can- 
not but express a regret, that a character who had made so 
conspicuous a figure, should ever have been reduced to derive 
a precarious support from a public exhibition of his talents in 
fencing with a woman. What were his means for subsistence 
till his dealh, is not, and perhaps never will be known ; bul 
his name and extraordinary appearance will never be for- 
gotten. 

David Garsick. 

My old friend Dr. Mousey was for many years in the closest' 
intimacy with Garrick, and though the oc 
separation was never removed, they must mutually have 
gretled the dissolution of their friendship. Garrick was fond' 
of playing tricks, bul in them he had an eye to his arL Dr.. 
Monsey had often been with him when he indulged himself 
in these pranks, and sometimes thought himself in danger of 
suffering by the consequences of his sportive levity. Dr. 
Monsey told me, that he once had occasion to accompany 
Garrick and Mr. Windham of Norfolk, father of the late Mr, 
Windham the statesman, into the city. On their return, Gar- 
rick suddenly left them at the top of Ludgate Hill, and walk- 
ing into the middle of the sireet, looked upwards, and repeated 
several times to himself, " I never saw two before." The 







DAVID CARRICK. 



Strange appearance of a man ij 
self, naturally attracted somt 
followed, and at length a great 
Several persons asked him what he 
but repeated the same words. A n 



talking to him- 

persons towards hira, more 

'owd was collected round him. 

'. He make no answer, 

then observed that the 



I 



gentleman must see two storks, as they are rarely if ever seen 
in pairs. This observation contented the mullitude, till an- 
other said, " Well, hut who sees one besides the gentleman ? " 
Monsey, for fear o£ getting into a scrape, moved off, lest he 
should be taken for a confederate to make people fools ; but I 
now remember that Mr. Windham, who, like his son, was a 
good boxer, determined lo witness the end of this whimsical 
freak. Garrick affected an insane stare, cast his eyes around 
the multitude, and afterwards declared that from the various 
expressions in the faces of the people, and their gestures, he 
had derived hints that served him in his profession. 

Another time, when Garrick was with Monsey, at the joyful 
sound of twelve at noon, a great many boys poured out of 
school, Garrick selected one whom he accused bf having 
treated another cruelly who stood near him. .The boy de- 
clared that he had not been ill-treated ; and Garrick then 
scolded the other still more, affecting to think how little he 
deserved the generosity of the boy who sought to excuse him 
by 3 falsehood. The boys were left in a state of consterna- 
tion by Garrick's terrific demeanor and piercing eye ; and he 
told Monsey that he derived much advantage from observing 
their various emotions. 

While he was walking with Monsey on another occasion, he 
saw a ticket-porter going before them at a brisk pace, and 
humming a tune. They were then at old Somerset House. 
" I 'II get a crowd around that man," said Garrick, " before he 
reaches Temple Bar." He then advanced before the man, 
turned his head, and gave him a piercing look. The man's 
gayety was checked In a moment, he kept his eye on Garrick, 
who stopped at an apple-sta!! till the man came near, then 
gave him another penetrating glance, and went immediately 
on. The man began to look if there was anything strange 



272 



yOHN TAYLOR. 



about him that attracted the gentleman's notice, and, i 
Carrick repealed the same expedient, turned himself in 
directions, and pulled off his wig, to see if anything ridici 
lous was attached to him. By this time, the restless a 
of the man exited the notice of the passengers, and Garrickl 
elfectcd his purpose of gathering a crowd round the porter be^l 
fore he reached Temple Bar. 

Dr. Monsey said that he once \ 
a severe blow in consequence of o 
a similar kind. They had dined a 
ampton Street, Covent Garden, am 
1 the evening to Vauxhall. 




IS in danger of receiving 

J of Garrick's vagaries of 

it Garrick's house in South- 

1 liad taken a boat in order 

A smart -looking young 



waterman stood on the strand at Hnngerford Stairs. As soon 
as they were seated in their boat, Garrick addressed the young 
■waterman in the following manner, " Are you not ashamed 
dress so smart, and appear so gay, when you know that your 
poor mother is in great distress, and you have not the heart 
to allow her more than three-pence a week?" The young 
man turned his head to see if anybody was near to whom thi 
words might apply, and, seeing none, he took up a brickbat 
and threw it very near Garrick's boat, and continued to aim 
stones at him. Garrick's boatman pulled hard to get out 
of the way of this missile hostility, or Monsey said, they 
might have otherwise suffered a serious injury. 

Mrs. Clivc was eminent as an actress on the London stage 
before Garrick appeared, and, as his blaie of excellence threw 
all others into comparative insignificance, she never forgave 
him, and look every opportunity of venting her spleen. She 
was coarse, rude, and violent in her temper, and spared no- 
body, One night as Garrick was performing "King Lear, 
she stood behind the scenes to observe him, and in spite 
the roughness of her nature, was so deeply affected, that she 
sobbed one minute and abused him the next, and at lengthy, 
overcome by his pathetic touches, she hurried from the place' 
with the following extraordinary tribute to the tmiversality 
d£ his powers : " D— n him ! I believe he could act a grid^ 



% 




DAVID CAR RICK. 



273 



I 



said also that one night when he was performing 
Macbeth," and the murderer entered the banquet scene, 
Garrick looked at him with such an expressive countenance, 
and uttered with such energy, " There 's blood upun ihy face," 
that the actor said, " Is there by G— ? " instead of " 'T is 
Banquo's then," thinking, as he afterwards acknowledged, that 
he had broken a blood-vessel. 

I will now mention a circumstance that manifests the irre- 
sistible power of liis acting. The late Mr. Farington, a mem- 
ber of the Royal Academy, and a particular friend o£ mine, 
told me that he had not an opportunity of seeing Garrick act 
till his last season. Finding that he was announced for 
" Hamlet," Mr. Farington went early to the theatre, and ob- 
tained a seat in the second row in the pit. He beheld with 
Indifference all that passed in the play previous to the entrance 
of " Hamlet " with the royal court. He then bent forward 
with eagerness, and directed all his attention to Garrick. Ob- 
serving his painted face, which but ill concealed tlie efiects of 
time, his bulky form and high-heeled shoes to raise his figure, 
Mr. Farington drew back with disappointment and dejection, 
thinking that a man who at an earlier period might fully de- 
serve all his celebrity, was going to expose himself in the at- 
tempt to perform a character for which, from age, he was 
totally unfit. At length Garrick began to speak in answer to 
the King. Mr. Farington then resumed his attention; and 
such was the truth, simplicity, and feeling, with which the 
great actor spoke and acted, that my friend declared he lost 
sight of Garrick's age, bulk, and high-heeled shoes, and saw 
nothing but the " Hamlet " which the author had designed. 
From that time, Mr. Farington constantly attended Garrick's 
performances, and said that he manifested equal excellence in 



I can add to this testimony a 
of Garrick's extraordinary me 
Ganick once when the subjec 



sti!! higher authority in favor 
it as an actor. Speaking of 
of acting was introduced in 



company with Mrs. Siddonsj I observed so long a time had 
ed since she saw him act, that, periiaps, she had forgotten 



274 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



hira ; on which she said emphatically, it was impossible 
forget him. Another time I told her that Mr. Sheridan hod 
declared Garrick's " Richard " to be very fine, but did not 
think it terrible enough. " God bless me 1 " said si 
could be more terrible ? " She then informed me, that wheit 
she was rehearsing the part o£ "Lady Anne" to his 
ard," he desired her, as he drew her from the couch, 1 
him step by step, for otherwise he should be obliged to t 
Ills face from the audience, and he acted much with his f 
ures. Mrs. Siddons promised to attend to his desire 
sured me there was such an expression in his acting, that it 
entirely overcame her, and she was obliged to pause, when 
he gave her such a look of reprehension ns she never coulij' 
recollect without terror. She expressed her regret that she. 
had only seen him in two characters, except when she acte^ 
" Lady Anne " with him, — and those characters were "Lear*!! 
and ■' Ranger ; " that his " Lear " was tremendous, and \ 
"Ranger" delightful. Nothing need be added to the tea 
mony of one of the greatest ornaments of tlie stage which* 
perhaps, ever appeared since the origin of the drama, and 
whom, perhap.s, it is impossible to surpass in theatrical ex- 
cellence. 

It is well known that Garrick was fond of playing sportive 
tricks upon his friends, and this disposition is alluded to by 
Goldsmith in his " Retaliation," One afternoon, when he e 
pected Dr. Monsey to call on him, he desired the servant 
conduct the Doctor into his bedroom. Garrick was a; 
nonnced for King Lear on that night, and when Monsey saw 
him in bed he expressed liis surprise, and asked him if tha. 
play was to be changed. Garrick was dressed, but had hie: 
nightcap on, and the quilt was drawn over him, to ^ve him 
the appearance of being too ill to rise. Monsey expressed' 
his surprise, as it was time for Garrick to be at the theatre ts 
dress for King Lear. Garrick, in a languid and whining tone, 
told him that he was too much indisposed lo perform himself 
but that there was an actor named Marr, so like him in tigur^ 
lace, and voice, and so admirable a mimic, that he had v 



THOMAS DAVIES. 



27s 



lured to trust the part to him, and was sure that the audience 
would not perceive the difference. Monsey in vain expostu- 
lated with him on the hazard which he would incur of public 
displeasure, as it was impossible that the attempt should sue* 
ceed. Garrick pretended to be worse, and requested Monsey 
to leave the room that he might get a hide sleep, but de- 
sired him lo attend the theatre and let him know the result. 
As soon as the Doctor quitted the room, Garrick jumped out 
of bed and hastened to the theatre. Monsey, pardy in com- 
piliance with Garrick's desire and partly from curiosity to wit- 
ness so extraordinary an experiment, attended the perform- 
ance. Having left Garrick in bed, Monsey was bewildered by 
the scene before him, sometimes doubting, and sometimes 
being astonished at die resemblance between Garrick and 
Marr. At length, finding that the audience were convinced of 
Garrick's identity, Monsey began to suspect that a trick had 
been practiced upon him, and hurried to Garrick's house at 
the end of the play ; but Garrick was too quick for him, and 
had resumed his situation in bed : having drawn the quilt over 
part of the dre.ss of King Lear which he had not time to re- 
move, he was found by Monsey in the same apparent state of 
illness. Some friends of Garrick who had been let into the 
secret, and were present at the performance, witnessed and 
enjoyed the perplexity of Monsey during the whole. Aa 
Monsey himself was inclined to play tricks with his friends, 
this whimsical deception was deemed but retributive justice on 
the part of Garrick, and Monsey the next day shared in a 
laugh at his own expense, determining however to retaliate, 
and he probably revenged himself on the first opportunity. 
No persons could take more liberties with each other than 
Garrick and Monsey, and none could be more prolific in 
prompt and facetious abuse. 

Thomas Davies. 
Mr. Davies, or, as he was generally styled, Tom Davies, had 
left the stage before 1 frequented the theatre, r ' ' ' 
duced by the cruel hur 



276 



JOHN TAYLOR. 




in his admirable " Rosciad ; " but he had a benefit-nlgit 
allowed him by Garrick for old acquaintance sake, when he 
came forward to perform the part of Fainall, in the comedy of 
"The Way of the World." I happened lo be present. He 
was an old, formal-looking man, and totally different from 
such a person as we might expect to find in a gay, dissipated 
husband. Before the curtain was drawn up, he came forwai * 
and addressed the audience in the fallowing lem 
and gentlemen, 1 am conscious of ray inability to do justice ■ 
the character that I have tindertaken, but I hope you wi 
cept of my best endeavors to please." There were 
friends of honest Tom in the house, and this address, a: 
as his performance of the part, was received with kind i 
plause. Poor Davies did not attend to the good old r 
hoc age; for if he had confined himself to his business as a 
bookseller, and had not indulged his literary ambition, he 
would probably have lived in comfortable circumstances, 
though he might not have raised a fortune. What 1 saw of^ 
his acting certainly appeared to justify the criticism of Chm 
ill, though not its sportive severity. Churchill says : — 

Thai Divits has a very pretty wife" 
Without animadverting upon the impropriety of dragging an 
inoffensive female before the public, it may fairly be concluded, 
that Davies being an avowed politician, whose principles were 
different from those of Churchill, was the cause of the poet's 
hostility towards him. I once saw the " pretty wife." She 
was quietly sitting in the shop, while her husband was pursu- 
ing his literary avocations in the back root 
the autumn of life, neatly dressed, modest 
with a kind of meek dejection in her features, which 
dently bore the remains of beauty. It is lamentabli 
late what I have been informed was the final destiny of 
harmless couple. He died in poverty, and was buried at 
expense of his friends ; and his amiable widow, as I he: 
was reduced to the deplorable asylum of the parish w( 



aw of 
lurcB^I 



^fJ/S. ELIZABETH INCIIBALD. 277 



rMRS. Elizabeth Inchbald. 
I became acquainled with this lady in the year 1782, and an 
uninterrupted friendship existed between us till her death. 
When I first knew her, she was a very fine woman, and al- 
though conscious of the beauty of her person, she never in- 
dulged herself in any expenses for the purpose of making it 
appear to more advantage. She was at this time an actress at 
Covent Garden Theatre, but, though she always displayed 
good sense, and a just conception of the characters which she 
performed, j-et she never rose to any height of professional 
reputation. She had a slight impediment in her epecch in 
ordinary conversation, but it never appeared when she was 
performing on the stage. 

I It is not necessary to enter into her private hfe, as she has 
herself given a brief account of it It is sufficient to say, that 
when she was about seventeen years of age, she left the house 
of her father, 3 farmer in Norfolk or Suffolk, and being 
strongly imbued with theatrical ambition, she applied to Mr. 
Griffith, manager of the Norwich company, and in time be- 
came connected with many provincial theatres in England and 
Scotland. She married Mr. Inchbald, an actor and a minia- 
ture-punter, a man much older than herself, whose character 
was highly respected. 
Mr. Inchbald had, I believe, been previously married, and 
for a season or two had an engagement at Drury Lane Thea- 
tre, under the management of Garrick, and thought of that 
actor's merit, as all men of taste, learning, and judgment did, 
with the highest admiration. Mrs. Inchbald told me, that in 
tbc earlier part of her life she was very irritable in her temper, 
but time, reflection, and the vicissitudes of fortune, had soft- 
ened and subdued her natural disposition. She mentioned 
one particular instance of the warmth of her temper when she 
and her husband were in a boarding-house at Canterbury, 
while they were both engaged in the theatre of that city. Mr. 
Inchbald had been employed all the morning in copying a 
! portrait of Garrick. At length dinner was an- 



278 yOHN TAYLOR. 

nounced by the mistress of the house, and Mrs. Incbbald de- 
sired her husband to attend it. He signified that he would be 
ready in a minute or two, but continued to touch his picture. 
Mrs. Inchbald then urged him to attend at the table below, 
but finding he still lingered over the portrait, she suddenly 
seized it, and in a motnent obliterated all his morning's work. 
She expressed her regret at this action, not only as it 1 
act of reprehensible violence, but as it was a painful c 
on the feelings of a worthy man. 

I was in the habit of visiting her every Sunday momiag & 
many years, first when she had apartments in Russell Strde^ 
Covent Garden, next in Leicester Square, and afterwards t 
Hart Street, near the theatre. She occupied the second floc 
in all these apartments. The first was in the house whid 
had been called Button's. Mrs. Inchbald was then engager 
by the eider Colman, at the Haymarket Theatre, where s' * 
produced her first dramatic piece, entitled " I '11 tell ye wha^ 
which was so well acted, and so favorably received, that s 
was induced to relinquish the stage, and devote herseli \ 
dramatic and other hterary pursuits. 

One incident which occurred during her eligagement i 
Covent Garden Theatre deserves recording. It is well knowi 
that the late Mr. Harris, then the chief proprietor of that 
theatre, was a very gallant man, and did not find the virtue of 
several of his fair performers impregnable. At his desire, 
Mrs. Inchbald attended him one morning at his house at 
Knightabridge, to consult on one of her plays which was soon 
to be represented. When the consultation was ended, Mr. 
Harris, who was a handsome man, and had found so little 
difficulty among the theatrical sisterhood under his govern- 
ment, thought that he might be equally successful in an attack 
on Mrs. Inchbald, but, instead of regular approaches, he at- 
tempted lo take the fort by storm, and Mrs. Inchbald found 
no resource but in seizing him by his hair, which she pulled 
with such violence, that she forced him to desist. She then 
rushed out of the house, and proceeded in haste, and under 
great agitation, lo the greenroom of the theatre, where th»] 



I 








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iH^^p 






fcwji^ 






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W '^^■' /^K^^^aBP 






V ■' W^cJLit^m!^^^^3f^^^tF 


J 










MBS. ABINSTON, 


^^B ^ IFrem Oarrkl/x Alitmoirs, fol. Il.i ^^| 




FSJiVCES ABINCTON. 



279 

rompany were Ihen rehearsing. She entered the room with 
[ so wild an air, and with such evident emotion, that all present 
e alarmed. She hastily related what had happened as far 
mpediment would permit her, and concluded with the 
following exclamation : " Oh ! if he had wo-wo-wom a wig, I 
had been ru-niined." 

Frances Abington. 
affords an extraordinary 



I 



!This 
of industry, persevi 
lowest kind. She 
Drury Lane. Whether he 
he supported himself with 



of the eflecl 
pint. Her origin was of the 
ith her father in Vinegar Yard, 
was ever in any business, or how 
daughter, afterwards Mrs. Ab- 



ington, till she reached the age of about twelve, is not known, 
that period she was able to maintain herself and him, 
which she did in a very decent manner. Her maiden name 
was Barton, as mentioned in many theatrical annals. 

The late Arthur Murphy, whose learning and talents, par- 
ticularly as a dramatic writer have raised him far above any 
tribute of respect that I could offer to his memory, told me 
that he had seen her when she was aiiout the age above men- 
tioned, and that she then supported herself and her father by 
her recitations at the Bedford and Shakespeare taverns, under 
the Piazzas in Covent Garden. Her custom was to desire the 
waiter to inform any private company in their rooms that she 
would deliver passages from Shakespeare and other writers 
for a small leward. When the company consented, she 
stepped upon the table and delivered the several compositions. 
Everything relative to the stage was interesting to Mr. Mur- 
phy, and that feeling induced him to pay particular attention to 
this theatrical girl, which tixed her person on his memory. 
As she increased in age and practice, this itinerant profession. 
became less attractive as a novelty, and she was then driven 
to the necessity of adopting more profligate and degrading 
means of support ; and this degrading profession, which it is 
not necessary to designate more particularly, she was in the 
it of pursuing for some years before she happily found her 
> to the theatrical boards. 



