mm » I MEMOIRS OF GEORGE FRED. COOKE, ESQ. LATE OF €ljt C&tatr* &o]jal, ©otent Gar Unit BY WILLIAM DUN LAP, ESQ. COMPOSED PRINCIPALLY FROM THE PERSONAL KNOWLEDGE OF THE AUTHOR, AND FROM THE MANUSCRIPT JOURNALS LEFT BY MR. COOKE. COMPRISING ORIGINAL ANECDOTES OF HIS THEATRICAL CONTEMPORARIES, HIS OPINIONS ON VARIOUS DRAMATIC WORKS, &c. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN, BRITISH AND FOREIGN PUBLIC LIBRARY, CON DUIT-S1 R EET, HANOVER- SQUARE^ AND SOLD BY GEORGE GOLDIE, EDINBURGH \ AND JOHN GUMMING, DUBJLii N» 1813. James Gillet, Printer, Crown court, Fleet-street, Lor. Jot wih v Unit *trfM> 'i&^Tbb- CONTENTS OF VOLUME II. CHAPTER XIX. Journal, Nov. and Dec. 1807; Remarks on the Provok'd Husband; Martin Luther; Military Excellence ; Taste of a Lord Chancellor ; Bonaparte ; Correspondence with Mr. Rock; Politics; Remarks on Mrs. Inchbald's remarks; Cure for the Hydrophobia; Shy lock and his representa- tives ; U History of Westmoreland"; Town of Appleby; Madame Catalani ; Crown Prince of Denmark ; Diet, Sec. at Appleby, - -- -- -- 1 CHAPTER XX. Remarks on the last Journal ; Liberation of Mr. Rock ; Mr. Cooke plays at Glasgow and Edinburgh ; plays in London, March 10th, 1808; Colin JM'Cleod ; Fashionable Lover; Caratach ; Bonduca; Falstaff; Merry Wives of Windsor ; Kent in Lear, - - - 3\ CHAPTER XXI. Mr. Cooke's summer excursion in 1803 ; Covent Garden Theatre burnt ; Company play in the Opera-house : Mr. Cooke's marriage, and return to London ; Plays Pierre ; Journal of January, 1 809 ----- 00 CHAPTER XXII. Arts used to depreciate Mr. Cooke ; Drury-Lane Theatre burnt ; Summer of 1809, Cooke at Liverpool; His cups ; New Covent Garden Theatre opens ; Mr. Kemble's poetical address ; O. P. riot from Sept. 18th to December 15th ; Wm Cobbett ; Mr. Cooke's account, of himself during this period, - -- -- --80 IV CONTENTS, CHAPTER XXIII. Mr. Cooke's degraded situation in London in the season of 1809-10 ; Trouble he caused to the Managers ; Plays Henry the 8th ; Plays for the last time in London on the 5th June, 1810; Editor of the Monthly Mirror made to satirize himself; Epitaph on Mr. Cooke, - - 103 CHAPTER XXIV. Mr. Cooper arrives at Liverpool, July, 1810, and meets Mr* Cooke; Conversation; Verbal proposition for Mr. Cooke to go to America; Written proposal in August ; Mr. Cooke at Preston ; Second meeting of Mess. Cooke and Cooper at Liverpool ; Mr. Cooke leaves Liverpool ; Cooper follows ; Interview at the first stage ; Interview at Prescot ; Scene with the Liverpool men; Return towards Liverpopl, 112 CHAPTER XXV. Arrival at Mr. Tawbuck's; Cooke left there; Scene between him and his Host; Passes the day and night at Mr. Taw- buck's house ; Embarks for America, October the 4th, 1810 ; Mr. Cooke's letter to Mr. Harris ; Mr. Cooper's letter; Custom-house officer; Mr. Cooke's emigration in danger of being stopped ; Difficulty overcome ; He arrives at New- York on the 16th of Norember, 1810, - }32 CHAPTER XXVI. Cooke's arrival in America; Plays Richard on the 21st of November, 1810 ; His account of his reception at New- York ; Sir Pertiuax ; Shylock ; Remarks ; Glenalvon ; Sir Archy ; Zanga ; Plays Sir Giles Oyer-reach ; Remarks ; FalstafT; Remarks and comparisons between Cooke and Falstaff; Shameful exhibition on the night of his benefit ; Cato; Embarks for Boston, r 151 CHAPTER XXVII. Mr. Cooke arrives in Boston, Jan., 1811 ; Letter tolncledon; R. T. Payne and Cooke ; Dinner with the Managers; Goes to hear parson Gardiner preach ; Sits for his picture to St«art ; Advice to a young Actor; Battle of Bunker hill ; Yankee gentleman ; The Tragedian and the Conjurer; Bat- tle of the Exchange CoorTee-house ; Characters playecj by Mr. Cooke in Boston, and amount of houses, - - 176 CONTENTS* V CHAPTER XXVIII. Mr. Cooke leaves Boston; Arrives at New- York ; Failure of attraction, its causes and effects; Romance of Real Life; Master Payne ; Messrs. Cooke, Payne, and Duffie ; Knox's Gloster in King Lear ; Mr. Cooke prepares to go to Phila- delphia ; indisposition ; Journey to Philadelphia 198 CHAPTER XXIX. Mr. Cooke arrives in Philadelphia, Wednesday, March 20th, 1811 ; Makes known his determination not to play until the Monday following ; Rehearses Richard ; Dines at Mr. Wood's ; A ttends Fennell's recitations ; Mr. Francis ; Mr. John Henry ; Walk to the Schuylkill ; Chit chat ; Mana- gers ; Digges; Church-yards; A General's monument; Power to refrain from ill, - 222 CHAPTER XXX. Anecdotes of actors and authors ; The Palmers ; George Cohnan ; Mr. Cooke commences playing in Philadelphia ; Dinner party, and its consequences; carefulness and care- lessness of money ; Riotous eagerness to procure seats at the theatre ; European travellers in America ; Mr. Cooke sits for portraits to Mr. Sully ; Mr. Cooper arrives in America; End of an eight days' calm; Dinner party at the hotel ; Mr. Leslie's drawings of Mr. Cooke in various characters ; Mr. Cooke indisposed, - 240 CHAPTER XXXI. Sick bed repentance ; Mr. Cooper at New- York ; Association of ideas; Preparations for Mr. Cooke's benefit; Perils of the previous day ; Plan for avoiding them ; Another train of ideas ; Mr. Cooke plays Kitely for his benefit ; Sits for a picture in the character of Richard to Mr. Sully ; Effect of his letter to Incledon on him, when re-published at Philadelphia ; Preventive prescription ; Dinner at the Fish-house, on the Schuylkill ; Mr. Cooper arrives at Philadelphia ; Amount of houses for sixteen nights in Phila- delphia, with the plays, and the dates of performance, 267 CHAPTER XXXII. Mr. Cooke consents to play four nights more in Philadelphia ; Another dinner party, and indisposition ; Plays with Mr. VI CONTENTS. Cooper; Consents to play at New- York and Baltimore; Disappointment of the Boston managers ; Extra scene in the Fair Penitent at New- York ; Mr. Cooke at a tea- party ; Characters played, and amount of houses for 9 nights at New- York, in May, 1811, - 2S8 CHAPTER XXXIII. Mr. Cooke goes to Baltimore ; Family Jewels ; King of the Yankee Doodles ; Mr. Cooke returns to New- York ; His marriage ; Mr. Tyler; Rockaway ; Steam-boat on the Hud- son; Mr. Cooke at Albany ; Cohoes ; Waterford ; Green- bush ; Mr. Doige; Mr. Cooke's liberality and benevolence; Lord Byron ; Walter Scot ; A wonderfully kind friend ; Ballston ; Saratoga ; Lake George ; Mr. Carter ; the Missionary ; Miss Owenson ; Return to Albany and New- York, - - - - - - £02 CHAPTER XXXIV. Mr. Cooke plays in New- York ; Goes to Philadelphia in November, 1811, and plays ; In December plays again in New- York; Engagement for Charleston, South Carolina; Goes to Boston, and plays there till the 7th Feb. 1812; l akes his passage from Boston to England, but comes to ? ew-York ; Goes to Providence, Rhode-Island, in July, and p?a)S nine nights ; To Boston ; to New-York, Sept. 1812; Letter from Mr. VV. Harris, inviting Mr. Cooke to return to UoVent Garden, - - - - - 3 16 CHAPTER XXXV. The loss of Mr. Cooke felt severely by the English dramatic world; Mr. C. kemble's iago ; Mr. Grant's Sir Pertinax ; M. Cooke's last illness and death; Letter from Doctor Hosttck ; Some remarks on Mr. Cooke's disposition, genius, tas*e, and acting; lago; Sir Pertinax; Richard; Macbeth, Mr. Cooke's orthoepy ; Marked part of Octavian ; Three anecdotes; Conclusion, S02 MEMOIRS OP GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. CHAPTER XIX. Journal, Nov. and Dec. 1S07 — Remarks on the Provoked Husband — Martin Luther- Military Excellence — Taste of a Lord Chan- cellor — JBonaparte — Correspondence with Mr. Rock — Politics — Remarks on Mrs. Inchb aid's Remarks — Cure for the Hydrophobia — Sky- lock and his Representatives — u History of Westmoreland" — Town of Appleby — Madame Catalani — Crown Prince of Denmark — Diet, Sfc. at Appleby. We will now see the picture, which Mr. Cooke paints of himself, in his melancholy solitude at Appleby. f" Continued from No. %'.**') (He commences abruptly, with extracts from some book which he had probably been reading, VOL, II, b 2 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. giving an account of Sheffield, and Leeds, their manufactures, &c.) ff Saturday ) Nov. 2Sth. ? Arose between nine and ten ; breakfasted. A considerable quantity of snow has fallen during the night. Lounged away the morning, though it was pleasant — dined about a quarter past one. Turned over a part of West's Guide. Read the comic scenes of a Journey to London, or the Provok'd Husband — how admirably just are the characters drawn ! Compare Sir Francis, his wife, son, daughter, and John Moody, with the many attempts to imitate them, particularly the latter, and they shine as diamonds of the first water, contrasted with Bristol stones ; and their intrinsic value, different in as great a pro- portion. An idle afternoon, of a piece with the morning. Drank tea a little after five. I sent to the stationer's for two small memorandum books, and procured one thick one, not quite so bad as I expected. However, I shall not make use of it on the present occasion. This vender of ink, paper, and quills, for I could not get any pens, formerly had something in the shape of a circulating library, but marrying 3 milliner, he found his better half must be accom r modated with some place to exhibit her r skill in ornamenting the outside of the female head, fa ron n try circulating library often helps to turn MEMOIRS OP COOKE. 3 the inside, and deprave the heart,) he wisely retrenched and abridged his wares, and divided, not the house, but the shop, with her. Passed some time in writing. Supped between eight and nine." (Here follow several extracts, probably tran- scribed from some book of selections,) " Went to bed at eleven/' " Sunday, Nov. 29th. i; Arose at ten ; breakfasted. Spent some time in writing. Read the character of Martiu Luther from Doctor Robertson." (Here follow extracts.) " Thus far the Doctor, It certainly does not strengthen the Lutheran cause, when it is con* sidered that the flaming zeal of that Reformer broke forth in consequence of anger and disap- pointment ; and that his dogmas were not less obstinately and pertinaciously pursued, than those of his opponents—As to his disinterested- ness, it must be observed that pride will some- times produce very opposite effects. Dined about one." (Characters of Lord Bolingbroke and Pope from Lord Chesterfield.) " Wrote some more in the afternoon. Drank tea a little after five. Read some letters of several eminent persons, deceased, and made some short extracts from them. It is, to me, b 2 4 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. often disgusting, to find men of learning, genius, and wit, in their epistolary correspondence, paying each other the most egregious and fulsome flattery and adulation. Even Swift, at the same time that he is venting his spleen and disappointment, is not behind the worst of them. stippi jimsm^Bv kmi$$jdl ym " Supped between eight and nine, The day has been gloomy, and the atmosphere threatens more snow. I in vain endeavoured to discover any appearance of the sun's eclipse this fore- noon. This evening began a kind of dramatic journal, or chronicle; commencing with the first ideas I ever entertained of the stage, the first play I ever read, and the first play I ever saw acted ; I shall endeavour to continue it up to the present time. Went to bed a quarter before eleven. % " Monday, Nov. 30th. " Arose between nine and ten; breakfasted, A cabinet-maker came to inspect my writing- desk, and gain me an entrance to some private drawers. Had the desk not been injured in its journey' from London, I should never have known that it contained three small private drawers, which have never been opened since I purchased it. Dined about half past one ; being St. Andrew's day, I drank to the health and prosperity of all friends in Scotland, in a MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 5 half pint bumper of what used to be called humble port^ but thanks to the increase of our wealth, at least of our taxes, it now deserves a more exalted appellation. The time before dinner was chiefly employed in continuing my chronicle — dined at half past one, packed up my theatrical vestments, inspected the contents of three private drawers, dressed, and drank tea some time after five. Between tea and supper employed with my chronicle— after supper the chronicle again amused some time — I do not doubt but many, or at least several, circum- stances which I shall mention, have already been remarked and commented on ; but except theatrics, I shall very rarely, if at all, mention any other business. — This evening a little indis- posed ; my spirits are sometimes in a pleasing order, but on a sudden a reverse takes place ; my mind is at this time rather oppressed. — The minutes are wasting, and nothing posi- tively fixed. The want of "books is severely felt. If I had properly foreseen. I might, in some measure, have provided a remedy against the evil ; now I could wish to avoid encumber- ing myself with any thing additional. The day has been wet, cold, and uncomfortable ; the latter part better than the former. u The gloomy month of November/ ' as it is called by one of our writers, is very near its close, Went to bed a quarter before eleven/' 6 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. " Tuesday, Dec. 1st. "Arose about half past ten; breakfasted; the cabinet maker brought home my desk ; I now find, that I never, 'till this morning, knew how to open it — instead of three private drawers I now have six. Forwarded my time-piece some minutes — continued my chronicle. Dined about a quarter past one — read u the Mirror of the Times/' for Saturday last. From the number of advertised medicines, and the men* tion of almost every species of complaint or disease for which they are asserted to be infal- lible nostrums, the bills of mortality ought to be very much decreased — inspection into this dangerous traffic is surely wanting from some quarter. 46 Military excellence — A captain of volun- teers undertook for a wager, to trundle a hoop, rather heavier than a boy's, from Whitechapei church, to Ongar in Essex, in three hours and a half. How shall the sequel be mentioned ? — ? The Captain lost. " Want of taste of the Lord Chancellor.— In an argument before him, upon the Opera- House business, wherein Madame Catalani and Madame Grassini were mentioned, his Lordship observed, " If you would ask me what I would give myself, 1 tell you plainly that I would not give five shillings, to hear any of them sing for five months." MEMOIRS OF COOKE, 7 * c I read the death of Mrs. Mack! in, widow of the late Mr. Charles Macklin. Drank tea, about a quarter after five. The time between tea and supper employed in looking over and adjusting receipts, papers, and letters. Supped before nine. Continued my chronicle. The day has been raw and squally. At evening it rained. Went to bed a quarter after eleven. "... sriJ movl M&l y^nhimnPj' idi *\&5mti act* " Wednesday, Dec. 2nd. f Arose about a quarter after ten ; break- fasted. From that time till dinner, continued my chronicle. Dined between one and two. While continuing " The Chronicle/' received a letter from Mr. Rock at Edinburgh, in answer to the last I wrote to him. Drank tea about five ; read " The Commercial Chronicle" for Saturday last. A paragraph states, that u a person genteelly dressed, called at the house where Mr. Cooke, of Coven t Garden Theatre, resides, when in town, and inquired if Mr. Cooke was come. Upon being answered in the negative, he exclaimed, it was strange, for he had travelled with him in the coach the night before, and that he appointed to meet him there next morning. He then asked for pen and ink, and was answered, there was not any ink in the house. He then asked for a tumbler of water, and while the attendant was gone for it, walked off with a bundle of --.linen.. 8 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. that was in the parlour he had been shown into." I must own my curiosity would be gratified in beholding this unknown fellow- traveller. Mrs. Mack Jin's death is mentioned in this paper. Continued "The Chronicle;" supped between eight and nine. Rock has copied my two last letters in his I received to-day, to point out that the latter contradicts the former. The conclusion of the latter does that interpretation entirely away. However, he must have a decisive letter by Friday's post. I hope and trust I shall hear from somebody in London to-morrow. M The Chronicle" must- excuse me for any further progress this night. Looked over the northern part of the map of England. Tumbled over the few books I have, and gave a glance into Housman. The day has been blowing, cold, gloomy, and wet ; to- wards evening calm, and indicated frost. Went to bed a quarter before midnight/ 5 cc Thursday ) December, 3d. 6i Arose about nine; breakfasted; the morn* ing frosty, clear, and pleasant. Dressed. Read the Cumberland Packet for Tuesday last. Among other articles, the death of the Reverend Mr. Wanilaw, a Roman Catholic -clergyman, at Newcastle upon Tyne, with whom 1 was acquainted. The death of Abraham Newland, is also announced.-' I read in a London paper, MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 9 the duty, upon proving his will at the Com* rnons, amounted to 1400/.'* (Here follow accounts of several vessels lost at sea.) Among others, he says, " The Prince of Wales Packet, of Parkgate, (I came last from Ireland in her,) is lost." " The Dublin theatre is said to have been robbed on the 22d of last month, of several articles, of no use to any but the owners. I have known it, when the meanest robber would have been disappointed of any article. " Respecting the King of Spain's procla- mation criminating his son with an atrocious intention, it is easy to discover that the plot was prepared, the parts assigned, and the catas- trophe arranged, by the Corsican despot. This monster in human nature wishes to degrade all the reigning families of Europe, by making them completely contemptible. The Emperor of Rus- sia, who was much shocked at, and who de- tested the atrocious and diabolical murder of the Duke D'Enghein, has the very w r retch sent to him as an embassador who conducted the seizure of that unhappy prince. Indeed one murderer is the fittest to represent another. It is rather singular that the Paris papers make no mention of this Spanish plot. Perhaps it has not succeeded perfectly to the tyrant's wish. u The carrying on the Corsican's projects has met with much assistance from the states of 10 MEMOIRS OF COOKE* Spain and Denmark, both under the dominion of two weak, imbecile mortals. The Crown Prince of Denmark, of whom much has been said, was very prudently absent during the bombard- ment of Copenhagen. Every day furnishes proof of the sagacity of our present ministry, and of their justice to their country, in demand- ing and seizing the Danish fleet. — Dined a little after one. Read "The Commercial Chronicle" for Tuesday last." (Here follows an abstract of the news.) " Wrote some time in the chronicle. Drank tea a little after five — answered Mr. Rock's last letter, though not to my own satisfaction—* between tea and supper continued the chronicle. The frost has given way, and to-night it rains and blows. Supped a quarter before nine. Read in Housman. Went to bed at eleven." " Friday i December 4th, ( 5 w.J " Arose at ten; breakfasted; read the Cum- berland Herald for Tuesday last. " Before dinner read the 1st and 2d marked weeks — had dined by half past one — read the 3d and 4th— walked. In this country, they carry different articles much in the same paltry and lazy manner they do in Ireland; their small one-horse carts, drawn by a poor looking animal, much resemble, and are little better than, the cars used in that kingdom. There is nothing MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 11 more grating to my ear than the beastly noise they make with their wooden clogs, shod with iron. I begin to think differently of my border friend than I could once have thought. This has been one of my disagreeable days. Listless indolence has preyed upon me — even the mo- tions of a poor fly occupied some moments. Wrote in the chronicle, supped between eight and nine. Made two short extracts. Con- tinued with little intermission writing in the chronicle till near midnight, and about that time went to bed/ 1 4< Saturday, Dec. 5th. " Arose about eleven, after a good night's rest. Breakfasted : read the u Tyne Mercury, 3 * a Newcastle paper I do not recollect to have seen before. " The Theatre Royal (Newcastle,) is adver- tised to open on the 1 5th of this month. To the advertisement is prefixed a motto from Shak- speare. This is presumption in the writer, as it supposes, that the audience of Newcastle are yet to be informed of the use and purport of a stage — Dined between one and two— the poor fly, or, a poor fly, again attracted my notice. Finished my chronicle for the present. It was very hastily written, and without a scrap of assistance from any book, note 3 or memorandum whatever. 12 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 44 Drank tea about five. Read over my i; Chronicle \" corrected a mistake, and made a small addition. I have given at the end, a list of the trult/ eminent actors and actresses I have seen, now no more, with all the characters (I can recollect,) I have seen them in. Some of them are fresh " in my mind's eye/' Supped before nine : a blowing rainy night. " I remember hearing a reverend gentleman of Newcastle, whose death I recorded last Thursday, say, that when a person, on being asked what he was thinking of, replied, nothing, he was then thinking of a multitude of things, but not any thing distinctly. I have often experienced the remark to be just, and last night was an additional proof of it. I tried to fix my thoughts, but in vain. The body will feel a distaste, sometimes approaching to dis- gust, at being long supplied with the same kind of food, and nothing but the craving of hunger, can enable it to endure it. The mind is much in the same state, when forced to recur over and over again to the same mental repast, particularly if scantily supplied. If I remember right* Colly Cibber said he could employ his thoughts satisfactorily, for six hours ; but were those six hours to be repeated for six days suc- cessively, to the most acute and distinct thinker, (unless upon some particular or important MEMOIRS OF COOKE, 13 object, instead of relaxation or amusement, I think it would rather be a painful endurance/ 5 H Sunday, Dec. 6th. " Awoke before four, and did not sleep again until near eight. Arose at half past ten; break- fasted, and dressed. Before dinner, wrote. Dined at one. I believe if I was not to appear below stairs until dinner-time, my hostess would send in both at once, Read over my " chronicle," to prevent any material mistake : made one small addition : while reading, re- ceived a letter from Mr. Betterton, at Whiteha- ven, w T ith an invitation to visit him, on business, for a fortnight. Found the poor fly again, (I am almost sure it is the same,) struggling in. a bason of water. I extricated the benumbed insect, The young men of the town and neigh- bourhood have been attending their military duties, as volunteers, which I suppose is the practice every Sunday, if the w eather is not too much against them. Our clowns have acquired some degree of exterior polish, by this universal arming. I have heard some doubt their ability, if called into actual service. I was in Ireland, during the whole time of the late rebellion, and I do not remember to have heard a single instance, where the volunteer force was called into actual service, that did not redound to tfieir honour. Supped a little before nine, I 14 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. drank tea at the usual time. The day has been mild and pleasant. The moon to-night shines dimly, and is rather obscured by clouds. Sat musing until midnight, then went to bed." " Monday, Dec. 7 th. " Arose at ten j breakfasted. Read the Com- mercial Chronicle for Thursday last. " The Carlisle paper I read this morning, is published, I perceive, by one Mr. T'otherside. How ingenious they are in the metropolis, in inventing extraordinary amusements ! A dog was thrown over the centre arch of Westminster- bridge in the dark, on which a wager was depend iqg, that he would not find his master's house in six hours. The poor animal found it in two. Could his master have done it? In the midst of war, when expectation is raised high, and many have to lament its consequences, some of Joe Millar's worst jokes find their way into some of our papers of intelligence. Dined between one and two. Read the Commercial Chronicle of last Saturday. " A paragraph announces me to h&ve arrived in London. This afternoon received a letter from London, dated two months, ago! on the back of it, not to he found in red ink. I could almost swear it to be my own writing. The place to which it is first addressed I cannot discover. A quantity of snow has just fallen. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 15 Wrote an answer to Mr. Betterton's letter re- ceived yesterday, but when I shall dispatch it, I know not. The evening hanging very, very heavy, cast the principal characters of a few plays, as they might be done at Covent Garden. I have given as little trouble to the managers, respecting plays, the wardrobe-keeper, or the property-man, for the time I have been in the theatre, as any one in my situation that ever belonged to it. It may not be always so. Tur- ned over the fables of iEsop, to find the " eagle and beetle," which he addressed to the enraged Delphians, when they were in the act of throw- ing him down the rock, but it is not i it the collection. The purport of it is, " That the weakest may sometimes procure vengeance against the most powerful, when greatly injured by them." Went to bed at eleven/' ' .ti^onoup'janoD etf insrosl o$ svjati Ytuun ban " Tuesday, Dec. Stk. u Arose at a quarter past ten ; breakfasted, A comfortless winter morning, passed by the fire-side; nothing done, and little thought of. Dined at half past one. Made a short addition to the " chronicle." This afternoon disposed of, I may say got rid of, much the same as the morning. After five drank tea. " Read the Mirror of the Times, for Saturday 16 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. (Here, as usual, follows an abstract of the news.) " If the new-fangled emperor succeeds in drawing his confederates to unite against these envied islands, we shall have the maritime powers of France, Spain, Portugal, Russia, and Sweden, together with the wreck of other navies, assisted by Austria, and what is left of Prussia, with the petty upstart monarchs of Bavaria, Holland, Westphalia, and Wirtem- burgh, (a goodly company,) at once to cope with. The contest will be worthy Britain ! tc Nought shall make us me, " If England to itself, do prove but true.'