trine, and forcible in language. The ninth discourse contains an ingenious remark : "Put the case that a man was so framed by nature as to hold out a thousand years in his native air, and to be hourly in danger of death in foreign parts, and at best able to hold out to sixty or eighty years, how eagerly would such a man press homewards, if ever he found himself in another country!" Sherlock, as the Missionary Swartz told a friend, is not a preacher for ANECDOTES OF ACTORS. GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE IN LONDON, AMERICA, AND SCOTLAND. "Oh, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!" "To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! Oh, strange! Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil.”—SHAKSPEARE. COOKE IN LONDON. Ir was always remarkable that Mr. In the early part of Cooke's London career, when his popularity was at its apex, he was, of course, a great card in the hands of the manager of Covent Garden theatre; and Mr. Harris (father of the late Mr. Henry Harris), the then proprietor of the establishment, found himself disposed to be exceedingly courteous and obliging to the great favourite of the public who was so amply filling his treasury; although this kindly disposition was, truth to say, put some times to rather too severe a test by Mr. Cooke, who had many favours to ask, not only on his own account, but for the pleasure and profit of others, for whom Mr. Harris felt neither interest nor necessity to oblige. Still Mr. Cooke was not a person to be refused; and the scruples that would at the first blush of the actor's request arise, would eventually give way to the petitioner, and his wish acceded to by the polite and politic manager. Indeed Mr. Harris was often a sufferer by such concessions. Cooke frequently urged the beneficial effects of his performance in the country for some indigent brother actor; and permission would be given for a night's absence, by which indulgence the interests of Covent Garden were too apt to be injured, either from the tragedian's tardiness of return at the due period of his London duties, or by his appearing at the last moment when the greatest suspense and anxiety had been suffered by all connected with the theatre, and presenting himself in a state of intoxication upon the stage, and thus disappointing the assembled "multitude" of their expected treat, a disappointment not unfrequently manifested by unequivocal signs and tokens, such as actors cannot under any circumstances or by any sophistry mistake for compliment.* On one occasion when Cooke fell under the merited rebuke of a crowded house In the season of 1803 or 4, Mr. Cooper, the American tragedian, had been performing a series of characters at Drury Lane theatre; and being extremely intimate with Cooke, it naturally occurred to him that his performance with him in Othello on his benefit night would be a great attraction, if Mr. Harris's permission could be obtained. Cooke who, in his natural character, was one of the kindest of men, instantly undertook to apply to Mr. Harris, giving Cooper some hope of success, although both felt the awkwardness, if not indelicacy, of soliciting the loan of an actor for the benefit of a rival theatre whose performance was drawing such enormous receipts into his own. But Cooke's friendship mastered these considerations, and the attempt at least must be made. Mr. Harris resided at this period at Belmont, near Uxbridge, where one afternoon Mr. Cooke was announced. The weather was intensely severe, and the visit augured some pressing cause not more genial than the day to the manager's feelings; for Cooke seldom called but to make some request, however difficult to be reconciled or granted. Still, on the present occasion, Mr. Harris was "very happy to see Mr. Cooke," and "hoped he came to stay dinner;" which hope was unnoticed by the actor, who nervously proceeded to break the unreasonable nature of his visit, and he began in broken accents to explain his errand: "My dear sir!-Cooper-the best creature in the world-been acting at Drury Lane-going to take a benefit-Othello-lago-bring him a great house. In fine, would Mr. Harris allow him (Cooke) to perform the character of Iago for his friend on his benefit night ?" Mr. Harris looked very blank at this certainly unfair demand upon his self-interest. He shook his head ominously, and gravely asked Mr. Cooke whether he did not think it rather more than he ought to grant, considering the vast importance of his exclusive services, and the numbers that would naturally follow him to Drury Lane who would otherwise reserve themselves for Covent Garden, where the receipts must necessarily be injured on the particular night by the great drag in favour of the other theatre, &c. These and