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us with a rude and impertinent curiosity, which though it might be tolerated by Cooke, whose vanity was flattered, was to me excessively annoying.

I led him off from the mob, and leaving him in High or Market-street, to pace the pavement until my return, I retraced my way to the theatre, and fell in with Mr. Francis, who undertook to prepare the way for his friend George, while I returned to escort him. I found him at a confectioner's at the corner, the people having politely invited him in; and on our return to the theatre we found that Francis had succeeded in prevailing upon the rude multitude to become civil, and form a lane, through which we gained the interior of the house. As the crowd opened to the right and left, and let us pass, "Aye, aye," says Cooke, "they understand their interest now, for, as the man said when going to the gallows, there will be no sport without me."

The plaudits and gratulations were long and loud on his appearance, and his returning salute appropriate and dignified; the whole exhibition caused a recurrence of the same train of ideas which were suggested by his appearance at Newyork.

Alas, poor human nature! at the conclusion of this resplendent scene, while glory and honour are awaiting, like hand maids, his bidding, how vain are Cooke's hopes of amendment now!

We had accepted invitations to dine this day, with a frank, noble-spirited gentleman; and my companion, who admired him more than any one he had met with here, wished, yet feared to keep the appointment. He repeatedly expressed his fears that he should fall into excess, but then he determined to avoid it by coming away when I did.

"You will come home to tea?"

"Yes."

"So will I. I will take tea with you."

He and his biographer accept this invitation, and the company is left by the latter gentleman at a seasonable hour; but, says he, "the solid fabric which sheltered us was not more immovable than George Frederick Cooke."

The next morning I went to him. The shutters of the windows were still closed, and the candles burning in the sockets-he was nearly the same disgusting object which I found at the house of the poor widow in Reed-street. He appeared conscious of his degraded 'condition, and on my requesting him to go to bed, replied, "I will do any thing you bid me."

The following anecdotes will show how Cooke husbanded his finances:

On the Wednesday evening, when he went to the theatre to play Richard for the second time, conscious that he was wild, from the excess of the pre

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vious night, he gave the money from his pocket, to his theatrical dresser, for safety. The sum was sixty-five dollars. The next day, after another night of excess, he missed the money, and forgetting in whose possession he had deposited it, he complained to the managers of being robbed in the theatre. That night he, in the same continued state of inebriation, went to Fennell's readings, and supper; and the next day found the money in his pocket again, without knowing how he had recovered it. The dresser, being an attendant on Fennell, Cooke met there, and the man returned the notes which bad been left in his care, and Cooke was the next day as unconscious of receiving them, as he had been of delivering them for safe keeping.

For a long time he entrusted his accounts to me, and used to draw upon me for fifty, and sometimes for one hundred dollars at a time. It has been said, that once after giving a draft of fifty dollars to a charitable institution,

he desired me not to pay it: but the fact was otherwise. His request to me was, to satisfy myself that the person to whom he gave the draft was an authorized agent of the society to whom the gift was made, which I did, and paid it.

Public curiosity was inflamed instead of being abated by his first appearance in Philadelphia.

After breakfast on the morning of Saturday, walking past the theatre, I witnessed one of the scenes which daily took place in consequence of the attractions of the great actor. A throng of servants, porters, &c. surrounded and pressed upon the door; those nearest the box-office anxiously endeavouring to maintain the advantage their patience and perseverance had gained, and those behind sturdily pushing to gain the same enviable situation. At this moment a brawney fellow elbowed his way from the crowd, and issued with a triumphant air, his face flushed, and his clothes disordered. An acquaintance met him with,

"Well, Charley! did you get one?"

"And to be sure I did."

"What box, Charley?"

"My old box, No. 3. Don't I get it aitch time?"

"And were you up all night again?"

"To be sure I was. Don't you see my night cap?" and Charley, with an air of exultation, took a handkerchief from about his brows, saying as he went off," Don't I get ten dollars you tief, and my lodgings found me for nothing?"

Such was the eagerness to get seats, that these sturdy blackguards were paid from six to ten dollars for securing a box; and to make sure of the prize, the stone steps in front of the theatre were occupied all night, that the place nearest the door might be secured in readiness for its opening at ten o'clock the next day.

This was carried so far, that I have seen men sitting at the theatre door, eating their dinner, who had taken their post on Sunday morning, with a determination of remaining there all day on Sunday, and all Sunday night, to be ready for the opening of the door on Monday morning.