* k \ We have lived to see our immortal coun- tryman's writing verified; and what is more sin- gular, in the very character to whom he has given the words, u a man may smile, and smile, and be a villain At least I'm sure he may be so in Denmark. There is no doubt, but the prediction of Faulconbridge, will be as truly accomplished. " In one of the papers 1 Icoked over yester- day, it mentioned some alterations likely to take place in the ministry. Talent does not always recommend to power; although the im- prudent friends of the late ministry boasted that they possessed ALL the talent in the kingdom. Ofiatfe years, it has been too much the custom MEMOIRS OP COOKE. If to suspect any one of disloyalty, who ventured to disapprove or canvass the conduct of a minister. Discussion is fair, and ought always to be open. I think it rather a proof of loyalty to the sovereign, and friendship to the people, to point out a minister's defects and incapabi- lities, though at the same time convinced of the rectitude of his intentions. Every honest man does not possess knowledge and understanding sufficient to be intrusted with the conduct of the public welfare. I am not politician enough to decide, whether it is absolutely necessary for ministers to be exactly of one opinion. I fancy that in the minutiae of affairs, it will be seldom found to prove so ; but in the grand essentials of government, it must always be attended to* Let the opposition, for there always will be one, prove them wrong. u Supped before nine, and went to bed at eleven/' u Wednesday, Dec. 9th> a Arose a quarter after nine ; breakfasted ; dressed; wrote some time. Dined at one. In- vited my host to drink some wine with me. Read a government paper* Some time after five drank tea. Received a visit upon business* from a pretty young lady. Looked over an act of parliament— Supped before nine. The wea* ther clear and frosty, but pleasant, In this c IS MEMOIRS OF COOKE. want of employment, and lack of books, I have by me some papers that require revision, and yet I cannot prevail upon myself to look upon them. It is true, I have an excuse, but not a good one. Idleness, says the proverb, is the root of all evil. Mine, at present, is much more compulsory than voluntary. This day I had a chance of hearing from six different persons, but the old post woman had no business with me — During the evening, felt a little indis- posed. — Went to bed at eleven, not very well/' u Thursday, Dec. XOth. " Awoke before two, with a severe headache, occasioned, as I suppose, by the coldness of the night, my fire having gone out. I could not sleep again until near six. Arose, at ten, better than when I went to bed. — Breakfasted ; a gloomy frosty day, with snow upon the ground. Dined at one. Received a letter from Mr. Rock at Edinburgh. Read the Cumberland Packet : it contains very little but what I have read before — The letter I mean to write to Mr. Rock this evening, must be to my own satis- faction ; my last was neither to his nor mine — Looked into the map of England — Passed a cold, dreary, frosty afternoon, in a day dream by the fire-side. I am afraid too much of life has been passed in the same manner — " What dreams may come, when we have shuffled off MEMOIRS OF COOK.E* • 19 this mortal coil." — " Aye, there's the rub ! — Drank tea at five — Answered Mr. Rock's letter. Marked the characters in Richard, as they stood in 1806 and 1807— marked the first scene of the character of Macbeth. The book is of the edition with Mrs. Inchbald's remarks. Undoubtedly Mr. Garrick was wrong, in not dressing and de- corating this play as near the ancient Scottish manner as possible; but not more so than others of his contemporaries. If Mrs. I. thought it necessary to mention the name of Garrick, it should have been in a more decent and respect- ful manner, than " Garrick had taste, it is said (the muse, as Mr. Kemble emphatically, and I should suppose ironically, calls her, seems to entertain a doubt of it ;) " and so, they say, had his admirers : yet taste like this would be now exploded. So, it might be insinuated per- haps, would be the acting of those days, could it have been preserved along with the old attire/' The first pilrt of this remark is ridiculous, and the latter is impertinent. Mrs. Inchbald's age might have taught her more discretion, as well as good manners. If she was so unfortunate as never to have seen Mr. Garrick ; 1 say un- fortunate, for she was an actress some time before Mr. G. retired ; yet she must have seen some of the school, (some are yet living,) and to call their talents in question, is confessing herself devoid of judgment. The taste and c 2 20 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. genius of Garrick will be recorded to posterity, when the names of her flimsy pages and more flimsy remarks, will be totally sunk in oblivion. The author, from whose writings the story of Macbeth is taken, is one beyond the reach of Mrs. Inchbald's understanding. M Supped about nine. Read the Commercial Chronicle for Tuesday last. " Spent some time after supper in writing, and in reading what I wrote. Feel a little indis- posed. " Went to bed at midnight/' " Friday^ Dec. Wth. [6th w.) a Arose a quarter before ten ; breakfasted ; read and wrote. Read the General Evening Post of Tuesday last. " Dined a few minutes after one. Mine host, not " of the garter," but of the anvil, received a letter from Aberdeen, inquiring very particularly after me. I paid the postage, and shall answer the letter when convenient. Drank tea, after five. Read a Morning Advertiser of the 1st of this month. Finished marking the part of Macbeth ; but shall carefully look it over again. Read the memorandums of the 5th week. Before I send an answer to the letter from Aberdeen, I must hear from Edin- burgh. Supped between nine and ten ; went to bed at midnight/' MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 21 " Saturday ', Dec. 12th. " Arose about ten ; breakfasted and dressed. Mine host received a letter again from Aberdeen, a counterpart of the one received yesterday, but sent by another route. The writer of both, seems impatient to be acquainted with the par- ticulars of my being in this part of the kingdom. I first saw him at Shrewsbury, in the month of November, 1794, when on my way to Dublin, with the late Mr. William Dawson. At that time I believe he belonged to the army. In the year 1798, 1 saw him, and visited him in Dublin. Since, have had some letters from him, and had a short conversation with him last summer, in Edinburgh. He is now manager of the theatres, (Royal, he calls the first,) of Aberdeen, Dundee, and some others, and has taken the theatre Royal, Glasgow, for one year, commencing in May next. " Dined between one and two. The day has been mild, open, and pleasant. After dinner, walked. Something indisposed with a cold. In one of the newspapers, I read this week, there is a curious recipe for the hydrophobia ; by immersing the patients in a depth of cold water sufficient to drown them. This, no doubt, is an efficacious cure for every disease. The writer ' gravely observes 3 that as this is the season 22 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. when persons receiving the infection in warm weather, begin to feel the horrid effects of it, that heat spreads infection, and cold deadens it; the means of recovery too from recent suspen- sion of breath, being almost brought to a cer- tainty, the experiment is worth the trial. To answer him as gravely^ if cold deadens infection, and heat diffuses it, how is it that infection received in warm weather does not appear until the season is cold? In the midst of his gravity, our serious writer forgot, or at least overlooked, this contradiction. After five, drank tea — > looked over some accounts; destroyed some. Supped about half past eight. Chatted with mine host. Looked ov^r some late accounts. Went to bed at half past eleven." Sunday , Dec. \3th. u Awoke before three ; this is disagreeable, as it prevents rising until late; I did not sleep again till after seven. Arose at half past ten ; breakfasted. Dined at one. Wrote to Mr« Howe of the King's- head Inn, for my wine account. Marked the characters of the Merchant of Venice, as it was acted at Covent Garden, 1804, I have been so fortunate as to see the late Mr. Macklin act Shylock. I think he fully merited the great reputation he gained by it, J have also seen it represented by Henderson* MEMOIRS OP COOKE. 23 King, and Kemble. The first of the three the best. The exclamation of Pope, when he saw Macklin the first time in Shylock, " This is the Jew " That Shakspeare drew," was not only highly complimentary to his ex- cellent acting of the character, but to his judi- cious choice of the mode of acting it, which has been followed and imitated by all his suc- cessors. " Before Macklin revived the play, Shylock had been always (at least within memory,) acted by, what is technically termed, a low comedian, and consequently with all the buf- foonery attendant on those performances. Mr. King, as I observed, I have seen. Mr. Yates, I have heard of, and can well believe he justly merited the applause he received ; but I do not class these gentlemen with low comedians. Whenever they acted low comic characters, which they frequently did, they never lost sight of u and let your clowns say no more than is set down for them : for there be of them," &c. "I have heard some comedians, contempora-^ ries of my own, who have expressed a desire to act Shylock ; and expressed an opinion that they could act it well. Happily for the feelings of the audience, and their own reputation, they never made the trial. Read over my diary of 24 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. this day of December last year. Drank tea at five. I am uneasy concerning some affairs at Berwick, I have had sufficient lessons of experience to be cautious whom I trust, and perhaps may remember them — I will make no more promises. Supped some time alter eight. Went to bed at half past ten. The day has been dull with rain and wind/ 3 " Monday, Dec. \Ath. " Again tormented with early waking — Arose a quarter before ten; breakfasted: inspected some articles which much wanted it. After one, dined. Read the " Commercial Chroni- ele," of Thursday last. " Read over some memorandums of last year, in December. The day has been mild and open. Drank tea a quarter after five, supped before nine, and went to bed at eleven/ 3 u Tuesday, Dec. 1 5th. *' Arose at eight ; dressed. Have been fa- voured with the first volume of " the History and Antiquities of the Counties of Westmore- land and Cumberland, by Joseph Nicholson, Esq. and Richard Burn, L. L. D. 33 Received a present of a partridge from Capt. Dent of the Royal Westmoreland militia, just as 1 had begun to look at the history of the county. Dined at half past one— read the Mirror of the METMOIRS OF COOKE. 25 Times For Saturday 1 st, mipioyed the afternoon in reading " Westmoreland/' and made some notes— drank tea a little after five; read in " Westmoreland/' and took more notes — Sup- ped upon my morning present a quarter before nine; read agate in f 6 Westmoreland/ 1 I find the town oi Appleby has been very considerably la\-jer th?n its present extent renders apparent. If the officers of the corporation are in number, as mentioned by the historians I am quoting, almost every house must contain an officer. The corporation, as I understand the History at present, seems not to have any charter, but acts from prescription. But I shall finish at least the first volume before I venture any me* morandums. — The day open and warm for the sensor*/' a Wednesday ) Dec. I6tk. " Arose at a quarter past nine ; breakfasted — read in " Westmoreland"— dined a quarter past one — continued reading until tea time — finished looking over the volume, (a quarto,) with addenda. " An introductory discourse on the anrient state of the borders/' precedes the history/' (Here follow several notes and extracts from the book, which he had been reading.) " Supped ten minutes before nine ; between tea and supper,- and between supper and hal 26 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. past eleven, engaged in writing extracts and memorandums — the weather continues fair and pleasant ; went to bed at half past twelve." 44 Thursday, Dec. \7th. 44 Arose at ten ; breakfasted ; the morning clear, frosty, and pleasant." (Here follow notes from the History of Westmoreland.) 64 Read the Cumberland Packet for Tuesday last." (Among other articles of intelligence he mentions the following:) 44 Madame Catalani has been prevailed upon to accept 5000 guineas, and two benefits, to sing at the Opera House, the ensuing season. — Amazing condescension ! The French jour- nalists pay a compliment, notwithstanding the war, to our immortal bard, by adopting his precept to the actors of silly characters — they say no more 44 than is set down for them." The Crown Prince of Denmark continues in such a passion, that he would not suffer the English commissioners to pay the debts of the late expedition, but ordered them away at a word. His conduct, on this occasion, is simi- lar to that of a Scotchman, I believe of the name of Mac Intosh, who a few years ago kept a genteel public house, in some one of the courts, near St. Martin's Lane. He was so scrupulously exact in the decorum of his house, that if any one spilt their liquor on the MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 27 table, or insisted upon a pipe, or in any way offended him, he would vociferate u D — — your sauls, leave ma house ; I'll pay the rec- koning mysel." — Dined at half past one; drank tea a quarter after five. The day has been mostly occupied in writing — received a letter from Mr. Rock, at Edinburgh — by the contents of it I shall receive another to-mor- row — read over the last two days' memoran- dums. Dr. Burn, one of the historians of Westmoreland, was vicar of Orton, in that county, a dirty village between Kendal and Appleby. He was author of a book that has run through many editions: Burn's Justice. He was also appointed to, and executed the office of, chancellor of the diocese of Carlisle. A little after noon, called upon Mr. and Mrs. White. Left their house and went to Mr. Rock's. Marked the book of " Every Man in his Humour/ 1 Dined alone, and staid within, alone, till midnight, when I went to bed. " Monday, 95th, Rehearsed Kitely and acted Richard. " Tuesday, 26th, Dined at Mr. White's, in company of Miss Lamb, Col. Graham, Doctor Mitchell, and Mr. Rock. 66 Wednesday, 27th, Rehearsed Kitely and acted Sir Pert max. " Thursday, 2Sth, Zanga, very indifferently. " Friday, 29th, Rehearsed Kitely. Dined • at Mr. White's, in company with Mr. Dubison, Mr. W. did not join us 'till the evening, as did Mr. and Mrs. Forsyth. Engaged to dine with Mr. F. on Friday next. ct Saturday 30th, Oakly and Sir Archy M'Sarcasm ; dined at Mr. Rock's. " Sunday, 3lst, Mr. White called on me, I had previously written a note to his house, to MEMOIRS OF COOKE* 35 excuse myself from dining with him, but at his request dined with him, Mrs. White, Miss Lamb, Doctor Mitchell, and a young student in medicine from London. Drank tea, supped, and got home about eleven. " Monday, Feb. 1st, Ordered home some wine ; went to the stationer's, shoe-maker's, and post-office. Answered a letter received from Mr. Beaumont at Aberdeen. Rehearsed Macbeth. Called upon the Rev. Mr. Vincent : walked with him and his two sons. In the evening played Macbeth. Tuesday *2d 9 Rehearsed Kitely. Dined with Mr. Guthrie and a party of gentlemen. " Wednesday, 3d, Acted Sir Pertinax. " Thursday, 4>th, Much indisposed. Did not rise until afternoon. At night acted Shylock. Friday, 5th, Rehearsed Kitely. Dined at Mr. Forsyth's, in company of Mr. and Mrs. White, Miss Lamb, two Miss Jacksons, CoL M'Dowell, Major M'Quarrie, Mr. M'Lean, Mr. Dubison, Mr. Anderson, &c. At night went with Messrs. W. and D. to Corri's rooms, it being his own night. Heard Mrs. Ashe and Mr. Lees sing, and a concerto on the violin, by Master Gattie, a promising boy of eleven years of age, from London. Returned with the same gentlemen to where I dined. Played at cards, supped, and got home some time after one in the morning. D 2 36 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 4< Saturday, 6th, Visited by an old woman, to whom I gave a pound note. This evening acted Kitely. I believe I never acted it worse. The greater part of it was caviare to the actors, as well as the audience. " Sunday, 7th, Dined at Mr. Murray's, on the Castle hill, in company with some gentle- men, strangers, and Mr. Rock. 44 Monday, Sth, Richard. 44 Wednesday, \Oth, Man of the World. 44 Thursday, Wth, John Bull. 44 Saturday, 13th, Jaques. 44 Monday, 1 5th, lago, (very ill.) 44 Tuesday, \6th, Glenalvon. " Wednesday, \7th, Sir Pertinax. 44 On Friday, \9th, went to Mrs. Ashe's concert, with Mr. White, after dining with a parry at Dr. Mitchell's. " Saturday, 20th, Joseph Surface — recited the Nelson Ode, and Sir Archy M'Sarcasm — My own night, 205/. 44 Monday, 22d, Richard. 44 Wednesday, 2\th, Sir Pertinax. 44 Thursday, 25th, Stukely (for the benefit of the City Charity Workhouse). " Saturday, 27th, Shylock and Sir Archy. 44 Monday, 29th, lago, the last. 44 On Friday, March 4th, at four in the after- noon, left Edinburgh, in the mail coach. Sup- ped at Berwick ; the next morning breakfasted MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 37 at Newcastle; in the afternoon dined at North- allerton, and arrived in York between ten and eleven, where I supped and slept. The next day (Sunday) dined with Mr. and Mrs. Wrench, and a Mr. Phillips. In the evening retired to my inn, slept, and sat out the next morning at five in the' High Flyer for Stamford. Break- fasted at Ferry Bridge, dined at Newark, supped at a stage between Grantham and Stamford, the village" (Woolsthorpe) " where Sir Isaac Newton was born ; and reached Stamford some time before midnight, where I slept. After walking about the town, which I was once acquainted with, breakfasted, in company of Major Craigie, of the Perthshire militia; set out in a post-chaise for London. Dined at Biggleswade, and arrived in London, a little after eleven. At Barnet we took four horses, and were advised to take all our baggage inside. Drove to Old Slaughter's Coffee-house ; no room there, nor at the New. Then to an Hotel, near the top of the Haymarket ; the same there — and at last to a foreign Hotel, the east corner of Leicester-Square, where we supped and slept. In the morning of Wednesday, 9th, parted with the Major, but remained at the house until Saturday, ]gth, when I removed to a lodging at No. 25, James-Street, Covent Garden. On Thursday the 10th, I made my re-appearance at the Theatre Royal Covent 3S MEMOIRS OF COOKE. Garden, in Sir Pertinax, to the greatest money- house, one excepted, ever known in the theatre. Never was a performer received in a more grati- fying or flattering manner. 44 Saturday ', 12th, Shylock. 44 Monday, IMh, Richard. 44 Thursday, 17 th, Sir Pertinax. 4i Saturday, 19th, Shylock and Sir Archy. 44 Monday, 21st, Richard. 44 Thursday, 2^th, Sir Pertinax. 14 Saturday, 26th, Shylock and Sir Archy, 44 Monday, 2Sth, lago. 14 Thursday, 31st, Sir Pertinax. 44 Saturday, April 2d, Shylock. This even- ing died, of a paralytic stroke, Mr, John Ledger, ofT. R. C. G. 44 Monday, 4>th, lago. 44 Tuesday, 5th, Kitely. 44 Thursday, 7th, Sir Pertinax. 44 Saturday, 9th, Colin M'Leod, (1st time.) for the benefit of Mr. Lewis. 44 Monday, 18th, (Easter Monday,) Richard, 44 Wednesday, 20th, Sir Pertinax. 44 Friday, 22d, Shylock. This evening, be- tween five and six, died Mr. Thomas Hull. 44 Saturday, 23rd, Sir Pertinax, in a new theatre at Gravesend, for Mrs. Litchfield's benefit, having promised her. 44 Monday, 25th, Richard. H Wednesday, 27th, Falstaff, (Merry Wives. } MEMOIRS OF COOKE, 39 " Thursday 28th, Sir Pertinax. " Saturday, 30th, Shylock and Sir Archy. " Tuesday j May 3d, Caratach, 1st time, with Garrick's prologue, my own night. " Wednesday, Mh, Sir Pertinax. " Thursday, 5th, Caratach, (with prologue.) " Saturday, 7th, Colin M 6 Leod. ** Tuesday, 10th, Falstaff, (Merry Wives.) " Wednesday, Wth, Sir Archy. " Thursday, \2th, Falstaff, (Henry 4. 1 p.) " Saturday, lAth, Sir Pertinax. " Monday, \6th, Richard. " Wednesday, ISth, Kent, (1st time.) u Friday, 20th, Sir Pertinax. " Saturday, 2lst, Sir Archy. " Monday, 23d, Kent. " Tuesday, 2kth, Col. Vortex, (new com.) " Thursday, 26th, Kent. " Saturday, 2$th, Sir Archy, " Monday 3Qth, Kent. u Wednesday, June 1st, Clytus, " Thursday, 2d, Sir Christopher Curry. " Friday, 3d, Sir Pertinax. " Monday, 6tk, Kent. " Tuesday, 7th, Don Felix and Jubilee Ode. " Wednesday, 8th, Richard/ 3 It appears from the preceding statement, that Cooke, during this short period, performed Sir Pertinax eleven times, Richard six times, and Shylock as many. 40 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. Mr. Rock gained great credit with bis Scotch friends, for treating them with Cooke's acting at such an unusual season of the year, when the winte r theatres were open in London, and of course they could expect none but provincial actors. The liberal manner," says a Glas- gow writer in the Monthly Mirror, " in which Mr. Rock extricated Mr. Cooke from the fangs of John Doe and Richard Roe, reflects no less honour on his feelings as a man, than on his judgment as a manager/ ' Two causes are not necessary to produce the effect above alluded to. Mr. Rock's judgment as a manager is quite sufficient. At Edinburgh, Mr. Young, who now holds so conspicuous a station among the tragedians of the English metropolis, played with our hero in most of the pieces which afforded scope to his admirable talents. Mr. Cooke took the 44 School for Scandal" tor his bent fit, and played Joseph. He recited an ode to the memory of Lord Nelson, and then played Sir Archy. Mr. Cooke's return to his station at Covent Garden was a cause of congratulation to the lovers of the drama. He was not only greeted with welcomes at the theatre, but the presses announced his return with equal cordiality. Says the Mirror, u Mr. Cooke returned from his travels, made his. first appearance this sea- son in Macklin's Sir Pertinax Sycophant. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 41 The many rumours of his sufferance by spirits, fend by bailiffs, of u disastrous chances, of moving accidents by flood — of hair-breadth escapes — of being taken by the insolent foe — And — — redemption thence" seemed to have such an effect on the audience, that they ap- peared the more to love himjTor the dangers he had passed, and with not three, but six rounds of applause, greeted his return. Such a house has not been seen since the little hour of little Betty, ft Of Mr. Cooke's imprudence, until we again suffer by it, we shall say no more. As it re- spects himself, it carries its own punishment with it. Viewing him on all sides — his pitiable weaknesses, and his vast merits, we are tempted to exclaim, with Chesterfield of Lord Boling- broke — " What can we say, but, alas! poor human nature /" Some of the u witty rogues say, that Rock, by releasing Cooke from durance vile, proved 64 that he was not made of stone." It was rather hard upon poor Cooke to be pelted with such jokes on his arrival. It was stated, at this time, that Mr. Thomas Sheridan offered Mr. Harris a premium to allow him to take Cooke out of durance, to play a certain number of nights at Drury Lane. This Mr. Harris prudently refused, as he knew, full well, that absence would enhance his value, 42 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. and that when he should be released, he must come back to him. It will be seen by the last journal, that on his return, Mr. Cooke played his great cha- racters in rapid succession. It was remarked at the time that the cast of " Richard the Third," was peculiarly weak ; actors of secon- dary talents appearing to have been kept out of the bill by Mr. Kemble's management, and Richard's support left to those of still inferior standing. On a similar occasion, in 1 806, a writer asks, " Is this tragedy so miserably attended to in the cast, because Mr. Cooke plays Richard ?" Well, be it so. " The king's name is a tower of strength which they upon the adverse faction want." On the 9th of April, 180S, our hero played Colin M'Leod, in Mr. Cumberland's Fashion- able Lover, for the benefit of Mr. Lewis. That he would act it well cannot be doubted ; and indeed it appears that Mr. Lewis, on this occa- sion, relied principally ilpon the novelty of ex- hibiting Cooke as an honest, frank, and benevo- lent Scotchman. Mr. Cumberland tells us, that, in his opinion, The Fashionable Lover is a better comedy than The West Indian ; it is not generally thought so, and on this occasion^ I am willing to rank MEMOIRS OP COOKE. 43 among the vulgar. It is more moral than the first-named play, and so, probably, are all his subsequent productions ; but they are likewise more dull. The morality of a comedy is use- less, unless there is wit enough to induce man- kind to attend its representation, or to make it a travelling, or closet companion. Lessons of morality, when conveyed in the lighter kinds of literary composition, come doubly welcome to all ; and are attended to by some, who would otherwise avoid them, as irksome intrusions upon their ease or pleasures. Inestimable are such authors as impress the most useful rules for the conduct of life, and add, at the same moment, to its cheerfulness and gaiety ; they convey serious instruction to that immense mass, whose aim is to fly from wisdom, and who want the lesson they thus receive, just in proportion to the efforts they make to avoid it. Mr. Cumberland's attempts to combat the prejudices of his countrymen, against Jews and Scotchmen, are certainly laudable ; how far they have been successful, I am perhaps a very inadequate judge. The Scotch certainly prefer the representation of Sir Archy and Sir Pertinax, to that of Colin M'Leod, and some wags have insinuated, that the Jews consider Sheva as a satire. It is very evident, that when Mr. Cumber- 44 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. land drew his benevolent Scot, he had not got above the vulgar prejudices entertained in Eng- land against Jews, and had never thought of a benevolent Israelite ; for he makes Colin say, " When a man borrows money of a Jew, the suspicion is fair, that he can find no Christian to lend him any." Mr. Cooke is said to have been particularly fine in his representation of Colin, when he places Miss Aubrey under the protection of a procuress, because he relies upon the honour and purity of " ain o'the noble blude o'the M'Leods." At this time, I find another bit of journalizing, as follows : " 26, James-street, Covent Garden. " Easter Sunday, April VI th, 180S. Arose at seven — This day completed rny 52d year, being born on Saturday, April the 17th, 1756. Read five newspapers of the day, and looked into Massinger's Works, particularly " The City Madam," the characters of which I co- pied a list of. Mrs. Rock breakfasted, dined, and drank tea with me. — Went to bed at mid- night." " Monday ISth. Arose at seven. Before dinner, walked in St. James's Park. Received a letter from Mr. M'Cready, at Manchester. Read in a volume of the Annual Register, for MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 45 1778- In the evening acted Richard III. ; very hoarse in a part of the 4th and 5th acts, but a little recovered before the conclusion. Retired after midnight." Jan. 17th, " I forgot to mention yesterday the receipt of letters from Miss Jackson, at Edinburgh, and Mr. Foote, at Plymouth. Walked for the first time this year in St. James's park — promised Mr. De Wilde, (whom I met,) to sit on Thursday next, for a drawing of Richard, for Bell's Beau Monde. After supper, read the three first acts of " The two Gentlemen of Verona. jff Wednesday, Jan. ISth. " Arose before seven. Read the fourth and fifth acts of " The two Gentlemen of Verona." Wrote a note to Mess. Fielding and Sharp, of Queen-street, Cheapside. After breakfast read the first act of " The Merrv Wives of Windsor." Went with Mrs. Cooke to the corner of Leices- ter-Square, and viewed the Panoramas of Dublin and Gibraltar. They appear to be well exe- cuted. The first, taking in a view of the river Liffey, from Essex bridge, to below the cus- tom-house, with the shipping, &c, Carlisle Bridge, a small part of Trinity College, and another of the late Parliament House, West- moreland-street — the quays — Foundling Hos- MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 73 pital, &c. recalled the city strongly to my mind. The latter place I never saw, but it is a varied, and seems a beautiful view. Walked round St. James's park, and returned home to dinner. During the evening finished u The Merry Wives, &c " " Thursday , Jan. \9th. u After breakfast, read the first act of 46 Mea- sure for Measure," and the first scene of Sir John FalstafFin " the First Part of Henry 4th." — Mr. De Wilde, according to appointment, came and took a full length drawing of me in Richard III. A part of the dress, &c, I put on — this is a complacency I must give up, as it irks me much. After dinner, it continuing wet, I remained at home and slept upon a sofa above four hours before supper — rather indis- posed/* " Friday, Jan. 20th. ii Arose a quarter after six, read the remain- ing scenes of Falstaff — during the day finished reading " Measure for Measure," and ran hastily through the part of Stukely ; acted in the evening with good effect." Saturday, Jan. Silst. " A basket arrived from my mother-in-law, at Newark, containing a leg of mutton and 74 MEMOIRS OP COOKE, two fowls, ( carrying coals to Newcastle,) and various letters : two to me from my father and sister-in-law — answered that of the former, went to the theatre, and afterwards to Saint James's." u Sunday, Jan. %2d. " Arose a little after six — looked over and marked the first and second acts of Richard III. Read the first and second acts of the " Comedy of Errors." Finished marking Richard III. with some references to the folio edition of 1685, and a modern one from Stevens's last edition/ 1 6C Monday, Jan. 23c?. " Went to the theatre to rehearse Sir John Falstaff in 66 the First Part of Henry 4th." Received there a letter from Mr. Wilkinson, at Hull, inviting me to act there. Wrote to Miss Jackson at Edinburgh, and to Mr. Maxfield at Portsmouth. "In the evening acted Richard; the house good ; but I was indisposed, and could not give that effect to the character which I often have done, though the applause was much the same/' / MEMOIRS OF COOKE, 75 u Tuesday, Jan. 2ith. " Being much indisposed, I did not rise until between three and four in the afternoon. Wrote a note to Mr. Hume, of Long Acre, to prepare a medicine for me from a recipe of Mr. Wilson's in his possession. Acted Fal- staff — allowing for the weather, the house a good one." 46 Wednesday, Jan. 25th. u In the morning took the medicine I or- dered yesterday, and did not rise tiil afternoon. " Read the two first acts of * Much ado about Nothing ;" received a letter from Mr. Maxfield at Portsmouth, which I answered immediately. I am afraid I shall not be able to visit him. After dinner finished " Much ado about Nothing." u After tea spent an idle, wearisome evening, not feeling the least inclination to any employ- ment." " Thursday, Jan. 26th. " Looked over some papers — called at a shop in Newport-street, and gave orders for a print of myself, in lago, to be prepared with a hand- some frame and sent to Mr. John Wilkinson, manager of the Theatres Royal, York, Hull, &c. Called and paid Mr. Bagshaw ; looked over 76 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. some morning papers — went to the theatre, and ordered my dress for Saturday next. Re- ceived a strange rhyming, anonymous letter, by the two-penny post — gave it what it wanted, fire. Wrote to Mr. Maxfield at Portsmouth. Walked in the Temple. Waited, for the first time for many years, to see the figures strike the quarters at St. Dunstan's — I was not the only grown up