2go 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



The manner in whfch Mr. Murphy afterwards saw her in 
her degraded stale was as follows ; A party of his friends, 
consisling of four, had agreed to lake an excursion to Rich- 
mond, in Surrey, and lo pass the day there. The gentlemen 
were to meet at the Turk's Head Coffee House, opposite Cath- 
erine Street in the Slrand. Mr, Murphy and two of the 
friends, whose names 1 have forgotten, were punctual to 
appointment, but they wailed for the fourth till their patii 
was nearly exhausted. At length Mr. Murphy said he knei 
where to find the fourth gentleman, and would go in pursuit 
him. He immediately proceeded 
the Piazza in Covent Garden, and there found him. This per- 
son was a Mr. Tracy, a gentleman of fortune, well known at 
that time under the name of Beau Tracy, on account of the 
gayety and splendor of his attire. Finding that Tracy was in 
the house, Mr. Murphy proceeded at once to his bedroom, 
where he found the beau under the hands of his hair-dresser, 
and not half attired. Mr. Murphy waited very patiently tiU 
the grand business of the toilet was concluded. While h4 
wailed, he thought he saw the curtains of the bed move, as 
there were a person within. Mr. Murphy asked the beau 
he had not a companion. Tracy, a careless rake, answered ii 
the affirmative, and told him to go and chat with her, 
would find her a lively wench. Murphy, therefore, drew one 
of the curtains aside, and entered into conversation with a fair 
votaress of Venus, whom he immediately recognized as the 
girl who had entertained him and his friends some years before 
at the taverns. She did not seem abashed at being seen by 
stranger, but conversed with him with ease, spirit, and hu: 

The next lime he saw her, after the progress of years, 
in the station of the iirsl-rate comic actress at the metropolitan 
theatres, as Mrs. Abington. Having acquired a high repnta-' 
tion on the London boards, she was offered an engagement at 
the Cork Theatre, which she accepted, and was accompanied 
on her journey by Mr. Needham. 



i 



re 



She had n 



. the 



L been so long rescued from the degraded J 




FRANCES ABINGTON. 



281 



I 
I 



life which she had previously led, as to acquire that sense of 
decorum and delicacy which was necessary to procure her a re- 
ception in society where reputatioQ was regarded ; and there- 
fore she had no scruple to appear with Mr. Needham upon the 
most intimate and familiar footing. 

The circumstance of her connection with Mr. Needham, as 
well as her taste for dress, were so well known, that the milli- 
ners in the city of Cork put the following label in their shop 
windows, " Abington caps may be had here for those that 
Nee^em." How long Needham, a gay and dissipated man, 
remained with her at Cork, is not known, but when she ac- 
cepted an engagement afterwards at Dublin, she thought it nec- 
essary to assume a more precise deporimeni, and even to af- 
fect in public an extraordinary degree of purity. But this 
mask was so entirely thrown off among some oE the Irish 
noblemen, and other characters well known for wealth 'and 
liberality, that as most of them were acquainted with each 
other, on comparing notes, they found that each had been in- 
duced by her to think himself the only person distinguished by 
her partiality ; so that one and all gave her such a designation, 
connected with her baptismal name lAFan, as rendered all her 
subsequent pretensions to virtue fruitless, and induced her to 
return to London, where she was more cautious in her con- 
cessions and more guarded in her general conduct. 

At length, such was Murphy's high opinion of her comic 
powers, that he not only assigned to her the chief parts in his 
comedies, but dedicated his play of " The Way to keep Him " 
to her, chiefly on account of the admirable manner in which 
she had performed the character of the Widow Belmour. 
From motives of humanity, as we!! as delicacy, 1 should for- 
bear to mention the preceding circumstances of her life, if 
they did not afford a striking evidence that people by industry, 
fortitude, and perseverance, may not only rise from obscurity, 
but from a more degrading situation. Low, poor, and vulgar 
as she had been in her early days, she was always anxious to 
acquire education and knowledge ; and though the theatrical 
profession might be thought to engross all her time and atten- 



282 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



lion, she contrived to attain the French language, which she 
not only read but spolte with facility. 

Whatever relations she might have had, though I only heaid 
of her father, have doubtless long since been dead, and most 
of her private friends also ; so that I have the stronger rea- 
son to hold forth a lesson to those on whose birth fortune does 
not smile, to encourage them to exert their powers in order to 
improve their condition. As a proof how high she must bave 
risen on Ihe stage, and in public opinion. Sir Joshua Rey- 
nolds painted a whole length portrait of her ; and another 
kit-kat size gratuitously, as a tribute to her professional ej 
lence, from both of which engravings have been made j 
she was also the subject of many other prints. 

As an actress, Mrs. Abington was distinguished for apii 
and humor, rather than for high-breeding and elegance. She 
excelled in the delivery of s:ircastic humor, to which the 
shrewdness of her mind and the tartness of her tone gave the 
most effective piquancy. Her manners were not sufficientiy 
graceful and we!!*bred for Congreve's" Millimont "altogether, 
but, in those passages where she taunts Marwood, there was a 
stinging severity in her delivery that would have fully satisfied 
the author. Beatrice has more wit and pertness than good- 
breeding, and in that part she was excellent ; and also in 
Estifania, another character that demands vivacity and humor, 
not elegance. She was the first LadyTeanle, and that charac- 
ter was admirably suited to her talents. It was understood 
that she was well acquainted with the French authors, and 
could converse in Italian. She was received in many good 
families as an admired companion. When or why she married, 
1 know not. Her husband, I understand, was a musit 
They had been separated many years, and it was reported 
she allowed him an annuity not to molest her. 

I once saw Mr. Abington at a dinner which my late frii 
Dr. Arnold gave at Parsloe's, in St James Street ; but as the 
company was numerous, I could not get near enough to hear 
what he said, Heseemed to be a smart-looking little man, lively 
ind apparently the object of attention 



iri^l 

Ihe^ 



'ied, I 

iett#^ 



FRANCES ABINGTON. 283 

ere near him. There was a report of his death, 

her and my old friend, Mr. Cooke the barrister, 

the fact, but I could not give him any in- 

n the subject ; it is probable that she survived 

I met Mrs. Abingfon one evening at Mrs. Conway's in Strat- 
ford Place, where she was treated with much respect by the 
company, but she chiefly confined her conversation to General 
Paoli, who seemed to be much gratified by her spirit and intel- 
ligence. I afterwards dined in company with her at the house 
of Mrs. Jordan, the celebrated actress, in Cadogan Place- 
Mrs. Abington displayed great spirit, and enlivened the com- 
pany with many interesting anecdotes of theatrical history, as 
well as of fashionable life, with which she had been indmately 
connected during the zenith of her fame : but the chief part 
of her conversation related to Mr. Garrick, of whom she 
seemed never likely to be tired of talking. She spoke of his 
theatrical merits with enthusiasm. In speaking of the power- 
ful effect of his eyes, she said that whatever expression Ihey 
assumed, they seemed to operate by fascination ; and that in 
all her intercourse with the world, she never beheld eyes that 
had so much expression, brilliancy, and force. She finally 
observed that, if she might presume to give an opinion, she 
would say Shakespeare was made for Garrick, and Garrick for 
Shakespeare. 

Miss Fitzclarence was of this parly, and a more unaffected, 
amiable, and agreeable young lady, I never met. She was ac- 
companied by Mrs. Cockle, who was sometime her governess. 
Mrs. Cockle has published several poems, and some tracts 
on education, which are highly creditable to her talents and 
character. 

It is bare justice to add, that our lively hostess, Mrs. Jordan, 
never appeared to more advantage on the stage, with all her 
original talents, than when she did the honors of her hospit- 
able board, and exerted herself to gratify her guests witli her 
sprightliness and good-humor. As she found in me a sincere 
friendf cot a flatterer, she favored me with her confidence, and 



2S4 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



intrusted me wilh the letters which she had received from a 
high character, after an unexpected separation, in order to 
convince me that nothing in her own conduct had occasioned 
that separation. 

To return to Mrs. Abington. As she had no powerful comic 
rival before Miss Farren, the late Countess of Derby, rose 
into popular favor, she might have acquired a considerable 
fortune, but according to report, she was ambitious of as- 
sociating with persons of quality, and became acquainted with 
some old ladies of fashion, with whom she was tempted 
play high at cards, and as they were as skillful in acting the 
parts of gamesters, as she was in any of the characters which 
she personated on the stage, she is said to have suffered 
severely l>y their superior dexterity. I remember her keep- 
ing a very elegant carriage, and living in a large rr 
Clarges Street ; but as she advanced in life, she became les^ 
fit for those characters in which she had chiefly distinguished 
her talents, and, of course, was less likely to secure an engage- 
ment with the theatrical managers. 

I regret to say, that the last time I saw her on the stage, I 
thought I perceived a great falling off in her theatrical powers, 
and a poor substitution of a kind of vulgar humor and grimace, 
for her former vivacity and genius. In the meridian of her 
days she was admired for her taste in dress, but I learned 
from some good female judges, that she declined in that re- 
spect also, and that a gaudy parade appeared instead of her 
former elegance of attire. The last time I saw her, after sbeij 
left the stage, was at the house of her old friend Mr. Nealson, 
who was stock-broker to the banking-house of Messrs. Coutts 
and Co. and also to that of Snow and Co. near Temple Bar. 
Mr. Nealson was alarmingly ill, and attended by Dr. Blaine. 
I had called to inquire how he was, for he was too ii! to admit 
visitors ; aitd as I was departing I met Mrs. Abington in the 
passage, who came for the same purpose. She seemed to be 
under the influence of extraordinary prudery, her reign of 
gallantry having long passed by, and dechned telling her name 
to the servant, but desired the master might be merely told 



14 

1 



LEWIS, THE ACTOS. 



28s 

rat the genthwoman had called to inquire after his health. 
s I knew the high regard that Nealson had for her, I pressed 
;r to leave her name, as I was sure that such an attention on 
:r part would soothe his sufferings, and perhaps promote his 
covery. She was inflexible, and watched me lest I should 
disclose her narne. I hastily returned to the servant, as i£ to 
leliver another message, and whispered " Mrs. Abington." 
[ know it, sir," said the woman, and I parted with Mrs. Ab- 
gton at the door. 

It would hardly have been in the power of anybody who 
.d known her in her better days, to recognize her person at 
^at time. She had on a common red cloak, and her general 
Bttire seemed to indicate die wife of an inferior tradesman, and 
whole of her demeanor was such as might be expected 
n a woman of that rank. It is with pleasure I add, that 
must have been in easy circumstances on her retirement 
n the stage, as she lived in Pall Mall, where I once visited 
previous to my meeting her at the house of Mr. Nealson, 
I soon after died, leaving her and ray old friend, Mr, Cooke 
barrister, loo/. each, and 50/. to each of the Theatrical 
ids. 
Indeed it was well known that she had an income from a 
leceased nobleman, once eminent in the political world, which 
terminated at his death. His immediate successor annulled 
It, but as he died soon after, the next successor generously 
restored it, from a Tegard to the memory of his father. I 
T heard that the theatrical fraternity attended the funeral 
E Mrs. Abington, as is u.sual on the death of even the lower 
^der of their community, male and female ; neither do I know 
lien she died, or where she was buried. 

Lewis, the Actor. 
Lewis was an old man when 1 knew him. He had a turn 
r poetry, and published a few of his effusions with the fol- 
lowing poetical motto : — 

The Mines forced me Id beMge 'em, 



z86 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



He was generally known by Ihe title of " The King of 
Grief," as he had watery eyes, which made him always appear 
to be weeping, and as he was continually predicting misery to 
himself. As he was a harmless man, and possessed of tiler- ■ 
ary talents, he was treated kindly by his professional brethreii,B 
and had some share in an annual benetit. I 

Oa one occasion, when the benefit had been very productive 1 
to him, he was congratulated on his success. Instead of 
evincing his own satisfaction, he began crying, and said, "Ah ! 
I shall nut be so lucky next year," Mr. Younger, who was a 
very friendly man, invited old Lewis to dine with him at Liv- 
erpool. Lewis declined the invitation, alleging the indifferent 
state of his attire. Mr. Younger desired him to go into the 
wardrobe of the tlieatre, and gave orders that he should 
receive any suit of clothes that fitted him. As soon as he 
was properly accommodated, he rejoined Mr, Younger at din- 
ner. After a few glasses of wiae, which instead of raising 
his spirits depressed him, he began weeping. Mr. Younger, 
with great kindness, asked him Ihe cause of his sudden grie^ 
" Why," said he, " is it not lamentable to think that such a 
man of genius as myself should be obliged to such a stupid 
fellow as you are for a suit of clothes and a dinner ? " Far 
from being oSended, Mr. Younger only laughed at his ludi- 
crous and untimely ingratitude. . 

Dagger Marr. . 
This actor was on the stage in the earlier days of Garricfc..! 
1 saw him at my father's when 1 was very young. Y 
then retired from the stage, but being an intelhgent n 
lived in respectable society. Whether he was honored with.J 
the epithet of "Dagger" on account of his being generallyj 
employed in representing murderers, or whether it was really'l 
his Christian name, I never heard ; and it is hardly likely tl 
any of the theatrical tribe are now old enough to reme 
ber.' 






jmstBtice wUcb perhaps m 



MOODY. 287 

It appears that lie had full confidence in his own theatrical 

or OQE night when Garrick was performing Ranger, 

i running off the stage with Jacintha, he stumbled 

I against Marr, who stood too near and was pushed aside. 

hj/wking after Garrick, and thinking he was out-of hearing, 

r folded his arms and was heard to say to himself, 

"Ranger! — give me but your eyes and I will play Ranger 

I with you for any sura." Garrick's eyes, indeed, were gener- 

1 ally allowed to be most brilliant and piercing. 

Marr had a turkey presented to him, and meeting a friend as 
was carrying it through the streets, he was asked what he 
was going to do with it. He said he was going to present it 
to Mr. Garrick. His friend told him that Mr. Garrick would 
not accept it. Marr, however, determined to persevere, Mr. 

I Garrick declined the offer, observing that he had plenty of 
turkeys at Hampton, and desiring him to keep it for his own 
family. Marr however was so pressing that, rather than 
mortify him, Mr. Garrick agreefi to accept it. On his return 
Marr met the same friend, who asked him if Mr. Garrick had 
taken the turkey. "Taken it?" said Marr, "aye, he would 
have taken it if it had been a roll and treacle." 
The odd misanthropic iiumor of Marr, as his conduct was 
in general correct, never offended his brethren of the stage, 
and was entirely thrown aside when he quilted it. My father 
described him as a well-informed man of gentlemanly man- 



MoODY. 



II was iTut slightly acquainted with this actor, yet what I 
knew of him convinced me that he was a very shrewd man, but 
too fond of money. He, indeed, made no scruple to acknowl- 
\ 



of MAcbeth] '^ts Lhis a dagger thai I He before me?" 
Tii^ attitude, and was ao pleaeed with h!s own pErform 



ia, paniculariy nhen he 
puBag« in \be tngedy 



ID the ■hoolder and u 




288 JOHN TAYLOR. 

edge himself a miser. A friend of his, named Barford, whom 
I knew, called on him one day in summer and found him cut- 
ting wood. Barford offered to help him, and devoted an hour 
or two to that occupalion, even during the iieat of the day. 
At length he became thirsty, and asked Moody for some beer. 
Moody fetched a bottle, drew the cork, and gave Barford a 
tiimblerfu!. He then put the cork in, and was going to take 
it away. Barford stopped him, and said he should want more. 
" I own," replied Moody, " you have deserved it, but it goes 
to my heart to give it you." He once lent money to Mr. 
Erereton, the actor. Brereton did not return it immediately, 
and Moody waited with some degree of patience. At length 
the first time Moody met him, he looked earnestly at him, and 
vented a kind of noise between a sigh and a groan. He re- 
peated this interjection whenever he met Brereton, who al 
length was so annoyed, that he put his hand in his pocki 
paid him. Moody took the money, and with a gentler aspect 
said, " Did I a.sk you for it, Billy f " 

I dined with him once at Mr. Kemble's when he began to 
exhibit signs of age. Mr. Kemble during the whole time 
called him Gaffer, and a more appropriate appellation could 
hardly have been given to him, as he displayed a kind of ven- 
erable rustic aspect. He mingled little in conversation, bol 
during a pause suddenly broke out into an anecdote of a ludi- 
crous kind, which diverted the company, and he then relapsed 
into silence. He had been a handsome man. 

The last time I ever saw him was at the late Mr. Weltje's, 
at Hammersmith, where he called as he went to Shepherd's 
Bush, his last residence. The conversation happened to turn 
on Mr, Sheridan, who was then alive, and who survived 
Moody. Some considerable arrears of salary had been due lo 
Moody, who had threatened to go to SlaSord, for which Sher- 
idan was then a candidate, and to state his case to the electors. 
He then soon obtained hia money. 

The conversation, as I have observed, turning upon Sheri- 
dan the last time 1 saw Moody, he said, " 1 have the highest 
respect for Mr. Sheridan ; I honor his talents, and would do 



i 



I knew this actor ii 
old age. He was a : 
civil and affable when n 



I 



CHARLES MACKLIN. 289 

anything to show my friendship for him, but take his word." 
Having seen him nearly in the prime of life, I was shocked, at 
this last meeting to sec the vast alteration in his person. His 
5, manly countenance was pallid, wrinkled, and cadav- 
lis robust frame had become feeble, and he required 
help in walking, but 1 saw in his notice of Mr. Sheridan, that 
his master passion, the love of money, had by no means par- 
taken of his general decay- 

Charles Macklin. 

the decline of his life, or rather in his 
lan of an irritable disposition, but very 
t conlradicted. The first time I had 
any personal intercourse with him was in the front boxes of 
Covent Garden Theatre. He was accustomed to express his 
opinions aloud, if anything struck him on the stage. In that 
audible manner he said something which did not appear to me 
to be well-founded, and I ventured to express a different opin- 
ion ; the partition of the boxes only between us. Whether 
he assented to my opinion, and was too proud to concur, or 
whether his irascible temper resented my forwardness, I know 
not, but he immediately raised his voice loud enough to be 
heard all over the theatre, and said ; " Write down what you 
have said, sir, and I will answer it." I was awed into silence, 
ioT two reasons, — one, because 1 was reaiiy loo diffident to 
answer this vociferous speech of the veteran ; and the other, 
because 1 was afraid that people at a distance might suppose 
I had insulted him ; I therefore made no reply. 

