or the senses. There is, in short, nothing before us but a couple of players, demanding our sympathy, our pity, our terror, for what we know to be a perfect sham; the mode of conducting which, as well as our sympathies and tears, if they can draw any from us, will very likely be, an hour or two hence, the subject of their ribald jocularity.". We say, we do not find that any questions and remarks of this kind were made by the audience when old Jeffery French's nephew came out as Othello, and therefore we shall not make them ourselves.

the

Some time previously to his going on the stage, he took care to make known his intention of doing so, not without some hope that his relations by the mother's side would deem it such a disgrace to the family as it would be worth while to adopt some handsome measures in his favour to prevent. But they were so good as to signify, by an entire silence, their perfect willingness for him to enlist into the theatrical corps-or succeed Bamfylde-Moore Carew as monarch of the beggars-or seek his fortunes among convicts in the plantations-or follow any beckoning of good luck or obey any prompting of his genius, which they were resolved to hold in too much respect to attempt to controul under the form of assistance. His contempt for these gentry would be confirmed by the rich plunder he made as General Othello, during two theatrical campaigns, by the latter of which he cleared 800l. It is confessed, however, that he was not, and would not have become, a first rate actor; and perhaps it was this that determined him so soon to quit the stage, and apply to the study of law. He offered to enter himself a student of the Middle Temple; but the Benchers of that Society were alarmed, no doubt, at the possible consequences of admitting a man who had been professionally supporting false appear ances, who must have uttered so many things of which he did not believe a word, and had been so busy about plots and underplots. The same high-toned and apprehensive virtue repelled him also at Gray's Inn. But the gentlemen of Lincoln's Inn, content to repose their moral security on the conscience and guardianship of Lord Mansfield, who took the liberty to recommend Mr. Murphy, and perhaps hoping, besides, that a man who had personated Othello might possibly have acquired somewhat of his honest simplicity of intention, and freedom from craft and cunning, admitted the ex-tragedian.

In the interval, however, between these failures and this success, he was employed in writing a weekly paper called the Test, an undertaking in favour of Mr. Fox, afterwards

6

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Lord Holland,' at that time contending with Mr. Pitt for the ascendant influence in fixing a Ministry.' When that patriotic question was settled, the weekly labours of the advocate, of course, terminated. This political undertaking,' says his biographer, ' appears to have been his own suggestion, and was conformable to those principles which he thought the most applicable to the existing state of the country.' added that a long time elapsed, after he commenced this undertaking, before he had an interview directly with Mr. Fox. He used to send his manuscripts for inspection to a small house at the back of the public-house, at the western corner of the park of Holland-house, on the Hammersmith road; and from thence they were returned, with instructions for the future proceedings of the writer.'

At length' (we now quote Mr. Murphy's own account) I was invited to dine at Holland-House.' Mr. Fox was a consummate master of polite manners, and possessed a brilliant share of wit. It happened, after dinner, that the present Charles Fox, then about 13 years old, came home from Eton School. His father was delighted to see him; and, "Well Charles," said he, " do you bring any news from Eton ?” "News! None at all. Hold! I have some news. I went up to Windsor to pay a fruit woman seven shillings that I owed her woman stared; and said, "Are you son to that there Fox that is member for our town?" "Yes, I am his son. "Po, I wont believe it, if you were his son, I never should receive this money." Mr. Fox laughed heartily; and, "Here Charles, here's a glass of wine for your story." Mr. Charles Fox seemed, on that day, to promise those great abilities which have since blazed out with so much lustre.' p. 14.

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This is truly a most remarkable story, and the obvious reflection suggested by it is, what fine times there must be for a country, when its leading patriots can laugh heartily' at anecdotes which give them to understand that their reputation for honesty, in the lowest sense of the word, is such as to make it a matter of wonder when even any one related to them pays a debt. Such mirth is a still more gratifying, indication, when the patriot can laugh at hearing such a story waggishly told by his own son of 13 years old, who is sedulously bringing up for a statesman, under the influence of such an example.

Mr. Murphy now applied himself to the study of the law, and in due course was called to the bar. This book gives evidence of much versatility in his taste and talents; but it may be questioned whether it be within possibility that any man who is first become passionately devoted to Shakespearwho has thrown the faculties of his mind into an order analogous to the arrangements of a theatre, and finds his highest luxury and power of mental action in making plays, should be equally

enthusiastic about the Statutes at Large and Bacon's Abridgment, the scenery and action of the law courts, the canvassing of deeds and constructing of appeals. Mr. Murphy must have had more philosophy than is commonly held compatible with the temperament of a poet, not to feel a very great and irksome difference between making imperial speeches for heroes, and sparkling ones for wits,-making, indeed, the heroes and wits themselves, and the whole busy creation in which they figure amidst adventures, plots, intrigues, surprizes, disasters, and triumphs;-and sitting on the Commission of Bankrupts-discussing the corruptions of an electionabetting the King against Joseph Heath, for exercising the trade of a woollen-draper at Woburn'-or maintaining against one Waller a claim to the soil of the road,' though the claim was made for no less a client than Edmund Burke. At the same time it must be allowed, that the facts and characters brought within his view in the sphere of his profession, would afford some assistance to the lower parts of his dramatic fabrications; and there is no doubt that even in WestminsterHall he would often be in vigilant quest of the materials of comedy and farce. Perhaps this contributed to retain him thirty years in a profession in which he evidently never aspired at great eminence, and which did not compensate by more than moderate emoluments for its great interruptions of more favourite employments. He might also like the professional character, as a mean of keeping him more directly within the friendly acquaintance of Wedderburne, Dunning, and other eminent lawyers, with whom he often associated. He took precedence of the whole fraternity in causes relative to literary property and the theatres. In these he felt a strong interest, and was indefatigable in his researches and his arguments. But also in the ordinary kind of causes he held it, Mr. Foot assures us, a matter of duty to his client to use much more diligence than is usual in the profession, to qualify himself by a full knowledge of the case. The biographer has given an historical list of the principal causes in which he was employed, with the aggregate of the profits derived from his professional labours, a sum somewhat under eleven thousand pounds. An unexpected, and what he perhaps justly deemed unfair precedence, given to one of his juniors by the Lord Chancellor, Thurlow, decided him to retire from the bar in 1788, and devote the whole remainder of his life to more agreeable occupations. Among these was the preparing for the press of his translation of Tacitus, on which he had employed his intervals of leisure for many years, always considering it as a work which was to crown his literary fame in the latter period

