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good terms with the audience.-The selfish, who come only to be amused, have no objection to generosity in the abstract; and the unthrifty are not displeased to behold so agreeable an apology for themselves, as this whimsical baronet presents.

This character was written expressly for Lewis, and he entered into its generous feelings with kindred warmth-and with high glee into its various eccentricities. His spirit and gayety operated like a charm upon the audience.-No sooner did his voice (that well known signal), from behind the scenes, announce his glad approach, than the dramatic hemisphere, however clouded by dulness or winter fogs, grew bright in an instant; and, when his elastic figure bounded on the stage, a la plomb, and he took measure of the audience with one of his rapid, significant, and good-humoured glances, he became the ancient Lord of Misrule-the flag of merriment was hoistedMomus beat to arms

"And mirth, bon-mot, and humour, won the day."

Mr. Jones gives a lively representation of Sir Larry-the jokes come trippingly from his tongue, and he is sufficiently mercurial in his movements. Emery has left no successor in Andrew Bang; the part is short; but half a dozen lines in the mouth of Emery were quite enough to mark a character. Harley made no hit in Andrew→→ cockney pertness is his forte-his manner, speech, and face, give us not the smallest idea of rusticity. Dowton and Mathews, in Torrent and Oldskirt, were perfectly good. Mrs. Davenport's Mrs. Glastonbury is one of those rich remembrances of the better days of the drama, before comedy was elbowed from her seat by coarseness and buffoonery. Mrs. Davenport is the last of the old school; whenever she departs the comic scene, her particular line of acting will become extinct.

This comedy was tolerably successful on its first appearance: but the audience, having been spoiled by the high-seasoned dishes that the author had been accustomed to prepare for them, received this with less gout than they were wont to do. It is unquestionably more a five-act farce than a comedy. But, as five-act farces have long been, and stin continue to be, the rage, and as this is not the worst of them-it deserved not less favour on that account.



The Conductors of this work print no Plays but those which they have seen actel. The Stage Directions are given from their own personal observations, during the most recent performances.


R. means Right; L. Left; D. F. Door in Flat; R. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door; S. E. Second Entrance; U. E. Upper Entrance; M. D. Middle Door.


R. means Right; L. Left; C. Centre; R. C. Right of Centre; L. C. Left of Centre.


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The Reader is supposed to be on the Stage, facing the Audience.

TORRENT.-Old-fashioned orimson coat, waistcoat, and breeches -yellow buttons-white wig-white silk stockings-shoes and buckles.

HOGMORE.-Brown coat-flowered waistcoat-coloured handkerchief-drab breeches-worsted stockings-shoes and buckles. HEARTLY.-Claret-coloured old-fashioned suit-yellow buttons -large cravat-cocked-hat-white stockings-knee buckles-shoes and buckles.

SOLOMON GUNDY.-Striped silk drab coat-embroidered waistcoat with lappets-dark-green breeches-brown striped silk stockings-three-cornered hat-shoes and buckles.

BARFORD. Gray frock coat-brown great-coat-black pantaloons, and hessian boots.

JONATHAN OLDSKIRT.-Snuff-coloured old fashioned coatsugar-loaf buttona-embroidered waistcoat--black velvet breechesgray cotton stockings-shoes and buckles-three-cornered hat-dark wig-cane. fashionable

SIR LARRY M'MURRAGH.-Claret-coloured

frock-coat, with fur and frogs-nankeen trousers-shoes-black cra vat-round hat-thin cane.

ANDREW BANG-Green coat-red waistcoat-leather breeches and top-boots.

CARRY DOT.-Dark-green single-breasted coat-green waistcoat with lappets-green breeches-white stockings-shoes and buckles. HENRY.-Blue and white striped jacket-white trousers--black belt and buckle-loose black cravat-open shirt collar-small bizck hat-shoes.

BOY.-Claret-coloured coat-white waistcoat-nankeen trouserswhite stockings-frilled shirt, open at the neck-shoes.

FANNY.-Neat white muslin dress, long sleeves-puce coloured sarsnet slip-white kid gloves-Leghorn hat.

MRS. GLASTONBURY.-Chintz gown, with short sleeveslong gray mittens-green silk neckerchief-white muslin apron and cap AMY.-White muslin dress-straw bonnet.

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SCENE I.-An Apartment in Heartly's House.-Heartly, R., and Hogmore, L., discovered seated at a Table, c.-Hogmore smoking—A jug of ale at his elbow.

Hea. Yes; an hour after midnight, the flames had consumed two thirds of our adjoining village.

Hog. Very bad fire, last night, to be sure, Mr. Heartly.

Hea. Think, then, on the destitute situation of its inhabitants.

Hog. They're in a pretty pickle, I warrant 'em. My service to you.


