THE father of William Dunlap was an Irishman, and came to this country as an officer in the English army sent out to attack Quebec. He was wounded in the memorable engagement, and after the war resigned his commission and settled in Perth Amboy, New Jersey, where his only son was born, February 19, 1766. The child's earliest instructor was a benevolent old bachelor by the name of Thomas Bartow, who lived in a pleasant cottage surrounded on three sides by a garden filled with choice fruits, and well stocked within with books and prints, to all which the kind old gentleman allowed his boy-friend free access, taking great delight in teaching him the story of the Iliad, Eneid, and Paradise Lost, by the pictures in the old editions of Pope, Dryden, and Milton. This pleasant intercourse was broken up by no less an event than the American Revolution; the quiet old gentleman, a Royalist, retiring inland to Bethlehem, Pa., when the British men-ofwar made their appearance in New York bay at the outset of the contest. After the landing of the British on Staten Island, the Dunlap family removed to the village of Piscatawa on the Raritan, where they remained from 1775 to 1777, the father siding with the Royalists. In 1777, they removed to New York, and William was sent to school. In June, 1778, when on a visit to Mr. Elliott's country seat, afterwards the original Sailor's Snug Harbor," while playing with the boys after dinner, he was struck by a bit of wood and deprived of his right eye. The medical treatment which ensued put a stop to any further regular schooling. When after several months he was allowed to use his remaining eye, he devoted himself to drawing, to which he had early manıfested an inclination. In 1784, he was sent to London to study under West, where he remained about three years, passing most of the time, as he candidly confesses, "in unprofitable idleness." In 1786, he made a pedestrian tour with Dr. Samuel L. Mitchill, who had just received his diploma at Edinburgh, to Oxford. On his return, he settled in New York; married Elizabeth, daughter of Benjamin Woolsey; and wrote a play which was accepted by the managers of the American Com Loring's Boston Orators, 168-72, 293. Buckingham's Newspaper Reminiscences, ii. 223. Quincy's History of the Boston Athenæum, and Memoir of Gardiner. WinDunlap The Father, afterwards published with the title of The Father of an Only Child, is the best of Dunlap's plays. The piece is of the sentimental school, and the hunor closely resembles that of the productions of Colman the younger, and Morton. It was, however, written before the productions of these dramatists; and the author seems entitled to the originality he claims for his Tattle, a rattling gossip who will bear a not unfavorable comparison with his brother practitioner, Ollapod. The scenes in which he is introduced are excellent. We give a portion. Rack. Captain Rusport, this is my friend, doctor Tattle. Tat. Yes, sir. Tattle; Terebrate Tattle, M.D. Rack. Doctor, this is captain Rusport, just arrived in the last packet from Halifax. Tat. How d'ye do, sir? I'm very glad to see you indeed. Very fine potatoes in Halifax. Racket! this way. Here. Just come from abroad! You'll recommend me. Rack. If he should want a physician, I certainly will- half aside) in the full hope that you will poison him. Tat. Thank you; thank you. Servant, ma'am. Fine weather, ha? A little rainy, but that's good for the country. (To Rusport) A fine season for coughs and colds, sir. O Racket! my dear fellow, I had forgot that I heard of your accident. No great harm done, I perceive. What a tremendous fall you must have had! Precipitated from the scaffolding of a three story house, and brought with your os parietale in contact with the pavement, while your heels were suspended in the air, by being entangled in a mason's ladder. Rack. Pooh, Pooh! I tumbled from a cow's back, and broke my nose. Tat. Is that all? Why, I heard-So, so, only a contusion on the pons nasi. Ay, ay. I was called up to a curious case last evening. Rack. Then I'm off. (While Tattle is speaking, Racket goes out; and Rusport and Mrs. Racket retire behind, laughing.) Tat. Very curious case indeed. I had just finished my studies for the evening, smoked out my last cigar, and got comfortably in bed. Pretty late. Very dark. Monstrous dark. Cursed cold. Monstrous cold, indeed, for the season. Very often the case with us of the faculty. Called up at all times and seasons. Used to be so when I was a student in Paris. Called up one night to a dancing-master, who had his skull most elegantly fractured, his leg most beautifully broke, and the finest dislocation of the shoulder I ever witnessed. I soon put the shoulder in state to draw the bow again, and his leg to caper to the tune of it. As for the head, you know a dancing-master's head, ma'am, (looking