and his superstition rendered him an object of sport. In 1768, he renewed his entreaties for permission to leave Berlin, and imagining that the King might not, perhaps, like him to take away the original letters which that Prince had written to him, he sent them to him, ranged in chronological order, and acpanied by the following letter: 125 loss of time. Scarcely had he arrived at Dijon, when he wrote him a very bold letter, such as no one who had ever any disagreement with Frederick would have ventured to address to him. In order to excuse himself for this freedom, be said, "It is not now to the King that I write, but to the d Philosopher, and in the name of Philosophy" a distinction which the "Sire! I have kept till this mo- Monarch himself had given the exment a precious pledge of the confi- ample of in their suppers at Sanse dence with which your Majesty Souci, where they freely conversed honoured me. I give them into your in the absence of the King, although hands, because I do not think it right at the same table with him. And be to take them with me into a strange concluded his keen, yet guarded, recountry. My continued ill health, proaches, with that inimitable fable and a complication of disorders, put it out of my power any longer to be useful to your Majesty; and I am convinced that, under a milder climate, my infirmities might be borne. I therefore entreat your Majesty to grant me my dismissal, assuring you, at the same time, that my heart shall be eternally devoted to you." of the "Town and Country Mouse." Yet, notwithstanding this appear ance of resentment, the Marquis D'Argens resolved to return to Fre derick at the expiration of the stated period; but it cost him a severe struggle to determine on leaving Aix, D return to Berlin-it was to expre the remainder of his days to The Marquis obtained permission scenes of vexation and disappoist to pass six months in Provence, and ment, and shorten their duration set off in 1769, on the express condi- The agitated state of his mind, which tion of returning at the appointed this situation involved him in, protime; at the same time he received duced the very effect he wished to the packet of original letters, which have avoided, and he died without the King returned to him, assuring being able to fulfil his promise. him that he possessed his entire confidence, and that consequently he neither could nor would keep the les ters. The Marquis, however, would not take them with him, but left them in the charge of one of his most particular friends. 66 In the midst of all these sufferings," says M. Thieubault, " he was detained at Bourg-en-Bresse by a long and very dangerous illness The Marchioness, whose whole care was devoted to him, never once, thought of writing to the King, al It appears, that the King was much though the time of his leave of ab displeased at his departure, and that sence had expired. Frederick sus he even refused to see the Marquis. pected him of wishing to deceive In vain several persons endeavoured him. He sent to the Marchioness's to persuade him, that the Marquis sister, and to all the Members of the would return; he would not believe Academy, with whom he was connect them. He was indignant that a man ed as the Director, to know if they whom he had loaded with his bene- had not heard from him; and as be fits, should quit him for such trifling was informed, that no person had recauses, and which in no way diminish- ceived any news of him, and that se ed the proofs of his attachment and veral months had passed without a esteem; but the Marquis bad very good reasons to give on his side likewise-to pass the remainder of his days under a milder climate, and near a brother, to whom he was attached by strong ties of affection. He had, however, other motives for discontent, which he was anxious that the King should know without letter either from the husband or the wife, the King's doubts were soon changed to certainty. His anger and his indignation were extreme. He dispatched orders that very day to the different offices at which the sa laries of the Marquis were paid, strictly injoining them to ease hi name out of the public books, and 24 forbidding them to pay him any thing for Berlin. The letter produced an for the future. Sulzer, who received effect which might be expected. The this order at the Academy, thought old Courtier was more irritated than it his duty to acquaint D'Argens, and afflicted. He wrote another, which in consequence of this determination, was never made public, but its conhe privately gave a letter to a person tents may easily be guessed at, and who was going that