MEMOIRS 0 CHARLES MATHEWS.

THESE Memoirs contain only part of the Life, stopping at the

commencement of the thr-finned At Homes:' and persons who have formed expectatilm;is of the vvork froitt their mint m- brance of .MATItEWS 011 the stage. and their reflection that he was the table companion of royalty. nobility. and men Of intel- lectual eminence—as GI:1)Ri:1: the hairth, Br ItoN. ScoTT, and Mot mu—will be disappointed. from having confounded the na- ture of things. and expected that a man whose attention was directed to the outward ti rin and manners of persons. should be able to carry away their essential (ill:flit it'S. NOE \VIII tliOSe who look tin' a complete hhigrapbicall account of the great perstmator be perfectly satisfied : for the book, though not without a plan, wants the cullidajourbort ; there scum to be sr/pp/T....4mm in the Life, about matters that if any could tell. Mrs. MA IIIEWS e011111; 11m1 there are excrescences respecting strollers. buffoons. or "odd fent nvs," which have no interest, and but small relation to the business in hand. notwithstanding these drawbacks, the work is far superior to the general run of Theatrical Lives. It has none of those dry cata- logues ofdinners. wines. and ^ creature" enjoy melds, which form the staple of most players' reminiscences ; and many of the incidental jokes and stories. though litt rad and spun out, are not so com- pletely the mr■yr.,,,tt of paid things," as these sort of books gene- rally deal in. It has also the positive merit of giving the mate- rials tit it full history of MATIIEws's character and career, except- ing the gaps alluded to ; it throws, sometimes glimpses, at other times titll light, upon the privation., mortification:4. excitement, and labour of an actor's career ; and it presents many characteristic memorials of late or living contemporaries,—all done in a readable and pleasant way.

Part of this superiority to the common run of Greenroom Me- moirs, arises from the character of the subject ; whose good sense had been cultivated by a good education, and whose natural good principles had been steadied in the respectable home of grave though indulgent parents. (His tither, a bookseller in the Strand, was an eminent " brother" of some Calvinistic congregation, and a preacher at a chapel by his own country-house.) Hence, in the dis- tresses of MATnEws there are none of the swindling tricks. which, in his early days, were considered venial offences, whose morality was to be pardoned for their ingenuity ; his correspondence hats an unaffected plainness, unless, when writing labouredly to some brother of the sock, he interlards his composition with quotations from " acting plays ;" and his relaxations, though smacking of the histrionic jester, have not the coarse sensuality or low buffoonery characteristic of the " larks" ()finally of the tribe. Another cause of the general superiority of the work, is the nature of its materials; most of which consist of original letters from the hero, connected by the interlacings of Mrs. MATtIF:ws, whose authority is her own knowledge, or the remembrance of her husband's narratives.

The life of CHAHLEs Ews, so far as it is carried on in the volumes before us, may be said to consist of three acts. The first embraces the period from his birth till eighteen ; when, incapable of longer wrestling with his stage-struck spirit, he engaged. in an Irish company, and departed for Dublin with his father's know- ledge, though not his approbation. The second act contains his strolling experience in Ireland under Dauer ; in Wales, with a com- pany he accidentally fell in with at Swansea on his return homewards as a prodigal son ; and in Yorkshire with TATE WD,RINsoN. The third act narrates his Metropolitan career, as a performer at the Haymarket and the two patent theatres, varied by provincial progresses as a star, where he had once straggled as On . s, as inferior actor, on a miserable stipend not always paid. The cur- tain rises, and only rises, upon the fourth act of his life, which may be said to embrace his monologue exhibitions; but it almost im- mediately drops, the second volume closing with his engagement With ARNOLD.

