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some reference to the very small bodies of water, which bear still, in Scotland, the name gott or goutt. In summer they are almost dry, presenting to the eye masses of mud, filth, and clay, as it were, coagulated. They are generally in the near neighbourhood of farm houses, frequently infested with horse leeches. They are different from dams, linns, pools, &c. from having no conspicuous inlet or outlet, being supplied by rain water.
“ Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
-Or, Making the green-one red.” This passage bas occasioned much altercation. By great Neptune's ocean, and multitudinous sea, I conceive are meant oceans, seas of every denomination taken collectively. What sea, according to ancient mythology, was not Neptune's? The epithet multitudinous I believe signifies many heaps, masses of water, very descriptive of the ocean in a storm, or in a calm, before the billows have subsided. The multitudinous dry land appears an awkward phrase, and yet the earth has multitudes of inhabitants, “ making the green -one red;" the reading adopted by Garrick appears to me the true
The import of the passage is, in my opinion--" The whole waters of the sea will not cleanse my hand of this blood. No, this bloody hand of mine will sooner stain all the watery heaps of the green ocean with the dye of blood. I am &c.
JUSTUS. [To be continued.]
SOME ACCOUNT OF MOSSOP, THE TRAGEDIAN.
(Continued from Page 409, Vol. xix.) WITH
Ith this malicious view, Fitzpatrick not only magnified Mossop's talents for the more imperial parts of tragedy, but in the softer scenes of love and tenderness; and that it was to reserve the character of an universal actor exclusively to himself, which induced Garrick to shut hi m out from those superior claims.
What could induce Fizpatrick to carry his resentments against Garrick, even at the expence of duping the man whom he called his friend and protegee, will be best explained by the following anecdote,
Fitzpatrick was a considerable supporter of what was then humourously called “the fourth Estate of the Constitution;" that is, he was a member of “ the Shakespeare Club,” which consisted of a number of critics, who occasionally resorted to the Bedford Arms, and who, being amateurs of our immortal bard, under this title, added to their convivialities the pleasures of the drama, and dramatic criticism. Garrick was likewise a leading member; when one evening it being proposed to dedicate some peculiar marks of honour from their society to the memory of Shakespeare, a gentleman moved, “ that as Mr. Garrick, who was allowed to be a great admirer, and the best speaking commentator, of the poet, was absent, a business of that kind should be postponed till another opportunity.”
This fired Fitzpatrick, who, feeling too warmly the comparative merit between a liberal, and, what he might think, a mercenary
cris tic, replied, “ that he wondered any gentleman should propose deferring the business of the club on account of a member's absence, who was certainly the most insignificant person that belonged to their society.” Garrick was told this, and called for an explanation, and several conferences were held, but to no purpose. Fitzpatrick attacked him in newspapers and pamphlets, and so far obtained a victory over Garrick, by raising a party for preventing full price being taken on the night of a revived play after the third act; and Garrick had his revenge in turn; first, by the publication of a poem of his, called, “ The Fribbleriad,” in which, with considerable humour and vivacity, he plays with the character of Fitzgig, the hero; and next, by the poetical interference of his friend Churchill, who, in his rough, broad, satiric manner, depicted Fitzpatrick as one of the very worms of the creation.
Under such a seducer, Mossop's plain, unsuspicious, yet proud temper, could not long be at rest : he constantly demanded such characters as were totally unfit for him, whilst Garrick as constantly remonstrated on his impropriety; and brought the receipts of the treasury on those nights he played such characters, as the best vouchers for what he asserted. This, however, brought no conviction to Mossop's mind—'twas “all for love, or the world well lost.”—He quitted Drury-Lane theatre with disgust, and went to Ireland, where, for one or two seasons, he played with considerable
On his return to London, about the year 1759, Garrick, forgetting all rival jealousies, again sought him, and again reinstated him in his former parts; but the dæmon of dissatisfaction still pursued him, and in 1761, he quitted Drury-Lane and the English theatre for ever, in search of Irish adventures,
Barry and Woodward at this time were joint managers of Crow- ' Street theatre, Dublin, and knowing Mossop's abilities, and that they would clash less with Barry's powers than with Garrick's, were glad to engage him at a considerable salary. The arrangement of their plan was well laid; and Mossop's abilities being directed to a right point, their list of tragedies were strengthened in such a manner, as to afford the highest entertainment to the amateurs of the drama. As an exemplification, take the following cast of parts: Ventidius to Barry's Marc Antony, Pierre to his Jaffier, Chamont to his Castalio, Bajazet to his Tamerlane, Horatio to his Lothario, Caled to his Phocyas, &c. &c. In short, imperial tragedy, for such parts, perhaps, was never better sustained.
