ping his shoulder, exclaimed, "Wretched sad stuff, sir; and if you will begin to hiss I will join you heart and soul!" Such are the glories of man! On his return to London his father inquired whether he had got any thing beyond the vox populi? to which the author replying in the negative, the solicitor gave him the following piece of advice, worthy of being painted in letters of gold on the walls of nine-tenths of the chambers of the Temple, &c. "Then stick to a declaration, or a bill in chancery, my boy; for though they are pretty sure not to be applauded, they may be encored, and they must be paid for!"

He was now fairly in the dramatic harness, and determined to write four pages of dialogue, of one kind or other, every day. On this plan he began "Eloisa, a tragedy," commencing his dialogue in this winning style :-" Well now, my darling, what have you to say for yourself?" He showed his play to Murphy, who pointed out some absurdities, and gave him in return the following lesson, which we cordially recommend to all the nervous, from the foot of Parnassus to the Peak.

The conversation then turning on newspapers, he asked me, whether I suffered under their attacks? I replied, that I had had no opportunity of judging, for hitherto all I had seen had been favourable; but I did not think the reverse would make much impression on me. He then confessed that during the early part of his dramatic career, he had writhed greatly under their lash; "but," he added, "I was cured for ever, through the interposition of a blessed shower of rain, which driving me into a small coffee-house in Whitechapel for shelter, I there saw a file of the preceding year's papers on the table, and glancing my eye over one of them, read in the first page, Mr. Murphy to-morrow!' Guessing that this threat was only the prelude to a thorough punishment, I searched for the next day's paper, and there, according to my expectations, found a most outrageous attack on • Murphy's flimsy, linsey-woolsey Way to Keep Him.' In the following number was a more violent abuse, if possible, on the Pilferer's All in the Wrong, and then another, and another for Murphy, and all the rest of his plays in succession. Now when I reflected that, that year, my plays had been successful at night, though by this ultra Churchill condemned every morning, and that the whole time, owing to no good-natured frieud' having shown me these facetious criticisms, I had walked, talked, eaten, drunk, and slept as well as ever, I left the coffee-house in high good humour, determined, for the future, to let the gall'd jade wince; our withers are unwrung.'"-Vol. i. pp. 319–321.

Another mania had for some time seized on the fashionable world-this was "private theatricals." Richmond-house was the great rendezvous of these high-born and awkward Othellos and Romeos. Lord Derby, Lord Henry Fitzgerald, and Mrs. Damer, were the amateur rivals of Kemble, Lewis, Siddons, and Farren. Old Macklin's opinion on these points was probably the true one, "that the best private actor that ever trod the stage was not half so good as Dibble Davies" (a third-rate performer of the day).

The old solicitor had been long ruining, but the ruin came at

last; his whole property was seized, and, with three-and-twenty guineas, he fled to France. His sons had now a very fair prospect of starving, when, by a turn of fortune, their grandfather, the man of the pompadour suit, died, and left the two younger brothers nine hundred pounds a-piece, on which they took chambers in the Temple. The author evidently delights in the privations of that time, and describes his regular dinner as kidneys roasted on a fork, potatoes boiled in a shaving-pot, and a small quantity of weak punch in a cracked basin.' He must have had poverty in those matters, for five shillings would have rectified his whole culina.

