She shall procced-but if some bar you find, The unfavourable reports circulated by those who formed their opinions rather from external appearance than mental ability, operated in her favour:-The audience expected to see a mawkin, but saw a CIBBER. The applause was proportionate to the surprize; every mouth emitted her praise, and she performed several parts in Bath and Bristol, a phenomen in the theatrical hemisphere. She afterwards undertook, with the same success, the parts of Horatio, (Roman Father) and of Palmira, (Mahomet). Her fame now spread to the metropolis; and soon excited the attention of Mr. Harris, who was determined to visit Bath, to view in person, this new theatrical constellation. He went-he saw-he resolved. He immediately engaged Miss Brunton and her father, for three years certain, at very handsome salaries. On the 17th of October, 1785, Miss Brunton made her first appearance at Covent Garden Theatre, in the character of Horatio, before an audience uncommonly numerous, who received her with incessant exclamations of rapture and applause. Her entrance was prefaced by a prologue, written by Mr. Murphy, and spoken by Mr. Holman, which contained an elegant compliment to Mrs. Siddons. During the succeeding summer seasons, she performed at several respectable towns with increased reputation. On her marriage with Mr. Merry the poet, she quitted the stage, but following her husband to America, she resumed her profession in that country, and soon became a prodigious favourite. Mr. Merry died suddenly in 1798. His widow married, some time after, Mr. Wignell, manager of some of the theatres there, and on his death, was induced to enter a third time into the matrimonial state with Mr. Warren. This lady's figure was rather of the under size, but she was nevertheless elegant in her person, and graceful and easy in her action and deportment. Her voice was beautifully feminine, and extremely melodious, when exercised in what is termed level speaking. Her countenance was agreeable, and her features regular and expressive; happily so where the situation demanded a smile. She spoke naturally, and laid her accent and emphasis with critical correctness. PARALLEL BETWEEN CORNEILLE AND RACINE. THE mind of Corneille was naturally vigorous. He possessed an elevated imagination; and the power of reasoning, the noblest thoughts and the genuine effusions of eloquence, are predominant in his compositions: He would have displayed them with equal energy in any other kind of writing which he might have chosen. As the dramatic art is the result of an union of diversified talents, he was the first who furnished the model of those that belong to an exalted soul, and proceed from the vigorous combination of ideas. But he was from the same cause, subject to defects. His most admired authors, and the studies of which he was fondest were analogous to the bent of his mind. It is well known that his favourite writers were Seneca, Lucan, and the Spanish poets. Like Lucan, the love of the sublime betrayed him into bombast; like Seneca, he was so attached to reasoning, that he became subtle and uninteresting; like the Spanish writers, he outraged probability, for the pur pose of producing effect. But the beauties for which he was indebted to his natural powers, placed him, for thirty years, so far above his cotemporaries, that it was impossi ble for him to enter into a mature examination of himself, and perceive in what he was deficient. Racine, born with that lively imagination, that inflexibility of mind and heart, that tender sensibility, the most essential qualities for tragedy, which Corneille did not possess, with the finest and most delicate sentiment of harmony and elegance, and the happiest facility of elocution, the most essential qualities for all poetry, of which Corneille was also devoid, had to do with judges whom Corneille had instructed by his successes and his faults. He wrote at a time when every kind of literature was approaching to perfection, when true taste was formed; and he found in D'Espréaux, the severest and most judicious judge of his age, at once a friend and a critic. Thus nature and the circumstances of the times in which he lived, combined to make Racine a perfect writer; and he was one. The progressive display of his talents is the best proof of his observations and exertions, and of that constant study of himself so necessary to every writer who wishes to approach perfection.' ANECDOTES OF MACKLIN. One night, sitting at the back of the front boxes with a gentleman of his acquaintance, (before the late alterations at Covent Garden Theatre took place,) one of the under-bred box-lobby loungers of the present day stood up immediately before him, whose person being rather large, covered the sight of the Stage from him. Macklin took fire at this; but managing himself with more temper than usual, patted him gently on the shoulder with his cane, and with much seeming civility, requested of him, "that when he saw or heard any thing that was entertaining on the Stage, to let him and the gentleman with him, know of it: for you see my dear Sir," added the veteran, "that at present we must totally depend on your kindness." This had the desired effect and the lounger walked off. Another time sitting nearly in the same place, a Noble Lord, since dead, rather of a suspicious character in his amours, placed himself close by him, and entered into conversation with him. After his Lordship went away, a friend of Macklin's was rallying him on the awkwardness of his late situation. "Why yes, Sir," says he, " It was rather critical, I must confess: but what could I do? He offered me the first civilities; and you know there's no turning one's back upon such fellows." Talking of the caution necessary to be used in conversation amongst a mixed company, Macklin observed, "Sir, I have experienced, to my cost, that a man in any situation of life, should never be off his guard-A Scotchman never is; he never lives a moment extempore, and that is one great reason of their success in life." Macklin was very intimate with Frank Hayman, (at that time one of our first historical painters,) and happening to call upon him one morning, soon after the death of the painter's wife, with whom he lived but on indifferent terms,) he found him wrangling with the undertaker about the extravagance of the funeral expences. Macklin listened to the altercation for some time: at last going up to Hayman, with great gravity he observed, "Come, come, Frank; though the bill is a little extravagant, pay it in respect to the memory of your wife: for, by G- I am sure she would do twice as much for you had she the same opportunity." A notorious egotist one day in a large company, indirectly praising himself for a number of good qualities which it was well known he had not, asked Macklin the reason why he should have this propensity of interfering in the good of others, when he frequently met with unsuitable returns? "I could tell you Sir," says Macklin. "Well do, Sir; you're a man of sense and observation, and I should be glad of your definition"-" Why then, Sir-the cause is impudence-nothing but stark-staring impudence." 66 A gentleman at a public dioner asking him, inconsiderately, whether he remembered Mrs. Barry, the celebrated Actress, who died about the latter end of Queen Ann's reign, he planted his countenance directly against him with great severity, and bawled out, "No, Sir-nor Harry the Eighth either-They were both dead before my time." An Irish dignitary of the church (not remarkable for veracity) complaining that a tradesman of his parish had called him a liar, Macklin asked him what reply he made him. "I told him," said he, "that a lie was amongst the things I dared not commit.' "And why, Doctor," replied Macklin, "did you give the rascal so mean an opinion of your courage ?” One of the band of Covent Garden Theatre, who played the French horn, was telling some anecdotes of Garrick's generosity. Macklin, who heard him at the lower end of the table, and who always fired at the ́praises of Garrick, called out, “ Sir, I believe you are a trumpeter" "Well," said the poor man, quite confounded," and if I am, what then?" Nothing more, Sir, than being a trumpeter, you are a dealer in puffs by profession." 66 CONGREVE. THIS sprightly writer has been in general supposed to have written his Comedies without any reference to life or nature. The following transcript from a manuscript letter of Mr. Dryden to Mr. Walsh (Mr. Pope's friend) will shew how ill this observation is founded: |