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me?"

MR. W. FARREN.

sant companion for an educated peer, young, proud, and splenetic-the bear's instinct pleased, but the cockney's reason I'll argue the point Socratically-Socratically, was emetical. sir, thus-A theatre is a luxury-so is salmon : "Not a sound was heard within, till, as-now if there be but one salmon in Billingsgate, cending Highgate Hill. Alas! what is sci- the fishmonger may have his own price for it; atica or gout, compared to the infliction of ergo. I am the only salmon in the theatrical Bil silence on an old garrulous tailor? Snip for myself, or I won't act it must be given to lingsgate, and I'll have any price I choose to ask took advantage of the hill, hemmed thrice, me, for how the devil will the public do without and then broke silence, with Vel, sir, a FARRENIANA, page 1. bit of nice noose in this here mornin's paper-vot d'ye think of them goings on of In that remote suburb of our immense that there cowardly rascal, Boneypart?' metropolis called Clerkenwell, in the midA pretended snore, loud and deep, was his dle of the last century, there resided a relordship's only reply to the cockney quid spectable old tallow-chandler, of the name nunc's attack on the great soldier. Snip of Farren. By his plodding industry he was dead beat by the snore; he therefore brought up and well educated a number of turned with contempt from his supposed sons and daughters: amongst them there sleeping opponent, and casting a longing was one-the parent's pet!-a fine, handeye to the quiet gentleman' in the fur cap some, dashing young fellow, of great conin t'other corner, he re-opened his vomi-versational and imitative powers, who, tory of vociferation with, 'Hem! a nice disdaining the dull monotony of a banker's bit of road this here, sir, jest to Vetstun,' confined, money-changing shop, into which (no answer from Bruin, of course,) 'he's some city interests of his old tallow-meltà deaf 'un p'raps;' and in a louder key he ing father had placed him, sighed, as he re-commenced, "A wery dark, cold night, said, for a liberal profession; he, therethis here, sir.' Like Brutus over Cæsar's fore, quitted Lombard street for the din of body, Snip paused for a reply, while the noisy Birmingham. This was about the young peer, to smother a hard-to-be-sup- year one thousand seven hundred and pressed laugh, was obliged to issue a tre- seventy-six. The young gentleman had mendous snore that almost alarmed his some peculiar interest with the then celequiescent friend Bruin. The ear-hurt tai-brated Yates, who during the summer relor, eased off from his snoring lordship, tâche of the metropolitan theatres, was the and faced the supposed deaf gentleman, commander-in-chief of a corps dramatique and bent on conversation, was determined in that bustling town of smoke and hardto have an answer, and in defiance of ware. Here the dashing young Farren, Chesterfield, sought in the dark to seize a about sixty years ago, commenced his breast-button, but encountered nothing but theatrical career; here, by his talent as an fur. Ah, sir,' bawled Snip, this here's a actor and his pleasing conduct as a man, werry nice warm travelling coat of yours,' he secured the sincere friendship of the receiving no other reply than a growl and warm-hearted old manager Yates, who, on a snore. Snip, in despair, gave his tongue the closing of his Warwickshire season, a holiday, and slept. procured Mr. Farren an engagement at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Garrick's death left a vacuum which they sought in vain to fill up; in fact, they were long without a tragic hero that the public would pay to see; they tried every one they could hear of, and amongst the aspirants was Mr. Farren; he played several leading characters, but being unattractive he sunk into an utilitarian, such as Cooper at present is, highly respectable as well as highly respected. Discontented with his Drury Lane engagment, he deserted to the Covent Garden corps, where he remained as a useful actor till the day of his death. Some few years after his first appearance, Mr. Farren married and was blessed with three sons, the youngest of whom, William, is the subject of this memoir.

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"Aurora's early beam had already peeped into the coach-windows, when the poor tailor awoke to unthought-of horrors; for the first object which caught his sight, was Bruin's head, with muzzled mouth, but glaring eyes, within three feet of his own boiled-gooseberry goggles. 'My God!' he exclaimed, 'the deaf gentleman in the nice warm travelling coat, is a real live bear!'-'Help-murder-coachstop!' roused the slumbering guard. 'Let me out-let me out,' shouted Snip, and out he went; and the poet and his pet were left in full possession of the interior, while Snip measured the seat of the box, for the rest of his journey."

