The rich Mrs, Corbett, who had never seen her nephew Dashall, had proposed to him, through the ordinary medium of common friends, a match with Emma, her protegee, to which the gentleman had very obligingly consented. The scene opens with announcing to us his arrival at an inn in the neighbourhood of his aunt's mansion, where he falls into company with some adventurous spirits like himself, plays for all he has, and loses it in a trice. Captain Vincent, between whom and Emma there exists a secret attachment, alights at the same place. He and Dashall meet in consequence, but ignorant of each other's plans. Dashall shews his mistress's picture, the last thing of value he possesses in the world; refuses to sell it, but offers to stake it at play against bis rival's money; the enamoured Cap tain accepts the challenge, as the only means of obtaining the resemblance of the woman he loves, and is utterly ruined in his turn. In the mean time, the aunt of Dashall, having heard of his previ ous ill luck, comes with Emma to the Inn to gain more intelligence about him and his conduct. She walks by accident into the room where Vincent is bemoaning, and repenting, and apostrophising, as befits bim, the miniature, which Dashall, in mock pity of his bar fortune, had presented to him. A Judicrous scene ensues between these parties: the lady addressing Mr. Vincent as her nephew-the latter scrupulous abont encouraging her mistake-and Rattle only anxious to confirm it; on their separating, the real nephew appears, glorious with impudence and claret. He talks to the supposed strange ladies, of his losses, of his winnings, of his ruined friend, of his queer old aunt, and his bumpkin mistress, pretty much in the same stile of Bond-street sensibility, and pleads the cause of Vincent so ably, that on the Captain's re-entrance, be iş welcomed by hotb Emma and her protectress, as an eligible substitute for the tonish Mr. Dashall. Though the little story we have sketched may read but indifferently, it is so put together as to produce some comical situations, and highly laughable scenes upon the stage. The discovery of the several persons in the last scene is full of spirit; the music is pretty; but we are happy to say it is only an accompaniment, and by no means necessary to recommend the piece to the hearty favour and vociferous applauses of the audience. A great portion, indeed, of the success this pleasant trifle bas met with, must fairly be set down to the actors. Wallack was quite inimitable in his representation of the thoughtless, heartless, gay, riotous, facetious, and intoxicated Dashall; and Harley, though bis part was beneath his powers, was vivacious and popular as usual. He was loudly cheered on giving out, "My Aunt" for a second night's performance. t the Earl of Devon, dispatches his favourite (Earl Athelwold) to ascertain if report spoke true, commissioning him, if her charms proved as resplendent as they had been described, to demand her hand in marriage. Athelwold, on seeing the lady, however, overcome by her charms, forgets his duty to his friend and Sovereign, and solicits the lady's band for himself. The King's favourite proves successful, but fearful the King should discover his want of faith, he takes the Countess to a retired castle, and going himself to Court, describes her only as a common beauty, not worthy of a Monarch's attention, but whose great fortune would prove highly acceptable to a subject. The King, upon this representation, resigns all thoughts of the lady, and sanctions his favourite's marriage with her. Some time afterwards, the King determines to visit his favourite's wife; it then becomes necessary that Athelwold should confess to the lady the duplicity of which he had been guilty, and that he should adopt some plan to conceal from the King the beauty of his wife. The Countess, in whose breast her husband bas by his tenderness secured himself an interest not to be shaken, even by the loss of a crown, now participates in all Athelwold's fears, and suggests, as the most probable means of securing him from danger, that during the King's visit one of her attendants, Editha, should pass as the Countess, by 'which the King would be deceived as to her beauty and accomplishments, and the Earl avoid all suspicions of having betrayed his trust. In furtherance of this plan, the Countess assumes the disguise of a cottager's daughter, and retires to the residence of Editha's father, whilst Editha, adorned in her lady's paraphernalia, receives the King, whom she disgusts by her ignorance and rusticity, and the deception is on the point of succeeding, when the arrival of the Earl of Devon, who, ignorant of the King's visit at the castle, comes to