DR. BOSSY. DR. BOSSY, the itinerant empiric, was certainly the last who exhibited in the British metropolis, and his public services ceased about forty years ago. Every Thursday, his stage was erected opposite the north-west colonnade, Covent Garden. The platform was about six feet from the ground, was covered, open in front, and was ascended by a broad step-ladder. On one side was a table, with medicine chest, and surgical apparatus, displayed on a table, with drawers. In the centre of the stage was an arm. chair, in which the patient was seated; and before the doctor commenced his operations, he advanced, taking off his gold laced cocked hat, and bowing right and left, began addressing the populace which crowded before his booth. following dialogue, ad literatim, will afford the reader a characteristic specimen of one of the customs of the last age. It should be observed that the doctor was a humorist. The An aged woman was helped up the lad der, and seated in the chair: she had been deaf, nearly blind, and was lame to boot; indeed, she might be said to have been visited with Mrs. Thrale's three warnings, and death would have walked in at her door, only that Dr. Bossy blocked The doctor asked quesup the passage. tions with an audible voice, and the patient responded-he usually repeating the response, in his Anglo-German dialect. Doctor. Dis poora voman vot is-how old vosh you? Old Woman. I be almost eighty, Sir; seventy-nine last Lady Day, old style. Doctor. Ah, tat is an incurable disease. Old Woman. O dear! O dear! say not so-incurable! Why you have restored my sight-I can hear again--and I can walk without my crutches. Doctor. (Smiling). No, no, good vomans-old age is vot is incurable; but by the plessing of Gote, I vill cure you of vot is elshe. Dis poora vomans vos lame, and deaf, and almost blind. How many hosipetals have you been in? Old Woman. Three, Sir, St. Tho Doctor. Vot, and you found no reliefs?-vot none?-not at alls? Old Woman. No, none at all, Sir. Doctor. And how many medical professioners have attended you? Sir. Old Woman. Some twenty or thirty, Doctor. O mine Gote ! Three sick hosipetals, and dirty (thirty) doctors! I should vonder vot if you have not enough to kill you twenty time. Dis poora vomans has become mine patient. Doctor Bossy gain all patients bronounced ingurables; pote mid the plessing of Brovidence, I shall make short work of it, and set you upon your legs again. Coode beoples, dis poora vomans, vas teaf as a toor nails; (holding up his watch to her ear, and striking the repeater,) Gan you hear dat pell? Old Woman. Yes, Sir. Doctor. O den be thankful to Gote. Gan you valk round dis chair? (offering his arm.) Old Woman. Yes, Sir. Doctor. Sit you town again, good vomans. Gan you see? Old Woman. Pretty so-so, doctor. mans? Old Woman. I can see the baker there, (pointing to a mutton-pye-man, with the pie board on his head. All eyes were turned towards him.) Doctor. And what else gan you see, good vomans? Old Woman. The poll-parrot there, (pointing to Richardson's hotel.) 66 Lying old bh!" screamed Richardson's poll-parrot. All the crowd shouted with laughter. Dr. Bossy waited until the laugh had subsided, and looking across the way, significantly shook his head at the parrot, and gravely exclaimed, laying his hand on his bosom," "Tis no lie, you silly pird, 'tis all true as is de gosbel." Those who knew Covent Garden half a century ago, cannot have forgotten the famed Dr. Bossy. And there are those too, yet living in Covent Garden parish, who also recollect Richardson's grey parrot, second in fame only (though of prior renown,) to Colonel O'Kelly's bird, which excelled all others upon record. This Covent Garden mock-bird had picked up many familiar phrases, so liberally doled out at each other, by the wrangling basket women, which were often, as on this occasion, so aptly coincidental, that the good folks who attended the market, believed pretty poll to be endowed with reason. The elder Edwin, of comic me mory, who resided over the north-east piazza (improperly so termed,) used to relate many curious stories of this parrot. Among others, that one day, the nail on which her cage was hung, in front of the house, having suddenly given way, the cage fell upon the pavement from a considerable height. Several persons ran to the spot, expecting to find their old favourite dead, and their fears were confirmed, as the bird lay motionless, when suddenly raising her head, she exclaimed, "Broke my back, by G-d!" Every one believed it even so, when suddenly she climbed up with her beak and claw, and burst into a loud fit of laughter. Nearly underneath her cage had long been a porter's block, and, doubtless, she had caught the profane apostrophe from the market garden porters, on pitching their heavy loads. SHERIDAN. The high estimation the abilities of this once great man are held in, induces us to give