talons. Every petty dispute which may happen between an American captain and a British officer is magnified into a national insult. The land of our fathers, whence is derived the best blood of the nation, the country to which we are chiefly indebted for our laws and knowledge, is stigmatized as a nest of pirates, plunderers, and assassins. We entice away her seamen, the very sinews of her power; we refuse to restore them on application; we issue hostile proclamations; we interdict her ships of war from the common rites of hospitality; we pass non-importation acts; we lay embargoes; we refuse to ratify a treaty in which she had made great concessions to us; we dismiss her envoy of peace, who came purposely to apologize for an act unauthorized by her government; we commit every act of hostility against her proportioned to our means and situation. Observe the contrast between the two nations, and our strange conduct. France robs us, and we love her; Britain courts us, and we hate her. France is hostile, Britain friendly. With France we have a treaty, with Britain none. France is fighting for the subjugation of the world, Britain for its independence. France is contending for her own aggrandizement, Britain for her salvation. If France is victorious we are slaves; if Britain proves victorious we remain free. France is a land of slavery; Britain of freedom. The insults and injuries we receive from France are unpardonable, and the immediate acts of her government; the insults and injuries we receive from Britain are not authorized by her government, and are often provoked by the rudeness and ill-manners of our own people. France makes actual war upon ns, and yet we court her. We make actual war on Britain, and yet she tries every expedient to conciliate us.

He took a similar view of the distrust of England on another Fast Day Sermon in 1810.

Of his Church views an idea may be gathered from a sermon which he delivered in behalf of a Prayer-Book Society, at Trinity Church, in 1816.

Even the Church of Scotland, before the Reformation the most bigoted of all Christian societies, used a form of prayer; nor was it laid aside till Knox and other reformers, as they pleased to call themselves, began to persecute those who dissented from them, and levelled or disfigured the finest churches of the north. Their hatred to the Catholic religion was so violent that they determined to retain nothing that in the smallest degree resembled it; to discard equally what was blameable and what was excellent; and among other things, to annihilate forms of prayer, and to address the Deity in their own indecent and extemporaneous effusions. Political prejudices against England cooperated with their bigotry, and Scotland was covered with conventicles, in which were delivered extempore harangues, that contained a strange mixture of politics and theology. Their politics inculcated rebellion, and their theology clothed God with the attributes of the Devil. It is, however, but candid to remark, that these follies and blasphemies gradually ceased; and at the present day the Scottish church is eminently distinguished for rational piety, liberality of sentiment, and extent of learning. It has not, however, resumed a form of prayer, but still retains the custom of extemporary addresses, which began in enthusiasm and has been preserved by prejudice. It is, indeed, wonderful, that men of sense and candor will not adopt a form of prayer, the superiority of which the liberal and enlightened are ever ready to acknowledge. Its advan

tages are numerous and striking; it promotes, in a high degree, the honor of Almighty God; it is more expressive of reverence, and devotion, it preserves an impressive solemnity and decorum; it is at once dignified and simple: in a word, it as far surpasses extemporary prayer as the sober dignity and chaste eloquence of the learned divine excels the indecent freaks and senseless rant of the itinerant and unlettered enthusiast.

His occasional discourses, as his sermon before the Mass. Humane Society, and his address before the members of the Mass. Charitable Fire Society, in 1803, with his sermon before the members of the Boston Female Asylum, in 1809, show a similar energy and freedom of style. In the last he urges a profounder system of female education. "There must be something wrong," he says," in the present system of female education. It is far too superficial. It is almost exclusively directed to the improvement of the person and address. I should wish for something more substantial. *** Only lay a solid foundation, and you may raise on it a superstructure as airy and fantastical as you please." He commends the Latin grammar as "the shortest road to the knowledge of universal grammar and to the attainment of every modern language."

There is a story told of Gardiner on the breaking out of the war with England, to which he was violently opposed, having taken for his text, in allusion to Madison, a portion of the sentence of Mark x. 41: They began to be much displeased with James.*

Gardiner was one of the original founders of the Boston Athenæum, and a frequent contributor to the Monthly Anthology.