gazer. Met Mr. Quin and Mr. Waddy ; the former I have not seen before this season. — Wrote to Mr. Wilkinson at Hull. Ordered some plays from Mr. Barker's, and desired him to discontinue " The Cabinet'* for me. Read the first and second acts of 4; Love's Labour Lost ;" after dinner finished the come- dy. Read some anecdotes, &c," " Friday^ Jan. 27th. 44 Read the first act of u The Midsummer's Night Dream." Walked in St. James's and the Green Park, went round by Piccadilly, and rehearsed Sir Giles Over-reach. Quince, the carpenter, in the first act of the " Midsummer's Night Dream," while he is distributing the parts of the interlude intended to be performed before the Duke and Duchess of Athens, is interrupted by Bottom the weaver, who wishes to act more characters than one. This reminds me of some actors (as they were called) whom I have heard of, perhaps seen some, who would .MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 77 willingly act more than one. I have some years a^o seen a man who, I have been assured, on the same night and at the same time, went on for, or as it is phrased, doubled, Hotspur and Falstaff — Those who have only seen plays in London, cannot have an idea of the wretched and preposterous shifts to which itinerant par- ties are often compelled. The Athenian actors, as in this play they are drawn, were mechanics. So are some of our actors even of note ! Some of them very dull mechanics. After dinner read the second act of " The Midsummer/* &c. Acted Stukely ; the audience nume- rous/' u Saturday , Jan, 2Sin< u Looked over some accounts. Wrote to Mr. Maxfield at Portsmouth. The letter con- tained an unwilling disappointment, u Took a short walk in the Park, and after- wards rehearsed Sir Giles Over-reach. Walked again in the Park, and on my return home found the plays ordered from Mr. Barker. At the theatre received another nonsensical anonymous letter from the same crazy wretch as the last. After dinner, at near five o'clock, recer letters from Mr. Lamb and Mr. Maxfieid. My Bath paper did not arrive. Acted Sir Giles Over reach well, in some parts very well ; and had I not been disconcerted by the stupidity of 78 MEMOIRS OF COOKE, some, it would have been a good whole. Cer- tain plays are sadly neglected." " Sunday, Jan. 29th. " Looked over some plays. Read " The News." Finished a " Midsummer's Night Dream marked some plays to be interleaved, Read " The Rehearsal," with the prologue and epilogue, the key to it, and the publisher's address to the public. The author, the witty George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, wrote it in ridicule of the tedious, bombastic, senseless style of many plays much followed during the reign of the second Charles — Bayes was the caricature of Dryden. It is now very seldom acted, and has been reduced to three acts. I saw it acted at the Havmarket, as a full piece, Mr. Foote the Bayes. u The Critic, or, a Tragedy Rehearsed," by R. B. Sheridan, is upon the same plan, the first act excepted. The play might be now new- modelled, and a sufficient variety of new dramas selected, from whence might be ex- tracted (in some verbatim,) numerous passages in defiance of composition, wit, genius, or common sense. Read the first and second acts of M The Merchant of Venice/* In the even- ing finished it, and read the first act of " As You Like It after supper read in Baker's Chronicle," MEMOIRS OF COOKE, 79 41 Monday, Jan. 30th. " This being the martyrdom of King Charles the First, by order of the State, I lose 3l. 6s. Sd, Being caught in the rain, I stood in a passage in Pall Mall, with two men in Turkish, or rather Moorish, habits, and a black. I then adjouned to Hatchet's Coffee-house, so that t breakfasted twice. How many in this great metropolis have gone without any ! Iam cer- tain, though I confess my inability to point out the method, that not an individual need be destitute of the common necessaries of life within the kingdom. From the vast sums of money imposed and collected for the use of the poor, and the various modes (some yet untried) of employing those who are able to work, distress and misery may be almost ban- ished. " Called at the theatre, and wrote a note to Mr. Harris. At my return home, found a card from Mr. Watson, alias Old Gag, of the Chel- tenham theatre. Finished t( As You Like ft,** 80 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. CHAP. XXI L Arts used to depreciate Mr. Cooke — Drurt/* Lane Theatre burnt — Summer of 1 S09> Cooke at Liverpool- — his Cups — New Covent Gar- den Theatre opens — Kemble* s poetical Address — O. P. liiot from Sept. 1 Sth to December \ 5th — Wni . Cobbett — Mr. Cooke's Account of Himself during this Period. My hero appears at this time to have been rapidly sinking in public estimation, and the writers before-mentioned multiply their cow* ard blows upon him as he falls. Even his Stukeiy is represented as being ludicrous, and is made to yield in comparison with that of the late John Palmer. The same writers hold up Keiuble as a kind of demi-god, and a com- parison between them is now no longer dreamt of. When I think of the talents of George Fre- derick Cooke, how do I curse 11 the invisible spirit of wine," and the imprudence, the im- providence, the mad vice, which rendered those talents of no avail ! Kemble enjoyed the triumph, which prudence, not genius, ob- tained for him. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 81 On the twenty-fourth of February, 1809, the theatre Royal, Drury Lane, was destroyed by fire. Mr. Cooke was absent from London when this event took place. His witty friend^ the editor of the Monthly Mirror, gives the following choice morceaU) on the occasion of his leaving London at this time. " Mr. Cooke has suddenly weighed anchor, leaving the following note to the managers, " The wind shifts round to the north, I scud before it. If a change takes place to the souths I shall be back by the 6th of March. 46 Yours, " A Cook, and no Scullion" " This looks rebellion/' Mr. Cooke has told me, that he was at Hull when he first heard of the destruction of Drarv- Lane. He appears to have left London with the approbation of Mr. Harris ; to have pro- ceeded to Newark, and thence to York, where he played some nights. He says in a fragment, before me, apparently intended to have been a full account of this journey : " On Wednesday, Feb. 22, 1809, about six in the morning, set out, accompanied by Mrs. Cooke, from my apartments in Great Queen-street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, in a post-chaise, and breakfasted at the Green Man in Barnet" At one in the afternoon of the next day, they " arrived at Newark, at the house of Mr, Lamb, Mrs, VOL, IT, G 82 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. Cooke's father." The next day, the 24th, in the afternoon, he proceeded, alone, to Doncas- ter, and on the 25th, at noon, sat out for Hull. — " When we entered the boat," to cross Boo- them ferry, he says, " I perceived a poor slender old man, with an iron upon one wrist, under custody of a stout young man, who was con- veying him to Hull, to go on board a king's ship, as a punishment, by the law, for shooting a hare ! He seemed miserable, and vulgar, and unfit for any service at sea ; which was the opinion of an old boatman, who was certain they would reject him, as they had done others much fitter for the service. It is a strange cir- cumstance, that the law should make serving in the navy, our boast and pride, a punishment ! What injustice and degradation to our seamen, for the toils and hardships they endure, to make the commission of a crime the passport for admission into their society, and from thence acquiring a right to participate, when they occur, in their glorious battles, and well- earned honours and rewards. Now, when the navy is so stigmatized by law, can any honest man be expected to volunteer his services ?" He arrives that night " at the Cross Keys, in the market-place, Kingston upon Hull." The next day " called upon Mr. Wilkinson, and was received in a most friendly manner by him and Mrs. W" During his stay here, MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 83 Mr. Cooke made a part of Mr, Wilkinson's family, for dinner and supper, and lodged in *< Blanket-Row/' On the 3d of April, I find Mr. Cooke play* mg again as usual in London ; and on the I^tti* his birth day, when he had completed his fifty- third year, he began, perhaps for that reason, again to make memoranda of the passing* events of his life, but ceased after four days .attention. He was employed on the above day in copy- ing an inventory of household furniture, &c« taken, as I suppose, in consequence of the dis- solution of his domestic establishment. On the 19th he says, " a packet was delivered to me by Mrs. M'Naughton, containing the draft of a deed which I will not sign." The next day " a young man who was one of two who brought the packet yesterday, called for my answer to it, Such an answer as I could give, I gave. Mr* John Brandon called thi's morning, and I perceive he is a party in the business. Mr. Glassington, at the request of Mr. Henry Harris, called to desire me to take Monday the first of May for my night. I agreed to it, and we settled the night's enter tainments to be u A New Way to Pay Old Debts," a dance, and " The King and the Miller of Mansfield/ 1 On Friday morning, the 26th of May, 1S09, Mr, Cooke left London at six o'clock, and S4 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. arrived at Chichester in the evening. The next evening he played Shylock and Sir Archy M'Sarcasm. The next day in the afternoon he proceeded to Portsmouth, and on Monday evening the 29th, played the same parts that he had acted at Chichester the previous Satur- day. On Tuesday afternoon he returned to Chichester, and set out in the mail coach for London, where he arrived on Wednesday morn- ing about six. On Thursday evening, the first of June, he left London for Liverpool, where he arrived on the morning of the third. He opened on Mon- day the fifth in Sir Pertinax M'Sycophant. At this time Mr. Cooke played three weeks in Liverpool, with such success and so much to the satisfaction of Messrs. Lewis and Knight, the managers, that they presented him with a pair of silver cups, as a testimony of their hi?h sense of his unrivalled talents. This was an opportunity not to be missed by his witty friend, and accordingly we are told that it " was very satirical of Messrs. Lewis and Knight, for it was as if they had said, now, master Cooke, you have what you like — a cup too much" Mr. M'Cready came to Liverpool to accom- pany Mr. Cooke to Manchester, and on the 25th of June they left Liverpool, and arrived at Manchester the next day. That night Mr. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 85 Cooke played Richard, on Tuesday, Sir Per- tinax, ? and on Wednesday, Shylock and Sir Archy. The three nights produced near four hundred pounds. Mr. Rock, " who took Manchester in his way to Edinburgh/' now accompanied my hero to the latter place. They left Manchester on the 29th of June, 1809, and arrived in the metropolis of the once Scottish kingdom on the first of July. " On Monday, July the third/' says Mr. Cooke, " acted Richard, and between that and the 22d, eleven more nights. In the race week gave the managers two nights, which was wrong, and on Thursday* August the 7th, appeared in Gibby, for the benefit of Mr. Fawcett. During this visit to Edinburgh, I went twice to Roslin, an insig- nificant village, but the situation delightful. The ruins of the castle and chapel highly pic- turesque. The first day we (Mrs. Rock, Mrs. Young, Mrs. Vining, her mother, and myself,) dined at Dalkeith. A very pleasant day in every sense. On Tuesday, August the 15th, in company of a young lady of the late Edin- burgh company, (for the mimic sceptre had now fallen into the hands of Mr. Henry Sid- dons,) left town for Perth, by the Queen's Ferry and Kinross. We reached the former about nine at night, and took up our abode at the George Inn. The next day I removed to 86 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. commodious and neat lodgings, four stories high) a.id in the evening acted Richard. I afterwards played lago and Sir Archy ; Sir Pertinax ; Shylock and Sir Archy ; and finish- ed on Tuesday the 3S and I think he will not suffer as a poet by comparison with the intro- ducer of 46 Titty Tiffin/* or the writer of the Address. " How are we ruin'd" — by wits of the sock, A joke of the Thespian school ; Oft heard from Joe Munden, or fat Tony Rock, When sportive they're playing the fool. Across the Atlantic, when war's stern alarms, Called Britons the rebels to braye ; 92 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. And leave the fam'd Island with all its gay charms, Their country's bright honour to save— A chief led them on, 'mong warriors renown'd, Who danger and death was defying ; Yet quidnuncs at home, safe on their own ground, " Oh ! Howe — are we ruined ?" kept crying." A brief history of what has been called the Covent Garden, or O. P. Riot, shall conclude my chapter. From Monday the 18th of September, to Sa- turday the 22d, inclusive, though a play arid after-piece had been performed, nothing had been heard by the audience, but the noise they themselves made, except now and then a piece of a prose address, from Mr. Kemble, to per- suade them to be quiet. On the last mentioned night the house was closed by order of the Lord Chamberlain, until the accounts of the proprie- tors should be submitted to a committee com- posed of the Governor of the Bank of England, the Attorney General, the Solicitor General, and others, and their opinion had as to the pro- priety of raising the prices. On the 2d of October the public were in- formed that the committee, for examining the affairs of Covent Garden Theatre, consisting of Sir Charles Price, Sir Thomas Plomer, John Sylvester, Esq., John Whitmore, Esq., and John Julius Angerstdn, Esq., had decided in favour of raising the prices, and their reasons stated ; MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 93 the amount of which was, that, at the old prices, the proprietors would lose by their business. On the 4th of October, the house opened again, but John Bull declared himself unsatis- fied. Mr. Kemble made another speech, enforcing the report of the committee, but the public declared it all stuff, and continued to amuse themselves by all kinds of inharmonious noises, (including their own singing,) exhibitions of placards, dancing, mock-fighting, &c, until they thought proper to disperse. The honourable character of the gentlemen composing the committee, was not questioned, but the prevalent opinion was that they had been deceived, and were not competent to judge the question. The managers now resorted to force, and pugilists by profession were intro- duced to overawe, or beat out the rioters. The consequence was battles innumerable. The police interfered, and night after night, leaders of the rioters were dragged to Bow-street, and committed or forced to find bail in large sums, Mr. Kemble no longer appeared as a player on the stage, and when he came forward as manager, every indecent and opprobrious epithet was exhausted on him. Cooke appeared in Richard, Shylock, &c, but was not attended to more than his companions ; however, the mob used to cheer him, by way of letting him know that he was not an object of their dis~ 9+ MEMOIRS OF COOKE. pleasure, and a placard was exhibited with these words, " Cooke deserves our pity, Kcmble our contempt." Mn William Cobbctt, who is well l^nown for the energy and clearness of his style, offered his opinion to the public on the subject in dispute* and in some measure proposed himself as me> diator between the high contending parties. " In this case," says he, " as in all others where there are numerous parties, and where the quarrel is of any length of duration, the grounds of the quarrel change, and at this mo- ment the O. P. means no hired bruisers, no legal prosecution, much more than it means Old Prices. The advance of price has been lost sight of, amidst the scuffles in the pit, the ex- aminations at Bow-street, and the commitments to Bridewell. These are what the public now complain of, nor will it be very easy to wear them from their minds. The number of those who have had a relation, a friend, an acquaint- ance, or a neighbour* dragged by thief-takers before police-justices, and by those justices dealt with, is now not small, and every day it must become greater ; so that if the dispute continue much longer^ inevitable ruin must fall upon the Theatre. " There appeared to me to be something very unwise, on the part of the managers, at the first MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 95 setting off. To show the water-engines to the audience ; to treat them with such inexpressible contempt, and especially before it was possible for them to be met for the purpose of oppo- sition, was, to say the least of it^ extremely unwise. This unequivocal mark of contempt, together with the construction of the house, by which the middling class of people were shut out from their usual chance of comfortable and conspicuous places, seems to have been the great cause of an opposition to the thing, blended with resentment against Mr. Kemble, who appeared of course to be the author of the unmerited indkmitv. After this it is no won- der that he became the great object of attack ; that he became more obnoxious than all other persons and things put together; that neither his person, his character, nor his family, were spared. " Amongst the terms of reproach which Mr. Kemble has, through his want of discre- tion at the onset, brought upon himself, is th?t of upstart. So true it is, that when once people are thoroughly angry, they never think of what they say, a Mr. Kemble and his sister have been cele- brated as players for upwards of twenty years, I believe ; and ought they, at the end of twenty years of a life of such labour, to be called up- starts^ because they are said to possess consider- 96 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. able fortunes ? How would any man, who by his industry or talent, has acquired a fortune, like to be, on that account, called an upstart? No man would like it ; and, really, I am afraid, that this treatment of the Kembles, if it be persevered in, must have the effect of prevent- ing in future any very great endeavours to arrive at excellence in acting. It must have a ten- dency to degrade the whole thing, ahd make stage playing little more than grimace and buffoonery. " From the first it struck me to be a viola- tion of the rights of property, to attempt to compel people to sell entertainment at the price pointed out by the purchaser. In a common case, there is no doubt at all that it would be so ; but, then, in this case, comes the argument of the patent, and the monopoly. But this has little weight ; though it forms distinction be- tween this and common cases, it does not, after all that I have, since last week, attentively read on the subject, appear to me to be con- clusive against the managers. u A monopoly always means an exclusive leave to do whatever the grant allows of. Now, this is not the case in the present instance ; for, not only may others obtain permission to act plays, but plays are actually exhibited by other persons, at this very time, and in the same metropolis. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 97 " I shall be told, that the other persons have not such convenient places, and such good actors; but, really, I cannot think this will be seriously urged, against the charge of a shilling move for the boxes, and sixpence more for the pit, at Covent Garden Theatre ; I cannot be- lieve this at any rate." Mr. Cobbett proposes the following steps to be taken by the managers, to bring about a re- conciliation. u I. The circle of the private boxes should be done away, and the whole of the space thrown open to the whole of the public, as in the old theatre. c; 2. The "pigeon holes" as they are called, should be done away, and the shilling gallery thrown open. " 3. All the actions and prosecutions , arising out of the row 7 , should be dropped instantly. u 4. A declaration from Mr. Kemble, in person, on the part of the whole of the managers, that they recognize, in the fullest sense of the words, an absolute right in the audience or in any of the audience assembled at the theatre, to ex- press, either by signs or noises of any sort, their disapprobation of any person, or of any thing within the theatre/* " Amongst the " terms of peace," as they were called, proposed some time ago, were included a begging of pardon on the part VOL. II, h 98 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. of Mr. Kemble, and the dismission of Mr. Brandon. This was excusable, perhaps, under the circumstances of the moment; but I am sure, or at least I hope, that there is no English- man, who, upon cool reflection, would propose such a thing. There is a meanness in the idea of inflicting vengeance upon Mr. Brandon, and especially as the party inflicting it, would be always hidden from the party on whom it was inflicted. And, as to bringing Mr. Kemble forward for the express purpose of begging par- don; to compel him to come forth like a cul- prit, and humble himself before a promiscuous assembly, including, no doubt, all his private enemies ; to in&ist upon degrading any human being in such a way, as I am sure it is what no man with a drop of English blood in his veins would demand, so I hope, that, for the credit of the English stage, for the honour of theatrical talent, and of literature, it is what nothing upon earth would induce Mr. Kemble to sub- mit to." The reader will soon see how far the " mean idea of inflicting vengeance upon Mr. Brandon" was carried ; how amiably the managers sub- mitted to be the instruments of vengeance inflicted on a man for zealously serving them and their interests ; and how prettily they not only apologized, but apologized for not apolo- gizing sooner. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 99 On the first of November, Mr. Clifford, a barrister, was taken before the magistrates for wearing O. P. in his hat ; but persisted in his having a right so to do, and was acquitted. He from henceforward became the favourite, and in fact the leader of the O. P/s. Mr. Clifford commenced an action against Mr. Brandon for assault, and false imprisonment, and a verdict was given in his favour. On the 14th of December the O. P/s had a dinner at the Crown and Anchor, Mr. Clifford in the chair. He informed the company that he had had an interview with Mr. Kemble, who was now present, and that a disposition prevailed on the part of the proprietors to remove griev- ances and conciliate the public. The meeting appears to have been nearly as riotous as the late theatrical pit-meetings, but the result was, that the private boxes should be reduced to what they were in 1802, the prices of the boxes to be 7$. and the pit to be reduced to the old price, 3s. 6d. All actions and prosecutions to be dropped. Mr. Kembie stood up amidst tumults of applause, and made a speech of thanks to the gentlemen, He then repaired to the theatre, and from the stage made known the treaty which he had concluded with the representa- tives of the public. h 2 100 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. The sovereign people were tolerably satisfied* but insisted on Mr. Brandon's discharge, for having been very active in promoting the inter- ests of his employers, the managers. This affair not being settled on this evening, the theatre was kept in continued riot for one more night of exhibition. The next day Mr. Kemble was advertised for Penruddock, and at the foot of the bills appeared a statement of the con- cessions and apology of the proprietors. At an early hour the theatre was crowded. Some person from the dress boxes informed the public, that he was authorized to say, that Mr. Brandon was discharged. The people, how- ever, vociferated Kemble, and he, obedient to their call, came forward dressed for Penruddock, and in a short speech confirmed the information. Something more was demanded, and a letter signifying the public wish handed to Mr. Kemble. No answer being returned, the riot commenced again, and the first act of the piece was lost. Mr. Kemble at length came forward, and said, 6; Ladies and Gentlemen — I under- stand that offence has been given by the intro- duction of improper persons into the theatre, during the late disputes. I have to ask pardon for not apologizing sooner. In my own name, and in the name of my fellow proprietors, I beg leave to express our regret 'for what has MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 101 taken place ; and to state, that our first care shall be, that no such occurrence shall ever more happen again." This was the final speech on the occasion, by- Mr. Kemble, as stated in the Monthly Mirror of the time, and thus ended the O. P. riot on the 15th of December, 1809, having continued S6 days. I will insert Mr. Cooke's account of this affair, (omitting what has been anticipated,) and of himself, during the continuance of the riots. *■ The proprietors deemed it necessary to advance the prices by an additional shilling on the boxes, and six-pence on the pit; the galleries remained as usual. The violent and indecorous commotion that arose, if not unprecedented, was never exceeded in any public place." " On Wednesday the 20th Sept. I attempted Richard. The riot conti- nued, not a speech heard." u On Tuesday after- noon, the 3d of October, sat out in the Tele- graph for Leicester/' Here he lodged in the same house with Mr. M'Cready, the manager, and after playing four nights, returned to London on the 9th. " Tuesday morning the 10th, at six o'clock, in company of young Gag, went from the Golden +, Charing +, in the Cheltenham coach to Oxford, where we dined. We had 102 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. two pleasant fellow-travellers, who here left us; and young Gag and myself proceeded post to Birmingham, which we reached about mid- night. 