The way-bill, with the names of Byron and Bruin in it, as passengers, is still extant, though not "written in choice Italian," as Hamlet has it, but in "Lad-Lane English," and the story is known and told, by many an old whip on the northern road; and the curious traveller is often beguiled of a weary half hour, by coachee's peculiar recital of one of the early pranks of "the noble poet and his pet."

Domestic expenses induced Mr. Farren to look about the world and hit upon some method of increasing his rather slender theatrical income, and fortune smiled upon his efforts, by introducing him as the hero of a little adventure that secured him all the elegancies of life and an independent fortune to each of his children. One dark November evening, while returning from

his late theatrical duties, to his humble heels," and was, at that present writing, lodgings in Russell street, Bloomsbury, at Plymouth, acting Young Rapid, Young he was about to knock at his door, when Dornton, &c. &c. Our hero, William, his ear caught the sound of a feeble voice was not to be outdone by "brother Percalling for help; he dropped the knocker cy," therefore, he instantly resolved, as and flew to offer it: he found an old gen- he then said, "to pitch Dame Justice to the tleman struggling with a stout ruffianly devil, and embrace Thalia, durante vitâ.” man, while a fiend, in the shape of a guant He secretly packed up his portmanteau, woman, was rifling his pockets of cash concentrated his pecuniary force, and deand watch: with one well-directed blow camped for dear delightful Devonshire, he felled the ruffian; the woman fled with where he soon commenced his theatrical her spoil, and while Mr. Farren turned to career under the command of "brother assist the agitated old gentleman, the Percy," who had "bought into the manruffian too, availed himself of darkness agement," as he vauntingly called it-that and a light pair of heels, and was seen no is to say-the manager who was over more. The old gentleman was a resident head and ears in debt, knowing "brother in the neighbourhood, of independent for- Percy" to be a greehorn, with cash and tune, but of rather weak mind; he ad- expectancies, allowed him, as a partner, mired Mr. Farren's courage, and was de- to become responsible for the involvements lighted with his conversational powers; of the theatre. This was what "brother he was an old bachelor and relationless; Percy" called buying into the concern. By he therefore proposed to join his indepen- these means he played many of the great dent fortune to Mr. F.'s precarious income, parts, and lost much of his little fortune. which offer was, of course, accepted. Mr. F. now purchased one of the most splendid mansions in Gower street, (then a fashionable residence,) had a carriage, suite of servants, &c. &c., and lived up to the full extent of their joint incomes. The old gentleman remained here en famille, until life forsook him, and then left, by will, eight thousand pounds to each of the young Farrens, who were at that time mere children and the old gentleman's pets. Mr. Farren soon after followed his liberal old friend

"To that bourne from whence no traveller r.turns.'

The three boys, agreeable to the father's wish, (for the guardian had well-educated them, as far as their mental qualifications allowed, for their capacities were, and are, very different, the sound sense of the family being centered in the second brother,) were all articled to attorneys!

Here our hero (W. F.) commenced his career by acting the Miser, Sir Peter Teazle, Lord Ogleby, &c. &c.; for, even in his teens, he chose the old men, as the cast of characters he intended to fill in the profession he had embraced for life. The guardian of the young runaways, finding it useless to contend with his self-willed wards, allowed each to pursue the bent of his inclination, and even indulged them, by regularly remitting the interest of the money to which they would be entitled on coming of age. Our hero had studied Lovegold the miser so closely, that his annuity was always banked instead of dissipated; whilst poor "brother Percy," by adding a wife and child to the managerial claims on his purse, never had a chance of saving a shilling.

The brothers having each an offer from the manager of the Crow street theatre in Dublin, visited that city: here our hero had to run his chance, as he had no brother in the management; he had to play some of the old men in the comedies.

William, the youngest, and the subject of our present memoir, was despatched to study "Coke upon Lyttleton," and drew leases, briefs, &c. &c. in the office of a shrewd old latitat, in the somewhat remote and vulgar town of Wolverhampton, in Staffordshire. He was then, even in his teens, a sort of sucking Lord Ogleby, ricketty and foppish, and being the son of a highly-respected and well-known London actor, he soon obtained the free entré to the theatre, both behind and before the curtain, and became the pet friend of Mr. Manager Hoy, with whom most of his unofficial hours were passed. There was a charm about the seemingly gay and thoughtless life of a strolling player, that, to a youth tied, as it were, to the dull monotony of a desk and the dry study of a profession he disliked, seemed delightful. He soon took the dramatic infection, which was brought to a crisis by receiving a letter from his eldest brother, (Mr. Percival Farren,) stating that he, brother Percy, "had shown his indentures a fair pair of has no money," mused the lean theatrical

Being now of age, Mr. W. Farren, by the cunning application of a small part of the fortune he possessed, became one of the most favourite actors that the Dublin audience had ever fostered. Yet candour obliges us to confess, that what he denominated cunning, some of the kind-hearted Dublinites were severe enough to name, bribery and corruption. But what's in a name? It was effected thus.