the following, which will, perhaps, throw an additional ray of light on his character as a humorist and a real wit Old Mr. Sheridan, who had naturally planned romantic schemes for the advancement of his highly gifted son, disapproved of his marriage with a public singer; and the elder Linley, on the other hand, lost by the match the emoluments which he then was deriving from the celebrity of his sweet daughter's extraordinary talents as a vocal performer; for the young lady had become so great a public favourite, that her musical engagements would have soon realized a fortune for herself, and that father conjointly, who had spared neither money nor pains in the adornment of her mind, and in the cultivation of her professional abilities. The young poet, Sheridan, indeed, had, by his captivating manners, and superior address, deprived the family of the Linleys, in every sense, of its greatest treasure. Putting this consideration aside, the parental appeals of each house were regarded as idle complaints; for, as old Jonathan Tyers, the proprietor of Vauxhall, said, Who is to settle the precedence between the family consequence of the green-room and the orchestra?" But at length the differences of these modern Montagus and Capulets were reconciled without sepulchre, sword, or poison, and instead of the two families having to mourn two young lovers lost, the families met in social intercourse, each continuing dear in each other's affection. It has been said that Garrick, could not endure to see his amiable spouse "trip it on the light fantastic toe;" neither could young Sheridan endure to hear his sweet bride," warble her native woodnotes wild;" though, to do justice to her memory, art had amply improved her strains. Some few months after their nuptials, the Angelos, friends of Sheridan, the Linleys, and Willoughby Lacy, spent an evening at Christmas, at Richard Brinsley's house, Orchard-street. They kept it up to a late hour; and music making part of the after-supper entertainment, Mamma Linley asked her daughter to sing a certain little favourite air; but a single glance from her juvenile lord and master, kept her mute. With reference to these family appeals, however, his friends happily steered so friendly a course, that no ill-will ensued; their reconciliating powers being often employed to heal the wounded feelings of these very worthy parties, and bring about a reconciliation. Among innumerable instances of the playful talent and ready wit of Richard, or, as he was more familiarly addressed, Dick Sheridan, is the following: It relates to the splendid masquerade which was given at the Pantheon, soon after that superb structure, the first great effort of the science of the late James Wyatt, was opened to the public. This magnificent building was then in the zenith of its glory. The elder Angelo, on more than one public occasion, was appointed honorary master of the ceremonies at this resort of high fashion. On this, however, he went merely as a visitor, in character. The preceding day, Mr. Angelo entertained a dinner party, when the masquerade being the subject of conversation, it became a general question what character he meant to assume. 66 You, who have made so conspicuous a figure in the Carnival at Venice," said the elder Sheridan, must shine in an English mumming." Many characters were suggested, when Angelo, at the instance of his wife, chose that of a mountebank conjuror. being settled, in compliance to the lady hostess, by general acclamation, Richard Brinsley said, "Come, Doctor Angelo, give me pen, ink, and paper, and I will furnish you with a card to distribute to the motley crowd, who will surround you." The materials produced, he wrote the following jeu d'esprit, talking, laughing, and entering into the chit-chat, all the while he composed it. 66 This "A CONJUROR.-Just arrived in the Haymarket, from the very extremity of Hammersmith, (where he has spent a number of years in a two pair of stairs lodging,) A most noted and extraordi nary Conjuror, having visited above nine different parishes in the space of a fortnight, and had the honour of exhibiting before most of the Churchwardens between Knightsbridge and Brentford. "It is not in the power of words, (unless some new language were invented for the purpose) to describe the extraordinary feats he performs. "He takes a glass of wine, (provided it be good,) and, though you should fill it up to the very brim, he will drink it off with the greatest ease and satisfaction. "He makes no scruple of eating a plate of cold ham and chicken, if it be supper time-before the face of the whole Any gentleman or lady may lend him five or six guineas, which he puts into his pocket and never returns, if he can help it. "He takes a common pocket handkerchief out of his pocket, rumples it in his hand, blows his nose, and returns it into his pocket again, with the most astonishing