round) head -head-Oh! there you are, are you? I beg your pardon, I declare I thought you were by me. you see, madam, as I was saying, I was called night to witness the most curious case- follows them, talking) The bone of the right thigh Re-enter RACKET. Rack. So, the doctor is at it still. up So last Tat. I'm glad you've come to hear it, Racket. The bone of the right thigh-(Racket turns away)—The bone of the right thigh, ma'am (she turns off)The bone of the right thigh, captain Rusp. Ay, you must have gained great credit by that cure, doctor. Tat. Sir! What? O, you mean the dancingmaster! I can assure you, sir, I am sought for. I have a pretty practice, considering the partiality the people of this country have to old women's prescriptions: hoar-hound, cabbage-leaves, robin-runaway, dandy-grey-russet, and the like. man of ever so liberal and scientific an education can scarcely make himself known. A young Mrs. Rack. But you have made yourself known, doctor. Tat. Why yes, ma'am. I found there were but two methods of establishing a reputation, made use of by our physicians; so, for fear of taking the wrong, I took both. Mrs. Rack. And what are they, doctor? Tat. Writing for the newspapers, or challenging and caning all the rest of the faculty. Rack. These are methods of attaining notoriety. Mrs. Rack. And notoriety, let me tell you, is often the passport to wealth. did, and cruelly eluded his pursuit. Poor doctor! The few ideas he has are always travelling post, and generally upon cross roads. His head is like New York on May-day, all the furniture wandering. Re-enter TATTLE. Tat. Racket, I forgot to tell you Mrs. Rack. Could Lot you find my sister? Tat. I want to tell you, madam, of a monstrous mortification Rack. Pooh, pooh! Nonsense! Is Caroline at home? Tat. Who? O! ah!-I had forgot. I don't know. I'll tell you-I had ascended about half, perhaps two thirds of the stair-case-case-Did I tell you of the case of the Rack. Nay, stick to the stair-case. Tat. No. I must descend. I happened to think, without any apparent train of associated ideas leading to the thought, of an affair that happened last night-nay you must listen-it's worth hearing. It's quite likely that I told you some time ago of my having employed a professor of the mechanical part of painting to delineate my name upon a black board to put over my door. By the bye, it's a very mistaken notion, that the effluvia arising from the pigments used in this branch of painting- Rack. Nay, nay, the sign. It was painted and put over your door. Tat. And looked very well too, didn't it? Very well, I'll assure you, captain. Terebrate Tattle, M. D. Large gold characters; well and legibly designated This striking the organ of vision, or rather being impressed on the retina in an inverted position, like the figures in a camera obscura, and thence conveyed to the mind, denoted my place of residence. An ingeious device, and it answered my purpose. I got a case of polypusses by it immediately. Rusp. Pray, sir, what kind of instruments are they? Tat. Nay, sir, polypusses nre Rack. Nay, but, doctor, the sign. Tat. Ay. Right! good! So, sir, it was displayed, to the ornament of the street, and the edification of the passengers. Well, sir, last night,-last night, sir, somebody or other took it down,-took it down, sir, and nailed it over a duck-coop. “Terebrate Tattle," say the gold letters; "Quack, quack, quack," say the ducks. 'Twas illiberal, cursed illiberal!— What a beautiful fracture of the os femoris I saw this morning! The upper portion of the bone Tat. So, miss Susannah, the os femoris-the upper portion of the os femoris Sus. None of sich names to me, Mr. Doctor! I don't understand being called names, so I don't. Ox feminine and feminine ox! You think I don't know your meaning! It shows your breeding, so it does. Feminine ox! La souls! [Exit. Tat. Astonishing ignorance! Now she understands no more of anatomy than I do of making a custard. And these people will not be taught. You might as well attempt to pour ipecacuanha down their throats, as science into their ears. Well, I'll publish this case of the fractured os femoris. If nobody will hear it, perhaps somebody will read it; and there is much magic in print. Curious art. Yes, I'll send it to the editor of the American Mag:.zine, and at least he and his printers must rend it [Ezil. A benevolent old officer, a lively wife who reforms a dissipated husband, Platoon a servant, very closely after the model of Corporal Trim, Susannah à simple-minded Audrey, Jacob a German servant, and Rusport a showy British officer, who turns out to be an impostor, furnished the remainder of the varied and well sustained dramatis persona. The piece was successful, and was followed by an Interlude entitled Darby's Return. This was written for Wignell, the actor, who was a great favorite in the character of Darby in