Of these divisions, the first is autobiographical; MATnEws him- self t011ing his own story, and of course with that knowledge of feelings and motives which an autobiographer alone can impart. But, though valuable in this sense, it is not in any other ; for the responsibility of authorship is upon him, and he strains after effects, with the point-making of an inferior dramatist. The Irish history is told, and well told—naturally, succinctly, and sometimes graphically—in letters to a friend ; Mrs. MATH nws filling up the gaps from her husband's after confessions, and painting those distresses 'which he carefully concealed from his family. The Welch cam- paign is continued in the same manner, till his first marriage ; and in Yorkshire the present Mrs. MATHEWS comes upon the scene, and speaks from her own knowledge; having joined TATE WILKIN- SON'S company in the life of the first Mrs. .MATilsws, visited her during her illness. and been solemnly recommended to supply her place. Letters. however, so 1hr as the hero is immediately concerned. are still the chief medium of' information ; COLMAN, HARRIg, YouNG. IscLunox, and other names of theatrical cele- brity. figuring in the list of his correspondents.

One remarkable point in the volumes is the instinctive mimicry of MATnEws ; his early and constant love for theatricals; and the judgment with which. renouncing all idea of tragic honours, he turned at once to low comedy. Yet with all these natural ad- vantages. (and the moral is obvious to every student in every walk of art.) it was long befbre he pit any thing like a standing in his pro- ti scion ; and his peculiar talent 14' personation was not fully de- veloped till after years of practice, observation. and laborious study. As at mere urchin. he tells us, he used to mimic an usher who had offended him,—which was his first essay; his next was upon an itinerant cel-vender,—fr which he had his earliest taste of criti- cism in a tremendous blow on the back ; and he afterwards advanced to the divines and `• brethren " who visited at his Either's. In Ire- land. the actors Were delightctl With his" which were much in request for benefits. Still, with all these gifts, an ardent zeal for the stage. and the experience of three or four campaigns, so well-practised at judge as 'CATE WILKINSON at first declared de- cidedly against his success; and nothing seems to have retained him in the company but the steadiness of his conduct, his remark- able memory. which rendered him so useful as a quick " study," and the circumstance that Inc' could always be depended upon. Ex- peritlice. study. the et mfidence A'sueeess, and opp4 al unity, at length de eloped the latent powers, but not without it laborious struggle. Ile constantly attended the courts of ,justice, and places "where men do congregate :" every individual of any peculiarity, who came in his way. seems to have been subjected to it careful examination;

and Mrs. s says. that when the day was insufficient for the study of a pawl. be would sit up the whole night—under any cir- cumstances. he always read upon his return home, till two or three (t'clock in the morning.

The details on which this sketch is founded, must be gleaned from the work : but at port inn Of the evidence may be insinuated in some amusity, passages. The following letter contains the quaint and odd but kind-hearted TATE W1LKINSON'S judgment, already alluded to. The occasion was a remonstrance addressed to him by MATInEws, on some degrading parts being put upon him.

