JOHNSTONE.

JACK JOHNSTONE, of Drury Lane, being one evening loudly called on, by the deities who preside in the highest part of the Theatre, for their favourite song of " the Sprig of Shilelagh,” though it was not announced, came on the stage readily, signifying his acquiescence. The music played, but when he was to have begun, he stood silent, and apparently confused. Again the orchestra struck up the symphony; and still his silence continued. At length he came forward, and electrified the audience by this characteristic apology: "Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you, that I have sung the song so often, that, by my soul, I cannot remember how it begins."

A RETORT OF GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE.

AT a time when this celebrated actor was the subject of universal curiosity, and soon after his first appearance on the London boards, a nobleman, well furnished with that insolence which rank and riches generate in little minds, seeing Mr. Cooke, who had stopped to gaze at some pictures in the window of a print shop, sent his servant to desire him to turn round, that his Lordship might

view him. Astonishment and indignation, alternately, filled the mind of Cooke.-" Tell his Lordship," said he, "that if he will step this way, I'll shew him what he never saw when he looked in his mirror-" the face of a man.”

KEAN AND JACK BANNISTER.

THE first season that Kean "astonished the natives" at Drury Lane Theatre, he of course became a very favourite topic of conversation in the green-room of that establishment. One of his brother tragedians, after enumerating his various qualifications for the service of Melpomene, added, that he was an excellent Harlequin. "Yes," (said Jack Bannister,) one of the first

order, as he has leapt over all

your heads."

MANLEY'S LETTER TO JUNIUS BRUTUS

воотн.

THE hopes and fears of country stars, in the cant phrase of the green-room, are aptly illustrated in the following Epistle, which appeared, a few years since, in a London Court of Justice, as evidence on a trial:

Stamford, March 7.

MY DEAR SIR,-This is our fair time-we fill good houses without stars-better with them. Come and play Tuesday 10th, and Wednesday 11th, and share half after £10. each night. It may be £25. or £30; nay, more—just as they bite! (meaning the public) And there ends our bargain. If you say aye, wrap it up in a letterif no, adieu!" And for my love, I pray you, wrong me not."-Shakspeare.-Iago, Sir Giles, or Richard III.

To J. B. Booth, Esq.

Your's, T. W. M.

QUICK IN TRAGEDY.

THIS celebrated comedian, who was so great a favourite of the late King (George III.) that he had more than one portrait of him painted, on April 9th 1790, attempted the character of Richard III. and performed it as gravely as might be expected the exhibition was preceded by the following ludicrous address written by Mr. Merry, and spoken" with good emphasis and discretion," by Mr. Ryder.

[He enters, speaking at entrance.]

Well-get back to the green room, retire, do, with speed; 'Tis too late to repent of your own act and deed,

(Coming forward.)

Quite pale with ambition, of tragedy sick,

In plight the most doleful, I've left my friend Quick.
So afraid of his powers, and amaz'd at his plan,
I declare it has quite metamorphos'd the man.
He's grown, of a sudden, as lank as a rabbit;
And, in kingly attire, looks asham'd of his habit.
Much doubting if he, like old Blood of renown,
Shall escape for his daring attack on the Crown;
And though tied to his sabre, with plumes to his crest,
He'd relinquish his kingdom, so he were undrest.

He met me just now, with tears in his eye,

And cried "H-o-w do y-o-u do, Ryder? Oh! I'm ready

to die;

This great part I've taken, occasions my grief,

'Tis the Hunchback of Shakspeare, not Johnny O'Keefe. I'm so overcome, and already so spent,

That I'm sure I shall faint with my fright, in the tent;
Or, if I should longer have power to encroach,
When I call for a horse, let 'em call me a coach.
Then take me home quickly, and put me to bed,
And say, I've a fever-or swear that I'm dead."
To this I replied, "little Isaac, you're mad,
King Dicky, believe me, you'll not act so bad;
Your figure is grand-let me see it—pray, pass;
Why you're fierce as a bantam cock; look in the glass!"

At this he grew grave, but I bade him be gay,

And trust his best friends here who favor the play:
That 'twas no great attack on Melpomene's right,

To put on her buskins for only one night:

But that if for this effort he now got a rub,

He'd ne'er soar hereafter 'bove Archer or Scrub.

I then spoke of your smiles, and his terrors were o'er:
Then, forgive him this time; he'll do so no more.
His trial comes on, what a crowd 't has excited,
For Shakspeare's the man, by whom he's indicted.
He owns, he's assumed many shapes most in vogue,
Has oft play'd the fool-very oft play'd the rogue,
But these you'll forget, for he claims as his right,
Alone to be tried for th' offence of to night:
He'll have, from this court, the indulgence befit him,
If guilty, you'll find so; if not, you'll acquit him.

DRAMATIC AUTHORS IN FRANCE.

PREVIOUS to the French Revolution, a dramatic author in France was encouraged to a degree, and with a punctilious attention to his ease and interests, perfectly unknown in any other country. He had a right to one twentyfirst part of the gross receipts of his piece every night it was performed, in every theatre in France, all his life, and his heirs for ten years after his death. The utmost care was taken both to protect his copyright in the piece, and what might seem more difficult, was, to secure to him his due share of the profits each night in all the theatres in France, which exceed a hundred in number. A particular office was esta