the “Poor Soldier," to which it formed a sequel; Darby, after various adventures in the United States and Europe, returning to Ireland. Washington, the author informs us, was present at one of the representations. The remembrance of this performance is rendered pleasing from the recollection of the pleasure evinced by the first president of the U. States, the immortal Washington, who attended its representation. The eyes of the audience were frequently bent on his countenance, and to watch the emotions produced by any particular passage upon him was the simultaneous employment of all. When Wignell, as Darby, recounts what had befallen him in America, in New York, at the adoption of the Federal Constitution, and the inauguration of the president, the interest expressed by the audience in the looks and the changes of countenance of this great man became intense. He smiled at these lines alluding to the change in the government There too, I saw some mighty pretty shows; But at the lines A man who fought to free the land from wo, I don't know what, he's not a great man sure, DERMOT. As we poor Irishmen love one another. the president looked serious; and when Kathleen asked How look'd he, Darby? Was he short or tall? his countenance showed embarrassment, from the expectation of one of those eulogiums which he had been obliged to hear on many public occasions, and which must doubtless have been a severe trial to his feelings; but Darby's answer that he had not seen him, because he had mistaken a man "all lace and glitter, botherum and shine" for him until all the show had passed, relieved the hero from apprehension of further personality, and he indulged in that which was with him extremely rare, a hearty laugh. These successes, of course, brought the drainatist in close relations with the theatre. Other pieces, tragic and comic, from his pen were produced; he appeared once upon the stage himself, and in 1796 became an associate with Hallam and Hodgkinson in the management of the John Street Theatre. On the 28th of January, 1798, the company was transferred to the newly completed Park Theatre, soon after which Dunlap became sole manager. On the 30th of March his five act tragedy in blank verse on André waз produced with success. He kept the theatre well supplied with other pieces from his own pen, mostly translations, making a great hit in a version of Kotzebue's Stranger; and appears to have conducted his business with spirit and intelligence. The result was, however, disastrous, as on the 22d of February, 1805, he closed the theatre a bankrupt. In addition to this misfortune, he was "a debtor to the United States as a security for the marshal of New Jersey, who was a defaulter." During his management he had kept his hand in as an artist to some extent by painting "some sinall sketchy likenesses" of Dr. Elihu H. Smith, C. B. Brown, and other literary associates of the Friendly Club; and he now devoted himself for a number of years to his original profession. His paintings were chiefly portraits. In 1806, he again became connected as assistant manager with a salary at the Park theatre, and so remained until 1811. In 1812, he published the Memoirs of the great "Star," George Frederick Cooke; a work which, from his intimacy with the actor, he was well prepared to write, and cominenced a magazine entitled the Recorder, which had but a brief career. The numbers were collected into a volume with the title, "A Record Literary and Political of Five Months in the Year 1813; by William Dunlap and others." He also wrote a life of his friend Charles Brockden Brown, accompanied by a selection from his literary remains, which he says, in apology for its unmethodical arrangement, was made by Paul Allen of Daltimore, and in part printed before the work was placed in his hands. In 1814, he received the appointment of Assistant Paymaster-General of the New York State militia from Daniel D. Tompkins, a favor which he attributes to the good offices of Washington Irving, then one of the general's aides. This he held until the close of the year 1816, when he resumed the brush. In his fifty-fifth year he painted a picture 18 by 12 feet, after the printed descriptions of West's "Christ Rejected," which was exhibited in most of the cities and towns of the United States with success. On the 5th of May, 1828, he opened to the public an original painting 18 by 14 of "Calvary." This he also carried to various parts of the United States. In the winter of 1831 and '2, he delivered in New York two lectures on the fine arts. In 1833, his History of the American Theatre was published, and on the 28th of February following he received the well deserved honor of a complimentary benefit at the Park Theatre, which placed the handsome sum of twenty-five hundred dollars in his pocket. His History of the Arts of Design in the United