To MR: MATHEWS: " I am dangerously ill, therefore unable to attend to theatrical grievances. I After a 2d and $,1 time seeing y■- performanee. I orer'd and do aver that ..Ifis- fio-trme has ',laced an insurnmunfitble I oar as to the possibility of yr erir being capable of sustaining the first line of comic business. 31r. Emery I repeated to infiirm yin ofthe same at Wakefield, who was entirely of my opinion. For the paralitie stroke.* so tier from at comic effect, renders y, performance seriously dixagreroble. I told 3Ir. IIill+ that not all the Mirrors in the kingdom, in print or in glass. ever eau establish you for a first comedian. If Goal wills it, it will he so, but no other order or interest can effect such it miracle. If you were to hear how you arc spoken of (ask 'Mr. Jarman:), you would not rely too much 011 r unbounded applause at Hull. If you had ask'd at Wakefield if you were to play the characters you mention, 3Ir. Jarman would readily have told you, No. If you Milk the company is in general approv.d, you are mistaken ; am ',MTV to be told quite the contrary. Yr Bondy is very had in- deed : so is llothvr. Randy they have been used to see really well acted. As to John! 11r. Hatton. it was his first request which I granted. as Mr. Jar- man can testity. lb) yon think I engaged Mr. Hatton to hurt you On may honour, 1,, If you say, why add to my expense ? I wooer, necessity, and full conviction stared toe in the Mee. Try by degrees to Ire useful, and by such means get into respect. yr worth as a man, (as Mr as i know.) I much esteem ; but as a first-rate actor, you most try some more discerniiig leader. and officer some wile:. froop. 1 think ' Welde old men is a cast you are most likely to he n" %„/ time The pain I have suffered at my breast in scratching these lines is more pien.ing than what you feel at the loss of Fronk. You have pmdi, sAwiety, and assiduity, which sometimes do wonders. Wish Emery hail been more open with you. 1 recommeeded the shop, as suited to you and Mrs. 31.; but he said von were so stage-bitten it would only vex put. I can only say, Stay out lie 'happy, or Go and he happy ; and ever be happy; and wishing myself better, am yr, in groat pain, TATE WILKINSON:" It should be added, that old WiLsixsoN subsequcntli recanted handsomely. On the occasion of .11.trnEws' perti»mung a new character. after he had risen ill estimation, the manager went to see him ; and at the close of the perfbrinance, appeared on the stage, and, after a formal bow of the old school," thus spoke- " Sir. I beg to thank you publicly for your performance. I owe to you something previously fur your patient pm-so-mince in ',bowing me my unjust opinion and treatment when I first engaged you. Your acting to-night has fondly convinced me of my error ; and, by was of atonement, you must allow me to make that Ohl Housekeeper § of yours a pensioner of mine while you remain in my company.- On the next trcasitry-day, 31r. Mathews found his salary roised to the highest sum given, being above one-third more than the previous amount received by

Till: MEMORY 01' MATHEWS.

Mr. 3lathews's study was always remarkably quick. and. contrary to the general result in such eases, his retention of what he hail learnt was as remark- able as his rapidity in acquiring h. I have known him, without referring to the book, perform a character which he had neither acted nor read fur twenty years. On one occasion he undertook, at the English opera-house, to perform Iris previous entertainments successively. during the season. OM night, not having • It appears that the writer's impression on his first inter iew with Mr. Mathews, that the irregularity of his features was oreasioned by a paral tie attack. had not been D'IlltiNed, although Mr. Mathes s at the time denied that he had es el. silt visited by slieh a misfortune. t Mr. Hill was the proprietor of The 31,notlily Mirn,r, the magaratte mentioned by Mr. Mathews as liming praised his acting.

2 Mr. Jarman was the prompter of the theatre. One or Frederick's assumptions to impose upon old Bayou Piftleburg.

looked at the bill, he totally forgot, at the very instant he was about to com- mence at the table, what he hail advertised himself for that night ; and, after a moment's embarrassment, he left the stage in order to ascertain which of his performances he was expected to deliver. having inquired, Ile immediately returned, and proceeded without the slightest difficulty to the cud.

In his " At Homes," although they were partially derived from his own observations, yet not only the links to the characters, but certain matter sup- plied by his authors from their own fancy, required much study; yet, during time sixteen years that he presented himself in successive seasons at that table, he never Lad a prompter, nor ever once took with him to the theatre a single memorandum or note of the night's entertainment. Even while acting in the regular drama, he could never bear to be prompted, and any attempt to do so would have increased his embarrassment, had he been imperfect. I remember an instance in proof of this. Early in his London engagement at the Haymarket, be had to perform Caleb Quotem, in The Wags of II-indsor. On his first appear- ance on the stage, instead of the usual address, he bowed to Mr. Farley, who performed Captain Beauganl, and, after a minute's pause, said to him, " My

M name, Sir, is Lingo." r. Farley, quite thrown off his guard by this extra-

ordinary lapse in the actor's memory, exclaimed quickly, " The devil it is ! " The audience laughed, and Mr. Mathews was in his turn puzzled. The prompter and the pertimners endeavoured to convey the right speech ; but they tried in vain to • give him the word," as it is called; he could not profit by their efforts, and was altogether at a loss. At teugth his own recollection returned, and he proceeded with his usual volubility and correctness. As \1r. _Mathews never was in the most trilling degree addicted to the poisoned cup; this was remarkable. He could never account for it, for he was not at all in a nervous state ; and this was the only occasion upon which such an accident occurred during his professional life.