composure. "When gentlemen are talking on any subject on which there appears a difference of opinion, he joins in the conversation, or holds his tongue-just as it happens. Any nobleman, gentleman, or lady may look him full in the face, and-see whether they know him or not. "In short, it would appear quite incredible to enumerate the unheard-of qualities he possesses, and the unprecedented wonders he performs; and all for his own private emolument, and for no other motive or consideration whatever!" This was immediately despatched to the printer's in Wardour-street, and five hundred copies were composed and struck off, dried, pressed, and ready by twelve at night, which was considered a great effort of the press in those days, printing not then being despatched as now, by the miraculous expedition of a steam-engine of thirty horse power."-Angelo Remin. SUBJECT OF THE ILLUSTRATION. THE point of action, in the fable of the poem that we have chosen for this week's embellishment, is where Sophronia, a Christian virgin, accuses herself of secretly stealing away by night the image of the Virgin from one of the mosques of Aladine, King of Jerusalem, which had been previously transported from the Temple of the Christians by the Pagans. Her lover learning that she was about to become a victim to the tyranny of Aladine, gets him self brought before the King, and proclaims her innocence by taking the fact upon himself.* Ah! hope no more thy pardon here to find, With cruel hands they seize the beauteous dame Her veil and mantle rent bestrew the ground, Where lillies soon succeed the fading rose. Aud with the rest Olindo there was led : he flew. She's guiltless! (to the king aloud he cries) Far other than a woman's feeble hands; there were those who pretended to read in their dejected looks and faltering speech a tale of disaster and disappointment. The count himself observed that there was much mystery about the actions of Petroni, and even hinted his apprehensions that the hopes of Vincentio pointed to the same fatal source in which the ruin of his father had originated. After the lapse of a few months, however, brighter prospects seemed to open. It was ascertained that Vincentio had remitted considerable sums to his steward, and had even directed certain repairs to be commenced in his palace, which seemed to indicate an intention of restoring it to its former grandeur. Thus time rolled on till one month only of the stipulated period remained to be accomplished, when Petroni suddenly presented himself at the villa Gheranzi. His pursuits, whatever they had been, had much changed him. His looks were wild, his features haggard-and there was a dereign to the mild and urbane dignity of gree of ferocity in his manner utterly fohis former character. "I come, count, a suppliant, but to your justice rather than to your mercy. The task you have imposed on me is im Where the high dome receives the air and light, practicable; either extend the time, or I found a passage, favour'd by the night; dled flame. Book II. AGATHA GHERANZI. (Continued from page 73.) Agatha, informed by her father of the result of their conference, grew more composed, and by degrees regained much of that elasticity of mind which had shed its fairy beams over her earlier years. Naturally sanguine, and unversed in worldly affairs, she looked forward with hope, almost with confidence, to the result of those efforts which she understood from time to time employed the unceasing attention of Vincentio. Of the nature of those efforts little was known. His absences from Mantua were frequent, and often protracted; but the few domestics whom he yet retained, and who were ancient servants of the family, preserved a religious silence on all that respected their master; yet reduce the demand. I have toiled when even the herdsman slept; I have dared that, which but for Agatha and he struck his forehead with his clenched hand as he spoke I had trembled even to look upon-Nay, hear me out-I have amassed a treasure which ought, which must be accepted as a release from further toil." 66 Name it," replied the count-" It is a good earnest," continued he, returning the papers to Vincentio," and requires but a little more exertion to secure the object of your desires. Nay, nay, no entreaties; I am firm, Petroni." 