Hea. Come, come, Mr. Hogmore, Providence has blessed you with abundance; and you must assist me in my poor endeavours to succour our rustic neighbours. The wealthy of this land forbid the drops of disappointment to fall from labour's eye, and rust the ploughshare. Industry is the source of our country's riches; and English policy would teach opulence to dry the peasant's tear, if English justice and generosity did not continually prevent its flowing.

Hog. [Smoking.] Plaguy good tobacco this of yours, Mr. Heartly.

Hea. I am glad you like it. But the poor cottagers' calamity-I am sure, Mr. Hogmore, you feel for them deeply.

Hog. Monstrous deep, for certain. How much a pound for this tobacco, Mr. Heartly?

Hea. "Tis a present from a friend in London. Now, as you are wealthy, Mr. Hogmore, I trust you will cooperate with me (whose means are circumscribed), to alleviate their miseries.

Hog. [Taking the pipe from his mouth and looking at

it.] These are nice pipes, rabbit me if they an't! You have every thing mighty snug about you, here, neighbour Heartly.

Hea. But to the point in question.

Hog. Well, well-I pity the poor devils-I do, indeed. I look'd out of my window last night, just at eleven o'clock.-Here's to you [Takes the jug.] I was going to bed-rabbit me, Suke, says I, to my wife, what a blaze! [Drinks.] Now, I say that ale sha'n't be badso I shut the window, and Suke and I bundled in.

Hea. You did?

Hog. Ay; for, as I live a quarter of a mile off, you know, we were all safe, and had nothing to hinder us from going to sleep, as usual. But you are nearer to 'em. I warrant me you was in a fine pheese about your movables! What was you doing about that time, neighbour Heartly?

Hea. At the time you were shutting your window? Hog. Ay.

Hea. I was then, neighbour, opening my door-to give every relief in my power to the sufferers; and, just as you were bundling in," as you call it, at your home, I was inviting them to bundle in at mine.

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Hog. [Sulkily.] Perhaps, Mr. Heartly, I may be as charitable as you, though I can't speechify-I don't want feeling. I pay the poor's-rates punctually.

Hea. That, Mr. Hogmore, is rather a feeling of the legislature; which enacts, in some cases, lest feeling should not prompt.

Hog. Englishmen don't want to be roused to feeling, master Heartly.

Hea. I never knew a nation more sensibly alive to it; but here and there, neighbour, an individnal may nod; and our laws, vigilant in the cause of general good, search every corner where charity happens to slumber; then, giving her a jog, whisper, to her to get up for the welfare of the community. But, surely, Mr. Hogmore, you will contribute to the relief of these sufferers?

Hog. Not a souse-I've a wife and family.

Hea. That is the very reason why you should not refuse.

Hog. How do you make out that?

Hea. Because a husband and father can best judge of their anguish, whose wives and children are starving around them.


Hog. So, then, I must strip my fireside, to warm their's?

Hea. By no means. Our firesides are, naturally, our first care, but you are affluent-a rich man's superfluities are often a poor man's redemption; and you cannot conceive, neighbour, how much more cheerfully the faggot would crackle on your hearth, if you sent it's fellow to save a family from perishing.

Hog. 'Tis my opinion there has been fire enough in the village, already. However, there is a great man coming down among us, who is to smother us all with guineas. He has bought the manor, they say, and the old mansion; and the park-all the estate; but, for all that, he may turn out, at last, as arrant a

Hea. Softly-Mr. Torrent is my friend.

Hog. Then, let Mr. Torrent, if that's his name, take care of his tenants. For my part, I know the duties of humanity, without a lesson. As to the tender feelings of a father and a husband, my family shall never want good clothes, food, or physic; and I say it without boasting. As to good will to my neighbours, I never wrong'd a man of a brass farthing.-In short, I pay my bills punctual-I do the upright thing. [Rises and drinks.] I've finished your ale, and I wish you a good morning. [Exit, L.

Hea. This fellow, now, has obtained respect in his neighbourhood by a dry performance of duty to every body, without a grain of feeling for any body. How I detest your worldly moral man, who is just as honest as the law directs, and just as kind to his family as decency requires! [Rises and comes forward, c.] He paces through the proprieties of life as a bear moves a minuet; and is an upright brute, of good carriage and decorum: but surely, surely, ere society established rules, nature traced her precepts upon the yielding tablet of the human heart, and, with a glowing hand, she wrote on it66 Compassion.'

Enter SOLOMON GUNDY, L., with a signboard under his


Now, Solomon Gundy, how are they going on in the village ?

Sol. (L. c.) The conflagellation has been dreadfulall smother and rubbish. "Tis the greatest calamity to our hamlet since my father was schoolmaster.

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