A grand step in his career was now at hand. He saw Lewis in The Copper Captain,' and was, as well he might be, delighted with the spirit and brilliancy of that incomparable actor. He conceived the idea of writing a comedy for him, and produced "The Dramatist," perhaps his chef d'œuvre. In three months he waited on Const the barrister with its outline. Const pointed out some errors, and at the end of the year it was presented to Harris at Covent Garden, by whom it was refused as too wild;-to Drury Lane, when Sheridan also found it too wild; and to the Haymarket, when Colman also found it too wild. I told. Andrews "The that it must be his, for "there was gunpowder in every line." The unfortunate writer took it back, and began his experiments on popular titles by calling it "Crim Con:" this too was repelled. But Reynolds had made an accidental acquaintance with Major Topham, proprietor of "The World" newspaper, and his play was allowed by Harris to be performed for the benefit of Mrs. Wells, a moderate actress, but a celebrated beauty, peculiarly favoured by Topham. It should be known, that a play brought out for a benefit makes its appearance under the worst aspect possible; for, if the manager had thought it worth any thing, he would have brought it out for his own advantage. Disaster still hung upon the writer. At the green-room reading all the actors pronounced "that it would fail." Lewis, the Atlas of the piece, disliked his part; and even Reynolds felt his heart sick. But, on the night of acting, Lewis was more than himself, and the play triumphed :it was repeated.-The receipts on the third night were one hundred and eighty pounds; (we are to recollect that the house was not half its present size). The expenses of the night were one hundred pounds, (they are now two) and Reynolds walked home to astonish his brother and his nurse with the sight of eight ten pound notes! This implies a promptitude in the treasury which later times have deplorably forgotten. Harris subsequently gave him two hundred pounds for his two other nights, and promised him the profits of the twenty-first: an arrangement for which Harris deserves immortal laudation, as it was the original precedent for giving a fourth night to authorship." Esto perpetua!" Reynolds at length, thus rising a little in the world, paid a visit to Topham, in Suffolk, where he

met Elwes, the miser. Topham was a man made up of singularity; he wore a grotesque dress, wrote grotesque farces, and lived a gro tesque life; but his true honours with posterity will be founded on his being the inventor of high waisted breeches, those of the cotemporary world being so very short, that half the day, and a whole hand, were entirely employed' in keeping them in statu quo. Many a sounding name lives on less authentic claims. The eccentric major was of no trivial use to the industrious author, who introduced him into as many comedies as he could; and finally computes the value of his friend, in this point, at a thousand pounds clear stage profit; congratulating himself with infinite coolness on having lived in a period when such characters were to be had. 'Had I written,' says he, 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 dandy.'

The king ordered the "Dramatist" for his visit to the theatre: this revived the popularity of the play; and the prince, his present majesty, went on the twenty-first night, which produced to the author £225: a vast sum in those days of low prices.

These volumes abound in fragments of practical wisdom, which, however oddly expressed, the young and romantic should lay to heart. Reynolds had gone to Cheltenham for relaxation from all this scribbling, and at the watering-place fell in love, as is the cusOne morning, as he was sighing over the departure of his last love, an old lady thus consoled him :

tom.

“Before her carriage reaches Gloucester, all tenderness for you will be bumped out of her; and, at the ball to-night, all your love for her will be danced out of you.'

He adds, The old lady was right.'-Experientia docet.

Andrews is, after all, the curiosity of the book. Giddy, humoursome, and vain, a thorough green-room man, he yet continued to manage his powder mills with the diligence of a complete man of business; giving huge dinners and parties to persons of rank, millionaries, and literati, whom he entertained separately, and all with equal splendour. He loved a guinea, and entered into close compacts with Reynolds for his share of the profits of some trivial theatrical pieces, which they had compounded in partnership. He could lend money to a liberal amount; while, as Reynolds says, 'he never ceased to complain of a dramatic writer, who had fled to France, owing him three guineas.'

Characters of this kind seem to have been provided for the use of this pleasant playmaker. A wealthy friend, an M.P., had invited him to pass a month at Brighton: after a fortnight Reynolds was compelled to return to town. His opulent friend grew nervous, and urged him back to cheer him with his society.' At the end of the month, his entertainer handed him an account, saying, that

VOL. II.

Reynolds's expenses in chambers would have amounted to three guineas a week, whereas he charged him but two, so that he had rather gained than lost by his seaside excursion.

There is a good deal in these volumes, as might be expected, about Harris, Lewis, Kemble, and the other leading performers; something about the men of fashion with whom our author occa sionally associated, and who appear to have been a peculiarly plea sant and easy mannered set, and a great deal of miscellaneous anecOf one portion of the Memoirs, however, we most decidedly express our regret that it should have appeared. The whole intercourse with Mrs. Wells must be looked on by the author as a disastrous and lamentable affair, which ought not to have been communicated to the public.

We conclude with one of the tricks of the notorious Sheridan, of which we had not heard before.