1 remained while 1 staid, at young Gag's lodgings. Next morning saw old Gag. Played Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Richard first and last, and Sir Pertinax in the middle. Leicester very far more pleasant and profitable than Birmingham. On Saturday evening, the 14th Oct. turned my back upon the town, and arrived at five in the afternoon of next day at home. " On Saturday afternoon, the 9th of Decem- ber, (the riots at the theatre still continuing nightly, sat out in a post-chaise, supped, and slept at Guilford, and at one P. Ml the next day, arrived at the Crown in Portsmouth. On Monday evening acted lago, on Tuesday Sir Pertinax, the receipts great. After supper, on the latter night, posted back to town. " On Thursday the 14th, the rioters had a dinner at the Crown and Anchor. Mr. Kem- ble attended them, and a peace was patched up, not the most honourable, which was ratified, as tar as it could be, that night at the theatre ; and the next, Mr. Kemble made his second appearance in the season, and was well received/ 5 MEMOIRS OF COOKE, 103 CHAP- XXIII. Mr. Cooke 9 s degraded Situation in London, in the Season of 1 SQ9- 10 — Trouble he caused to the Managers — Plays Henry the Sth~ Plays for the last Time in London on the 5th June, 1810 — Editor of the Monthly Mirror made to satirize Himself — Epitaph on Mr. Cooke. The O. P. riot over, and the business of the theatre going on once more as usual, I find that Mr. Cooke received a full share again of that attention from the periodical publications of the day, which had been suspended by matter of more moment. My degraded hero seems to be the theme of each witling ; and the notoriety of his weakness, with that loss of consequence which he had in a great measure brought upon himself, seem to have driven him to more frequent aberrations, and to more piti- able exhibitions of his shame. On the 25th of December, Mr. Cooke was advertised as the representative of Horatius, in the Roman Father. He came on the stage merely to expose himself. He was incapable of speaking, and was led off amidst the tumul« 104' MEMOIRS OF COOKE. tuous marks of disapprobation, which he so justly merited. On the 28th he was announced for Shy- lock, but did not make his appearance at the theatre, and after much tumult, Mr. Charles Kemble was permitted to represent the cha- racter. The trouble which Mr. Cooke's behaviour about this time, and perhaps before^ gave to the managers of the theatre, must have been immeasurable. They could not calculate upon him from one hour to another. Sometimes when they supposed him to be sober, he came to the theatre, and created riot and confusion, by insisting upon going before the public, utterly incompetent to perform that for which he was pledged ; and sometimes when he was in a state of comparative sanity, he would deli- berately determine that he would not play, and either go to some place where he would not easily be found, or send word that he could not, or would not, act that evening. It is related of him, that with predetermina- tion he once had his Richard's dress removed privately from the theatre to his lodgings, being advertized for that character, to be per- formed the next night, and instead of going to dress for the part as usual, he prepared himself at home, and rode to a place near the theatre, where he waited until the very moment of MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 105 ringing up the curtain, knowing full well what the feelings of his friend John would be; and then, at the moment when Mr. Kemble was preparing to step forward with an apology, and perhaps to offer his own Richard, as a substi- tute, in marches the true Richard, and takes his place at the side, ready to begin. He has told me that once he dined alone at tt coffee-house in the vicinity of the theatre on the day of his performing, with the full inten- tion of going early to his dressing-room; but after dinner, the thought suggested itself that he would not play that night, and he deter^ mined that he would not play. " I had not been drinking at the time/' said he, " but I felt the humour come over me, and I indulged it — a kind of madness — and there I sate in- dulging in a kind of reverie, but determined that I would not go to the theatre. Mr. Kem- ble, however, heard that I was not in my dress- ing-room ; the alarm spread, and after a time he found out where I was ; so he came in, and after a little chat I gave up the whim, and went with him and acted as well as ever I did." On the 8th of January, 1S10, Mr. Cooke was again announced, and for Richard the Third. The house was crowded and an apology was expected. Accordingly he came forward pre- viously to assuming the lofty demeanour of the 106 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. triumphant Duke of Gloster, as a pitiful sup- pliant to crave indulgence, and to promise what he could never hope to perform. He addressed the audience and entreated their indulgence, but when he came to u If you will restore me once more to the favour I enjoyed, I promise—" he was interrupted by plaudits, and dismissed, to assume a more brilliant, if not more virtuous, character. Poor Cooke ! it was time that you should be removed from the scene of such humiliation ; for in removal was the only hope that now remained of refor- mation. He continued to play very steadily, and with his usual excellence, those great parts in which he shone with an unrivalled lustre, but his attraction had in a great degree ceased ; and no actress's husband, or dramatic author, or dramatic author's friend, thought it worth their trouble to make particular mention of him in the way of praise, and to dispraise that which all had concurred to admire, they dared not. But on the 5th of May, Mr. Gooke appeared in a new character, and the opportunity was eagerly seized to write him still further down with the public. The opportunity offered was his playing the character of Henry the Eighth. Public opinion did not shield him from a blow in this part, and those who had been shooting the pointless MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 107 shafts of their wit at him for some time past, now hurled venom and filth on his head with the most shameless effrontery. On the 5th of June Mr. Cooke played Fal- staff, in the 1st part of Henry Fourth. This was the last time he play in London. He soon after left the metropolis of England, never more to return. The review I have taken of Mr. Cooke's life to the present period, impresses upon me fully and deeply a sense of injustice done him as an actor, which, however great his demerits as a man, must have been keenly felt ; and which, undoubtedly, soured his mind, and fitted him for listening with an eager ear to the proposals which were accidentally made to him by Mr. Cooper. He was discontented with his situation in London, and felt that he was overwhelmed by a hostile interest in the the- atre, to which he was attached. He felt that the time had gone by when he had power to combat that influence ; that he had no longer energy enough to erect the standard of oppo- sition ; and that external and internal enemies had lowered him in the estimation of the public. With these feelings, it is not to be wondered at, that he should wish for a change of scene, and a chance of a renewal of those triumphs which had once raised him to the pinnacle of histrionic fame, and to a respect- 10S MEMOIRS OF COOKE. able footing in his own and the public estima- tion. The Monthly Mirror was the vehicle for most of those pitiful witticisms which drove Mr. Cooke to increased acts of madness, and finally drove him from his country. I have before mentioned them, and will now insert, from among the truly valuable communications made to the work, a portion of u A distressing Case. By the author of My Pocket-Book." An author who has done essential service to the cause of literature. This paper is the most severe and cutting satire upon the editor of the Monthly Mirror that the wit of man could devise ; for, under the pretence of lashing those who are the ob- jects of the editor's witticisms, this real wit, by making him insert burlesque specimens of his own style, exhibits him in the ludicrous attitude and employment of a man so holding a mirror as to expose his own deformities. The writer represents himself as a man anxiously watching for opportunities to pun and quibble upon the names or notorious pro- pensities of public characters, and more especially w ishing for the death of such per- sonages, that he may publish the ready-made epitaphs he has composed, upon the editor's plan. First he states his disappointment, arising MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 109 from the good health and safe return of Mrs. Jordan from Ireland ; then his disappointed hope that Mr. Bate Dudley would be knock'd i'the head by the peep o* day boys in the same kingdom. tc Then/' says he, there's Mr. Hook, a dramatist, who is every season in imminent danger of damnation. Very well, he's damned, but he won't die — and why should he follow his works, if he finds that good judges don't approve them ? He afterwards proceeds— <; Was not Sir John Carr a bird of promise ? • — but has he not boxed the compass in his tours, and yet constantly returned in a whole skin — always saving and excepting his travels in the court of King's Bench!" cc There is no chance for me in this quarter — good authors may die — " Heav'n takes the good, too good on earth to stay* " And leaves the bad, too bad to take away." " Lastly, for I will trouble you with no more, there is Mr. Cooke — there was a subject for you — all hope/ He was not a week in town before I had him in my collection, but to what purpose ? — Oh ! it is a gross imposition to report that brandy is poison — believe me, a mere bugbear, manifestly invented by old women to keep it all to themselves ! Had there been a shadow of truth in it, do you imagine that the man could have been alive and merry now, who has himself alone, since his arrival in London, 110 MEMOIRS OP COOKE. drunk more than even Mr. Sheridan ? — that is to say, more than would have destroyed all the rats in the united kingdom, and Hanover into the bargain ! Nonsense. There is a provi- dence over a drunken man, and there's an end of it! " The epitaphs of these five I will keep no longer— their case is hopeless I" He then, after continuing his strain of satire upon the editor, to whom he has sent the essay for publication, some time longer, with equal severity concludes : " That I am not so dull though as ridiculous as many, is a tribute which I claim as my due. Allons." Of the epitaphs, I will insert that on Mr. Cooke. " ON MR. COOKE : " Who lost his Life by falling into a Well, in his Way to keep an Assignation in a Church-yard at Manchester. I had prevailed with Mr. Cooke to quit England, when he was prevented by ebriety from exerting his judgment and free wiil upon the occasion. It is possible that this slander may reach London ; and, as Mr. Cooke is an object of considerable public interest, may find its way into the journals. ' 1 assure you, on my word of honour, that this is an absolute falsehood ; that the negotiation for the engage- ment under which Mr. Cooke has embarked, was commenced about the 6th of August last, and w r as completed on the third instant, in the moment of perfect sobriety, and entire under- standing of all the arrangements : the secrecy that attended the mode of embarkation, was only to prevent the solicitation of his friends in Liverpool, which might distress him, and which he determined to avoid, as he was resolved upon the step he was about to take. My object is to request, that, if such falsehoods as I have hinted at, should find their way into the MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 145 London papers, you will have the goodness to dedicate a portion of your paper to the denial of the allegation. Requesting you will pardon the intrusion, I am, &c. u Thomas A. Cooper/* The amazing wit and wondrous severity dis- played by the English periodical prints on this occasion, particularly by the well-informed and intelligent editor of the Monthly Mirror, passes imagination. Cooper and Cooke were fchUA equally guilty, but it was agreed that to' visit America was punishment sufficient for any crime. "They are both transported, and let justice be satisfied." This voyage threw some rays of splendour over the last years of the veteran actor, and probably lengthened his life more than any circumstance likely to have happened in his native country ; for those habits which pro- duced disease, and that disease which termi- nated his existence, were fixed before he left England, and their effects were suspended by the new motives, which arose to call forth his better energies in another hemisphere. On the fourth of October, 1810, George Frederick Cooke embarked on board the ship Columbia, Capt. Joshua Hazard, for New-York. Mr. Cooper had previously made shipment of two precious commodities for the American market, a Mr. Doige, who .was -to be principal VOL, IT, L 146 MEMOIRS OF COOKE, low comedian, and Mr. Smalley, a little great singer, who had been brought out in London some years before, at Covent Garden, as Master Smalley, and was probably one among the wonders of the time, a young Orpheus, or infant Incledon. As I shall probably never again mention these worthies, I will here record their fate— the first, Doige, died of a dropsy, and Master Smalley was bribed by the managers to break his article, and run away from them. Soon after Cooke came on board, another Thespian appeared, coming from the Chester side, and Mr. M'Farland mounted the deck, having determined suddenly to travel for the benefit of his health and fortunes. His travels, and those of George Frederick, had like to have been speedily terminated : for scarcely had Cooper left the ship, when she was boarded by a revenue officer, who demand- ed of the passengers their names, and the places' of their birth. This complied with, he then asked to see the Captain's papers, and, after examination, declared that the names of Messrs. Cooke and M'Farland were not entered at the Custom-House, and that they must therefore get into the boat, and return to Liverpool. In this dilemma they went down into the cabin, and consulted the Captain, and the hint was suggested by some one of the company^ MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 147 that the difficulty might be removed, and the opinion of the officer changed, by a reasonably weighty argument, impressed with the sanction of his royal master's countenance. The officer, who doubtless expected some ingenious opposition to his order, sent one of his attendants to remind the gentlemen that he waited for them. M'Farland, who was without the species of eloquence required, begged of Cooke to speak for both ; who accordingly, without preface, presented his reasons for not going ashore, in the shape of a guinea. The underling shook his head — scratched it — and shook it again. " O, no, master, this won't do." " Won't do? How so?" " What, only one ? — O, no, that won't do.' J " Well there — there's another." « Why, aye — but t'other gentleman ?" " That's for both." u Won't do. — What ! — we know the gentle* man — consider — the risk — O, no." Cooke, cursing the fellow, added another guinea, which the officer's officer received, with the others, as their passport, and returning to his superior, the boat put off to the shore, to report that all was well, and the passengers cleared according to established form. Cooke who had been under the influence of a high toned course of stimulants for some time l 2 I4S MEMOIRS OF COOKE. past, felt the necessity of a farewell glass to the white cliffs of Albion, and the first day was closed by a quarrel with the Captain, who was obliged to threaten violence before his trouble- some inmate could be induced to go to his birth for the night. Dissatisfaction and mad intemperance always went hand in hand with George Frederick ; and this state of body and mind now continued, until the intemperance was stopped by sickness, and the dissatisfaction proportionably augmented by the same cause. He vented his complaints in no way pleasant strains on all around him ; he cursed his voyage, himself, and Cooper; and every roll of the ship was accompanied by his impatient exclamations of regret at having left his native shores, and reproaches alternately applied to himself and his friend Tom. Sickness at length ceased to torment him; and fortunately, during his illness, his com- panions had drank up every drop of porter, wine, brandy, and in short, every thing stronger than water, that the ship had been provided with. The fare 'of the table was exceeding plain, and there was nothing for the glass but Thames- water, undergoing its purgation. Cooke now enjoyed the providence of Cooper, who had supplied him with some bottles of essence of lemon, which made him a pleasant beverage. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 14$ Books, such as he most liked, had been provided for the amusement of his tedious confinement. His appetite, which was ordinarily very poor, now became excellent, his strength was per- fectly repaired, and after a fortnight of this wholesome privation, he arrived at New r -York, in better health than he had enjoyed for years. His body and his mind were restored to apparent sanity, and he was prepared to enter upon a new state of existence, in a new world ; nothing was wanting but common prudence to have retrieved all his errors, and made him, as a man, worthy of his high gifts as an actor. Nothing more favourable to the breaking up the old train of images and habits, which de- graded this extraordinary man, can be conceived, than, being thus removed from all the haunts of his former idleness, or weakness, and intro- duced among a people, who, in the splendour of his reputation, as an actor, sunk the stories which tell-tale fame had spread of the man ; and, who were willing to receive him with every respect and honour due to his uncommon talents. There are instances on record, of persons who, after experiencing the evils proceeding from excess, and having become so much the slaves of habit, as to be unable to trust them- selves with a single stimulating drop, have resolved to refrain altogether, arid have tri- 150 MEMOIRS OF COOKE* umphantly kept their resolves. Every one caq do so. If George Frederick Cooke, after experiencing the good effects, which he always acknow- ledged, of fourteen days' abstinence, had made and held to such a resolution, what a noble triumph he would have afforded to the friends of rare and exalted genius ! MEMOIRS OF The hair-dresser and honest Sam, having performed their respective offices, and a large glass of stiff brandy toddy having been swal- lowed as a restorative, he attended upon his friend Bernard, as gay as one-and-twenty, to Mr. Gardiner's church. Here Mr. Cooke, not- withstanding the preacher's eloquence and his own efforts to the contrary, fell asleep ; to the no little annoyance of his companion, and the amusement of those near him, and awoke in time to walk very decently out of the church with the rest of the congregation. After church he proceeded with Mr. Price to fulfil an engagement with Mr, Stuart, he having promised to sit to him for the finishing of his portrait for Mr. Price. He began the sitting very cheerfully, having been much refreshed under the influence of the brandy toddy and the sermon, and Stuart, always full of anecdote, which he happily applies to keep alive the attention of his patients and elicit the pecu- liarities of their characters, exerted himself to keep up the animation which sparkled in George Frederick's eyes ; but after a short time, all his endeavours were in vain. His eloquence failed as much as the parson's, and 186 MEMOIRS OF COOKE, the subject of his attention dropped his chin upon his breast, and slept as comfortably as though he had gone a second time to church. Stuart had tried to rouze him by — ft A little more up, if you please — a little more this way" ■ — but finding all in vain, he very deliberately put down pencil and pallet, and took out his snuff-box. The painter having made this appeal to his nose, got up — took another pinch — looked at Cooke — shrugged his shoulders — walked to the fire-place, and then continued to apply the stimulating dust in most immoderate quantities like the representative of Sir Fretful in the Critic. Cooke at length awoke, and addressing im- self to the chair Stuart had left vacant, protested that he believed he had been asleep. " I beg pardon, Mr. Stuart, I will be more attentive/' Stuart, who stood behind him, gave no other answer but, " The picture's finish'd, Sir." And then applied with increasing diligence to the snuff-box. From the house of the painter, George Frede- rick repaired to another dinner-party ; and some gentlemen who called in about nine in the evening found him full of wine, life, and whim, the very spirit of the party surrounding him, MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 187 Among the guests, was a youn^ and distin- guished actcr, who, enlivened by surrounding circumstances, descanted rather fully upon his own talents. Cooke led him on, praised him, made him praise himself, until having worked him up to the point he wished, he asked him who had been his model ? " Mr. , Sir; I have studied him in Hamlet, Sir, and in Benedict — but his Romeo — did you see my Romeo — there was himself : when he says, turning to Juliet, which brings his back to the audience, " How r so ? I left him well." " Yes, but he would have t'other bottle for a parting glass wi'me ; and he went to bed little better than intoxicated this morning." Here was another reverse. He had just 216 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. taken enough of the stimulus at Dr. Hosack's to make him feel well, and to banish, with the assistance of that effort at self-delusion so common to all men, the fear of returning ill, and the remembrance of former danger and misery. I thought the journey at an end, and walked up stairs with little expectation of leaving New^York that day. However, I was disappointed. He was in bed, but as soon as he saw 7 me, apologized for not being ready ; said he would get up instantly, and 1 told him I would walk to the sloop and return in an hour. I directed honest Sam to assist him, and to send the bag- gage to the vessel. He gave no intimation of the last night's excess, and I never told him that I had knowledge of it. When I returned he was ready. Doctor M'Leai} called in, and walked with us to the sloop. Cooke was restless, and complained of pain in his breast before he left Bry den's, and contrived by stealth to get " a doctor," being ashamed to confess the cause of his ill feelings. During our passage over the Bay, he was cheerful and chatty, but as we approached the narrow pass to the sea, the w 7 ind became high and the waves rough. He sat forward on the windlass, became silent, and at length, as the waves broke over us, he retired below, chilled by the east wind, and damp from the spray, MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 217 He now became sick with chills and spasms, and Sam came up to tell me that it was neces- sary to give him another " Doctor." Sam had had experience, and I suffered him to pre- scribe. The desired effect was produced, and * the patient arrived at Perth Amboy, and trod on the shores of New Jersey in apparent health, and with a cheerful flow of animal spirits. The place of my family's residence was at this nominal city, but real village, situated on a commanding point of land, formed by the river Raritan on its south, and Arthurkull Sound on its east side, dividing it from Staten Island ; over the low but picturesque point of which, Amboy looks out to a spacious bay of twenty miles depth, to the heights of Mon- mouth, the mountains of Navisink, Sandy Hook, and the Atlantic Ocean. I led my companion to my home, and never man appeared to greater advantage in the quiet of a domestic circle, than he did for the remain- der of this day and evening. Attentive, polite, full of cheerfulness, and abounding with anecdotes, which he related with all the urba- nity of the finished gentleman of the vieile cour, giving and asking for information, he seemed to forget the evils of the past, and to anticipate for the future nothing but good. After eating i hearty dinner, with the appetite of health* he 215 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. walked with me to see the magnificent hotel > which had been lately erected in this pleasant town, with a view to making it a summer resort for the gay and fashionable inhabitants of the rich and rival cities of Philadelphia and New York. On our return, a renewal of the same scene of pleasantry and politeness took place; we ate a hearty supper of oysters, which are peculiarly fine at this place, owing to the junc- tion of the fresh water of the Raritan with the Atlantic brine ; and having taken a few more glasses of Madeira, my companion went to bed contented with himself, and leaving me full of hope for my enterprize. At 8 o'clock, on the morning of the 19th, he arose, delighted with having slept, as he always insisted to the day of his death, better than he had for years, and after a hearty break- fast, began his journey by land to Philadelphia. The clay was mild, the sky serene, and in a commodious carriage, with a good-natured driver, we proceeded pleasantly on our way, stopping at Brunswick, and at other stages on the road, without once recurring to that prac- tice, so reprehensible in travellers, of drinking jbecause their horses drink. At the fork of the road on the new turnpike, near Princeton, we stopped at an inn and con- sulted on the route that we should take, which was finallv determined for Princeton. The MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 219 sign was a figure of Washington, so called, of uncommon bad execution and design, even for a country inn. While loitering at the door, and chatting with the landlord, I made some remarks on the sign, which, but for the blue and buff uniform, ■ might have passed for Hudi- bras, and asked the name of the artist. " Oh/' says mine host, u it's a young fellow in the neighbourhood, who don't know much about it, to be sure, but you see what he meant by the letters underneath — for the matter o'that, it's as bad as if you yourself had done it." Cooke, who knew my pretensions to portrait painting, laughed heartily, and treasured up the anecdote for my friends in New York and Philadelphia. At Princeton we dined, and proceeded to Trenton, to put up for the night. He joined me in a dish of tea, and while we were at the tea-table, he pleasantly talked over the incidents of the day, descanted upon the change of his feelings after arriving at Amboy, and sportively planned a rural retirement for his age, with peace, competence, and a pottage. The next morning, after walking about the town, and viewing the ground on which the Hessians were attacked, and taken prisoners, in the latter part of 1776, we proceeded on our way to Philadel- phia. We had entered the state of New Jersey at 220 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. the town which was its capital when a pro- vince; we left it on departing from its present capital, and crossing the Delaware upon a noble and picturesque bridge, suspended under the arches which are thrown over the river, so as to form a platform for travellers. On reaching the western bank of the Delaware, we entered the rich and powerful state of Pennsylvania, and about two o'clock arrived at its metropolis, Philadelphia. On approaching Philadelphia, a traveller from New York is forcibly struck with the more thronged state of the avenues, and the greater bustle and appearance of population. New York, almost surrounded by water, is approached principally on that element. The superior cheapness and convenience of water-conveyance causes all produce to be brought in boats; and from the coasts of the sea, from Long- Island, from New Jersey, from Connecticut, and the more eastern states, and down the majestic Hudson, the riches of the surrounding country are wafted by the stream or the tide, to the great emporium of the northern states : not so Philadelphia — the products of the north and west, must be brought to her by land, and on your approach, the numbers of heavy waggons, drawn by a race of large framed draught horses, going to and returning from the city, and inces- santly occupying the road, gives an appearance MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 221 of business, and crowded population, which a stranger arriving from the rival city, has not been accustomed to. This novelty struck my companion forcibly. He was silent, and atten- tive to surrounding objects, as we drove over the pavements of Frankfort and the Northern Liberties, till at length he exclaimed, 46 I have not seen any thing like this before/' We drove to the Mansion House Hotel, and there took up our abode ; having procured a large dining-room and two chambers for our exclusive use. This noble building had been the residence of the Bingham family, and though in the centre of the city, is surrounded by a garden and spacious court-yards. A more agreeable situation we could not have hade 222 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. CHAP. XXIX. Mr. Cooke arrives in Philadelphia , Wednes- day, March QOth, 1811 — Makes known his Determination not to play until the Monday following — Rehearses Richafd — Dines at Mr. Wood's — Attends FennelVs Recitations — Mr. Francis — Mr. John Henry — Walk to the Schuylkill — Chit chat — Managers — Digges — Church-yards — A General 9 s Monu- ?nent — Power to refrain from III. The equanimity of self-possession which had been Mr. Cooke's companion since our leaving New-York, seemed to forsake him after we entered the city of Philadelphia.— He ap- peared agitated — he was peevish in his mode of speaking to the driver — and I doubt not but he felt a great anxiety as to the reception he should meet on this new field of action. The Managers of the Philadelphia theatre had, according to a first arrangement, advertised Mr. Cooke to play Richard on Wednesday, March 20th, but on receiving my letter, stating that we should not be in that city until Wednesday, they had apologized, saying, that in consequence of in- MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 223 disposition, Mr. Cooke could not be ready to play on Wednesday, but that he would appear in Richard on Friday, the 22d. This apology and advertisement he had seen in a Philadelphia paper at Trenton : he now recurred to the sub- ject, and with great bitterness exclaimed, " If I am too unwell to play on Wednesday, how do they know that I shall be well enough to play on Friday ! I will not play on Friday ! After dinner Messrs. Wood and Warren called upon us, and Cooke persisted in his determina- tion not to play on Friday, but said that on the Monday following he should probobly be well enough, and strong enough to play. Mr. Wood went away to announce this further disappoint- ment to the public, and Mr. Warren remained with us, and accompanied us to the theatre. It was soon buzzed about that Cooke was in the boxes, and the attention of the audience was drawn from the actors on the stage who were representing the M Busy Body," and every eye turned to the box where the great actor was. The adjoining boxes were soon crowded with curious impertinents, who showed little more delicacy than the canaille do when an Indian or a strange beast passes through the streets. Warren led Cooke to the green-room ; and I went to make a few calls among my friends, leaving my companion to renew acquaintance with some of his former English associates. 22i MEMOIRS OF COOKE. who now were members of the Philadelphia company. When I returned to the Hotel, I found him at supper, with a glass of punch before him, and the evening passed harmlessly and agreeably. The next day after our arrival, Thursday, March 21st, Mr. Cooke rehearsed Richard. The weather had increased to, what appeared at this early season, summer heat ; and from this change, or some other cause, the veteran did not feel amiable, or behave with a due degree of suavity, among the .strangers. He during a part of the rehearsal, " threw out his voice," as he termed it, to try the bouse ; and the power he displayed caused looks of surprize among those around, which produced a pleasure more than adequate to the cause. He occasionally directed, commanded, and reproved, some of the younger members of the company, with peevishness, and undue asperity. After the rehearsal, he went to walk with the managers and see the city, while I attended to other engagements, having promised to meet him at Mr. Wood's, where we were to dine by invitation. We accordingly met and dined at Mr. Wood's, and I saw realized all that insanity of conduct, and licentiousness of speech, of which I had before heard much, but had never yet seen an exhibition. