Sir Cha. [Yawning and stretching.] What can a man of fashion do with himself in the country at this wretchedly dull time of the year! Valet. It is very pleasant to-day out in the park, Sir Charles. Sir Cha. Pleasant, you booby! How can the country be pleasant in the middle of spring? All the world's in London. Valet. I think, somehow, it looks so lively, Sir Charles, when the corn is coming up. Sir Cha. Blockhead! Vegetation makes the face of a country look frightful. It spoils hunting. Yet, as my business on my estate here is to raise supplies for my pleasures elsewhere, my journey is a wise one. What day of the month was it yesterday when I left town on this wise expedition? Valet. The first of April, Sir Charles. Sir Cha. Umph! When Mr Warner comes, shew him in. Valet. I shall, Sir Charles. [Exit. Sir Cha. This same lumbering timber upon my ground has its merits. Trees are notes, issued from the bank of nature, and as current as those payable to Abraham Newland. I must get change for a few oaks, for I want cash consumedly. So, Mr Warner. I Warner. Ah, good sir, things would prosper better if you honoured us with your presence a little more. wish you lived entirely upon the estate, Sir Charles. Sir Cha. Thank you, Warner; but modern men of fashion find it difficult to live upon their estates. Warner. The country about you so charming! Warner. The most beautiful part of the country. Sir Cha. I hate milk and honey. Warner. A land of fat! Warner. I shall obey you, Sir Charles; but 'tis with a heavy heart! Forgive an old servant of the family if he grieves to see you forget some of the duties for which society has a claim upon you. Sir Cha. What do you mean by duties? Warner. Duties, Sir Charles, which the extravagant man of property can never fulfil-such as to support the dignity of an English landholder for the honour of old England; to promote the welfare of his honest tenants; and to succour the industrious poor, who naturally look up to him for assistance. But I shall obey you, Sir Charles. [Exit. Sir Cha. A tiresome old blockhead! But where is this Ollapod? His jumble of physic and shooting may enliven me; and, to a man of gallantry in the country, his intelligence is by no means uninteresting, nor his services inconvenient.-Ha, Ollapod! Enter OLLAPOD. Ollapod. Sir Charles, I have the honour to be your slave. Hope your health is good. Been a hard winter here. Sore throats were plenty; so were woodcocks. Flushed four couple one morning in a half-mile walk from our town to cure Mrs Quarles of a quinsy. May coming on soon, Sir Charles-season of delight, love and campaigning! Hope you come to sojourn, Sir Charles. Shouldn't be always on the wing-that's being too flighty. He, he, he! Do you take, good sir-do you take? Sir Cha. O yes, I take. But by the cockade in your hat, Ollapod, you have added lately, it seems, to your avocations. Sir Cha. Well, no more on that head now. Olla. On that head! he, he, he! That's very well -very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir; I owe you one. Churchwarden Posh, of our town, being ill of an indigestion from eating three pounds of measly pork at a vestry dinner, I was making up a cathartic for the patient, when who should strut into the shop but Lieutenant Grains, the brewer-sleek as a dray-horse Sir Cha. Hang your fat! Listen to me. My estate in a smart scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a being in Kent Warner. So woody! Sir Cha. Curse the wood! No-that's wrong; for it's convenient. I am come on purpose to cut it. Warner. Ah! I was afraid so! Dice on the table, and then the axe to the root! Money lost at play, and then, good lack! the forest groans for it. Sir Cha. But you are not the forest, and why do you groan for it? rhubarb-coloured lapel. I confess his figure struck me. I looked at him as I was thumping the mortar, and felt instantly inoculated with a military ardour. Sir Cha. Inoculated! I hope your ardour was of a favourable sort? Olla. Ha, ha! That's very well-very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir; I owe you one. We first talked of shooting. He knew my celebrity that way, Sir Charles. I told him the day before I had killed six brace of birds. I thumpt on at the mortar. We then talked of physic. I told him the day before I had killed-lost, I mean-six brace of patients. I thumpt Sir Cha. And I shall have views for my posterity-Ion at the mortar, eyeing him all the while; for he shall take special care the trees shan't intercept their looked very flashy, to be sure; and I felt an itching to Warner. I heartily wish, Sir Charles, you may not encumber the goodly estate. Your worthy ancestors had views for their posterity. prospect. Enter SERVANT. Servant. Mr Ollapod, the apothecary, is in the hall, Sir Charles, to inquire after your health. Sir Cha. Shew him in. [Exit servant.] The fellow's a character, and treats time as he does his patients. He shall kill a quarter of an hour for me this morning.