per, and hardly changing their position, seemed almost like breathing statues, while they awaited with awful interest the announcement of what steps the government proposed to take, and what information had been obtained by them respecting the event which had deprived the administration of its chief.

The silence which prevailed was at length broken by the Speaker, who, with an effort at firmness, but in a tone somewhat subdued, pronounced the name of Lord Castlereagh, (the late Marquis of Londonderry,) who had at that moment presented himself at the bar.

His lordship, in a faltering voice, stated that he was the bearer of a message from the Prince Regent.

"Please to bring it up," was the matter-of-course reply, and his lordship handed the paper to the Chair. It was forthwith read. The Regent expressed his deep regret for the event, which he could never cease to deplore, and recommended to the House to make a provision for the family of Mr. Perceval.

It was then moved that the House should resolve itself into a committee, to take into consideration the message; and that being done, Lord Castlereagh took upon himself the task of addressing the members on the painful subject which they were then to entertain. His lordship spoke with great feeling. A more than official attachment seemed to connect his lordship with the late premier. On an occasion then recent, when the conduct of his lordship had been the subject of grave accusation respecting the disposal of certain seats in that House, Mr. Perceval had defended him with great earnestness and success; and, doing so, his declaration was, "I raise my voice for the man I esteem, and the friend I love."

In the course of his statement, the noble lord had, in connexion with the awful event of the preceding day, to make known the conviction of the ministry, from all the inquiries that had down to that hour been instituted, that the act of Bellingham was perfectly unconnected with any general scheme or conspiracy. Proceeding to speak of the domestic distress it had caused, he said, the children left by Mr. Perceval were twelve in number. "For the widow," he added, "her happiness in this world is closed;" and the painful feelings by which he was oppressed so overpowered him, that he was unable to proceed. He burst into tears, and with strong emotions raised a handkerchief to his eyes, and concealed his face for some

moments.

With a knowledge of subsequent events, I cannot but recall this passage of Lord Castlereagh's address, though perfectly appropriate at the time, with a cynical glance,-a something between mirth and sorrow. Looking at the picture drawn of Mrs. Perceval, and remembering that horror at learning the fate of her husband was said to have almost petrified her; that, wild and unconscious, the most fatal effects were anticipated from her excessive woe, till, by the advice of her medical attendants, she was led into the room where the corpse of her lord was lying, when that ghastly spectacle caused her tears to flow, and thus afforded the bursting heart some relief; I cannot recall these things, without connecting with them the news which the fashionable world were destined at no very distant period to receive, that this afflicted and heart-broken lady, the mother of twelve children, had been again led to the altar by a gallant officer

much younger than herself. Of the matrimonial discord that followed, I will not speak.

I am not going to copy from the journals of the House the particulars of the grant proposed as a provision for the Perceval family, nor from the papers of the day the debates to which the event gave rise. What I propose to do is, merely to give a few sketches of the attendant circumstances, which may be thought interesting now, but were lost sight of then, from the pressure of matter of greater importance.

Let it then suffice to say that the House cordially approved of the course recommended by the Crown. Mr. Whitbread, who had been one of the most unsparing opponents of the departed premier, was frequently in tears. He bore testimony to the amiable personal character of the late minister. "I never," said he, "carry hostility to those from whom I differ on political questions beyond that door," pointing to the door opening into the lobby: "with that man it was impossible to carry it so far."

It is due to that honourable gentleman to say that this was not a mere post mortem compliment. With the deceased he had often come into collision. Mr. Whitbread was irritable, and was sometimes deeply stung by the sarcasms launched at him by Mr. Perceval. In one debate the latter, having adverted to predictions formerly made by Mr. Whitbread, which had not been borne out by events, and to new ones then hazarded, applied to his assailant the words of Pope,

"Destroyed his web of sophistry in vain,

The creature's at his dirty work again."

