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

"Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
"The multitudinous sea incardanine,

"Making the green one, red.”—Or,
(6 Making the green—one red.”

This passage has occasioned much altercation. By great Nep→ tune'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 one. 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.

[To be continued.]



(Continued from Page 409, Vol. xix.)

WITH 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 him 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 protegeè, will be best explained by the following anecdote.

Fitzpatrick was a considerable supporter of what was then hu mourously 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 critic, 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 thè 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 CrowStreet 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 his 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) nominally filled his treasury, he might have parodied the words of Macheath, by saying, "The 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 thesc 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 his 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.]




Upon seeing a dying Hectic upon the last Cliff.
UPON the breezy.cliff's impending brow,

With trembling step the Hectic paus'd awhile;
As round his wasted form the sea-breeze blew,
His pale cheek brighten'd with a transient smile.
Refresh'd and cherish'd by its balmy breath,

He dreamt of future bliss-of years to come,
Whilst, with a look of woe, the spectre Death

Oft shook his head, and pointed to the tomb.
Such sounds as these escap'd his lab'ring breast,

"Sweet Health! thou wilt revisit this sad frame,
Slumber shall bid these aching eyelids rest,

And I shall live for love-perchance for fame."

poor enthusiast in the day's decline
A mournful knell was heard, and it was thine.



Supposed to be written by Mary Queen of Scots, at the Moment of her
Departure from France.

YE vine-crown'd hills! and pansey-cover'd plains!
Thou lucid stream! and eglantined bow'r !
Where once I sat to wreath each scented flow'r;
And oft have sung my soft infantine strains.
Nought of your transports now to me remain,

For ah! we part-this, this, the destin'd hour
That I must quit my much beloved shore,
And hush with pride Grief's spirit-wounding pain.
Yes, yes! that bark which rides the foaming tide

Now bids me leave each friend and kindred dear,
Alas! but waits, this trembling frame to bear
O'er yon expanse, "of waters blue and wide;"

O! come then, France, receive this parting tear,
For 'midst thy groves my thoughts will e'er abide.
Liverpool, Sept. 4, 1802.

J***** B****N.

[ocr errors]
« ElőzőTovább »