Some years after this, I met him at the house of Merlin, the 
great mechanic, in Prince's Street, Hanover Square. Merlin 
attended him with great respect, and displayed all his curious 
mechanical works to him. Macklin was delighted, and seemed 
to be particularly gratified with a stool on which he turned 
himself about with ease ; and he uttered many humorous 
sallies on the occasion. When he had sufficiently diverted 
the persons present, and gratified his own curiosity with the 
extraordinary skill and ingenuity which all Merlin's works dis- 



1 



Z90 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



played, Macklin quitted his movable seal, and, looldBg at 

Merlin, uttered these words, with a gravity almost solemn; 
" Sir, if I mere a de?ipotic monarch, I would have you conlined 
in a room; I would supply all your wanis and wishes; I 
should then say lo you, for the benefit of mankind, Think 1 " 
The last word he pronounced in the most emphi 
and then retired respectfully from the company. The begin- 
ning of this speech, and the awful manner in which it was <1< 
livered. for a moment seemed to terrify Merlin, but the 
plimenlary conclusion evidently gave him much pleasure. 

When Macklin was announced for Macbeth, at Covent Gai^' 
den Theatre, my father's old friend, Mr. Brooke, told me he 
would write to Macklin for an order, and that if I would take 
il, I should go with him to the play. I took the note, which 
contained a request for an order for his old friend Jemmy 
Brooke. Macklin wrote an answer in my presence, which 1 
well recollect was in the following words : 

"Mr. Macklin presents his compliments to his old friend 
Jemmy Brooke. He always valued the man, and the pleasure 
of thinking he was his friend ; wishes to increase the idea, a 
begs he will accept the inclosed order for two." 

The character of Macbeth had been hitherto performed 
the attire of an English general ; but Macklin was the first 
who performed It in the old Scottish garb. His appearance 
was previously announced by the Coldstream March, which I 
then thought the most delightful music I had ever heard ; and 
I never hear it now without most pleasing recollections. 
When Macklin appeared on the bridge, he was received with 
shouts of applause, which were repeated throughout his per- 
formance. 1 wa.s sealed in the pit, and so near the orchestra, 
that I had a full opportunity of seeing him lo advantage. 
Garrick's representation of the character was before my lime ; 
Macklin's was certainly not marked by studied grace of de- 
portment ; but he seemed to be more in earnest in the ch: 
ler than any actor I have subsequently seen. 

I attended his pprformance two nights after. A party 
been raised against him, consisting, as reported, of the friei^i 



:m- I 

?^ 

le 
;h 

'y 

1 

"A 

I 




CHARLES MACKLIN. 2gi 

E Seddish ; and he experienced a mixed receplioo, but ap- 
I plause predominated. He announced his inicDtionof develap- 
I jng the conspiracy which had been r.iised against him, on his 
:t appearance- I was again present. He came forward in 
s usual dress, and was well received. The audience called 
r a chair, on which he sat, and began his story. He offered, 
[ however, no satisfactory proof, and the audience began to 
murmur. He then said he had authority upon which he could 
confidendy rely ; and in a pathetic tone, putting his hand before 
his eyes as if he was shedding tears, said : " It was my wife." 
The audience then expressed their disapprobation, and would 
_ hear no more. He was, however, again ancoimced for 
I Macbeth ; and desirous of witnessing the end of the affair, I 
' went the third time- The opposing party had then gained the 
ascendant, and he was saluted with a violent hiss as soon as 
he appeared ; and this hostility was so determined, that he 
went through the part in dumb show, for not a word could be 
heard ; yet silence and applause attended all the other per- 
formers. I did not attend on the fourth night, but met a 
friend who had just left the theatre, and who told me that a 
board was brought forward on the stage, on which was written, 
"Mr, Macklin is discharged from this Theatn''' 

He had certainly given no provocation for this hostility, ex- 
cept to certain critics who presumed to think that he bad no 
lighl to attempt a part so different from bis usiml style of acting. 
He discovered some of the party, brought an action against 
them, and they were cast. On hearing the verdict in the court, 
Macklin arose, and addressing the judge, declared that he did 
rot seek for any damages, but only wished to vindicate his 
character, and to support the rights of his profession. The 
judge said : " Mr. Macklin, 1 have often admired your talents, 
but you have never acted better than on this occasion." After 
being discharged from Covent Garden Theatre, Macklin went 
to Ireland, where, being a native of the country, and admired 
iis an actor, he was well received. 

Macklin's devotion to the stage continued long after he had 
quitted it. He was, of course, indulged by the late Mr. Harris 



292 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



with the freedom o£ the theatre, when he frequently toot Ms 
station in the first row of the pit ; and if an actor's voice did 
not reach him, lie was sure to gel up, and in a commanding 
tone say : '' Speak louder, sir, I cannot hear you." The act- 
ors, in general, tolerated his peculiarities, and he lived upoQ 
good terms with them. He had not, however, relinquished his 
dramatic pen : for he met roe one day, and told roe, that he 
would fix a day when he would give me a beefsteak ; that the 
windows should be shut and the door locked after dinner, and 
he would read to me a comedy which he had written. His 
increasing infirmities, however, prevented his making the ap- 
pointroent, and I therefore probably escaped from a trial of 
patience ; for, as he was of an overbearing disposition, I 
should have been obliged to acquiesce in the propriety of 
all I was to hear, or expose myself to the violence of his 

His origin was doubtful ; but I remember he told me, when 
I had become better acquainted with him, that when he first 
came to London, he went to a relation of his mother, who k 
a public house in Lincoln's inn Fields, where there w 
but few houses, and, as I understood, acted as a waiter 
and ashamed of this situation, he returned to Ireland, : 
joined a strolling company of actors. At length he obtain 
a situation on the Dublin stage, and afterwards in Londq 
He told me that his first performance of Shylock i 
Lord Lansdowne's alteration of Shakespeare's play, which n 
brought forward under the title of "The Jew of Venice! 
and that it was for his performance in this play that the follin 
ing well-known couplet was written upon him ; — 

" Thia is Ihe Jew 
Tlial SbalicspcuB dren." 

He said the pit was at that period generally attended t 
more select audience than were to be seen there at th 
time. As far as I can recollect, the following were hi 
" Sir, you then saw no red cloaks, and heard no p 
Ihe pit, but you saw merchants from the city with big w 
lawyers from the Temple with big wigs, and physic: 



I 



CNA/iLES MACKUN. 293 

the cofiee-houses with big wigs ; and tlie whole exhibited such 
a formidable grizzle, as might well shake the nerves of actors 
and authors." His reputation being cstablis'.ed, he was then 
engaged by Mr. Fleetwood for Drury Lane Theatre. 

Dr. Wolcot and I were one evening at the Rainbow in King 
Street, Coveni Garden, a coffee-house where we used often to 
sup, when Macklin came into one of the boxes. As the 
Doctor wanted to have some intercourse witli the veteran, and 
as I was acquainted with him, we joined him, and were glad 
to find him in a talking mood. I found his memory much 
impaired, but he recollected facts, though he forgot names. 
My little acquaintance with theatrical history, however, enabled 
me to prompt him, and he told the fallowing story nearly as I 
shall give it. 

" Sir, I remember 1 once played the character of the boy 
who wears red breeches and offends his mother." "Jerry 
BJackaire, in ' The Plain Dealer,' I suppose," said I. " Yes, 
sir, that was the part. Well, sir, I played a great number of 
tricks to divert the audience ; and Ihe chief part was played 
by the surly, fat fellow, whose name I ha^ forgot" " Prob- 
ably Quin, sir," " Aye, sir, that was the man, Wei!, sir, when 
I went into the greenroom, the surly, fat man began 10 scold 
me, and told me that while I played my tricks, it was impossi- 
ble to have a chaste scene with me. I told him that, different 
as our cast was, I had the public to please as well as himself. 
' But, sir,' said he, ' you must get rid of your tricks.' I said I 
could not. 'But, sir,' said he, 'you shall.' By this time I 
was provoked, and said, ' You lie ; ' upon which he threw an 
apple that he was mumbling into my face. Sir, I was a fight- 
ing cull in those days, and I paid him so well about the face, 
that it swelled, and rendered him hardly articulate. He was 
obliged to go on the stage again, but he mumbled his part so 
much that he was hissed. He left the stage, and somebody 
went forward and said thai he was suddenly taken ill. Whether 
he finished his part I don't remember, but I remember that 
at the end of the play he sent me a challenge, and said he 
should wait for me at the pillar in Covent Garden. But, 



294 yOIlN TAYLOR. 

sir, I was a pantomime cull in tliose dnys, and I sent void 
that I would come to him when the entertainment was over, 
But, sir, the manager, a sweet man, who was my great friend, 
resolved that nothing fatal should take place — I forget his 
name." " Probably Fleetwood, sir." " Aye, that was the man, 
— sent a message to the surly fellow at the pillar, and 
make up a bed for me in the theatre for fear of consequences, 
and so the matter ended." 

Macklin displayed (he violence of his temper in ihrusti 
his cane into the eye of Mr. Hallam, the uncle of Mrs. Ml 
locks, the admired comic actress. Mr. Hallam died in conse-' 
queoce of this wound, which perforated the brain, and Macklin 
was tried for the crime at the Old Bailey, but acquitted, be- 
cause it did not proceed from malice prepense. 

It was formerly the custom with the actors and many liter- 
ary characters of the time, to walk in the Piazzas of Covent 
Garden in the middle of the day, and then to adjourn to dinner 
at the Bedford and other coffee-houses in the neighborhood, 
and Mr. Murphy assured me that he was present at the fol- 
lowing scene. Foote was walking with one party of friends, 
and Macklin with another. Foote diverted his friends at the 
expense of Macklin, whom he not only turned into ridicule, 
but attacked his character on all points. Macklin was not less 
active in abusing Foote. This scene continued for some time, 
and the reciprocal attacks seemed to receive an additional 
stimulus as they passed each other. At length all the friends 
of both parties went away, and Foote and Macklin were left 
masters of the field ; but Murphy lingered after he had taken 
leave of Foote, merely to see how the combatants would treat 
each other. To his surprise, Foote advanced to Macklin, 
said in an amicable manner, "Macklin, as we are left alonej 
suppose we take a beefsteak together." " With all my heart,' 
said Macklin ; and they adjourned to the Bedford, as it they 
had been the best of friends. They afterwards, however, came- 
to an open rupture. 

Both gave public readings, in which they introduced the 
most vindictive abuse of each other. My father used to attend 



uld 

:es, I 



CHARLES MACKLIN. 



295 



\ 



them both. Macklin severely arraigned the moral character 
of Foote, aod his daring impudence in exposing private per- 
he stage. Foote was sportive and inventive. Among 
Other matters which my father told me of this warfare, he 
said Foote expressed his surprise that Macklin should have 
had a Latin quotation in his advertisement, — " but I have it," 
said he : "when he was footman to a wild, extravagant student 
at the university, and carried his master's books to the pawn- 
broker's, he probably picked up this quotation on the way." 
After a pause, Foote added, "No, that could not be, for the 
fellow could not read at the time." It hardly need be said 
that Macklin never was in that capacity. The belligerents, 
however, with all the solemnity on one side, and all the wit on 
the other, tired the town, raised the siege, and became good 
iriends again. 

Macklin was a severe father. He gave his daugliter, indeed, 
an accomplished education, and for some years came annually . 
from Dublin, his head- quarters, to play his Shylock and Sir 
Archy for her benefit, but he always made her pay for the 
journey and his performance, and she was always obliged to 
lend her gold watch to a friend during his stay in London, lest 
he should insist upon having it, as he was too austere for her 
to dispute his will. Her figure was good, and her manner easy 
and elegant, but her face was plain, though animated by ex- 
pression. She was a very sprighdy actress, and drew from 
real life. Her character through life was not only unim- 
peached, but highly respected. 

Churchill has described Macklin's face in very coarse terms 
in his "Rosciad;" and Qui n said of him, "H God writes a 
legible hand, that fellow is a villain." At another lime, Quin 
had the hardihood to say to Macklin himself, ■' Mr. Macklin, 
by the lines — 1 beg your pardon, sir — by the cordage ai your 
face, you should be hanged." 

I saw Macklin perform lago, and Sir Paul Pliant, and other 
characters. In lago, though doubtless he was correct in his 
conception of the character, he was coarse and clumsy in his 
deportment, and nothing could be more rough than his manner 



296 



JOHN TA YLOR. 



of slabbing Emilia, and running from the stage, in the Ust 
scene. His Sir Paul was not wanting in noisy humor, but was 
rude in action. He was loo theoretical for nature. He had 
three pauses in his acting — the first, moderate ; the second, 
twice as long ; but his last, or " grand pause," as he styled it, 
was so long, that the prompter, on one occasion, thinking his 
memory failed, repeated the cue, as it is technically called, 
several times, and at last so loud, as to be heard by the audi^ 
enee. At length Macklin rushed from the stage, and knockes 
him down, exclaiming, "The fellow interrupted mi 
grand pause." 

The last time \ ever saw Macklin was in Henrietta Street^ 
Covenl Garden, during a very severe frost, when the s 
hardened on the ground. He was well muffled up in a great-"! 
coat, and walked to and fro with great vigor. 1 addressed 
him, and said, " Well, Mr. Macklin, I suppose you are com- 
paring the merits of former actors with those of the present 
day." " The what of the present day ? " said he in a very 
loud tone ; "the what, sir?" in a louder tone, "the actors, 
sir ? " He repeated his question with a voice that made the 
whole street ring. "Perhaps, sir," said I, "you will not 
allow the present race to be actors," "Good-morning, si 
said he, and abruptly parted from me, resuming his walk nitbJ 
extraordinary strength and speed. 

Thomas King. 

With Mr. Thomas King, generally called Tom Kingfra 

his easy manners and facetious talents, 1 was well acquaints 

Churchill says of him ; — 

It has been supposed fay some that the critical poet alluded 
to his performance of Brass in the comedy of " The Confeder- 
acy," but this is a mistake. He was indeed admirable in that 
character, hut the poet alluded to his general excellence in 
characters of a bold and spirited nature, such as the bucks 
and bloods of that time, as well as to the daring and Intrusive 
characters of the old comedies. ~ 



THOMAS KING. 



297 



King possessed a shrewd mind, and copied his characters 
from real life, and from the manners of any. of his predecessors. 
He was admirable in story-telling in private company, and 
when any persons beat about the bush to draw from him a 
particular story, lie always slopped them and said, " I see 
what you are at, don't give yourself any trouble," and he 
would then begin to tell a facetious anecdote, which required 
some degree of acting, as if it was some narrative of the day. 
My friend Donaldson was his school-fellow at Westminster. 

To show the revolutions of a theatrical life, Tom King, who 
afterwards became one of the chief comic actors of his time, 
told his friend Donaldson that, soon after he adopted the pro- 
fession, be walked all the way from Beaconsfield to Southwark 
to procure money from a friend to buy a pair of stockings, and 
when he walked back to perform the ne\l day, his share of the 
profits was eigh teen-pence, and his proportion, on a division, 
of the ends of candles. 

Poor King unfortunately had an incurable propensity to 
gaming. After frequent and heavy losses he won one evening 
about 7,000/. He immediately left the gaming-table and ran 
home. His wife was in bed. He fell upon his knees by (he 
side of the bed and called vehementlyfor a Bible. Unhappily 
there was no such unprofessional book in the house, but King 
remained on his knees and solemnly swore that he would never 
visit a gaming-table again. His propensity, however, returned 
upon him, and he ventured his all one night, which was won 
by a colonel in the British army, a very rich man, not without 
a strong suspicion that he was guilty of false play ; and the 
suspicion was so near proof, that he went to all the clubs of 
which he was a member and erased his name from the books, 
conscious that, when an explanation took place, he would have 
been dismissed with infamy from them all. This man, who 
was of a good family, after his conduct towards King, was dis- 
carded from society, and used to wander alone through the 
streets, an object of contempt to all who had before known 
and respected him. 

King once kept his carriage, had a house in Great Queen 



ZgS JOHN TAYLOR. 

Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, and a villa at Kamplofi 
mansion of his friend Cairick, who held him in high regard ; 
bill his fatal turn for gaming deprived him of these advantages 
and rendered him a poor man for (he remainder of hia life. 
He had lor several years been attached to Miss Baker, a cele- 
brated dancer at Drury Lane Theatre, and happening to break 
his leg, and being attended by her with great kindness during 
his illness, he married her on his recovery, and they lived 
many years as happily together after such a change of fortune, 
the result of his own imprudence, as could well be expected. 

It is lamentable to slate that this affectionate wife, who had 
shared prosperity with him, when, besides the advantage! 
which I have mentioned, he enjoyed a large weekly salary, 
and a very productive annual benefit, was after bis death ob- 
liged to live in a garret in Tottenham Court Road, supported 
chiefly by those who knew her in better days. She bore the 
reverse of her fortune with patience and submission ; and even 
with her scanty means, by her taste rendered her apartment an 
agreeable scene of simple decoration. 

"Jeremy Diddler." 
One of the last original characters which Lewis performed 
was Jeremy Diddler, in the humorous farce of " Raising the 
Wind." The farce was brought forward on a Saturday night, 
and on that very night died the person who was justly con- 
sidered the hero of the piece : this was no other than Bibb, a 
well-known character at that time, who accompanied Shuter 
in his expedition to Paris to win a wager. Though the per- 
son in question was not a Iheatrical performer, yet he was so 
much connected with theatrical performers, and acted so sin- 
gular a part in the drama of life, that 1 may not improperly 
introduce him on the present occasion. He was the son of a 
respectable a word- cutler in Great Newport Street The 
fallier was a grave and pruder 

good education, and afterwards articled him to an engraver. 
Bibb practiced the art some years, and I remember a print ^ 
which he engraved, representing the interior of the Panthec 
in Oxford Street. 





I 



I 

I 



"JEREMY DIDDLER." 299 

print was not a work of liigh professional skill, but, 
from the number of the figures, and the large size of the plate, 
displayed more industry than could have been expected from 
a character that was afterwards marked by idleness and dissi- 
pation. I knew him very early in life, and occasionally saw 
him until near his death. He was much inclined to gaming, 
and took me once to a hazard-table in Gerrard Street, Soho, 
where I saw Dr. Luzzalo, an Italian physician, who visited 
my father, and was a very agreeable and intelligent man. 
Baddeley, the actor, was also there, A dispute arose be- 
tween Baddeley and the Doctor, which was hkely to termi- 
nate seriousiy, but the rest of the assembly interposed, test 
tlie ekaracter of the house should be called in question, and 
their nocturnal orgies suppressed. 

The house went under the name of the Royal Larder, which 
■was merely a cover to conceal its real purpose, that of a place 
for the meeting of gamesters. 

I was very young at the time, and being ignorant of the 
game, I had not courage to engage at the hazard-table. It 
was a meeting of a very inferior kind, for a shilling was ad- 
mitted as a stake. I had a very few shillings in my pocket, 
which Bibb borrowed of me as the box came round to him, 
and lost every lime. The house was kept by a man named 
Nelson, who afterwards was landlord of the George Inn, op- 
posite to Wyche Street, in Drury Lane. 

