And another bard began in this fashion : Now we're free by nature, Let us all our power exert; (Chorus) Fill bumpers to the Drapier, From Brazen Fetters free. Nearly at the same time with Swift's "Drapier's Letters" appeared Bernard Mandeville's "Fable of the Bees," with the great addition of prose commentary that enlarged a poem of five hundred lines into two substantial octavos. Bernard Mandeville, born at Dort, in Holland, about 1670, a year or two older than Steele and Addison, became doctor of medicine, and practised in England. He was a bold thinker and plain speaker. His first book, in 1709, was coarse; his second, in 1711, included attack on follies of the doctors; and in 1714 he published the poem which afterwards served as text for his two volumes, as "The Grumbling Hive; or, the Knaves turned Honest." It represented strongly the increasing tendency to dwell upon the evils of society as a result of over-civilisation, and anticipated the teaching of those philosophers who saw no hope of a return to innocence but by returning to the state of nature. In a hive, he said, bees are as men and women with their ranks and fashions, industries and vices. Once on a time every bee in a hive was so convinced, not of his own knavery, but of the knavery of all his neighbours, that there was a general cry for an honest hive. Jove gave them their prayer, and the knaves turned honest. Then there was an end of quarrel and of lawyers, of unsound living and of doctors, of vanity and luxury, and of all who by trade and commerce satisfy false needs. The hive grew virtuous and poor; desiring no conquest, it put down its army, and was then invaded by neighbours; it repelled invasion by the public spirit of each bee in defence of the common hive, but came to learn that even the hive was needless, whereupon the Bees all flew off to lodge in a hollow tree, as poor and honest as they had been made by nature. expanding the thought of this poem by appended essays in 1723, when he first gave to the whole work the name of "The Fable of the Bees," Mandeville argued, not, like Shaftesbury, that all is for good, but that the world is bad, and its whole civilisation fed by evil appetites and evil deeds. The work was, indeed, a first sign of the strength of the reaction that gathered force year after year, until it struck on Europe with the shock of Revolution. But there was nothing in Bernard Mandeville of the fine yearning for a higher life that was to rise above the ruins of all that had been based on human wrong. It was enough for him to maintain steadily that evil was man's good. This is one of the essays forming his appendix to "The Fable of the Bees.” In AN INQUIRY INTO THE ORIGIN OF MORAL VIRTUE. All untaught animals are only solicitous of pleasing themselves, and naturally follow the bent of their own inclina tions, without considering the good or harm that from their being pleased will accrue to others. This is the reason, that in the wild state of nature those creatures are fittest to live peaceably together in great numbers, that discover the least of understanding, and have the fewest appetites to gratify; and consequently no species of animals is, without the curb of government, less capable of agreeing long together in multitudes than that of man; yet such are his qualities, whether good or bad, I shall not determine, that no creature besides himself can ever be made sociable: but being an extraordinary selfish and headstrong, as well as cunning animal, however he may be subdued by superior strength, it is impossible by force alone to make him tractable, and receive the improvements he is capable of. The chief thing, therefore, which lawgivers and other wise men, that have laboured for the establishment of society, have endeavoured, has been to make the people they were to govern, believe that it was more beneficial for everybody to conquer than indulge his appetites, and much better to mind the public than what seemed his private interest. As this has always been a very difficult task, so no wit or eloquence has been left untried to compass it; and the moralists and philosophers of all ages employed their utmost skill to prove the truth of so useful an assertion. But whether mankind would have ever believed it or not, it is not likely that any body could have persuaded them to disapprove of their natural inclinations, or prefer the good of others to their own, if at the same time he had not shewed them an equivalent to be enjoyed as a reward for the violence, which by so doing they of necessity must commit upon themselves. Those that have undertaken to civilise mankind, were not ignorant of this; but being unable to give so many real rewards as would satisfy all persons for every individual action, they were forced to contrive an imaginary one, that as a general equivalent for the trouble of self-denial should serve on all occasions, and without costing anything either to themselves or others, be yet a most acceptable recompense to the receivers. They thoroughly examined all the strength and frailties of our nature, and observing that none were either so savage as not to be charmed with praise, or so despicable as patiently to bear contempt, justly concluded that flattery must be the most powerful argument that could be used to human creatures. Making use of this bewitching engine, they extolled the excellency of our nature above other animals, and setting forth with unbounded praises the wonders of our sagacity and vastness of understanding, bestowed a thousand encomiums on the rationality of our souls, by the help of which we were capable of performing