other arguments were mildly but determinately combatted by Cooke in his best and most gentlemanlike manner; for "Cooper, the best creature in the world," was to be served; and Mr. Harris being at length overcome, Cooke's heart and eyes overflowed with generous delight and gratitude for the power thus afforded him to benefit a friend. Mr. Harris now reminded him of dinner; but Cooke declined the invitation. "No-he would take a crust, and one glass of wine to warm him, and then return to town." After a polite struggle, Mr. Harris yielded to his visitor's determination; and a tray was produced, accompanied by a bottle of madeira. Of this Cooke sipped and sipped with the most imperturbable self-complacency, until he nearly finished the bottle; when, by his master's order, the butler brought in another, of which Cooke had swallowed a few glasses, when a sudden recollection operated upon his mind, as Mr. Harris made some remark upon the increasing severity of the weather. Cooke, a little "warmed" by what he had taken, now bethought himself of a circumstance which his fervour for his friend's interest and the madeira had together totally obliterated for the time, for he arose abruptly, and, taking Mr. Harris's hand, broke to him this new matter. 'My dear sir, your goodness so overpowered all other recollections, that it made me entirely forget that I left my friend, dear Cooper, the best creature in the world, at the gate when I came in. Let me send for him, to thank you for your generous permission in his favour." by a repeated instance of gross intemperance, having vainly tried to recollect the beginning of Richard's first soliloquy, he tottered forward with a cunning yet maudlin intent to divert the indignation expressed into a false channel; and laying his hand impressively upon his chest to insinuate that illness was the only cause of his failure, with upturned eyes supplicating all the sympathy of his audience, he hiccupped out be unlucky words," My old complaint !" which were applied so aptly, that a simultaneous burst of derisive laughter followed "the weak invention," and renewed hisse t length dismissed him from the stage for the night. VOL. XXIV. NO. CXLII. I I "Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Harris, in much distress, "has Mr. Cooper been out in the cold of this dreadful day all this time? How sorry I am that you did not mention this before! I am quite ashamed that I have seemed so rude and inhospitable." And, spite of Cooke's assuring him that" dear Cooper" would not mind it, he being "the best creature in the world," Mr. Harris rang the bell, and desired the servant to request Mr. Cooper's company within doors. By this time, the madeira might be said to have warmed Mr. Cooke more than half through; the second bottle was rapidly diminishing, and he was full of feelings generous as the wine. Again and again he clasped his liberal manager's hands in thankfulness for his kindness, reiterating, 66 My dear sir, you're too good to me! I can never repay such friendly treatment; I'm bound to you eternally," &c. &c. [Enter the "best creature in the world," blue with stagnation, and frozen to his finger-ends.] Mr. Harris apologised to Mr. Cooper, and explained the cause of his tardy invitation, placing a chair for him near the fire. Cooke, without noticing him, continued his maudlin praise of his host's hospitality and goodness; afterwards informing Cooper of his having given consent to the performance in question; for which favour Mr. Cooper also expressed, as well as his shivering state would permit, his thanks, and, at the recommendation of Mr. Harris, accepted a glass of madeira, in order to thaw his congealed faculties. Cooke was now all hilarity and happiness. Another bottle was suggested, and promptly supplied; and immediately the servant returned to announce the dinner, to which Mr. Harris again pressed Cooke, and invited Cooper. Mr. Cooke, however, would not hear of it. He must, he said, return to town to dinner, and "dear Cooper" must accompany him; and he insisted upon Mr. Harris leaving him and the "best creature in the world" together in the library, where they would take "just one glass more, and then depart." Mr. Harris was not sorry that Mr. Cooke still refused to dine with him, it being sufficiently evident that he had anticipated his share of the wine at table, and might not prove as desirable a companion as he would otherwise have been to his family and friends, and now took his leave, but not before Cooke had reiterated his enduring sense of the favour shewn him, and renewed his fervent protestations of everlasting gratitude to his "esteemed friend." During dinner, Mr. Harris related the occasion of Mr. Cooke's visit; and in the course of the time, inquired of the servants