RETROSPECTIONS OF THE STAGE"

Tars is a player's book—about players, by a player, in the manner of a player. It is a collection of stage incidents and characters of the last fifty-years ; many of them humorous in themselves, and most of them dramatically described. The writer does not, like COLMAN the Licenser, tease by a perpetual display of personal con- • ceit—the display of himself instead of his subject : Mr. BERNARD relishes a joke, and can tell it laughingly ; he is partial to effect, and can point an antithesis, but has too much sense to spend whole pages in verbal jingles as COLMAN does. The Retrospection is not av ery wise book, nor, perhaps, witty. A wise man would indeed say it contained nothing ; but he would smile whilst saying it. This is enough. We shall give two or three of the stories, and leave many better in the book.

SIAMESE SOUP.—Quin in his old age, every one knows became a great gourmand, and, among other things, invented a composition, which he

called his " Siamese soup," pretending that its ingredients were princi- pally from the " East." The peculiarity of its flavour became the topic of the day. The " rage" at Bath was Mr. Quin's soup ; but as he would not part with the recipe, this state of notice was highly inconvenient ; every person of taste was endeavouring to dine with him ; every dinner be was at, an apology was made for the absence of the " Siamese soup."

His female friends Quin was forced to put off with promises ; the males received a respectful but manly denial. A conspiracy was accordingly projected by a dozen bon &ants of Bath, against his peace and comfort. At home he was flooded with anonymous letters ; abroad beset with ap- plications under every form. The possession of this secret was made a canker to all his enjoyments. At length he discovered the design, and determined on revenge. Collecting the names of the principal confede- rates, he invited them to dinner, promising to give them the recipe before they departed—an invitation, as my reader will suppose, which was joy- fully accepted. Quin then gave a pair of his old boots to the housemaid to scour and soak, and when sufficiently seasoned, to chop up into fine particles, like minced meat. On the appointed day he took these parti- cles, and pouring them into a copper put, with sage, onions, spice, ham, wine, water, and other ingredients, composed a mixture of about two gallons, which was served up at his table as his " Siamese soup." The company were in transports at its flavour ; but Quin, pleading a cold, did not taste it. A pleasant evening was spent, and when the hour of de- parture arrived, each person pulled out his tablets to write down the recipe. Quin now pretended that he had forgot making the promise ; but his guests were not to be put off ; and, closing the door, they told him in plain terms, that neither he nor they should quit the room till his pledge had been redeemed. Quin stammered and evaded, and kept them from the point as long as possible ; but when their patience was bearing down all bounds, his reluctance gave way. " Well, then, gentlemen," said he, " in the first place, take an old pair of boots !"—" What an old pair of hoots !"—" The older the better ;"—(they stared at each other)—" cut off their tops and soles,and soak them In a tub of water" —(they hesitated)—" chop them into fine particles, and pour them into a pot with two gallons and a half of water."—" Why, d—n it, Quin," they simultaneously exclaimed, " you don't mean to say that the soup we've been drinking was made of old boots I "—" I do, gentlemen," be replied, by " G—d 1 my cook will assure you she chopped them up." They required no such attestation ; his cool, inflexible expression was sufficient : in an instant, horror and despair were depicted on each coun- tenance, in the full conviction they were individually poisoned. Quin, observing this, begged them not to he alarmed, since he could contem- plate no dangerous results from their dinner; but if they thought it would sit uneasy on their stomachs, there was an apothecary's shop in the next street. The hint was taken : an idea of personal safety subdued the rising throbs of indignation. Seizing their hats, away flew the whole bevy down the stairs, and along the street to the place advised; where ipecacuanha and other provocatives were speedily procured, and the 4` Siamese soup" (and all its concomitants) were speedily disgorged.

BEATING UP FOR A BENEFIT.—We sat next each other at table, and, in the midst of one of his best stories, a gentleman whispered his friend, " George is a devilish clever fellow, isn't he ?"—" Yes."—" Pity he should ever want money. I lent him five-and-threepence yesterday."—" So did I," replied the other.—" You ?"—" Yes !" They mentioned it to a third; he had been a donor to the same amount :—a fourth—a fifth—a sixth ; they all acknowledged having lent him a " five-and-threepence." The smothered laughter which had circulated the table, now exploded in a simultaneous shout ; and Parker was by no means disconcerted, for he 'whispered in my ear the minute after, how do you think I mean to pay'em all?"—" I can't say."—" Present them with a box ticket a-piece at my benefit !"

