pertness, and the quiescent tone of the upper circles too often stand between the thought and the utterance of a jest or a reflection.

Luckily for Reynolds he arrived at a time exactly suited to his intellectual character.

"Thank fortune, it was my fate to write comedies, during a period, when the town was replete with original characters of every description, whose peculiarities were so obviously humorous, and dramatic, that I may here justly employ the usual remark of a late celebrated statesman; who, whenever he heard, or read, a witticism more than commonly effective, observed,

"Very good, very good, indeed! but it was so palpable, it could not have been missed!"

Had I written during the present day, I must have starved; for the comic satirist has now (unless he resort to foreign aid from Vaudevilles, &c.) only one character to commence, and conclude his stock with,—the dull cold artificial Exquisite. Thus, the critic should not wholly ascribe the deterioration in dramatic productions to the dearth of dramatic genius, but partly to the dearth of dramatic character.

On the other hand, had he written one generation sooner talents of a higher order, a greater intensity of thought, a purer and more sustained style would have been required. The fashionable writer of five-act comedies of 1790, would scarcely have been tolerated in 1750, as a "farceur" for the second or third-rate theatres. The adaptation, however, of natural powers to external circumstances is genius; and the author of the "Dramatist," in striking out a new route to success, and hitting public taste and feeling "in the bull's eye," did that service to his countrymen, which more powerful, but less original writers, had failed to effect. It is a curious circumstance to observe, that the epoch to which we allude, as transitory as it was humorous, passed away even in the life-time of him who first painted it on the stage; that Reynolds lived to abandon broad comedy for melo-drama, to give his Vapids and Lord Scratch's for Virgins of the Sun and Free Knights; and what may appear more violent in contrast, that the author even of the School for Scandal, led by his managerial interests, discontinued an excellence no longer in harmony with the age, and stooped his mighty genius to the composition of Pizarro.

This merit of adaptation to circumstances, which belongs to the better specimens of Reynolds's Dramatic Muse, pervades likewise his Memoir, and its general character, indeed, very closely resembles that of his comedies; possessing the same faults, and abounding in the same attractions. Light, playful and amusing, replete with anecdotes, it belongs especially to the present day, in which the public, exhausted by the serious business of a revolutionary age, and languid from the excitement of every species of literary excellence, is disposed to enjoy nothing which provokes feeling, or requires reflection. "Memoirs," ," "Recollections," and "Reminiscences," are the mania of the hour. Kelly's lively narrative has set the reader agog for the good stories of the heroes, real and theatrical, of the extraordinary generation which is now fast closing around us. Reynolds therefore has shown his old tact in taking advantage of the contingency, and in availing himself of a stock-in-trade which has become excessively popular.

It is the peculiar advantage of theatrical talent that it brings the possessor into contact with whatever is most distinguished in contemporary society; and the circumstance of Reynolds's father having been an ally of John Wilkes, introduced the son to an acquaintance with many of the political chiefs of that turbulent, but spirit-stirring epoch. Accordingly, the book is thickly strewn with names, whose very enunciation begets an interest. That these anecdotes are not always such as will satisfy the highest order of readers may readily be anticipated: of this the author is himself aware; and the apology which he has made on a particular occasion, may serve as his running excuse for the whole memoir.

To those, therefore, to whom the ensuing sportive anecdotes may appear frivolous, it should be recalled, that whilst grave, sentimental writing is a simple, com

mon-place effort, there is so much difficulty and danger in trying to be comic, so much fear of proving foolish in the endeavour to be facetious, that more than common indulgence should be granted; for, if the world be full of misery, he, who for a moment can excite a laugh (let him be BIOGRAPHER OF BUFFOON,) ought not to be considered the despicable member of society, which the dull junto of crying classical philosophers would depict him.

Be the character of the writer, however, what it may be, he who treats of Garrick, Barry, Clive and Shuter, and Wilkes, Horne Tooke, and Johnson, Kemble, Siddons, Sheridan, Chatham, Pitt, Erskine, Garrow, Franklin, Murphy, Macklin, Inchbald, Colman, Topham, Burke, Elwes, George III. Curran, &c. &c. &c. cannot but entertain, and when humour happens_to be the characteristic of the narrator, the gaiety of the narrative may pass off a considerable degree of levity in the materials of which it is constituted. In reviewing a book of this description, the difficulty lies in the choice of extracts, and on the present occasion we must e'en at it, "like French falconers," without much either of order or selection. We proceed with an anecdote of Pitt in his boyhood, singularly indicative of the tone of mind which gave such efficacy to his oratory; and which, if it did not "cow the better part of man" in his opponents, maintained his own party in unresisting obedience to his authority.