States was published by subscription in 1834. It forms two octavo volumes, and contains full biographical notices of all the artists in every department of design in the country,abounds in anecdote as well as information collected with great pains from original sources, which cannot be found elsewhere, and is the most valuable of the author's productions. In 1836, he published a novel entitled Thirty Years Ago; or the Memoirs of a Water Drinker, which he dedicated to "all Temperance Societies." He introduces in it many of his old recollections of New York, bringing in the moral of his story in the disastrous convivial habits of George Frederick Cooke, whose conversation is the main theme of the book. The old Park Theatre and its group of actors figure largely with the notices of the main personages of the city. Dunlap delighted to trace its historic scenes, and has pursued this theme agreeably in these volumes in his chapter on the Battery; and a description of the Inauguration of Washington at Federal Hall, in a dinner party conversation. Among the incidents of Cooke's life, the hoaxing duel with Cooper at Cato's is described with humorous effect by Dunlap, who enters with gusto into the grand style of his favorite subject, whose life he had written in a graver measure. In 1837, his History of New York for Schools appeared in two duodecimo volumes. This little book is written in the form of a dialogue between an uncle and his nephews. It is mainly taken up with the city, and contains notices of the men distinguished in art and literature as well as state affairs, who have graced its annals. The picturesque incidents of the Revolution are minutely and vividly depicted, and an additional historical value is given to the work by several well executed wood-cuts of old houses, and other interesting localities. The book closes with the inauguration of Washington. His success in this effort probably induced one of a more elaborate character on the same topic. His History of New Netherlands, Province of New York, and State of New York, appeared in two octavo volumes in 1839. It is a work of industry and re earch, and contains a valuable appendix, occupying half of the second volume, in which he has collected a number of curious facts relating to manners and customs. It closes at the same period with his previous history. Dunlap died soon after the completion of this work, September 28, 1839. A NIGHT ON THE HUDSON RIVER WITH CHARLES MATHEWS.— FROM THE HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN THEATRE. It was in the month of April, in the year 1823, that I embarked with two hundred and fifty others, in the steamboat Chancellor Livingston, for Albany. After the bustle of leave-taking, and the various ceremonies and multifarious acts of hurried business which daily take place on the departure of one of these self-moving hotels from the city of New York, I had leisure to look around me, with the intention of finding some acquaintance as a companion, or at least to satisfy my curiosity as to who were on board. I had seen many faces known to me when I first entered the boat, but they had vanished: all appeared, at first, strange. I soon, however, observed James Fennimore Cooper, the justly-celebrated novelist, in conversation with Dr. Francis. The lastmentioned gentleman I had long known, but with the first my acquaintance was of recent date. had occasionally met at the bookstore of Wiley, his publisher; but it was not until after the circumstance I am now recording that an intimacy took place, which has been to me a source of very great pleasure. We 1 soon after noted a man of extraordinary appearance, who moved rapidly about the deck, and occasionally joined the gentlemen above named. His age might be forty; his figure tall, thin, and muscular; one leg was shorter than the other, which, although it occasioned a halt in his gait, did not impede his activity; his features were extremely irre gular, yet his physiognomy was intelligent, and his eyes remarkably searching and expressive. I had never seen Mathews, either in private or public, nor do I recollect that I had at that time ever seen any representation of him, or heard his person described; but I instantly concluded that this was no other than the celebrated mimic and player. Doubtless his dress and manner, which were evidently English, and that peculiarity which still marks some of the votaries of the histrionic art, helped me to this conclusion. I say, "still marks;" for I remember the time when the distinction was so gross that a child would say, "There goes a play actor." The afternoon was uncommonly fine for our elimate in the cold month of April. The passengers generally kept the deck. We had not gone far on our voyage before the author of The Spy (for he was then chiefly known by that fascinating work) accosted me nearly thus:-"I understand from Mathews that you and he have never met. He is on board, and has expressed a wish to be introduced to you. Have you seen him off the stage?" "No-nor on." Is it possible! There he stands with Francis." "I have been noticing that figure, and had come to a conclusion that it was Mathews." 