Mr. Whitbread, nettled at this, spoke to order, and demanded that the words should be taken down. A very brief and simple explanation restored his good-humour, and the subject was dropped. On another occasion, not long before Mr. Perceval's death, when some personal altercation had occurred between them, the right honourable gentleman, in explaining away that which had given offence, took occasion to say that among his faults-and he had many-want of respect for the honourable member was not one of them. Mr. Whitbread, in cordially accepting the explanation, replied, that "among all the right honourable gentleman's virtues-and he had many-there was none more to be admired than the promptness with which he could return to friendly conference from the heat of political debate."

There was, indeed, much affability about Mr. Perceval's manner. Many anecdotes of his condescension were published at the time. An instance of his courtesy and good-nature occurs to me which has never appeared in print.

At a grand city feast in Guildhall, the publisher of a fashionable journal having taken wine rather freely, was hoaxed by some mischievous friend with a belief that Mr. Perceval was one of the officers of the hall, and under this impression, wishing to leave for a short time, accosted him with a theatrically pompous air, which the individual (a well-known character at that time among the votaries of the drama,) loved to assume, and said,

"My good fellow, I wish to step into King-street for a moment; you'll take notice of me and let me in again," at the same time offer

ing to slip half-a-crown into the hands of the prime minister. The gift was declined, and Mr. Perceval replied with a smile, “I am sorry it is not in my power to oblige you; but you had better speak to some of those gentlemen," pointing to the marshalmen; "they may be able to do what you wish."

While the good qualities of the deceased were rehearsed, and the consequences of his fate to the government and to the country were discussed, curiosity naturally turned to the cause of the important change. Great was my surprise to learn that the individual was not wholly unknown to me; I was soon reminded of the singular personage who had attracted notice by his manner and his opera-glass in the gallery. That was no other than Bellingham; and two of the gentlemen who had been in the habit of meeting, and perhaps of conversing with him there, were the first who advanced after the dreadful deed to secure him in the lobby.

The remainder of that unhappy man's story is soon told. In the course of a day or two the coroner's inquest returned a verdict of wilful murder, and the grand jury a true bill against him. On the Friday he stood at the bar of the Old Bailey to take his trial. He made a long rambling defence, and occasionally his agony was so great, not for his impending fate, but from recollection of the sufferings of a wife, whom he described with fondness, that it deeply affected all present. It was attempted to prove him insane; but certainly there were no grounds for considering him in that state which the law requires shall be proved to exempt the murderer from capital punishment. He himself opposed that plea. A verdict of Guilty was returned, and on the succeeding Monday the sentence of death was carried into effect. The case was from the first so clear, the evidence so conclusive, that the prisoner was perhaps the only man in England who expected any other result. He seemed to look for an acquittal. With every one else conviction and death were thought inevitable,-indeed so much matters of course, that the following singular announcement, through some slip of the pen, in the Morning Post of Thursday, "The trial will take place to-morrow, the execution on Monday," was hardly viewed as reprehensible, hazardous, or extraordinary; though certainly such a one, but in that single instance, I have never seen. H. T.

EPIGRAM.

"MAKE hay while the sun shines,” cried old Gaffer Grey,

When lounging to make with fair Susan sweet hay.

Keep off!" said the maiden, whose brow was o'ercast,

"Your hey-day of life, pray remember, has past."

2 R2

R. J.

LOVE IN THE CITY.

PREFACE.

IN offering the following dramatic production to a discerning public, the author respectfully intimates, that, notwithstanding an accidental similarity in name between this play and one by Mr. William Shakspeare, in plot, language, and situations, the two dramas will be found to differ totally. "Love in the City" is of that order generally termed "the Domestic;" and, while the incidents are varied, simple, and common-place, it is to be hoped that the dénouement will be acknowledged singularly striking and effective.

To restore the legitimate drama, whose neglect has been so long and uselessly deplored, has been the author's principal aim; and, in the construction of the play here presented to the world, he trusts that he has eminently succeeded. No German horrors have been employed; the use of thunder and lightning has been dispensed with; not even a dance of demons has been introduced; and, with the exception of reproducing Mr. Clipclose, senior, in the second act, after he had shuffled off this mortal coil, there is not an event in the whole drama, but those of every-day occurrence.