How Bibb supported himself, having relinquished engrav- 
Hng, it would be difficult to conceive, if he had not levied taxes 
\ipon all whom he knew. Insomuch that, besides his title of 
■'Count, he acquired that of " Half-crown Bibb," by which ap- 
pellation he was generally distinguished, and according to a 
irough, and, perhaps, fanciful estimate, he had borrowed at 
^least 2,000/. in half-crowns. 

remember to have met him on the day when the death of 
Dr. Johnson was announced in the newspapers, and, express- 
ing my regret at the loss of so great a man, Bibb interrupted 
me, and spoke of him as a man of no genius, whose mind 
contained nothing but the lumber of learning. I was mod- 



300 



JOHN TAYLOR. 




estly beginning a panegyric upon the Doctor, when he 
interrupied me with, " Oh ! never mind that old blocMii 
Have you such a thing as nine-pence about you F " 
for him I had a little more. 

There was something so whimsical in this incident, that 
mentioned it to some Eriends, and that and others of the 
kind doubtless induced Mr. Kenny to make him the hero 
his diverting -farce, called " Raising the Wind," already 
lioned. Another circumstance of a similar nature was told 
me by Mr. Morton, whose dramatic works are deservedly 
popular. He told me that Bibb met him one day after the 
successfiil performance of one of his plays, and, concluding that 
a prosperous author must have plenty of cash, commenced his 
solicitation accordingly, and ventured to ask him (or the loaa 
of a whole crown. Morton assured him that he had no more 
silver than three shillings and sixpence. Bibb readily ac- 
cepted them, of course, but said on parting, " Remember I 
intended to borrow a crown, so you owe me eighte en-pence. 
This stroke of humor induced Morton to regret that Bibb had 
left him his debtor. 

Bibb, in his latter days, devised a good scheme to raise the 
supplies. He hired a large room for the reception of company 
once a week, which he paid for only for the day. He then, 
with the consent of his friends, provided a handsome din- 
ner, for which the guests paid their due proportion. There 
can be little doubt that many extraordinary characters assent- 
bled on these occasions. He told me his plan, and requested 
1 wouid be one of the party. I promised I would attend, and 
regret that I was prevented, as so motley an assemblage must 
have afforded abundant amusement. 

Bibb's father, knowing the disposition ol his son, left him 
an annuity, which was to be paid at the. rate of two guineas 9. 
week, and which never was lo be advanced beyond that suny 
This was, however, probably dissipated the next day, and^ 
when expended, he used to apply to his sister, a very amiablie 
young lady, who was married to a respectable merchant Hav- 
ing been tried by frequent applications, the husband would not 



\ 



'■ JEREMY DIDDLEK." 



301 



the door. Bibb then seated himself on the steps, 
^tsiA. passengers seeing a man decently dressed in that situa- 
'-tion, naturally stopped, and at length a crowd was collected. 
The gentleman then desirous of gettiiig rid of a crowd, and 
probably in compliance with the desire of his wife, found it 
necessary lo submit to her brother's requisition. 

When ! first became acquainted with Bibb, he had the man- 
ners of a gentleman with easygayetj-, having recently returned 
travelling, as companion to a person of fortune. His 
Igonversation was enhvened with humor, and, perhaps, I might 
it, but as he gradually departed from genteel so- 
ciety, and associated chiefly with gamblers, if not sharpers, 
his manners proportionately degenerated, and once sitting 
nearly opposite lo him at a public dinner, having received a 
ticket from one of my friends, I was surprised lo observe that 
all Bibb said, was accompanied by nods, winks, and by thrust- 
ing his tongue into his cheek. I could hardly believe that 1 
had remembered him with a pleasing vivacity and well-bred 



Nothing could subdue the spirit of his character, for he 
would make a joke of those necessities under which others 
I would repine, droop, and despair. His death was fortunate at 
k the period when it happened, for it not only relieved him in 
rMd age firom probable infirmities, which, if they had confined 
rBim at home, would doubtless have deprived him of all re- 
sources of an eleemosynary nature, but would have reduced 
him to absolute starvation. It was also, as I have before ob- 
served, fortunate, for he escaped the mortification of seeing 
his character brought upon the stage. The public journals of 
" e Monday after his death were full of anecdotes of his ex- 
raordinary life. I may fairly add, that if he had been a man 
'ortane, with his talents, promptitude, and humor, he might 
e made a very respectable figure in life, and have been a 
I useful member of society. 




302 john taylor. 

George S tee yens, 

Mr. Murphy said that he had been 
after the successful exhibition of one of his plays, but I do 
recollect which. On his return to town Mr. Steevens called on 
him, and in the course of conversation asked if he had seen a 
severe attack on his play, in the ''St James's Chronicle." Mur- 
phy said he had not. In a day or two after Mr. Steevens 
called on him again, and, referring to the same article, asked 
him if he had not seen it. Mr. Murphy asked him how long 
ago the article had appeared ; Steevens told him about a 
fortnight. " Why, then," said Murpliy, "would you have me 
search for it in the jakes, where only it now can probably be 
found?'' There was something of apparent disappointment 
in the manner of Steevens, and it struck Mr. Murphy that he 
was probably the author. He therefore excused himself for 
putting an end to the interview then, pretending that he had 
some papers to examine ; and as soon as Steevens had de- 
parted, Mr. Murphy set off post to the office of "The St 
James's Chronicle," and requested to see the manuscript of the 
article in question. The late Mr. Baldwin obligingly com- 
plied, and Mr. Murphy found that it was in the handwriting of 
Steevens. Steevens denied that it was his handwriting, and 
by mutual consent the mailer was referred to the decision of 
Dr. Johnson. Mr. Murphy submitted his proofs to the Doc- 
tor, and Mr. Steevens attempted a defense, but the Doctor 
deemed it so unsatisfactory, that all he said 
was, that Mr. Steevens must hereafter " lead the life of 
outlaw." 

The late Mr, Kemble told me, upon the authority of Ml 
Malone, that when Mr. Steevens called, during the Doctoi" 
last illness, to inquire how he was, the black servant went 
told the Doctor that Mr. Steevens waited below. " Whei 
is he ? " said the Doctor. " On the outside of the street-door," 
was the answer. " The best place for him," was the reply. 

The following anecdote is told as a proof of the gratitude 
of Steevens. It is said that he employed a woman of the 



1 

lere^^ 




I 



THOMAS HULL. 303 

I, of sorae education and talents, to place herself at the 
idoor of Mr. Reed's chambers, and tell a pitiable tale of her 
distress and of the misfortunes which she had suffered. When 
Mr, Reed came home, she acted her part so well that he was 
strongly interested, and, as she said she was without a home, 
he offered her money to procure a bed where she could find 
one. In pursuance of the instructions which she had re- 
ceived, she said she was ignorant of that part of the town, and 
too weak to go lo any other. Mr. Reed had but one bed, but 
rather than expose the poor woman to the necessity of wander- 
ing through the streets at a late hour, he actually resigned his 
bed to her, and slept at a neighboring coffee-house. 

This despicable trick of Mr. Steevens, by which he intended 
to try the virtue of Mr. Reed, and perhaps afterwards to dis- 
grace him by promulgating the incident, which he doubtless 
hoped would have had a different termination, only proved the 
humanity of Mr. Reed, and the malignant character of his 
pretended friend. 

Thomas Hull. 

He was a man of learning, and possessed literary talents. 
He wrote a tragedy entitled '■ Fair Rosamond," published two 
Volumes of poems by subscription, and \ had the pleasure of 
being one of his subscribers. He also published " Letters " 
to a lady who had been his pupil, and whom he afterwards 
married. This lady appeared upon the stage in the character 
of Paulina in "The Winter's Tale." At the time I knew 
them, they were advanced into the " vale of years," and were 
a perfect Darby and Joan. She often came behind the scenes, 
to admire and animate her husband, long after .she had left the 
stage. It was gratifying to observe the attention which they 
pdd to each other at their advanced period of life. This 
attention was often a subject of mirth to the lively actors, 
but was always respected by those of a graver kind, be- 
cause it was evidently the effect of long and rooted attach- 
ment. 

I remember one night seeing them both behind the scenes, 



304 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



when they came merely from curiosity, as Hull did not act on 
that occasion. He wa.s just going to take a pinch of snuH, 
when she said, " Try mine, my dear." " I will, my love," he 
replied, and in his manner displayed the endearment of a 
youthful lover. Yet there was nothing ludicrous in the gal- 
lantry of this aged pair. The actors of his own rank, in his 
time, were obviously so much below him in knowledge and 
understanding, that he raled himself somewhat high, but not 
proudly, in comparison with them. 

I never saw Mrs. Hull act, nor know what characters she 
performed besides Paulina, but it was said that on one occa* 
sion, at the end of the performance, he came to her, and said : 
" My dear, you played like an angel to-night ; " aod then, 
turning a little aside, said to himself ; " and for that matter 
so did I, too." On the publication of his poems, I wrote a 
few stanzas in praise of them, and sent the manuscript to his 
wife, and afterwards introduced them into a newspaper. From 
respect to his memory, I have since inserted them in my 
volumes. Soon after the lady received my verses, she called 
on me to express her gratitude, and told me that she had 
copied them fifteen times, to present them to ladies who were 
friends of her husband. 

Mr. Hull was for a few years the stage-manager of Covi 
Garden Theatre, and in that capacity, as well as for his 
sense, was always required to address the audience when 
thing particular had occurred. A ludicrous circumstance hap- 
pened during the time that mobs paraded the streets at night 
when Admiral Keppel had been acquitted of the charges 
brought against him by Sir Hugh Palliser. Mr. Hull lived in 
a corner of Martlett's Court, Bow Street, at the time. One 
of these mobs came before his door, and called for beer. He 
ordered his servant to supply them, till a barrel which he hap- 
pened to have in his house was exhausted ; and soon afteCi 
another mob came with the same demand, and did not de] 
without doing mischief. A third mob came, and ciamoroi 
demanded the same refreshment. Mr. Hull then addressl 
them, with theatrical formality, in the following terms : " Ladi( 



^^P'Bnd Gentlemen, one of my barrels has been drunk a 
^H one has been let out ; there are no more in Ihe hoi: 
^^P therefore we hope for your usual indulgence on thes 



JOHN aKEEFFE. 



I 



Mr. Hull deserves Ihe perpetual gratitude of the theatrical 
community, as he was the original founder of that benevolent 
institution, " The Theatrical Fund," which secures a pro- 
vision for the aged and infirm of either sex, who are no longer 
capable of appearing with propriety before the public. 

John O'Keeffe. 

This gentleman, who is still alive, and who may be consid- 
ered 3ui generis, as a dramatic writer, I have long known, and 
have had the pleasure of writing two or three prologues, at his 
desire, for some of his dramatic productions. 1 have letters 
from him expressive of more thanks than such trifling favors 
could deserve. He had the misfortune to be blind ever since 
I knew him, and therefore was not able to take that part in 
company for which he was well qualified by original wit anti 
humor, and, as I have reason to believe, also by learning. 

He had written a play, of which our renowned Alfred was 
the hero, to which, at his request, I gave a prologue. In this 
prologue, 1 courted for him, of course, the favor of the public, 
and signified that they would no doubt be surprised that he 
who produced " Bowkit," " Lingo," etc, should venture lo 
portray the glorious founder of our laws. This prologue was 
spoken, but 1 understood that it did not satisfy Mr. O'Keeffe, 
who considered himself as equally qualified for the serious and 
sportive drama. As a proof he was offended that I did nor 
give him credit for a genius for the heroic drama, as well as 
for the luxuriance of his humor in farce-writing, when a sub- 
scription was raised for the publication of his works in four 
vcdumes, in order to purchase an annuity for him, to which I 
was glad to subscribe, though he introduced all the other pro- 
logues I wrote for him, he omitted the one in question ; yel, if 
1 do not mistake my own humble productions, it is one of the 
best of the manv which I have written. 



3o6 



•JOHN TAYLOR. 



Michael Keixy. 



I performers, ti^| 



Though I class Mr. Kelly among theatrical 
rank him also as a private friend, for a more friendly 
I have not known. Though he had no pretensions to literary 
merit, he did not want good taste, nor was it confined lo his 
musical profession. Allowing for vanity, an essential ingredi- 
ent in human nalure, he possessed humor, and was a pleasant 
companion. " His Reminiscences," from which 1 have derived 
more amusement than from similar works written with higher 
claims to literary notice, represent his character faithfully, and 
prove what I have before said of him, namely, that he was 
only an enemy to himself. His hospitable turn, resulting from 
the habits of liis country, as well as from his own liberal dis- 
position, prevented his acquiring that independence which 
otherwise his talents would probably have obtained. 

Madame Mara, one of my early and most intimate friends, 
who was well acquainted with the world, gave me a favorable 
representation of Mr. Kelly before I knew him. She assured 
me that he was very good-natured, that he possessed great hn- 
mor, and was peculiarly successful in imitating foreign manners, 
particularly those of foreign musical performers and compos- 
ers. I had never any reason to think that Mara had been mis- 
taken in his character. 

He first appeared at Drury Lane Theatre in the opera of 
" Lionel and Clarissa," in which he performed the part of 
Lionel. 1 did not admire his singing, and his acting was such 
an odd mixture of foreign manners and accents, supported by 
the native pronunciation of his country. Ireland, that, being. 
connected with a public journal at the time, 1 did not wbh 
bring my humble judgment in question, or to say anything 
jurious to a young man who came to London with high mtlsi 
fame, and of whose private character 1 had heard a good re^ 
port. ] was the more disposed to decline criticising his per- 
formance, on account of Messrs. Sheridan and Richardson, 
proprietors of Drury Lane Theatre, with whom I was intimate, 
and who expected much advantage from his tale: 






MICHAEL KELLY. 307 

fore requested Mr. Richardson to give an account of Kelly's 
first appearance ; Ihe interest which he look in the theatre, as 
■well as his own benignant temper, induced him readily to 
undertake the task, and his report was highly favorable. 
Kelly then, from his intimacy with Stephen Storace, a musical 
composer of great merit, and with the kind aid of Mr. Cobb, 
the dramatic author, had songs and characters provided for 
him, which brought him forward, and enabled him to become 
a favorite with the public. 

Kelly was ambitious of high and literary connections, and 
Itia cheerful disposition and amusing talents forwarded his 
pretensions. By his own account in his two published vol- 
umes, he must have been patronized, and admitted to a familiar 
intercourse with many of the most distinguished characters in 
Europe, in point of rank as well as talents. Few persons, in- 
deed, seem to have enjoyed a more happy life, or to have 
passed through the world with a less offensive, or indeed a 

ore conciliating temper. 

I cannot take a final leave of my friend Michael Kelly wilb- 

II expressing my sincere regret that his harmless and pteas- 
snt life should have passed during some years before his death 

o lamentable a state, from the effects of the gout, as to ren- 
der him wholly unable to move without assistance ; yet when 
once seated at a convivial table, as I have seen him at that of 
the late Dr. Kitchiner, his vivacity never deserted him, and he 
was ready to entertain the company by his good-humor, his 
anecdotes, and his muF;ieal talents. 

It should be mentioned, in justice to Mr. Kelly, that he re- 
tained the most affectionate remembrance of Mrs. Crouch till 
his last moments ; and knowing that ! had been acquainted 
with her long before she appeared in public, he seemed to feel 
a melancholy pleasure in imijarting his feelings to me. 1 knew 
r and brother. The former held a situation in the 
Castle at Dublin ; the latter, a very handsome man ami an ex- 
cellent singer, was a major in the British army. 

Michael Kelly was so much in favor with his late Majesty, 
George the Fourth, that he annually received from that la- 



3o8 yOflN TAYLOR. 

mented monarch looi as a conlribuiion to his benefit If 
Ketly " was not witty io himself," his facetious blunders were 
" the cause of wit in others ; " but his temper was so good, 
that he never was offended at the liberties taken with him, but 
atlempted to retort their raillery, and generally gave fresh oc- 
casion for more sportive sallies on his ludicrous mistakes. 
There were latent seeds of judgment in his mind, derived from 
long and varied experience In several countries ; and, amidst 
all his humors and eccentricities, his opiaion might be safely 
consulted in matters of importance. 

Oa one occasion, when Mr. John Kenible was grave and 
silent, after many persons had expressed their sentiments on a 
particular subject, and Kemble appeared in dumb solemnity, 
Kelly turned towards him, and aptly applied the words of 
Hamlet, "Come, Kemble, 'open thy ponderous and marble 
jaws,' and give us your opinion." 

George Frederick Cooke. 
George Cooke's mother had a legacy left her by Mrs. Dun- 
well. Mrs. Cooke was a crazy old woman, and much annoyed 
the late Rev. Mr. Harpur, one of the executors. Mr. HarpuT 
was one of the officers of the British Museum. Mrs. Cooke 
frequently called on him, and demanded her legacy, which ho 
could not pay till certain legal forms gave him authorit}'. On 
one of her visits, the unfortunate state of her mind was too 
evident, and was attended with melancholy consequences. 
While Mr. Harpitf and his wife were sitting at breakfast, Mrs. 
Cooke suddenly burst into the room, and in a vehement man- 
ner demanded the corpse of her son, accusing Mr. Harpur of 
having murdered him. Mrs. Harpur was in a very declining 
state of health at the time, and knowing nothing of Mrs. Cooke, 
was much shocked at the violence of her manner, and the hor- 
rid crime imputed to her husband. Mr. Harpur, who was a 
very sensible man, with great presence of mind, feeling for the 
agitation of his wife, quietly told Mrs. Cooke that she had not 
taken the right course in order to recover the body of her son, 
and to bring his murderer to justice. " You should go," said 



I 



GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 309 

he, " lo Sir John Fielding's office in Bow Street, accuse me 
of the murder, and he will send his officers to bring me to jus- 
tice, t shall then be tried for the crime, and punished if I am 
found guilty." " Well," said Mrs. Cooke, ■' I will do so im- 
inediaiely," and quietly departed. 

The inconsistent and extravagant conduct of George Coolce 
may, perhaps, be not improperly traced to the mental infirmity 
of his mother. Very many years had elajMied before I heard 
lythiog more of him than thai he had been apprenticed to a 
prioter at Berwick-upon-Tweed. Hearing that a Mr. Cooke 
had acquired high provincial reputation as an actor, and that 
he had t)een a printer, I began to think he might be the person 
I had known when a boy. 