way, and who immediately returned to his beloved promised to inquire for the Marquis, retreat, from which he seldom went, and give him the letter if he should except to make some few slight jourchance to meet bim; if not, to address nies through parts of Provence. It it under cover to the President was in one of these excursions that he D'Eguilles. The traveller found him died at Toulouse, of an indigestion, at Bourg-en-Bresse, in a state of con- on the 11th of January, 1771. valescence and preparing to set off THEATRICAL RECORDER. LYCEUM, STRAND. except among the lower and coarser ON Saturday evening, Oct. 7, Mr. classes of life. In the acting of Miss Cumberland's Comedy of The Boyce, who played the character of West Indian, was brought forward for Louisa Dudley, Mr. Wrench cour the immediate purpose of introducing find nothing that was tinged with vulMr. Wrench, to the notice of a Lon- garity or insensibility; and her addon audience. dress to him, on their reconciliation Mr. Wrench is well made, and of a in the fifth act, embracing an expecgenteel deportment. He was gay tation, that when, in future, he might and agile, as he should be, in the per- pursue other objects of passion, not sonification of a volatile young gensimilarly protected to herself, was deteman like Belcour; and frequently livered with a pathos, that touched exhibited instances of feeling and the heart. judgment, which lead us to hope that Saturday, the 14th, presented at he may become a valuable appendage this Theatre two performers, for the to a metropolitan theatre. Yet he, like first time, to a London audience, with most actors from the country, has the most prosperous debut, in the something to unlearn; he was too apt sprightly comedy of The Soldier's to walk up to the lamps, and by de- Daughter; viz. Mrs. Edwin, from the claiming with his face towards the Theatre Royal Dublin, in the characaudience, evidently seemed to make ter of the Widow Cheerly; and Mr. them a party in the scene. This pro- Knight, from the theatre Royal York, cedure (though too common), we in that of Timothy Quaint. Their must take the freedom of saying, is entrance was hailed in the most enhighly absurd, and altogether destroys couraging manner, and the applause the required effect of the drama, which increased as they proceeded in the should be a course of action calculated parts they so well sustained. Mrs. either to delight or amend us, but in Edwin's person is agreeable, and her which we had no participation what- manner easy and engaging, as well as ever, excepting what resulted from that her voice is clear and captivating. agency of the senses, and even that Her countenance, at once animated agency should undergo a revision and expressive, is, nevertheless, so from the judgment, to make its opera- much under the direction of her tion morally healthful. judgment, that she gave a character In Belcour's interviews with Miss and expression to one of the scenes Dudley, we did not think him suffi- in this play quite novel and delightful. ciently delicate or respectful; for it We have scarcely ever witnessed a must not be supposed that a gentle- more successful and flattering essay man, even on occasions like those, by any performer. In the part where forget the tenderness that is uni- she says from the author," This is formly due to the sex, and without my first visit to London," she was which no success can be obtained, greeted with thundering plaudits and the can bravos for minutes together; as also The house afterwards adjourning when she added, "I purpose to stay till Friday, the 6th, the play of John the winter." An occasional conciu Bull, though calculated to soothe the sion was given to the play, which had popular prejudices, was brought for a most appropriate and happy effect. ward like another scene of the Bear Mr. Knight possesses great advan- Garden. The whole time seemed to tages as a performer in the cast of be divided between hissing and hootcharacters he has adopted. His fea- ing, rattling, howling, battling, and tures are distinct and prominent, specchifying.