-In short, Mr Warner, I must have three thousand pounds in three days. Fell timber to that amount immediately. 'Tis my peremptory order, sir. belong to the corps. The medical and military both deal in death, you know; so 'twas natural. He, he! Do you take, good sir-do you take? Sir Cha. Take? Oh, nobody can miss. Olla. He then talked of the corps itself; said it was sickly; and if a professional person would administer to the health of the Association-dose the men, and drench the horse-he could perhaps procure him a cornetcy. Sir Cha. Well, you jumped at the offer. Olla. Jumped! I jumped over the counter, kicked down Churchwarden Posh's cathartic into the pocket of Lieutenant Grains' small scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarb-coloured lapel; embraced him and his offer; and I am now Cornet Ollapod, apothecary at the Galen's Head, of the Association Corps of Cavalry, at your service. Sir Cha. I wish you joy of your appointment. You may now distil water for the shop from the laurels you gather in the field. Olla. Water for-oh! laurel-water-he, he! Come, that's very well-very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir; I owe you one. Why, I fancy fame will follow, when the poison of a small mistake I made has ceased to operate. Sir Cha. A mistake? Olla. Having to attend Lady Kitty Carbuncle on a grand field-day, I clapt a pint bottle of her ladyship's diet-drink into one of my holsters, intending to proceed to the patient after the exercise was over. I reached the martial ground, and jalloped-galloped, I meanwheeled, and flourished with great éclat: but when the word 'Fire' was given, meaning to pull out my pistol in a terrible hurry, I presented, neck foremost, the hanged diet-drink of Lady Kitty Carbuncle; and the medicine being unfortunately fermented by the jolting of my horse, it forced out the cork with a prodigious pop full in the face of my gallant commander. Luc. And have you served much, Mr Ollapod? Olla. He, he! Yes, madam; served all the nobility and gentry for five miles round. Luc. Sir! Olla. And shall be happy to serve the good lieutenant and his family. [Bowing. Luc. We shall be proud of your acquaintance, sir. A gentleman of the army is always an acquisition among the Goths and Vandals of the country, where every sheepish squire has the air of an apothecary. Olla. Madam! An apothe- Zounds!-hum!· He, he! I-You must know, I—I deal a little in galenicals myself [Sheepishly]. Luc. Galenicals! Oh, they are for operations, I suppose, among the military. Olla. Operations! he, he! Come, that's very wellvery well, indeed! Thank you, good madam; I owe you one. Galenicals, madam, are medicines. Luc. Medicines ! Olla. Yes, physic: buckthorn, senna, and so forth. Luc. [Rising.] Why, then, you are an apothecary? Olla. [Rising too, and bowing.] And man-midwife at your service, madam. Luc. At my service, indeed! Olla. Yes, madam! Cornet Ollapod at the gilt Galen's Head, of the Volunteer Association Corps of Cavalry-as ready for the foe as a customer; always willing to charge them both. Do you take, good OLLAPOD visits MISS LUCRETIA MACTAB, a stiff maiden aunt,' madam-do you take? sister of one of the oldest barons in Scotland. Enter Foss. Foss. There is one Mr Ollapod at the gate, an' please your ladyship's honour, come to pay a visit to the family. Lucretia. Ollapod? What is the gentleman? Foss. He says he's a cornet in the Galen's Head. 'Tis the first time I ever heard of the corps. Lucretia. Ha! some new-raised regiment. Shew the gentleman in. [Exit Foss.] The country, then, has heard of my arrival at last. A woman of condition, in a family, can never long conceal her retreat. Ollapod! that sounds like an ancient name. If I am not mistaken, he is nobly descended. Enter OLLAPOD. Olla. Madam, I have the honour of paying my respects. Sweet spot, here, among the cows; good for consumptions-charming woods hereabouts-pheasants flourish-so do agues-sorry not to see the good lieutenant-admire his room-hope soon to have his company. Do you take, good madam-do you take? Luc. I beg, sir, you will be seated. Olla. O dear madam! [Sitting down.] A charming chair to bleed in! [Aside. Luc. I am sorry Mr Worthington is not at home to receive you, sir. Olla. You are a relation of the lieutenant, madam? Luc. I only by his marriage, I assure you, sir. Aunt to his deceased wife. But I am not surprised at your question. My friends in town would wonder to see the Honourable Miss Lucretia Mactab, sister to the late Lord Lofty, cooped up in a farmhouse. Olla. [Aside.] The honourable! humph! a bit of quality tumbled into decay. The sister of a dead peer in a pigsty! Luc. You are of the military, I am informed, sir? Olla. He, he! Yes, madam. Cornet Ollapod, of our volunteers-a fine healthy troop-ready to give the enemy a dose whenever they dare to attack