Mr. Farran well knew (which the public do not, perhaps) that it is the great and effective parts that make the great and effective actors. It so happened that when Mr. F. joined the Dublin company, most of the principal old men's parts, in the favourite acting comedies, were in possession of a highly popular actor, a very clever old gentleman of the name of Fulham, Farren, like a prudent general, reconnoi tred his opponent's position.

"Fulham

Cassius, as he gazed upon the jolly old man." Katty then crossed herself and Cæsar he intended to victimize. "He has retired.

Mr. William Farren, soon after his arrival in Dublin, was married to a most amiable and ladylike woman, who, by the elegance of her manners, and the general tenor of her conduct in the society into which, by her family connexion, she claimed entrance, won for her then affectionate and grateful husband troops of friends, and now - alas! but of her more anon.

no money, I have an independent fortune. Frederick Jones, the proprietor of the theatre, is a needy man who gambles. Good-the loan of a thousand pounds on his bond will secure me five per cent. interest, ten free admissions nightly to make friends to applaud me, who, by their interest, will gratefully fill the house at my benefit. Good-I'll lend the manager the cash, with this sine quâ non, that old Ful- In the year one thousand eight hundred ham shall be compelled to resign thirty of and eighteen, Mr. Farren's Irish fame had his principal characters to me, William reached the ears of the managers of the Farren. Possessed of those, I shall rise Theatre Royal, Convent Garden, who in public favour, and old Fulham may go made him a very liberal offer of a metroIt was no sooner concocted than politan engagement, which he instantly it was executed. Poor Jones took rich accepted; and in the latter part of the Farren's thousand pounds. Rich Farren above year, he made his entré before a took poor Fulham's thirty parts. Farren London audience in his favourite characrose-Fulham sank. Farren always re-ter of Sir Peter Teazle. He brought with ceived his interest, but has never touched the principal. Farren, with his ten nightly admissions for his well-trained claqueurs, became the most highly applauded actor that Dublin had ever known; while poor old Fulham, deprived of most of the parts in which he had been wont to delight the public, sank, sank, sank, until he sank into his grave.

to

Poor Michael Fulham, who for forty years had delighted the eccentric denizens of Dublin, suddenly shuffled off this mortal coil-murdered, as it were, by the kindness of his friends and admirers. They insisted upon the encore of a long and difficult comic song: he yielded to the cruel, yet well-meant, demand; but it required more force than Dame Nature had left him, after seventy years of hard labour. He repeated the song with effect; but, even while the theatre rang with the rapturous applause of a delighted auditory, the exhausted old man, on reaching the green-room, immediately sank into the arms of one of his old colleagues, and expired without a groan!

him a portmanteau full of letters of introduction and recommendation from his warm-hearted Dublin friends.

These introductory letters caused many rumours respecting the ability of the new actor; some of the newspapers, on the representation of partial friends, lauded him to the skies, and spoke of his Sir Peter Teazle (though they had never seen it) as the most finished performance on the British stage. And here we must frankly confess that they were not false prophets he appeared, and his auditors, one and all, were delighted. The managers found it their interest to keep up the excitement his appearance had caused, and therefore they puffed him up into the seventh hea ven of theatrical puffery—a puffery that left the celebrated Day and Martin's blacking quite in the shade. This lasted but a very short time; for a puffed actor is like the unfortunate described by Shakspeare,

"The boy that swims on bladders."

Munden and Terry being dead, and as Dowton has emigrated, Mr. Farren is one of the best representatives of elderly gentlemen that we, at present, have upon the metropolitan boards; but he is not, as he weakly and vainly boasts, "the only sal mon in the market!" for Bartley and Strickland frequently divide the public approbation with him: though Farren's Lord Ogleby and Sir Peter Teazle, stand unrivalled, he cannot attempt (like Bartley) the glorious Jack Falstaff-Doctor Cantwell, Baillie Jarvie, &c.

