Exulting Folly hail'd the joyful day,
And Pantomime and Song confirm'd her sway.

But who the coming changes can presage, And mark the future periods of the stage? Perhaps, if skill should distant times explore, New Behns, new Durfeys, yet remain in store; Perhaps, where Lear has rav'd, and Hamlet died, On flying cars new sorcerers may ride: Perhaps, (for who can guess th' effects of chance?)

Here Hunt* may box, or + Mahomet may dance.

Hard is his lot that, here by fortune plac'd,
Must watch the wild vicissitudes of taste;
With ev'ry meteor of caprice must play,
And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day.
Ah! let not censure term our fate our choice,
The stage but echoes back the public voice;
The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give;
For we that live to please, must please to live.

Then prompt no more the follies you decry, As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die;

* Hunt, a famous boxer on the stage.

+ Mahomet, a rope dancer, who had exhibited at Covent Garden Theatre the winter before;-said to be a Turk.

Tis your's, this night, to bid the reign com


Of rescued Nature and reviving Sense;

To chase the charms of Sound, the pomp of Show,

For useful Mirth and salutary Woe;

Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age,
And Truth diffuse her radiance from the Stage.


As no man had a more perfect acquaintance with the various characters of the Drama than Garrick, his reading, of a new or a revived piece, was a matter of instruction, as well as entertainment, to the players; for he generally seasoned the dry part of the lecture with gay jokes, acute remarks, or shrewd applications to the company present. As he took infinite pains to inform, he required, in return, implicit obedience to his instructions; a compliance which could hardly be expected from men of great professional abilities, such as Woodward and Yates, who, although they might adopt his view of the outline, and thank him for a few hints toward the colouring of a character, had certainly a right to

finish and heighten the sketch according to their own notions of propriety.

On the revival of "Every Man in his Humour," in 1750, Garrick was particularly anxious for the success of the piece. He was well aware of the state of the public taste, and dreaded that this sterling comedy, one of the best in our language, would prove unpalatable; he therefore endeavoured, by frequent rehearsals and careful tutoring, to render every performer, if possible, a perfect master of the intricacies of his part, in order to preclude the possibility of a failure.

During the greater part of the rehearsals, Woodward had shown himself very attentive to Garrick's ideas of Bobadil; but one morning, in the manager's absence, he indulged himself in the exhibition of his own intended manner of representation. While the actors were laughing, and loudly applauding his delineation of the character, Garrick entered the play-house unperceived. After waiting for some time, he suddenly stepped upon the stage, exclaiming; "Bravo! Harry, bravo! upon my soul, bravo!Why, now this is it-No, No, I can't say this is quite my idea of the thing-your's is, after all


to be sure, rather-ba!" Woodward, perceiving the manager a little embarrassed, answered with much seeming modesty; Sir, I will act the part, if you desire it, exactly according to your notion of it.”—“No! No! by no means, Harry; D-n it, you have actually clenched the matterBut why, my dear Harry, would not you communicate before?"


A DISTURBANCE took place in 1815, in the Theatre at Havre-de-Grace, in consequence of one of the actresses having appeared on the stage, in a state which rendered her unable to perform her allotted character in the Drama of the evening, from the effect of the Noyeau she had previously taken. For this offence she had been imprisoned by the Commissary for 14 days. On the evening of her re-appearance, she was led on the stage by the manager, to apologize to the audience, who loudly hissed her off: she was brought on a second time by the Commissary, but with no better success. A file of soldiers were then introduced with fixed bayonets into the pit. The whole audience took the alarm at this arbitrary measure, and a general cry of


"Shame! shame! withdraw the guard! turn them out!" took place. This was at length done: the Lady was again introduced by the Commissary, and was suffered to express her sorrow for the offence which she had publicly committed, and peace was restored.


OLIVER Cashel, an actor of some promise about the middle of the last century, was by birth an Irishman, well educated, and of a good family. His first appearance in London was on the boards of Drury-Lane, which he afterwards quitted for Covent-Garden, where he met with so much encouragement from Rich, that he exeited the jealousy of an actor, who had previously been advancing greatly in the manager's favour. Cashel had been bred in high Tory principles, which, with the characteristic openness of his countrymen, he took no pains to conceal, but indiscreetly avowed his notions of government and politics on all occasions. He was entirely free from any intention to disturb the state, but rash in the use of expressions that might be interpreted to his disadvantage.

The nation was just at this period (1746) in



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