demand of Athelwold the reason of his daughter's seclusion from the world, discovers all, and the favourite is near suffering the whole weight of his Monarch's anger, when the tears and intercession of his wife in his behalf, soften the King, and obtain pardon for her husband. In Of these materials, the author, who we understand is Mr. Arnold, has composed a dramatic piece, far from being destitute of merit. The author of an Opera is generally considered as having executed his task if he makes the dialogue a pleasing vehicle for the music, but Mr. Arnold has done more. many of the scenes, particularly in that which Athelwold discovers to the Countess the duplicity with which he has acted towards her, and the last scene, in which she intercedes with her father and the King for his pardon, the dialogue is extremely well wrought up. The scene between the King and Editha, the sham Countess, was highly amusing. Miss Kelly in Editha, did ample justice to the author by her acting, as did Miss Poole, in Elfrida. Wallack, as the King, and Fawcett, as the Earl of Devon, T. Cooke, as Athelwold, and Harley, in the character of chief huntsman and attendant on Athelwold, were deservedly well received. The music is by Mr. T. Cooke, and though it has not strictly a claim to novelty, is in general pretty, and in many parts possesses very considerable merit. Several of the songs Dd 2 were were encored particularly a duet, which was sweetly sung by T. Cooke and Pyne, a humorous one between Miss Kelly and Harley, and two plaintive airs which were admirably executed by Miss Poole. The House was crowded to excess, and the piece was given out for repetition with scarcely a dissentient voice. HAYMARKET THEATRE. On Saturday night, August 5, a new Comedy was produced at this theatre, under the title of " · Living piece of minor importance. These, thrown together in an intricate plot, and sustained by dialogue full of pleasantry and point, present a very laughable Comedy, which, without doubt, will have a considerable run. Of the actors we must speak in terms of praise, particularly of Terry, Jones, Mathews, and Tokely. The house was very well filled; and the Comedy was given out amidst loud applause. The following extract from it, will give a fair specimen of the author's talents: hastily. Mot. Here I am, cut adrift for the day, wherever Fortune pleases to tide meas to a wind, I may whistle for it; that's the only way I can raise it. Stop! Who have we here? A land or a sea gull ? Viv. Hey! What fellow's that? Mot. That every thing? What, Viv. Motley! my old Serjeant! and in this state? in London." The chief merit of SCENE-a Street-Enter MOTLEY, the piece is a playful ridicule of certain artificial characters in so. ciety, called fashionables. In the play the characters of this description are, Lord Killcare (Mr. Russell), a nobleman who ruins himself by gaming, and Lady Killcare (Miss Greville), his wife, fond of notoriety and mischief; Vivid (Mr. Jones), a thoughtless, lively spark, following his own view of pleasure any where and every where; and Apeton (Mr. Johnstone), a good natured accommodating friend, a cheat at play, a sort of spaniel to fetch and carry. The other characters in the piece are Lord Clamorcourt (Mr. Foote), made jealous by a supposed intrigue of Lady Clamorcourt (Mrs. Belfield) with Vivid, who, in one of his roving moments, has assumed the name of Neville, her brother; Specious (Mr. Terry), who has been guardian of Vivid, and has an annuity depending on his life; his daughter, Prudence; Motley (Mr. Mathews), a soldier who has been wounded, and is hired as servant by Vivid, and Potiphar (Tokely), a Quaker, nephew of Specious, a droll character. There are three or four other characters in the Mot. Ah! your Honour! here I am, almost the last bone of a skeleton regiment, clean picked, as your Honour may see. Those were glorious times, your Honour, when your Honour and I, and forty or fifty thousand more of us, rambled about with our swords and bagnets-tapt a cask with a charge, and turn'd a whole flock of merinos and mad bulls into beef-steaks and mutton-chops in a moment. Viv. Yes, you were always addicted to free living, Sergeant, and I fear your bad habits will never be relinquished. I am sorry to see you thus. Mot. Misfortune's livery, your You You have shrewdness, and might use it to advantage. a I Mot. Ah! your Honour, I had always too much quicksilver about me, to allow me to get gold. I set out on the wrong road, and bave got scratched and torn in striking across to gain the right one. My father, please your Honour, was a grocer at Gosport-round as cheese, and hot as mustard. lov'd glory better than grocery emptied the till one night into my pocket, and