Understanding that he was engaged at Covent Garden 
Theatre, and that he was to rehearse the part of King Richard 
ain morning, I asked my friend the late Mr. Lewis, 
the great comic actor of his time, and who was tlien the stage- 
permission to attend the rehearsal ; and he readily 
consented. It was with difficulty that I could trace the lub- 
berly boy whom I had formerly known, through the great al- 
teration of his person. At the end of the rehearsal, still doubt^ 
ful, I addressed him, and asked him if he recollected to have 
known such a person as myself. He remembered our inter- 
course, but declared I was so much altered, that he should not 
known me. I attended his first appearance in the char- 
acter of Richard the Third, and sat with Mr. Sergeant Sliep- 
herd, now Sir Samuel, a gentleman who was held in the high- 
respect and esteem by his brethren at the bar, which, 
however", he was obliged to abandon on account of deafness.^ 
had the pleasure to find that Mr. Shepherd concurred with 
le in my opinion of Cooke's theatrical merit. We agreed that 
'he showed a shrewd, reflecting mind, but that his manner was 
larse, and clumsy. The house was not well attended ; 
he was, however, well received. Mr. Kemble sat with his wife 
in the front boxes, and was very liberal without being ostenta- 
'tious in his applause. 

uniiel Shepherd's fatliEr wia a respectable 1r?desznaQ inCon]hi]I,ai]d macb 
by in who knew hiru. 



310 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



Cooke was strong, but coarse. He had not the advants^ 
of much education, but had a shrewd, peoetraling mind, t 
well acquainted with human nature, and was powerful it 
characters for which his talents were adapted, and tliey » 
chiefly of the villainous. He thought of nothing but the indul- 
gence of his passions, particularly devoting himself to the bot- 
tle. I found him one night in the greenroom during his per- 
formance so much affected by liquor, that he v 
appear before the audience. He seemed to be melancholjg 
and when I asked him the cause, he said he had just heal 
that Mr. Kemble had become a partner in the thea 
course," said he, " I shall be deprived of my charactersH 
There is nobody but Black Jack whom I fear to encounter.^ 
1 assured him that he mistook Mr. Kemble, who knew hifq 
value too well lo deprive hira of any part "For his ii 
said I, "he would rather bring you more forward. He will re- 
vive " Antony and Cleopatra," he will be Antony, you Ventid- 
ius. He will be Othello, you Pierre ; you Richard, he the 
Prince of Wales \ you Shylock, he Bassanio ; " aod I men* J 
tioned other parts in which they might cordially cooperatefl 
These remarks cheered him, and he said, " if so, we wiU driv($4 
the world before us." In the mean time, I plied him with 
tumblers of water, and lessened the effect of the liquor, rec- 
ommending forbearance of the bottle, He thanked me, and 
promised to take my advice, went home, immediately returned 
to his wine, and was rendered so ill, that he was confined ti ~ 
hi^bed the two following days. 

Edmund Kean. 
I saw Mr. Kean on his first performance in London. 
pari was Shylock, and it appeared to me to be a favorabl 
specimen of what might be expected from a provincial perS 
former, but 1 could not see any of those striking merits whicR 
have since appeared to the public ; and, finding in his pn^- 
ress that his fame increased without any apparent improve- 
ment, in my humble judgment, and, as I before observed, re- 
luctant lo oppose public opinion, 1 avoided as much a 



EDMUND KEAiV. 311 

consisteot with the duty of a public journaJist to notice his 
performances. But I hope I shall not be accused of vanity 
in saying, that 1 found my silence in public, and tny observa- 
tions in private, had brought upon me the imputation of l)e- 
ing an enemy to Mr. Kean. I should be shocked, indeed, if 
I felt conscious that I deserved such an imputaliqn. As a 
proof, however, that such, a suspicion had gained ground, I 
dined once with my old acquaintance, Mr. Paseoe Grenfell, 
M. P., at his house in Spring Gardens, when Mr. and Mrs. 
Kean were of the party, and 1 heard afterwards that Mrs. 
Kean, a lady by no means unwilling to communicate her sen- 
timents, had expressed her surprise, either to Mr. Grenfell 
himself, or to one of the company, that Mr. Taylor should be 
Invited to the sanie table with Mr. Kean. I happened to sit 
next 10 Mr. Kean at dinner, and paid him particular attention, 
to obviate, or soften, any unpleasing feelins; on his port, and 
endeavored to enter into conversation witli him on dramatic 
subjects ; but, though he conducted himself with politeness, 
he seemed of a reserved and taciturn habit, yet without the 
least indication that he thought himself near a person iijimi- 
cal to his fame. I have since seen Mr, Kean in most, if not 
all, of his theatrical exhibitions, and 1 can even solemnly de- 
clare that I went for the purpose of enlightening my mind by 
the public judgment, but unfortunately my opinion remained 
precisely the same ; I say unfortunately, for otherwise I should 
hive received from his acting the same pleasure which the 
public have enjoyed. 

Perhaps it may be thought that I am biassed by my reeol- 

Uctian of Garrick, whom I saw in many of his performances, 

, when I was twenty and twenty-one years of age. If so, I 

I cannot but admit the charge, since I am supported by the tes- 

1 timony of the best authors and critics of his time, as well as 

I by the opinion of all his theatrical contemporaries. Far from 

I feeling a prejudice against Mr. Kean, I should have been 

I .bappy in joining with the million in admiration of his abilities, 

« he is the grandson of an old and long esteemed friend of 

nine, Mr. George Saville Carey. And here let me slop to 




312 JOHN TAYlOR. 

pay a tribute of resfiect to the memory of a vety 
and a man of real geuius. 

George Saville Carey was the son of Henry Carey, a vcr^-' 
popular dramatic author, but more particularly known for his 
fertility in song-wriling. His " Sally in our Alley," has been 
long a favorite ballad ; he was the author of " Chronanhoton- 
thologos," and other dramas popular at the time; and is men- 
tioned in Dr. Johnson's " Life of Addison " as one of Addi 
son's most intimate friends. His son, my old friend, labored 
to prove that his father was the author of the words and 
of what has been styled the National Anthem, "God save 
great George our King." 

Henry Carey was a musician as well as a dramatic writer, 
but being, like too many of the literary fraternity, improvi- 
dent, and careless of the future, he was reduced to despair, 
and hanged himself on Ihe banister of the stairs where he 
resided. A single half-penny was all that was found 
pocket ; and it came into the possession of my father's old 
friend Mr. Brooke, whom I have before mentioned, ajid who 
kept it as a mournful relique of departed friendship. 

George Saville Carey, 1 believe, had no recoUecCion of his 
unfortunate father, though he cherished his memory, and was 
well acquainted with his works. The son, it is said, was 
originally apprenticed to a printer, but he soon adopted the 
theatrical profession, with however so little success that he 
became a sort of public orator and mimic, in which capacity I 
became acquainted with him early in my life. He was chiefly 
a mimic of the theatrical performers of that time, but intro- 
duced many odd characters in his miscellaneous compositions, 
which he publicly recited. 1 remember to have heard him de- 
liver his recitations at Marylebone Gardens, now covered with 
elegant manions. Like his father, he was a musical performer, 
and accompanied himself with skill and taste on the guitar. 

As the nature of his profession induced him to lead an itin- 
erant life, I never knew when or where he died, but have 
reason to fear not in prosperous circumstat 
many songs and other poetical productions ; but as he kept 



I 



RICHARD SR/NSLEY SHERIDAN. 



313 



^^^ them in reserve as instruments of his calling, 1 only know them 
^H ss he recited Ihem in public, or to me when he called on me, 
^^f I only knew of his death, when his daughter, whom I under- 
stood to be the mother of Mr. Kean, called on me to sell some 
musical productions of her deceased father ; and on more 
than one occa-sion that child accompanied her, who was des- 
tined to become the most popular and attractive actor of his 
I day. 
I have introduced these circumstances, merely to show that 
I had more reason to be the friend of Mr. Kean than to be 
adverse to his talents. 

I will venture to say a few words respecting Mr. Kean as an 
actor. He had the sagacity to perceive that there were many 
points and passages in dramatic characters, which perform- 
ers in general 'passed negligently over in their endeavors to 
support the whole of the part, but which admitted of strong 
expression. These points and passages Mr. Kean seized 
^^ upon, and brought forth, sometimes widi archness, and often 
^K with a fiery emotion, which made a strong impression on the 
^^K audience, and essentially contributed 10 his extraordinary 
^^■'-■uccess. That he performs with great energy, must be read- 
^H ily admitted, and it is to be hoped that he will inoculate some 
^H of his professional brethren with the same fervor. 



Richard Brinslev Sheridan. 
Mr. Sheridan, unhappily, was not reputed to be the n 



prompt and punctual of paymasters. He was indebted Ii 
Shaw, the leader of the band at Drury Lane Theatre. Mr. 
Shaw, though a friendly, good-natured man, tired with frequent 
applications without success, called on me, and said he wished 
to submit a statement of his situation and his correspondence 
with Mr. Sheridan to the public, observing that as it related to 
BO conspicuous a character, it would attract much attention to 
any newspaper that contained it. He said that therefoce he 
gave me the preference, requesting it might appear in " The 
Sun." He was highly incensed, and it was with great diffi- 
I culty I persuaded him to let me write to Mr. Sheridan on the 



314 JOHN TAYLOR. 

subject, and endeavor to procure an amicable arrangement, ob- 
serving that, if he could not succeed in his applicalion and ihe 
statement were published, he was not likely to be more suc- 
cessful after the matter appeared in print ; and ihat I should 
despise myself if I endeavored to draw attention to my news- 
paper by exposing the differences of friends. At length he 
assented, and I wrote to Mr. Sheridan, who in his answer, 
which I have retained, desired me to appoint a meeting at my 
office between him and Mr. Shaw on the following Saturday. 
I accordingly wrote to Mr. Shaw for that purpose. Mr. Sheri- 
dan punctually attended at the appointed time, and 1 explained 
to him that any advantage which my paper might derive from 
the publication, could have no weight with me when his inter- 
est was concerned. His answer was so gratifying to me that 
I cannot deny myself the pleasure of mentioning it. " Oh," 
said he, '.' when_^iTK do an unkind thing chaos is come again ! " 
Mr. Shaw, perhaps conscious of the persuasive powers of Mr. 
Sheridan, or unwilling to appear as an enemy before one with 
whom he had long been in friendship, did not attend the meet- 
ing, but came soon after Mr. Sheridan, who had waited two 
hours, left the place, desiring mc to appoint a meeting with 
Mr. Shaw for the following Tuesday. On this occasion the 
latter attended, but Mr. Sheridan did not. He however sent 
Mr. Graham, a friend, to meet Mr. Shaw, and request him to 
accompany him to Sheridan's house, where the latter waited 
for him. These gentlemen went away together, and matters 
were settled, as 1 afterwards understood from Mr. Shaw, who 
told me that he had been able to obtain by my intercession 
400/. of his money. . 

At a subsequent period Mr. Shaw applied to me again, in 
hopes that I might succeed upon a similar occasion. I imme- 
diately wrote to Mr. Sheridan, hut heard no more of the mat- 
ter, and therefore infer that a similar arrangement took place. 
Mr, Shaw, I understood, was brought into difhculty by accept- 
ing bills for a perfidious friend, and retired to France, where 
he still lives, and most probably is able to support himself by 
bis musical talents, aod is doubtless esteemed for his manlyJ 



IlAiaracter and social dispositioa. As a proof of Mr. Shaw's 
feiendl^ feelings, knowing that 1 was very fond of one Van- 
fcall's concerto, he never saw me at the iheatre without 



RiCHAHO BRJNSLEY SHERIDAN. 



3IS 



the orchestra 
:pected it, I always 

1 I overtook him in 
I joxQed hinn, 



I 
I 



tecting that piece for the next perfor 
between the acts ; and as I constantly e 
remained to profit by his kindness. 

The last time I ever saw Mr. Sheridan 
Oxford Street, leaning on 

and he dismissed his servant on a message, leaning a 
we reached the top of Bond Street In the course of our walk 
I told him, that if he would accompany me to the place where 
I was then goingf, he would make an amiable and enlightened 
family happy. He a.sked me to whom I was going, and t told 
him I was to pass the evening at Mr. Shee's. Mr. Sheridan 
expressed his regret that some friends were to dine with him 
at his house in Saville Row : " But tell Mr. Shee," said he, 
" that I am unluckily engaged, and add, that I esteem him 
friend, honor him as a poet, and. love him as a country' 



1 truly amiable i 
1, of whose friendship 1 w 



s proud, and 



The late Dr. Bain, a 
'experienced phys 

i^se memory I revere, attended the last days of Mr. Sheri- 
dan, and when the sheriff's officers were sent by some unre- 
lenting creditors to take Mr. Sheridan in custody, prohibited 
tbem from exercising their inhuman purpose on pain of being 
indicted for murder, as such an outraige in his present situation 
-would certainly kill him, and they would only have his dead 
body to remove. The men were not so barbarous as to perse- 
vere, but retired. The Doctor gave me an account of the last 
moments of Mr. Sheridan, and said that for a day or two be- 
fore his death he was either loo weak for utterance, or not 
disposed to make such an exertion. The Doctor told him 
that the Bishop of London was in the house, and asked him if 



he would permit his lordship t 
bedside. Mr. Sheridan did i 



repeat a short prayer by his 
speak, but bowed : 



The Bishop and the Doctor then knelt by the bedside, when 
the former repealed a prayer, but the fervor of devotion ren- 



3i6 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



dereit it much longer than the Doctor expected. Mr. Sheridan 
appeared to be allentive during the whole. He closed his 
hands in the attitude of prayer, and bowed his liead at every 
emphatic passage. 

A few days previous to Mr. Sheridan's death the late Ml 
Taylor Vaughan came to the house, and addressing Dr. 
told him, as it was probable that Mr. Sheridan did not abouni); 
in money, he n'as commissioned to present him a draft upon 
Coutls's for 200/., adding that more was at his service if re- 
quired. The Doctor said, that, as he did not observe any 
appearance of want in the house, he could not take it without 
consulting Mrs. Sheridan. The lady, on hearing of this tmex- 
pected liberality, assured the Doctor that she was fully sensi- 
ble of the kindness of the donor, but must decline the intended 
donation, adding, that whatever the Doctor might order for the 
relief of Mr, Sheridan should be fully supplied. The draft 
was then returned. It was understood that the draft was sent 
by his lale Majesty, who had graciously inquired into the state 
of Mr. Sheridan, and was distinguished among the very few 
who were not indifferent to the fate of an old friend in bis 

It would be unjust to Lord Holland and Mr. Rogers, the 
admired poet, if it were not mentioned that they visited Mr. 
Sheridan during his last illness, and that on the application of 
the latter to Mr. Rogers, that gentleman sent lo hint a draft for 
150/., in addition to previous pecuniary proofs of friendship. 
Lord Holland, however, insisted on paying half of that sum. 
As Mr. Moore has stated, on the funeral of Mr. Sheridan, 






4 









plac 



t necessary to add anything upon that subject in AI^^ 



When the reports of Mr. Sheridan's illness became v«y 
alarming, a letter appeared in "The Morning Post," drawing 
the attention of Mr. Sheridan's friends to his melancholy situ- 
ation, without mentioning his name, but designating him in 
such terms as left no doubt to whom it related. The v. 



RICHARD BRIXSLEY SHERIDAN. 317 



Idting the line aiiove mentioned, concludes with the following 
passage: "I say /(/e and jKfCijr against Westminster Abbey 
and a funeral." The letter wns anonymous, but it is proper to 
state that it was written by Mr, Denis O'Brj-en, a gentleman 
whose liberality generally exceeded his means, who was ttien 
not upoD the most amicalDle terms with Mr. Sheridan, but who, 
as Mr. Moore says, " forgot every other feeling in ? generous 
{Hty for his fate, and in hoaest indignation against those who 
DOW deserted him." 

Mr. Sheridan, with all his great intellectual powers, was at 
times disposed to indulge in boyish waggery -, and Mr. Richard- 
son told me, that passing over Westminster Bridge with him, 
he had much difSculty in preventing him from tilting into the 
Thames a board covered with images, which an Italian had 
rested on the balustrades. -Mr. Richardson had witnessed 
some plaj-fu! exertions of this nature. He did so merely to 
excite surprise and fear in the. owners, for he always amply 
indemnified them for any injury they might suffer. 

»Upon one occasion, when a nobleman, who had heard much 
of the talents of Mr. Richardson, had desired Mr. Sheridan to 
invite him lo the country seat, where the latter was then on a 
visit, and liad received a letter stating that Mr. Richardson 
was unable lo come, Mr. Sheridan kept up the enpectation of 
the master of the house, and left the room pretending that he 
was going to write a letter. Having seen a good-looking man 
in the house, a visitor to the servants, Mr. Sheridan procured 
a suit of clothes belonging to the master of the house, had the 
man dressed in them, availed himself of the noise of a carriage, 
and formally introduced him as Mr. Richardson to the noble 
L host, Mr. Sheridan had previously tutored the man not to 
P Speak, but to bow wlien anything was addressed lo him. The 
[company were struck with the rustic manner of the supposed 
ftMr. Richardson, but thought that his conversation would 
f amply compensate for any awkwardness in his deportment. 

■ The noble host was particularly attentive to his new guest, 

■ but, after many vain attempts to draw answers from him, he 
to Sheridan, and expressing his disappointment observed, 



318 



JOHN TAYLOR. 



that if Mr. Richardson had not so high a reputation, he slionld 
have thought he was a very stupid fellow, and had never been 
used to good company. Sheridan said, " Wait till you see him 
at supper, when the wine has warmed him, and then you will 
find that he fully deserves all the fame which his talents have 
excited." The nobleman, however, induced others of the 
party to address the pseudo- Richard son, and all endeavored, 
with the same ill-success, to draw forth his powers. They all 
therefore agreed in considering Mr. Richardson as one of the 
dullest men they had ever met with, and in astonishment that 
so discerning a judge as Mr. Sheridan should be such a bigot 
to friendship. At length supper was announced, and the com- 
pany were less prepared to enjoy the luxuries of the table than 
to witness the brilliant Bailies of Mr. Richardson. Sheridan, 
however, thought that he had carried the joke far enough, and 
Having contrived to get the countryman away, revealed his 
whimsical expedient, and by his own pleasantry atoned for the 
retirement of the rustic Richardson. 