the most noble achievements. Having by this artful way of flattery insinuated themselves into the hearts of men, they began to instruct them in the notions of honour and shame; representing the one as the worst of all evils, and the other as the highest good to which mortals could aspire: which being done, they laid before them how unbecoming it was the dignity of such sublime creatures to be solicitous about gratifying those appetites, which they had in common with brutes, and at the same time unmindful of those higher qualities that gave them the pre-eminence over all visible beings. They indeed confessed, that those impulses of nature were very pressing; that it was troublesome to resist, and very difficult wholly to subdue them. But this they only used as an argument to demonstrate, how glorious the conquest of them was on the one hand, and how scandalous on the other not to attempt it. To introduce, moreover, an emulation amongst men, they divided the whole species into two classes, vastly differing from one another: the one consisted of abject, low-minded people, that always hunting after immediate enjoyment, were wholly incapable of self-denial, and without regard to the good of others, had no higher aim than their private advantage; such as being enslaved by voluptuousness, yielded without resistance to every gross desire, and make no use of their rational faculties but to heighten their sensual pleasure. These vile grovelling wretches, they said, were the dross of their kind, and having only the shape of men, differed from brutes in nothing but their outward figure. But the other class was made up of lofty high-spirited creatures, that free from sordid selfishness, esteemed the improvements of the mind to be their fairest possessions; and setting a true value upon themselves, took no delight but in embellishing that part in which their excellency consisted; such as despising whatever they had in common with irrational creatures, opposed by the help of reason their most violent inclinations; and making a continual war with themselves to promote the peace of others, aimed at no less than the public welfare and the conquest of their own passion. Fortior est qui se quam qui fortissima vincit Mania These they called the true representatives of their sublime species, exceeding in worth the first class by more degrees, than that itself was superior to the beasts of the field. As in all animals that are not too imperfect to discover pride, we find, that the finest and such as are the most beautiful and valuable of their kind, have generally the greatest share of it; so in man, the most perfect of animals, it is so inseparable from his very essence (how cunningly soever some may learn to hide or disguise it) that without it the compound he is made of would want one of the chiefest ingredients: which, if we consider, it is hardly to be doubted but lessons and remonstrances, so skilfully adapted to the good opinion man has of himself, as those I have mentioned, must, if scattered amongst a multitude not only gain the assent of most of them, as to the speculative part, but likewise induce several, especially the fiercest, most resolute, and best among them, to endure a thousand inconveniences, and undergo as many hardships, that they may have the pleasure of counting themselves men of the second class, and consequently appropriating to themselves all the excellences they have heard of it. From what has been said, we ought to expect in the first place that the heroes who took such extraordinary pains to master some of their natural appetites, and preferred the good of others to any visible interest of their own, would not recede an inch from the fine notions they had received concerning the dignity of rational creatures; and having ever the authority of the government on their side, with all imaginable vigour assert the esteem that was due to those of the second class, as well as their superiority over the rest of their kind. In the second, that those who wanted a sufficient stock of either pride or resolution to buoy them up in mortifying of what was dearest to them, followed the sensual dictates of nature, would yet be ashamed of confessing themselves to be those despicable wretches that belonged to the inferior class, and were generally reckoned to be so little removed from brutes; and that therefore in their own defence they would say, as others did, and hiding their own imperfections as well as they could, cry up self-denial and public-spiritedness as much as any: for it is highly probable, that some of them, convinced by the real proofs of fortitude and self-conquest they had seen, would admire in others what 1 More strength has he who self can overthrow Than he who lays the strongest towers low. they found wanting in themselves; others be afraid of the resolution and prowess of those of the second class, and that all of them were kept in awe by the power of their rulers; wherefore it is reasonable to think, that none of them (whatever they thought in themselves) would dare openly contradict, what by every body else was thought criminal to doubt of. This was (or at least might have been) the manner after which savage man was broke; from whence it is evident, that the first rudiments of morality, broached by skilful politicians, to render men useful to each other as well as tractable, were chiefly contrived that the ambitious might reap the more benefit from, and govern vast numbers of them with the greater ease and security. This foundation of politics being once laid, it is impossible that man should long remain uncivilised: for even those