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 225 The party was principally theatrical, and after dinner, unfortunately the wine circulated more freely than the wit. My hero, who had protested in the morning that he would take care of himself, and only drink wine and water, was supplied by the politeness of his host with some good old port, which he threw down without remorse; but I cannot say without shame, for his eye most assiduously avoided mine, which probably he perceived had an ex- pression of anxious watchfulness in it. The afternoon was oppressively warm, and seeing that Cooke's fate for the day was nxed, I re- tired to the house of a friend, and took tea. Between eight and nine o'clock I returned to Mr. Wood's, and before I entered the door heard the high and discordant notes of George Fre- derick's voice. I found the party increased by the addition of some New-York and Philadel- phia gentlemen, who had been dining together elsewhere, and knowing that the veteran bac- chanalian was here, called in to see him. And they saw an exhibition of him, in all the eccen- tricity of madness. Mr. Wood, whose habits were those of temperance, and whose health was delicate, had, according to a custom u more honoured in the breach than the observance/' pushed about the bottle, and tasted to prove that it was good; and was now primed with mirth, and so charged with words, that they VOL, II, Q 226 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. flowed, or rather were thrown out, high, noisy 9 and foaming like the incessant stream of a jet (T eau. Cooke, infinitely annoyed by this never ceasing eloquence, from a yankee manager, at a time too when he felt that all should attend to him, would interrupt his host by striking his fist on the table, and crying out with a tremendous shout, " Hear me, Sir !" When I came in, he immediately made way forme near him, exclaiming, "Ah! I see I was mistaken. I have been telling them that you were in bed by this time ; but I see how it is, you have been taking your tea. He owns himself to be a tea-sot. He is the only man that shall command George Frederick Cooke, and I put myself under his orders." W one of the new-comers, who was mis- chievously filling up bumpers for Cooke, and persuading him, the moment after drinking, that he neglected to drink, whispered me, " I sup- pose then your orders will be sailing orders. 5 ' I begged him to desist from his sport, and he and his companions went off, professing that they were going to prepare for a ball. " A ball ! n exclaimed Cooke, as they bade him good night, and went off, they reel, from the bottle to the ball ! If ever I have an oppor- tunity of quizzing these yankees, Fll remember this. Fll not forget the drunken gentlemen in their dirty boots going to a ball! n But it's MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 227 just like every thing else in the damn'd coun- try" ' Mr, Wood, who, was sufficiently under the influence of his own good wine, not to see the uselessness of opposing Cooke, instead of laugh- ing, began seriously to explain. 66 But, my dear Sir, they are only going to change their dress before going to a ball/' " Don't talk to me, Sir! Pretty fellows for the company of ladies, just from the tavern, the cigar, and the bottle !" ff But, my dear Sir" • Then Cooke would dash his fist on the table, with the tremendous " Hear me, Sir!" which always produced silence after a laugh at the ludicrous impropriety of his peremptory tone and manner. " They don't know what belongs to gentlemen, and have no idea of the decency and suavity of politeness. — My dear D — , sit down by mfe —don't leave me again — did'n't I throw out my voice this morning — Ah, ha! — haw! Ah, ha ! — I astonished the yankee actors ! — I gave it them — I'll show these fellows what acting Wood. " You frightened some of our young men, Sir, but they are clever lads, I'll assure C™ a Clever are they ? 1 wonder how you are to find it out. But you're all alike !". q S 228 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. W . " My dear Sir, I have seen you act when you were surrounded by dire dogs/' C . " The worst of them, better than the best of you. 55 W— — . " Jack B , now, he's a clever lad, but you won't say he's an actor. I love Jack, he's my friend, but he's a dire dog of an actor." C . " He's your friend, is he ? you take an odd way of shewing your friendship. I feel inclined to be severe," turning to one near him, " 111 cut up these yankee actors, and their wooden god — don't leave me — O, the night I slept at Amboy — I never slept in my life before • — poor Billy Lewis is dead — sixty-five — I thought I should have seen him again" — W . " Ah, Sir, he was an actor!" C — - — . " How do you know, Sir ? W— — 1 " Why, my dear Sir, I have seen him many a time." C — — . c; You see him ! where should you see him r" W——. "In England, Sir — in London." C— . And what then? What the more would you know from having seen him ?" and then to another person, and in another tone, u Didn't I throw out my voice this morning ? I'll show them -what- acting is. They talk of their Cooper," raising his voice furiously, " their idol ! their wooden god ! \ Compare me MEMOIRS OP COOKE. 229 to Cooper ! Have not I stood the trial with John ? What is your Cooper compared to Kemble !" W . " But, Mr. Cooke, you are sup- posing a comparison that no one has made — Mr. Cooper is a gentleman and a scholar — \\ C . " A scholar ? How do vou find that out ? His scholarship is deep, it never appears/' W r. « But as to comparison with you, no one thinks of making any — " C- . " Sir, I have heard it — an actor ! — He's no actor— a ranting mouther, that can't read a line !— I appeal to you- " Sir, Mr. Cooper is my friend- — — He appeared to pay no attention to the reply, but ceased speaking of Cooper, and turned his abuse more particularly against Mr. Wood's acting, of which he knew nothing, as he had never seen him play, or heard him recite a speech. While a servant by his desire went for a carriage, he continued this strain of abuse on any person whose image was presented to his mind, and particularly upon Americans, and their country, at the same time drinking what was officiously poured out for him, with that hurried and forced manner, with which we have seen a nauseous drug thrown down the throat; w *>iL^0rno3 " bog n^boow ibdi * lob* .n.^r 230 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. when suddenly he looked at Mr. Wood," who sat opposite to him, and exclaimed, "Why don't you drink, Sir? You don't drink." u I am waiting/* pointing to a bottle of wine in a cooler, u till this wine cools, Sir." tf So — and give me the w^rm — damned po- lite ! but you are all alike — -Cooper and Price> and you are — " Sir, 1 never allow a man, whatever his situation may be, to make use of such an appel- lation to me." Cooke had made use of an expression, which conveyed an idea of unfair dealing, in respect to his engagement, and a term of vulgar insult ; and now seeing a serious effect produced, im- mediately appeared to collect himself for a retreat. Mr. Wood proceeded, " If you think there is any thing unfair on our part, in your Philadelphia engagement, Mr. Warren and myself will instantly annul it — Sir you have made use of an appellation which I will not suffer any man to make use of to me." Cooke disavowed all intention of disrespect, and backed out most manfully, until a perfect reconciliation took place. The carriage not coming, he turned his glass bottom 'upward, and ceased drinking: sitting MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 231 tor some time in comparative quiet. At length, with the assistance of Mr. Hardinge, whom he had known in England, the miserable madman ivas deposited at the Mansion House Hotel, and after Mr. Hardinge's departure, faithful Sam got him to bed. I had before seen the effects of his intern- perance, but this was the first time I had seen him in the full career of insanity. I found that he considered himself, and made no hesitation in declaring it, when under the influence of liquor, as a species of madman, unfit to be trusted with the guidance of his actions, who had voluntarily submitted to be controlled by one in whom he had confidence. This sunk him in my estimation, and made the task I had undertaken disagreeable to me ; but I had undertaken it, and had determined on the con- duct which I would pursue towards him. To my great surprise, the next morning Mr. Cooke made his appearance about half past eight o'clock, in appearance perfectly well, and ate a hearty breakfast. I said nothing of the preceding day, but he thought proper to allude to it in this manner: u Gome, to-day we dine at home, don't we ? — I drink no wine — this ugly pain in my breast troubles me — we'll see Fennell at Masonic Hall— I think it is there he exhibits — we'll see him this evening. I never saw him." 232 MEMOIRS OF COOKE e It was accordingly arranged, and in the even- ing he sat patiently through the whole of Mr. Fennell's recitations, hearing what he did not wish to hear, or appearing to listen, because he knew that he was an object of attention to those in the room. Unfortunately for the prudent resolutions of George Frederick, his old friend Francis joined him at the Masonic Hall, and came home with him to supper. Cooke began with cider, and Francis declared he would drink nothing but small beer. However, bye-and-. bye a bottle of wine must be ordered by Sam, 44 just to mix a little warm wine and water with a lime in it." — Old times, when he and 46 Billy Francis" were together, furnished an inex- haustible source of conversation peculiarly in- teresting to themselves, and I seeing the mix- ture made and in use, left the friends, and retired to bed. 44 The next morning, I understood that the progress from beer, cider, and wine-and-water, to pure wine, was not found difficult, and that the friend^ parted about one o'clock. 44 What time did you go to bed, Sam ?" 44 After two, Sir/' 64 That's hard upon you, though." <4 Oh, Sir, it's nothing to what it was in Boston." • The lesser ill, in the comparison, seemed MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 233 a good ; and Sam thought what he had seen of Philadelphia was regular living, compared to the Exchange Coffee-house in Boston. But a calm series of four days now succeeded, which inspired me again with hopes of reformation, and must have been to Sam a cause of perfect astonishment. On the 23d I had returned from my usual morning walk, and waited breakfast a little, when Cooke appeared. He was unwell, yet ashamed to complain ; but supposing that I knew of the last night's excess, he, after some chat on common-place subjects, pressing his hand on his breast, where I doubt not that he felt an almost incessant pain, (when not under the influence of stimulus,) from the diseased state of his liver, began in a low, querulous tone : f ' This pain troubles me a little, though. — I must begin the water-system. Nine days were we on water alone, during our passage, and I never was better in my life— this is in favour of the water-system. Ah ! 1 noticed at Amboy, when your mother gave me my dish of tea, her hand was perfectly steady, but mine was not so in taking it. 1 ought to be ashamed — in truth, 1 was ashamed." Francis called upon him, and he was as usual full of chat. He was not very gentle in his remarks upon the recitations, and indemnified 234> MEMOIRS OF COOKE. himself to-day, for his restraint last eveningo Talking of the American theatres of some years back, u I remember John Henry," says he. " He was once in the army. He was one of three officers, who, for some youthful prank in Kingston, Jamaica, were brought to court-mar- tial, one broke, and the others suspended for short periods. Henry, the shortest. But he took leave of the service. He played one sea- son at Drury-Lane. He made his first appear- ance, an odd choice for a young man, in Adam, in c As you like it/ I have seen Adam played so as to make it the first part in the piece — but it was an odd choice for a young man." Thus, when in cheerful humour, would he go on stringing anecdote and remark together, in the most agreeable manner, with a behaviour so courteous and polite, that the stranger who heard him, would disbelieve the stories of his rudeness ; and he who had witnessed it would be obliged, for a time, to forget. On the 24th of March, after a pleasant and cheerful breakfast, we took a long walk through the centre street of this elegant city, to, and beyond, the noble bridge over the river Schuylkiil, an edifice which does honour to the citizens of Philadelphia ; and is justly the admiration of the proud natives of the Old World, who are so prone to look down with contempt upon us semi-barbarians of the West. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 235 My companion, during this walk, poured forth an incessant stream of anecdote, pleasantly told and new to me, but with a slightness of connexion, showing a whimsical association of ideas, that was no less entertaining than the anecdotes themselves. " Wood's a pleasant gentlemanly manager to deal with, but I don't like that complaint of his chest ; I think he's not long for this world ; his partner looks as if he might stand firm for a cen- tury. Actors are very apt to complain of, and find fault with, managers, but heaven knows w r e plague them enough ! Most of them deserve it, though. Some bully, some fawn and lie — O ! Billv Lewis was the model for making every one do his duty by kindness and good treatment — Digges was a very pleasant and easy man, when he managed the business of the theatre for himself ; but when he became the agent of Daly, he was the very reverse ; perhaps he thought to please his employer by it. He made himself so hateful to the actors, that they had a custom for many years after his death, whenever they went to Cork, to go to the church-yard and insult his grave — it was abominable — some low-comedy genius begun it — yes, it was com- mon to ask one another, " Well, have you been to visit Digges yet ?rn His grave is near the north wall in the yard of the Cathedral at Cork ~— I have always had a strong propensity to visit 236 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. church-yards, and contemplate monuments, i like to read the epitaphs, and note the ages at which the people died, marking the difference in longevity between the inhabitants of this or that place. The women generally live longest — ah, that shows the value of temperance — I think, though, I shall live as long as Macklin yet — Many's the hour I have passed in Westmin- ster Abbey, viewing the beautiful monuments, and thinking of the characters of those men to whose memory they were erected— What a pitiful wretch that must have been, who muti- lated the monument of Major Andre, by maim- ing the figure of Washington — you remember the monument ? — There is one of General — - — , which I n^ver liked ; an angel is blowing a trumpet to represent the last day, and the general is lifting up his head at the sound ; to be sure that's very characteristic for a soldier : but the surrounding clouds put one in mind of pieces of paste." « Why, Sir, marble is a bad representative of aerial vapour." 4i That's true ; but ought not a man to avoid- a subject not suited to the material he must work with ? Our paste-board air and wooden water at the theatre is hard enough ; but the general, if he was not a cautious general, might have broke his head against a cloud, as pon- derous as the jaws ot his tomb — An old soldier, MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 237 when viewing this monument — one who knew' the general — perhaps had served under him — took out a pencil, and, stepping up to the base, wrote — " Keep quiet, if you're wise, You'll be ctamn'd if you rise." I don't see but what the people of this country live as long as those of Europe do — your mo- ther, for example, what a cheerful old lady — John says to me one day, " you are older than 1 am," u Am I," says I, I think not ; says you were born in October, 55." " Does he? I was born in October, but not 55 — no, not 55." My lady must be 57 or 58 — Sarah — Sarah Siddons— Such is a specimen of the matter and manner of Mr. Cooke's good-humoured chit-chat ; fre- quently enlivened with anecdotes which do not live in my memory. He, after much debate, had resolution enough to excuse himself from a dinner party to which he had been invited, and very con- tentedly sat down to an early meal by himself, with a book beside him ; for he had found out a circulating library in our neighbourhood, and in the keeper of it, a man who claimed ac- quaintance with him, from having been once the hair-dresser of the Bath theatre, 23S MEMOIRS OF COOKE. The veteran debutant had been much pleased to hear from the managers, who called upon him to day, that the press to obtain boxes on the preceding day, Saturday, had been unparalleled ; and though I was present when the particulars were related to him, he after- wards repeated them to me, exclaiming, ci Why, this is equal to Siddons's first tour." Mean- ing the first summer of that lady's" playing in the provincial theatres, after her great success in London. He was contented to dine, and remain the latter part of the day in solitude, and to refrain not only from society, but from all excess, and bad perfect self-command on this day and the next, that he might make an impression on his first appearance in Philadelphia answerable to his reputation, and the high raised expectations of the public. And here is another proof of that vile, and degrading, and irrational calcula- tion, which yields to the lesser motive that which it denies to the greater ; and of the power which Mr. Cooke had, and which all men have, to resist evil, by making a due exer- tion of their rational faculties. When I returned to tea, he was taking a walk, and enjoying the freshness of a delightful atmosphere, caused by a summer-like shower which had previously fallen. He soon returned, MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 239 and made me remark that he had left half his bottle of wine. The evening passed plea- santly and rationally, and I looked forward to the commencement of his engagement on the morrow, with full confidence that his great abilities were equal to the great expectation excited. 240 MEMOIRS Of COOKE, CHAP. XXX. Anecdotes of Actors and Authors — The Palmers — George Colman — Mr. Cooke commences playing in Philadelphia — Dinner Parti/ and its Consequences — Carefulness and Careless- ness of Money — Riotous Eagerness to procure Seats at the Theatre — European Travellers in America — Mr. Cooke sits for Portraits to Mr. Sully — Mr. Cooper arrives in America — End of an Eight Days' Calm — Dinner Party at the Hotel — Mr. Leslie's Drawings of Mr. Cooke in various Characters — Mr: Cooke indisposed. Monday, the 25th of March, was the im- portant day on which to commence a new ca- reer of histrionic glory. Every new city pre- sented a new starting place, and an opportu- nity to amend that which had been proved wrong* in conducting the race of life. A new set of acquaintance now present^ d themselves to Mr. Cooke ; men of wit, of learning, of the most polished manners and unblemished cha- racters, and every thing seemed to invite him MEMOIRS OF COOKS. 241 to the enjoyment of true pleasure and the re- establishment of health and character. He arose at eight, and breakfasted with that cheerfulness and appetite which the preceding days of temperance had bestowed upon him. He told me that after I had gone to bed, which I always did before him, a theatrical man, who understood that the play of Othello" was soon to be done, had called upon him, to request his influence with the managers, that he might perform the part of Othello. ** Why, I think, Sir, from what I have seen of the gentleman, he shows no great promise for Othello." 44 No, nor for any thing else. I understand Wood is to do it, and I am glad of it. Iago depends upon Othello— and indeed Othello upon Iago, — used to say that he had seen the play better done than ever it w r ould be again— Barry played Othello ; Garrick, Iago ; Woodward, Roderigo ; and Gibber and Pritchard, the two women — Palmer played Cassio — Gentleman Palmer, as they called him." 44 What, John ?" 44 Oh, no, before him. John, I believe, had not played at that time." " How does Bob Palmer stand ?" « Why, pretty fair. Bob's a thick-headed fellow. But the youngest of the brothers was VOL. II. R 242 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. the worst of that family— he was always stupid, and grew worse and worse to the last. He died in Ireland — of whiskey, I suppose — quite a driveller before his death — if he got a few words driven into his head, the sight of Daly would drive them out again. One night in 41 Alexander" he played Hephestion— Daly was listening to him, and in the line, " 0 reverend Clytus, father of the war i W s^yfcfl oi ^ em& He spluttered out, " 0 reverend Clytus, father of the world !" In the course of conversation, George Col- man the younger was mentioned. " Poor George/ S says he, " he has the rules of the King's Bench, and there he must remain. They are the only rules that ever guided his conduct. He's a merry undone dog — Comes out at term-time, and cracks his jokes. Young Arnold was the first who arrested him. He heard that Colman was down at *, and he took a bailiff, and two post-chaises, and went after him. After the arrest Iiq says he could not but shed tears at what he had done. When they were to set off for London, Arnold asked Colman to ride in the chaise with him : " No, Sir," 'says George, " you may pop your head in that chaise, and Til take your Bum with me in this.". Always alive, and the life MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 243 of every company. Goes to bed drunk every night. F called on him one day : a boy answered the knock : Where's your master ?" * In bed, Sir/' What, was he drunk last night Jf! * Very drunk, Sir/' t« We got c John Bull' from him, act by act% as he wanted money ; but the last act didn't come, and Mr. Harris refused to advance any more. At last necessity drove ' him to make a finish, and he wrote the fifth act in one night — * all in one night, on separate pieces of paper^ and as he filled one piece after the other, he iirew them on the floor; then after finishing his liquor, went to bed, in the morning of the day he had promised that Mr. Harris should have the denouement of the play. Mr. Harris, late in the day, tired of waiting, sent Fawcett to him, and he insisted upon going into his bed- chamber, and waking him/* " Well, what do you want ?" :i My dear Sir, remember your promise to Mr. Harris, we are all at a loss for the last ggfj^'bsci v terfw is bibsJ beds iud ion biiro- " There it is— let me sleep/* « Where ?" ww There — on the floor— pick it tip, and don't disturb me.'* Fawcett gathered together the scraps, and r 2 £44? MEMOIRS OF COOKE, brought them to the theatre in his pocket- handkerchief." In the course of conversation, we got round to the would-be Othello again : " I understand that this gentleman has been engaged in trade ; I suppose he has turned actor, because he finds himself unfit for any thing else." " It's likely. He may think himself quali- fied for an actor, as that requires neither indus- try, talents, nor education." " It's the last resource of indolence and vice. Any thing, one would suppose, can be an actor. Foote dismissed his old prompter^ but gave him the same salary, and sent him on for messages and trifling parts. James Aickin says to him one day, M So, Sir, we have lost our old prompter." " Yes," says Sam, " the fellow could Vt read ; so I made an actor of him." We dined together without interruption or intrusion, and though he was anxious to have " the first night well over," as he said, yet he did not lose his cheerfulness. About five o'clock, I walked with him up Chesnut-street to the theatre, and he was pleased and sur- prized to see thatj at this early hour, (and we were told that it had been so for hours before,) the street in front of the theatre, and above and below, was completely thronged with bm \JlbI fans Jri§h arfi oi bsiriqo bwoio sill MEMOIRS OF COOKE. people waiting for the doors to be opened. But our surprize increased, when, on turning the corner, we found the back door of the theatre equally beset, and those who had taken boxes crowding in by that passage, the usual entrance being completely blocked up by the throng. " Why this beats Sarah," says he, as we walked up to endeavour to find a passage into the house. Our attempt w r as in vain — we could not ap- proach the door ; and the young men, findfng that the object of their curiosity was in the crowd, surrounded us with a rude and imperti- nent curiosity, which, though it might be tole- rated by Cooke, whose vanity was flattered, was to me excessively annoying. I led him off from the mob, and leaving him in High or Market-street, to pace the pavement until my return, I retraced my way to the Theatre, and fell in with Mr. Francis, who un- dertook to prepare the way for his friend George, while I returned to escort him. I found him at a confectioner's at the corner, the people having politely invited him in ; and on our return to the theatre we found that Francis had succeeded in prevailing upon the rude multi- tude to become civil, and form a lane, through which we gained the interior of the house. As the crowd opened to the right and left, and let 246 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. us pass, u Aye, aye/' says Cooke, " they un- derstand their interest now, for, as the man said when going to the gallows, there will be no sport without me," After seeing my protege safe in Mr. Warren's dressing-room, where honest Sam was waiting for him, I joined a party of gentlemen who were permitted to crowd the orchestra, very much to the annoyance of the band. But music was of no consequence on this occasion, and nothing stilled the tumultuous roaring of this multitu- dinous congregation, until Richard, by opening his lips, imposed a silence, as sudden as it was deep and breathless. The triumph here again was complete. Ex- pectation, which had been raised to its highest pitch by the delayed gratification of curiosity, was fully satisfied. The plaudits and gratulations were long and loud on his appearance, and his returning salute appropriate and dignified ; the whole exhibition caused a recurrence of the same train of ideas which were suggested by his appearance at New- York. I found him a good deal exhausted after the play, but he recovered his, spirits at supper, and after some cider and negus he retired. The veteran arose at eight, cheerful, though somewhat stiff, from the fatigues of Bos worth Field ; and after breakfast we walked. We Ivad MEMOIRS OP COOKE. 247 accepted invitations to dine this day with a frank, noble-spirited gentleman ; and my com- panion, who admired him more than any one he had met with here, wished, yet feared to keep the appointment. He repeatedly expressed his fears that he should fall into excess, but then he determined to avoid it by coming away when I did. « You will come home to tea ?" " Yes." u So will I. I will take tea with you ." "WVli come home as soon as the candles are lit." 48 But I'll tell you what, Sir; if you wish to escape unhurt from this conflict, you must not be so liberal of the wine during dinner. Every person at table compliments you by a challenge to a glass of wine, and if you literally drink a glass with each individual of a large company, by the time the cloth is removed, all your sober resolutions are removed, and then — " 'I Very true, very true." " Besides which, you get tipsy upon com- mon wine, and the real Simon pure, the genuine old Madeira, is brought in when you are inca- pable of tasting it." 6t I will be cautious, and do you be sure to make a move as soon as the candles come." I performed my part of the bargain. I moved, but the solid fabric which sheltered us, was not more immoveable than George Frederick. He nod 24S MEMOIRS OF COOKE. was cautious during dinner, to which we sat down about five o'clock, but afterwards began to talk and pour down bumpers, carefully avoiding to meet my eye ; at half past seven I retired, but "budge not said the fiend," and the fiend prevailed. I went home, determined not to return to witness another scene of humi- liating madness as at Mr. Wood's, As I went to bed about ten o'clock, 1 saw no more ot Cooke that night. I arose at six, and Sam hearing that 1 was up and dressing, came in, " Well, Sam, what's the matter ?" " Oh, Sir, I have had a terrible night." " Why, what time did you get to bed?'