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into the humor of his Pistol-like bravery, Doran, the second on that of Mr. Procand challenged him. "You must apolo- ter (Barry Cornwall in his 'Life of Edgise or fight,” said one of these, after mund Kean'). the actor had been as usual railing against After his death the doctors not only the country. “I will not apologise, opened his body to discover the cause, young gentleman," he answered loftily; but one, Dr. Francis, took possession of
I will fight you. But if I fight you his head for phrenological purposes, and I shall shoot you. I am the best shot in kept the skull in his surgery. One night Europe. If you insist upon it I will ‘Hamlet 'was performed at the Park;' shoot you.
I would not willingly shed at the last moment the property man blood.” But it may be doubted whether found he had no skull, and hastened to Cooke did not see through the quiz, for the doctor's to borrow one.
The one the whole routine of the duel was car lent was Cooke's. It was returned that ried through; the pistols, loaded only night, but next evening at a meeting of with powder, were discharged ; the the Cooper Club, the circumstance being antagonist, pretending to be shot, fell, known to several there, a desire was exand the actor, cutting the sleeve of his pressed to examine the head of the great coat, made believe he was wounded in tragedian, which was again produced for the shoulder.
the investigation of Daniel Webster, At Philadelphia his success almost Henry Wheaton, and other celebrities. eqnalled that of New York. In sixteen Anecdote number one. Now for numnights the receipts were $17,360. Upon ber two. his return to Boston
Kean was a great admirer of Cooke, “ Such was the rage,” says Dunlap, “for
and when he was in New York visited seeing Cooke, that though it was the depth his grave. Finding it without a memoof winter, and excessively cold, the box office rial stone, he had the body taken up, rehas been surrounded from three o'clock in the moved to another place, and a handsome morning until the time of opening, which was
monument placed over it. In the tranten."
sition from one grave to another he conFrom the time of his landing in Ame- trived to abstract one of the toe-bones, rica his health began to fail, and on and this he brought back with him to several occasions he was incapacitated London as a precious relic. Upon his from appearing through real indisposition. arrival in England Elliston and several A constitution of iron alone could have of the Drury Lane company went as far withstood such years of debauchery, but as Barnet to meet him. When he it gave way at last. On the 31st of July, arrived at the hotel where they were, to 1812, while playing Sir Giles Overreach breakfast, he stopped all their greetings at Boston, he was taken for death, but with, “Before you say a word, Behold! lingered till the following September, Fall down and kiss this relic! This when he died. He was preparing at the is the toe-bone of the greatest creature time to return to England, Harris having that ever walked the earth-of George written to him to come back to Covent Frederick Cooke. Come, down with Gardeni.“ John Bull," says the letter, you all and kiss the bone !” Elliston, “is as fond of you as ever, and would to humor him, dropped upon his knees be most happy to see his favorite again." and kissed the relic, and the others folWe could have no better proof of Cooke's lowed his example. Arriving home great abilities than such an offer after Kean's first words to his wife were, “ I all his disgraceful escapades. There is have brought Charles a fortune. I have not in the whole history of the stage a something that the directors of the Bțitish career more pitiable than this, not one Museum would give ten thousand pounds for the errors of which we can plead so for; but they shan't have it. Here it is, few excuses.
the toe-bone of the greatest man that But not even after the grave closed over ever lived-George Frederick Cooke. him had George Frederick, at least in Now, observe ; I put this on the mantelbody, ended his eccentric career. I will piece; but let no one dare to touch it. conclude this article with two extraordi. You may all look at it—at a distance, but nary anecdotes of the post mortem period; be sure no one presumes to handle it.” the first is given on the authority of Dr. Here it lay for months an object of pride
to the possessor, who never failed to upon him that it was gone. Sinking into point it out to his visitors. But Mrs. a chair he exclaimed, with drunken Kean, far from sharing her husband's lachrymoseness, “ Mary, your son has satisfaction, held the relic in disgust. lost a fortune. He was worth £10,000; One day, resolved to no longer endure now he is a beggar!" its sight, she caught hold of it with a It may be remarked that if Kean conpiece of paper and threw it over the wall trived to extract a toe-bone, how was it into the next garden. That night Kean that he did not discover the corpse to returned, as was his wont, very inebriated. be headless ? Mr. Procter, however, He missed the bone. He stormed, raved, vouches for the truth of the story, but summoned the servants out of their beds, considers it to be doubtful whether the and searched every likely and unlikely body exhumed was really that of Cooke. spot. At last the conviction was forced - Temple Bar.
BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.
WHEN their last hour shall rise
And kiss me dying
And leave them lying,
If aught my soul would say
That he might hearken,
World's winters darken,
Nor grow through gradual hours
From limbs that moulder,
More chaste and colder.
Not earth's for spring and fall,
Earth only mother,
The wind thy brother.
Yours was I born, and ye,
A song for ever,
A harp to string and smite
To fail them never :
Not while on this side death
With heart's thanksgiving That in my veins like wine Some sharp salt blood of thine, Some springtide pulse of brine,
Yet leaps up living.