The following is the amount of the houses in his first engagement for Philadelphia:

March 25th, 1811. Richard the Third,

$1348 15

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Making an average of $1085 2-100. Expenses $390 per night.

Still the public admiration was not exhausted; Mr. C. played four additional nights in Philadelphia, and the following are the results of the house:

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In Baltimore the entry of this theatrical veteran was alike prosperous and triumphant. He was still commanding reverence on the stage, and in private life renouncing his claim to such honour. His genius and his evil habits were thus in a state of continual hostility, and each, by turns, taking possession of the conquered territory. The receipts of the house, for nine nights in Newyork, stood thus:

May 6th,

8th,

Richard the Third. Cooke, Richard; Cooper,

Richmond; amount

$1380

Othello. Cooke, Iago; Cooper, Othello; amount 1620 [This was the first time of Mr. Cooke's playing lago in Newyork.] The Gamester. Cooke, Stukely; Cooper, Be

10th,

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17th,

Cooke, Clytus and Sir Archy; Cooper, Alexander;
Fair Penitent. Cooke Horatio; Cooper, Lo-

935

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22d,

24th,

Mr. Cooke's benefit: First part of Henry the
Fourth. Cooke, Falstaff; Cooper, Hotspur;
Othello. Cooke, Iago; Cooper Othello;

834

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1130

Total in nine nights,

$9629

Making an average of $1069 89-100.

His health had been for a considerable time undermined by his indulgence in his darling excesses. Serious admonitions

were given by the recurrence of several alarming symptoms, and as often did he resolve on amendment, and violate his own resolutions. His complaints at length assumed a more alarming character, and the following are his reflexions on the prospect of death:

"I observed that his spirits were greatly depressed, whenever he conver sed upon the subject of his complaints; for he had now become conscious of the nature of his disease, and appeared to be fully apprised of the consequences, if he could not command fortitude enough to abstain from the causes that had produced it. In one of those moments of despondency, he asked me with an earnestness and solicitude of manner, which I can never forget, if I thought his disease had proceeded to such a degree, as likely to prove fatal to him; and if I then considered him in immediate danger; adding, that in such case, he was desirous of making some communication to one or two persons in England, and particularly referred to his old friend, an eminent surgeon of London, James Wilson, esq. of Windmill-street, of whom he always expressed himself in terms of the greatest affection and respect.

"Upon assuring him that he was for the present relieved, and that Richard would soon be himself again, his countenance lighted up; and, for the moment, he was reanimated.

"He then became fearful that I had misconstrued the source of his anxiety about his own situation, and with some animation observed, "Doctor, 1 hope you do not conceive that I ask you these questions, because I am afraid of dying-be assured I am not." Notwithstanding this assurance, however, I was convinced that Mr. Cooke was not so firmly steeled upon this subject, as he would wish us to believe; on the contrary, he had his share of that "cowardice," which generally attaches itself to human nature, at the ap proach of dissolution, for

"Conscience does make cowards of us all."

"Perceiving, as I believed, the necessity of rallying his spirits, and of counteracting his despondency, whatever may have heen the real source of it, I instantly replied, " that it would indeed be strange, if a man, who, like Mr. Cooke, had been so much in the habit of dying, should be afraid of it."

Once more his constitution appears resuscitating, and returning health seems to promise a prolongation of his life. He finds himself sufficiently recovered to tread the boards again; but the return of his animal spirits brought with it the return of their inseparable concomitant, all his criminal indulgence.

His constitution sunk under this second assault. He closed his theatrical career at Providence, and was compelled to return to Newyork on the 26th of September, 1812.

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On the evening of the 25th, he was seized with sickness at the stomach, which was soon succeeded by violent vomiting, and the discharge of a large quantity of black grumous blood; by this evacuation his strength was suddenly exhausted; but the vomiting was at length allayed by a mixture of laudanum and mint-water directed for him by Dr. Francis, who remained with him throughout the night, hourly expecting his decease. Mr. Cooke, however, survived until six in the morning, when, in the full possession of his mental faculties, and the perfect consciousness of his approaching change, he calmly expired."

Such was the fate of the unfortunate Cooke. Probably a more honourable testimonial of his transcendant genius cannot be given than this, that while his vicious habits were as notorious as his theatrical fame, both Europe and America contended which should honour him the most.

That the reader may become more familiarly acquainted with this extraordinary man, we propose to enliven this sketch by some appropriate anecdotes, which could not have been else

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