DAVY THE COMPOSER..—Davy was an orphan child, left to the care of a poor relative, a weaver at Crediton. This man was a humble musician, leaching the science of psalmody to the village, and playing the bass viol at church. He had an old spinnet in his house (the gift of a wealthier relative), upon which he used to practise his tunes. Young Davy was always by his side on such occasions, and whenever he went away would mount his stool, and strike the instrument, in the endeavour to distin- guish the notes. This amusement, however, not benefiting the spinnet, it was locked up; and the young musician thus thrown upon his own re- Sources, invented an instrument. He was at this time about six or seven. Next door to the weaver's was a blacksmith's shop, into which young Davy was continually running to watch the operations of the modern Cyclopides. He was thus enabled, unperceived and unsuspected, to con- vey away at different periods a number of horse-shoes, which he secreted in the unoccupied garret of the weaver's dwelling. Then procuring a piece dame (from the same magazine), he attached itto two cross-beams, and en this suspended the shoes, assigning each its place in succession, and graduating a correct scale by the strength of his ear. He then obtained two sticks to strike them with, in imitation of the hand-bells which he had no doubt seen, as they were very prevalent in that part of England, So engrossed did he become in this new employment, that he not only gave up all his customary sports, but neglected his lessons and the family errands. He had sagacity enough, however, to keep the cause a secret, and fortune assisted him; till one day the weaver's wife going up stairs to search among the lumber that the -upper room contained, heard musical * Retrospection of the Stage. By the late John Bernard, Manager of the Ameri- can Theatres, and formerly Secretary-to the Beef Steak OlUb. 2VOls. London, 1830.

sounds, and stopping to listen, distinguished the outline of a psalm tune; However extraordinary the diversion, she could only attribute it to the presence of the Devil, and her fright had nearly the effect of precipitating her to the bottom of the stairs. Her husband was at home, and to him she descended and made known this mysterious circumstance. He had less superstition than herself, and ascended the stairs more boldly.

The same sounds were audible, and peeping up, he perceived the young musician perched on a ricketty, broken-backed chair, with his legs tucked under him, and his tiny hands thumping the horse-shoes, in the endeavolit to form the same tunes be had heard his relative play.

The weaver was too pleased and astonished at this discovery either to chide or disturb him, but retired with his wife, and after some cogitation,

determined to go over to Exeter and tell Dr. Jackson his boy's story, presuming that if he had abilities for music, that would be a better busi. ness for him than weaving, and knowing the Doctor's character to be as eminent for generosity as musical science. The following day was ac.

cordingly devoted to the walk. The Doctor heard his narrative with mingled pleasure and surprise, and agreed to ride over to Crediton and

witness the phenomenon. He did so, and was introduced by the weaver

to his house and staircase, where the same sight presented itself as on a former occasion. The youngster was seated on his chair, thumping his horse-shoes, and distinguishing their sounds. The Doctor could not con- trol his transports, but sprung up into the garret, seized little Davy is his arms, and exclaimed—" This boy is mine " SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE IN HIS NINTH YEAR.—Lawrence frequently brought his boy to the Green-room, at Bath, and we would set him on a table, and make him recite " Hamlet's directions to the Players." On

one of these occasions Henderson was present, and expressed much gra.. tification. The little fellow, in return for our civilities and flatteries, was desirous to take our likenesses the first time we came to Devizes; and Edwin and myself afforded him an opportunity soon after, on one of our non-play-day excursions. After dinner, Lawrence proposed giving us " reading," as usual ; but Tom reminding him of our promise, we pre.. ferred a specimen of his talents, as being the most novel. The young artist collected his materials very quickly, and essayed my visage the first. In about ten minutes, he produced a faithful delineation in crayon, which for many years I kept as a curiosity. He next attempted 'Edwin's; who,

startled at the boy's abilityfresolved (in his usual way) to perplex him.

No man had a more flexible countenance than Edwin; it was not only well featured, but well muscled, if I may be allowed the expression, which. enabled him to throw over its surface, as on a moral prism, all the colours of expression, minutely blending, or powerfully contrasting. He accord. ingly commenced his sitting, by settling his face into a sober and rather serious aspect; and when the young artist had taken its outline and come to the eyes, he began gradually but imperceptibly to extend and change it, raising his brows, compressing his lips, and widening his mouth, till his face wore the expression of brightness and gaiety. 'Tom no sooner perceived the change than he started in supreme wonder, attributing it to a defect in his own vision. The first outline was accordingly aban- doned, and a second commenced. Tom was now more particular, and watched him narrowly ; but Edwin, feature by feature, and muscle by muscle, so completely ran what might have been called the gamut of his countenance, (as the various components of its harmony,) that the boy drew, and rubbed out, till his hand fell by his side, and he stood silently looking in Edwin's face, to discover, if possible, its true expression.