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cessary to explain myself further in the objection hinted at above; but I am decidedly of opinion, that the state is the only medium through which public services should be rewarded. The people constitutionally act through their representatives. I dislike any of these amusing supplements to the solemn propriety of a grant from Parliament.

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CHAP. XI.

Losses of the Stage.-Old Macklin dies.-Heir at Law. Character of Fawcett.-Mr. Boaden's Italian Monk.— Palmer perfect.-Miss Decamp in Rosalba.-Mrs. Litchfield.—Mrs. Abington.-Happy Prologue for her by Colman. -Miss Farren, how succeeded.--Cheap living.--Mrs. Crawford.-Monk Lewis.-Castle Spectre. Mr. Kemble in that Play.-Morton's Secrets worth Knowing.-Colman's Blue Beard.-The Stranger.-Mr. Kemble.-Mrs. Haller.Character dissected.-Perfection of Kemble in the Stranger. -Novelties.-Blue Devils.-French Fable.--Le Texier.Cambro Britons.-Palmer's Farewell to the Author.-His Death. Benefits for his Children.

WE have recently seen too many of the sons and daughters of the stage taken from it; and on the 11th of July, 1797, the father of the stage, old Macklin himself, expired. He appears to have been born on the 1st of May, 1690, and consequently to have attained the extraordinary age of 107 years 2 months and 10 days. That so little should be known of his life, is one of the remarkable parts of his character. He had most probably omitted to put down the transactions of his youth, and in his decline a few floating, nearly vague recollections, about the middle of his existence, were all that he could attempt to detail. I have already laid before the reader my opinion of him as an actor, and shown something of the critical force of his mind. What remains is to notice the place of his interment, which was a new vault under the chancel of St. Paul's, Covent Garden.

The character of the stage history is best described by the great master of the stage itself-it is compounded of extremes, and passes from melancholy to mirth with the swift transition of a scene.

"With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,"

is not more characteristic of the majesty of Denmark, than it is of the few adjacent pages. The reader will be entirely of this opinion, when he shall find the Heir at Law the next feature to the decease of Macklin. That most delightful

comedy was acted the first time on the 15th of July, the evening of the day on which the veteran was buried, and Munden, after attending the funeral, had to perform a new character in the play.

Whatever doubt might exist as to the Iron Chest, not the slightest was ever heard about the Heir at Law. It was one of the lightest and gayest among a better description of modern comedies; not absolutely original, for vulgarity has often been driven from usurped and ill-suited honours; but still so rich in manners, so whimsical in situation, so broad in humour, so happy in combination, that it was received as a chef d'œuvre by every order of critic. But Fawcett must share with Colman the honours of Pangloss. He here at once attained the perfection of the art as a comediandistinct impersonation. He was enough of the scholar, to understand, to enjoy, and to display either the vanity, the pedantry, or the servility of the tutor. His untiring ardour, his rapidity, and his happy blunt interjectional point of→ hem! placed him out of the reach of rivalry in the part. Let me seize the opportunity, afforded by his merit as an actor, to say something of Fawcett as a man. In every situation in which he has met me through no short life, he was always plain, direct, sincere, and steady. He never truckled to the diurnal dispensers of an actor's fame-he could not flatter, and he did not care for flatterers. He performed, as a manager, a hundred kind acts without ostentation; and your interest never drooped in his hands, nor slept in his custody. If I were to inscribe his grave, I would do it in the eulogy pronounced by Lear upon his faithful Kent, his Caius,

""TWAS A ROUGH HONESTY."

The order of this work compels me again to speak of myself; but the recommendation of the illustrious doctor, just commemorated, shall be attended to.

"On their own merits MODEST men are dumb.”