who only strove to gratify their appetites, being continually crossed by others of the same stamp, could not but observe, that whenever they checked their inclinations or but followed them with more circumspection, they avoided a world of troubles, and often escaped many of the calamities that generally attended the too eager pursuit after pleasure. First, they received, as well as others, the benefit of those actions that were done for the good of the whole society, and consequently could not forbear wishing well to those of the superior class that performed them. Secondly, the more intent they were in seeking their own advantage, without regard to others, the more they were hourly convinced, that none stood so much in their way as those that were most like themselves. It being the interest then of the very worst of them, more than any, to preach up public-spiritedness, that they might reap the fruits of the labour and self-denial of others, and at the same time indulge their own appetites with less disturbance, they agreed with the rest, to call everything. which, without regard to the public, man should commit t› gratify any of his appetites, vice; if in that action there could be observed the least prospect, that it might either be injurious to any of the society, or ever rendered himsel less serviceable to others: and to give the name of virtue to every performance, by which man, contrary to the impulse of nature, should endeavour the benefit of others, or the conquest of his own passions out of a rational ambition of being good. It shall be objected, that no society was ever any ways civilised before the major part had agreed upon some worship or other of an over-ruling power, and consequently that the notions of good and evil, and the distinction between cirte and vice, were never the contrivance of politicians, but the pure effect of religion. Before I answer this objection, I must repeat what I have said already, that in this enquiry into the origin of moral virtue, I speak neither of Jews or Christians, but man in his state of nature and ignorance of the true deity; and then I affirm, that the idolatrous superstitions of all other nations, and the pitiful notions they had of the supreme being, were incapable of exciting man to virtue, and good for nothing but to awe and amuse a rud and unthinking multitude. It is evident from history, that in all considerable societies, how stupid or ridiculous soever people's received notions have been, as to the deities ther worshipped, human nature has ever exerted itself in all its branches, and that there is no earthly wisdom or mor virtue, but at one time or other men have excelled in it in a monarchies and commonwealths, that for riches and power have been any ways remarkable. The Egyptians, not satisfied with having deified all the ugly monsters they could think on, were so silly as to adore th onions of their own sowing; yet at the same time their country was the most famous nursery of arts and sciences in the world, and themselves more eminently skilled in the deepest mysteries of nature than any nation has been since. No states or kingdoms under heaven have yielded more or greater patterns in all sorts of moral virtues than the Greek and Roman empires, more especially the latter; and yet how loose, absurd and ridiculous were their sentiments as to sacred matters? For without reflecting on the extravagant number of their deities, if we only consider the infamous stories they fathered upon them, it is not to be denied but that their religion, far from teaching men the conquest of their passions, and the way to virtue, seemed rather contrived to justify their appetites, and encourage their vices. But if we would know what made them excel in fortitude, courage and magnanimity, we must cast our eyes on the pomp of their triumphs, the magnificence of their monuments and arches; their trophies, statues, and inscriptions; the variety of their military crowns, their honours decreed to the dead, public encomiums on the living, and other imaginary rewards they bestowed on men of merit; and we shall find, that what carried so many of them to the utmost pitch of self-denial, was nothing but their policy in making use of the most effectual means that human pride could be flattered with. It is visible then that it was not any heathen religion or other idolatrous superstition, that first put man upon crossing his appetites and subduing his dearest inclinations, but the skilful management of wary politicians; and the nearer we search into human nature, the more we shall be convinced, that the moral virtues are the political offspring which flattery begot upon pride. There is no man of what capacity or penetration soever, that is wholly proof against the witchcraft of flattery, if artfully performed, and suited to his abilites. Children and fools will swallow personal praise, but those that are more cunning, must be managed with greater circumspection; and the more general the flattery is, the less it is suspected by those it is levelled at. What you say in commendation of a whole town is received with pleasure by all the inhabitants: Speak in commendation of letters in general, and every man of learning will think himself in particular obliged to you. You may safely praise the employment a man is of, or the country he was born in; because you give him an opportunity of screening the joy he feels upon his own account, under the esteem which he pretends to have for others. It is common among cunning men, that understand the power which flattery has upon pride, when they are afraid they shall be imposed