must be vested in the hands of the proprietors, and not in those of the actors, who are bound by their articles of agreement to consult the interests of the theatre, and the reasonable wishes of the manager. The idea that an actor has a right to enjoy a peculiar cast of character, is in the highest degree absurd, and has been productive of the most injurious results to the interests of the drama. This is, however, so entirely the case at the present day, that a play stands but little chance of being put in rehearsal unless each of the performers is perfectly satisfied with the character assigned him. Hence the manifest depreciation of dramatic literature. The necessity of producing several striking dramatis personæ, in a modern piece, in order that every actor may be accommodated with a part likely to meet his approbation, is the reason why so little interest attaches to many of our modern tragedies. Instead of concentrating the whole force of his genius in one living stream of pathos and poetry, a writer has at the present time to drivel away his strength in a dozen paltry rills. He must introduce into his play several personages, all equally distinguished; for if one character should be deemed of more importance than those which form the leading features of the piece every other actor is dissatisfied with his part, and the poet's offspring is strangled in the birth, amid the petty contentions of the Green-Room.

For ourselves we begin to consider it a hopeless task, for a writer of the present day, to produce a tragedy of more than ordinary merit. There are so many tastes to be consulted, even in the "little senate" which is first to pronounce sentence upon it; so many cuttings and parings for him to undergo before his pages are filed down to the fastidiousness or freakishness of those upon whose exertions his hopes of success must so entirely be founded, that, if an original writer should chance to be submissive enough to permit them, it is almost impossible for him to please the ambition of each performer. A tragedy must be written in this age, not for the public, but for the actors; for those who subscribe themselves the servants of the public! This gentleman's love of the malignant,

and that lady's love of the pathetic; this one's heroism, and that one's sentimentalism, must all be furnished with the aliment upon which their histrionic fame may happen to subsist; unless, indeed, the author resigns the domination of the many, and seeks another theatre, where one Phoenix presides with all the pomp of genius, but with none of its dignity or liberality. But even here he is the slave of a tyranny still more degrading. He must make the whole interest of his play, energy, grief, resolve, generosity, pride, pity, or revenge, centre in one individual actor, who must grasp his thunderbolts with a blaze and reverberation which awe all the meaner satraps of his throne, and cast them into an abject shade. The difficulty of attaching interest to a piece susceptible of so little variety of character, unmixed with those contrasts for which the earlier tragic writers were so justly celebrated, unblessed by those discords, which, like notes in music, ring the changes of harmony, must be obvious to all who have considered the subject with the eye of a poet. But to return to the point from which we have digressed.

It is well remarked, (by the author we have already quoted,) that the ambition, the jealousy, the spleen, and the rapacity that are to be found in all classes of men, are unhappily too often prevalent in the theatrical world; and the difficulty of obviating the evils arising from all these restless propensities, renders the duty of a manager painful and irksome in the execution. If the theatre affords profits at one period, it is subject to a constant risk, and to vast disbursements. The profits of an actor are by no means casual with respect to his salary; and if he possesses distinguished merit in his profession, he may generally look with confidence to public liberality on his benefit; but the theatre must take its chance, and submit to all the variations of popular taste, and strive to maintain its ground amidst rival amusements, by an unwearied pursuit of novelty, and a continual expence to render that novelty attractive.

Pope, Munden, Holman, Fawcett, Johnstone, Incledon, H. Johnston, and Knight, were termed the "glorious eight,"

and distinguished themselves on this occasion by their determined opposition to the manager. No breach of contract on the part of Mr. Harris was pretended, and it is more than probable that several of these gentlemen could not, had they been called upon, have defined the precise nature of their grievances. The majority of them, however, soon made candid and honorable advances towards a reunion; advances which were accepted with an alacrity equally honorable to both parties. The late Mr. Murray was the only performer who did not join the conspiracy.

The old theatre of Covent Garden, which was built in the year 1733, and, as we have already remarked, enlarged with numerous alterations, in 1792, was, on the morning of the 20th of September, 1808, reduced, by a tremendous conflagration, to a heap of shapeless ruins. The performance of the preceding night was Pizarro, the afterpiece was the Portrait of Cervantes, and both representations were received with eclat by a crowded and elegant audience. It is supposed that the melancholy catastrophe occurred in consequence of the wadding from a gun (fired in the course of the evening) having lodged in some part of the scenery, and which escaped the observation of the watchman.

