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- The Drama.-A new pantomine was last night brought out at the Arctic Theatre, entitled “ The North West Passage; or Harlequin Esquimaux." Our limits will not admit of our entering into the plot of this piece at present. Of course there is a lack of scenery and machinery; but, in some instances, the local situation of the Theatre gives it an advantage over every other. Where, but in the Arctic Theatre, could a palace be exhibited supported by real icicles, forty feet high, bright as crystal, and thicker than the pillars of Covent Garden portico? Many of the tricks are very ingenious, and at the same time quite original. [We particularly admired that touch of the magic wand, which converted the Paphian Queen into a lump of • unsunned snow.”]
A SHABBY fellow chanc'd one day to meet
(Garrick of whom our nation justly brags) The fellow hugg'd him with a kind embrace“ Good, Sir, I do not recollect your face,” Quoth Garrick.-“ No!" replied the man of
“ The boards of Drury, you and I have trod Full many a time together, I am sure."“ When?” with an oath, cry'd Garrick,—" for
I never saw that face of yours before !
What characters, I pray,
Did you and I together play?" “ Lord,” quoth the fellow, “ think not that I
mockWhen you play'd Hamlet, Sir, I play'd the cock."
GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE AND MATHEWS.
The abilities of Cooke placed him at the head of his profession ; nor were his talents confined to that alone. Though his reading had been desultory, he had read much and had thought more.
In his better moments, he was a pleasant companion, full of wit, whim, and anecdote, benevolent, and of great suavity of manners. And yet this same man, in his drunken hours, became noisy, savage, and disgusting; a misery to himself, and a terror to those about him. Of this, the following anecdote affords abundant confirmation.
Cooke, while at Dublin, in the year 1795, one night invited home Mathews, with whom he had
been pleased, and they sat down to drink. One jug of whiskey punch was quickly emptied, and while drinking the second, George Frederick, in his turn, thus commends young Mathews.
“ You are young, and want some one to ads vise you take my word for it, there is nothing like industry and sobriety-Mrs. Burns! another jug of whiskey punch, Mrs. Burns--you make it so good. Mrs. Burns, another jug."
“ Yes, Mr. Cooke."
“ In our profession, my young friend, dissipation is too apt to be the bane of youth_villaiņous company-low company' leads them from studying their business, and acquiring that knowledge, which alone can make them respectable.”
Thus he proceeded, drinking and uttering advice (not the less valuable because in opposition to his own practice), and assuring Mathews of his protection, instruction, and all his influence to forward his views. While the whiskey punch jug after jug vanished, and with it all semblance of the virtues so eloquently praised, though maddened by the fumes of the liquor, the chain of his ideas continued still unbroken, and he began a dissertation on the histrionic art, pro
ceeding, from first principles, to a detail of the mode of exhibiting the passions, with a specimen of each by way of illustration, ·
It is impossible to describe, but the reader may, perhaps, imagine the ludicrous effect of this scene ;--the power of the wbiskey operating in diametrical opposition to the will, on his strong and flexible features, produced contortions and distortions of which he was insensible, while Mathews sat gazing with astonishment, and, at times, in an agony from the effort to restrain his risible faculties. Cooke began to question him, after each horrible face, as to the meaning of it, or the passion expressed; Mathews, totally in the dark as to Cooke's meaning, made every possible mistake, and when set right by Cooke; excused himself by charging his stupidity on the whiskey.
« There, what's that?"
Oangeranger to be sure !”..
But, when the actor after making a hideous face, compounded of satanic malignity, and the
brutal leering of a drunken satyr, told his pupil that was love, Mathews could resist no longer. Cooke was surprised and enraged, at this rudeness in his young guest, but Mathews had address enough to pacify him. Ć Mrs. Burns, in the mean time, had protested against making any more whiskey punch, and had brought up the last jug, upon Cooke's solemn promise that he would ask for no more.
-The jug is finished, and Mathews, heartily tired, thinks he shall escape from his tormentor, and makes a move to go.
“ Not yet, my dear boy, one jug more.”
Only one more.”
Cooke thunders with his foot and vociferates, repeatedly, “Mistress Burns!" At length, honest Mistress Burns, who had gone to bed in hopes of rest, in the chamber immediately under them, answers, “ what is it you want, Mister Cooke ?"
“ Another jug of whiskey punch, Mistress Burns."
Indeed, but you can have no more, Mister Cooke."