sions. He noticed his "John Bull" himself, as, perhaps, an injury to his own theatre, and invoked the theatrical John Bull to patronise his efforts; and the good-humoured animal bellowed his applause at being saluted from the stage by his classical appellation. We now first saw in town Charles Mathews, "a comic world in one," who was speedily at home in the Haymarket, and "Old Mr. Wiggins," a farce by Allingham. Mrs. Litchfield, whom we have already noticed as having attracted Mrs. Jordan's applause, had been engaged at Covent Garden Theatre, in a very respectable line of dramatic business, and very much distinguished herself, both in comedy and tragedy. For her benefit, on the 20th of May, 1803, she had put up "King John," and the query was, whether our Hamlet the Dane would act the part of the King to her Constance, or not. He had cut both Munden and Harry Johnston; but place aux dames might some way or other invite him from the bottle. He made an apology as to the "Minister, or Harper's Daughter," and said "there were many things in his part that he admired, but that he had been confined to his bed. four and twenty hours, by very violent disorder." As there could be no doubt of this fact, he was permitted to act King John on the present occasion, and played it very finely. Mrs. Jordan, we have often said, was happy to aid her brethren of the stage, and there was just now an opportunity of bestowing comfort upon the few remaining days of Charles Lee Lewes, a comedian of the Woodward class, and, like him, an excellent ground Harlequin. Forty years had beheld him on the stage, and usually the victim of what was called the tyranny of management, but this, like most charges, has two sides. One manager at least did not refuse him the use of his theatre, for Mr. Harris allowed him a benefit at Covent Garden, with such strength in his bill as he could assemble together. His play on this occasion was the "Wonder," in which, for the last time, he himself acted Lissardo, and he played it in the style of his great master, and very divertingly. Mrs. Jordan was the Violante of the evening. I forget who was her Don Felix. Mrs. Litchfield undertook to recite Dryden's "Alexander's Feast" for him, and, having gone early to the theatre, had dressed herself and was come down-stairs, when Mrs. Jordan saluted her, and complained of the nervous state in which she felt herself upon the occasion; to prove to her that there was no romance in the assertion, she took her hand and placed it upon her heart, which, in fact, was usually in her mouth. "Now," said she, "you are a good, kind creature, will you take the book to the wing, and prompt me if I should be at a loss?" To this the other lady consented at once, and attended her through the part. Whether the different house, or the different lover, or any interval since she had acted the character might have alarmed her, there is no saying, but there are performers, both male and female, who are nervous for life. Among my theatrical acquaintance, I think that Hercules in bulk, old Charles Bannister, was the most ner vous. The benefit proved a very good one, but few indeed were the days it cheered, for poor Lee Lewes, after supping with that entertaining man Townsend, the mimic, and some other friends, was found dead in his bed on the 23d of July, 1803. He was in his sixty-third year at the close. He died of water in the chest. The Haymarket this season produced some novelties, if not plays, by the manager. His "Love Laughs at Locksmiths," under the awful name of Arthur Griffenhoofe, of Turnham Green, has diverted the country more or less every succeeding year. I presume this terrible appellation was suggested to the manager by the proprietor of the Monthly Review, Ralph Griffiths, who, I knew, had a house at Turnham Green,' as, indeed, was the case with Kemble himself, in bad odour from the "Iron Chest." Mr. Colman had been warmly patronised by the king and the royal family in his scheme of resistance to the winter patentees, and had received a variety of hints that his pen would be acceptable in the chastisement of the actual sovereign of France, the Consul Napoleon Buonaparte. He accordingly wrote for me an epilogue to the "Maid of Bristol," which was spoken by Elliston with an animation that in his best time belonged only to himself. As 'He died there, in fact, on the 28th of the following month of September, in the 83d year of his age. He was an LL. D., and commenced the Monthly Review in the year 1749. He gave a Sunday dinner for many years to the contributors to his work, and to literary friends whom he valued. The work still exists, and is really a Review of the passing literature of the country. The difference between that work and some others did not escape the acuteness of Voltaire on the subject of the immortal 'Esprit des Lois," of the President Montesquieu. He said it should have been called "De l'Esprit sur les Loix." So we now see, essays that evince the original powers of the writer in the Review instead of criticisms that display the faults or the merits of the author of the work reviewed. his friendship bestowed it upon my play, of which I cannot be vain, for I could never dramatically please myself (whatever sundry buffoons have been pleased to say of me), I will indulge the excusable vanity of rejoicing that I furnished the occasion of so brilliant a composition. If anything literary had been rewarded in the administration of William Pitt, the author should have received a pension of a thousand a year. Epilogue to the Maid of Bristol. "In times like these, the sailor of our play,' Each English soul's on fire, to strike the blow That curbs the French — and lays a Tyrant low. Freedom bestows on states already free; The loving ruffian burns whole districts down; 'Ben Block,-performed by Mr. Elliston. |