He never pert'ormed his " At Homes" so well when I was present, from the fact of my being acquainted in a general way with the matter he was delivering. It made him nervous to see anybody listening to him who had the power to correct a mistake.

PLATING HARD WORK.

It is a popular error, that actors earn their money easily, and that no labour attends their vacation. This mistake has led many an idle, unqualified person into the profession, and afterwares upon the profession, in the way of charity. According to the preceding letter, in a moderate morning's work four hours are occupied in the wear and tear of mental as well as bodily power ; and in the evening, from six till twelve the performer's mind and person are again upon the continual stretch of anxiety and fatigue. Ten hours out of the common labourer's term for work is here accounted for ; but it often happens that the whole twelve are so occupied ; in addition to which, many, after their long day and night of toil and excitement, are under the necessity of stealing Lours from requisite repose, in order to acquire matter for future occasion. Little wonder should there be that so few excel, when often there is scarcely time allowed for more than learning the words of their characters. How, then, can study, without which excellence was never attained, or popularity pre- served, be expected. It is a common observation of simple people, after witnessing any striking performance of length, (and this was often applied to Mr. Mathews s peculiar talent,) "I wonder how he remembers it ill. " They should rather wonder how he found time in the first instance to become acquainted with what his memory afterwards furnished to his hearers. Mr. Mathews's habit, from his earliest professional life, (which commenced at the

age of seventeen,) was to sit up night, and as many nights as he found it requisite, to study for any particular purpose, for he really studied. Can it be a matter, then, of surprise that such finigue should at lust show itself in a complicated form ? His life was that of a blacksmith, with this difference, that his mind constantly lifted an anvil as well as his body.

A feature of the volumes, and a curious feature, though not always essential to the biography, is the number of notices and anecdotes, long and short, good, bad, and indifferent, with which it abounds. Amongst the persons may be enumerated GEORGE the Fourth, SHERIDAN, HOOK the novelist, 'l' ATE WILKINSON, (of whom Mrs. MATHEWS speaks with fond affection,) CHARLES INCLEDON, and COOKE. COOKE arrived at Dublin, as principal tragedian, on MATHEWS'S first visit ; and the judgment which the stripling, not yet out of his teens, pronounced upon him, was finally confirmed by the public. Of this gifted actor some "good stories" are told, which though rather verbose, have retained more of their raci- ness than usually belongs to such things when reduced to type. Here is part of one, which in addition to its humour, has a dis- criminating point upon COOKE'S character, that may be new.

COOKE ON WHISKY PUNCII AND THE PASSIONS.

Mr. Mathews described Cooke's excesses not as habitual ; yet, when once he exceeded the bounds of strict sobriety, the fit would be of long continuance, and was succeeded by as long an abstinence, for he would then drink only water for weeks together, shrinking with disgust from any thing more potent, and speak- ing with unaffected loathing and contempt of a drunkard. In his natural mood he was most refined, bland in his manners, simple and gentlemanlike in bia habits, full of kindness to everybody, and ready to do service to all who re- quired his aid ; charitable to imprudence, if it is possible so to be. The fol- lowing anecdote has been related before, but always imperfectly; and as Mr. Mathews was the only witness to the scene, his version of it, from my memory, may be relied on. On the night in question, Cooke had performed Sir Archy M'Sarcasm in Lore-a-la-Mode ; and the young actor hail been entrusted with Mordecai. During the early part of the night, the host was a most charming companion. He feelingly entered into the young man's embarrassing situation with Daly, and offered to frank him home if he would consent to return to his re- spectable family, and give up the uncertain result of the trial he was making as an actor, but without any effect upon the aspiring candidate for dramatic fame.