whether the gentlemen were gone. He was answered in the negative, and informed that Mr. Cooke had called for more wine, and that Mr. Cooper had vainly pressed him to depart. At this moment, a guest inquired whether Mr. Cooke performed that night, which question made Mr. Harris start from his chair in sudden alarm, exclaiming, "Is this Wednesday? He does play! What is it o'clock ?" at the same time taking out his watch in great agitation, he exclaimed, "Take away the wine; don't let him drink a drop more! He must go away directly, or I shall have the theatre pulled down. He is advertised for Richard the Third, and he can barely get back in time to dress!" Back rushed the agitated proprietor to the library, where he found Cooper using every argument in his power to dissuade his indiscreet friend from drinking any more. But Cooke had already put too much of the enemy into his mouth not to be completely minus of brains, and, as usual under such privation, was utterly irrational and impersuasible. "Do you forget," urged the unfor tunate proprietor, "that this is a playnight, Mr. Cooke? Even now you are expected in town. I entreat you will go without further delay, or you will be too late, and the consequences will be terrible!" Cooke, in what he meant to be a most insinuating tone of voice, blessed his "excellent friend;" again lauded his liberality and kindness, which he declared could never be forgotten or repaid by the devotion of his whole life, and finally begged the additional favour of one more bottle of his madeira for himself and "dear Cooper," who, he repeated for the twentieth time, was "the best creature in the world." To this request Mr. Harris gave a positive and concise negative, afterwards apologising for such seeming breach of hospitality, plac ing before Mr. Cooke's view the danger he was hazarding by delay, and rendering himself unfit for his evening's duty. All was in vain; for Cooke, though equally civil, was also determined, and again and again coaxingly urged his request for one more bottle. At length, finding Mr. Harris inflexible, the madeira he had drank began to proclaim the indignation it had engendered in Mr. Cooke's grateful bosom; and as the liquor fermented, it raised the recipient up to a state of inflation which threatened to burst all bounds, and he now assailed his host with the most opprobrious epithets; so that, eventually, by the potency of " the drink," his late "excellent friend" Mr. Harris was converted into a vulgar, old, soap-boiling scoundrel," who did not know how to treat a gentleman when one condescended to visit him; and Mr. Harris was imperiously asked, “Do you know who I am, sir? Am I not George Frederick Cooke ? -without whose talents you would 66 be confined to your own grease-tub; and who will never more darken your inhospitable doors while he lives, or uphold your contemptible theatre any longer after this night!" And with many other threats and delicate inuendoes in relation to Mr. Harris's soap-boiling pursuits not herein set down, he staggered out of the room with the assistance of the "best creature in the world," whom he now distinguished by every ill name that drunkenness could remember or invent, for daring to direct or control him, George Frederick Cooke! when the great tragedian reeled into the attendant chaise, and was driven to town with his grieved and much-abused friend, "Dear Cooper!" That night the audience did not mistake "the drunkard for a god," for the great "George Frederick Cooke" was hissed off the stage, and obliged to leave his performance unfinished; and it was some time ere "Richard was himself again." * COOKE IN AMERICA. "It stands not safe with us — Mr. Cooke had made an extraordinary impression on the American stage, and his society was anxiously sought in private. Early after his arrival he was invited to dine with a large party, and during the first portion of the time he delighted every body present with his urbanity, politeness, and the marked intelligence of his mind. There were no ladies of the party, and the bottle remained rather too long "in hand;" and in its course the wine suddenly turning to vinegar by the process of fermentation upon the stomach of Cooke, he all at once began to curve his lip, round his elbows, and draw up his head, in scorn of his entertainer and his friends-a transition which confounded every body; in short, Mr. Cooke's natural manner was entirely reversed. He contradicted all that was said; and became altogether so * rude and offensive that those present, who had been previously charmed with his bland and wellbred manner and conversation, were now disgusted with his coarseness, and one by one fell off in their notice of him, and entering upon local themes, conversed with each other upon the