Fulham was much beloved by all classes in Dublin; everybody seemed to know and respect him, He was followed to the grave by a numerous body of private friends, and thousands joined at the burial-ground. Amongst them was a very quaint old basket-woman, who had (as is customary with that class of porters in Ireland) cracked many a joke with the old gentleman as she carried home his weekly purchases of provisions from the celebrated Castle Market. When the coffin was lowered into the grave, poor old Katty forced her way through the chief mourn- Mr. Farren, some years since, had the ers, to have, as she said, "a last peep at vanity to think that he could rival Kean in the darling old boy;" and wiping away his great part of Shylock and (credat Juthe tear that gathered in her eye, and fell dæus!) actually attempted to perform it upon her weather-beaten cheek, she ex- at Birmingham; when Bunn (oily and claimed, in the most serious manner that facetious Bunn,) the then manager of the her grief-wrought feeling would allow, theatre, posted bills all over the town the "So, poor old Fulham, thin you've got next morning, offering "a reward for the your PIT ticket at last. Well, God re-apprehension of a tall, thin, lanky-looking ceive you, Amen, for you were a kind old man," (here followed a full description of

Farren, in habit, form, and feature,) "who that the naughty Cyprian goddess could last night committed a most barbarous ever have commanded

murder upon a rich old Jew of the name of Shylock! The murderer is supposed to have escaped from Birmingham in one of the early Liverpool coaches."

Facetious Bunn knew by which coach Farren was to take his early departure; and had one of these printed placards pasted on the hinder part of the vehicle.

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We leave the reader to judge of Farren's astonishment when he alighted at the usual breakfasting inn, and read, "horrid murder!" in large type, and an account of his last night's onslaught upon Shakspeare, with a full description of his person and peculiarities! Farren's keen appetite for breakfast immediately left him; he saw the joke, though he of course by no means relished it. Now, though Far ren knew it to be a jest, yet that might not be the case with other more matter-of-fact readers who had now gathered round the coach, and seeing a tall, thin, lanky gentleman," completely answering the description of the supposed murderer of Shylock, might, vi et armis, carry him back to Birmingham for examination, and vitiate his Liverpool engagement. Ridicule is a good weapon with which to chastise vanity though the placard caused much laughter, yet we think that this joke of the facetious manager Bunn was carried rather too far. But it had the desired effect; it cured Mr. Farren of the ridiculous mania of becoming poor Kean's rival, to the insult of common sense and the British public.

Mr. Farren (as the motto we have given from the Farrèniana will intimate) is perhaps the greatest egotist that we ever encountered, and we frankly confess that we have often been surprised that so clever an actor could be so weak a man. Ego-Ego!-Ego!-from Dan to Beersheba! that is, from the Garrick Club to Brompton Square: for once, in that three miles' walk with him, we heard nothing but, "I myself!" or, "myself and Mrs. Ft!" or, "I and my brother Percy !"till when we made our parting bow, to reach our own, little beyond, domicile, the confirmed egotist believed that he had thoroughly convinced us that he (W. F.) was the greatest actor that England ever had or ever can produce! Secondly, that "dear Harriet" was the impersonation of all that was pure in Diana! and thirdly, that "Brother Percy" ought to supersede Lord Melbourne as premier of England! We were too polite to undeceive him.

The actions of public men are public property, and it is our duty, as impartial biographers, to record some circumstances that verify the poet's old song,

"Men were deceivers ever

To one thing constant never!" Yet who, for an instant, could suppose

"The blind bow-boy's shaft,"

to trouble Mr. F. in his decline of life. Byron hath written, and we opine with him, that

"Truth is strange-stranger than fiction!"

and what we are about to record will undoubtedly cause some surprise to the reader; but as the facts are known in every theatre, major and minor, as well as in every club-house, from Piccadilly to St. Paul's, they are, as we said, public property, and as such we transcribe them. We have before observed that Mr. W. Farren was married to a very handsome young lady, of good family, amiable manners, and most accomplished conversational powers. In Dublin, they were esteemed as models of conjugal happiness; for nearly twenty years Mr. W. Farren had been noted and set down as the best husband in the theatrical profession-and so, in fact, he was. We have observed, that though an excellent actor, yet out of his profession he is perhaps one of the weakest men to be found in the whole troupe of his brethren of the sock and buskin

Mr. and Mrs. Farren were universally esteemed, as models of connubial happiness; but an evil hour arrived, when it entered his wise head that he was childless, and therefore ought to be miserable. This happened sometime after Spurzhiem and Gall had set England half crazy on the subject of phrenology. Young Deville, of the Strand, was one of their chief apostles-he lectured on the subject—and also gave private advice and caput-al examinations to all who favoured him with a visit. Farren was seized with the mania, and obtained a téte-à-tête with young Deville, who, as in duty bound, examined the outside of the actor's cranium, and having done so, looked very grave and learned, then asked our hero, "if he had a family."