After supper, whisky punch which was a novelty to Cooke, who had never before been in Ireland. (though by some erroneously suppose# to be an Irish- man,) was introduced, and he evidently was quite fascinated with the pleasing beverage. He grew gradually more animated in its praise; declared, as he sipped and sipped, that there was nothing like it it was the nectar of the gods ! His spirits increased in animation ; and jug after jug was brought in. The young man had very early cried, " Hold ! enough!" Cooke, however, knew not satiety when once the brimming cup had been emptied. " Another

and another!" would then " succeed, and the lust be welcome as the former." Mrs. Byrn, up to a certain time, felt bound, both by duty and interest, to sup-

ply her distinguished lodger with what he called for ; but at last, the night growing old, and her eyes not growing young, she felt disposed to give them rest ; and, entering with the sixth jug, inquired respectfully, " whether Mister Cooke would want any thing more ?" At this moment her lodger was warmed

up into the most contented of beings. He glanced at the capacious vessel just replaced upon the table, and, believing its contents sufficient, exclaimed, " No-

thing more, my rod Mrs. Byrn ; nothing more." Mrs. Byrn wished her two lodgers a good night, and retired. Cooke refilled his glass, and being somewhat

sentimental, advised—admonished his young friend ; above all, cautioned him to be industrious in his profession, sober in private, and not to allow company, " villanous company," to be the ruin of his youth. And thus he lectured on sobriety, till glass after glass vanished, and with it the reality of the virtue ha so eloquently recommended. At last the jug was again empty. 11- Mathews rose to go. " You shan't stir; we'll have another crooshen horn, [white pitcher] my dear fellow, and then you shall go to bed. I have much more to say to you, my good boy. Sit down. You don't know me. The world don't know me. Many an hour that they suppose I have wasted in drinking, I have devoted to. the study of my profession ; the Passions, and all thei,• variations, their nice and imperceptible gradations. You shall KC me delineate the Pas- sions of the human mind."

The power of the whiskey punch, however, acted in diametric opposition to the intent on his strong and flexible features, and only produced c mtortions and distortions, of which he was unconscious. Ile, nevertheless, emleavcaired to illustrate the passions, while his visiter was to guess them. " What's the meaning of that, elm ?" said the tragedian, with a most inexplicable twist of Lis face. " Sir!" said the timid spectator, puzzled IN hat to call it. Cooke reite- rated, " What's the meaning of that? What passion does it express ? Does it not strike you at once ? There ! 'What's that ?" While he to whom he appealed could only say, " Very fine, Sir!" " But," persisted Cooke, " what is ?" He was then answered—" Oh! I see, Sir ; Anger ! to be sure "To be sure you're a blockhead !" said Cooke, showing him the genuine expression of what he imputed to him before. " Fear, Sir! it was /1:11/' NOW, then, what is that?" "Ohm, Sir, that, I think, is meant for Jealousy." Again the passionate man declared that the guesser was wrong. " Jeahmsy ! Pooh, man ! Sympathy! You're very dull, Sir. Now 1 will express a pa,,sion that you can't mistake. There ! what's that ?" Fearing to increase Cooke's anger by another misconception, the young man apologized, blamed the portion he had swallowed of the punch ; declared that it had stolen away his brains, and left him unfit to judge of Cooke's representa- tions. But Cooke was not in a humour to be so put off. " Look again, Sir!" he exclaimed, in a terrific voice; and he then made up a hideous face, coine pounded of malignity and the leering of a drunken satyr, which he insisted upon being guessed ; and his visiter, trembling for the consequences of another mis- take, hesitatingly pronounced it to be "Iterenge !" Despite o'crwhelin thee!" cried Cooke, m his most tragic rage. " Revenge ! Curse your stupidity ! That was Lore! Love, you insensible idiot ! Can't you see it is Love ?" Here he attempted the same expression, in order to strike conviction of its truth ; when a mixture of comicality with the first effect so surprised the risible muscles of the young man, that he laughed outright. This infuriated the delineator of the passions almost to madness. " What, Sir ! does it make you laugh ? Am I not George Frederick Cooke ? ' born to command ten thou- sand slaves like thee !' while you'll never get salt to your porridge, as an actor.

it out I, Sir?" curving Ins arms just as if preparing to make a minuet bow (his well-known attitude when dlyntlied.)" Doubtless, a very great actor, Sir," allowed Mr. Mathews.