-One orator very point giving great interest to his acting, His voice is clear, strong, and articulate; but he certainly pitched it too high for se smali a theatre. In the character of Robin Roughhead, in For tune's Frolick, which he performed to admiraton, the key was more natural. To be brief, and not enter into the detais of the excellence of the sever parts of these and the other peformers, it was, on the whole, a em which deserved to be set, as it was by the fullness of the house, in a cluster of diamonds. Mrs. Edwin has since performed Violante in Mrs. Centlivre's Wonder, and is generally allowed to be a most charming Actress. - Beatrice, it is thought, will be one of her next cha racters. COVENT GARDEN NEW THEATRE. edly observed, with respect to the private boxes, that "The Society for the Suppression of Vice," ought to present them to the Parish of St. Paul Covent Garden, as a public nulsance. HA But neither the subsequent intro-E Last Night of Performance at the IMPOSITION. Avarice, Insolence, Mr. KEMBLE! Being his last appearance before the Public. Foo! Hardy, Mr. HARRIS. On Wednesday, Oct. 4, after this house had been shut up a week by the Managers, in order that John Bull might come to his own natural temper, it opened again with the Beggar's NEW THEATRE, COVENT-GARDEN. Opera, when the gathering storm again This evening will be presented for the last burst forth on the rising of the curtain, time, an Operatic Farce, in One Act, called notwithstanding the public knew that Mr. Kemble had gotten the sanction of a committed of monied men, to make his gains appear very moderate. The rattles, whistles, and bugle horns commenced, and placards with "John Kemble, let your monopoly cease," "No private boxes for intriguing, &c. were exhibited as before. In fact, that populace that could not be brought to bow to" the honour of a Prince" have decidedly shewn that they hold that of a Player, lower still: for ceasing to threaten them with the decisions of the Attorney General, it was in vain that Mr. K. adopting the more civil epithets of " Ladies and Gentle- Slight men" said also, "I throw myself upon the candour of the most liberal and enlightened metropolis in the world. 1 cannot afford to lose three-fourths per cent, by this concern." Noodle, Doodle, &c. The other Proprietors. Oath-Taker, JEMMY BOX-OFFICE Between the Scenes, ING THE DEVIL: brated Address of "WHAT DO YOU WANT!" Immediately following the Interlude, will be presented, for the Benefit of the Proprietors, the last Scene of the Farce of THE CONFEDERATES. Being a Capital Deception by the following inimitable Performers, hired for the occasion-Le Chevalier ap Rice, Le Sieur Thomaso Le Plume, Gallows Black Jack, of the Old Bailey, M. Witless, from Threadneedle-street, and Mynheer Pharisee Ankerstill, the well known publick subscription Actor. The former scenes of the Confederates are acted, in conjunction with the Proprietors, in private, behind the Curtain, for the Benefit of the Publick. Afterwards will be performed for the last time, the first Act of a Grand unfinished Tragic Ballet of Action, called The cruel Attempt to despoil John Bull of his Noble Parts. The whole being arranged under the Management of Mr. JEW KEMBLE. The representation will take place in the Audience Part of the House, the following most numerous Corps de Ballet being distributed in the Boxes, Pit, and Galleries for that purpose First Drover, DANIEL MENDOZA, at the head of 150 fighting Jews and hired Bruizers, as Constables. Second Drover, BILL SOAMES, with his Gang of House-breakers, and Pickpockets, as keepers of the Peace. Third Drover, The fighting Waterman, leading a Band of Desperadoes and Ruffians, in the Dresses of Bow-street Offi cers Grand Mob of Drovers. By all the Thieves, We have only to add a few original remarks on the new theatre in general, extracted from "The Jubilee, or John Bull in his Dotage. A grand National Pantomine; as it was to have been acted by his Majesty's Subjects, on the 25th of Oct. 1809."-The author, whose strong talents as a satirist have long been acknowledged by the publick, has thrown the part we allude to into the form of a dialogue between Asmodeus and Commis. Asmodeus.-That is the massy pile which the inhabitants of London have been taught to call magnificent. Commis. You surely mistake in calling it a theatre; it must be some solemn temple dedicated to the gods. Asmodeus. Your supposition is fully justified, as the principal front is borrowed from an Athenian Temple, and bears no more analogy to the other side, than the portico of St. Martin's Church does to the heavy walls of Bedlam! One basso relievo is presumed to be illustrative of the ancient drama. Aristophanes and Menander are anxiously looking towards the entrance, to implore some counsellor, who understands Greek, to favour them with a Habeas Corpus that they may be carried back to Lacedemon without delay. The other is an attempt to il lustrate the modern drama. That is the inimitable Shakspeare, who had the singular privilege from Jove, to unlock the human bosom, and examine its tenantry. Now we will enter the vestibule! This is the grand stair case (as they phrase