marched off with a recruiting party, full of spirits, British and Foreign. As I liked my own will, the old gentleman took care I should have nothing to do with his but left all his Dutch cheeses to my mother. She, poor soul, lamented the loss of a husband so, that she soon-took another a needy half-pay Ensign (no offence to your Honour), who gobbled up her and her guineas, and marched off for these headquarters; though, indeed, be writes very frequently, as I hear, to her on little slips of stampt paper, requesting an answer at sight from her loving husband, Richard Ape ton. Viv. Is it possible? Apeton your step-father! Ha! ha! Mot. I used to laugh at it myself-but now it's no joke. While I was in Spain, he got possession of the Spanish; for my amiable mother, thinking me dead, adopted her husband for a son, and settled all upon him. Ab! your Honour, thrown on the wide world with nothing but one's wits-I'm sure your Honour would think it a poor portion. Viv. You think I would? Mot. I do, indeed, your Honour, Ah! this London! I've often thought (though enemies have tried in vain to get at it)-what a Mot. Home I came; and what to do then? We had peace, or I might still have hobbled on with my halberd. London, thinks I, is the place for me-but then, the thing was-Living in London! Viv. Ay a question, indeed! Mot. Thinks I, the way to do it, is to do others-so, with a tolerable purse, (the fruit of my campaigns) an Ensign's second-hand suit, and a flourishing pair of whiskers, I' landed from the Plymouth coach at a military coffee-house. That wouldn't do long. I clear'd my score and my upper lip, and changed my lodging and my character. I set up a sort of shampooing scheme for the cure of the lumbago. It wouldn't do-It broke my back. I was obliged to hop the twig, and turn to another branch. Viv. What was that? Mot. Why, wishing to keep in good company, I turned marker to a billiard-table in the Strand. Viv. Well selected. Mot. Far from it-for one night, while I was napping, one of the gentlemen picked my pocket of a week's earnings. That did me. No No money, and my coat out of elbows, I was handsomely equipped for my present employ. A particular friend of thie King of the Beggars had just sent me a card for a ball and supper at St. Giles's. I was introduced-appointed Musician Extraordinary in St. Martin'scourt, and Receiver-General of the District ! Viv. Ha ha! musician extra ordinary! Mot. That I resigned soon after -the oyster ladies and the sweeps in the neighbourhood thought my voice not sufficiently rich and husky. A gentleman, with a gin-woice, who sang duets, with his wife, and a little girl, in the next alley, was, I must candidly confess, thought by the best judges, to sing the Woodpecker better than I.-(Imitates Man's voice)" But the Woodpecker"-(Woman's)--“ tapping" (Girl's)" the hollow" (Man's)" beech-tree. Viv. Ha! ba! Enter POTIPHAR, running. Pot. Friend Vivid! Friend Vi vid! Viv. Ha! what success? wilt run better." At that I waxed wrathful, and— Viv. What! Pot. Knocked him down. "Friend," quoth 1, "there is a gentle reproof for thee." At that the people cried with a loud voice -"bravo!" Viv. Ha! ha! well, but the damsel ? Pot. Thon knowest a large mansion at the corner of the squares which lieth near unto this? Viv. Well! Pot. The damsel sojourneth there. Mot. Ay, I know it; my Lord Clamorcourt's. Pot. And pray, friend, who art thou? Viv. Faith, gentlemen, I am very remiss-Sergeant Motley, formerly of my company-Mr. Potiphar Specious. Mot. Your Honour's humble servant. Viv. Lord Clamorcourt? what, the popularity.hunter? Mot. Yes, your Honour; I'm one of his mob. Pot. One of his mob, say'st thon? Pot. Tarry, tarry-I am out of sixpence a day for huzzaing him on wind. Viv. You've seen her? Pot. Yea. Viv. What, track'd her home? Pot. Nay but I caught the Jar "vey that convey'd her home. Viv. Faith, you must have run well. Pot. Yea-most exceedingly. I minded not the scoffs of the people one snap, tho', in truth, they scoffed much. "A mad Quaker," crieth one. "Holla, friend!" quoth another. At that I stopped, and he tapped nie on the shoulder"Friend," quoth he, "thou art too full of the spirit; thou runnest well, but now thou art tapt, thou public occasions; and so much a mile for chalking him on the mews' gates and dead walls. It was but last week I chalked all Piccadilly with BX Y, and "Clamorcourt for ever." Viv. Ha! ha! faith, you're an odd fellow! I see this angel of mine dwells above me. Pot. Most angels do. Viv. Yea, friend; but the sons of men are the special objects of their regard.-Egad, that's true, talking of special objects-did you get that bill managed at Rook's yesterday? Pot. Nay, but I will go thitber straightway. Met. |