upon, to enlarge, though much against their conscience, upon the honour, fair dealing and integrity of the family, country, or sometimes the profession of him they suspect; because they know that men often will change their resolution, and act against their inclination, that they may have the pleasure of continuing to appear in the opinion of some, what they are conscious not to be in reality. Thus sagacious moralists draw men like angels, in hopes that the pride at least of some will put them upon copying after the beautiful originals which they are represented to be. When the incomparable Sir Richard Steele, in the usual elegance of his easy style, dwells on the praises of his sublime species, and with all the embellishments of rhetoric sets forth the excellency of human nature, it is impossible not to be charmed with his happy turns of thought, and the politeness of his expressions. But though I have been often moved by the force of his eloquence, and ready to swallow the ingenious sophistry with pleasure, yet I could never be so serious, but reflecting on his artful encomiums I thought on the tricks made use of by the women that would teach children to be mannerly. When an awkward girl, before she can either speak or go, begins after many entreaties to make the first rude essays of curtsying, the nurse falls in an ecstacy of praise. There's a delicate curtsy! O fine miss! there's a pretty lady! Mamma! miss can make a better curtsy than her sister Molly! The same is echoed over by the maids, whilst mamma almost hugs the child to pieces; only Miss Molly, who being four years older, knows how to make a very handsome curtsy, wonders at the perverseness of their judgment, and swelling with indignation, is ready to cry at the injustice that is done her, till, being whispered in the ear that it is only to please the baby, and that she is a woman, she grows proud at being let into the secret, and rejoicing at the superiority of her understanding, repeats what has been said with large additions, and insults over the weakness of her sister, whom all this while she fancies to be the only bubble among them. These extravagant praises would by any one, above the capacity of an infant, be called fulsome flatteries, and, if you will, abominable lies; yet experience teaches us, that by the help of such gross encomiums, young misses will be brought to make pretty curtsies, and behave themselves womanly much sooner, and with less trouble, than they would without them. "Tis the same with boys, whom they'll strive to persuade, that all fine gentlemen do as they are bid, and that none but beggar boys are rude, or dirty their clothes; nay, as soon as the wild brat with his untaught fist begins to fumble for his hat, the mother, to make him pull it off, tells him before he is two years old, that he is a man; if he repeats that action when she desires him, he's presently a captain, a lord mayor, a king, or something higher if she can think of it, till egg'd on by the force of praise, the little urchin endeavours to imitate man as well as he can, and strains all his faculties to appear what his shallow noddle imagines he is believed to be. The meanest wretch puts an inestimable value upon himself, and the highest wish of the ambitious man is to have all the world, as to that particular, of his opinion: so that the most insatiable thirst after fame that ever hero was inspired with, was never more than an ungovernable greediness to engross the esteem and admiration of others in future ages as well as his own; and (what mortification soever this truth might be to the second thoughts of an Alexander or a Cæsar) the great recompense in view, for which the most exalted minds have with so much alacrity sacrificed their quiet health, sensual pleasures, and every inch of themselves, has never been anything else but the breath of man, the aerial coin of praise. Who can forbear laughing when he thinks on all the great men that have been so serious on the subject of that Macedonian madman, his capacious soul, that mighty heart, in one corner of which, according to Lorenzo Gratian, the world was so commodiously lodged, that in the whole there was room for six more? Who can forbear laughing, I say, when he compares the fine things that have been said of Alexander, with the end he proposed to himself from his vast exploits, to be proved from his own mouth: when the vast pains he took to pass the Hydaspes forced him to cry out: Oh ye Athenians, could you believe what dangers I expose myself to, to be praised by you! To define then the reward of glory in the amplest manner, the most that can be said of it, is, that it consists in a superlative felicity which a man, who is conscious of having performed a noble action, enjoys in self-love, whilst he is thinking on the applause he expects of others. But here I shall be told, that besides the noisy toils of war and public bustle of the ambitious, there are noble and generous actions that are performed in silence; that virtue being its own reward, those who are really good have a satisfaction in their consciousness of being so, which is all the recompense they expect from the most worthy performances; that among the heathens there have been men, who, when they did good to others, were so far from coveting thanks and applause, that they took all imaginable care to be for ever concealed from those on whom they bestowed their benefits, and consequently that pride has no hand in spurring man on to the highest pitch of self-denial. In answer to this I say, that it is impossible to judge of a man's performance, unless we are thoroughly acquainted