The next day we went to Southbarrow, and my father having law business to transact at Hayes, he allowed me to ride with him, purposely to see the great Lord Chatham, who was then there. His Lordship, I remember, was very kind to me, and on quitting the room with my father, desired his son William Pitt, then a boy about four years older than I was, to remain with, and amuse me, during their absence.

Somehow, I did not feel quite bold on being left alone with this young gentleman. For a time, he never spoke, and I never spoke, till at last, slyly glancing at him, to learn who was to commence the conversation, and observing mischief gathering in the corner of his eye, I retired to the window; "but gained nothing by my motion." He silently approached, and sharply tapping me on the shoulder, cried jeeringly, as he pointed to my feet, "So, my little hero, do you usually walk in spurs

"Walk?" I replied; "I rode here on my own poney."

"Your own poney!"-he repeated with affected astonishment; "Your own poney?-upon my word!—and pray, what colour may he be?—probably blue, pink, or pompadour ?”

At this moment, the present Lord Chatham entering the room, the tormentor exclaimed, "I give you joy, brother, for you are now standing in the presence of no less a personage than the proprietor of the pompadour poney!”

His brother frowned at him, and I was bursting with rage and vexation, when he coolly turned towards me, and said, "Your life is too valuable to be sported with. I hope you ride in armour ?"

"Be quiet, William,-don't trifle so," cried his brother.

"I am serious, John," he replied; "and if for the benefit of the present race, he will do his utmost to preserve his life, I will take care it shall not be lost to posterity, for as my father intends writing a history of the late and present reigns, mark my words, my little proprietor, I will find a niche for you and your pompadour poney in the History of England."

1 could no longer restrain my spleen, and fairly stamped with passion to his great amusement. At this moment, the door opening, my facetious tormenter instantly cantered to the opposite side of the room, after the manner of a broken down poney, and then placing his finger on his lips, as if to forbid all tale-telling, disappeared at the other entrance.

In course, every feeling of rage was smothered in the presence of the great Lord Chatham, and my father having taken his leave, mounted his horse, and trotted through the Park; I following on my poney, and delighting in my escape. But as I reached the gates, I was crossed in my path "by the fiend again"-but, agreeably crossed, for he shook me by the hand with much good-humour, playfully asked my pardon, and then added, patting my poney, "He should at all times be happy to find both of us accommodation at Hayes, instead of a niche in the History of England."

The following traits of John Wilkes are pleasant and characteristic.

At the end of a fortnight, I took a trip to the back of the Island, and in my way called on Mr. Wilkes, then residing at his villa, (late the property of General Heatherset) near Sandown Fort. We had not seen each other for some years, and I, consequently, found him peculiarly kind and entertaining. His dress, excepting in one instance, was perfectly Arcadian; instead of a crook, he walked about his grounds with a hoe, raking up weeds and destroying vipers.

Observing that I admired his numerous collection of pigeons, he described to me the difficulty he had experienced in his attempts to make them stay with him. Every bird that he had procured from England, Ireland, and France, having flown back to its native land the moment the latch was raised, he was about to abandon his scheme as impracticable," when," he continued, "I bethought myself to procure a cock and hen pouter, from Scotland; I need not add, that they never returned."

Wilkes then conducting me over the remainder of his grounds, showed me a large pond in his garden, which he said he had been compelled to have well stocked with carp, tench, perch, and eels; “because,” he added, “fish is almost the only rare article by the sea-side."

He, however, praised the Newport market, which he regularly attended, and said that the glance from his eye, as he facetiously termed his squint, had done great execution with the farmers' pretty daughters in that quarter. "But," he continued, " my glance, I am sorry to say, has not everywhere met with a similar success; for, another person in the town, a lottery-office keeper, actually offered me, the other day, half a ticket not to pass and repass his shop-door, during the drawing, positively swearing, that since my visit to Newport, he could not calculate his losses at less than two blanks to a squint."

The conversation with Mr. Wilkes then returning to the politics of his times. I asked him in which of his duels he considered himself to have been in most danger? He replied "In that with Martin, who, strange to say, during eight whole months after the supposed injury, uttered no complaint; but on the meeting of Parliament, he spoke to me in terms that induced me to write a letter, which concluded with the following sentence. To cut off, however, every pretence of ignorance, I whisper in your ear, that every passage of the North Briton in which you have been named, was written by me.'