Richardson told me that he was persuaded by Sheridan to 
accompany him to Putney, with the assurance that Mrs. Sheri- 
dan was anxious to see him, that he had promised lo bring 
him, and that Mrs. Sheridan was preparing a nice supper for 
him according to his taste. Sheridan knew that Richardson, 
though not inordinately attached to the pleasures of the table, 
was not however indifferent to Ihem, and therefore frequently 
on the road congratulated Richardson and himself on the good 
cheer which Mrs. Sheridan was preparing for them. When 
they reached Putney there was nothing in the house but bread 
and cheese, and about the fourth part of a bottle of port it 
decanter, nor had Mr. Sheridan any credit in the neigbbd 

Mr. Sheridan was certainly a good-natured man, and ( 
ble of great fortitude when occasion required. When Dm) 
Lane Theatre was destroyed by fire, the flouse of 
mona adjourned, from motives of respect and sympalj 
on account of the dreadful stroke which had fallen i 
one of their distinguished members ; contrary to the desircl 



I 



P RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 319 

Mr. Sheridan, who observed that the business of the country 
ought not to be itilernjpted and suspended by any private 
loss. The measure, however, having been adopted, Mr. Sheri- 
dan retired to the Piazia Coffee-house to a solitary dinner. 
Two of the principal actors of Covent Garden Theatre were 
dining together in 3 distant box, and having finished their re- 
past, they agreed that It would be proper for them to approach 
Mr. Sheridan, and express their concern for the calamity which 
had happened. Hearing from them that they were going to 
observe the scene of devastation, he expressed his desire of 
going with them. They quitted the tavern, and mingled with 
the crowd, standing for some time at the end of the Piazza in 
Russell Street. Mr. Sheridan looked at the blading ruin with 
the utmost composure. At length the gentlemen expressed 
their surprise that he could witness the destruction of his 
properly with so much fortitude. Hia answer, which was re- 
cited to me by both of the gentleman in identically the same 
words, was as follows; "There are but three things that 
should try a man's temper, the loss of what was the dearest 
object of his affections — that 1 have suiFered ; bodily pain, 
which, however philosophers may affect to despise it, is a seri- 
ous evil — that I have suffered ; but the worst of all is self- 
reproach — that, thank God, 1 never sufTered ! " The last of 
these declarations may be thought to be rather repugnant to 
the course of his life, yet I think it will admit of a satisfactory 

t solution, according to the opinion of my friend Richardson, 
;Who was a very penetrating man, and could sound the depth 
!«f character with the utmost sagacity. 

Mr. Sheridan was one of our great men, and will not only 
Bve in dramatic annals, but be recorded in the histoiy of the 
country. His errors as well as his good qualities should be 
known, that they who may emulate his merits may also avoid 
his &ults. He is a proof how a mind originally proud, deli- 
cate, and honorable, may be warped and injured by adversity, 
which often sours the temper and corrupts the heart. * Almost 
all his errors may be imputed to his necessities, which de- 
lyed the balance of his mind. His talents raised him into 




320 JOHiV TAYLOR. 

a rank which he had not the means of supporting. When 
he was cheerful and good-humored. When he had drunk too 
much, he sometimes became misanthropic, splenetic, read^, 
and almost eager, lo offend. Our mutual friend, Joe Richard- 
son, who was a penetrating observer and knew Sheridan bet- 
ter than anybody, said that in his sullen fits he '■ would search 
hia mind for the bitterest things that he could conceive," and 
freely give vent to them against the person at whom his tem- 
porary pique, or rather anger, migUtbe directed. But this was 
Che result of those pecuniary difficulties which compelled hia 
pride to submit to obligation. 

1 will only mention one instance of this unfortunate dis| 
sttioo, which occurred at a time of convivial excess, that ha) 
pened at Kelly's saloon in Pall Mall, which Kelly kindly 
cealed, but which I learned from Richardson, On this occa- 
sion be had taken offense against the late Mr. John Kemble, 
and had assailed him in the most bitter manner. Kemble had 
borne this venomous hostility for some time with great pa- 
tience, and had pushed round the bottle in hopes that Sheri- 
dan might be tempted to drink away his anger ; but finding 
that, as the lion lashes himself into fury, so Sheridan's ran- 
cor seemed to increase, unable lo bear the provocation any 
longer, Kemble seized a decanter and threw it at Sheridan, 
who luckily turned his head aside and escaped a blow which 
might otherwise have been fatal. The company Chen inter- 
fered, Sheridan apologized for his ill-humor, and as they were 
really both liberal-minded and good-natured men, they went 
out soon after in perfect amity together. 

Sheridan was indeed good-natured, and if he had been a 
man of fortune would not only have been a man of nice honor, 
as Richardson said of him, but have been a liberal patron 
and a generous friend. 1 met him one day while the naval 
mutiny spread a general alarm, when Mr. Canning bad styled 
him the "glorious exception" from the revolutionary princi- 
ples of "his party ; and, alluding to his conduct in Parliament, 
which had procured him this honorable distinction, he said : 
S Well, Taylor, though our pohtics differ, what do you Ihinlc; 






I 






RICHARD BRINSLEY SJIEKJDAN. Ill 

of me now ? " "Why," said I, "it is possible for people to 
condemn in public what they privately encourage." " Now," 
said he, " that 's very unhandsome." " What I " rejoined I, 
" you, the great wit of the age, not take a joke ? " " Oh," 
said he recovering his good-humor in a moment, " a joke, is 
it? Well, it is, however, the dullest I ever heard, and 1 am 
soriy you have no better, but I shall be glad to see you at 
Polesden." 

Having been annoyed by the appearance of flying spots on 
the paper when he read or wrote, he sent to me, requesting 
that I would caU on him and give him my opinion upon the 
subject. As I was going I met Mr. Courteney, the Irish wit, 
who was long the Momus of the Hou.se of Commons. Hear- 
icg I was going to look at Sheridan's eyes, he asked the rea- 
I told him that Sheridan complained of flying spots be- 
them, wliich were called musca-velaiites." " No," said 
Courteney, " with Sheridan they should be called vino- 

•/olanies." 

Sheridan asked me one morning to attend the rehear- 
sal of Hamlet by Mr. Foote, a nephew of my old friend Jesse 
Foote, the popular surgeon. I went to the theatre and con- 
cealed myself in one of the upper boxes until the rehearsal 
ended, and then joined Mr. Sheridan on the stage- 1 after- 
wards wrote an introductory address for Mr. Foote. Mr. 
Foote, as well as I can recollect, recited the first speech of 
Richard the Third, and was kindly encouraged by Mr. Sheri- 
dan. In the course of conversation, I asked Mr. Sheridan 
what he thought of Garrick's Richard. He said it was very 
ftne, but in his opinion not terrible enough. I mentioned this 
opinion to Mrs. Siddons, and she exclaimed, " Good God ! 
what could be more terrible ? " She then told me, that when 
she was rehearsing the part of I-ady Anne to Garrick's Rich- 
ard, in the morning, he desired that when at night he led her 
from the sofa, she would follow him step by step, as he said 
he did a great deal with his face, and wished not to turn it 
from the audience ; but such was the terrific impression 

rhicb his acting produced upon her, that she was loo much 







322 yoZ/JV TAYLOR. 

ab«OTl>cd lo proceed, and obliged him, thererore^ to ti 
back, on which he gave her such a terrible frown, ihat she 
wan always divturbcd when she recollected it 

Dr. Dodd. 

Mr. Woodfall told 
and convicted, but n 

i[ue«t Mr. Woodfall would visit him in Newgale. Mr. W< 
fall, who was always ready at the c.ill of distress, naturally 
■upposed the Doctor wished to consult him on his situation, or 
to desire that he would insert some article in his favor in 
" The Morning Chronicle." On entering the place of con- 
finement, Mr. Woodfall began lo condole with him on his un- 
fortunate situation. The Doctor immediately intemipted 
him, and said that he wished to see him, on quite a differ- 
ent subject. He then told Mr, Woodfall, that, knowing his 
judgment on dramaiic matters, he was anxious to have his 
opinion of a comedy which he had written, and it he approved 
of it, to request his interest with the managers to bring tt on 
the stage. Mr. Woodfall was not only surprised but shocked 
to find the Doctor so insensible lo his situation, and the more 
so, because whenever he attempted to offer consolation, the 
Doctor as often said, " Oh I they will not hang me I " while, to 
aggravate Mr. Woodfall's feelings, he had been informed by 
Mr. Ackerman, the keeper of Newgate, before his interview 
with the Doctor, that the order for his execution had actually 
reached the prison. For this extraordinary fact, the reader 
may confidently rely on the veracity of Mr. Woodfall. 

I once heard the unfortunate Doctor preach at the Magdalen 
Hospital. Presuming upon his importance, he did not arriW 
till the service was over, and a clergyman had entered the 
pit and commenced the sermon. The clergyman, howevet', 
resigned his silualirm as soon as the Doctor appeared- 
courae was delivered with energy, but with something theatri- 
cal in his Hclion and poetical in his language. Among other 
passages of a lofty description, I remember he said, that "the 
man whose life is conducted according to the principles of tlK 



ptAS 

dia-." 



DR. DODD. 



323 



1 



Christian religion, will have the satisfaction of an approving 
conscience and the glory of an admiring God." Dodd pub- 
lished a volume of poems, some of which are in Dodsley's col- 
lection. His sermons have a tincture of poetry in the lan- 
guage. I heard him a second time in Charlolle Chapel, 
Piinlico, and his discourse made the same impression. 

,s lamentable to remark the difference between his 
deportment in the streets and his appearance in the 
ich the last time I saw him, when he was going lo suffer the 
of the law. In the streets he walked with his head 
and with a lofty gait, like a man conscious of his own 
importance, and perhaps of the dignity of his sacred calling. 
In the coach he had sunk down with his head to the side, his 
face pale, while his features seemed to he expanded : his eyes 
closed, and he appeared a wretched spectacle of despair, 
crowd of people in Holborn, where I saw him pass, was 
and a deep sense of pity seemed to be the universal 
I was young and adventurous, or I should not have 
trusted myself in so vast a multitude; sympathy had re- 
pressed every tendency towards disorder, even in so varied 
and numerous a mass of people. 

Dr. Dodd, on the day when he was taken into custody, had 
engaged to dine with the late Chevalier Ruspini, in Pall Mall. 
He had arrived some time before the hour appointed, and 
soon after two persons called and inquired for him, and when 
he went to them, he was informed that they had come to se- 
cure him on a criminal charge. The Doctor apologized lo the 
Chevalier for the necessity of leaving him so abruptly, and de- 
sired that he would not wait dinner for him. Soon after din- 
ner a friend of the Chevalier called, and said he had just left 
the city, and informed the company that Dr. Dodd had been 
committed to prison on a charge of forgery. I was present at 
the sale of his effects at his house in Argyle Street. During 
the sale a large table in the drawing-room was covered with 
private letters lo the Doctor, all open, and some signed by 
ly noblemen and distinguished characters. I presume 
letters were to be sold in one lot, but I did not stay till 
conclusion of the sale. 



3'4 



I the greenrodj^H 






Lord Byron. 

1 became acquainted with this nobli 
of Drury Lane Theatre, at a time when he was one of the 
tnittee of management, and, as well as I can recollect, I was 
introduced to him by Mr. Douglas Kinnaird, who was also a 
tnember of the same body. He had so little the appearance 
of a person above the common race of manliind that, as law- 
yers were concerned in the affairs of that theatre, I took him 
for one of thai profession, or a clerk ; nor when I first saw his 
features, before 1 was introduced to him, did I perceive any 
of that extraordinary beauty which has since been ascribed to 
him ; but soon after, knowing who he was, and gratified by 
the politeness of his manner, I began to see "Othello' 
age in his mind," and, if I did not perceive the reported beau^, 
I thought I saw striking marks of intelligence, and of 
high powers which constituted his character. 

I had but little intercourse with him in the greenroom 
as a proof how slight an impression his features made upon 
me, I was sitting in one of the boxes at the Haymarket Thea- 
tre, the partition of the boxes only dividing me from a person 
in the next box, who Spoke to me, and as 1 did not know who 
he was, he told me he was Lord Byrgn. I was much pleased 
-with his condescension in addressing me, though vexed that 
I did not recollect him ; and I then paid more attention to him 
than to the performance on the stage. We conversed for 
some lime in a low lone, that we might not annoy the people 
around us, and I was highly gratified in leaving all the talk to 
his lordship, consistent with the necessity of an occasional 
answer. I then took care to examine his features well, that, 
being near-sighted in some degree, I might not forget him. 

I still think that the beauty of his features has been much 
exaggerated, and that the knowledge of his intellectual pow- 
ers, as manifested in his works, has given an impression to 
the mind of the observer which would not have been made 
upon those who saw him without knowing him. The portraits 
by my friends Mr. Westall anil Mr. Phillips, are the best Uk^ 



I 

I 



LORD BYRON. 325 

fesses that I have seen of him ; and the prints from other ar- 
tists have very little resemblance, tliough some of them have 
confidently hniited to the world. 
1 was in the habit of visiting the greenrooms of both thea- 
tres, but went oftener to Dnjry Lane, in order to cultivate an 
acquaintanceship witb Lord Byron, who always received me 
with great kindness ; and particularly one night when 1 had 
returned from a public dinner and met him in the greenroom, 
though I had by no means drunk much wine, yet, as I seemed 
to him to be somewhat heated and appeared to be thirsty, 
he handed me a tumbler of water, as he said to dilute me. 
Having a short time before published a small volume of poems, 
1 sent them to his lordship, and in return received the follow- 
ing letter from him, with four volumes of his poems, hand- 
somely bound, all of his works that had been published at that 
time. I took the first sentence of the letter as a motto for a 
collection of poems which 1 have since published. 

" Dear Sir, — I have to thank you for a volume in the good 
old style of our elders and our betters, which I am very glad to 
Bee not j^t extinct. Your good opinion does me great honor, 
though I am about to risk its loss by the return 1 make for 
your valuable present With many acknowledgments for your 
wishes, and a sincere sense of your kindness, beheve me, 
" Your obliged and faithful servant, 

" BVHON." 
"tj Fbxaihllt TmuCE, Jtily lyi, igij," 

Iq addition to this kind and flattering letter, his lordship in- 
scribed the first volume in the following terms : — 



July 

His lordship's volumes, his gratifying letter, and the kind 
attention which I received from him in the greenroom, in- 
duced me to express my thanks in a complimentary sonnet lo 
him, which was inserted in "The Sim" newspaper, of which 



326 yOlM TAYLOR. 

I was Ihen the proprietor of nine lenths. The remaining tenflr 
share was to belong to a gentleman, when the profits of that 
share should amount to a sum which was the assigned price 
of each share, and at which price I purchased, by degrees, all 
my shares. By the oversight of the attorney employed, the 
gentleman alluded to, during the previous proprietorship, was 
invested with the sole and uncontrolled editorship of the paper, 
under such legal forms that even the proprietors could not 
deprive him of his authority. When the former two proprie- 
tors, of whom one was the founder of the paper, found into 
what a predicament they had been thrown, they signified their 
wishes to withdraw from the concern, and I purchased their 
respective shares, in addition to what I had bought before at 
a considerable expense, conceiving that the editor would relax 
from his authority, and that we should proceed in harmony 
together. But I was mistaken, and after much and violent 
dissension between us, I was at la.st induced to offer him 500/. 
to relinquish all connection with the paper, which sum he ac- 
cepted, and it then became entirely my own. 

During his control over the paper, the day after my sonnd) 
addressed to Lord Byron appeared, the editor thought proper 
to insert a parody on my lines in " The Sun " newspaper, " 
which he mentioned Lord Byron in severe terms, and in one 
passage adverted to Lady Byron. Shocked and mortilied at 
the insertion of this parody in a paper almost entirely my own, 
I wrote immediately to Lord Byron, explaining my situation, 
and expressing my syncere regret that such an article had ap- 
peared in the paper, and stating my inability to prevent it. My 
letter produced the following one from his lordship, which I 
lent to my friend Mr. Moore, and which he has inserted in his 
admirable life of the noble bard. 

" Deab. Sir, — I am sorry that you should feel uneasy a 
what has by no means troubled me. If your editor, his c 
respondents, and readers, are amused, I have no objection t 
be the theme of all the ballads he can find room for, provide 
his lucubrations are confined to me only. It is a long ti 



\ 



k 



LOUD BYRON. 327 

ftlnce things of this kind have ceased to 'fright me from my 
propriety,' nor do I know any similar attack which would in- 
duce me to turn again, unless it involved those connected with 
nie, whose qualities. I hope, are such as to exempt them, even 
in the eyes of thuse who bear no good-will to myself. In 
Buch a case, supposing it to occur, to riverse (he saying of 
Dr. Johnson', " What the taw cannot do for me, I would do 
for myself," be the consequences what they might. I return 
you, with many thanks, Colman and the letters. The poems 
I hope you intend me to keep, at least t shall do so, till I hear 
the contrary. Very truly yours, 

" Byron." 

" 13 Tkrhace, Piccadilly, Septtmbtt 15/*, 'Sis." 

In a subsequent letter from his lordship to me, referring to 
the same subject, there is the following postscript. " P. S. 
Your best way will be to publish no more eulogies, except 
upon the ' elect ; ' or if you do, to let him (the editor) have a 
previous copy, so that the compliment and the attack may 
appear together, which would, I think, have a good eSect." 

This last letter is dated October 27, 181s, more than a 
month after the other, so that it is evident the subject dwelt 
Upon his lordship's mind, though in the postscript he has 
treated it jocularly. The letter dated September 2Sth, is in- 
teresting, because it shows, that ttjough his lordship was in- 
diSerent to any attacks on himself, he was disposed to come 
resolutely, if not rashly, forward in defense of Lady Byron, of 
whose amiable qualities he could not but be deeply sensible, 
and it is therefore a lamentable consideration, that a separa- 
tion should have taken place between persons so emioendy 
qualified to promote the happiness of each other. 

Before her marriage, Lady Byron was the theme of universal 
esteem and admiration to all who had the pleasure of being 
acquainted with her, and there can be no doubt that in her 
matrimonial state she fully maintained her jiretensions to the 
same favorable estimation, though untoward circumstances, 
unfortunately too common in conjugal life, may have occasioned 
the melancholy event of a separation. 



328 yOlfN TAYLOR. 

I remember Hint soon after Ihe marriage I dined with Mt*. 
Siddons, and know no person who was better able la appreci- 
ate character, and to pay due homage to personal worth than 
that lady. Referring to the recent marriage, she said, " If O 
had no other reason to admire the judgment and taste of LorM 
Byron, I should be fully convinced of both, by his choice of ^ 

It is impossible to review the character and talents of Lord 
Byron without entertaining a high respect for his memory. 
That he possessed strong passions is loo evident ; but they 
were accompanied by a generous and forgiving disposition, as 
my friend Mr. Moore's valuable life of him demonstrates. 
His poetical powers, though certainly of a high order, have 
perhaps, like the beauty of his person, been represented in too 
favorable a light. They were chiefly of a satirical and de- 
scriptive kind. He could draw characters with great force 
and beauty, as well those of masculine and ferocious energy, 
as of female softness, delicacy, and exquisite feeling ; but per- 
haps if we were to search in his works for that species of 
poetical excellence which is denominated the sublime, and 
which is the essence of true poetry, we should lie disap- 
pointed. 