of his life. Few translations therefore were ever so sedu

lously matured. It seems the work was not permitted by the publisher to be very profitable to the author. In applause, however, it raised him a flattering tribute, from some of the highest judges of literary merit; among the rest, Edmund Burke-a very curious and discriminative critical letter from whom to Mr. M. is given in this volume. The translation of Sallust, with the first, second, and third Catalinarians of Cicero,' was published from his manuscripts after his death, though it had been finished several years before. Mr. Murphy died in June, 1805, in the 78th year of his age, having survived almost all the distinguished men of his acquaintance; which included some of the greatest talents of the period it is enough to name Johnson, Burke, and Dunning. This last was one of his most intimate friends. The following curious notices of him deserve to be transcribed.

• Mr. Dunning and Mr. Murphy sometimes retired to Wimbledon, where the former had a house, a fine garden, and a hot-house, which he saw so seldom that, upon both their calculations, it was found that it cost a hundred pounds a visit. Having less to do than Mr. Dunning, Mr. M. used to go to his chambers in the hours of business, where he has seen Mr. Lloyd Kenyon returning and receiving opinions. One time Mr. Kenyon asked Dunning for a frank to a relation in North Wales. Dunning gravely wrote him one, directed to his relation in North Wales, near Chester. Mr. Kenyon threw down the paper, and said, "Take your franks, Mr. Dunning; I will accept no more from you." Mr. Dunning got between him and the door and pacified him.

Mr. Dunning having business in the West of England, gave Mr. Murphy a seat in his carriage, and in his way called on Lord Chatham at Burton Pynsent. Mr. Murphy wished to be taken up at the next stage, and to leave Mr. Dunning to call alone on his Lordship, as he had formerly conducted a political contest against him: but Mr. D. would not part with him: and they drove up to the house while it poured torrents of rain, and there were large sheets of water round the house. Mr. Dunning left Mr. M. in the chaise. But Lord Chatham came soon to Mr. Murphy, and without the least ceremony told him that "he should not remain as an enemy at his gate," and on the chaise door being opened he added, "This is kind of you! You see, Sir, I am confined here by inundations like Noah in his ark."

Mr. M. used to say, that if ever there was a natural logician, it was Mr. Dunning. When he was in his happiest mood, a speech of his that took only half an hour, would embrace all the arguments contained in his opponent's of two hours. But yet he agreed that it required the utmost attention to follow him. His mind laboured. He had all the while a movement of the head, a grinding of his lower jaw, and a certain singular cast of countenance. There was, besides, a huskiness in his throat, which constantly moved him to make use of an endeavour to clear it: this was first produced as a mental excitement,

but afterwards became a habit, whenever his subject demanded any extraordinary exertion.

A short time after, Mr. D. was created Lord Ashburton: when he awoke one morning, and heard the servant-maid in the next chamber, he ordered her to undraw the curtains. He asked her what it was o'clock? She told him "it was late." "Why then, undraw the curtains." " They are undrawn," she said. He still thought otherwise, and desired his valet to be called. The valet confirmed the maid's report, and it was not till then that his Lordship found, that, by a paralytic stroke he had been deprived of his eye-sight, without the least sensation of pain.

Soon after this calamitous visitation, Mr. Murphy was with him at his house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, when the name of Colonel Barré was announced; and he was led in, by a guide, as blind as the noble person to whom his visit was directed. These two eminent persons were among the strongest opponents of Lord North's Administration; and Lord North also, almost at the very same period, experienced the melancholy approach of the privation of his sight.' p. 426.

There are perhaps in this costly volume some very few things as entertaining as this extract, But we must say that the larger proportion of it, besides being utterly useless, will not even be in the smallest degree amusing except to the lovers of theatrical history: and in order to its being so even to them, they must be capable of being interested by the smallest matters of that small kind of history. Murphy's partnership with Samuel Foote in the management of a summer theatre-his negociations with managers about this and the other play or farce-his quarrels and reconciliations, and quarrels again and reconciliations, with Garrick-the fracas between Mr. M. and Mrs. Abington-the masses of state papers between these belligerent or pacified powers-the assiduous tutoring of a country romp into an actress-the file of prologues and epilogues-the silly verses about Lovely Jenny and Little Betsy-the large quantity of letters between a smart brother of Mr. Murphy and a number of the bucks and fribbles of those times the regrets of Harry Woodward, when near death, that he could not finish the glories of his mortal career by acting Dashwou'd in one of Murphy's.comedies ;—such things as these having found a historian to exhibit them with all imaginable seriousness, it is not for us to say they will not find interested readers too; for there certainly are persons that seldom think of the state of Europe, or the state of England, or of the brevity and proper use of human life; but we earnestly wish that as such people are every day departing, they may never be replaced by an equal number of the same order.