Perhaps there is no recorded instance of so complete a destruction, of similar extent, in so short a space of time. Every composite material of the building was, however, fuel to the fire, and the large area served to ventilate it to that unsubdued pitch at which it shortly arrived. All hopes of rendering service in this quarter becoming now unavailing, the firemen directed their efforts to prevent the calamity extending to the houses around the theatre; but owing to their height, it was found impracticable for the engines to play over them; but the leather pipes being conveyed up the staircases to the third floors, and their ends being thrown and fastened to the engines below, an ingenious facility of effective action was contrived.

The fire raged with extreme violence at the eastern side of the upper part of Bow-street; where the house, No. 9, be

longing to Mr. Paget; Nos. 10 and 11, attached to the theatre; No. 12, belonging to Mr. Hill; No. 13, the Straggler's Coffee House, wherein Mr. Donne lost almost his whole property; No. 14, belonging to Mr. Johnson, the fruiterer; and No. 15, the house of Mr. M'Kinlay, a book-binder; were all completely destroyed. The three latter houses, with the exception of Mr. Donne's part of the property, were insured in the Hope Fire Office for 2,650l. Some of the others were entirely uninsured, and some only partially so. Nos. 16 and 17, in

the same street, were seriously damaged.

The theatre itself was totally consumed; and even the walls on the Hart-street side were not left standing. In that angle of the edifice, the Ship Tavern, and part of the boxkeeper's office, were the only remains. The amount of the insurances did not exceed 60,000l., and the savings from the Shakspeare, amounted to about 3,500l.; the entire being but one-fourth of the sum necessary to replace the great loss sustained.

In addition to the usual scene-stock, there was a quantity of beautiful scenery for a new melo-drame; of the original pieces of music of Handel, Arne, and many other celebrated composers, no copies had been taken; and of many others, which were destroyed, only an outline had been given. Several dramatic productions, the property of the theatre, were completely lost. The organ left by Handel as a bequest to the theatre, which was valued at a thousand guineas, and never used but during oratorios, was likewise consumed. Mr. Ware, the leader of the band, lost a violin worth 3007., which for the first time in ten years, he had left behind him. Mr. Munden's wardrobe, valued at 300l., shared the same fate; as did Miss Bolton's jewels, and other property, to a very considerable amount.

We now come to the most painful part of our narrative: the coroners for London, Middlesex, and Surrey, sat on nineteen bodies destroyed at the fire; many of which could not be identified by friends or relatives; several persons, in addition to the nineteen who were burnt to death, expired

from the effects of bruises, &c., and it is computed, that not less than thirty lost their lives on this lamentable occasion.

The whole property destroyed amounted to more than 100,000l., and the utmost amount of insurances was 75,000l. The King's Theatre was liberally offered by Mr. Taylor to Mr. Harris, and the company played there till the commencement of the opera season.

On the 31st December, 1808, the foundation-stone of the new theatre was laid by his present Majesty, as Grand Master of the Masonic Order. The Duke of Sussex, Earl of Moira, with several other distinguished noblemen, graced the procession of the brotherhood.

This occasion attracted a large concourse of spectators, and upwards of 1000 persons were admitted by tickets within the inclosed arena, opposite the foundation-stone.

A distinct building was provided for the Free Masons, and a marquee was erected for their grand master. The surrounding scaffolds were manned by several hundreds of the workmen employed. The exterior was guarded by a detachment of the military, and the whole scene was exhilarated by the music of different military bands.

The foundation-stone is situate at the north-east angle of the building; it is of oblong form, and weighs upwards of three tons; it hung suspended over a basement-stone. At half-past twelve o'clock, the masonic brotherhood proceeded from Free Mason's Tavern in Great Queen's-street, and arrived shortly after in the area of the intended building, adorned with the various ensigns and bearings of that order. The Chevalier Ruspini was the sword-bearer, and the whole was preceded by a military band, playing masonic airs.

At one o'clock his present Majesty arrived on the scite, and was received by the Earl of Moira. A discharge of artillery welcomed his approach, while the bands struck up" God save the King." When he arrived at the marquee, Mr. Robert Smirke presented his Majesty with a plan of the building. The King then advanced, and in the basement-stone deposited a brass box, containing two medals, one of bronze, on which was a