with the principle and motive from which he acts. Pity, though it is the most gentle and the least mischievous of all our passions, is yet as much a frailty of our nature, as anger, pride, or fear. The weakest minds have generally the greatest share of it, for which reason none are more compassionate than women and children. It must be owned, that of all our weaknesses it is the most amiable, and bears the greatest resemblance to virtue; nay, without a considerable mixture of it the society could hardly subsist: but as it is an impulse of nature, that consults neither the public interest nor our own reason, it may produce evil as well as good. It has helped to destroy the honour of virgins, and corrupted the integrity of judges; and whoever acts from it as a principle, what good soever he may bring to the society, has nothing to boast of but that he has indulged a passion that has happened to be beneficial to the public. There is no merit in saving an innocent babe ready to drop into the fire: the action is neither good nor bad, and what benefit soever the infant received, we only obliged ourselves; for to have seen it fall, and not strove to hinder it, would have caused a pain, which self-preservation compelled us to prevent: Nor has a rich prodigal, that happens to be of a commiserating temper, and loves to gratify his passions, greater virtue to boast of when he relieves an object of compassion with what to himself is a trifle. But such men, as without complying with any weakness of their own, can part from what they value themselves, and, from no other motive but their love to goodness, perform a worthy action in silence: Such men, I confess, have acquired more refined notions of virtue than those I have hitherto spoke of; yet even in these (with which the world has yet never swarmed) we may discover no small symptoms of pride, and the humblest man alive must confess, that the reward of a virtuous action, which is the satisfaction that ensues upon it, consists in a certain pleasure he procures to himself by contemplating on his own worth: Which pleasure, together with the occasion of it, are as certain signs of pride, as looking pale and trembling at any imminent danger, are the symptoms of fear. If the too scrupulous reader should at first view condemn these notions concerning the origin of moral virtue, and think them perhaps offensive to Christianity, I hope he'll forbear his censures, when he shall consider that nothing can render the unsearchable depth of the divine wisdom more conspicuous, than that man, whom providence had designed for society, should not only by his own frailties and imperfections be led into the road to temporal happiness, but likewise receive, from a seeming necessity of natural causes, a tincture of that knowledge, in which he was afterwards to be made perfect by the true religion, to his eternal welfare. In his attacks upon Sir Robert Walpole, Bolingbroke was unsparing in his suggestions of corruption. His "Dissertations upon Parties," republished from The Craftsman, had a frontispiece which represented Walpole as the all-powerful Minister setting man Robert Walpole was not a dishonest man. But the tide ran strongly in favour of that form of attack. and there was much in public life that justified it. The Craftsman was a paper established by William Pulteney, who had been a zealous Whig and a col league of Walpole's. On the accession of George I. he was made Privy Councillor and Secretary at War When Walpole returned to office in 1721, Pulteney dissatisfied with the arrangements that concerned himself, went into Opposition. As Walpole's per sonal ascendancy increased, Pulteney, aided quietiy by Bolingbroke, became leader of the Opposition Bolingbroke, ill-used by the Pretender, whom he had desired to serve, could, in his forced retirement from political life, put the lost cause aside, and aid a nes cry led by a disaffected Whig against the Minister whom he accused of governing by a corrupt usef money, and whom he hoped in good time to supplant Bolingbroke led the attacks on the Minister in the name of public virtue, won young Whigs to share his philosophical aspiration towards patriotic purity, and was indeed, as far as he knew, honestly swimming with the stream, while hoping to profit in good time by the reaction in which he took a foremost place. There was power in his pen, and when Pulteney began, under the name of Caleb D'Anvers, of Gray's Inn, Esquire, his series of periodical papers called The Craftsman, chiefly levelled against Walpole, Bolingbroke became the writer of its most vigorous essays. The first number of The Craftsman was published on the 5th of December, 1726, and it appeared every Monday and Friday until the 17th of April, 1736. From among its essays I take one that looks at the political side of the "Beggar's Opera," which was first produced on the 29th of January, 1728, and of which Gay himself said, when publishing its sequel, "Polly," that he meant to express through it his sense of the corruption of society. A year or two earlier the same note had been struck more forcibly, with a wit that had so much in it of kindly playfulness as to make it to this day dear to a child, by Swift in his "Gulliver's Travels." For the state of innocence Swift did not go back even to the state of nature, man in a state of nature was a Yahoo; for innocence and honest life one must go farther back yet. They might be found among brute beasts, but not in man. 1 See in this Library "English Plays," pages 416, 417. 