66 His figure is odd enough, to be sure. I suppose you know that his lameness and the deficiency in the regular symmetry of his face are owing to his being thrown from a gig, and very much injured by the fall; but these defects are not seen on the stage, or are turned to good account by his skill in his profession." Part of this passed as we approached the subject of the dialogue, and I soon made acquaintance with Charles Mathews. He introduced the subject of George Frederick Cooke and his Memoirs, complimented the author of them, and of course made himself agreeable. Fennimore was very attentive to me, and appeared to wish my gratification by a display of the talents of Mathews, who, as the novelist afterwards told me, was at his suggestion making a voyage to Albany, that he might see something more of America and American manners than are to be found in a seaport town. The figure and manner of the actor were sufficiently uncommon to attract the attention of a throng of men usually employed in active business, but here placed in a situation which, of all others, calls for something to while away time; but when some who traced the likeness between the actor on the deck of the steamboat and the actor on the stage of the theatre, buzzed it about that this was the mirth-inspiring Mathews, curiosity showed itself in as many modes as there were varieties of character in the motley crowd around him. This very natural and powerful propensity, which every person who exposes himself, or herself, upon a public stage, to the gaze of the mixed multitude, wishes ardently to excite, was, under the present peculiar circumstances of time, place, and leisure, expressed in a manner rather annoying to the hero of the sock, who would now have willingly appeared in the character of a private gentleman. There are individuals who can generally overcome this difficulty by dint of character, talent, or personal appearance; but in the case before us there was nothing sufficiently dignified to repress the clownish propensities of such among the crowd as were clowns, and they were not a few. The passengers in the Chancellor Livingston finding themselves on the same boards with the cele brated Mathews, and at liberty to gaze without paying for it, at the man who had delighted them on the stage, gratified their curiosity without much ceremony; and whenever Mathews was perceived to be stationary, and, with his usual animation, amusing his immediate companions, the watchful loungers closed around by degrees, and according to character, feeling, or education, became distant or nearer auditors and admirers of the wondrous ma:. One clown, in particular, followed the object o his very sincere admiration with a pertinacity which deserved a better return than it met. He was to Mathews a perfect Monsieur Tonson, and his appear ance seemed to excite the same feelings. The novelist and physician pointed out to me the impertineat curiosity of this admirer of the actor, and we all took some portion of mischievous delight in observing the irritability of Mathews. It increased to a ludicrous degree when Mathews found that no effort or change of place could exclude his tormentor fro... his sight; and when, after having made an effort to avoid him, he, on turning his head, saw Monsieur Tonson fixed as a statue, again listening in motio... less admiration to his honeyed words; the actor would suddenly change from the animated relation of story or anecdote, with which he had been entertaining his companions, to the outpouring of a rhapsody of incoherent nonsense, uttered with incredible volubility: without altering his former manner, he would rattle off something like, "Sardanapalus Heliogabalus Faustina and Kitty Fisher with their fourteen children Cecrops Moses Ariadne Robinson Crusoe Nimrod Captain Cooke Bonaparte and Jack the Giant-Killer had a long confab with Nebuchadonozer Sir Walter Raleigh and the pope on the best mode of making caraway comfits." But he found that this only made his admirer listen more intently, and open his eyes and mouth more widely and earnestly. As happens with many other orators, the more unintelligible his nonsense, the greater was the admiration of the auditor. We had but one regular meal on the passage, a very plentiful supper, at about seven o'clock, with tea and coffee. We had embarked at 5 P. M., and arrive at Albany by suurising. The meal was not suited to the habits of Mr. Mathews, and he was offended by both the matter and manner of it; but when the preparations for sleeping took place, and he