"To this Mr. Martin immediately replied by a challenge to meet him, within an hour, in the ring in Hyde Park; without offering me either the choice of weapons or of place; so, I proceeded to the ground totally unconscious of the manner in which we were to fight. When he approached, he coldly bowed, and requested me to select two from the four pistols he held in his hand. We had no seconds; and the space between us was remarkably short; I do not know the precise distance, or we did not measure it. Martin fired first, aud missed me. It was then my turn; but the pistol I held flashed in the pan. On my adversary's next fire, his ball entered my body; I fell immediately, and bled profusely. He thought that I was killed, and approached to offer me his assistance. But the mist before my eyes became so thick, I could see nothing distinctly. I told him, that I thought he had killed me honourably; and, if I lived sufficiently long, I would leave a written testimony to that effect. I then begged that he would make his immediate escape. He departed, and I fainted; after which I have no recollection, till I found myself on my bed.

"The following day I returned him his challenge, that, in case of my death, no evidence might appear against him. Some months afterwards, I met him at Paris; and ever since we have continued on amicable terms."

Wilkes pressing me to stay dinner, I accepted the invitation. The lady, who lived with him, dined with us. She was nearly as plain as Wilkes himself; so, though a happy, they certainly could not be called a handsome couple. After dinner, the servant brought in various London papers, and publications, in one of which were bantering allusions to the worthy alderman and his beauteous cara sposa :

"Ah, sure a pair was never seen

So justly form'd to meet by nature."

His remark on the circumstance was very apt.

"You see, Madam, the most censorious cannot say there is any difference be tween us."

On the subject of theatrical admissions we quote an extract, on account of

its intrinsic value, as arising from one who had so long and so intimate an acquaintance with stage interests. The abuse to which it alludes, concerns more than the manager of a theatre; for the public are directly interested in the success of theatricals; and even if they were not insulted by an impertinent interference with their right of judgment in matters of taste, yet whatever tends to injure the establishment is injurious to them, by abstracting from their pleasures.

But my family, like many other families at that time, voting an order to be a sort of eleemosynary mendicant contribution, and completely infra dig., pride compelled me to decline the acceptance of one. It may now appear strange, though it is perfectly true, that, in those days, many most respectable individuals, who, from economical motives, declined paying to the boxes, would rather mob it, as they expressed themselves, in the gallery, than accept admissions to the best places, at no other expense than, perhaps, a cold look from the donor, and a contemptuous one from the check deliverer.

How different is the case now, and how ruinous is the present system! If the manager cannot fill his house by natural means, he immediately has recourse to hothouse measures, and forces one!-as if languor would not ensue as much after the use of stimuli in theatricals, as of stimuli in physic. But, "SQUEEZE," is now the watchword of every assembly, fashionable, dramatic, or political, throughout the kingdom.

As the prostitution, however, of this kind of accommodation paper, like the paper kite in commercial concerns, so frequently recoils, had not a manager better boldly look a few bad houses in the face, than by patching up appearances, continue to play nightly to overflowing audiences, and to an empty treasury.

For the exemplification of my theory, I must again recur to self; the very nature of my work compels me to be personal, perhaps even to appear egotistical-so, I beg pardon, but must continue. I have had nearly fifty dramatic pieces performed, and for more than half my theatrical career have had an unlimited power of writing orders. As during the long run of some of my comedies, I suppose, at least, five hundred people must have gained admission through my privilege, I very soon found, that, owing to the ease with which these passports were obtained, what was originally received from me as a favor, was soon demanded from me as a right; with the actual addition of a request to secure good places, or to procure a private box in lieu.

I soon also found that every person who received an order, conceived that there was attached to it all the coxcombry of criticism; and while the paying spectator spontaneously applauded, when his feelings prompted, the liberty boy, influenced by green-room opinions, party spleen, or self-consequence, if he clapped at all, would clap with gloved hands; and when he hissed, often his "custom in the afternoon," would say, in excuse for this unexpected courtesy, he thought it was the duty of every one of the author's real friends, to effectively aid his future improvement by present correction.

During the run of my really popular, half popular, really damned, and half damned pieces, I should imagine that I have, on an average, written or procured one hundred and fifty double orders to each; consequently, calculating from the commencement of my dramatic career, down to the present period, on the aggregate, above fifteen thousand people have, through my privilege alone, entered the theatre gratis.