"No," cried W. F., "we have never had any children."

"Ah! I thought so," nodded the phrenologist, "for I perceive that the bump, or organ, as we call it, of philoprogenitiveness, though rising, is not yet fully developed, but you will soon sigh for the endearing name of father."

"The devil I shall!" cried the astonished W. F. "No, no- I have rather a dislike to children, with their squalling litle tongues, and unwiped noses."

"Ah! you're speaking of the past, sir," replied Deville, who was an enthusiast in phrenology; "our system was never yet known to err, and I am convinced will not do so in your case." Then placing his finger on a particular part of the actor's

head, he continued, "As this bump rises, so will your desire, to be a father, rise."

During this declaration Deville was pompous and positive-the actor was staggered and mystified. Now, whether there might be truth in the learned phrenological Theban's assertion, and the philoprogenitive bump actually rose upon the outside of Mr. W. F.'s head, or that the weakness of the inside induced him to fancy it, we cannot decide, but this is certain, from that day our actor became a changed man; frequently when walking with his accomplished wife, from their domicile in Duchess street, for a Portland place airing, Mr. W. F. would stop the nursery-maids, and pat the cheeks of the little rosy urchins in arms, and then turn to his astonished and amiable partner, and with a sigh exclaim, "Ah, Mrs. F., Mrs. F.! why haven't we such a sweet cherub as that?"

A year or two passed thus, and he was not a father! his childless home became irksome to him--something was wanting -he even nursed the little kitten, and patted the head of the matron Tabby, luxuriating on the hearth rug before his parlour fire! animals that he had, in previous years, kicked out of his way with a "d-n the cats." Deville, proud of his scientific display on the head of so well-known a public character, related the circumstance of W. F.'s rising bump to that wicked wag, Abbot, the actor, and through him it soon became the prime jest of the Covent Garden green-room; all laughed—but there was one amongst the throng .

[Our respect for the privacy of domestic life will not permit us to give those results of Mr. Farren's phrenological studies, which our correspondent has so wittily narrated.]

(To be continued.)

AD MORTUAM!

BY R. SHELTON MACKENZIE, LL.D.

Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade
Death came with kindly care,
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed
And bade it blossom there.

COLERIDGE.

LIKE the golden light that dieth
On the twilight breast of Even,
Thy angel spirit flieth

Back to its home in heaven.
As the streamlet onward glideth,
To the ocean of its rest,
So thou, to where resideth

Each sinless one and blest.

Though the sun of Hope declineth,
Which brightly beamed for thee,
The star of Memory shineth

O'er sorrow's troubled sea:
We are sadly, sadly weeping

In the home thy feet have trod,
Yet we joy that thou art sleeping,
In the mansion of thy God.*

Though fancy now entwineth
No garland round thy head,
And the stricken spirit pineth

O'er thy cold and narrow bed-
Yet, 'tis well that thou wert taken
In the morning of thy years,
That thy fawn-like eyes will waken
Where there never can be tears.

Though our wounded hearts be swelling
With a deep, deep grief for thee,
In their gloom may yet be welling
Joy's fountain fresh and free.
Then will come a happy greeting,
When life's pilgrimage is o'er,
The child and parents meeting,
Where they never may part more!
Liverpool, October, 1836.

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.†

BY MRS. CRAWFORD.

READING Captain Basil Hall's work, Schloss Hainfeld," I was particularly struck with the information, that the venerable Countess Durgstall was the original Di Vernon of Scott, as I had been always led to consider, (having been very confidently told so,) that the late Lady Chad furnished the immortal bard with his -y conception of the beautiful heroine of "Rob Roy." This shows how much caution we should observe, in yielding credence to the reports of the day, considerably more than one half of which deserve only the answer which the late Bishop of Llandaff gave to one of those gossips, who authenticated a long-winded tale, with the usual veracious stamp of "They say."

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They say!" echoed the good bishop; "I despise they say." Any one, however, who had seen Lady C- -y in her days of youthful beauty, with those gay untameable spirits, frank manners, and that almost masculine independence, peculiar to her character, might have been well justified in believing the assertion, (other circumstances taken into the account,) that she formed the model of Scott's heroine. I remember Lady Cy from my

* "In my Father's house are many mansions." + Continued from vol. ii. page 283.

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