found that the whole company, females excepted, must seek rest in the same cabin, some in berths and others accommodated with mattresses on the floor, his feelings revolted, and he protested against taking rest on such terms. To this feeling I am indebted for a night of much amusement; I should be unjust if I did not add, and some instruction. I had secured a mattress on the floor of one of the cabins, and should have dully slept away at least part of the night, but that Fennimore Cooper gave me intimation of Mathews's wish to sit up, and of his (Cooper's) success in obtaining the captain's cabin on the deck of the vessel, where Mathews, Francis, and himself had determined to enjoy a supper, whiskey-punch, and such convivial pleasure as could be extracted from such circumstances, and such a meeting. I was invited to make one, and readily accepted the invitation. Seated in the captain's cabin, and freed from all annoyance, Mathews became, as usual, the fiddle of the company; and story, anecdote, imitation, and song poured from him with the rapidity and brilliancy of the stars which burst from a rocket on a rejoicing night. To make himself still more agreeable to the senior, he introduced the memoirs of George Frederick, with that flattery which is delicious to all men, and peculiarly so to an author. The story of Cooke and Mrs. Burns," he added, "you have told remarkably well, and when I have 66 1 introduced it in my Youthful Days,' I have always taken your words; but Tom Cooper from whom, as I understand, you had it, forgot the termination of the story, the real denouement,-which makes it infinitely more dramatic." All joined in the request that Mathews would tell the story in his own way, and he, nothing loath, began: "I was a raw recruit in the Thespian corps, and it was my first campaign in Dublin. Chance made me a fellow-lodger with Cooke, at the house of Mistress Burns. I had looked at the great actor with an awful reverence, but had not yet been honoured by any notice from him. 66 In getting up Macklin's Love à la Mode, I had been cast for Beau Mordecai, and assuredly a more unfit representative of the little Jew can scarcely be imagined. As tall as I now am, I had then all the rawboned awkwardness of a hobbletehoy, and no knowledge of the world or of the stage. But Mr. Cooke must be shown to the Dublin public as Sir Archy, and there was no other Mordecai to be had. I was, however, perfect in the words; and if I murdered the Jew, I did it impartially; I murdered him every inch.' "After the farce, I tarried, as you Yankees say, a considerable time at the theatre, rather choosing to linger among the almost expiring dipped candles of the dressing-rooms than to seek, through mist and mud, my lofty but comfortless abode in Mrs. Burns's garret; but the property-man gave me my cue to depart, by putting out the lights; and I was slowly mounting to my bed, when, as I passed the room of the great man, I saw him (the door being open) sitting with a jug before him, indulging after the labours of the evening. I was stealing by, and had already one foot on the flight of stairs which led to my exalted apartment, when I was arrested by a loud, high-pitched voice, crying, Come hither, young man.' I could scarcely believe my seases: I hesitated. 'Come in,' was repeated. I advanced. 'Shut the door, and sit down.' I obeyed. He assumed an air of courtesy, and calling upon Mistress Burns for another tumbler, filled for himself and me. 'You will be so kind, my good Mistress Burns, as to bring another pitcher of whiskey-punch in honour of our young friend.' 'To be sure and I will, Mr. Cooke.' The punch was brought, and a hot supper, an unusual suxury then to me. After supper, the veteran, quite refreshed, and at ease, chatted incessantly of plays and players,-lashing some, commending others,-while I, delighted to be thus honoured, listened and laughed; thus playing naturally and sincerely the part of a most agreeable companion. After the third jug of punch, I was sufficiently inspired to ask a few questions, and even to praise the acting of the veteran. To use your own words, as I have often before done,' said Mathews, addressing himself to the biographer, one jug of whiskey-punch followed the other,' and Cooke began to advise his young companion how to conduct himself on the real and on the mimic scene of life. You are young, and want a friend to guide you. Talent you have; but talent without prudence is worthless, and may be pernicious. Take my word for it, there is nothing can place a man at the head of his profession but industry and sobriety. Mistress Burns!-shun ebriety as you would shun destruction. Mistress Burns! another jug of whiskey-punch, Mistress Burns.' 66 6 'Oh, Mister Cooke-' You make it so good, Mistress Burns; another 'Yes, Mister Cooke.' In our profession, my young friend, dissipation |