Although "Love in the City" has been expressly written for the eminent performers whose names are attached to the dramatis personæ, the author will extend a limited privilege of acting to country managers, he receiving a clear half of the gross receipts of their respective houses. Any offer short of this stipulation will remain unattended to. Music-sellers may address proposals for the melodies to Mr. Richard Bentley; and, should any attempt at piracy be detected, the copyright of the drama being duly entered at Stationers' Hall,-persons thus offending are respectfully informed that they will be subjected to an action at law.

Camomile-street, May 1, 1837.

LOVE IN THE CITY;

THE AUTHOR.

OR, ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

A MELODRAMATIC EXTRAVAGANZA,

In Two Acts.

As it is to be performed at the Theatre-Royal, Drury-Lane,
with rapturous applause.

The words not by Thomas Moore, nor the music by Henry R. Bishop.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Captain Connor,-a gentleman from Ireland, with black whiskers and four wives, six feet two high, a sergeant in the 2nd Life-Guards, in love with Mrs. Clipclose, cum

multis aliis,—Mr. Charles KEMBLE (his reappearance

on the stage for this occasion only).

Mr. Robert Clipclose, an eminent mercer, of amorous disposition, and in embarrassed circumstances, — MR. SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

Old Clipclose,-father to Robert, a retired tradesman, afflicted by gout and avarice, with a house at Highgate, -MR. WILLIAM FARREN.

His Ghost,-MR. T. P. Cooke.

Jeremiah Scout,-in the confidence of Mr. and Mrs. Clipclose, and porter to the establishment,-MR. HARLEY.

Samuel Snags, clerks to Clipclose and Co. and men of fashion, Matthew Mags, and their names omitted by mistake in the Court Philip Poppleton, Calendar,-MESS. LISTON, VINING, and YATES. Timothy O'Toole,-corporal, 2nd Life-Guards, troop No. 4.-MR. TYRONE POWER.

Benjamin Blowhard,-trumpeter, same troop,-MR. J. RUSSELL. Pieman and All-hot,-by a POST-CAPTAIN and an ASSISTANT-SURGEON, H.P. R.N. Their first appearance on any stage. Policemen A. and S.-by two gentlemen from the country, of great provincial celebrity.

Mrs. Clipclose,-lady-like and extravagant, in love with Captain Connor, MRS. BUTLER, who has kindly promised to come from North America to sustain the character, and is hourly expected, per the "Silas Tomkins, of New York." Miss Juliana Smashaway, a young lady of great personal attraction and small fortune, in lodgings in Upper Stamford-street, and in love with Captain Connor,-MISS ELLEN Tree. Annette, vulgò Netty,-a maid of all work, engaged to Samuel Snags, and in love with Captain Connor,-MADAME Vestris. Captain's Wife, No. 1,-MISS HELEN FAUCIT.

Do.

No. 2,-MRS. YATES.

Kitty,-lady of the bed-chamber to Miss Smashaway,-MISS MOR

DAUNT.

Men about town, women ditto, apprentices, guardsmen, police A. 27 and F. 63, attendants, &c. &c. &c. by eminent performers.

Time, rather indefinite. Scene, always within sound of Bow-bell, and chiefly in Ludgate-hill or Upper Stamford-street.

ACT I.-SCENE I.

Morning rather misty; St. Paul's striking eleven, as the curtain rises to hurried music, and discovers a haberdasher's shop with plate-glass windows. Snags, Mags, and Poppleton with sundry assistants, their hair in papers; but evidently preparing for business. Enter Jeremiah Scout with a watering-pot; he sprinkles the floor, while the apprentices are arranging their neckcloths. Snags coughs, evincing a recent recovery from influenza. He comes forward, and sings.