Four gentlemen, of which this tragedian was one, were on an evening supping together, in a room contiguous to a theatre where a celebrated character was then acting. Mr. C. was the life and soul of the table, and although he liberally plied the bottle, gave not the slightest symptom of intoxication. It ought to have been previously mentioned, that his Bacchanalian insanity was not with him slow and gradual in its approachesit came like an electrical flash on his faculties, to the astonishment of his companions. In the midst of the most brilliant colloquy and exhilerating anecdote with which all the guests were charmed and delighted, the tragedian burst into a torrent of tears. Every one was startled by this abrupt transition, and anxiously inquired the cause. Intelligence has arrived this moment, he replied, [no one had quitted the room, no one had entered it] that my friend has been playing this night to empty seats. Do, gentlemen, let us go to the theatres and fill the house. This ludicrous association may thus be accounted for. Mr. C. had laid it down as a fundamental point, that he was unquestionably the better actor of the two. Suddenly recollecting that his rival was then treading the boards, and as he was himself absent, he predicted, as a matter of course, a thin house. Knowing what a crowded audience his presence had always collected, he was prompted by the impulse of his insane humanity to propose to give his attendance and fill the house. Mr. Cooke, after his return from a like convivial party, was engaged in conversation with one of his friends, and the subject being the English stage, his return, &c. he complained of sickness, and thought himself on the verge of the grave. No remonstrances, exhortations, or arguments, could shake the constancy of his belief: he was on the borders of death, and his will must be instantly made. Accordingly, his friend, to humour his caprice, took pen, ink, and paper, and proceeded to the execution of the task assigned him, with suitable solemnity. Amidst the disposition of his property, he asked, incidentally, the ques tion, if he was not a better tragedian, in the character of Richard, than Mr. Cooper. His friend having adroitly interposed a doubt, all thought of the last will and testament was laid aside, and the dying man recovered at once. Here we find that absence from home, and from the theatre of all his glory, was naturally associated with a kindred train of gloomy and desponding images. To the ardent mind of Cooke, at that moment, it was linked with the thought of dissolution. But when the pedestal of his fame, the character of Richard, was rudely assailed, these mournful recollections were broken by vexation and alarm. Mr. Cooke, being in a company of a few select friends, participated in all their convivial pleasures; and by his singular extravagancies delighted the table. At length, the carriages arrived to convey the company home, and the care of Mr. Cooke was assigned to' the gentleman who so hospitably entertained them. When his carriage arrived, and he was about to take his seat, Mr. Cooke stopped him short by informing him that in his country, the gentleman who pays the hire was allowed first to enter. The gentleman politely asked pardon for his unintentional offence, and without undeceiving Mr. Cooke, readily gave way. After they were seated to their content, the driver incautiously drove on the side of a hill to the evident hazard of overturning the carriage. Mr. Cooke's companion remonstrated with the driver on his carelessness; at which the tragedian took umbrage again. Sir! said he, this is the second time I have had to expostulate with you on your impertinence for presuming to direct my driver; beware of the third offence. The gentleman again calmed his anger by submission. Not long afterwards, in crossing a stream, the carriage was every moment plunging deeper in the water. The same offence by Mr. C.'s companion was reiterated, and the driver severely scolded for his imprudence. Mr. Cooke's ire could be restrained no longer. Opening the door-sir! said he, this is the third time you have dared to act in defiance of my injunctions; I insist on your stepping immediately out. His companion attempted to pacify him in vain; and at last, was compelled, in selfdefence, to adopt a bolder style of speaking. Sir, said he, it is unnecessary to exhaust your threats to no purpose; I will not go out of the carriage. If you will not, I will, replied Cooke; and immediately quitted his companion and plunged, up to his middle, in the water. By repeated intercessions, he was at last prevailed upon to resume his seat; not, however, until he had taken so severe a cold, that he was prevented from acting in consequence of his hoarseness, on the succeeding night, which was assigned for his benefit. The politeness of the company was the cause of all this mischief. Anxious to behold Cooke in all his glory, they listened