passing events of their own particular circle. Cooke had discernment enough left to be conscious that he had committed himself, and lost caste with the persons present; and as he filled his glass, on each occasion gathered new ground of dissatisfaction. He felt himself neglectedoverlooked. Resentment grew by what it fed on, and promised vengeance in due course; while his hoarded discontent only waited for opportunity to vent itself. It appeared from the conversation that a robbery had recently taken place in Mr. Cooke performed Iago for Mr. Cooper on the appointed night, which wit. nessed a double tragedy. Mrs. Pope, while performing one of the scenes of Desdemona, was suddenly death-struck, and fell back into the arms of Mr. Cooke, and conveyed home, where she expired soon after ! the house of a gentleman present-a very uncommon event in an American city; and he was questioned as to the particulars, which he detailed at some length, and with a minuteness which Cooke deemed quite unworthy the occasion, especially as no part of the account was addressed to him. In fact, his very presence seemed to be forgotten. This mortified him to the quick, and excited his indignation, which was in proportion to his consciousness, notwithstanding the wine he had taken, that the neglect he experienced had been drawn upon him by himself. The relater of the robbery coming to the close of his account, Cooke vainly hoped for a cue which might enable him to exhibit the contempt he now felt for his American associates, but he was in despair of a fitting opportunity for venting his disgust. At this crisis the gentleman observed, in conclusion of his story, that the only serious part of his regret, in relation to the described event, arose from the irreparable loss of the family jewels. Here Cooke's malice found an opening; and uttering an exclamation that startled almost every man upon his legs by its violence, in his most grinding and sarcastic tones, with his face puckered up to an expression of the direst scorn, he bellowed forth,"Your what, sir? Your family jewels!" adding, in an actor's aside, with a gritty laugh, by way of parenthesis, “A Yankee Doodle's family jewels!—what are they, sir? An American's family jewels? I can tell you, the handcuffs and fetters!” With a mildness which speaks honourably of their forbearance, the party suffered the temporary madman to depart at the close of this outrageous attack without any indication of resentment, though they might have addressed him in the language of the grieved Othello, more in sorrow than in anger,"I love thee, Cassio, but never more be officer of mine." Cooke never was invited again by the same party. COOKE IN SCOTLAND. "One cup more, an' Cooke, one day calling upon a friend in Edinburgh who had ordered an early dinner for the purpose of being at the theatre in good time to witness the great tragedian's performance, invited himself to partake of what was just then upon the table. His host, who on the present occasion would rather have dispensed with the tete-a-tite, could not do otherwise than receive the visit; but, knowing the necessity of his friend being very abstemious and collected for his coming duty, and being aware of the plague-spot with which Cooke was marked, and could not at all times conceal, he was cautious not to offer him enough to inflame it; and, therefore," not to task his weakness," the host was very chary of his bottle, taking little from it himself, by way of excuse for not passing it often to his guest. Notwithstanding his friendly reserve, Cooke contrived to obtain sufficient wine to render him desirous of more; but the prudent master of the house, who felt his own responsibility at the moment to the whole of the Edinburgh audience, was blind and deaf thou lovedst me!" to the actor's hints, and Cooke, though quite aware that his friend's non-convivial behaviour was wisely and kindly occasioned, nevertheless felt much teased and tantalised by such reserve, and became moody and silent for a time in his discontent. Thus ،، We often see, against some storms, the bold winds speechless." At the close of the dinner, the servant, in compliance with Scottish custom, was about to hand the farintosh, which his master had unluckily forgotten to countermand. On the present occasion he caused the delicious poison to be placed near him, and looking anxiously at Cooke, as if he would have said, "I am afraid to give you any of this," and at the same time perceiving that his guest waited with expectant lips for the accustomed portion, the host slowly and reluctantly poured out about a third part of the usual quantity, and timidly presenting the wee drappie to his visitor, observed, with a faint smile, "You may venture to drink that, Mr. Cooke, it cannot, I think, |