bour, the latter will put on a grave look, and return at most a dry monosyllabic answer, for two talkative Englishmen seldom meet under the same roof."

Thus does English pride justify and accuse itself in the same breath. If etiquette be necessary to any people, it is so to the French, who are perhaps too ready to make acquaintance with strangers. But we are regarded as hypocritical coxcombs by the English, who love comfort and hate constraint, who boast of their frankness, though it often degenerates into absolute rudeness, and who dread familiarity as the antidote to dignity.

LETTER XXVII.

TO M. D. H

I AM going to tell you about a young author, who, like yourself, is looking forward to a favourable turn of fortune, in the hope of gaining the double crown of Melpomene and Thalia. This young man is Henry B--—. Encouraged by his frank and obliging manners, I ventured to question him respecting his circumstances and occupations, with more freedom than a stranger

is generally warranted in using. Curiosity is artful; and, adopting the custom of the Scotch, I sometimes answered one of his questions by asking another, as though I attached a certain condition to my reply. Henry Bwas intended by his parents for the legal profession: but the demon of poetry assailed him, and as soon as he could escape from business, he repaired to the theatre to spend his evenings. Like Piron's Victor, he raised the ideal edifice of his fortune and glory on the scenic boards. He soon found it impossible to absent himself from the theatre on the first night of any new performance. He secretly exercised this talent in dramatic composition, but his productions were known only to a few particular friends. Encouraged by their approbation, he was induced to submit his labours to the decision of the public; but he found Covent-garden and Drury-lane as difficult of access as our Parisian theatres. Like Tobin, he was doomed to sustain numberless repulses. He however possessed the perseverance of the author of the Honey Moon; and when he found himself supplanted by rivals, over whom he felt a conscious superiority, he still cherished the hope of one day surmounting every obstacle. For several years he had to contend against that distrust with which theatrical managers regard the inexperience of all young dramatic candidates, and which leads them to prefer known mediocrity to unknown genius.

Hence arises in London, as well as in Paris,

that monopoly which excludes talent, and enables privileged authors to mask their poverty of invention by all the expedients of bad taste. Mr. B▬▬▬ has had to contend against the prejudice excited by the unjust rejection of his works. He is inured to disappointment, and instead of being disheartened by ill fortune, he laughs at it. However, I cannot help thinking that in criticising the works of contemporary authors, his remarks are characterized by a certain degree of bitterness; and if I have sometimes made him concur in the objections which French taste urges against the English drama, I perhaps owe my triumph to feelings of dissatisfaction which he cannot entirely subdue.

He is fond of conversing on the state of the English drama under Shakespeare and his contemporaries. The following are a few of his observations on the subject. "The eminently dramatic age of Elizabeth," he says, "was not the golden age for authors. No theatrical manager could then afford to give a thousand guineas for a play. Five pounds was reckoned a good price for a dramatic production, and the most popular actor thought himself liberally paid if he got thirty shillings a week. In the theatre at Blackfriars, people were in the habit of smoking pipes in the pit, so that a thick cloud intervened between the audience and the stage. Instead of the thundering orchestra, which is indispensable for the gratification of the melo-dramatic mania of the present day, three violins sufficed to announce the entrance

of King Lear or Othello. The scenery and decorations were not calculated to atone for the poverty of many of the dramas which were produced by the rivals of Shakespeare. Beaumont, in one of his comedies, ridicules the indecorous conduct of persons, who, having paid twelve-pence for their admission, went and seated themselves on the stage, insulting the rest of the audience, and annoying the performers.

"But if we accompany the poet to his seven o'clock supper, at the celebrated club over which Shakespeare presided, and which Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, &c. enlivened with their wit, we shall find ourselves in a paradise of poetry. The literati of that age were not connected together by the pedantic institutions called academies. Authors and actors formed a sort of literary republic, in which each sacrificed the petty interests of self-love for the general advantage of all. An active co-operation existed between these sons of the muses. Beaumont and Fletcher, the Orestes and Pylades of dramatic authors, were not the only ones who entered into literary partnership. Shakespeare extended a helping hand to Ben Jonson, and to all whose inexperience required advice, without ever claiming the share he had in their success, or discouraging the second attempts of those whose first trials had proved unsuccessful.

"In more recent times, the stage has proved an honourable resource to men who have been obliged to live by their talents. Theatrical managers

and actors have not only courted the distinguished writers of the day, but they even sought out obscure merit. Otway, whose career was so unfortunate, enjoyed success only when he wooed the tragic muse; and Savage, when bereft of friends and home, found encouragement in writing for the stage. Farquhar was patronized by Wilks, and Garrick protected the humble Kelly. Our contemporary Kean disgraces his talent by absurd vanity and caprice. If he protect an author, it is with the view of engaging him to write a part in which he may shine exclusively. If he consent to perform in any piece which the managers have determined on bringing out, it is on condition that every part shall be sacrificed to his. This is doubtless one of the causes which deter men of eminent literary talent from writing for the stage."

Mr. B- is personally acquainted with most of the performers, and is a constant frequenter of the theatres. When he points out any of the actors to a stranger, he never fails to add to their names a periphrasis, or at least an epithet, to denote their peculiar talent. In noticing the different performers, I will occasionally quote B's descriptions, when they happen to correspond with my own impressions; for I love to enjoy the privilege of judging for myself.

Probably you will now wish me to introduce you to the interior of Drury Lane and Covent Garden; but you must excuse me if I delay a little longer. Before I attempt to describe the taste of the English public in 1823, I must sketch a brief account

VOL. I.