When thy salt lips well nigh
This death as others ?
Was thine,-my mother's ?
Thee too, the all-fostering earth,
We call, we know thee,
Laid low below thee.
The sunbeam on the sheaf,
Are thine for giving;
Dead seed with living;
All good and ill things done
Rest well contented;
None long lamented.
A slave to sons of thee,
Serve even in seeming ?
Fresh wine's foam streaming?
by the natural human thrill of feeling
with which a man has his own death THE Squire had made use of that brought home to him. The Squire knew discretion which is the better part of that there was nothing unnatural in this valor. When Randolph for the second anticipation of his own end. He was time insisted upon coming to an under- aware that it required to be done and standing on family affairs, which meant the emergency prepared for; but yet it deciding what was to be done on the was not agreeable to him. He thought Squire's death, Mr. Musgrave, not know- they might have awaited the event, aling how else to foil his son, got up and though in another point of view it would came away." You can settle these mat- have been imprudent to await the event. ters with Mary," he said, quietly enough. He felt that there was something undesirIt would not have been dignified to treat able, unlovely in the idea of your children the suggestion in any other way. But consulting over you for their own comhe went out with a slight acceleration of forts afterwards. But then his children his pulses, caused half by anger and half were no longer children, whose doings affected his affections much-they kinds, twitter and hum and rustle, his were middle-aged people, as old as he own step among other movements, his was--and in fact it was important that own shadow moving across the sunshine. they should come to an arrangement and And he felt well enough, not running settle everything. Only he could not over with health and vigor as he had and this being so, would not-do it; and sometimes felt long ago, not disposed to he said to himself that the cause of his vault over walls and gates in that unrefusal was no reluctance on his own part licensed exuberance which belongs to to consider the inevitable certainty of youth only, but well enough, quite well his own death, but only the intolerable- in short, steady afoot, his breathing easy, ness of the inquiry in other respects. his head clear, everything about him He walked out in a little strain and ex- comfortable. Notwithstanding which citement of feeling, though outwardly his his children were discussing, as in refercalm was intense. He steadied himself ence to a quite near and probable event, mind and body by an effort, putting a what was to be done when he should die! smile upon his lip and walking with a The Squire smiled at the thought, but it deliberate slow movement. He would was a smile which got fixed and painful have scorned himself had he showed any on his lip and was not spontaneous or excitement; he strolled out with a agreeable. The amusement to be got leisurely slow step and a smile. They from such an idea is not of a genial kind. would talk the matter out, the two whom He was over seventy, and he knew, who he had left; even though Mary's heart better? that threescore and ten has would be more with him than with her been set down as the limit of mortal life. brother, still she would be bound to fol- No doubt he must die-every man must low Randolph's lead. They would talk die. It was a thing before him not to of his health, of how he was looking be eluded; the darkness, indeed, was feeble, his age beginning to tell upon very near according to all ordinary law; him, and how it would be very expedient but the Squire did not feel it, was not in to know what the conditions of his will his soul convinced of it. He believed it were, and whether he had made any pro- of course ; all other men of his age die, vision for the peculiar circumstances, or and in their case the precautions of the arrangement for the holding of the family were prudent and natural; in his estate. “I ought to be the first person own case it is true he did not feel the considered," he thought he heard Ran- necessity; but yet no doubt it must be so. dolph saying. Randolph had always He kept smiling to himself; so living as thought himself the first person to be he was, and everything round, it was an considered. At this penetration of his odd sort of discord to think of dying. own the Squire smiled again, and walked He felt a kind of blank before him, a away very steadily, very slowly, hum- sense of being shut in. So one feels ming a bar of an old-fashioned air.
when one walks along a bit of road surHe went thus into the broken wood- rounded with walls, a cul de sac from land towards the east, and strolled in which there is no outlet. A sense of the chase like a man taking a walk for imprisonment is in it, of discouragement, pleasure. The birds sang overhead, too little air to breathe, too little space little rabbits popped out from the great to move in-certainly a disagreeable, tree trunks, and a squirrel ran up one of stifling, choking sensation. Involunthem and across a long branch, where it tarily a sigh came from his breast; and sat peering at him. All was familiar, cer- yet he smiled persistently, feeling in himtain, well known; he had seen the same self a kind of defiance to all the world, sights and heard the same sounds for a determination to be amused at it all, the last seventy years; and the sunshine notwithstanding the sentence they were shone with the same calm assurance of passing against him. shining as at other times, and all this rust- While the Squire continued his walk, ling, breathing life went on as it had al- amid the twitter of the birds and the warways gone on. There was scarcely a leaf, ble and the crackle and rustle and hum scarcely a moss-covered stone that did in the woods, and all the sounds of livnot hide or shelter something living. ing, now and then another sound struck The air was full of life; sounds of all in-a sound not necessarily near, for in New SERIES.-Vol. XXVI., No. 2