Of Gardiner's poetic talent there is an instance preserved by Mr. Loring, in the verses sung in King's Chapel, July 6, 1808, after the delivery of the Eulogy of Samuel Dexter, over the remains of Fisher Ames.

As, when dark clouds obscure the dawn,
The day-star's lustre disappears,

So Ames beheld our natal morn,
And left desponding friends in tears.
Soon as the distant cannon's roar,

Announced that morn's returning ray,

*Gardiner, like his father, had a sympathy for the stage, if we may attach any importance to an anecdote related in Dunlap's Life of George Frederick Cooke. The clergyman went to see the actor perform, and the great tragedian, flattered with the attention, thought it necessary to return the compliment by going to hear the divine preach. Cooke was not exactly in condition for religious services, but he went. He had," says

Dunlap, at the previous dinner-party, made an engagement with Mr. Bernard to go and hear Mr. Gardiner preach, and be most heroically kept to the intention. He got up, not very different in bodily estate from what he was when he was tumbled into bed, except with better command of limb. While sitting under the hands of his hairdresser, Mr. Price came in. "What! up already!" "Do you know, Price, I am going to church!" "To church ?" "Yes, I am going to hear Parson Gardiner. He's the only one of them that bas done me the honor to come and see the play, and I'll do him the honor of going to hear him preach. Sam, give me some hot brandy toddy." The hairdresser and honest Sam, having performed their respective offices, and a large glass of stiff brandy toddy having been swallowed as a restorative, bo attended upon his friend Bernard, as gay as one-and-twenty, to Mr. Gardiner's church. Here. Mr. Cooke, notwithstanding the preacher's cloquence and his own efforts to the contrary, fell asleep, to the no little annoyance of his companion, and the amusement of those near him. and awoke in time to walk very decently out of the church, with the rest of the congregation.-Dunlap's Life of Cooke, ch. xxvii.

THE father of William Dunlap was an Irishman, and came to this country as an officer in the English army sent out to attack Quebec. He was wounded in the memorable engagement, and after the war resigned his commission and settled in Perth Amboy, New Jersey, where his only son was born, February 19, 1766. The child's earliest instructor was a benevolent old bachelor by the name of Thomas Bartow, who lived in a pleasant cottage surrounded on three sides by a garden filled with choice fruits, and well stocked within with books and prints, to all which the kind old gentleman allowed his boy-friend free access, taking great delight in teaching him the story of the Iliad, Eneid, and Paradise Lost, by the pictures in the old editions of Pope, Dryden, and Milton. This pleasant intercourse was broken up by no less an event than the American Revolution; the quiet old gentleman, a Royalist, retiring inland to Bethlehem, Pa., when the British men-ofwar made their appearance in New York bay at the outset of the contest. After the landing of the British on Staten Island, the Dunlap family removed to the village of Piscatawa on the Raritan, where they remained from 1775 to 1777, the father siding with the Royalists. In 1777, they removed to New York, and William was sent to school. In June, 1778, when on a visit to Mr. Elliott's country seat, afterwards the original Sailor's Snug Harbor," while playing with the boys after dinner, he was struck by a bit of wood and deprived of his right eye. The medical treatment which ensued put a stop to any further regular schooling. When after several months he was allowed to use his remaining eye, he devoted himself to drawing, to which he had early manifested an inclination. In 1784, he was sent to London to study under West, where he remained about three years, passing most of the time, as he candidly confesses," in unprofitable idleness." In 1786, he made a pedestrian tour with Dr. Samuel L. Mitchill, who had just received his diploma at Edinburgh, to Oxford. On his return, he settled in New York; married Elizabeth, daughter of Benjamin Woolsey; and wrote a play which was accepted by the managers of the American Com

Loring's Boston Orators, 168-72, 293. Buckingham's Newspaper Reminiscences, 11. 223. Quincy's History of the Boston Athenæum, and Memoir of Gardiner.