Hitherto I had written nothing for the summer Theatre. I sent, through that worthy man, Waldron, the Italian Monk to Mr. Colman. He told me that he liked it much, and that he would bring it out with all the care that could be given to it; and that; as far as the means of a little theatre and a short season would go, decoration as to scenery and dresses was at my command. Maninari invented some beautiful Italian landscape for the piece, and it came into rehearsal under

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favourable auspices. Dr. Arnold looked into Gluck for a sublime chorus of nuns, and wrote, himself, in a very powerful manner. The piece was strongly cast, and Palmer was pleased with the character of Schedoni. All however rested upon him, and Colman told me in my ear, that " I must take care of him, or he would not know one word of it." I got hold of him one day, and secured him effectually. I told him "that Schedoni offered to him an opportunity of showing both his manager and the public that it was not absolutely necessary to engage Mr. Elliston for tragedy of any strength, while HE was in the theatre." His indolence was banished at once; after rehearsals he twice begged that I would read Schedoni to him in his dressing room; he used his pencil frequently as to emphasis, and occasionally asked the reason of any conception differing from his own. To the astonishment of the manager and the whole company, he went through the character, on the last rehearsal but two, quite perfect in the words, with the part undisturbed peeping out of his coat pocket. Colman said slily, "You are safe. He is in earnest.” And he was really so; he acted it beautifully, so as to draw tears from George Steevens, who honoured me by his presence. But it was altogether fortunate. I had been the means of drawing forth some unsuspected declamation from that charming young actress Miss Decamp. I received her, I remember, at the wing, as she came off the stage as. Rosalba, in triumph, with an applause from the house following her for some minutes; and her grateful feeling led her to say openly, "Dear Sir, you will make my fortune, if you write for me in this manner." There is something in dramatic success so intoxicating, that even the profits of your achievement come but coldly after it.

Mr. Kemble's brother Charles acted Vivaldi in the play, and was rapidly advancing in the art. It was not very difficult at this time to see the strong interest which he felt in the success of my heroine; and the green room of the Haymarket arranged, by anticipation, the union, that some years after took place between him and Miss Decamp.

The winter season of 1797-8 opened under circumstances extremely unfavourable. Among the novelties, which secured permanent reputation in the art, I remember Mrs. Litchfield with sincere pleasure. She acted at Covent Garden Theatre, on the 20th of September. Marianne in the Dramatist, a character of great sprightliness; but her true powers were in the train of the sister muse. Had she been favoured with a figure rising to the majestic, and features of greater prominence, the powers of her mind, so seconded,

would, perhaps, still have retained her in the very highest rank of tragedy.

Some aid the manager hoped to find in the return of Mrs. Abington to the scene of her former victories; but her person had become full, and her elegance somewhat unfashionable; yet she still gave to Shakspeare's Beatrice what no other actress in my time has ever conceived; and her old admirers were willing to fancy her as unimpaired by time as the character itself. Colman, to introduce her, wrote one of the happiest prologues in my remembrance. A few points I shall try to preserve-a degree of attention which he himself may not feel disposed to pay these temporary effusions. The first thought is tender.

"When melancholy counts each friend gone by,
True as religion strings her ROSARY;

The eye grows moist for many in silence laid,

And drops that bead, which nature's self has made."

Time and casualty ravage the mimic world with the fury even of war.

"Here death to a chill grave some actor carries,
Here Hymen beckons,-and an actress marries."

Can we not, to supply these chasms, lure back some favourite of the comic muse?

"Thalia calls-and Abington appears:

Yes, Abington-too long we've been without her,
With all the school of Garrick still about her.
Mature in pow'rs, in playful fancy vernal,-
For NATURE, charming nature, is eternal."

Mr. Harris brought out, on the 12th and 13th of October, two young actresses of very superior merit-Miss Betterton, since Mrs. Glover, in Elwina; and Mrs. Spencer, afterwards Mr. Pope's second wife, in Monimia. For the first of these ladies I had fancied the succession to Mrs. Abington in comedy; to the second, some venerable admirers assigned the innocent sensibility and pathetic sweetness of Mrs. Cibber. How far the conveyance of the rich gift was perfected, I really am too young to judge. Mrs. Spencer was a very lovely woman, and a very interesting actress.

The reader sees here what he will find to be invariable in stage history, that, whenever any accomplished actor or actress dies, Two, at least, must be engaged to supply the place --FIVE, frequently to compensate the loss. At Drury Lane,

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