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Moliere. Edward III. - La Fontaine.

for me?' Moliere, after a moment's pause, cried out, " In what holes does virtue nestle itself! Here, friend, there is another."

The company of comedians, of which Moliere was the head, proposed a very pompous funeral for him; but the archbishop of Paris would not allow him so much as Christian burial. Moliere's widow, willing to make some amends by her respect to his corpse, for the uneasiness she gave him while liv ing, went and threw herself at the king's feet for redress; the king told her, "that it being an affair "within the archbishop's "jurisdiction, he was the person she must petition." However, his majesty sent a message to the prelate, recommending the matter to him, as his refusal would make a great noise, and give offence. This induced the archbishop to recall his prohibition, provided that the funeral should be plain and silent; accordingly it was performed by two priests, without singing; a great number of friends attending, each with a torch in his hand; but Mrs. Moliere, who was always upon extremes, several times exclaimed, "What! is a funeral denied to a man "who deserved altars?"

EDWARD THE THIRD.

The devout archbishop of Paris seems to have favoured plays as little as Edward III. of England, who ordained, that a company of men called vagrants, should be whipt out of Lon"don, because they represented scandalous foolish things in "ale-houses and other places, to crowds of people." This severe edict put the players upon contriving religious representa. tions: for a few years after, the clergy and scholars of St. Paul's school petitioned Richard II. "to prohibit a company of unexpert people from representing the history of the Old Testament, "to the great prejudice of the said clergy, who have been "at great charge and expence, in order to represent it publickly " at Christmas."

LA FONΤΑΙΝΕ.

La Fontaine was seized with a dangerous illness in 1692. When the priest had talked to him of religion, concerning which he had lived in extreme carelessness, though he was far from being an infidel or libertine, La Fontaine told him, "I have

Dominic and Santeuil.

" lately bestowed some hours in reading the New Testament; "I assure you that it is a good book; yes, as I have a soul to be "saved, it is a very good book; but there is one article which

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staggers me, that is, everlasting punishment; -do you think "it is not against the goodness of God?" His difficulty was soon levetted; and being brought to a clearer knowledge of religious truths, the priest represented to him, that he had certain intelligence of a dramatic piece of his, which had been read with universat applause, and was soon to be put into the actors' hands for representation. Sir," continued he, "the profession of "an actor is counted infamous by the laws; their persons are " excluded from the sacraments by the church; consequently, " to contribute to uphold such a profane calling, is wrong; and " I tell you 1 must not, nor I cannot give you absolution upon "your confession, untess you promise never to deliver that piece "to the actors." Upon which, this sincere penitent threw the piece into the fire, without so much as keeqing a copy.

DOMINIC AND SANTEUIL.

Dominic, the incomparable harlequin of the Italian theatre, was for having some Latin verses put under a print of him, and goes to Santeuil, the celebrated Latin poet; who abruptly asked him, Who he was? what brought him? and who sent, him?" and immediately shut the door against him. Dominic perceiving that such a humourist was not to be dealt within the common way of address, leaves him, and comes again to the cloister, dressed in his harlequin habit and mask, with a scarlet cloak over it. He knocked at the door; and the poet after bidding him come in five or six times to no purpose, cried out, "If thou art the devil, come in." Dominic, then throwing by his cloak, stalks in. This stopped Santeuil's mouth; he stared with his arms stretched, imagining it was no other than the devil. Dominic, having stood for some time in a posture correspondent to the poet's terror, began to trip it about the room with a thousand diverting antics. This removed all Santeuil's apprehensions of an infernal visitor; so that he started up, and fell to the same gesticulations. Dominic, seeing the sport take, drew his wooden

sword, and gave him several slaps on the cheeks, shoulders, and fingers; which Santeuil, a little nettled, endeavoured to return with his fists; but his adversary was too nimble for him. Taen Dominic loosened his girt, and Santeuil taking off his amictus, the harlequin and monk fell to swinging one another, till the monk, finding his adversary above his match, called out, "Well, " if you are the devil, I must know your name." "My name?" answered Dominic, "I am the Santeuil of the Italian theatre." "Odds fish! is it so?-then," replied Santeuil, " I am the Dominic "of St. Victor's." Upon which Dominic, unmasking, after a hearty embrace, told Santeuil he wanted a Latin inscription for his picture; and Santeuil immediately gave him-Castigat riden

do Mores.

MR. ROSS.