WinDunlap

The Father, afterwards published with the title of The Father of an Only Child, is the best of Dunlap's plays. The piece is of the sentimental school, and the humor closely resembles that of the productions of Colman the younger, and Morton. It was, however, written before the productions of these dramatists; and the author seems entitled to the originality he claims for his Tattle, a rattling gossip who will bear a not unfavorable comparison with his brother practitioner, Ollapod. The scenes in which he is introduced are excellent. We give a portion.

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SCENE FROM THE COMEDY, THE FATHER OF AN ONLY CHILD." Present, Rusport, Racket, Tattle, Mrs. Racket. Enter TATTLE.

Tat. Oh Racket, my dear fellow, how d'ye do? Rack. (aside) So, another infernal coxcomb! Tat. What's the matter? You don't seem well. How d'ye do, ma'am? (To Rusport) Your servant, sir. Racket, you have not introduced me to this gentleman.

Rack. Captain Rusport, this is my friend, doctor Tattle.

Tat. Yes, sir. Tattle; Terebrate Tattle, M.D. Rack. Doctor, this is captain Rusport, just arrived in the last packet from Halifax.

Tat. How d'ye do, sir? I'm very glad to see you indeed. Very fine potatoes in Halifax. Racket! this way. Here. Just come from abroad! You'll recommend me.

Rack. If he should want a physician, I certainly will-(half aside) in the full hope that you will poison him.

Tat. Thank you; thank you. Servant, ma'am. Fine weather, ha? A little rainy, but that's good

for the country. (To Rusport) A fine season for coughs and colds, sir. O Racket! my dear fellow, I had forgot that I heard of your accident. No great harm done, I perceive. What a tremendous fall you must have had! Precipitated from the scaffolding of a three story house, and brought with your os parietale in contact with the pavement, while your heels were suspended in the air, by being entangled in a mason's ladder.

Rack. Pooh, Pooh! I tumbled from a cow's back, and broke my nose.

Tat. Is that all? Why, I heard- -So, so, only a contusion on the pons nasi. Ay, ay. I was called up to a curious case last evening.

Rack. Then I'm off. (While Tattle is speaking, Racket goes out; and Rusport and Mrs. Racket retire behind, laughing.)

Tat. Very curious case indeed. I had just finished my studies for the evening, smoked out my last cigar, and got comfortably in bed. Pretty late. Very dark. Monstrous dark. Cursed cold. Monstrous cold, indeed, for the season. Very often the case with us of the faculty. Called up at all times and se:isons. Used to be so when I was a student in Paris. Called up one night to a dancing-master, who had his skull most elegantly fractured, his leg most beautifully broke, and the finest dislocation of the shoulder I ever witnessed. I soon put the shoulder in state to draw the bow again, and his leg to caper to the tune of it. As for the head, you know a dancing-master's head, ma'am, (looking round) head -head-Oh! there you are, are you? I beg your pardon, I declare I thought you were by me. you see, madam, as I was saying, I was called up last night to witness the most curious case- follows them, talking) The bone of the right thigh

Re-enter RACKET.

Rack. So, the doctor is at it still.

So

Tat. I'm glad you've come to hear it, Racket. The bone of the right thigh-(Racket turns away)—The bone of the right thigh, ma'am-(she turns off)The bone of the right thigh, captai

Rusp. Ay, you must have gained great credit by that cure, doctor.

Tat. Sir! What? O, you mean the dancingmaster! I can assure you, sir, I am sought for. I have a pretty practice, considering the partiality the people of this country have to old women's prescriptions: hoar-hound, cabbage-leaves, robin-runaway, dandy-grey-russet, and the like. A young man of ever so liberal and scientific an education can scarcely make himself known.

Mrs. Rack. But you have made yourself known, doctor.

Tat. Why yes, ma'am. I found there were but two methods of establishing a reputation, made use of by our physicians; so, for fear of taking the wrong, I took both.

Mrs. Rack. And what are they, doctor?

Tat. Writing for the newspapers, or challenging and caning all the rest of the faculty.

Rack. These are methods of attaining notoriety. Mrs. Rack. And notoriety, let me tell you, is often the passport to wealth.

did, and cruelly eluded his pursuit. Poor doctor! The few ideas he has are always travelling post, and generally upon cross roads. His head is like New York on May-day, all the furniture wandering. Re-enter TATTLE

Tat. Racket, I forgot to tell you

Mrs. Rack. Could Lot you find my sister?