* " I have not been in bed at all, Sir." " And where's Mr. Cooke ?" " He is sitting in the parlour, Sir, he wouldn't go to bed; and now he insists on having a coach and going out. Mr. and Mr. came home with him, and he has sat bv the fire all night — this is the worst night I have ever had with him. This is worse than Bos- kpn." I went to him. The shutters of the windows were still closed, and the candles burning in the sockets— he was nearly the seme disgusting object which I found at the house of the poor widow in Reed-street. He appeared conscious of his degraded condition,, and on my requesting d MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 249 him to go to bed, replied, " I will do any thing you bid me." It is impossible to conceive any thing more vile, pitiable, and wretched, than s icrh a man, in such a situation. His madness was not sufficient to silence his conscience ; and, at variance with himself and all mankind, he, while retiring to his thorny pillow, continued incessantly to utter invectives and execrations. The idea of being compared to Cooper, still haunted him — "I that have played with John ! that have played against him! — ill leave them to worship their wooden god! He suits them. John is an actor ! He is my superior — though they did not think so in London — I acknowledge it — and now ! — No, Fll never play at New- York again ! — I must have one night's rest at Amboy — I know you want to persuade me to play at New- York, but I won't — No !" I reminded him that it was Wednesday morning, and that he had to play Richard in Philadelphia in a few hours. u I will do it. That I will do — but never again at New-York!" As I w r as sitting down to dinner, in bounced Cooke, quite metamorphosed again, and with an air and manner of forced gaiety he exclaimed: — So ! this is economy ; dinner and breakfast in one." No allusion was made to the scene of the morning; he drank his pint of wine and rode to the theatre attended by Sam, and appa- 2,50 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. rently as gay as eighteen. I passed the evening in some domestic circles, consequently saw nothing of the theatre; but I was, told that Richard's voice had become hoarse before call- ing for Richmond ; however, though he must have acted much worse than the first night, the million" perceived it not. On Thursday I breakfasted alone, and went about ten to the theatre on business. The crowd which beset the door to obtain places for the next night's exhibition was a riotous mob. On my return I found Mr. Cooke, who having, as he says in his Irish diary, put off the day of reforming till " to-morrow," had another night's sin to repent of; but was too conscious to speak on the subject to me ; he proposed a walk and we visited Peale's Museum. Here we loitered until near dinner time, and then returned to our hotel and dined alone. Some gentlemen of the city dropped in and passed the afternoon. In the evening Cooke went with this party to Fenneirs recitations, afterwards they adjourned to Fennell's lodgings to supper, and the con- sequence was, a continuation of that which began on Tuesday, as I afterwards heard ; for I had retired unwell to bed before the party left I sat reading in the dining room next day about two o' clock* when, just risen, and fresh from the hands of his hairdresser, Cooke MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 251 entered. I had purposely avoided the subject of his folly, but he had perceived a rebuking coldness in my manner which he told me after- ward she well understood and felt. He instantly began inquiries after my health : " How do you do to day ? — I am glad to see you look well again. Do you know I could * not help thinking of you, in bed. If any thing should happen to you, they'd sweat that I killM you. Come, come, come, I must stop- — I must cut — no more of this— no more of this — early to bed to-night." I seized the opportunity of this introduction to remonstrate, and represent the necessity, for his health's sake, of adopting another system. He agreed, and indeed took care to anticipate. Had I, at that time, been acquainted with the Irish Journal, I should, perhaps, have spared my moralising ; yet, I believe, that, added to mv conduct towards him, it was not altogether thrown away. From this time for eight days he continued to be temperate, regular, and cheerful; going to bed about twelve and rising at seven or eight, and would, I believe, but for tidings from New-York, which brought with them vexation, shame, and regret, have continued longer in this calm and honourable V$td$? B mooi ^maib sdi ai ^mbest jaa I 4 After dinner, and a cheerful glass, he pro- cee^led fco the theatre, to delight a crowded 252 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. assemblage by an exhibition of his Sir Per- tinax. A characteristic anecdote relative to his care of money, as well as his incapability to take care of it, which occurred during this last paroxysm of intemperance, I will here take notice of. On the Wednesday evening, when he went to the theatre to play Richard for the second titiie ; conscious that he was wild, from the excess of the previous night, he gave the money from his pocket, to his theatrical dresser, for safety. The sum was 65 dollars. The next day, after another night of excess, he missed the money, and forgetting in whose possession he had deposited it, he complained to the mana- gers of being robbed in the theatre* That night he, in the same continued state of inebri- ation, went to Fennell's readings, and supper; and the next day found the money in his pocket again, without knowing how he had recovered it. The dresser, being an attendant on Fen- nell, Cooke met there, and the man returned the notes which had been left in his care, and Cooke was the next day as unconscious of receiving them, as he had been of delivering them for safe keeping. There is a state of mind, in the last degree deplorable, which perhaps more men have felt 3 than would be willing to acknowledge, when MExMOIRS OF COOKE. 253 the victim of appetite feels a determination to commit what he knows to be a crime, and resisting the suggestions of his judgment, with a species of voluntary insanity, delibarately proceeds to make that preparation which shall guard against a part, the lesser part, of the evil consequences which he knows will follow, instead of refraining from the act which is to cause the whole. Thus, Mr. Cooke generally intrusted some person with the charge of his money, as if to endeavour to prevent himself from robbing himself ; and then would immediately rush on to a state of madness, and endeavour to undo the precaution he had taken. He would gene- rally succeed in the latter, for few would make themselves liable by refusing his demands for his own money, to the abuse and obloquy w ith which he would overwhelm them ; though it sometimes happened, that he succeeded in guarding his money from himself by this device. Once in Liverpool, in 1809, on his arrival, he gave his money into the keeping of a lady, at whose house he boarded, charging her not to give him any if he demanded it when under the influence of liquor. Then, having made pro- vision to secure a little paltry pelf, the wretched man flies to the sacrifice of health and reputa- tion, as things of no consequence. The state of insanity so deliberately provided for, having 254 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. arrived, Mr. Cooke came and demanded 50 guineas. The lady, true to her promise, re- fused it. The madman in a rage flies to the police, and procures a warrant and officers to enforce his demand. The money was still refused, and the doors shut against him. The next day he returns with fruitless humiliation and repentance, to thank the lady, who, by faithfully performing her promise, had saved his money, and made his shame more conspicuous. For a long time he intrusted his accounts to me, and used to draw upon me for 50, and sometimes for 100 dollars at a time. It has been said, that once, after giving a draft of 50 dollars to a charitable institution, he desired me not to pay it : but the fact was otherwise. His request to me was, to satisfy myself that the person to whom he gave the draft was an authorized agent of the society to whom the gift was made, which I did, and paid it. After breakfast, on the morning of Saturday ? walking past the theatre, I witnessed one of the scenes which daily took place in conse- quence of the attractions of the great actor. A throng of servants, porters, &c. surrounded and pressed upon the door ; those nearest the box-office anxiously endeavouring to maintain the advantage their patience and perseverance had gained, and those behind sturdily pushing to gain the same enviable situation. At this MEMOIRS OF COOKE* 255 moment a bravvney fellow elbowed his way from the crowd, and issued with a triumphant air, his face flushed and his clothes disordered. An acquaintance met him with, Well Charley ! did you get one ?" f And to be sure I did." f What box/Charley ?" " My old box, No. 3. Don't I get it aitch time?" zmtmomq ^liuid: " And were you up all night again ?" <; To be sure I was. Don't you see my .night-cap?" and Charley, with an air of ex- ultation, took a handkerchief from about his brows, saying as he went off, "Don't I get 10 dollars, you tief, and my lodging found me for nothing ?" Such was the eagerness to get seats, that these sturdy blackguards were paid from 6 to 10 dollars for securing a box; and to make sure of the prize, the stone steps in front of the theatre were occupied all night, that the place nearest the door might be secured in readiness for its opening at ten o'clock the next day. This w r as carried so far, that I have seen men sitting at the theatre door, eating their dinner* who had taker* their post on Sunday morning, with a determination of remaining there all day oik Sunday, and all Sunday night, to be ready 256 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. for the opening of the door on Monday morn- ing. »ft< I received a letter to-day, announcing the arrival of Mr. Cooper from England. Cooke received the same intelligence from his corre- spondent in New- York. After rehearsal, he went to Mr. Sully's, and sat for a picture for Mr. Wood. Mr. Cooke, during this visit, sat for three pictures to this very estimable gentle- man, and excellent artist. The above men- tioned portrait for Mr. Wood, another portrait more in front for Mr. Wilcox, and a picture in the character of Richard the Third. This evening, March 30th, Mr. Cooke played Shylock in his best manner, and returning home cheerful and content with all around him, eat a temperate supper, and retired. The next day was passed in cheerfulness, either reading, or in conversation. We dined without company. Shakspeare was a subject which occupied us much of the time. As I made frequent use of the expressions " Our great poet," iC Our immortal and unrivalled drama- tist," he playfully attacked me with : u I observe that you always claim your part in Shakspeare. But you are not the country- man of Slnkspeare. What part has an Ameri- can in the Bard of Avon ?" " Precisely the same part that any English- MEMOIRS OF COOKE.* 257 taan of the present day can claim in him. As a descendant from Britons, I claim the same share in the heroes, poets, and philosophers of former days, as any Briton of this day can/' u So, so— very pretty — no, no— that won't do— you are a race of yesterday — mere upstarts —you abandoned Great Britain, and gave up your share in her fame. " By no means. The younger brother who leaves his paternal roof, though he does not inherit his father's estate, is heir to his father's fame as much as the elder. I have as full a participation in old English glory as you. Shakspeare and Milton ; Locke, Bacon, and Newton ; the Harries, the Edwards, and the Marlboroughs, are as near to me as to you. And the glow which an Englishman feels at the sound of those names, and the recollection of the glory of old England, is mine as fully as his." u So, so, so — and where do you draw the line?" " Why, the year 1776 must be the chrono- logical mark of separation, 1 believe. I have no claim upon Britain since then, though I owe her much." 44 And you will owe her a great deal more, before you are able to pay any thing in return." We dropped the subject with a laugh for the present, but I frequently resumed it, when s 258 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. I wished to rally him, and in some of his humours he would repay me with the most contumelious representations of my country and countrymen, that whim and caprice could suggest ; always making most flattering excep- tions in my favour ; exceptions as whimsical and unreasonable, as the general tenor of the representation. It was not unfrequent for Mr. Cooke to threaten, that on his return home, he would publish an account of the country, such as would expose it to contempt and ridicule. These threats were uttered in his hours of coherent madness. He would sometimes ex- claim : " I'm preparing a pamphlet. I am noting down my observations, when men think I am otherwise employed. When I get back to London, I'll blow up your managers, and your theatres, and your actors, and your blasted country ! I can hold a pen ! Til scourge your yankee manners !" Happily for us, even if Cooke had lived, we were secured from the threatened chastisement, by his increasing indolence. I do not think he would have become an author, and added to the list of dunces who have made themselves ridi- culous by abusing a country, the value of whose institutions and manners they were in- capable of appreciating ; or to the mass of dis- MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 259 gusting misrepresentation, so assiduously col- lected and repeated by the quarterly reviewers. These gentlemen travellers remind me of Garrick's prologue to Shirley's excellent come- dy of " the Gamester/' a part of which with a little alteration will run thus : " When well-bred travellers take pen in hand, Tq give a sketch of us and this our land ; - One settled maxim through the whole you see, To wit — their great superiority ! Urge what you will, they obstinately say That you ape them, and are less wise than they ; — 'Tis thus these well-bred journal-writers use us, They trip o'er here, with half an eye peruse us, Eat with us — drink our wine— and then — abuse us." The first of April was passed as pleasantly as the last of March, and concluded with another exhibition of Richard in Mr. Cooke's best style. The next day, after passing the morning with Mr. Sully, we ventured again to dine out, and returned triumphantly from the dangerous ex- periment. We passed the day at Mr. Francis's, and the evening at home ; Cooke amusing him- self with the novels of my late excellent, and ever lamented friend, Charles B. Brown. On the 3d of April, Cooke again sat to Mr, Sully. This occupied the greater part of the morning. In the afternoon he took the exercise of walking, and in the evening again played Sir Pertinax to a very thronged auditory The ne&t 260 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. day passed much in the same manner, and the evening was amused by attending a lecture, and experiments on gases. As in New-York, so in Philadelphia, it was soon understood, that to enjoy the pleasure of seeing the actor, it was necessary to refrain from giving dinner-invitations to the man. Several days had now elapsed since Mr, Cooper's arrival in America, and Mr. Cooke had yet received no letter from him. Mr. Price had mentioned, in a letter to me, that Cooper had a lame hand, which prevented the use of the pen. I' made this excuse to Mr. Cooke, but he made no reply. He was hurt, and became irascible. He received letters from New-York which tended to increase his irritation. He now, uninfluenced by any cause deleterious to reason, except passion, exclaimed bitterly against Mr. Cooper's conduct towards him. He heard that Mr. Cooper's baggage was in his possession, while that which he had brought for him was detained by the custom-house officers, and this trifling circumstance agitated him beyond con- ception. On the morning of the 6th of April I spoke to him on the subject of remaining another year in America, and entered into a loose calculation of the money he might make. — He evaded the subject, by saying : f \ MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 26l ft Money can be made in England loo— be- sides, you'll have another hero — George will be here/ Meaning Mr. Holman, of whose intended voyage to this country we had heard. He told me he had received great offers from Mr. T waits, if he would go to Charleston, South Carolina, for the month of May. He was uneasy and dissatisfied with himself, and every one else this day, and in the evening sought that refuge from his thoughts which his weakness pointed out as a remedy for the evils he suffered. He returned from playing Sir Giles Over- reach very finely, and 1 took some supper and wine with him. My excellent friend, Mr. J. J. Holland, from New-York, sat with us till half past ten. Cooke had raised his spirits without having clouded his mind, and seemed pleased with every thing around him. We were talking of the pictures that were painting, and had been painted of him, and that introduced Stuart and Boston. " I shall go to Boston soon again — I have promised to finish their season for them — then I will sit again to Stuart, and send you the picture," After eleven I left him and went to bed. This-night ended his eight days' temperance. While I was at breakfast he joined me, about nine o'clock, apparently refreshed, though still S62 MEMOIRS OF COOKE* under the influence of excess. After breakfast, some gentlemen called and proposed a walk, during which, I perceived that this wretched man had continued the impetus of his animal spirits, by taking brandy this morning, which kept up that state of stimulation which he be- lieved necessary until dinner. We were joined by several gentlemen, whom he had seen at the theatre last night, and invited to dine with him to-day. As Cooke was evidently, to all present, under the influence of liquor, before dinner I took the liberty of requesting the company, they being all intimate with me and each other, to spare the bottle, and to join me in drinking tea at an early hour. This was done, but in vain, as it respected the object of my care. We drank tea, but he drank wine with the eagerness of madness. The company departed, and he wish- ing me to leave him, remarked on the beauty of the evening for a walk. I knew that on my care at this moment the exhibitions of the next night depended, and perhaps those of the remain- der of his engagement, and I determined not to leave him. He ordered the coach for a ride ; I accepted his invitation, and rode with him. 'A severe thunder-storm drove us back about eieht in the evening. He now ordered supper, and began to drink again, but evidently without pleasure, and all his efforts to drown pain, only MEMOIRS OP COOKE. 263 produced a state of mental torment, as pitiable as it was disgusting. He this evening, as fre- quently before, recurred to what he considered as a blow received in New-York, and made known, in a very systematic manner, his thoughts and plans of revenge. " As soon as my engagement expires I shall shoot him. He thinks I have forgot it. No 9 Sir, a blow from a damn'd yankee is not to be forgotten ; the stain must be washed away in blood ! I said nothing on the subject, but I wrote the next day to Captain M'Lean of the 34th, in garrison at Quebec — the 34th — red, faced with green— he has promised to meet me at New- York on the 24th. The bully will be surprized to receive a note from me, Pm the best shot in England. I never miss my man. I am sure to kill him — but then the misery that will be caused by his death — ■ I can't help it — it's not a trifle that brings tears to my eyes — he has brought it on him- self/' I left him weeping over the imaginary misery which would be caused by the imaginary repa- ration of his imaginary honour, and about two in the morning he went to bed. While at breakfast, the unhappy subject of my story joined me as yesterday. I took little notice of him, and he observed it. He said, he hoped he had said nothing at any time to 264 -MEMOIRS OF COOKE* offend me. He could not eat; drank some tea, and then, complaining of pain, proposed some brandy. I told him that as he had frequently requested me to be frank with him, I would now, once more, be so. That he was ruining himself and rendering himself contemptible. He appeared confounded, and I went on. " You have taken brandy in the morning, Sir, (the last resource of weakness,) several times, but yesterday it was so evident as to be disgraceful. It is in vain that we attempt to disguise these things ; the eye shows it, and even your breath yesterday gave testimony against you so strongly, that the gentlemen who called upon you were ashamed of their companion/' This produced a strong, though not lasting, effect. He promised that he would not take this poison in the morning again. Several gentlemen called in, and he left me to go to rehearsal. Among the effects produced in Philadelphia by the extraordinary acting of Mr. Cooke, not the least pleasing, were the very successful attempts of a young man of the name of Leslie, to sketch the attitudes, manner, and person of the great actor in many of his best characters. The drawings were made from memory after seeing the character represented the preceding MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 265 evening, and evinced such uncommon powers as to produce a determination to s nd the young artist to Europe for the cultivation of talents deemed so extraordinary. This evening Mr. Cooke played Falstaff in ft Henry the Fourth/' and, I presume, very badly. I passed the evening Avith some friends, and when I returned, found him sitting, after his supper, with his old acquaintance the librarian. He complained much of his breast. I prescribed bed; and he promised that if I would sit up half an hour with him, he would go to rest. His companion went away, but still he lingered, like a boy on a cold winter's evening, who dreads the moment of leaving the warm fire-side for cold sheets. " I had a strange dream last night — I thought a loathsome and hideous hag was dragging me to a precipice — she pointed down into a frightful pit — I struggled, and got from her." gave him a rub once tor his parsimony, She wrote to him td know 270 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. why he did not draw upon her agent for mo- ney ; he answered that he did not want it ; that his pay was sufficient. She replied that such economy might be very commendable in the colonel of a marching regiment, but was very unworthy of the heir of Northumberland. His officers played him a trick, when he first joined his regiment. On such occasions it is customary for the colonel to give a dinner to all his officers ; and he, accordingly, ordered one at two crowns a head. The officers ordered the landlord to provide one at a guinea a head. His lordship was surprised to find every deli- cacy that could be procured in the country, but when the bill came in he saw the trick — said nothing, but bit his lip and paid it. — John deserves his good fortune, he's a noble fellow ! He says if his father had succeeded in making a priest of him, he should have become a Cardi- nal; "Yes," says I, "a Pope. John takes his bottle sometimes, as well as other people. I have had some hard bouts with him. " Gome Cooke," says he, " we don't play to-morrow, let's get drunk/' And if he said so, he was sure to do it. Charles is the good fellow ! He always used to keep himself steady, and i:i the morning he'd put John to bed, and carry me home in a coach. John made his way first under old Tate Wilkinson, an excellent manager, but he had a way of writing several letters at a MEMOIRS 01? COOKE. 271 time, sealing them, and afterwards directing them, which produced some good games of cross purposes; I received a letter from him soon after my coming to London, telling me that he wondered at my impudence in applying to him for an engagement again after his having discharged me ; and I suppose some poor devil received a hearty invitation to join his company and share half his profits : for, once, his land- lady received a letter from him, ordering her to get ready to play Clytus ; and his principal performer another, directing him to be sure to have his sheets well aired." On the 12th of April, I did not come down stairs until seven o'clock, and found that the man of reformation had already taken posses- sion of the dining-room, and was busily em- ployed in making memorandums for his bene- fit-bill; Monday, the 15th, being fixed for hi* night. I walked with him to the theatre at ten, but owing to some error, the rehearsal had been called at eleven, consequently there was nobody to meet him. He was peevish, scolded a little, and left word with the porter that he should not come back. We walked up Ghesnut- street, and visited the Philadelphia Academy of Fine Arts, and then Mr. Sully ; with whom I left him. He received a letter from New York while sitting with me before dinner, 272 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. which irritated him exceedingly. He burst out with, " if he says so he is a liar !" but offered no explanation. The next day, after Mr. Cooke had gone to rehearsal, I received a letter from New York, stating that Mr. Cooper had played a second time on last Wednesday evening, the 10th of April, and that the receipts had by no means answered the expectations raised by the first night's exhibition — the amount being but 560 dollars. Accompanying this, was a letter from Mr. Cooper to Mr. Cooke, which I carried to him, and he read in the green-room without remark, only saying, u It's from Cooper — he desires his respects to you." In the evening he played Glenalvon, and Sir Archy, very finely. The 14th was a day of anxiety to me. This was the day preceding his benefit ; and I re- membered his New York benefit, the shameful exhibition of the night, and what he had said to me of his usual practice of taking a liberty with his friends. I knew the desire of the public to see him play Kitely, and the wish of the higher and best informed part of the com- munity, to shew their admiration of his unri- valled talents on the occasion, which a night g set apart for his sole emolument offered. I felt a determination to prevent, if possible*, any dis- grace on this occasion. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 2?3 After dinner, our bottle of Madeira, of which I took care to have my full share, was finished, and I thought all safe, when three gentlemen called in upon us, and wine was of course im- mediately introduced. Cooke seemed now to enjoy the advantage he had obtained, for al- though he would not have ordered more wine, but for this, or a similar accident, he seized the opportunity' with avidity, of gratifying his vile and disgraceful appetite. The gentlemen who called on us, were men of the first talents and acquirements, and had come to talk, not drink : and the impression they received from this visit was, that however admirable Mr. Cooke was as a player, he was not a desirable companion in social conversation. They did not stay long, and were succeeded by a young man from the theatre, who came by appointment, to receive his instructions for playing Cash with him the next night. I drank tea, and took a short walk, and on my return the theatrical lesson ended, the pupil departed, and we were left alone. The second bottle was nearly finished, and the teacher in a most critical and perilous state, as it respected my wishes and his inter- ests. He was, however, in my opinion, not past the capability of receiving rational admoni- tion ; so reminding him of his requests to me that I would interfere to save him from himself, I told him that if he took any more wine he VOL. II. x 274 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. was lost. He assented, and promised to drink only wine and water with his supper. At supper time he could not eat, and ordered gruel ; which, when brought, he ordered a glass of brandy, making apologies for the necessity of taking spirits with the gruel ; half of the glass he put in his bowl, and sat the remainder by him. He had now become very loquacious, and I found no great difficulty in contriving an accident to spill the remainder of the poison. My plan was now formed ; knowing that he would not, from respect for me, call for liquor while I remained with him, and that after twelve o'clock the bar would be shut and his calling vain, I determined, contrary to my usual custom, to stay with him until after that critical hour should be past. He must have been amazed at my patient sitting ; but not suspect- ing my design, and fully determined to indulge his madness when I should remove his restraint, he sat and talked incessantly. Being under the influence of stimulus, sufficient to make him speak of himself and his affairs freely, his ideas and words were of a cast different from what I had been used to from him — a medium be- tween the chit-chat of his pleasant sober mo- ments, and the incoherent ravings of his mad- ness ; sometimes inclining to one, sometimes to the other, with occasional bursts of ungo- verned passion. MEMOIRS OF COOKE* T{ 5 I found that the letters which he had re- ceived from his New-York correspondent, and the apparent neglect of Mr. Cooper in not writ- ing to him immediately on his arrival, had caused a ferment in his mind, which, the guard of discretion being removed, burst forth in a torrent of invective. 