I feel somewhat abashed at thus venturing to criticise the 
works of so popular a writer; but much as 1 respect his 
memory, and feel sensible o£ his kindness to me, I may be 
permitted to express my opinion, considering the high reputa- 
tion which he acquired, and the great poets who do honor to 
the literary character of the country, and whose names seetn to 
have sunk into comparative oblivion. 

As Lord Byron made so conspicuous a figure in society, and 
will always remain so in the literary world, it raaynot be an in- 
curious speculation to reflect on what he might have been if he 
had not been bom to rank and afSuence. That Jie possessed 
great poetical talents, nobody can deny ; and it must be 
equally admitted that he was bom with strong passions. It is 
hardly to he doubted, that whatever had been the condition of 
his parents, they would have discovered uncommon qualitiei' 



J 



LORD HYRQN. 329 

of mind in him, and would have afforded him as good an cdu- 
s their means would have allowed. Bom in huinble 
life, he would not hue been exposed lo the flattery of syco- 
phants, whn.h always surround the inheritor of Ijlle and wealth, 
and his talents would have taken the direction which nature 
might have suggested, and his passions have been restrained 
from extravagance and voluptuousness. He would have been 
free from the provocation of captious criticism, and therefore 
would probably have employed his muse in description, senti- 
ment, and reflection, rather than in satire and licentiousness. 

That Lord Byron was generous and affectionate, is evident 
from Mr. Moore's masterly biographical work ; and this tem- 
per, influenced by his situation among persons in ordinary life, 
would probably have operated with benevolence and philan- 
thropy. His faults may therefore be conceived to have been 
the consequence of the rank in which he was born, and the 
allurements, as well as provocations, to which he was exposed 
It has been said that the deformity of his foot contributed to 
sour his temper, but if he had been obliged to support himself 
by his talents, his chagrin on that account might have passed 
fronr him "like dew-drops from the lion's mane." In my 
opinion Lord Byron was naturally a kind, good-hearted, and 
liberal-minded 'man ; and, as far as he was otherwise. It was 
the unavoidable result of the rank to which he was bom, and 
icidental temptations. 




Ataiwlon, Hn. FraiKa. Supporfs her- 
nell and hrr blber, 779- Givet rtdu- 

inlD Droflincy, S79. Mr- Murphy 
finds in ihe rnom oi B«u Tracy, 



AbinElDD wai, iSa. Taylor muu hct 
«t Mni. Conwa/a, 1S3. Enthusiasm 
for GairuA, aSj. Fundncra fpr carda, 
■I4. Fleeced by old lldies of faohion, 
it(v Bnna >n, 1&4. Inquires Cor 
Ibc heiltti of Mr, NealiDii, 1K4. De- 
din« to site ber name to Uie SfrvIM, 
aS4. He k..o*s who '.he U, iSs- 
LdoLs }dLf a tradesmau's wife, lEj, A 
legftcy from Mr. NeaUan, 1S5. An in- 
come from H dcceoBed nobleman, AS3, 
Annulled and lestond, iSj. 
AeIoa. Amateur- Encoumged by Irish 
■unaieeTS, 46. Adven lures ol one, 
46, How he retrieved his fortunes, 
it. Where Lajnun carried his pari, 47. 

aw^ence, 47. How Ihey got their 



- her part, 48. Her Hiange conduct ai an 
mttendant lady, 49. She hisKi Wilder 

^i^^ 146. Kelly olierj him nixhlly 

Kelly (o get hiiI^u>ic"i'D'!opy, 147' 
WoTKndn by day, ^nllemao at night, 
147. Condemned tn be shot, 14^, His 
taYOrile doe, .411. 
Alphsbel, (oTlowinR the. Anecdote ot 
Lady W , 137. 



I table for six. Deimnd oC an enpenalva 
flDEer, 7& " There, »r. Is yoor table,'' 
70. "Where is Ihe di^oner, ht?" 79. 
What Ihe utides were, 79. The sinier 



Boddely, Robert. Parts written lor htm, 
14a. Proud of his culinary skill, 143- 
Foole^ reply to his chailcnge, 143- 
How he peipetuated bis memttry, 143- 
Remark of Charles Bannister, 143-. 

b" rlai^' *flb"*Ke% 151. Dinej"^ 
Ciunberland's, 1^1. Cumberland reads 
a phy, 153. Cumberland's treat, Tr< 
How the end nf it was escaped, 156. 
Band, Kgnor Zacbaria. Posts hmuell 
at the door on his wife's benefit nighl, 



Posts hmuelf 
.M=. benef- ■ ■- 

IU3, x*u n,vncy ,■» He boX," I 

denefiL Preparing for one, 7. 

jlount, Harthai desciipiion of, 133' 
Flippant indifference r^ar^og Pope, 
a33- Lord Ches1er£eld refusen to speak 

> Blue Beard.'' Dramatized by Cohnan, 
iCD. Accepted at Drury Lane, rso. 
Kelly composes the music, i;^. Wlio 
rode the elephant, 15^ Kelly punches 
the tkeleton'i he«i, 160, Kelly ac- 
cused of stealing the miluc, 160. 
Letter from Mr- £ley in rq^ard to it, 
ibi. Anecdote of the st^e machiniit, 

its Gm night in Dublin, 17, How it 
plumed itself in Ireland, i;- 

Soswcl], Junes, His JacuUtis 
Anecdote of Dr. John 
Windham. 14s, Wants 10 see urann 
Cairo.Mlt' "[ must keep in with thoie 
meu,'' lA Refuses to be introducBd 
lo Peter Pindar, 14E. Full of aneicdote, 
140. Ha brother, Sir Alexander, 149. 

Browi>, Capslnlity, Why so oiled. i«7. 



'TS •£: 



332 mi 

mirk lo Ceotgo 111,167. AnelzdDle of 
Lonl Qmham, 3^. Reply to Lord 
Chalhiini, »7. QueidDiQ 1 doUc icmd, 

BuUi, Iriib. The cutKiinrily ol Dublin 

ao ill wincL etc," 46. 

BuUer.SirTDbv. ADCcdole at, j. 

Dyran, Lord, Pcisonal appraraiHw, 334, 
Talks with Taylur at ihe Haymacket, 
314. Beauty ei^geraled, ^4. 1^ 

prwmst 335. L«iur 10 Tavlor apropoa 
of a pani^ in "The Sun." lib, Mn. 
Siddopa'i DpiruoQ of hia marrUge, jiS. 
Taylor cnucuei atid mcnaliieflj 3aS. 

"C^mn" Sberidaa's. Sawdiut {« lea, 



Catharine, Empreu, of ] 
tSon to PaeiieUo, 8]. 
^lal Bdoselsky, ^ 

Cellar-boakl. (>KeeSe 1 

CheiHerfield, Lord. Pani 



Wajp of^Tw^l 
Uaquen, The In 

"Club, The Dad 

Coofce, Geo™ 
Ptince in «Ac 



," The pmideDI 
o the wretched Ju- 

iericli. Playi Ihe 
and Onila," 16*. 



76. Chaff t 




when tober, i«9. 1 

Kemble, tTo. Hit mo'tbei, 308. 
accuMi Mr. Harper p{ munier, . 
Tayln at Ihe rehearsal^ Ridiard al 

-nnm^,.. Wniiim. Aii^Si _. „. 

Style of their criSeiln, 
trasa,?^. PoiKi^dread 
VHJul abM,77. Speedi 

.. , ,7. Gabrielli done f«, 

(■''^ - 

a play lor Jack Bannister, iji. Invites 
Bannister and Kelly to hll lloUK, ijl. 
Altlinnrr, ijz. Reads a play after lea, 

.53. Effect on Kelly, 153. ' " 

Id a crdd euppcT, JJ^ "Alui 

like ol 'Shii . . .,. 

children f^v laughing at the * Sebaal 
for IScandal,^ 154. Sott mot et Sheei- 
dan, 154. Kelly conwUiDenu him, 154. 
I'romiKi Bannister and Kellya treal, 
15$. What it was, I j6. iiow amy 
Qveaped the Ian of il, 15& 
" Cjmon." Propoied revival by Kelly, 
104. Kelly chooses a Cujxd for It, ioj. 

Da«cr Marr. Would like In have Gar- 
ntk's eye^ and pUy Ranger, 387. Prt 



"Well 



:k..g7 i 
Garrick'i eiiconnige- 

..,i*7pattymioB 
'KeelEe reacuei MiH 

. _ __ ._ (yKeeKein 

. Whaiheniiide,hiifeDein 



Kicenruom, r^y. O'Keeffe 1 



>aviei, Thomas. Allowed a benefil 
niRht by Gorrick, 176. Addresses the 
audience, 17&. HIa "preltvwiL^" 376. 
Dealh, 1711. Fate oi his indow, i}6. 

yEaof ChevaUer. ADSttmes Diale atdre, 
atg. Condition of his pensioD, ab^ 



, 136. Calls on Mn. Lasing. 




K«Se,3. 



. iBvi 



"My (* 

Fuh Blory. Sbajk and dolphin ct 
Footfi, Samuel, 



le Wilkin 



17S. Kelly iii.it=d. .... 

»Dn la Kelly, 178. Curitninof Kell^s 
Aihl-daiightcr, 175, The King ^lea 
Ecr, tTQ. Mdtc roy^ cutidescemiDn, 

GiSord, WUHjun. Inlmduced 10 lohii 
Kunble,"?. U« of Kemble's library, 
R7. Acquiinlaace wilh Rev. WillUun 
Pewn, 130- Cmrcspuudeii™ wilh Pe- 




"334 

Hindc^ Cewee F 



Baydn, Joseph. lnEn|^Dd,t6T. Don't 
undcrauod 1h« drinlnnv of heallbs, 
ail. Dr. Wolcof. Wunfo, r-- 

HendcnuiiT John. Succeedrt \vt 

»Bd Garricl^ SD. RediaiionB 

"High Ijfe below Stalls." A 
Dublin, !«. Ktiw ol doinolra de 

Hoare, Prince. Song composed by, iSo. 
Hogarth, WiUiam. Hia r'-"-- -' 

diuichjn and Wilkc^ S. 

one of his pictures, & 
Hull, 'lltajinHa. tJteruT laleqii, 301- 

- ' ■ ■—■ -- The dderly 



Darhy and Joaii. J 
angeii, 504. Tajlor 



.^^a™ih of" 




%a Mr. l^hh 
'wriling'^Dr 'lie 



eoTEe Cfaalmen, iiS. Cre- 
___ _. _r. ftrr, >}8. Vonng Ire- 
land'H facility in foi^^, 1^ Effcci 

Brstly and Daw- 

^uecdole of Heio Jackson, j6. 



duKw at 

land's fe , .. 

of the wxfgsi wi 



tralPlyrioiilh, 



line, 197. t 

Came of hi , _„. 

Edmund. As Cupidin ''Cyinoll,' 

Spirit in " Mactrelh,' iw FIrk 

niance as " Shylncfc' 174. KecOIB- 

read by Dr. Dmiy, 

rFS- Engaged tor Drufv Lane, 175. 

Third," 175. Accepts ■ DnbUo en- 
gagement, 17s. fiyron'sopinlDnof him, 

o[Hnion of his ^?oX']w. l^H 
BCtuaed oE enmity Id, ]ii. His gnn^ 

of points and passages, (13. 
Celly, Hugh. £arW^istory, in. An. 
poinled editor of "TJii Public Ledg- 
-r" ...* i>.i>,.!/.,>,ij \ff goverru-^^~ 





I 



I 



" n Re Teodoro," 8=. The Emperor ol 
AualHa rmlets an ajdiiion lohi* Balary, 
"' ■ 'vkc lii Pacaiello, M. Alldtlui 

hy, "^Giuck ehaws him a parttail dI 
HllldEl, 9;. -Noize & Figaro ," »q. 
Moiart ainga a duel, S-^ Difieni wilh 
Morart in r^rd ed his partf go, Mo- 

S. Introduced Id Father O^ Leary, «. 
i^laken fnr a beef-»ter by Tale WiL 
LinwiD.^i. Mistakes SirCharlesTui-DiT 

i^'^™ m^\?m la™h ™^he 
fSf, 9* I» miMaken, loo. Engaged 



Chooses » cupid (or "Cymon," loi 

Ifl refuaedan advance by Ihc lunkci 
Morslauds, III, Inforns Sheridn 

J|The CapUrt of' Spiiburg,'" ii: 



■ 13. Shendu lakes him trnm dinner 
himideasol musical effect, iij. Sher- 

iig. Sheridan's Jan «« on his wine 
andmnsiciji. Gnine (or cheese, laj. 
Siieridan makes blunders [or him, 129- 



habilcf Garri 
D'/S^'o""! 



lod in iv^ird Ic 
,1 Sb^nce 
good English, i. 



CumberlandAithBanniiler.isi. Ban- 
nister's Joke, r 51. Takes his lundieon 
with a lady's maid and iwa (ootmen, 
151. Diuei at Cumberland's, i;:. 
Falls uleep while Cumberlaitd is read- 
ing a play, iji- "A pilpahte bil.° 
iS3_, Interview wiih the Duchess o( 



K- Uu end oF It was 



omposes monc la Monk Lewis's 
ays, 156 Contrnandtd by ihe Prioce 

IJueiv works badly, 160. Great suc- 
« of Ihe Tnusjc, 164J. Accused of 



wond, "Adrian and Qnib," 168. Cooka 
dines with him and Mrs. Crouch, 16a. 
Meets Leonard MacNiUy at Currsn's 
table, 170. Introduced to Captain 
O'ReiUy, 17]. Discovers thai be is a 
relation, ijj. Sees Kean in Shylock, 
• U: Sees Kean in -Richard Ihe 

176. CommanSIS'by^oree iv"w 

his lltlLe god-d41ie1ller a ^At of the 
Kinj,Z79. 1-be King's kinSessU. Ihe 

nation on bis annual idght, iSo. Gial- 

O^nion of Madame Mara, jo6, fay- 

306 Fond of gnod sudelj, 307 (Sn- 

with George Ihe Fourth, 307. Good 



nper, joo. 
ble, John. 


Appeara 


« in 


iDDie, 
Tho 


onk,»<.a- 


JHuking deep with 


Sher. 


an, .1* Sh 


eridan's u 




nhis 


Hamlel," 110 




ationof 


CaiD, 




ooltms. 


ijE 




his study 


ij8. 


As a 


eacher, .48 


Grief a. 


he death ot 


s wife, .SI. 


ReJuseslo 


apologi 


efor 


colcC'Ca. 


nsislsthat 


the nl« 




'iTTs" 


ed,.69- Cooke's gpnipn 


I^. Opi 
H,i.S. Tay 


™ r^^inkT 


-Ti.": 


Phil- 



FonducM Cor Diyden, 



"SH." 



Tiylo-rffliuieihuHaii 
l)ecaDEdCaiTick,3u. 
him ai dinner, ay ' 
im nasi,-' m. Tovl 



LDUraoBous a 
St. jAn Dirt 



•^i: 



Mra. Ktrable _ 

linsulU Taylor, na. TaTior 
jhl in HjmlcL 116. Elch- 
iimon dI hLo Pisxriti, aaj- 
oruplaie,ii7. OfFenGiI. 
' of fiia library, ir/. 
iht^Ii. Rwlgas hu JKafeft- 

playe FalsufE nilhinil 
. Pliu he played bwl, 149. 



His luiTicd lile, ijo, la e 
in Yorkihirc, lu. Bangueu i 
fie]d,>ji. lnvile>abiolk<rac 
hiin,j4i^ OpeoBhia IfautxeE 
351- Recdved with respect cv 

KiDK< Thinnu. Fund oE anec 



Begs thi loan of 1 
irfi. Stniy-telliii) 



dt^rr, ISO. Wi 
Lei^Ti^ham, Mn. 



bloods and bucks, 
1,7. Pdv=rt,..,,. 
.e, -7. ri>me« 



ahuc of the pro 



Threaten! hki, i». Hei 

■ jualicc for ibc tet-pol acEoi 
Lcwit, the ocur. A turn fur j 
" The King of diet" ite- r 
dslbei, 186. Attired from 
tobe ol (he theatre, aB6. C 
mark to Hi. Younger, i96. 




Supposed To have been paisrm^d, i<7' 
Writes a balfld for Kelly, is8. "To- 
moriow," ijS. Knowlidge of lai>- 






, JO. First appearana 
Mooeis his fine get 



of s Dublin sadi 



IJISTS' 



lacaulav, Catharine. Quick at cuib, 
"44- A historian is of noseiTus- 
Manies late in life, a4S. "Loow 
ThoughU," MS- 

lacdonnrl, the Kper. Preterm paying 
to playing, ]o. Plays lot CKeeffe. 



luklin, Charles. Dresses lor his liagedy, 

17. Threatens 10 arrest Mahon, iK. | 

Kindneuol heart, iS- CompIimentHi J 

'hetrained I 



his pupils, 1^ Chaffed hy a , 

manaaei, 19. Tenacity reapeillni ■ 

" Love i-la-mode," 10. Prefers hn | 

"WhoiatfieShylocV,"!!. Last "days 
and death, 13. Aacb Taylor at tha 
theatre,_aS(). Remark hi Merlio, the 

two, 340. Flrat per^mna Macbeth in 
Scottiih garb, 19a. Character of bii 
Macbeth, ago. Announces a amafataci 
againat bim, joi. Cifa his wife as 
authority, 191. Dischaiged, anr. Brings 
a suit In the coutU, 391- The judge 
compHaients him on his fine action, i^i- 
Freedom of the theatre, iip- Toleialed 
by the acton, 191. Promises Taylor 
a beefsteak, 191. 0Hgin,i9i, Couplet 



Slal'le. 






lecdoie of Quit 



Fonlc, KM- Armigni Foote, 195. 
verity of Foute on his leamiDA m. 
Treatment of his dai^hler, 19J. (Knn* I 
ivH nua OD liii faie, 39]. ChiQcm- J 
Wca .IS a player, 195.. His n--- 
pause, 396. Last interview wrth . 




r 



MaHWrouf*, Duchess oE. Why her i 

S' ebI tidclitj was Dcver Attacked, : 
SaracterrfAnassiJoj. Partiaht 



h« ddughur for CdDKrevEi 3<a. Whal 
■ho caUcd her daughter, loj, 
llvniey, Dr. tlis pubs, 199. Deeiition 
gi maiu iw. Intiniacy with Sir Robert 
Wiilpoie, am EiiaWlshed in London, 

Anecdote oC Duke of Marlborough, 
m, Seu the Duke, ai. Diocsnxh 
£«j of Godolphin and Laid Tomisend, 
joi. Renutrkft of hi4 Itird^hiu, 103. A' 
{|iwitlle with Lord ChiBteilielil, kj. 

n»3. Friendship with the Gittricks, 

Oxnaoay rucored, 105. Duiefi at the 
Girridiswith the Duke oi AiEr]e,»5. 