66 Say rather hardened," exclaimed Vincentio, with bitterness; but I have done; I bow to no man. On your head be the consequences of this fatal hour!" Infuriated by conflicting passions, he rushed into the garden, where, at the foot of a temple which had been erected to the memory of the late countess, he beheld Agatha, seated and looking on the declining sun with a countenance in which peace, innocence, and love, were sweetly depicted. He paused-he trembled, the big drops of emotion chased each other across his pale forehead, as he gazed on her who, still unconscious of his presence, seemed lost in happy musing. "With thee-with thee, Vincentio-" she slowly murmured. He was at her See the Embellishment, illustrative of the feet. above, page 81. "If you love me, Agatha-" "Vincentio, what means this?" exclaimed the affrighted maid. "It means, ," said he, wildly," that I am again rejected, spurned, despised, by your relentless father; that, to gratify his ambition, his avarice, he would force me on courses which my soul abhors. Oh, save me, save me, Agatha !" he cried, his tears bursting forth in an unrestrained flood: I am lost-dishonoured-wretched here and hereafter, but for thee! Thy gentle hand can alone lead me back from paths which but for thee I had never trod !" "Vincentio, what mean you?" "That to win you from your father, I must peril life, honour, my immortal soul!" "Oh, frightful! frightful! speak not thus! by what means can I-” "Fly with me! this instant fly! and I am secure and happy!- -Happy! oh what a word to express the bliss, the rapture of possessing thee!" "Vincentio, it must not be !" exclaimed the maiden firmly; "rather let us at this moment bid each other an eternal farewell than violate an oath sacred in the sight of man and Heaven. Nay, nay, look not thus upon me; fortune may smile on us yet." "I cannot lose you!" cried he wildly whatever be the issue, I must peril all." "Oh Vincentio, what mean you?" "Ask not! know not!" he exclaimed; "Fate thrusts me onward-whither I dare not look-You are the prize, Agatha, to gain whom nor earth nor heaven shall bar me. "Oh hold, Vincentio !" 66 wholly ignorant of the place of his re treat. Time, which pursues its undeviating course through good and ill, passed on; and a few days now only remained before the expiration of that period on which the fate of Agatha depended. Nothing, however, had yet been heard of Vincentio, and her fears augmented almost to distraction as hour after hour stole insensibly away. At this momentous crisis the count received intelligence of the death of a relative near Naples, with the important addition of a large property having devolved on him. With the ardour of one whose whole soul was concentrated in the acquisition of wealth, he gave orders for their immediate departure to take possession of his newly-gained riches. In vain did Agatha urge the nearness of that hour on which her destiny seemed to rest. The count would hear of no opposition. "Respect for the dead, Agatha," said he, would at all events oblige us to postpone the nuptials. Indeed, we stand altogether in an altered situation: if there was disparity of fortune before, how much greater is it now?" "You would not break faith with Vincentio, my father?" exclaimed Agatha, faintly. I am not yet called upon to keep it," cried the count, pettishly; "when Vin-centio claims the performance of my promise, I shall know how to answer him." Agatha shuddered; she read in her father's eye the wavering of his heart. Alas! should Vincentio claim her hand at the appointed day, would her father fulfil his engagement? and should he fail, what must be then her part?" To keep "have I not sworn?" "It is too late," he cried, as he im- my oath!" she mentally exclaimed ;— printed a burning kiss on her lips; this may be the last!" even He looked on her with a countenance in which love and despair were strangely mingled; waved his hand, and was out of sight in an instant. The agitation of Agatha remained long after the immediate effects of this last mysterious interview with her lover had passed away. Alas! the more she reflected on his dark insinuations, the greater was her terror at their impending issue; yet, unable to comprehend or even to guess at the nature of his forebodings, she could but weep and wonder, and seek in the past noble career of Vincentio a trembling hope and assurance of the future. That he had left Mantua immediately on quitting her she soon learned. She could not, therefore, if she would, have sought him, nor had she even the means of addressing a letter to him, as his old steward had owned to her, on inquiry, that he was They arrived at Rome in perfect safety; the count elated with his good fortune, and Agatha proportionably depressed at the probable consequences of this seemingly auspicious event. There they were advised to take an armed escort to protect them from the brigands who were reported to infest some parts of the road to Naples, and whose depredations of late had assumed a more daring and atrocious character. The count, however, loved mo ney too well to part with it, unless in a case of absolute necessity. "I have just learned, Agatha," said he to his daughter, the morning after their arrival, that the prince of Casti will leave Rome to-morrow; and as he is said to have considerable treasure with him he will, of course, take a proportionate escort: in his company, therefore, we may travel securely. Why, girl, what are you thinking of ?" |