The stage thus ably supported, Mossop's fortune and reputation were at full tide, till bis unhappy genius again crossed him in the idea of becoming a rival manager. Barry and Woodward were the first who saw this, and saw in it consequences that would be fatal to both theatres. To prevent this, they made Mossop the tempting offer of a thousand pounds per annum, with the restriction of only playing twice a week, to relinquish his scheme-but in vain—"aut Cæsar, aut nullus”—There should be but one theatre in Ireland, and he would be at the head of it. This was not only the language of his own vanity, but of a number of fashionable females who protected him, and who, without either judgment or discretion, would take him from almost a sinecure situation, to place him at the head of Smock-Alley theatre, under all the responsibility of such an undertaking, and with a rival and established theatre in opposition.
The scandalous chronicle of the day gave likewise other reasons for Mossop being prevailed on to become manager. Several of these females were deep gamblers; and as they had a certain degree of influence from their fashion, amongst their tradesmen, to favour the receipts of his house, he would be the better enabled to become their dupe in another way. A well-known countess (long since called to a reckoning, for this and other loose accounts) was at the head of this party, and is said to have played the part of a rook with great rapacity. Thus, though Mossop's first season (from novelty, variety, and the influence of his friends) norninally filled his treasury, he might have parodied the words of Macheath, by saying, stage has done me justice-but the gaming-table has been my ruin."
A paper war likewise ensued about (this time between Barry and Mossop, relative to the abrupt manner of the latter's quitting his engagements at Crow-Street theatre, in which the lowest and most scurrilous abuse took place of all reason and argument. The rival newspapers became so disgusting on this account, that the public at large took it up, and either laughed at, or reprobated, the conduct of these soi disant potentates. The last couplet of an epigram written on this occasion we remember, and which had a considerable share in silencing the dispute, was as follows:
“ Then as to the public, it is but a toss-up,
“ Whether Mossop kick Barry-or Barry kick Mossop.” In short, ruin, at last, was the end of this theatrical experiment; for, after struggling in vain for seven or eight years, and endeavouring to allure the town by all manner of exotic entertainment, Mossop found himself reduced to an absolute state of bankruptcy, and in this situation arrived in London, upon which place he had so wantonly turned bis back, broken down in spirits and constitution, and at the mercy of an affronted manager for a livelihood.
In this state of his fortune, his friends advised him to apply to Mr. Garrick for an egagement; urging, that his talents must recommend him to any manager; and that, without economy, and the experience of past misfortunes, he had yet time enough to extend his reputation, and secure a competency for old age: but his spirit was too high for this application; he replied to his friends, with some conscious dignity," that Garrick knew very well that he was in London :" insinuating by this, that the proposal of an engagement should first come from him. The manager, however, if he knew Mossop was in London, which he probably did, would not know it without an official notice; and the season passed off without his making any engagement.
In the summer of the same year, Mossop accepted an invitation from a friend (Mr. Smith, a gentleman of considerable fortune, and much attached to him) to take a tour through several parts of Europe. He returned in about a year afterwards, greatly altered in spirits and appearance. Instead of the smart eagle-eyed character of his youth, he appeared emaciated, thoughtful, and dejected, shunning the company of his former friends and associates, and nursing by himself the gloomy melancholy of his mind.
[To be continued.]
WRITTEN AT BRIGHTON,
Upon seeing a dying Hectic upon the last Cliff.
With trembling step the Hectic paus'd awhile;
His pale cheek brighten'd with a transient smile.
He dreamt of future bliss—of years to come,
Oft shook his head, and pointed to the tomb.
“ Sweet Health ! thou wilt revisit this sad frame,
And I shall live for love-perchance for fame.”
poor enthusiast ! in the day's decline
Departure from France.
Thou lucid stream! and eglantined bow'r !
Where once I sat to wreath each scented flow'r;
For ah! we part-this, this, the destin'd hour
That I must quit my much beloved shore,
Now bids me leave each friend and kindred dear,
Alas! but waits, this trembling frame to bear
O! come then, France, receive this parting tear,