Tat. I want to tell you, madam, of a monstrous mortification—

Rack. Pooh, pooh! Nonsense! Is Caroline at home?

Tat. Who? O! ah!—I had forgot. I don't know. I'll tell you I had ascended about half, perhaps two thirds of the stair-case-case-Did I tell you of the case of the

Rack. Nay, stick to the stair-case.

Tat. No. I must descend. I happened to think, without any apparent train of associated ideas leading to the thought, of an affair that happened last night-nay you must listen—it's worth hearing. It's quite likely that I told you some time ago of my having employed a professor of the mechanical part of painting to delineate my name upon a black board to put over my door. By the bye, it's a very mistaken notion, that the effluvia arising from the pigments used in this branch of painting

Rack. Nay, nay, the sign. It was painted and put over your door.

Tat. And looked very well too, didn't it? Very well, I'll assure you, captain. Terebrate Tattle, M. D. Large gold characters; well and legibly designated This striking the organ of vision, or rather being impressed on the retina in an inverted position, like the figures in a camera obscura, and thence conveyed to the mind, denoted my place of residence. An ingenious device, and it answered my purpose. I got a case of polypusses by it immediately.

Rusp. Pray, sir, what kind of instruments are they? Tat. Nay, sir, polypusses are

Rack. Nay, but, doctor, the sign.

Tat. Ay. Right! good! So, sir, it was displayed, to the ornament of the street, and the edification of the passengers. Well, sir, last night,-last night, sir, somebody or other took it down,-took it down, sir, and nailed it over a duck-coop. "Terebrate Tattle," say the gold letters; "Quack, quack, quack," say the ducks. 'Twas illiberal, cursed illiberal!What a beautiful fracture of the os femoris I saw this morning! The upper portion of the bone

Tat. So, miss Susannah, the os femoris-the upper portion of the os femoris

Sus. None of sich names to me, Mr. Doctor! I don't understand being called names, so I don't. Ox feminine and feminine ox! You think I don't know your meaning! It shows your breeding, so it does. Feminine ox! La souls!

[Erit.

Tat. Astonishing ignorance! Now she understands no more of anatomy than I do of making a custard. And these people will not be taught. You might as well attempt to pour ipecacuanha down their throats, as science into their ears. Well, I'll publish this case of the fractured os femoris. If nobody will hear it, perhaps somebody will read it; and there is much magic in print. Curious art. Yes, I'll send it to the editor of the American Magazine, and at least he and his printers must read it

[Exit.

A benevolent old officer, a lively wife who reforms a dissipated husband, Platoon a servant, very closely after the model of Corporal Trim, Susannah a simple-minded Audrey, Jacob a German servant, and Rusport a showy British officer, who turns out to be an impostor, furnished the remainder of the varied and well sustained dramatis persona. The piece was successful, and was followed by an Interlude entitled Darby's Return. This was written for Wignell, the actor, who was a great favorite in the character of Darby in the "Poor Soldier," to which it formed a sequel; Darby, after various adventures in the United States and Europe, returning to Ireland. Washington, the author informs us, was present at one of the representations.

The remembrance of this performance is rendered pleasing from the recollection of the pleasure evinced by the first president of the U. States, the immortal Washington, who attended its representation. The eyes of the audience were frequently bent on his countenance, and to watch the emotions produced by any particular passage upon him was the simultaneous employment of all. When Wignell, as Darby, recounts what had befallen him in America, in New York, at the adoption of the Federal Constitution, and the inauguration of the president, the interest expressed by the audience in the looks and the changes of countenance of this great man became intense. He smiled at these lines alluding to the change in the government-

There too, I saw some mighty pretty shows;
A revolution, without blood or blows,
For, as I understood the cunning elves,
The people all revolted from themselves.