" Very well, then. Do you mean to insinuate that I cannot express the passion of love ?" " I beg your pardon, Sir ; the whiskey punch has Altpified me." Cooke ac- cepted the excuse. "True, true, 'tis out.' (Ilis guest wished lie was out too.) "Mistress Byrn, my love, another jug !"

The rest requires action to give interest—but here we have

COOKE IN DUDGEON, AND THEATRICAL GRIEVANCES.

"I am extremely sorry to inform you that Cooke has withdrawn himself from time theatre. `Dalfwas advertised for Don Felix, Mrs. Parker's benefit : being unable to play, Cooke was applied to the day betbre, and said he would play it. Daly's name was taken out, his own inserted. The night came—there was no dress for Cooke. He had sworn in the day-time, without a new dress, he would not play. No dress : he kept his word. The part was read; lie was very much enraged, and swore he would play no more. I am sorry to say that in that particular he has also kept his word. Mr. Daly. thinking himself the injured person, has never attempted to make it up. Cooke expected entreaties.

Daly is too proud to make them. And both are too proud to make up the breach ; though, I believe, both wish it. Daly was by no means in fault. He was shut up, and would see nobody. The tailor would make no dress without his orders. It is a misunderstanding which ten words would make up. But obstinacy and pride prevent it. So the town is deprived of an excellent actor. Daly could arrest him for 2001. breach of articles, but would not distress him for the world. Daly likes him much. Cooke likes Daly. Does not say one word against him. Says he has treated him like a gentleman. Lays the blame on poor Hitchy. Cooke is a great loss. The benefits suffer much for want of Inni. He knows his own consequence in the theatre; and when he is at all slighted, is the most resolute man, and most to be dreaded in his resentments."

TIIE RESULTS or RAGE.

"I an extremely sorry to inform you that Cooke has inliated. The regiment went to the Isle of Main about a week past. Daly would have been glad to re- engage him; but such was his pride; that he would rather turn soldier from real want than come to terms. If he does not get out of that situation, lie cer- tainly will be a great loss to the stage, for he is really an excellent actor. Many of the performers saw him in his military garb when he was going off; but lie seemed to wish rather to avoid speaking to them, appearing quite melan- choly. He was drunk when he inlisted."

One of the most singular characters of that, or perhaps any other time, was CHARLES INCLEDON. Nature had bestowed upon hint the instinctive feelings of a gentleman, which were dashed if not neutralized by the portly person and rolling gait she had given to his outward man, by the simplicity approaching to fatuity of his mind, as well as by early habits and language drawn from vulgar and nautical associations in boyhood and youth ; whilst mental and moral weaknesses rendered him a butt whom every one laughed at, yet everybody liked. Such a compound of good feeling, vanity, humility, credulity, blasphemy, and devotion, never surely were assembled before ; and Mrs. MATimws appears to have read him truly, as she truly touches him off on several occasions. We take one.

INCLEDON AND TI1E WASP.

Mr. Incledon was exceedingly absent at times; and during one of their journies in a stage-coach, he had been annoyed with wasps, the day being very hot. Mr. Mathews was amused, whenever one of these insects entered the coach, at his taking for granted that, during a ride of forty miles, the same insect had travelled with the coach for the express purpose of alarming him. He would exclaims—" There's that cursed wasp again! " trying (with many imprecations,) on each occasion to destroy it. A grave taciturn man, sitting opposite to them in the coach, seemed to look with great distaste upon Incle- don, whose habit of swearing evidently startled and disgusted him. He bad, at the close of the day, fallen into a sound sleep. Ineledon was still occupied in evading the wasp, which had entered the carriage once more, endeavouring on each occasion, when it alighted anywhere, to kill his persecutor. Intent upon his ohjeets and engrossed by it, to the exclusion of every other recollec- tion, he followed it about with his eyes and hands : at last, the insect rested upon the ram of the sleeping stranger, and. Mr. InFledon, seeing fair scope and opportunity for his purpose, shipped his hand with most earliest violence upon the cheek of the sleeper, crying out as be did so, in a tone of triumph, olla, (1—n you, I've done for you now I" It may be imagined what effect this outrage had upon the unfortunate recipient ; and it required all Incledon's asseverations, and same additional oaths, to convince the stranger that he had not Tsai's- intended to do for hint.