2 Cuzzoni or Faustina. From 1714 to 1724, when the Earl of Peterborough married her and took her from the stage, the prima donna in Handel's operas was Anastasia Robinson. Handel had begun his career in London with "Rinaldo" in 1711, in the days of Steele and Addison's Spectator. In 1723, Francesca Cuzzoni, of Parma, made her first appearance in London, in Handel's opera "Ottone." Her success was so great on the first night that she was engaged for the season at a salary of two thousand guineas, and on her second appearance the price of each ticket was raised to four guineas. The lady's voice was exquisite, but she was ill-looking, freakish, and impertinent. Handel wrote some of his best airs to display her voice, but suffered so much worry from the airs she gave herself that it was a satisfaction to him when a Venetian singer of high repute abroad, Faustina Bardoni, made her first appearance in his "Alexander "in May, 1726. Faustina had beauty, prudence, and good temper in her favour. As a singer she excelled in brilliant articulate execution; while Cuzzoni's voice had a tone so soft and sympathetic that she could in a touching passage move her audience to tears. But her character was not soft. She looked on the new-comer as a rival, and hated her. Each singer had a party following, the Countess of Pembroke leading the one, and the Countess of Burlington the other. The house of the premier was divided against itself, for as Sir Robert Walpole favoured Faustina, his lady patronised Cuzzoni. On the 20th of June, 1727, the two prime donne were to be upon the stage together. When they appeared, the partisans of each gave loose to their spirit of faction, and there was a riot in the house. Not long afterwards Cuzzoni assaulted her rival, and the ladies tried their nails upon each other's faces. The after lives of the ladies were such an height, that, like most other animosities, they have almost brought that mighty state itself into contempt. We have seen it dwindle by degrees for a year or two past, till it is, at length, in a manner deserted even by its greatest quondam admirers, subscribers, and directors. O! tempora! O! mores! that ever the theatre in the Haymarket should be obliged to yield to that in Lincoln's Inn Fields! that the coarse ribaldry and vulgar catches of a Newgate hero should prevail over the melodious enchantments of Senesino! whilst the once celebrated Cuzzoni and Faustina lay aside their former emulation, and, with united resentment, behold the palm of precedence given to pretty Miss Polly Peachum— with a P!3 I hope the beaumonde will give me leave to observe, which nothing but the present melancholy occasion could extort from me, that this is an undeniable mark of a vitiated taste and a degenerate licentious age, which delights in seeing things of the greatest importance turned to ridicule. Who can help being surprised to find two of his Majesty's theatres prostituted in this manner, and made the popular engines for conveying not only scandal and scurrility, but even sedition and treason through the kingdom? Have we not lately seen the awful solemnity of a coronation openly burlesqued at both theatres? Have not the nobles, the prelates, the judges and magistrates of the land been personated by Miller, Johnson, and Harper at one house, and by Harlequin and his associates at the other? 4 Have not some persons in a certain honourable assembly been traduced for almost thirty nights together in the character of a wrong-headed country knight, of mean intellects and a broken fortune? And lastly, is not the opera state itself become the subject of mirth and derision to crowded and clapping audiences? Though I am a constant spectator of the "Beggar's Opera," which affords me a nightly entertainment, and have always had a great respect for Mr. R--ch, yet I am surprised at the late unprecedented insolence and audaciousness of that gentleman, and have often wondered that such entertainments are suffered to be exhibited night after night to the whole town with impunity. How could it enter into his head to turn the fine songs of the opera into such high ridicule? He knows very well who goes to and takes delight in those diversions. It was impossible to think that all the disappointments in the world could have transported him to this degree; but as the best actions are liable to malicious and invidious turns, this innocent amusement of the k-g must not escape the ridicule of righteous Mr. R--ch. Did he mean to insinuate by this that nothing but sing-song, empty sound and gesticulation, please and recommend at an opera? Or did he hope that other harsh inferences would be made by the disaffected, which I detest, and he dares not name? It will, I know, be said by these libertine stage-players that the satire is general, and that it discovers a consciousness of guilt for any particular man to apply it to himself. of their own making. Cuzzoni married a harpsichord maker, whom she was afterwards said to have poisoned, and she died miserably in a hospital in 1770; and Faustina married a harpsichord player, to whom she was first drawn by his music, and lived a long and happy life with her husband, dying in the same year with him when one was 83, the other 84 years old. 3 Peachum with a P, for the more aristocratic Beauchamp with a B. The original Polly was Lavinia Fenton, who achieved a conquest of the Duke of Bolton, and became his second Duchess, twenty-three years after he had eloped with her. The Coronation procession of George II. in 1727 was produced at Drury Lane as an incident to Banks's play of "Anna Bullen," and added as a show when other plays were acted. Rich, at Lincoln's Inn Fields, then set up "Harlequin Anna Bulien." |