44 Is this the treatment I had a right to ex- pect ? Why I came away, Sir, without prepara- tion — without my stage-clothes — without my books — as if I was running away by stealth from my creditors — like a criminal flying from the laws of his countrv. Now, Holman will come out after making every preparation ; after making a bargain by which he will put that money into his own pocket which I am putting into the pockets of men who treat me as if I was an ideot. They think I am a fool, and that I will receive as a generous gratuity from them a part of what I enrich them with ! Sir, I shall have lost money by coming here — and when 1 go back, how do I know in what man- ner I shall be received, or whether I shall be received at all ! — To come away without seeing Mr. Harris! My best friend ; the man who did every thing for me ! The man who pitted me against them all! His son too is my friend, notwithstanding that in his anger he published m # Jitter, fixing the time that I was to play in London—No ! No ! by , I will never play 276 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. in New-York again! They have got their Cooper there to play for them ! He has treated me unlike a gentleman, Sir ! — He writes to me, Yes. But when ? After his second night has failed^ He then writes me a fulsome congra- tulatory tetter. They think I am a driveller. He sends me out to this country, never writes a line to me from the time he has shipped me — He comes at length himself, and remains within a hundred miles of me for two or three weeks ) — never writes to me — takes care that I shall hear of his great first appearance by other hands, and after he has failed in his second attempt, he writes me a damn'd fulsome letter !" I combated this idea, and stated to him, that I knew Mr. Cooper intended corning on from New- York purposely to see him, but that the interests of the theatre had demanded his pre- sence at that place — that the injury of his right hand, which prevented writing, had taken place long before he left England ; and other sugges- tions tending to soothe his wounded spirit. He went on — yin 'id otjjd srit ot woIM Mr M That letter I received from New- York — that anonymous letter which I kept from you — I'll show it to you to-morrow mornings — that warns me against playing agiin in New-York — I am to be hiss d off for net acting the last night that I was advertised for ;~— the writer signs himself my friend o^d countryman — he advises me not MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 977 to submit to being hissed by an American audience ! An American audience ! No ; not by any audience ! — They'll hiss me, because I deserted them! Didn't they desert me first? Didn't they leave me to play night after night to empty benches? — No! Til never play for them again! He says that Cooper tells the people of New-York that I am engaged to him for three years. Am I? — I'll show him. I'll write such a pamphlet on my return to England — FU not forget the American theatres — and their managers! No ; Til not forget tkeir mana- gers! I play with Cooper! Send meio America to play under . and ■ — should draw; an ass-cart together — a fit pair! mtji have got among my papers a journal of my life. I wish I could prevail upon you to digest it and write a biography of me — it will be a strange -dne^ril give you the papers — will you ?" I assented, and he proceeded : 44 My father was a captain in the fourth dragoons, a high Irish gentleman ! he left me a little fellow to the care of my mother, but I was soon my own master, too soon — that was my ruin ! At eleven I was entered a midship- man, and went on board a man of war — O, it will be a strange story — I'll give you all the papers and journals. Sir, I have a trunk full of «fchem^— the world don't know me — many an hx>m -that they suppose I have-p^ed in drunk- enness, has been devoted to writing, and study- 278 MEMOIRS OF COOKE, ing my profession. Sir, I delight in rational conversation, such as I enjoy with you, shut over a" (looking on the table and seeing no- thing else) u a glass of water. I hate drunken- ness ! I detest it ! For its consequences, you will say; — true — but not alone — I detest it in itself! When the world has thought me drink- ing, I have been studying the passions — the passions, Sir, and all their variations, and nice, and almost imperceptible gradations. There, Sir, there is fear. So I distinguish it from sur- prize. Now, suspicion. There is attention. — Now, rage; that is the most difficult of all. Anger — the expression is different according to the object — from the wife, to the lowest me- nial." I sat under this lecture, (which will remind the reader of the whiskey-punch lecture in Dublin, when Matthews was the auditor,) until past twelve o'clock, and then recom- mending bed to him, and receiving his pro mise of immediately retiring, I bade him good night. I saw that the fountain of mischief, the liquor-bar, was shut, and all safe, before going to bed. I soon heard him retire to his room, pulling the door after him violently, and bolting it. He had made application to the bar as soon as I was out of his way, and being disappointed, went to his chamber in a rage, and bolted his^attendant, honest Sam, out, with strong marks of displeasure. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 279 The consequence of my effort was, that he played Kitely well, and gave additional delight to those who had attended in crowds to testify their approbation of his successful efforts to please them. On the 1 6th, he sat almost the whole morn- ing to Mr. Sully for the picture of Richard. He was in high spirits from the success of last evening, (and the indulgence of his night after playing, for I had left him to take his course,) and he sat mounted on Mr. Sully's platform, half dressed for Richard, and teMing all his anecdotes to amuse a lady who, with her little daughter, remained nearly the whole sitting, to see and hear the wondrous man, whose acting had so much pleased her. I doubt not but this lady was very favour- ably impressed by the pleasantry of the tra- gedian. Many of his stories had by this time become stale to me. I remember that for the fourth or fifth time I to-day heard the anec- dote of my Lord *s writing a sermon for his brother, the Bishop of • — , to preach before the King. The Bishop is represented as thinking more of the kitchen and the cellar than of literature or religion. His brother, Lord , was down at the Bishop's coun- try seat, and wanted some books ; none w r ere to be had. " I have no library here/' " W hy where is it ?" " I keep my library at 280 MEMOIRS OF COOKE* " Yes, and there you never reside : you have a kitchen here, though !" On this day, Cooke's letter to Incledon, written from Boston, and already inserted, ap- peared in the Philadelphia papers, copied from those of London. I could not but smile at the contrast between the satisfaction expressed in this letter, and the violent discontent and in- vective of his conversation. We dined, for the second time since our arrival, with Mr. Cooke's old acquaintance, Francis. But we didn't get off so whole from this encounter as from the first. After dinner Mr. Warren told Mr. Cooke of the publica- tion of his letter above mentioned, and he was anxious to see and read it. A newspaper was brought, and he read the letter and acknow- ledged it, but blamed Incledon for publishing it. From this time forward, he shaped his conversation to the opinion he had thus pub- lished to the world ; and a day or two after, having praised Mr. Price for some time, in company , he turned to me and appealed thus— u Did you ever hear me say any thing against Mr. Price ?" I left Mr. Francis's, after a vain attempt to persuade Cooke to take tea, and returned about nine o'clock. Finding him still inclined to sit, I went home. About ten he came in a coach attended by two young gentlemen, and MEMOIRS OF COOKE, 281 immediately ordered wine. They declined drinking, and left him. I begged him not to take any more, but unluckily, poor Sam, anxious to prevent the torture of a sleepless night, removed the decanter before he had received orders, and was peremptorily bid to bring it back and fill a large tumbler, which he made as if intended to drink; then laughing, put it away, and soon retired to bed. His strain to night was a continual harping on the letter and repetitions of " Is there any thing in it that can offend ? Did I not speak well of every one? Did I not speak kindly and gratefully of Mr. Price ?" The next day he was under the influence of the excess of the day before, and probably in- creased it, and in the evening played Lear wildly and badly. Apprehensive that illness alone would terminate the present career of in- temperance, 1 took the liberty of requesting Dr. Park to visit him in the green-room, and alarm his fears by feeling his pulse and pre- scribing the lancet. The Doctor, with kind- ness and urbanity, undertook the task ; and when Mr. Cooke returned from the theatre, he told me as soon as he came in, that he had seen the Doctor, " and it's well I have," says he, " Do you know, he fouod my pulse very much as it was when he bled 282 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. " So I should suppose, as the causes have been much the same. n <; Why that's very true, He says I must be bled, if my pulse is not better to-morrow. I feel this ugly pain at my breast. Sam, I believe I'll go to bed." ' The next day he was quite well, and after a sitting at Mr. Sully's we rode out to a very pleasant spot on the banks of the Schuylkill, where a society of gentlemen have an establish- ment which they call the Fish-house. We were invited to dine with them on this day, their first spring meeting. The Fish-house is a long rustic building, little better than a shed, with some closets to lock up liquors, and plates, glasses, &c. ; ano- ther shed serving as a kitchen. The members perform the offices of cooks, scullions, and Waiters, by turns; and thus banishing servants, add infinitely to their social enjoyment. They have boats, and every apparatus for fishing, and on appointed days they meet, fish, cook, and enjoy their prey, and the conversation of their own very pleasant club, and the visi- tors, who are most politely invited to meet, and most hospitably entertained by them. Their first spring-dinner is usually loo early for the sport of fishing ; they therefore send out beef-steaks and the fish of the season, shad, and cat-fish, with which the Schuylkill then MEMOIRS OF COOK~. 283 furnishes them the finest in the world ; and their only exercise is that of the ride or walk, and the sportful employment of cooking, and preparing liquors, and every enjoyment which the genuine spirit of hospitality and convi- viality suggests to them. This was the second time that I had partaken of this fete champetre, and precisely at the same time of the year, the first meeting of the company, and 1 certainly never encountered more of the spirit of true politeness and genuine good-fellowship than at the Fish-house. When we arrived, the gentlemen were some walking and lounging, some making perpara- tions for dinner, and some cooking beef steaks, or preparing liquors for a relish, or luncheon ; the weather was temperate, the atmosphere bland, and the scenery and groups perfectly picturesque. We partook of the luncheon, which was accompanied by a beverage which the makers called " Governor/' 1 was alarmed for my thirsty companion, but was soon relieved, by hearing him s " Do you not know the reason ?" MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 285 " I never abuse it." Before night we returned to the city. Some of our guests would have detained Cooke, and no force was necessary ; but I whispered them, that if they wished to see Sir Pertinax to-mor- row, they must give up Cooke for to-day. Our coachman had had so large a share of the good creature, that Mr. Hardinge took the reins ; and with his friend Francis by his side, the merry tragedian returned very jovially to the Mansion-house. After our companions had left us, I was called out by a gentleman, who interested him- self in a project to have Mr. Fennel! employed at the theatre, to play Othello to Mr. Cooke's lago ; a part Mr Cooke had not yet acted either in New-York or Philadelphia. When I returned, I found him in high and most peremp- tory tones and terms, ordering Sam to go for a coach, but on my entrance he ceased, and with- out a word from me on the subject, went &k>n and early to bed. He did not get up Until twelve the next day, but then quite well, and went to sit again to Mr. Sully. In the evening he played Sir Perti- nax with all his skill and spirit, the attraction and applause unabated. out of the course— I shall go the sixteenth now, This evening he said— " I have run fifteen nights v oi: je ■ oil 2SG MEMOIRS OF COOKE. I nevpr did such a tiling before. Yes, I did though — and more. The first winter in London, and my first summer after my London engage- ment. I played that summer, thirty-six nights in six weeks, and travelled two thousand miles. I swept the grass that summer/ 1 His sixteenth ni?ht was the twentieth of April, which ended bis engagement. Richard being the last, as the first, of the list. I had notice the day before, that Mr Cooper would be in town at five o'clock this day to dinner, and made an appointment to meet him. After dinner he went to the theatre, and sur- prized Cooke by opening the stage door for him, when he was coming off from one of his scenes. 1 will close this chapter with the amount of the houses of this first engagement of Mr. Cooke in Philadelphia. Doll. March 23th, 1811, Richard Third, 1348 15 97 th, Richard Third, 1114 99th, Man of the World, . . 1474 34 30th, Merchant of Venice, . . , . 1 159 62 April 1st, Richard the Third, 1187 50 3d, Man of the World, ...... 1202 50 5th, King Lear, 995 75 6th, New Way to Pay Old Debts, 1035 6 Sth, 1st part Henry 4th, 1020 10th, Merchant of Venice, .... 870 40 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 287 Doll. April \lth, Macbeth , i 77 8 ]3th, Douglas, and Love-a-la Mode, 1196 1 5th, Every Man in his Hu- mour, 1365 25 17X aoeb.uH to ? dliold' srfi gmbsswr srii -fens f ?idJ Ik bQibvmJ bsd fiskil fipotfiifiS .xnedlA 'Ol bsoioioi baft ? Y£b cTebnsiiualo bbft ad* issa tflc&buii srrfj oini dial -biM Ji ad^ bast I P 9^ioaO ? 'It ? ? 316 MEMOIRS OF COOKE* CHAP. XXXIV. Mr. Cooke Plays in Neiv-York — Goes to Phila- delphia in November, IS 11, and Plays— In December plays again in New-York — En- gagement for Charleston, South Carolina — Goes to Boston, and, Plays there till the 7th Feb. IS 12 — Takes his Passage from Boston to England, but comes to New-York — Goes to Providence, Rhode Island, in July, and Plays Nine Nights — To Boston — To New- York, Sept. 1812— Letter from Mr. W. Har- ris, inviting Mr. Cooke to return to Covent Garden. v ^(j ^ ^ffo ^wfi^fA AiOt "etdt no ^ffotA tf8 On Mr. Cooke's return to New -York he took up bis abode at Mrs. Noe*s boarding-house in Nassau-street, and continued to occupy the same apartments, when in this city, until July, Ifrlffc isrfj o3omj$iifl£ *Uid »§§ di8I 5*1* nO He opened on the second of September in Glenalvon, Mr. Cooper playing Douglas, and they acted together in such plays as had charac- ters suited to their respective talents, until Mr. Cooke departed to play, for the second time, in Philadelphia. On the 4th he played Richard; on the 6th MEMOIRS OF COOES, Sl7 lago ; on the 9th King John, Mr. Cooper act* ing Falconbridge. On the 11th he acted Cly* tus and Sir Archy ; on the 13th Kitely ; and on the 16th Stukely. He was advertised for Falstaff on the 18th, but he" sent word he would not come, and the managers had to change the play to John BulL He did not play again until the 25th, when Othello was performed, he and Mr. Cooper playing their accustomed characters, and Mrs, Darley the innocent and interesting Desdemona. This lady returned, after a long absence from the New-York stage, again to give public plea- sure, enhanced by the knowledge of her domes- tic world, to that audience who had for years admired her talents. On the 27th Mr. Cooke played Shylock and Sir Archy ; on the 30th Pierre ; on, the 2d Oct. King Henry the 8th ; and on the 4th Sir Ferti- nax. He was advertised for Henry the Sth oii the 7th, but was indisposed, and the play was On the 18th the bills announced, that Mr. Cooke having recovered from his late serious in- disposition, ft Richard the Third" would-be per- formed ; and he played Richard. On the 21st he played Falstaff ; on the 23d King John ; on the 25th Sir Pertinax ; on the 28th lago; on the 30th Penruddock ; on the 1st of November Lear, the bills giving notice 3 IS MEMOIRS OF COOKE. that it was the last night but one of Mr. Cooke's nerformance. The 4th of November was his last night (for the present) and benefit. He played Sir Per- . >:tfa$&m$. ;\ i$iu\ h&d ? aofiudn}floo lifmm *&. m&k: On the 7th of November he left New-York for Philadelphia, and opened there on Friday evening, the 8th. He says: J| Commenced my second engagement at Phi* ladelphia with Richard the Third. Although the night was cold and wet, a numerous au- dience, and usual reception." The house was Dollars 917 Next night, Nov. 9th, Man of the World 780 Nov. llth, Lear 675 13th, Macbeth . . .. . 729 15//*, Wheel of Fortune ♦ . . . ... . 733 K l6th 9 Richard ....... 700 i md 1st part of Henry 4th . . m j . 622 202/i, Merchant of Venice, and Love a-la-Mode... . . . .......... 1175 22d, Man of the World. ...... ... 1 115 23d, New Way to Pay Old Debts 646 25th, King John . . . . ... . . . . 541 27th, Merchant of Venice, : and Love a-la-Mode . . <. ... . . • ...... . 1041 29th, Richard, for Mr. Cooked be- nefit *,f 1 129 30*/*, Man of the World:— Mr. Wood's benefit nmhttfi &71 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 319 During this visit to Philadelphia, Mr, Cooke had an offer of an engagement from Messrs, Pepin and Breschard, who having, with a troop of cavalry, laid the principal towns of the United States under contribution, had lately erected in this city an amphitheatre, and were preparing to exhibit plays. Mr. Pepin waited on Mr. Cooke, and made known his business. Cooke very gravely thanked him for the intended ho- nour, and concluded with assuring him that he " never had been taught to ride." Mr. Cooke returned from Philadelphia, and re-commenced playing in New- York, on the 6th of December, 1811. " Othello:" cast as before. About this time the writer dissolved his con- nexion with the theatre ; and, in consequence, had less intercourse with Mr, Cooke than be- fore, though it is to be remembered that, except in Philadelphia, that intercourse had never led to a personal knowledge of Mr. Cooke's hours of privacy, I still occasionally visited him, and he very politely and cheerfully sat to me for several portraits in miniature, which being esteemed, on account of their faithful represen- tation of his features, and expression of his character, assisted me in my new profession of miniature painting, Dec. 9th, Mr. Cooke played Stukely with Mr, Cooper's Beverly. On the 11th he played Sir Pertinax. 320 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. The bills of the 13th December were headed thus: " The public is respectfully informed, that Mr. Cocke will perform in New York but FOUR NIGHTS MORE, after which he departs imme- diately for Charleston, *rom whence he takes passage to Enguiad/' On th is night, the first of the four, Le played Macbeth. On the 14th he played Shy lock, and on the 1 6 th Sir Perti- nax. The 17th was announced as positively his last night of performance in New-York. That Mr. Cooke had engaged himself to the managers of the Charleston theatre, in South Carolina, Messrs. Green, T.waits, and Placide, there is no doubt ; but instead of going South to perform, he travelled North, to play in the Boston theatre, the managers of which, as we have seen, had had their share of disappointment before. Mr. Powell, on this occasion, took 4 the wise precaution of coming on to New-York ; and, to secure his prize, kept in company. The mana- ger and actor embarked in a Rhode Island pac- ket, but a violent snow storm drove the vessel for sheiter into the port of New-London,, where they landed, after some bodily and ruiore mental sufferings. Cooke pretested against a re- em- barkation, and determined on a little earthly enjoyment before he commenced the journey by land. The day was fixed for opening iu Bostou* and Mr. PQW : eil v forgetting his caution. MEMOIRS OF COOKE." 321 left the actor at New-London, and proceeding to Boston, advertised Richard for the night ap- pointed; but Richard was in good winter-quar- ters at New-London, and not inclined to take the field. The consequence was, that the manager had to retrace his steps to New-London, and attend, as many a manager had before done, in the suite of the hero of Bosworth. He opened in Boston on Tuesday, the 31st of December, and played Richard the Third to a house of .r i D0IL76I 371 Jan. 1st, 1812, Wednesday, Merchant of Venice , 593 87 1 3d, Friday, Man of the World 811 6th, Monday, 1st part Hen. IV. 70S 69£ Sth, Wednesday, Othello , 838 375 9 th, Thursday, Wheel of Fortune 736 30 10//*, Friday, Venice Preserved and Love a-la-Mode- §54* $5 This statement is furnished by the politeness of Mr, Powell, who goes on to say : " The rage/' for seeing Mr. Cooke, u was at this period so great, that though it was the depth of winter and excessively cold, the box-office has been surrounded from three o'clock in the morning until the time of its opening, which was ten. People were employed, at considerably expense, by gentlemen, who could not attend themselves, to procure boxes. Mr, Cooke wag taken seriously ill, and could "not appear tfa©- ■ 322 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. following week ; this was a material injury t6 the remainder of his engagement. Various re- ports were industriously circulated respecting his absence, but the real cause was a real attack of a bilious complaint. " He made his re-appearance on Jan. 20th, Monday, Merchant of Dollars. Venice 470 50 22d, Wednesday, New Way to Pay Old Debts 417 &$£ 23d, Thursday, Revenge 520 12 1 2ith, Friday, Richard (Mr. Cooke's night) 704 75 9,7th, Monday, Macbeth ...... 609 50 2Sth, Tuesday, New Way, &c. 451 50 29th, Wednesday, Revenge .... 365 371 m st, Friday, Lear . 557 Feb. 3d, Monday, Othello . . 376 25 5th) Wednesday, Merchant of lA * Venice and Love a-la-Mode 658 371 6th, Thursday, Lear 513 75 7th) Friday, Macbeth (Mr. Cooke's night) ........... 696 25 i: " Mr. Cooke was engaged this season at 3200 dollars. 1 ' : Mr. Powell adds, that after his commence- ment he " never occasioned a postponement to my knowledge but once, and that was owing to real illness." It appears, from the whole -of this statement, MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 323 that Mr. Cooke's conduct on this second visit to the capital of the state of Massachusetts, was such as redounded to his honour, and left a fa- vourable and lasting impression on the minds of the managers. He at this time acted for him- self: , . ..' X5 ^ qB .el^if? isS " ' On his return to New-York I called upon him, and he told me that he had taken his pas-, sage for England, in a ship to sail from Boston in a few days ; that he had left his baggage in that town, and should return thither to embark as soon as he, had settled his accounts in, New- York. His plans were, however, soon changed, and he remained in New-York until July 5th ; and* during all this time, played but six nights. On the 16th of March'tlie bills of the theatre were headed, " Mr. Cooke is engaged for five nights. la consequence of which the theatre will be rs« #gened" toskJ. ^phvtx$% ,tad On the first night of the five he played Sir Pertinax ; on the 18th of March, Iago : on the 20th, Richard the Third : on the 23d, Iago and Sir Archy : and for his benefit, the last night of this short engagement, FalstafF, in 1st part of Henry IV He did not play again until the Q?d of June, The bilis of thnt day were headed thus : " Last week but one, Mr, Darte/s bt'm&t, ¥ 8 324 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. " The Managers have great pleasure in in- forming the public they have engaged Mr. Cooke for three nights, who will make his first appearance on Monday evening, for the benefit of Mr. Darley, in the character of Sir Pertinax M'Sycophant." On this night he was very ill, and it was with difficulty he got through. He declined fulfil- ling the engagement, as he was too weak and unwell. There were in the house about 460 dollars. This was the last appearance of George Fre- derick Cooke on the stage of the city of New- York. Previous to this last engagement, he had con- fined himself to his bed for days and weeks at a time. In one instance he was eight weeks in bed, only getting up to have it made, and that generally in the night. He ate and drank, and was at times perfectly cheerful, but he would not get up. He complained of giddiness wheii he made the attempt ; and generally of pain in the breast and abdomen. The disease of hU liver was, doubtless, increasing, as well as the dropsical symptoms. 1 aiH «bdai9onp3i Between the time of his return from Boston and his playing in March, he was once at my painting-room, and sat for the finishing of the portrait which accompanies this work. He was very cheerful and pleasant, and made an agree- -biooos' bluow hub 'U :h L jnoi%B r J3G bnd afmw MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 325 ment with me to sit for a picture in the charac- ter of Richard, which was to be commenced the next day, and an hour appointed at which I should call for him and lend him my arm to my room, the streets being at the time covered with ice, and his limbs not so firm as they had been. I called, but he was in bed ; and I repeated my calls until I was tired, and gave it up ; for he could not make the effort to get up until some time after. It will be seen from the above how his time was passed in New- York on this occasion. During his previous visit in December, 1811, I have many memorandums of his erratic beha- viour, which, though amusing to his companions at the time, are not necessary, after what has been said, to elucidate his character, and would afford little pleasure in the writing or reading. His companions were gentlemen much younger than himself, and they did not hesitate, in the moments of gaiety, to encourage those eccen- tricities in his conduct, which added to the mirth, though not to the respectability, of those concerned. His habit of romancing and imagin- ing himself other than he w as, or attributing to himself imaginary actions, was encouraged; dia- logues entered into with the same spirit ; mock quarrels begun and continued until a duel was pronounced necessary to wipe off the stains his ivords had occasioned: a duel would accord- IMP? 4 * O 2JIIGJOM 336 ^MEMOIRS OF COOKE, ingly be fought ; and the gentlemen highly de- lighted with quizzing Cooke, were only the dupes of his whim, of affecting to treat as real that which he was conscious teas mere sport: a propensity which I have before mentioned, and which he has himself recorded. As an instance: In a large Company he began to descant on the manners of the country, and asserted that he had not been idle since his ar- rival in it: that he was in the habit of putting down his observations and remarks, and that on his return to England he should publish such a satirical picture of the country and its inhabit* ants, as had never been seen of any other part of the globe. One of the quizzers, -affecting to take all this as serious, remarks : . " What a fine field, Sir, the politics of the country will atford you l" Cooke, determined on opposition, and assum- ing the part of an author, replies : " I shall not touch on the politics of the country. Manners, customs, characters, are my aim, and the satirist has ample field, heaven knows !" " But, Sir, the politics— the divisions — the dissentions — " " No, Sir! I shall avoid the subject alto- gether. Iji the first place, as a stranger, l am an incompetent judge; and, in the second place, the subject itself « is uninteresting if not con- temptible. But there is scope enough for satire MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 39J without touching the political office hunters. Satirical I must be, for truth is here the severest 46 But, Mr. Cooke, you mza* notice public speakers, and that will lead to the politics of the country/*^ ^ Sicidd dvsrl T d&irfw vt$z>tfs< - "Must, Sir! No, Sir! not at all, Sir ! There are subjects enough in your lawyer&and judges, and your stupid actors, and more stupid, mana- gers, for all I need say of public institutions,. I have already filled volumes." " But, Sir, you must say something — £ " Must again, Sir ! Why must I, Sir ? Is there not enough to remark on, when I have be- fore me the impertinent manners of every scoun- drel I meet ?" The quizzer now demands satisfaction, and insists on an apology, and appeals to the com- pany, who unanimously decide that Mr. Cooke must apologize, or fight. "T will not apologize: young gentleman, I will fight you, but if I fight you, I shall shoot you — I am the best shot in Europe — if you yto* sist upon it I will shoot you ; I would not wil- lingly shed blood : but I never apologize." " Then let it be immediately/ - While pistols are brought, and apparently pre- paring^ he t^lks of his courage, his skill, and the many who have fallen before him, especially when he was in the ^/VA* and serving in Ame- 328 - MEMOIRS OF COOKE, rica* upon which another quizzer points out u gentleman present, about thirty years of age, as the colonel of the fifth in the year 1775 ; and Cooke very seriously appeals to this colonel, as the judge of his merit as a soldier. And yet these gentlemen supposed that they were quiz- zing Cooke. On another occasion, the whole routine of a duel was carried through, pistols loaded and dis- charged, the antagonist prostrated at Mr.CookeV feet, and he wounded on the shoulder by cut- ting his clothes with a pen-knife, he playing his part to the last, and occasionally satirizing his companions ; and yet the story is told as a qui* upon Cooke, There is no other proof needed, that Mr. Cooke knew that these quarrels were not real, than his submitting to the last appeal; for no man was more impressed with the value of that most valuable truth, 46 the better part of valour is discretion.