us. Luc. I was always prodigiously partial to the military. My great-grandfather, Marmaduke, Baron Lofty, commanded a troop of horse under the Duke of Marlborough, that famous general of his age. Olla. Marlborough was a hero of a man, madam ; and lived at Woodstock-a sweet sporting country; where Rosamond perished by poison-arsenic as likely as anything. Luc. And has the Honourable Miss Lucretia Mactab been talking all this while to a petty dealer in drugs? Olla. Drugs! Why, she turns up her honourable nose as if she was going to swallow them! [Aside.] No man more respected than myself, madam. Courted by the corps, idolised by invalids; and for a shot-ask my friend, Sir Charles Cropland. Luc. Is Sir Charles Cropland a friend of yours, sir? Olla. Intimate. He doesn't make wry faces at physic, whatever others may do, madam. This village flanks the intrenchments of his park-full of fine fat venison; which is as light a food for digestion as Luc. But he is never on his estate here, I am told. Olla. He quarters there at this moment. Luc. Bless me! has Sir Charles, thenOlla. Told me all-your accidental meeting in the metropolis, and his visits when the lieutenant was out. Luc. Oh, shocking! I declare I shall faint. Olla. Faint! never mind that, with a medical man in the room. I can bring you about in a twinkling. Luc. And what has Sir Charles Cropland presumed to advance about me? Olla. Oh, nothing derogatory. Respectful as a ducklegged drummer to a commander-in-chief. Luc. I have only proceeded in this affair from the purest motives, and in a mode becoming a Mactab. Olla. None dare to doubt it. Luc. And if Sir Charles has dropt in to a dish of tea with myself and Emily in London, when the lieutenant was out, I see no harm in it. Olla. Nor I either: except that tea shakes the nervous system to shatters. But to the point: the baronet's my bosom friend. Having heard you were here-'Ollapod,' says he, squeezing my hand in his own, which had strong symptoms of fever-' Ollapod,' says he, 'you are a military man, and may be trusted.' 'I'm a cornet,' says I, and close as a pill-box.' 'Fly, then, to Miss Lucretia Mactab, that honourable picture of prudence' Luc. He, he! Did Sir Charles say that? Olla. [Aside.] How these tabbies love to be toaded! Luc. In short, Sir Charles, I perceive, has appointed you his emissary, to consult with me when he may have an interview. Olla. Madam, you are the sharpest shot at the truth I ever met in my life. And now we are in consultation, what think you of a walk with Miss Emily by the old elms at the back of the village this evening? The Newcastle Apothecary. A man in many a country town, we know, Yet some affirm no enemies they are, A member of this Esculapian line, Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister; Of occupations these were quantum suff.: He made amends by bringing others into 't. His fame full six miles round the country ran; Benjamin Bolus, though in trade Which oftentimes will genius fetter Read works of fancy, it is said, And cultivated the belles-lettres. He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated, Next night 'twas the same; and the next, and the next; with her a small sum of money, and some wearing-apparel in a band-box. After various adventures, she obtained an engagement for a country theatre, but suffering some personal indignities in her unprotected state, she applied to Mr Inchbald, an actor whom she had previously known. The gentleman counselled marriage. But who would marry me?' cried the lady. 'I would,' replied her friend, if you would have me.' 'Yes, sir, and would for ever be grateful '—and married they were in a few days. The union thus singularly brought about seems to have been happy enough; but Mr Inchbald died a few years afterwards. Mrs Inchbald performed the first parts a in the Edinburgh theatre for four years, and continued on the stage, acting in London, Dublin, He perspired like an ox; he was nervous and vexed; him; For his skin, 'like a lady's loose gown,' hung him. He sent for a doctor, and cried like a ninny: 'I have lost many pounds-make me well-there The doctor looked wise: 'A slow fever,' he said: about 'Sudorifics in bed,' exclaimed Will, 'are humbugs! Will kicked out the doctor; but when ill indeed, &c. till 1789, when she retired from it. Her exemplary prudence, and the profits of her works, enabled her not only to live, but to save money. The applause and distinction with which she was greetea vi never led her to deviate from her simple and son hewhat parsimonious habits. Last Thursday,' she writes, "I finished scouring my bedroom, while a coach with a coronet and two footmen waited at my door to take me an airing.' She 'Look 'e, landlord, I think,' argued Will with a grin, allowed a s 'That with honest intentions you first took me in: But from the first night-and to say it I'm bold— I've been so hanged hot, that I'm sure I caught cold.' year. 