How look'd he, Darby? Was he short or tall?

his countenance showed embarrassment, from the expectation of one of those eulogiums which he had been obliged to hear on many public occasions, and which must doubtless have been a severe trial to his feelings; but Darby's answer that he had not seen him, because he had mistaken a man "all lace and glitter, botherum and shine" for him until all the show had passed, relieved the hero from apprehension of further personality, and he indulged in that which was with him extremely rare, a hearty laugh.

These successes, of course, brought the dramatist in close relations with the theatre. Other pieces, tragic and comic, from his pen were produced; he appeared once upon the stage himself, and in 1796 became an associate with Hallam and Hodgkinson in the management of the John Street Theatre. On the 28th of January, 1798, the company was transferred to the newly completed Park Theatre, soon after which Dunlap became sole manager. On the 30th of March his five act tragedy in blank verse on André was

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produced with success. He kept the theatre well supplied with other pieces from his own pen, mostly translations, making a great hit in a version of Kotzebue's Stranger; and appears to have conducted his business with spirit and intelligence. The result was, however, disastrous, as on the 22d of February, 1805, he closed the theatre a bankrupt. In addition to this misfortune, he was "a debtor to the United States as a security for the marshal of New Jersey, who was a defaulter." During his management he had kept his hand in as an artist to some extent by painting some small sketchy likenesses" of Dr. Elihu H. Smith, C. B. Brown, and other literary associates of the Friendly Club; and he now devoted himself for a number of years to his original profession. His paintings were chiefly portraits. In 1806, he again became connected as assistant manager with a salary at the Park theatre, and so remained un til 1811. In 1812, he published the Memoirs of the great "Star," George Frederick Cooke; a work which, from his intimacy with the actor, he was well prepared to write, and commenced a magazine entitled the Recorder, which had but a brief career. The numbers were collected into a volume with the title, "A Record Literary and Political of Five Months in the Year 1813; by William Dunlap and others." He also wrote a life of his friend Charles Brockden Brown, accompanied by a selection from his literary remains, which he says, in apology for its unmethodical arrangement, was made by Paul Allen of Laltimore, and in part printed before the work was placed in his hands. In 1814, he received the appointment of Assistant Paymaster-General of the New York State militia from Daniel D. Tompkins, a favor which he attributes to the good offices of Washington Irving, then one of the general's aides. This he held until the close of the year 1816, when he resumed the brush. In his fifty-fifth year he painted a picture 18 by 12 feet, after the printed descriptions of West's "Christ Rejected," which was exhibited in most of the cities and towns of the United States with success. On the 5th of May, 1828, he opened to the public an original painting 18 by 14 of " Calvary." This he also carried to various parts of the United States. In the winter of 1831 and '2, he delivered in New York two lectures on the fine arts. In 1833, his History of the American Theatre was published, and on the 28th of February following he received the well deserved honor of a complimentary benefit at the Park Theatre, which placed the handsome sum of twenty-five hundred dollars in his pocket.

His History of the Arts of Design in the United States was published by subscription in 1834. It forms two octavo volumes, and contains full biographical notices of all the artists in every department of design in the country, abounds in anecdote as well as information collected with great pains from original sources, which cannot be found elsewhere, and is the most valuable of the author's productions.

In 1836, he published a novel entitled Thirty Years Ago; or the Memoirs of a Water Drinker, which he dedicated to "all Temperance Societies." He introduces in it many of his old recollections of New York, bringing in the moral of his story in the disastrous convivial habits of George Frederick Cooke, whose conversation is the main

theme of the book. The old Park Theatre and its group of actors figure largely with the notices of the main personages of the city. Dunlap delighted to trace its historic scenes, and has pursued this theme agreeably in these volumes in his chapter on the Battery; and a description of the Inauguration of Washington at Federal Hall, in a dinner party conversation. Among the incidents of Cooke's life, the hoaxing duel with Cooper at Cato's is described with humorous effect by Dunlap, who enters with gusto into the grand style of his favorite subject, whose life he had written in a graver measure.

In 1837, his History of New York for Schools appeared in two duodecimo volumes. This little book is written in the form of a dialogue between an uncle and his nephews. It is mainly taken up with the city, and contains notices of the men distinguished in art and literature as well as state affairs, who have graced its annals. The picturesque incidents of the Revolution are minutely and vividly depicted, and an additional historical value is given to the work by several well executed wood-cuts of old houses, and other interesting localities. The book closes with the inauguration of Washington.