But, to conclude this, in every respect, unprofitable subject, I will merely add, that the only token of gratitude I ever remember to have received from the aforesaid fifteen thousand freemen, was a short civil note from a pastry-cook's boy in Dean-street, thanking me for his four admissions to the gallery, and requesting my acceptance of a raspberry puff, and a little pigeon pie!

Only one word more. In the opinion of those most skilled in the arcana of theatrical management, yearly free admissions, not transferable, rather serve a theatre, than injure it; but, were I manager, (which the gods prohibit !) I think I should say "Adieu for ever" to nightly ones at least, I would only give them to particular friends, certainly not to the town at large, because in opposition to Churchill's well known line,

"And for a playhouse freedom lose their own,"

they now prove nightly that they, not the manager, are the independent party.

We must refer the reader, for we have not room to cite the passage, to a lively picture, in the second volume of these memoirs, of the humours of a Theatrical Fund Dinner, which at that time, and for a long period, continued the emporium of all that was whimsical, eccentric, and fanciful, in theatrical life. The hero of the adventure recorded by Mr. Reynolds, we happen to know, was the late Mr. Cooke, for many years treasurer of Covent Garden theatre; and his story simply that of a man who, having defended the reputation of his absent friend, told him of the circumstance.-" Well, what did they say of me?"-" That you were not fit to carry garbage to a bear.”—“ And what did you reply?"-Why, I insisted on it you were." In Reynolds's account of the success of his play called "The Caravan," he treats with much gaiety the extrinsic sources of his triumph.

"The introduction of real water on the stage, and of a dog to jump into it from a high rock, for the purpose of saving a child, were both incidents, at that time, so entirely unknown in theatrical exhibitions, that their very novelty rendered every body, during the production of the piece, most sanguine as to its success; provided, (for there is always one or more provisos on these occasions,) that the two principal performers, the animal and the element, could be brought into action. Accordingly proposals and inquiries were soon set on foot; and being prosecuted "with a little industry," (as one of the principal agents on this occasion invariably expressed himself,) the objects of their search were at length found :—the water was hired from old father Thames; and the dog, of the proprietor of an A-la-mode beef shop.

The water we found tractable and accommodating; but during the first and second rehearsals, Carlo (for such was the name of our hero) sulked, and seemed, according to the technical phrase, inclined to "play booty." After several other successive trials he would not jump; but at last, owing to the platform on which he stood being enclosed by two projecting scenes, and his attention being thus removed from the distractions of stage lights, boards, et cetera, he immediately made the desired leap, and repeated it at least a dozen times, as much to his own as to our satisfaction. On the first representation of The Caravan, after his performance of this extraordinary feat, and after his triumphant exit with the supposed drowning child, the effect far exceeded our most sanguine expectations. Thus Carlo was lauded to the skies; and in spite of the invidious and exaggerated detractions of its classical opponents, the water, as usual, found its level.

Thanks to my friend Carlo, I could now again boldly show my face, strut about the streets, and give patronizing bows, and protecting nods, in my turn-Money too! If they were inclined to call me "swindler," and "rascal," for writing a failing comedy, what would they have called me, had they known that I cleared three hundred and fifty pounds simply by a dog jumping into a small tank of water!

After witnessing the first representation, I had not quitted the theatre above ten minutes, when Sheridan suddenly came into the green-room, on purpose, as it was imagined, to wish the author joy

"Where is he?" was the first question; "where is my guardian angel?" "The author has just retired," answered the prompter.

"Pooh," replied Sheridan, "I mean the dog; actor, author, and preserver of Drury Lane Theatre."

Of the Roscius mania our author speaks as it deserves: but posterity, if posterity ever gets a sight of the book, will scarcely credit the story of its extravagance. Yet we well remember on the first night of Betty's appearance at Covent Garden, after having escaped suffocation in forcing an entry into the theatre, we again had our life in jeopardy, by declaring our dissent from the popular creed, and declaring our conviction that many men, many women, and many children, could act as well as the favourite tragedian of the hour. Upon this occasion, indeed, the anti-catholics were fairly outdone in intolerance; and, strange as it may seem, there were not wanting persons ready to cry out "The church is in danger!" against those who were mad enough to dispute the supremacy of this idol of their imagination.

Like most members of the theatre, Reynolds is given to ultra loyalty. This is all as it should be, very amusing in its way, and very harmless.

We