'Many who was in ill health £100 a time this winter,' she records in her Diary, when I cried for cold, I said to myself: 66 But, thank God! my sister has not to stir from Quoth the landlord: 'Till now I ne'er had a dispute; her room; she has her fire lighted every morning: I've let lodgings ten years; I'm a baker to boot; passion? In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. Why so crusty, good sir?' 'Zounds!' cries Will, in a taking, 'Who wouldn't be crusty with half a year's baking?' Will paid for his rooms; cried the host, with a sneer, said; 'But I'd rather not perish while you make your bread? MRS ELIZABETH INCHBALD. self-denial. The income of now £172 per annum, and after the death of her sister, she went to reside in amforts of life. boarding-house, where she enjoyed more of the coin her private Traces of female weakness break out cords of her struggle for independence. memoranda amidst the sterner rdlowing entry is amusing: 1798. London. Rehemounting to a The farsing Lovers Vows; happy, but for a suspicion, ge certainty, of a rapid appearance of a biographical Her last literary labour was writingn of plays, in and critical prefaces to a collectiq of farces, in twenty-five volumes; a collection Theatre, in ten seven volumes; and the Modern fered her £1000 MRS ELIZABETH INCHBALD (1753-1821), ac- volumes. Phillips the publisher of the tempting tress, dramatist, and novelist, produced a number for her Memoirs, but she decline by her orders, of popular plays. Her two tales, A Simple Story, offer. and Nature and Art, are the principal sources destroyed after her decease; bubaden, compiled This autobiography was, it in 1833, her of her fame; but her light dramatic pieces are Memoirs were published by Mr Bh she kept for marked by various talent. Her first production from an autograph journal whictters written to was a farce, entitled The Mogul Tale, brought above fifty years, and from her le in a boardingout in 1784; and from this time down to 1805 her friends. Mrs Inchbald died of August 1821. she wrote nine other plays and farces. By some house at Kensington on the 1st fore her decease, of these pieces—as appears from her Memoirs By her will, dated four months be divided amongst she received considerable sums of money. Her she left about £6000, judiciously acies marks the first production realised £100; her comedy of her relatives. Such Things Are-her greatest dramatic perform- eccentricity of thought and co virtues of this One of her leghduct which was ance-brought her in £410, 12s.; The Married mingled with the talents and ft 20 each to her Man, 100; The Wedding Day, £200; The original-minded woman: she le Midnight Hour, L130; Every One has his Fault, late laundress and hair-dresser, provided they £700; Wives as they Were, and Maids as they should inquire of her executo Are, £427, 10s.; Lovers' Vows, £150; &c. The decease. personal history of this lady is as singular as any of her dramatic plots. She was born of Roman Catholic parents residing at Standyfield, near Bury St Edmunds. At the age of sixteen, full of giddy romance, she ran off to London, having 226 THOMAS HOLCRE rs concerning her OFT. THOMAS HOLCROFT, authed the first to introer of the admired comedy, The Road to Ruin, an gland, was born in duce the melodrama into Eng London on the 10th of December 1745. Till I was six years old,' says Holcroft, 'my father kept a shoemaker's shop in Orange Court; and I have a faint recollection that my mother dealt in greens and oysters.' Humble as this condition was, it seems to have been succeeded by greater poverty, and the future dramatist and comedian was employed in the country by his parents to hawk goods as a pedler. He was afterwards engaged as a stable-boy at Newmarket, and was proud of his new livery. A charitable person, who kept a school at Newmarket, taught him to read. He was afterwards a rider on the turf; and when sixteen years of age, he worked for some time with his father as a shoemaker. A passion for books was at this time predominant, and the confinement of the shoemaker's stall not agreeing with him, he attempted to raise a school in the country. He afterwards became a provincial actor, and spent seven years in strolling about England, in every variety of wretchedness, with different companies. In 1780, Holcroft appeared as an author, his first work being a novel, entitled Alwyn, or the Gentleman Comedian. In the following year his comedy of Duplicity was acted with great success at Covent Garden. Another comedy, The Deserted Daughter, experienced a very favourable reception; but The Road to Ruin is universally acknowledged to be the best of his dramatic works. This comedy,' says Mrs Inchbald, ranks amongst the most successful of modern plays. There is merit in the writing, but much more in that dramatic science which disposes character, scenes, and dialogue with minute attention