at the Haymarket, and was drawn thence by Rich with a tempting offer of 15s. a week; but on the astonishing success of the piece this was doubled. It was calculated that, according to the number of playing-nights in the season, this was worth no more than 451. a year. She became the rage. The fan and print shops exhibited her pictures. The Duke of Bolton courted her ardently, and, it was believed, made her a promise of the succession to his wife. He gave out that he was first captivated by the plaintive and bewitching manner in which she gave the song, "O ponder well, be not severe." Not till twenty-three years after did the duchess depart this life, when the duke redeemed his engagement. Macklin declared that the charm of her performance, and her dress, was its simplicity, "like that of a modern Quakeress." Dr. J. Warton, who met her at table, declares "she was a very accomplished and most agreeable companion; had much wit, good strong sense, and a just taste in polite literature. Her person was agreeable and well made; though I think she could never be called a beauty. I have had the pleasure of being at table with her, when her conversation was much admired by the first characters of the age, particularly old Lord Bathurst and Lord Granville. The original Polly only remained on the stage for the first season, and was succeeded by a Miss Warren, who was also carried off by an admirer. Miss Norris, Miss Falkner, Mrs. Chambers, Miss Brent (the most successful after the first), Mrs. Arne, Madame Mara, and Mrs. Cibber." Such was the line of Pollys. Lucy was taken by a Mrs. Egleton, the wife of an actor of that name. She attracted the praise of the Duke of Argyle, "who took a particular pleasure in seeing Mrs. Egleton, and always spoke of her in the handsomest terms." However, she wanted prudence, and whether from herself or from the example of her husband, "she died enamoured of Bacchus." Filch was undertaken by Nat Clarke, who was assisted by a meagre countenance, a shambling gait, and a thorough knowledge of the slang language." He was a sort of "under harlequin" to Rich, to whom he had a resemblance, which gave rise to this whimsical incident: One of the actors having had some words with Clarke, during the representation of a pantomime, waited till he should find an opportunity of showing his resentment. Unluckily, Rich being in the way of this angry person, as he came off the stage, he, thinking it was Clarke, struck him such a blow on the breast as for a time deprived him of the power of breathing. The man instantly made every apology for his mistake. "But pray, Muster," says Rich, "what provocation could Clarke possibly give you to strike so hard?" More disastrous was the end of another Clarke, Jeremiah, composer of one of the airs and a good musician. Conceiving a passion for a lady of high rank, he determined to destroy himself. Borrowing a horse from a friend, he set off from London, he knew not whither. He went into a field, in the corner of which was a pond surrounded with trees, which pointed out to his choice two ways of getting rid of life. Hesitating for some time which to take, he at last determined to leave it to chance, and taking a piece of money out of his pocket, tossed it up in the air to decide it. The money, however, falling on its edge in the clay, seemed to forbid both ways of destruction; and it had such an effect upon him that he declined it for that time, and regaining his horse, rode to town. His mind, however, was too much disordered to receive comfort, or take any advantage from the above omen; and after a few months, worn out in the utmost dejection of spirits, he shot himself in his own house in St. Paul's Churchyard. "Peachum was drawn from Jonathan Wild, the thief-taker, who had suffered death for his notorious villanies about three years before the production of this opera; and Peachum perusing his Tyburn list was nothing more than the daily practice of Wild. Gay, however, by frequently comparing highwaymen to courtiers, aimed at Sir Robert Walpole, then Prime Minister. In the scene where Peachum and Lockit are described settling their accounts, Lockit sings the song, 'When you censure the age,' etc., which had such an effect on the audience that, as if by instinct, the greater part of them threw their eyes on the stage-box, where the minister was sitting, and loudly encored it. Sir Robert saw this stroke instantly, and saw it with good-humour, encored it a second time himself, joined in the general applause, and by this means brought the audience into so much good-humour with him that they gave him a general huzza from all parts of the house. "But notwithstanding this escape, every night, and for many years afterwards, that 'The Beggar's Opera' was brought out, Macklin used to say the minister never could with any satisfaction be present at its representation on account of the many allusions which the audience thought referred to his character. The first song was thought to point to him; the name of Bob Booty, whenever mentioned, again raised the laugh against him; and the quarrelling scene between Peachum and Lockit was so well understood at that time to allude to a recent quarrel between the two ministers, Lord Townshend and Sir Robert, that the house was in convulsions of applause." Such was the success of this remarkable piece, performed for a season ending June 19th.* * It is curious that even the amount of receipts should be shown. The From the run of this piece we learn that the authors had a privilege of selling their benefit tickets, which is still main- tained on the French stage, but given up in London. In a letter of Gay to Swift, dated February 15th, 1727-28, he says: "To-night is the fifteenth time of acting The whole money received for the sixty-two nights was 11,1997. 14s. The following The twenty-first; the King, Queen, and Princesses at the house CHAPTER III. LEADING ACTRESSES-OLDFIELD AND PORTER. Ir may be repeated that there is found more interest in considering the mode of life and even adventures of the player, from Charles the Second's day to the rise of Garrick, than in their actual connection with the stage. For he or she seemed to form a curious factor in society. The course of Mrs. Oldfield is in itself no insignificant contribution to the history of manners. She was born in Pall Mall, in 1683, of genteel parents. Her father, we are told, rode in the Guards, under King James, and ran through a very pretty paternal estate. She was left with her mother in reduced circumstances. But it is when speaking of Mrs. Oldfield that the worthy prompter Chetwood kindles. He draws an exceedingly pretty picture of this famous actress: ever. The sun sets to rise again, but Oldfield's light is lost for I was too young to view her first dawn on the stage, but yet had the infinite satisfaction of her meridian lustre, a glow of charms not to be beheld but with a trembling eye, which held her influence till set in night. Mr. Farquhar (as I have been informed by herself) brought her first to shine in public. He, accidentally at a tavern kept by a near relation of Mrs. Oldfield's, heard a person reading a comedy in a room behind the bar with such a just vivacity and humour of the |