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that my letter got to him just in time. 'It gives me great satisfaction,' says he, 'that my opinion of Bishop Cumberland's grandson agrees with yours,' &c. &c.

I have the honor to be,
Dear sir, your very faithful
And assured humble servant,


It is a singular circumstance, though perhaps not a favorable one, that in the dramatis persone of this play there is not one auxiliary character; they are all principals, and such in respect of consequence as few authors ever brought together, in one point of view, for they consist of the two Consuls L. Calphurnius Piso and Aulus Gabinius, the Tribune P. Clodius, Cicero and Pomponius Atticus, Caius Piso Frugi, Terentia and Tullia, wife and daughter of Cicero, and Clodia, sister of the Tribune, with. out one speaking attendant or interloper throughout the piece, except a very few words from one Apollodorus. To give display to characters like these, the bounds of

any single drama would hardly serve, and of course the arrangement was so far injudicious; yet the author, as if he had not enough on his hands, goes aside to speak of Cato in the scene betwixt Gabinius and Clodius

Cato is still severe, is still himself;
Rough and unshaken in his squalid garb,
He told us he had long in anguish mourn'd,
Not in a private but the public cause,
Not for the wrong of one, but wrong of all,
Of Liberty, of Virtue, and of Rome.

* No more: I sleep o'er Cato's drowsy theme.
He is the senate's drone, and dreams of liberty,
When Rome's vast empire is set up to sale,
And portioned out to each ambitious bidder

In marke ble lotsIn the further progress of the same scene, Pompey is mentioned, and Calphurnius Piso introduced in the following terms:

-Oh! who shall attempt to read
In Pompey's face the movements of his heart?
The same calm artificial look of state,
His half-clos'd eyes in self-attention wrap'd,
Serve him alike to mask unseemly joy,
Or hide the pangs of envy and revenge.

See, yonder your old colleague Piso comes !
But name hypocrisy and he appears.
How like his grandsire's monument he looks !




He wears the dress of holy Numa's days,
The brow and beard of Zeno; trace him home,
You'll find his house the school of vice and lust,
The foulest sink of Epicurus' sty,

And him the rankest swine of all the herd.' I find the two first acts are wound up with some couplets in rhyme after the manner of the middle age. It will, I hope, be pardonable if I here insert the lines, with which Clodius concludes the first act

"When flaming comets vex our frighted sphere,
Though now the nations melt with awful fear,
From the dread omen fatal ill presage,
Dire plague and famine and war's wasting rage;
In time some brighter genius inay arise,
And banish signs and omens from the skies,
Expound the comet's nature and its cause,
Assign its periods and prescribe its laws,
Whilst man grown wise, with his discoveries fraught,

Shall wonder how he needed to be taught.' I shall only add that the dialogue between Cicero and Atticus in the third act seems in point of poetry one of the happiest efforts of its author: in short, although this drama has not all the finishing of a veteran artist, yet in parts it has a warmth of coloring and a strength of expression, which might induce a candid reader to augur not unfavorably of the novice who composed it.

It is here I begin more particularly to feel the weight of those difficulties, which at my outset I too rashly announced myself prepared to meet. When I review what I have been saying about this my first drama, and recollect what numbers are be. hind, I am almost tempted to shrink back from the task, to which I am committed. If indeed the candor and liberality of my readers will allow me to step out of myself (if I may so term it), whilst I am speaking of myself, I have little to fear; but if I must be tied down to my individuality, and not allowed my fair opinion without incurring the charge of self-conceit, I am in a most unenviable situation, and must either abandon my undertaking, or abide by the conditions of it with what fortitude I can muster. If, when I am professedly the recorder of my own writings, I am to record nothing in them or about them but their simple titles and the order in which they were written, I give the reader nothing more than a catalogue, which any magazine might furnish, or the prompter's register as well supply; if, on the contrary, I proceed to fulfill the real purposes of biographer and critic, ought I not to act as honestly and conscientiously in my own case, as I would in the instance of another person? I think I ought: It is what the title of my book professes; how I am to execute it I do not know, and how my best endeavors may be received I can form no guess. In the mean time, I will strive to arm myself with an humble but honest mind, resolving, as far as in me lies, not to speak partially of my works because they are my own, nor slightingly against my conscience from apprehension that readers may be found to differ from me, where my thoughts may seem more favorable than theirs. The latter of these consequences may perhaps frequently occur, and when it does, my memoirs must encounter it, and acquit themselves of it as they can; for myself, it cannot be long before I am alike insensible to censure or applause.