to theatric exhibition." Holcroft wrote a great number of dramatic pieces-more than thirty between the years 1778 and 1806; three other novels (Anna St Ives, Hugh Trevor, and Bryan Perdue); besides A Tour in Germany and France, and numerous translations from the German, French, and Italian. During the period of the French Revolution, he was a zealous reformer, and on hearing that his name was included in the same bill of indictment with Tooke and Hardy, he surrendered himself in open court, but no proof of guilt was ever adduced against him. His busy and remarkable life was terminated on the 23d of March 1809. THE GERMAN DRAMAS. A play by Kotzebue was adapted for the English stage by Mrs Inchbald, and performed under the title of Lovers' Vows. The grand moral was, 'to set forth the miserable consequences which arise from the neglect, and to enforce the watchful care of illegitimate offspring; and surely, as the pulpit has not had eloquence to eradicate the crime of seduction, the stage may be allowed a humble endeavour to prevent its most fatal effects.' Lovers' Vows became a popular acting play, for stageeffect was carefully studied, and the scenes and situations skilfully arranged. While filling the theatres, Kotzebue's plays were generally condemned by the critics. They cannot be said to have produced any permanent bad effect on our national morals, but they presented many false and pernicious pictures to the mind. There is an affectation,' as Scott remarks, 'of_attributing noble and virtuous sentiments to the persons least qualified by habit or education to entertain them; and of describing the higher and better educated classes as uniformly deficient in those feelings of liberality, generosity, and honour, which may be considered as proper to their situation in life. This contrast may be true in particular instances, and being used sparingly, might afford a good moral lesson; but in spite of truth and probability, it has been assumed, upon all occasions, by those authors as the groundwork of a sort of intellectual Jacobinism.' Scott himself, it will be recollected, was fascinated by the German drama, and translated a play of Goethe. The excesses of Kotzebue were happily ridiculed by Canning and Ellis in their amusing satire, The Rovers. At length, after a run of unexampled success, these plays ceased to attract attention, though one or two are still occasionally performed. With all their absurdities, we cannot but believe that they exercised an inspiring influence on the rising genius of that age. They dealt with passions, not with manners, and awoke the higher feelings and sensibilities of the people. Good plays were also mingled with the bad if Kotzebue was acted, Goethe and Schiller were studied. Coleridge translated Schiller's Wallenstein, and the influence of the German drama was felt by most of the young poets. LEWIS-GODWIN-SOTHEBY-COLERIDGE. One of those who imbibed a taste for the marvellous and the romantic from this source was MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS, whose drama, The Castle Spectre, was produced in 1797, and was performed about sixty successive nights. It is full of supernatural horrors, deadly revenge, and assassination, with touches of poetical feeling, and some well-managed scenes. In the same year, Lewis adapted a tragedy from Schiller, entitled The Minister; and this was followed by a succession of dramatic pieces-Rolla, a tragedy, 1799 ; The East Indian, a comedy, 1800; Adelmorn, or the Outlaw, a drama, 1801; Rugantio, a melodrama, 1805; Adelgitha, a play, 1806; Venoni, a drama, 1809; One o'clock, or the Knight and Wood Demon, 1811; Timour the Tartar, a melodrama, 1812; and Rich and Poor, a comic opera, 1812. The Castle Spectre is still occasionally performed; but the diffusion of a more sound and healthy taste in literature has banished the other dramas of Lewis equally from the stage and the press. To the present generation they are unknown. They were fit companions for the ogres, giants, and Blue-beards of the nursery tales, and they have shared the same oblivion. MR GODWIN, the novelist, attempted the tragic drama in the year 1800, but his powerful genius, which had produced a romance of deep and thrilling interest, became cold and frigid when confined to the rules of the stage. His play was named Antonio, or the Soldier's Return. It turned out 'a miracle of dullness,' as Sergeant Talfourd relates, and at last the actors were hooted from the stage. The author's equanimity under this severe trial is amusingly related by Talfourd. Mr Godwin, he says, 'sat on one of the front benches of the pit, unmoved amidst the storm. When the first act passed off without a hand, he expressed his satisfaction at the good sense of the house; proper season of applause had not arrived;" all was exactly as it should be. The second act proceeded to its close in the same uninterrupted "the |