""". "XnV" " " 

MurJhJ's "firphs ' 

until Dr. MoiisbtI "09. Reply 
lor, J09. LellciB of, 203, Her 
ao^ Iris, 19> "DLalD^ues 



opinion of, 14T. Pr 
■5ri.hanof ChLna,"; 









iy nt her powers 



Kelly £yn it 



>. Loau: 



MowopiHi 



liiale, aSS. ^pidl 



, ATTCEted on tbe stage. 



Oveneached by Keu 



. Wid»d ID fpigi 



J41. Ga 
dilna," 



■Sf^' 



ion of Gaiiick, 
hifi *^ Orphan oi 



* Orphan Di 

^_--..-, -^. Sees Dt^ Akenside at a 
bDokseUej^s shop, 243. Rcajgna Ids 
olfinal poaiUun» U3- Wishes to dis- 
pose oi a part ui hU hbiat^ 143. Mu- 



O'fCeeflE, John. Shown the host of Dean 
Wilkei, S. ADCcdote of Colmsn, B 



Anecdote of "TheC 



son, 3<>. Anecditle 1 



Moody sends a plate of tnrtle, 
ea Rupee iur Lewis, u. Dia- 



333 IN. 

5«. OlrinionotJohiiHunler.sS. Com 
cpE iQjur^ (0 hli riiEhT, ^q. Mo amtntion 
ttt be pided, 5> AdvcDlure u AiiBtiEi^^ 

6d^ AdvenlLtre at the IbentrCj 6i. An- 
ir JosbuM REVQaldv &i. 
hi." 6i. Travdg to Cork 



I lought," 63. Travi! 



— ,-__g gmll™_ 
c latlor, 6i. "My « 



n, 64. 






i! behind,' .,. 
ThiiU;h,"u. Acqi 
TO. Biindnn^ jdc. Taylor 
prologue for bu Alfrsd, 505. I 



Oldys, Wmbm. H» reputed parentage, 

Fleet Pilun, igu. LiWaJiiyof Duke 
of Noilolki 193. AppoinlHl Nnmi; 

kinattoo, i^i. "St Choyalier Tay- 

Sbakespcan,' igi. Booki and MSS^ 
192. Aulborof'Bu!);, curiom, ihiraty 
^'""1. SarcaBin — :—.-.—— --. 



vJ'okol,' 
164. 
O'ReillT, Captain. '. 

-laa aalimclion, 174. Oi _ 
cemiHdIiea, T74. " Maishal Sacki, with 



u with Marsha] Belonkky, g^ Tb( 

lolfelll.86. "^ 
Palmer, John. I 




Preundill1iMU,iii 

lO]. Takes in Shenoan, 10]. 
Purr.Dr.SBinueL Praisu Fox and Sheii 

dan,a5]. CbaracteH^ea Borice'aHpeedl, 

ac4. How he wouJd like to aerrc hit 

Wile, a;v CieduiiLT ol, ajS. 
Parsora. William. A good arlin, « 

" ■ * ' '■■ - Kelly_ Ibii^ 



Petem, Rev. William. Anecdote n( Wl- 

ivith William Ginord,iJi. DiaBotHHoa 
of their acquarniano,!]!. HowGifford 

Playera, Broadsword ImporlaUrm of 
fW Id Ireland 11^^ Combat of Fi^ 



ilhragredflrf^o it,' 

bbi da. Persofial appeuaooe, 

— ilaled by KeBj, Sa. Tnins'Le 

Manage de Figaro " into Italian, SS* 
Pope, A&mndei. Impi 



Ponle, AbM da. Pen 







\i<*i KiiUr 10 



igg. Unsel finery, 198. . 
wfien playing Hamlet, tgS, Hij«i 
of Mrs. Canning, 19a. Cbajai 
played by, 108. 

Reynold^^lr Joshua. tnO'Keeffe'n, 

lor. 6i. Vi^[3 Coleman, fii. RcmadEfl 



^^^p 1 


Shoifas T« ctenEer of. Anecdote oi 


apprantment witk Mr. Harrii, 134. 


M^c^ and Ihe bailiffs, 1^ 


i]j. Relates an aim;dale ofRichard. 


Scrvaou. Tum«l aui of ihe galleiy, i6S. 


The Lord Jehorah'™ «,van^ .«:' 


son, .a. Make, another bluiuler ior 


Seward, Anna. Severe aeconnl of 


Kelly, 140. Writes a short pan, 141. 
Cum1ierland's>l>slikeo[,i!4. Aoecdots 


Plan, Iho poet, itH- A bad moral cen- 
>or, ,«. Characletofherproduclioni, 




«lness lo''"Mt?'s^r3"'. T^ 


rial, J35. Fiod^' author-^ >iaio of 


smooths matte™ between them, 314. 


Ihoughi, ijs; , Standing in the pillory. 


Taylor walks mlh, 3>s. McssaEO to 




ness by ahera-a officers, 315- Bisl-op 


■ SlDUan, Richard Brtnaley. Give. > 


M <fin«ir U the Piu» CoSee Hou«^ lo}. 
^K KdV> propcsal, 104. IHoes KeUy, 


of London pray, with, 3.S. Offer of 


money.lifi. Money declined, 316. The 




sopp.ked donor, 3, a. I^dness of 


r .to. BS^W n>one, Df "Wm. ,,0.' 


Rogers, the poet, 3.6, Lelwtia-Tho 


!^«^o^^^S^;..';-'SS 


31/. TheTogui Ri^tdnon, j^ij. 
Nothing in the larder, 31S. Burning 
of Dniiy Lane, 318. Stranga remark. 


r.^en.^^S-.oXThai^fS 


•Ki.rro,''' <13. Not fiaiehed, .13. 


319. Innired byadveisiiTijiq. Bittei 
l^ 3aor7raLs with j;hn*Kemble, 


Hii the houae Ikhled loseelwoicenea, 


jjo. Don't >ee Taylor', joke, jii. 

S^G^r."Ri^nT;."- .""^ 

.50. ker death, ijo. Grief of her 


W I .^ Rfflll. keeps one, ..^ 




the Bflh act of "Piiarro" ^ writ. 


ten, >.s. Fright of the acton, >.6. 
COrrMO «TheDoeona"for Kelly, iifi. 


ShSn,Vh'oM., the eider. Plui of 


Curelesmeu in opening letters, 117. 


his (Bclionary, u. Change of sense by 
accent,;!. Wiites''The Brave Irish- 


aiXnce willuiK PnnVe of Wal^Ti ™ 


man," a. Playa OlheUo to tbe lago, 


the latter, 5a. Interview with an agi- 


DiaegWithKel^, iiq. Taodrowiyta 


tated critic, 53. Nol much hurt, 53. 


John KSmST^^cUnner ^lS 




ShoridamTl.omai PuncluaUty per«mi. 




Eed, .14. What he will do 'in parlia- 


sajsj-a-K-iiafc-i 


m«nt,ii4. Sarcasm of his father, .a^. 


.a.. a« ,«( at Kelly'ii eipeitK, 
111. Givesa.pleiiiiidfite,.ij. Cheese 


father, uj. ReiSy, laj. 


Somers.Lotd, Anecdote of. aoo. 


hunting, 113. SuperstiliaoB, i>3. Hii 
ton Tom, 114. Je« at Tom's eipeiiSE, 
>a4. To.^ uL> liSm (or nu>ney, rTTAd: 


Spikes, Isaac Sliidis to hi» le>l, <.. 


Sleos of him as Captain O'Dlunder, 


iriceloToiii, 125. Tnm'arepanee, ijj. 


S^neer, Jack. Hi. birthday «.it. a,6. 


A fivwite soOK of his own, us. Fa- 


z^^ibd"hi^:^:4l: whis,'^ 


BBnl, II&. Mallgoant reports, 116. t4at 




cal partic!, J47- 


tT-ITM Critic "tot "bj Ertialagem, 1 jH. 
How he wrote " fhe Midnight W.ich," 


Speneer, Hon. John. Anists Kelly b 




InlrodncM the cbacono ol JomelB 


iig. Opinion of Concreve^ plays, iiK. 
Attack on Surlie, lao. MAcililDn- 
detsfor Kflly,,.tt TatesnpaWU, 
no. Advises Kelly to read Davia's 
"Life of Garrick,'' 131. Opniob of 


into E™lish chun^hei, .6a. 
Spencer, William. Producea "Urania," 








hii father in KIok John, ijt. Ancc 


Sp"riisTrSSish.'**in "Macbeth," 139. 


^^ dote of Irish chairman, 131. Charac. 


Who caus^ their dismisaat, 130. 


^H ter, 13a. Oierrtadies a lawyer by ad- 


^k >>rii)ghltfaat«,>]3. Fail! to keep an 



"Ridmrdlll 
VIU,,-* 



'j'ridu ai Diggu in Mtc 

of, j6. Pui 



up 1c mischivf, 37. Hustled 1 

3& Makes a upeeclC jS. Mna to 
the judge in ihe Kinc't BeIlc^ 39- 
"Jack, why dau'l yuu Buy i. vatdl>'' 

1^5-- ■ 
hinir^ JM, Ti 



TickelJ, Richard. Otieof tulrldoillll 

Cannmed byDurriwewith ShaHUn, 
u^. CfHopuvd with Sheridai^ ja8 
■" iTuieU,™. 



lecicd playa, 167- 
Early deAIh| t6j- 
'Tohy Thilch." E 



Murphyiijoi. D( 

upon Joac Keed, iai. 
Swill, Dean. Bu>t ai. 



ly Hera Jackal 
:iai3 Bugle," 



■ hulefDih 
iviar at » di 



Remark of Wc&t Digges, 

"■ffie Pdiilive Man." Wrillon lot Will- 
iain Lewis, ^4. LeweB and Fearon 
duEin|riiiBh toermelvei^ 54- Part a£ the 
first scene in act fitst, 55.. 

'The Strollers," slartid by Moody the 
actor, j(3. Hi« original plan, u- 
ChnmpjoHfl Catrick, 34. Sends turtle 
to O-K eeffe, 54. 

"Thi^ V..m.s S^u.- At a Methodiil 
mL'i-linc,i& Reproved by the preHcher, 
iS. Aft«is ignmance, 2,. Chaffs a 

S«tail,5".^ Lel^I'loplay Pcaohuti^ 






ineailylife,ij. 



'"cE^^™ 



his bmkbsuablc, etc., 14 



PerfBTiiwi^ 167. 
Fnoiptiua oi, 6;. 



a puhli&hoiue, 67. Fii^tened in the 
ni^t, bj. Leaves his iMkonin& 6j. 

eate, 63- MecH a convict whom he 
knovi'ti, 63. Spcaka with hin^ fi8. 
Warned against ths press^nnb 6g. 
Finds his inoi>«y gone, 6q^ nafi three- 

^isbuty, 69. KHurns tu Lulwunb, 

rooke, John Hnme. Comroversy with 
John Wilkes, ms. Wilkes's leply to a 
letter ol his, ai6. Advice la Ui. Berry 
about inamjige^ 13J. Tbefnulauf his 
pUantry, i)j. Chaiitable wish respecl- 



for itT. Mahler, 97. Talk with Ki%, 
07. Kelly afUTwards apologiau, tiL 
Skadt Ketly a Yorkslure^^^r^ 1 

Tumip. The value at one, is- WhM J 
can be done with sxpence, 35. I 

U^obterer, a liberal His offer to Jad ^ 

Vandetmeei, Jack. Uberal oSet 
mth SpwiesT'ti. Euirapi J 

VtiS^Jong- His master, s. 

Walpole,^ Robert. Intimacy with IN 
Montey, aoo. Givei adianer at ■■ 
Inn, aoa. A Norfolk buooet txi--^ 
10 the landlord, laa. Renilrk ol 
la<tertalhebaiuaet,20D. The' 

Warbunon, William- Moiuey'so 

Runark oI Garwlc to Hans 
Reply ol Monsey, 306- A] 
Qa^ S07. Questions Quiu it 
to Charles the First, joj. B . 
Qaio, :,«.^ Qnjn quut« (mm O 

Heilh and £lwa[^°toS. ^^ 



INDEX. 



341 



** Whalebone." Disgmsed as a gentle- 
man, 27. Remembrance of the inci- 
dent of use to O'Keeffe, 28. 

Wilder, James. Hissed by an amateur 
actress, 49. Careful of finch-pins, 50. 

Wilkinson, Tate. Pufnl of Foote, 42. 
His imitations, 4|. Turns the tables 
on Foote, 43. Epicurianisnu 94. Sees 
an apparent beef-ieater, 04. Introduced 
to Kelly, 94. Tricked by Kelly, 95. 
Weakness tor chocolate drops, 95. 
Mixed conversation, 95. Imitates Mrs. 
Woffington's face, 96. 

Wilkes, John. Caricatured by Hogarth, 
8. Personal appearance, 8. Tayloi's ac- 
quaintance with, 214. Refuses to lend 
his brother ;^2o, 214. MSS. destroyed 
by his daughter, 215. His natural son, 
315. Corrects Tayloi's pronunciation, 



215. Meditates an edition of "Catul- 
lus," 215. Controversy with Home 
Tooke,2i5. Anecdote of Scottish jiig- 
eons, 216. Why he declined whist, 

216. Remark to Sir Watkin Lewes^ 

216. Satirical answer to a letter 01 
Home Tooke's, 2x6. Love of George 
the Third, 217. " No small vices." 217. 
Why he wished his speech published, 

217. ^ Opinion of London, 217. " For- 
bid it delicacy," 217. Richardson's 
affectionate contempt for, 217. 

Woffington, Mrs. Peg. Lives with Lord 
Darnley, 266. Exacts a promise from 
her. 266. She breaks it, 266. Lives 
witli General Caesar, 266. Reply to 
Lord Cholmondeley, 267. 

Wrighten, the prompter.^ His funeral, 
105. Remark of Bannister, 105. 




POPEARANDSTAlARDfffllS 



F17BLI3HKD B 



SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., 

Jfew York, 
insr 1873. 



1 



4 



PREOIOVS 8T0HBS. 



e. DODQE'S (MRS, MAKY MAPES) HANB b; 

7. FIELD'S (T. W.) DJDIAN BIBLlOQHiPHT. Bwi. SN 

a FISHER'S (DR. Q. P.) HlaTOBY OF THE HBFORMATIOir. 8to ] Dt 

S, GUYOT'S IPROF. A.) PHYSICAL OBOGRATHY, Luge lU I SS 

U. HALL'S (F.) MODERN BNGU81C. ISnio 3 M 

11, '■ " PiLSB PHILOLOGY. Umn. bomrds. IK 

It. HOLLAND'S (DR. J. a.) ARTHUR BOKHICASTLH. niuMnual. Itnu.. 1 n 

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THE ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY OF TRAVEL AND ADVBNTURB. 



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IB. Giliima. Sto, ClDtta, .tl.KI : paper TS 

18. May. By Ubi. Olifqabt. Sto. Uloth, fl.SOl paper I IM 

M. LYNDON'S OSLBY. A Norcl. ISnio IM 

n. MEDKURST'S (W. H.) THB FOr.SlQHIIR I» FAR CA.^Bi.T. lima.... 1 tO 
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H. VEBNE'B (JULES) FROU THB EARTH TO THB ICOON, 



A Ne-w Narrative Poen' 

Dr. J. G. HOLLAND. 



MISTRESS OF THE MANSE.. 

By dr. J. G. HOLLAND, 



, Cloth, 



One Vol., 

This is Ihe first narrative po«m written by Dk. Holland since 
appearance of " Katurina," and it ia auie to take its place at o 
beside that and " B ftter-Sweet." The scene of the "Mistress op 
THE Manse" is laid on the banks ol [he Hudaon. It is a love-story 
beginning where so many leave oS, at marriage ; it abounds in striking 
pictures o( natuial scenery; it is full of the philosophy of life which 
cornea from a pure experience ; and it ia distingniahed by all that compre- 
benaion of Ihe poetic in every-day life, and all that impulse and vitality 
which have from the beginning characterized the writings of its author. 
This is the first long poem by Dr. Holiand written in rhyme insti 
blank verse, the stanza chosen being the same as that used by him 
introduction to " Bitter-.Swebt." 



I 
I 



DR. HOLLAND'S WORKS. 

Each in One Volume, izmo. 
ARTHUR BONNICASTLE. Out . 



•BITTER-SWEET; a 



•LETTERS TO THE JONESES, i 



MISS GILBERT'S CAREER,.. 

BAY PATH, 

THE MARBLE PROPHECr,nid 



GAR»ERKDSH£AVES,C 



An Important Historical Series. 



EPOCHS OF HISTORY. 

EDWARD E. MORRIS, M.A., 
£uh 1 Tdl. 16fliD. with OntHie Haps. Prloa pu Tolanu, In olotlii $1.00. 



Suchw 






.r the I 



eep pace 



b 



IhoMed leisure. 

idere Ihat the Epoeht of Hutorg has been 
comprise H number of compact, iHmtkiiiiuOy p 
"■ oughly competeol hand^. enr.li ■ "]■ iii. ii ■ i:i iL^eii, anq 5Keicning 

the history of a nation subordiii ::■ ■ ■: i.il idea. No attempt 

■-'11 be made to recount nil th..- .- ■ ■ ii...i. ■ITlc aim will be 

... bring out in the clearest lit'lu I'l ■ -i ■■ !■.■ n:- ;ind features of each 

Hep9eh. Special attention will be paid iq Hit- liiiT.iiure, manners, state of 
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e more easy of reference. A series of works based upon Uijs general 
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leen populariied. Those who have been discouraged from attempting 
imbiiious works because of their magnitude, will naturally torn to 
lliese Epoeht of HMory^o get ageneral knowledge of any period; students 
! Ihem to great advautage in refreshing their memories and in keeping 
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lis Icil books, — a point which shall be kept constantly in view in their pre- 

THE FOLLOWTNG VOLUMES ARE NOW KEABr.- 
THE ERA OF THE PROTESTANT REVOLUTION. By F.SEBBoiin, Author i>( 

" Tilt Oxford RcformcH-Colet. Erasmus, More," with appcdJij hy Prof, Gho. p. 

KiSHniiof YaleColltBe. Amhor of '-HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION." 
Th» CRUSADES. By Rev. O. W. Cox, M.A., Author of the "History otGrecce," 
ThaTHIRTV YEARS' WAR, IBIB— 1648. By Sahuei-RawsonGaiidiner. 
THE HOUSES OF LANCASTER AND YORK: with the CONQUEST and LOSS 

uf FRANCE. By jAMMGATHDNHBofUiePubUcRMord Office. Nowrtajji. 
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND FIRST EMPIRE: on Historical Sketch. 



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