attentively, without contradiction, and 'allowed full scope to all his extravagancies. Mr. Cooke insisted on their drinking the health of his eldest son. His name was inquired for-Why, what should his name be, but George Frederick Cooke? This was done in a bumper; and, after a little interval of time had elapsed, he rose and demanded of the company that they should drink the health of his second son. His name, if you please, sir-Why, undoubtedly, George Frederick Cooke. This farce was repeated seven times over, and the healths of the tragedian's seven sons were drank, all to the name of George Frederick Cooke. From such entire acquiescence to the whims and caprices of this celebrated actor in all the company present, he metamorphosed himself from the guest to the host; and as he had thus, in his own imagination, entertained them all at his own expense, it was fitting that he should pay the hire of the carriage that conveyed them home. Self love is so strong a pas sion, that its insanity will work on any fact, however distantly associated with its indulgence; and this very circumstance that would occasion respect in Cooke for his company, when possessed of his sober senses, would make him boisterous and vehement in his hours of ebriety. We have dwelt so long on this part of the character of Mr. Cooke, because many have believed that his artificial excitements were not tinctured by any peculiarities of the man— whereas, they were sparkling with all, and sometimes changing with a rapidity that beggars all description. When he was free from such influence, his conversation was brilliant and sententious; at first, modest and unobtrusive, but capable of being roused and inflamed, if the inflammable materials were disturb ed. He was, therefore, at such seasons, a mirror that reflected back with fidelity the prevailing spirit of the company. chafed by opposition, these obnoxious traits' were not visible, and his society was perfectly safe. To those who understood and attempted to practise on the keys of the machine, it might be made to discourse most excellent music; but in clumsy and awkward hands, it was sure to grate discord and harshness. Such inequalities and contrarieties were discovered in his every day character; and he was then the well bred gentleman or the blustering bully, according to his conception of the treatment he received from the company he frequented. Instances of the epigrammatic brilliancy of his wit are too numerous for repetition. Kemble, who is too much addicted to opium, once undertook to remonstrate with Cooke on his prevailing intemperance. He heard him patiently to the end; to which this witty reply was given:-You take solid fire, and I liquid fire. Reform your own solids before you venture to interfere with my liquids. The severity of his language was sometimes almost without a parallel. On some controversy with a gentleman, which ended in a personal combat, in which Mr. Cooke was foiled, he craved a suspension of hostilities. Taking his own portrait from his bosom, he presented it to his antagonist, with these words: Do me the favour, sir, to wear this; and whenever you look upon it, remember that the original called you a scoun drel. His life, replete as it is with such extravagancies, affords a useful and salutary lesson. It shows us the danger of suffering passion to run to riot, and of demolishing all those guards and restraints which decency no less than virtue demands. Had these fiery passions submitted to the curb, their natural impulse, on so strong an intellect, would have carried him through his professional career with dignity and honour, whatever that profession might have been. Abandoning this restraint, he was the untamable disciple of passion altogether; he broke upon us in sudden starts and sallies, and his success was made dependant on the fortuitous aid afforded by animal spirits. When these failed Kim, Cooke was no longer seen, and he was compelled to sup. ply their exhaustion by the bottle. This untamable exercise of his passions, explains the reason why in characters marked with these traits, such as Richard, for instance, he shone so unrivalled. He was himself speaking; and he rather moulded Richard to himself, than personated the character he acted. It was a natural outlet to strong passion; there Cooke was perfectly at home. With the restraints thus discarded, he presents to us a mixture of strange, contradictory, and inflammable passions, liable to be excited by the touch of every passing incident. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. Lines on the death of G. F. Cooke, the tragedian, by a young lady not yet fifteen years of age. How lovely did the blooming morn Gem with bright dew the rose girt thorn, And opened every blushing bell, Or strew'd the verdant vale: Oh, Cooke! thy wand'rings all are past; Nor Pleasure's charm, nor Mis'ry's sigh, Nor anguish'd tear, nor smiling eye, Can rouse thee from the gloom: |