-- 0 H :n: t ^ biuow t'hmvn stfdfiT In opposition to this opinion* I know that the fact may be urged, of his having ordered the coat which he wore in the last duel to be kept in its wounded state; forbidding any attempt to repair the injury it had received by the fictitious pis- tol-ball ; and never retracting what he had first asserted, on his coming home, respecting the duel, as a real and serious transaction. But this, when taken in connexion with Mr. Cooke's MEMOIKS OF COOKE. 329 character, amounts to nothing. He tmdoubt- edlv knew that he had never been an " ensign in the fifth," or carried the British standard at the battles of Bunker-Hill and Brooklyn ; but having assumed that character, he supported it whenever opportunity offered, and played the hero of the heights of Brooklyn and Brede, with the same spirit of identification as the hero of Bosworth. The principal difference was, that in the last he spoke the imaginings of another, and in the first " played extempore" like his great prototype. So in the case of the duel; he certainly knew that he had neither been wound- ed himself, nor wounded his antagonist. He knew his own shoulder was well, and next day saw his opponent in perfect health ; but when- ever the circumstance was alluded to, he as* sunled the part he had undertaken, and talked of having shot his friend with all the sang- froid of a real duellist. These remarks would be trifling if they did not elucidate a fact in the history of the mind. The indulgence of that propensity, which all mankind feel, or have felt, to assume imaginary \ characters, and imagine actions suitable to th6' assumption ; to indulge in what is sometimes called reverie, and sometimes castle-building, has a tendency to strengthen imagination, and injure the judgment, and when further encou- $ S3IO0kJ oll/i fll V-W- N &QI XOfi C:03 CJ. -'i'skiis fi;)AW 330 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. raged by habits of ebriation, becomes a species of real insanity. On Sunday, the 5th of July, 1 S 12, Mr. and Mrs. Cooke sat off from New- York in the Pro- vidence (Rhode Island) Packet, and arrived at that place on the Wednesday following. He played at Providence with the Boston company nine nights, beginning on Monday, July 13th. First night, Merchant of Venice, Doll.QGS 50 July 1 5th, Wednesday, Richard 286 \7th, Friday, Man of the World . 227 50 90th, Monday, Macbeth 259 22c/, Wednesday, IV of Fortune, and Love a-la- Mode 165 75 2ith, rriday, Revenge 198 97th, Monday, Lear . 157 29^ 5 Wednesday, Henry 4th .... 93 50 On Friday, the 31st of July, 1812, Mr. Cooke played Sir Giles Over-reach, in Massinger's comedy of A New Way to Pay Old Debts, for his own benefit. The amount was 285 dollars, which, I presume, was as much as the house would hold. This was the last time Mr. Cooke ever played.' His engagement at this time was to share equally after 150 dollars, and have a clear bene- fit; so that these nine nights, in a country towri> yielded him 574 dollars. MEMOIRS OF COOK E ♦ 331 Mr. Powell says, " during the time he was in Providence, although he lived three quarters of a mile from the theatre, he would walk to and from it every morning* 1 do not recollect his absenting himself even from one rehearsal" In August, Mr. and Mrs. Cooke visited Bos- ton for a few days, and then returned to Provi- dence. They arrived in New-York the begin- ning of September. Mr. Cooke now took up his abode in Mecha- nic Hall, where shortly after Mr. Holmes and his daughter became inmates with him. During this summer, or in the latter part of the spring, Mr. Cooke received the following invitation to return to London, horn the son of his old friend Harris. " Covent Garden Theatre, March 18th, 1812. u My dear Sir, " My father has written a letter to you, invit- ing a return to your old quarters at Covent Gar- den, where you Would receive the mOst cordial welcome. ^^uorL, 3nl» &fs fioiJfjQ Pk> p J r v ' • " For fear his letter should not come to hand, I write this, repeating his request, and I hope that, on the receipt of it, you will take leave of the yankees, and come over and take t'other touch at John Bull, w T ho is as fond of you as ever, and would be most happy to see his favourite again* Believe me, your's, very sincerely, " W. HARRIS," 3*32 MEMOIRS OF COOKE* CHAP. XXXV. Zoss of Mr. Cooke felt severely by the Eng- lish Dramatic World — Mr. C. Kemble's lago — Mr. Grant's Sir Pertinax — Mr. Cooke's last Illness and Death — Letter from Dr. Hosack — . Some Remarks on Mr. Cooke's Disposition^ Genius i Taste, and Acting — lago — Sir Perti- nax— Richard— Macbeth — Mr. Cooke's Or- thoepy—Marked Part of Octavian— Three Anecdotes — Conclusion, The above letter, the eloquence of which was deemed sufficient to induce Mr. Cooke to " take )eave of the yankees, and come over and take t'other touch at John Bull," proves that the absence of my hero was sensibly felt, both by the public and by Mr. Harris. Many of the best plays in the language were no longer to be seen; or> if seen, only reminded the spectator of the loss he had sustained. Richard and Kitely, Sir Giles Over-reach and Sir John FaJstaff, lago and Sir Pertinax M'Sycophant, Lear and Sir Archy M'Sarcasm, were without adequate re* presentation; and comedy, as well as tragedy, mourtied the absence of Cooke. MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 333 Where, as in some of these pieces, oiie promi- nent character attracted all the attention, there was for some time no attempt to perform the play ; but "Othello" giving scope for two great actors, the loss of the favourite might be sup- posed more supportable. In the month of De- cember following Mr. Cooke's departure, Othello was played. Mr. Kembie, who had attempted lago in 1 806-7 «> when Mr. Cooke was absent, now, as the burnt child dreads the fire, kept aloof; and his brother, Mr. Charles Kembie, was thrust into the part, only to experience the mortification resulting from reproof. Some other futile attempts have been made of the same kind, but the greatest temerity was shown by an actor of the name of Grant, w ho, " neck or nothing/* made his appearance in December, 1 81 1, in the character of Sir Perti nax M'Sycophant. As it is certainly possible that a Cooke or a Garrick may appear again, it will not be impertinent to observe, that Mr, Grant failed. I return with reluctance to Mr. Cooke at Mechanic Flail, where the progress of those dis- eases, which had long before fastened their fang& upon him, was now rapid, and threatened a speedy termination of his eventful life. Happily for him, the hour of acute pain and mortal illness had not found him strufirelini? with poverty, or harassed by creditors ; he enjoy eo 334 MEMOIRS OF COOKE, all that affluence can bestow to alleviate dis- ease ; and had every attention paid to him, which kind and skilful physicians, sympathiz- ing friends, and above all, a faithful and exem- plary nurse in the person of Mrs. Cooke, could devise or bestow. The strength of his iron constitution was gone ; no skill could arrest the approach of death, and on the 26th September, 1812, George Frederick Cooke breathed his last, aged 57 years and 5 months. Among the persons he remembered with par- ticular affection on his death-bed, were Mr. Harris, Mr. Charles Kemble, and Mr. Brandon. A ring which had been given to him by Mr. Charles Kemble, he desired might be sent to him, and the assurance of his affectionate remem- brance to the three. His book of " The Man of the World" with the part of Sir Pertina% M' Sycophant marked, has been sent, since his death, to Mr. John Philip Kemble ; with what Intent I know not. I owe to the kind politeness of Dr. Rosack, the following letter on the subject of Mr. Cooke's diseases, last illness, and death. " New York, March \ 6, IS 13, " Dear Sir, _ u Uppn referring to my memoranda of the ill- ness and death of Mr. Cooke, I find I have very MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 335 little to communicate that will prove interesting to your readers, except to those who feel an in- terest in whatever relates to that distinguished character. His case does not, like that of his predecessor Garrick, repay the physician for its perusal, by the communication of an important medical truth ;* nor, like that of Macklin, does it directly illustrate the effects of regularity and temperance, in attaining to great length of days;-]* but it adds another lamented example, to the long catalogue of those who have prematurely fallen the victims of intemperance ; for by this species of suicide, as it ought to be denomi- nated, Mr. Cooke destroyed one of the best constitutions, both of mind and body, that man could have possessed. You observe I withhold nothing ; but disclose the whole truth. I trust, as his biographer, this you also will do ; for, to be a true portrait, the picture should have its shades and back-ground. " It will be proper to observe, that on his passage from Europe to this country, Mr. Cooke was indisposed by an inflammatory fever, with which-he was attacked two weeks after he left England. It ended in a deranged state .of. the bowels, attended with costiveness, hemorrhoids, and occasional discharges of blood. * See Murphy's Life of Garrick, vol. ii. p. 335, f fektaarfs Life of Macklin. 3ft. $$ 43S. 3°>G MEMOIRS OF COOKE. " During his convalescence from that illness he was deprived of his accustomed spirituous drinks ; for by the length of the voyage, the liquors of the ship had been all expended, when he was compelled to confine himself to water. This privation, though discomfiting to Mr, Cooke, produced a very salutary change in his constitution, for he arrived in the most perfect state of health. " Mr. Cooke landed in New-York on the 1 6th of November, and took lodgings at the Tontine Coffee-house, from whence, in a few days, he removed to the family of Mr. Price, the manager of the theatre. " His fame having preceded him, his society was immediately sought for by the lovers of the drama, and those who were acquainted with his professional excellence. Notwithstanding the temptations to indulgence, to which he now necessarily became exposed, he observed, with very few exceptions, great abstinence and regu- larity until the month of December. In the mean time, he completed his theatrical engage- ments in this city, without the least imputation of excess. I am informed, but whether cor- rectly or not, your constant intercourse with Mr. Cooke will enable you to state,* that dur- * My Statement the reader already has.— W, D, MEMOIRS OF COOKE, 337 ing the whole period of his engagement, he was so rigidly abstemious, that on the days of play- ing he regularly left the table at five o'clock, and prepared for his evening exercises ; with the exception of his benefit-night, when, indeed, as Sempronius wished, " _ the storm blew high, " And spent itself on Cato's head.* u Having terminated his engagement in New- York, Mr. Cooke proceeded to Boston. On his journey to and from that city, he endured much fatigue and distress from the roughness of the roads, the rapidity with which he travelled, and the coldness of the season, which was more severe during that winter than we usually ex- perience in the United States. u Of the weather, Mr. Cooke especially com- plained, and to it ascribed many of his sufferings which ensued. But in addition to these sources of his disease, it is also to be remarked, that he had returned to the same habits of excess that, for many years before, he had indulged in Eu- rope. The consequence was, a severe and alarm- ing indisposition. " I was first requested to see Mr. Cooke on * The tragedy of Cato was perfoTmM^tnTmgW Mr " Cooke's benefijt, VOL. II T 338 MEMOIRS OF COOKE, the 13th of March, 1811; but his friend Dr. Hugh M'Lean, an eminent physician of this city, informed me, that previously to my attend- ance, he had prescribed for him during several less severe attacks, of what he considered ap- proaching apoplexy, but which were readily re- moved by blood-letting, and other depleting re- medies. u When I was first called to Mr. Cooke, I .found him in a state of stupor, unable to con- verse, or to communicate to me any account either of feelings, or the causes of his distress. u He also laboured under great oppression of the chest, which was manifested by a hurried and anxious respiration. These symptoms were attended with a full and frequent pulse, a heated skin, a furred tongue, and other evidences of excitement and general plethora. I also learned from his attendants that, for some days before, he had been indulging in his wine, his favourite beverage, much more freely than usual. H Considering his complaints to be the result of an unusual fulness of his habit, and the too liberal use of stimulant drinks, I immediately directed twenty ounces of blood to be taken from his arm. By this evacuation, followed by an active cathartic, he was in a few hours sen- sibly relieved. In the evening of the same day, he had so far recovered from the oppression, both of his brain and lungs, that he conversed MEMOIRS OF COOKE* 339 with me very freely of his situation, and the causes that had induced it. He then informed me, that prior to his confinement to bed, he had also complained of pain in his right side, refer- ring it more immediately to the region of the liver; he, however, at that time, wanted some of the characteristic symptoms of an acute in* flammation of that organ. " I observed that his spirits were greatly de- pressed whenever he conversed upon the subject of his complaints ; for he had now become con- scious of the nature of his disease, and appeared to be fully apprized of the consequences, if he could not command fortitude enough to abstain from the causes that had produced it. In one of those moments of despondency he asked me $ with an earnestness and solicitude of manner which I can never forget, if I thought his disease had proceeded to such a degree as likely to prove fatal to him ; and if I then considered him in immediate danger; adding, that in such cast.: he was desirous of making some communication to one or two persons in England, and particularly referred to his old friend, an eminent surgeon of London, James Wilson, Esq., of Windmill- street, of whom he always expressed himself in terms of the greatest affection and respect. " Upon assuring him that he was, for the pre ?»ent, relieved, and that Richard would soon be z g S40 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. himself again, his countenance lighted up, and, for the moment, he was re-animated. " He then became fearful that I had miscon- strued the source of his anxiety about his own situation, and with some animation observed, 46 Doctor, I hope you do not conceive that 1 ask you these questions because I am afraid of dying — be assured I am not/' Notwithstand- ing this assurance, however, I was convinced that Mr, Cooke was not so firmly steeled upon this subject as he would wish us to believe; on the contrary, he had his share of that ' cowardice* which generally attaches itself to human nature at the approach of dissolution, for " Conscience does make cowards of us all." " Perceiving, as I believed, the necessity of rallying his spirits, and of counteracting his de- spondency, whatever may have been the real source of it, I instantly replied, 6 that it would indeed be strange, if a man who, like Mr. Cooke, had been so much in the habit of dying? should be afraid of it/ " This reply, though trifling in itself, and which by some, perhaps, may be considered as misplaced levity, had the effect I intended as a medicina mentis; for it more effectually con- veyed my affected unconcern for his situation MEMOIRS OF COOKE; 3il and imparted more confidence to his mind than the most grave or solemn declaration that I could have expressed. 4C In a few days, by attention to his manner of living, Mr. Cooke recovered, and proceeded to Philadelphia. u During his stay in that city he was so much caressed by his numerous friends and admirers, that we are not surprized to find him again for- getting himself. He accordingly, while in Phi- ladelphia, was obliged to undergo some occa- sional medical discipline. 44 After fulfilling his engagement in that city, he returned to New-York in the month of May. I now found that he had not profited, except in pocket and in fame, by this visit to Philadel- phia, for he had brought back with him an in- creased attachment to his old habits, with less power of resisting them. 44 On the 20th of that month I was again called, to witness a similar attack, though in a slighter degree than that in which I had at first attended him; it however was readily removed by mild evacuations. " Finding now that his repeated excesses, and the means necessary to counteract them, had left him somewhat debilitated, I directed for him a bitter infusion, and other tonic medicines; these, with attention to his diet, greatly improved his appetite and general health. 342 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. " Having terminated his theatrical engage* merits, for that season, he passed a great part of the ensuing summer at the springs of Ballston, and in travelling through the northern and west- ern parts of this State. u About the beginning of the September fol- lowing, his health being much improved by the excursions of the summer, and his release from professional duty, he returned to the city. The winter campaign which followed, and occasional departures from that temperate system of living which had been enjoined upon him, for he had not sufficient firmness to resist his olc} enemy, renewed his complaints. 46 In the following spring he removed from his lodgings at the Coffee-house, where he had passed the winter, to another part of the town. For some weeks he now lived in the most per- fect retirement. " His friend, Dr. M'Lean, again called upon him, at his new place of residence, and observ- ing Mr. Cooke to manifest some fulness of the abdomen, and swelling of the lower extremities, he immediately endeavoured to alarm him, by expressing, in as strong terms as possible, the consequences v/hich would inevitably ensue, unless he could change his mode of life. For a few weeks this admonition had the most salu- tary effect. Mr. Cooks immediately abandoned the use of spirituous drinks, except in the form MEMOIRS OF COOKE. S43 of very weak punch, and which he used in great moderation. He also rose early, and took daily exercise, at the same time that he again occu- pied his mind in miscellaneous reading, to which, when in health, he was greatly attached. These habits were continued for some weeks, and were followed by the most beneficial changes in his constitution. " The swelling of his abdomen and extremi- ties were both totally removed. His general health became improved, and his mind recovered its natural strength and cheerfulness. At this time, as was the case upon his first arrival in this country, Mr. Cooke had the most ample evi- dence of the salutary effects of temperance and exercise, in the removal of his complaints. u Thus restored, he proceeded in the month of July to Providence, Rhode Island, to fulfil an engagement in that town, and where he closed his theatrical career. But upon his arrival in Providence, he unfortunately fell into the so- ciety of some kindred spirits, and was again se- duced into his former habits. As predicted by Dr. M'Lean, his dropsical complaints imme^ diately returned, and soon increased to so alarming a degree, that it was feared he could not live to return to New-York. He, however, was brought back to this city in September, and took lodgings at the Mechanic Hall, where he remained until his death. Dr. M'Lean visited 344 MEMOIRS OF COOKE, him on his return, and prescribed for him such diuretics, and other evacuants, as his condition indicated ; but his complaints had assumed so formidable an appearance, that the Doctor de- spaired of his recovery, and expressed hi&opinion to the friends and connexions of Mr. Cooke. At that time his abdomen had become very much enlarged, attended with great hardness in the region of the liver, and a sensible fluctua- tion, occasioned by water in the cavity of the belly. His bowels, at the same time, were in a constant state of constipation, except when ex- cited by the most drastic purgatives. His lower extremities were almost anasarcous, and a gene- ral yellowness was diffused over the surface of the body, all evidently pointing out the deranged condition of the liver, as well as the debilitated state of his whole system. " During the period of Dr. McLean's attend- ance, Mr. Cooke was confined to his bed, ex- cepting upon one day, when, by an extraordinary exertion, he left his room for the purpose of dining with his friend Mr. Holman, who had just arrived from England. Gn the 17th of September I was again called upon to see Mr. Cooke, in consultation with Dr. M'Lean. I immediately visited him, accompanied by Dr. John W. Francis, a young physician with whom I had lately formed a connexion in practice, and who afterwards, by his constant attendance upon MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 3\5 Mr. Cooke, very much contributed to soothe and allay the distresses which he endured in this his last illness. Mr. Cooke's strength was now so far expended, that we found it impos- sible to prescribe any thing that was likely to prove useful for the removal of his disease ; we therefore, from this period, directed our atten- tion chiefly to the relief of particular symptoms, as they occasionally appeared during the pro- gress of his complaint. On the evening of the 25th, he was seized with sickness at the sto- mach, which was soon succeeded by violent vomiting, and the discharge of a large quantity of black, grumous blood ; by this evacuation his strength was suddenly exhausted ; but the vomiting was at length allayed by a mixture of laudanum and mint-water, directed for him by Dr. Francis, who remained with him through- out the night, hourly expecting his decease. Mr. Cooke, however, survived until six in the morning, when in the full possession of his mental faculties, and the perfect consciousness of his approaching change, he calmly expired. " A few hours after his death, having obtained permission from Mrs. Cooke, accompanied by Dr. Francis, I examined the body, for the pur- pose of ascertaining the state of the abdominal viscera, and especially that of the liver. Upon opening the belly, we found it to contain about four quarts of water ; but the liver, to our great 346 MEMOIRS OF COOKE* surprize, did not exceed the usual dimensions of that viscus; it was, however, astonishingly hard, and of a much lighter colour than is natural to that organ; its texture, too, was uncommonly dense, making considerable resistance to the knife ; in its internal structure it was so hard and unyielding, that very few traces of its ves- sels could be found* and the circulation through it had evidently long since ceased to be regu- larly performed: it exhibited precisely that pe- culiar tuberculous appearance, which was first pointed out by Dr. Baillie of London, in his Morbid Anatomy.* It also deserves to be re- marked, that in the case of Mr. Cooke, as in those described by the distinguished anatomist referred to, the tubercles were not confined to the surface, but extended throughout the greater part of the substance of the liver, as I ascertained by making several sections of it in different directions. The other viscera of the abdomen exhibited no departure from their natural condition, either in their structure of appearance. c ' Such, Sir i are the most important eircum- . ;ces which have fallen under my observa- tion relating to the illness and death of Mr. Cooke; whose loss, in his professional cha- * See Baillie's engravings, p. 101? 2* MEMOIRS OF COOKE. 347 racter, we all deplore ; for in that justly cele- brated tragedian were united a quickness of perception — a correctness of j udgment — a knowledge of human uature — a flexibility of feature — a strength and variety of . voice — a dignity of form — and a majesty of deportment, which singly are seldom met with in the same degree, and still more rarely are combined in any individual. u With my best wishes for the accomplish- ment, and success of the work which you have so laudably undertaken, u I am, with great regard and respect, " Yours, * DAVID HOSACK. " William Dunlap^ Esq:' Doctor John W. Francis, Doctor Hosack's associate in practice, who attended Mr. Cooke in his last illness with Messrs. M'Lean and Hosack, and who witnessed his dying moments, has furnished me with the following anecdote connected with the veteran's last exhibition of his favourite character of Richard the Third, in the city of New-York. It was on the 20th of March, 1812. The next day Dr. Francis called upon him, and expressed the pleasure he had received from witnessing the last even-* ing's exhibition. *let 'em vanish ! — j* Prosperity's a cheat! Des- pair is honest, and will stick by me steadily ! — Til hug it ! — will glut on't.™ J Why, the grey- beard tore her from me, even in my soul's fond dotage !— Oh ! 'tis pastime now to see men tug at each other's hearts !— I fear not-^-for my strings are crack'd already N** § I will go prowl— but look, I meet no fathers — |j now willow*-*- **Oh, Floranthe ! Exit. 1st E. 11. H. Before I take leave of my subject and my reader, let me record three unconnected, but characteristic anecdotes. During one of his provincial engagements. f The anger of grief. f The rage of despair, under, and at the conclusion, J oi the present note, Lll in front of the stage — a despairing satisfaction, with a proper pause. | Rejcoilection of his loss, and increased despair, grief and irage mingled. § Sullen determination. ^| A despairing threatening accent. jj The satisfaction of grief. ** The remembrance of all his former happiness. 360 MEMOIRS OF COOKE. Mr. Cooke had offended the public, by disap- pointing or disgusting them, and. on a following night the audience was thin, and the gentlemen in the boxes near the stage, by concert, turned their backs on the scene when Cooke came on. He was dressed for Falstaff, and immediately noticing this unusual appearance, and compre- hending the intent, instead of beginning the part, he said in a voice sufficiently audible for those who were reproving him, " Call you this backing your friends ?— a plague of such backings I say." When he was the object of the universal curi- osity, soon after his coming out in London, a certain nobleman, filled with that insolence which rank and riches, when not accompanied by worth, generate in little minds, seeing Mr. Cooke, who had stopped to gaze at the pictures in the window of a print shop, sent his servant to desire him to turn round that his lordship might view him. Astonishment first, and then indignation, filled the mind of Cooke. u Tell his lordship," says he, ¥ that if he will step this way, Fll show him what he never saw when he looked in his mirror — the face of a many On occasion of some offence which he con- ceived against the people of Liverpool, he ut- tered this eloquent burst of invective. "It is MEMOIRS OP COOKE. £6l a place accursed of heaven, and abhorrent to nature — their wealth is the pricq of human misery ; and there is not a, brick in their houses that is not cemented with human blood. " To conclude. All those high and rare natural endowments, which we have seen united in Mr. Cooke, were obscured and marred by un- fortunate circumstances^in the early portion of his; life, and by long continued habits of indulging those debasing propensities, which-those unfor- tunate circumstances had generated. Though his talents as an actor were obscured and low- ered by these causes, he still retained enough of the form impressed by the 46 bountiful god- dess nature/' to stamp him in men's minds, the legitimate successor of Garrick : but these causes had made of him, as a man, a mass of con- tradictions, not merely opposite, but in the extremes of opposition. With manners the most urbane, polished, and refined, and a mind delighting in the society of wit and. .reason, a large portion of his life was passed in the haunts of vice, or in the solitude imposed by poverty, or sickness, the consequences of voluntary mad- ness ; and that benevolence, which opened hies heart and hand, to relieve the distresses of his fellow-creatures, was converted into the ex- tremes of anxious parsimony, or indiscriminate profusion: the latter,- -"asntfiore congenial to 55? MEMOIRS OF COOKK. the? natural impulse, prevailing over the former, to the utter exclusion of common sense or justice. Such was George Frederick Cooke; one among the very many instances on record, of the insufficiency of talents, and genius, without the aid of prudence, to procure happiness to their possessor, or to benefit mankind ; other- wise, than by the lesson which their deplora- ble failure imparts for the instruction of others* FINIS. James Gillet, Printer, Crown-court, Fleet-street, London.