His success in this effort probably induced one of a more elaborate character on the same topic. His History of New Netherlands, Province of New York, and State of New York, appeared in two octavo volumes in 1839. It is a work of industry and research, and contains a valuable appendix, occupying half of the second volume, in which he has collected a number of curious facts relating to manners and customs. It closes at the same period with his previous history.

Dunlap died soon after the completion of this work, September 28, 1839.

A NIGHT ON THE HUDSON RIVER WITH CHARLES MATHEWS.FROM THE HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN THEATRE.

It was in the month of April, in the year 1823, that I embarked with two hundred and fifty others, in the steamboat Chancellor Livingston, for Albany. After the bustle of leave-taking, and the various ceremonies and multifarious acts of hurried business which daily take place on the departure of one of these self-moving hotels from the city of New York, I had leisure to look around me, with the intention of finding some acquaintance as a companion, or at least to satisfy my curiosity as to who were on board.

I had seen many faces known to me when I first entered the boat, but they had vanished: all appeared, at first, strange. I soon, however, observed James Fennimore Cooper, the justly-celebrated novelist, in conversation with Dr. Francis. The lastmentioned gentleman I had long known, but with the first my acquaintance was of recent date. We had occasionally met at the bookstore of Wiley, his publisher; but it was not until after the circumstance I am now recording that an intimacy took place, which has been to me a source of very great pleasure.

gular, yet his physiognomy was intelligent, and his eyes remarkably searching and expressive. I had never seen Mathews, either in private or public,

nor do I recollect that I had at that time ever seen

any representation of him, or heard his person described; but I instantly concluded that this was no other than the celebrated mimic and player. Doubtless his dress and manner, which were evidently English, and that peculiarity which still marks some of the votaries of the histrionie art, helped me to this conclusion. I say, "still marks;" for I remember the time when the distinction was so gross that a child would say, “There goes a playactor."

The afternoon was uncommonly fine for our climate in the cold month of April. The passengers generally kept the deck. We had not gone far on our voyage before the author of The Spy (for he was then chiefly known by that fascinating work) accosted me nearly thus:-" I understand from Mathews that you and he have never met. He is on board, and has expressed a wish to be introduced to you. Have you seen him off the stage?" "No-nor on."

"Is it possible! There he stands with Francis." "I have been noticing that figure, and had come to a conclusion that it was Mathews."

His figure is odd enough, to be sure. I suppose you know that his lameness and the deficiency in the regular symmetry of his face are owing to his being thrown from a gig, and very much injured by the fall; but these defects are not seen on the stage, or are turned to good account by his skill in his profession."

Part of this passed as we approached the subject of the dialogue, and I soon made acquaintance with Charles Mathews. He introduced the subject of George Frederick Cooke and his Memoirs, complimented the author of them, and of course made himself agreeable. Fennimore was very attentive to me, and appeared to wish my gratification by a display of the talents of Mathews, who, as the novelist afterwards told me, was at his suggestion making a voyage to Albany, that he might see something more of America and American manners than are to be found in a seaport town.

The figure and manner of the actor were sufficiently uncommon to attract the attention of a throng of men usually employed in active business, but here placed in a situation which, of all others, calls for something to while away time; but when some who traced the likeness between the actor on the deck of the steamboat and the actor on the stage of the theatre, buzzed it about that this was the mirth-inspiring Mathews, curiosity showed itself in as many modes as there were varieties of character in the motley crowd around him.

This very natural and powerful propensity, which every person who exposes himself, or herself, upon a public stage, to the gaze of the mixed multitude, wishes ardently to excite, was, under the present peculiar circumstances of time, place, and leisure, expressed in a manner rather annoying to the hero of the sock, who would now have willingly appeared in the character of a private gentleman.

There are individuals who can generally overcome this difficulty by dint of character, talent, or personal appearance; but in the case before us there was nothing sufficiently dignified to repress the clownish propensities of such among the crowd as were clowns, and they were not a few.