which lasted a long time, but was of more expense to all parties, than profit to any-if we may except the lawyers.

Immediately after this singularly infamous affair, Mr. Fennel quitted the stage in that city with indignation, and played a short time at York, but in 1789, he returned to London, where he resumed his situation for one season, (but without the expected success) at Covent Garden. He afterwards engaged in a periodical publication, called the "Theatrical Guardian," and produced a comedy entitled "Lindel and Clara, or a Trip to Gibraltar ;" which has been frequently peformed, and was printed, 1791.

Not long after this, Mr. Fennel was engag ed by the late Mr. Wignell at his New Theatre Philadelphia, and met with great success. He has since performed at the various theatres on the continent; but, for some reasons unknown to us, (a circumstance to be lamented by all lovers of the drama) Mr, Fennel, about two years ago, took leave of the stage, and has since appeared only occa sionally. He is now engaged in an extensive establishment of Salt Works, the plan of manufacturing which he has brought to great perfection.

Mr. Fennel's deportment is graceful-his person majestick-his face admirably calculated for the stage-his action easy and judicious his utterance distinct and natural. He excels in the more weighty characters of the drama; his master piece is "Othello, Moor

of Venice." His manners are polished, and his understanding refined.

Mr. Fennel's residence is near New-London. He is now on a visit to New-York and Philadelphia; at which places he has been prevailed upon to run through his principal characters upon the stage.

DRAMATICK ANECDOTES.

DOUVILLE, the author of a five act comedy, entitled L' Absent de chez soi, and brother to the Abbe de Bois-Robert, hearing his piece applauded, asked his brother what he thought of it. Bois-Robert frankly answered, he thought it bad; as it really was; and the piqued author replied The pit shall be my judge." Right," replied the Abbe; "but you may change your opinion in time ;" and so it happened. Douville produced another comedy, which was hissed, and Bois-Robert then asked him if the pit should be his judge? Pshaw !' replied the vexed brother, 'the pit has not common sense.' “Ay, ay, you have found it out," exclaimed the Abbe : "I discovered it when your first piece was performed."

WHEN the Misanthrope of Moliére was first performed, the immortal Moliére and the great Racine were unfortunately at variance. A parasite, thinking to please the

latter, told him, after the first representation, that the piece had failed. "I was there, and can assure you that nothing was more cold." Racine replied, "You were there, and I was not; yet I do not believe you. It is not possible for Moliére to have written a bad piece. See it again, and consider it better."

DURING the run of the comick opera of Cymon, when Mr. Vernon was in pursuit of his supposed mistress Silvia, and came on singing

Torn from me, torn from me, which way did they take her?

A wag in the pit replied in time and tune

They're gone to Long Acre! They're gone to Long Acre. The house was in a roar of laughter; and Vernon with great presence of mind, as soon as there was silence, sang

Ob, bo, are they so; I shall soon overtake her.

WHEN the art of poetry by Dacier first appeared, an author, named De Brie, read nothing else his contempt for Corneille became excessive, Racine was but little more in favour, and he despised the French exceedingly, for having admired both these poets. "We have not a single good tragedy," exclaimed he; and determined out of pure compassion to write one. The subject he chose was the Heraclides, in which all was measured by line and rule, in full deference to the remarks of Dacier. This regular and scientifick piece was only played once.

The same author wrote a comedy, of one act, entitled Le Lourdaut, which was little more successful. These two pieces gave occasion to the following epigram, by Jean Baptist Rosseau :

Pour disculper ses Oeuvres insipides,
De Brie accuse et le froid et le chaud:
Le froid, dit il, fit chéoir mes Héraclides;
Et le chaleur fit tomber mon Lourdaut:
Mais le Public, qui n'est point en défaut,
Et dont le sens s'accorde avec le nôtre,
Dit à cela-Taisez vous, grand Nigaud;
C'est le froid seul qui fit chéoir l'une et l'autere.
Weeping his children, poor De Brie has told
How both have perish'd, or by heat or cold:
Frozen my poor Heraclides lies dead!
Lourdaut expir'd by fever in the head !
The publick, hating ignorance and sloth,
Cries, silence fool! the cold has kill'd them both.

THE WOODEN LEG.

AN HELVETICK TALE.

From the German of Solomon Gessner.

On the mountain, from which the torrent of Rauti falls headlong into the valley, a young shepherd fed his goats. His pipe

called Echo gaily from the hollow rocks, and Echo bade the vallies seven times resound

his melodious song. On a sudden, he perceived a man climbing, with pain, the mountain's side. The man was old; years had blanched his head. A staff bent beneath

his heavy, tottering steps; for he had a wooden leg. He approached the young man, and seated himself by him, on the moss of the rock. The young shepherd looked on him with surprize, and his eyes were fixed on the wooden leg. My son, said the old man, smiling, do you not think, that, infirm as I am, I should have done better to have remained in the valley? Know, however, that I make this journey but once a year; and this leg, as you see it, my friend, is more honourable to me, than are, to many, the straightest and most active. I doubt not, father, replied the shepherd, but it is very honourable to you; though, I dare say, another would be more useful. With

out doubt, you are tired. Will you drink some milk from my goats, or some of the fresh water that spouts below, from the hollow of that rock?

OLD MAN. I like the frankness which glows on thy features. A little fresh water will be sufficient. If you will bring it me hither, you shall hear the history of this wooden leg. The young shepherd ran to the fountain, and soon returned.

When the old man had quenched his thirst, he said-Let young people, when they behold their fathers maimed, and covered over with scars, adore the Almighty Power, and bless their valour; for, without that, you would have bowed your neck beneath the yoke, instead of thus basking in the sun's warmth, and making the Echoes repeat R... VOL. 1.