Conscious of his deserved elevation in the ranks of literature, and aware of the enemies he had to encounter in the progress of his profession as an author, he thus states in his Rambler, one of the most successful efforts to obscure the celebrity of a correct and distinguished writer.

"When the excellence of a composition can no longer be contested, and malice is compelled to give way to the unanimity of applause, there is yet this one expedient to be tried, the charge of plagiarism. By this the author may be degraded, though his work be reverenced, and the excellence which we cannot obscure, may be set at such a distance as not to overpower our fainter lustre."-Ram. N°. 143.

A regard for truth, and the memory of a distinguished scholar, has induced this vindication of him, by

Sir, your most humble servant,

Philadelphia, January 26th, 1813.

J. A..

ANECDOTES OF COOKE-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

MR. OLDSCHOOL,

THE character of the late celebrated tragedian, George Frederick Cooke, forms a subject of curious analysis. His theatrical life has been so often the subject of critical investigation and eulogy, that all observations on that subject are purposely omitted. His private life presents us with a spectacle no less curious and interesting. He is commonly known to us only in the character of Richard, or the votary of Bacchus; but it may be noted, that even in his wildest extravagancies, he was still George Frederick Cooke-there was still identity and a specific character to his madness. With a heart warm, hospitable, frank, and humane, he was at the same time haughty and commanding, impressed with a just confidence of his own superior talents. Under the influence of artificial stimulus, he changed his character according to the momentary impulses of fancy. To his natural sensibility there was then superadded a warm and dangerous excitement, easily moved to anger or melted into tears. Alternate

ly he was stormy and mild, inexorable and forgiving-prone to revenge and speedier to pardon an injury, unyielding to entreaty and extending his benevolence to a length that Quixotte, in the height of his insanity, would condemn. Probably there was something in the cast of his profession, that made all these changes of character sit easy and natural on a mind so peculiarly constructed. Accustomed to receive so much homage in the personation of Lear and Richard, it is not wonderful that in his hours of excess he should be haughty and inexorable, or the raving victim of the more amiable passions, according as the qualities of one or the other passed in review before his fancy.

I will now, Mr. Oldschool, with your permission, illustrate these remarks by some appropriate anecdotes. Mr. Cooke was once dining with a party of gentlemen, and after he had liberally paid his libations to Bacchus, a servant announced the arrival of a stranger that desired admittance. It seems that this man had formerly, and as the tragedian thought, not by the most honourable means, obtained from him, by loan or otherwise, the sum of twenty pounds. This circumstance the stranger thought would be a sufficient apology for his presence. It may well be conceived that this combination of events was well calculated to make Mr. C. play the character of Richard. Do you not see we are engaged? he replied, haughtily, to the message; tell the man we are engaged. This answer was delivered; but the servant returned with another request, announcing the name of the stranger, and his business, which was the repayment of the money. The servant was however sent back with a still more imperious answer; but just at this crisis of time the stranger entered at his back. How dare you, sir, intrude on this company? exclaimed the frowning tragedian. Do you not see there are gentlemen present! Hence-begone. Sir! (he replied) I come to pay you twenty pounds. Dn your twenty pounds! was the retort, accompanied with a bottle thrown with uncommon violence. After so rough a salutation, it may easily be conceived that the intruder departed; and Mr. C. with much composure, joined in the conversation and hilarity of the table.-The obnoxious name of the intruder in the present instance, roused the latent Richard.

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. moment, he replied, [no one entered it] that my friend empty seats. Do, gentlemen, let us go to the theatre, 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.

Intelligence has arrived this had quitted the room, no one had has been playing this night to

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 question, 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 passion, 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 manwhereas, 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