it) flanked and gloomily lighted with antique lamps, as if we were ascending the tombs of the Scipios, or a Roman council at midnight, and not the mart of publick pleasure. We are now in the auditory, and the coup d'œil is not unexceptionable. The drop scene yonder, is supremely There are whimsical. Eschylus, Plautus, Lopez de Vega, and other poets, looking glumly at each other, like strangers suddenly flanking a Table d'Hote; while the Bard of Avon in the centre, looks as if he had become so splenetick at the abomina-tions practised upon his genius, by modern arrogance, that he was retiring and fading into oblivion, like the ærial puppet of a phantasmagoria! The private boxes are not only an encroachment upon popular right, but The avenues to the pit are frightfully intricate, and remind me of the cata combs near Naples. I am impressed on passing them with the chilling idea of entering the damp and horrible dungeon of an Inquisition; or the vaults of a cemetry, to mingle with the dust of martyrs, and be locked up in silent seclusion from the light of the blessed sun." so constructed that the subscribers may even economise in the prosecution of voluptuousness, with an adequate security against the danger and impertinence of witnesses. The dome is too sacerdotal in its character, and the isolated instrument in the middle, which the painter intended for a lyre, looks at a distance, like a Cremona - fiddle in purgatory. That gallery which is so elevated, that it strains the optic nerve to perceive it, is the appropriated reception for the ci-devant gods. But they are no longer of the true Olympian breed, they have been metamorphosed into pigeons, who are allowed to peep from their holes in small battalions, as volunteers fire: and their power of thundering is abridged for ever! That gloomy recess yonder, where the human visages appear as through the medium of a mist, is called the basket; but it is so abominably contrived, that it looks like a continuity of Bail Docks, where the vile and the vicious are huddied together, to await trial for their misdemeanors, and spit and foam, stew and melt, in adverse contact like Antipathies, dissolving in a crucible. The keen sighted author also censures the lion and unicorn supporting the king's arms, couchant; as if they were fatigued, or sick of supporting the royal emblems, rather than as the vigilant, invincible, and proud guar dians of the rights and honours of the House of Hanover! It seems however, that this satirical poet has not made any observations upon the scenes of all this sombre magnificence being apparently converted into a perpetual bear garden. We hope for the credit of those who have occasioned these tumultuous proceedings, that at least by the Christmas Holidays, the boarding school misses and their delicate a tendants may be effectually secured from the rude alarms, and interrup tions of an enraged multitude, and the clamour of the contending parties. STATE OF PUBLIC AFFAIRS. HE last month is one of the could have been carried on at all. curred in this country. Events on the seem to indicate a determination to continent, important as they are, brutalise the mind, and to make those excited scarcely any curiosity. All who ought to be, and to know themwere occupied on domestick occurences; and the theatre divided with a pair of duellists nearly the whole of the public attention. The length of the present king's reign gave rise to another scene; and the jubilee, which would have been celebrated with universal satisfaction if poper preparations had been made for it, was so managed, that individuals were at a loss to know whether a public demonstration of joy, or private acts of bene. ficence, were the most acceptable. But of all the great features of the month the theatre of Covent-Garden claims the pre-eminence. In our last its tumults were noticed; but little was it thought that, in a civilised country, a contest of such a nature selves to be, the servants of the pub lic, alike indifferent to public censure or applause. The theatre of CoventGarden, it is well-known, was burnt down last year; and, if it had not been burnt down, it would, there is reason to believe, have been taken down.The managers lost no time in rebuilding it, and a very elegant and far more commodious structure has been erected on the scite of the old theatre. The opening of the new house was attended with a very impolitic measure-an advance in the prices of admission; and, instead of entering with satisfaction to examine and enjoy the beauties of the new building, the public were put into very ill humour, and all the decorations and splendid |