A few evenings after the second part of Mr.Kelly's Thespis appeared, in which the then principal performers of Coventgarden theatre were unmercifully treated, and particularly Mr. Ross; a gentleman, at the Queen's Arms, St. Paul's Church-yard, seeing Mr. Kearsley, the publisher, come in, and neither of them knowing that Mr. Ross was in the room, asked him in a low tone of voice, if he had read the pamphlet? Yes," replied Kearsley, " and Kelly has given them all a handsome dressing; but as to "Ross, he has played the devil with him." Mr. Ross, in the instant, got up, aud delivered himself to the company, in the following impressive lines, which met with universal applause :

"I should have blush'd,
"If Cato's house had stood secure,
"And flourish'd in a civil war."

BURBADGE.

If truth, perspicuity, wit, gravity, and every property pertaining to the ancient or modern epitaph, may be expected united in one single epitaph, it is in one made for a Mr. Burbadge, a tragedian, in the days of Shakspeare; but whether it comes from the pen of that great poet, I cannot determine. Its brevity particularly recommends it, the following being the whole

EXIT BURBADGE.

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Handel and Arne. - Curious Correspondence. -Cook & Harris.

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HANDEL AND ARNE.

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Handel and Arne, though somewhat rivals in musical excellence, were always upon very good terms as friends and acquaintance. Although they were the very reverse in point of size, they possessed most excellent stomachs, if eating a great deal, and of the best, can be so called. The chairmen would seldom carry Handel from the Oratories, on account of his unwiedly weight. Arne was as a feather, courted by the chairmen of Covent-garden district. One night, the great Handel, -great in every sense of the word, -being carried home by a team of six, (for they are at best, but beasts of burthen,) being importuned about his fare, and his size, told them, with all the phlegm of Germanic observation, "The doctor Arne does dine with me "to-morrow, and dough he loves sour crout better dan myself, " he does not weigh half so much." This may be called chairman's comfort, but Handel did not part with a farthing more than the usual fare.

CURIOUS CORRESPONDENCE.

Mrs. Martyr's Letter, the morning after Miss Young's marriage to Mr. Pope :

DEAR MADAM, -Permit me to be one of the first in offer. ing congratulation; I have no doubt of your happiness. for I will confess, that, if his Holiness had attacked me, I should not have had the resolution to die

ANSWER,

A MARTYR.

DEAR MADAM, -Accept my best thanks for your congratulations; this is not an hour for criticism; but I will whisper softly to my friend, that Pope's Essays are in perfect harmony with Young's Night Thoughts. Yours, &c.

A POPE.

EXTRACT FROM DUNLAP'S, LIFE OF THE LATE GEORGE COOKE.

"It was settled, that while the horses were changing, Cooke should walk to Mr. Harris's and that Cooper, who did not wish to be seen in the business, should drive to the common near the manager's house, and wait for them. Cooke accordingly went. Coo

Cook and Harris.

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per congratulating himself that the veteran would have no oppotunity of renewing his excess, and might be carried to town recovered, and in prime order for playing, took some refreshment, and after allowing what he thought a reasonable time for settling the business, got into a post-chaise, and drove for the common. No sign of Cooke. He drives round the common. quarter, a half, three quarters of an hour pass on, and no Cooke. Impatient and alarmed at the delay, the postillion is ordered to drive to Mr. Harris's.

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A

What passed with Mr. Harris, in the absence of Cooper, was collected by him from Cooke's own account, and from other sources. Mr. Harris, after dinner, left his company, and came to Cooke, whose second bottle was nearly empty. Ah, Mr. Cooke, how d'ye do. Gad to see you. well! Business, ha? what is it? left my company? what is it? what is it? what is the business?

..

Cooke. Sit down, and we'll take a glass of wine. (Filling the glasses, emptying the bottles.) - You look very well, sir: here's to your health!-(Drinks.)

Harris. Thank you. Your health, Cooke. Well, what is it? what is it?

Cooke. You are my best friend, and I have come to ask of you a particular favour.

Harris. Well, well, well, what is it? what is it?

Cooke. Money, money, money, - (With his particular and inimitable expression of a countenence, and a peculiar sharp and emphatic tone, which his mimick easily succeeded in copying.)

Harris. What

Cooke. Money.

Harris. Why, why, Cooke, what can you want of money, with your salary, and the benefit you have received?

Cooke. All gone. I never could bear to lock up a guinea; I have too much love for my royal master, to put even his image in confinement. "Who rules over freemen, should himselt be free." In serious earnest, sir, the end of the season is fast approaching, with a long vacation, and it will find me without a sailing.