'As a fair humourous specimen of ruse contre ruse, and of Sheridan's most adroitly hoaxing the hoaxers, I must add the following anecdote. I was walking one day with Tom King in Pall Mall, when we met the celebrated clown, Grimaldi, father of the present Joe Grimaldi: approach. ing us with a face of the most ludicrous astonishment and delight, he exclaimed,

"O vat a clevare fellow dat Sheridan is!-shall I tell you?-Oui,Yes I vill-Bien donc I could no never see him at de theatre, so je vais chez lui-to his house in Hertford-street, muffled in great coat, and I say, Domestique !-you hear?'-'Yes.'- Vell, den, tell your master dat M. de Mayor of Stafford be below.' Domestique fly-and on de instant, I be shown into de drawing-room. In von more minute, Sheridan leave his dinner party, enter de room hastily, stop suddenly, stare, and stay, How dare you, Grim, play me such a trick?' Then putting himself into a passion, he go on,-Go, sare! get out of my house.' 'Begar,' say I, placing my back against the door, 'not till you pay me my forty pounds, and then, I point to de pen, ink, and paper, on von small tables in de corner, and say Dere! write me the check, and de mayor shall go vitement-entendez vous? If not, morbleau, I vill ————

་

"Oh!' interrupted dis clevare man, if I must, Grim, I must,'and as if he were trés pressé-very hurry-he write de draft, and pushing it into my hand, he squeeze it, and I do push it into my pocket. Vell den, I make haste to de banker's, and giving it to de clerks, I say, 'Four tens if you please, Sare.'- Four tens!' he say with much surprise-de draft be only for four pounds!' O! vat a clevare fellow dat Sheridan is! But I say If you please, sare, donnez moi donc, those four pounds. And den he say, 'Call again to-morrow! Next day I meet de manager in de street, and I say Mistare Sheridan, have you forget?' and den he laugh, and say, Vy, Grim, I recollected afterwards-I left out the O!O! vat a clevare fellow dat Sheridan is!"'-Vol. ii. pp. 231-233.

In general these volumes are extremely amusing; there is still something for criticism. The style is frequently careless and inelegant, for which, indeed, the author had prepared us, by a disclaimer of all scrupulousness on the point, in the beginning of his

work. The wit of the professional farceur is too predominant; and, what is most faulty as a matter of taste, the stories bear the most unblushing evidence of having been half made, or whole made, for effect: some of them would pass for extracts from his port folio for the next comedy.' Of his liaison we have already given our opinion: its total excision would infinitely benefit the work; and we hope the author, and no man understands bienseance better, will abate this nuisance of his clever Biography in his next edition.

1826.

ART. VIII. A Tour through the Island of Jamaica, from the Western to the Eastern End, in the year 1823. By Cynric R. Williams. 8vo. pp. 352. 158. London. Hunt and Clarke. MR. WILLIAMS avows himself to be a West India proprietor, and it is necessary to read but a few pages of his book, in order to per ceive that it has been much less his object to describe his tour in Jamaica, than to put forth, under that title, a defence of the slave system. According to his representation, the negroes are as happy as they wish to be, infinitely better off than the peasantry in England, well fed, neatly clothed, splendidly lodged, and treated by their masters universally with the greatest tenderness and kind-* ness. He admits that they have no religion, that ideas of moral decency are still unknown to them, and, strange to say, he depre cates the means which have been used, or any which still remain to be tried, for the purpose of opening their minds to the great truths of Christianity, and the social virtues which are founded on them. The proceedings of the missionaries he looks upon as intended only to revolutionize the islands, to inspire the slaves with hatred against their proprietors, and, in short, to convert the freedom which awaits the former, into an instrument for reducing the latter to the lowest degree of subservience and penury. Even the appointment of the new bishops, and the efforts which have been made by the ministers of the established church for the edu cation and improvement of the slave population in the West Indies, have not escaped his animadversion and ridicule.

We do not mean to deny that the conduct both of the missionaries and of the agents of the state religion, in the West Indies, is open in many instances to just censure. It may be that the charges of hypocrisy and fraud which Mr. Williams has brought against them, are not altogether the creations of his fancy. But assuredly the vices of individuals are not to be imputed, with any sort of justice, to a religion which condemns them, and even if all the ministers who have hitherto attempted to diffuse Christianity among the negroes were the most profligate of mankind, it does not therefore follow that the slaves ought to remain for ever devoted to their ancient habits of ignorance, impiety, debauchery, and grossness