MR. MATHEWS AT 11031E.

In a few weeks after these harassing struggles, my husband found an occa- sional inconvenience that he had lately felt, augmented to a most serious dis- order, from which his eventual sufferings were truly pitiable. I can only describe it by saying that it showed itself in deep cracks across his tongue. Every advice was sought and attended to ; but it baffled the first-rate skill and experience. It sometimes prevented him from eating, and banished sleep, and had he not been resolute in the prosecution of his duty, he must have declared it (as his medical men (lid) impossible to use it professionally. Every word be its tered was like a drop of aquafortis upon these cracks. It was distressing to know his exertions under such torture—and, oh how painful now to remember them. This complaint had in turn been pronounced to be stomach and local fever, caused by anxiety and his great professional exertions. Sonic 'toys it was better, at others worse, according to the use made of his voice; but it was always in a state which would have warranted him in declaring acting too painful to be attempted; still he persevered. and it was heart- touching to witness his sufferings on his return home from the exertion. On the days of performance lie often found it requisite to preserve a total silence until he began his " Entertainment," when he described his sensations to be like what he must be supposed to feel while talking and singing with a piece of red-hot iron attached to his tongue.

Any thing we may have to say on MATHEWS generally, will more conveniently be said on the conclusion of the biography ; but we may mention what seems the leading .s.uppression—his pecuniary affairs. That difficulties embarrassed, if they did not embitter, the most seemingly prosperous part of his life, is evident ; but how they accrued, or why they occurred, is by no means made clear ; and the subject seems as much as possible evaded. Mrs. 'MATHEWS indeed states, that his first marriage, and the sanguine disposition of his first wife, involved him in debts without his knowledge ; and we can conceive that a salary of one guinea or twenty-five shillings a week might easily be exceeded : but debts, from such a source, could not be heavy without his knowledge. or indeed under any cir- cumstances. And during his sojourn in Yorkshire, his salary seems to have been gradually raised to the highest given to a country actor, (though this last fact is only told incidentally, in a chapter devoted to TATE WILKINSON); and we find him making nearly 100/. by a single benefit—enough, surely, to have discharged any debts he could have contracted. In London, he began with 10/. a week and a benefit ; and though his gains fluctuated during his country trips, yet we find him sometimes making 100/. a week, and sometimes hundreds by a benefit, and always something handsome. Yet it peeps out incidentally, that he was beset by de- mands that he could not meet ; and he tells ROBINS in October 1814, that he has not 501. in the world. We hear, indeed. inciden- tally and occasionally. of a dishonoured accommodation-till; but a few bills ought not to have distressed him ; any more than the 7501. a swindler cheated him out of', for the purchase of a house and furniture, ought to have stopped him. The narrative of his en- gagement with ARNOLD for the " At Homes" is equally ob- scure in its causes and its terms. We are told that Marunws made a fatally disadvantageous engagement with ARNOLD; but why he did so, (further than the general one of dissatisfaction with the London managers,) or what income he was to receive, is kept behind. It is credible enough that ARNOLD imposed upon Mantsws's carelessness in business, and took advantage of his ne- cessities : but if all be true that Mrs. MATHEWS states, and there is nothing snore to tell, we conceive a court of equity would have set aside the first engagement, as coming under the head of " corrupt, unjust, deceitful, or catching bargains." This subject should be looked to in the next volume, if Mrs. MATHEWS wishes to have her biography rank as a work of credit.