This play, of which I have been speaking, lay by me for a considerable time; till Lord Halifax one day, when we were at Bushey Park, desired me to show it to him; he read it, and immediately proposed to carry it to Garrick, and recommend it to him for representation. Garrick was then at Hampton, and I went with Lord Halifax across the Park to his house. This was the first time I found myself in company with that extraordinary man. He received his noble visitor with profound obeisance, and in truth there were some claims upon his civility for favors and indulgences granted to him by Lord Halifax as Ranger of Bushey Park. I was silently attentive to every minute particular of this interview, and soon discovered the embarrassment, which the introduction of my manuscript occasioned; I saw my cause was desperate, though my advocate was sanguine, and in truth the first effort of a raw author did not promise much to the purpose of the manager. He took it, however, with all possible respect, and promised an attentive perusal, but those tell-tale features, so miraculously gifted in the art of assumed emotions, could not mask their real ones, and I predicted to Lord Halifax, as we returned to the lodge, that I had no expectation of my play being accepted. A day or two of what might scarce be called suspense, confirmed this prediction, when Mr. Garrick having stated his despair of accommodating a play on such a plan to the purposes of the stage, returned the manuscript to Lord Halifax with many apologies to his lordship, and some few qualifying words to its author, which certainly was as much as in reason could be expected from him, though it did not satisfy the patron of the play, who warmly resented his non. compliance with his wishes, and for a length of time forbore to live in babits of his former good neighborhood with him.

When I published this play, which I soon after did, I was conscious that I published Mr. Garrick's justification for re

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fusing it, and I made no mention of the circumstances above stated.

George Ridge, Esq., of Kilmiston, in the county of Hants, had two sons and one daughter by Miss Brooke, niece to my grandfather Bentley; with this family we had lived as friends and relations in habits of the greatest intimacy. It was upon an excur. sion, as I have before related, to this gentleman's house that I founded my school-boy poem written at Bury, and our families had kept up an interchange of annual visits for a course of time. From these meetings I had been for several years excluded by my avocations at college or London, till upon Mr. Ridge's coming to town accompanied by his wife and daughter, and taking lodgings in the near neighborhood of Mount Street, where I held my melancholy abode, I was kindly entertained by them, and found so many real charms in the modest manners and blooming beauty of the amiable daughter, that I passed every hour I could command in her society, and devoted all my thoughts to the attainment of that happiness, which it was in her power to bestow upon my future days. As soon, therefore, as I obtained, through the patronage of Lord Halifax, a small establishment as Crown Agent for the province of Nova Scotia, I began to hope the object I aspired to was within my reach, when upon a visit she made with her parents to mine at Fulham, I tendered my addresses, and had the unspeakable felicity to find them accepted, and sanctioned by the consent of all parties concerned; thus I became possessed of one, whom the virtues of her heart and the charms of her person had effectually endeared to me, and on the 19th day of February, 1759 (being my birth-day), I was married by my father in the church of Kilmiston, to Elizabeth, only daughter of George and Elizabeth Ridge.


Lord Halifax, first lord of trade and plantations -Earl of Bute at the head of \ affairs-Dodington-Lord Halifax, lord-lieutenant of Ireland—His arrange

ments — William Gerard Hamilton — Cumberland, Ulster secretary—“The Banishment of Cicero'-Lord Melcombe-Bentley--The Wishes'-Opening speech of the Lord Lieutenant-Edmund Burke-Mr. Roseingrave-Cumberland's disinterestedness—Offered a baronetcy--Hamilton as an orator-Quarrel with Burke-Cumberland's father raised to the bishopric~Society in Dublin-Primate Stone-Dr. Robinson-Colonel Ford-George FaulknerMrs. Dancer-Cumberland returns to England-Health of his family-Bishop Cumberland-Cumberland's disappointment-Situation at the Board of Trade -Cumberland's estimate of Halifax-The Summer's tale-Bickerstaff-Smith the actor-Cumberland visits his father—'The brothers'-Garrick-Fitzherbert-The West Indian-Mr. Talbot-Lord Eyre-Anecdote of a Catholic priest—The O'Roukes-Sir Thomas Cuffee—Mr. Geoghegan-Doctor of laws.


LORD HALIFAX, upon some slight concessions from the Duke of Newcastle, had reassumed his office of First Lord of Trade and Plantations, and I returned with my wife to Fulham, taking a house for a short time in Luke Street, Westminster, and afterwards in Abington Buildings.

In the following year, upon the death of the king, administration it is well known took a new shape, and all eyes were turned towards the Earl of Bute, as dispenser of favors and awarder of promotions.' Mr. Dodington, whom I had visited a second


I 'Lord Bute,' said Dr. Johnson, 'though a very honorable man-a man who meant well-a man who had his blood full of prerogative-was a theoretical statesman-a book minister—and thought this country could be governed by the influence of the crown alone.'— Boswell's Johnson, vol. ii. p. 355. How mistaken he was, his short, unpopular, and inglorious administration will attest.

* The Earl of Bute,' says Walpole,' was a Scotchman, who, having no estate, had passed his youth in studying mathematics and mechanics in his own little island, then simples in the hedges about Twickenham, and at five-and-thirty had fallen in love with his own figure, which he produced at masquerades in becoming dresses, and in plays, which he acted in private companies, with a set of his own relations.'- Memoirs of the Reign of George II., vol. i. p. 46.

Bute married the only daughter of the celebrated Mary Wortley Montague. After the death of her father, and brother, the eccentric Edward Wortley Montague, she came into possession of a large landed property. After living several years in profound retirement, on his patrimonial estate, in the Isle of Bute, he emerged from his retreat, and took a house on the banks of the Thames. Accident made him acquainted with Frederic, Prince of Wales, and

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