Hamlet first appeared, according to Malone's calculation, in 1600, therefore the edition which has called forth these few slight remarks was published only three years after the tragedy was produced. Hence we are inclined to suppose that, in some respects, it is a more exact copy of the original than any subsequently printed, and that consequently it may be considered as a better authority, in the case of those disputed points where common sense is on its side, than the later editions, which were more likely to give the interpolations of the players. That it shews an abundance of typographical errors, is most certain; and that a great want of skill in the copyist appears in many places, is equally clear; but when it omits passages which reflect no credit on the understanding of their author, we are anxious to believe that it is more faithful to the text of such a man as Shakespeare, than those copies are which impute to him obscenity, without even the apology of wit.

Many striking peculiarities in this edition of Hamlet tend strongly to confirm the opinion which, it will plainly appear, we wish to inculcate, that no small portion of the ribaldry to be found in the plays of our great dramatic poet, is to be assigned to the actors of his time, who flattered the vulgar taste, and administered to the vicious propensities of their age, by the introduction and constant repetition of many indecent, and not a few stupid jokes, till they came to be considered, and then printed, as part of the genuine text. Of these, the two or three brief, but offensive, speeches of Hamlet to Ophelia, in the play scene, act 3, are not to be found in the copy of 1603, and so far we are borne out in our opinion; for it is not to be supposed that Shakespeare would insert them upon cool reflection, and three years after the success of his piece had been determined; still less likely is it, that a piratical printer would reject any thing actually belonging to the play, which was pleasing to the great bulk of those who were to become the purchasers of his publication.

The drama, as it appears in the print of 1603, is much shorter than in any subsequent edition, partly owing, perhaps, to the neglect of the copyist, but more probably because the author himself elaborated and

augmented it after it had been for some time on the stage. That he improved his work by adding to, retouching, and correcting it, none will be hardy enough to dispute; but that in some points the later editions misprinted the original text, many have been found to believe, and their opinion will not be weakened by the discovery of the present volume; for it is to be observed, that no collection of Shakespeare's plays was published till after his death, and there is not any reason to suppose that he corrected for the press, or even authorized the printing of those single pieces, which appeared in quarto, during his life.

The fact of Hamlet having been performed so early at Cambridge and Oxford, is not the least remarkable thing in this edition of the tragedy; we are not aware that such circumstance has ever before been recorded. There are in this copy several variations from the generally received text; some of them of importance; of these the opponents of the commentators will, of course, avail themselves; and a great many restorations may rationally be proposed. It is inconvenient to enter into farther detail in a daily journal, but we hope that an exact copy of the play will be published, with the notes of the different commentators subjoined and compared. A very useful and entertaining volume might thus be produced, that would indulge public curiosity, and perhaps throw a new light on some parts of a drama that is, by many able judges, viewed as the chef d'œuvre of Shakespeare.

O'KEEFFE.

(From the New Monthly Magazine.)

THE following Recollections of the Life of John O'Keeffe, written by himself, will be found to possess no small interest. His notices of Garrick, the late Duke of Cumberland, the account of his own introduction to the drama, and the description of the celebrated Nan Catley, are very forcible. The opera, which is mentioned as having failed, is now often acted, under the title of the Castle of Andalusia.

During my two years' residence in London I often saw Garrick; the delight his acting gave me was one

of the silken cords that drew me towards a theatre. I liked him best in Lear.-His saying, in the bitterness of his anger, "I will do such things— what they are I know not," and his sudden recollection of his own want of power, were so pitiable as to touch the heart of every spectator. The simplicity of his saying, “Be these tears wet?-yes, faith," putting his finger to the cheek of Cordelia, and then looking at his finger, was exquisite. Indeed he did not get his fame for nothing. I saw him do Abel Drugger the same night; and his appalled look of terror, where he drops the glass globe, drew as much applause from the audience as his Lear had done. Some years after, hearing Lord Mansfield on the bench, his voice and manner brought Garrick forcibly to my recollection. In 1779, I saw Garrick's funeral procession pass to the Abbey; a short time before I had seen him walking very quick (his way) on the Terrace of the Adelphi, before his own house, (the centre of the Terrace). He caught cold sitting in the orchestra, at a night view of the scenery preparing for R. B. Sheridan's opera of the Camp.

In 1762, I saw at St. James's, William of Culloden, the Duke of Cumberland; I was close to him; he walked leaning with his hands stretched out upon the shoulders of two gentlemen; I thought him the fattest man I had ever seen. The King's three brothers lived in Leicester-fields. Edward Duke of York, who died at Monaco, in Italy, lived in the house up high steps (long afterwards a carpet warehouse); the Princess Dowager of Wales in a house behind it; and the Dukes of Gloucester and Cumberland (not Dukes then) lived together in a small house in the square, turning to the left from Cranbourne-alley. In the same year I saw Jean Jacques Rousseau in one of the upper boxes at Covent Garden; I was in the pit; he wore his sort of Armenian dress, a dark gown furred, and fur cap, and attracted greatly the attention of the audience.

I wrote Tony Lumpkin in Town; or, the Dilletante; a sort of sequel to Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer, in 1772. Coming to London the Christmas of 1777, and, fearing the mortifications that an author must of course feel on his compositions being rejected by managers, I sent my play to Mr. Colman, with a letter,

requesting that, should he disapprove of it, he would have it left at the bar of the Grecian Coffee-house, directed to A. B.; and if he liked it well enough to promise he would bring it out, he would send an answer as above; and the author, on his mentioning a time, would wait upon him. The next day I called at the Coffee-house, where I found a jocular, yet polite, and indeed friendly letter from Mr. Colman, directed to A. B. with his approbation of the piece, a promise to bring it out the following summer, and his wish to see the author at Soho Square the next day at eleven o'clock. A joyful letter to me, as, previous to my sending my play to Mr. Colman, I shewed it to my early friend, William Lewis, who told me it was not worth twopence!

The next morning I was punctual to appointment, and posted to Soho Square, where, at the left-hand corner of Bateman's Buildings, I knocked at the door of a fine-looking house, and was ushered into the library. Seated in cap and gown at breakfast, I there, for the first time, saw the manager of the Haymarket Theatre, author of the English Merchant, the Jealous Wife, &c. who received me with all the frank good-nature of his character, laughed heartily at the whim of the piece, and repeated his promise of bringing it out on his boards. I then ventured to disclose my name, John O'Keeffe; and he immediately, with my approbation of each, cast the parts, regretting that he had no performer for Tony Lumpkin but Parsons, who he feared would look too old for it; but added, that he was an excellent actor and a great favourite with the public. Charles Bannister was cast for Tom Tickle the bearleader; and, though he had no song to display his fine vocal abilities, he liked the part much. The first night the audience expected the bear to come on. The character of Doctor Minim, in this piece, I made to have composed an oratorio, called "The Prodigal Son," not knowing that Dr. Arnold had actually composed such an oratorio. Some time after, the Doctor mentioned this to me with a great deal of good humour, supposing I had really written the character for him, of which he was rather pleased and proud, at the same time urging me to write a Sacred Oratorio for him to compose.

The Banditti, or Love's Labyrinth, was now brought out, cast to the strength of the company. The scenes were designed by Richards, and painted by Carver. At the top of the play-bills appeared, "By the author of the Son-in-Law and Agreeable Surprise," and the names of Carolan the Irish bard, and other composers: and Mr. Harris did not intend (what was quite out of rule) to have an after-piece, he was so perfectly sure of success; when, to the surprise of every body, and the astonishment and dismay of those concerned, it was completely condemned the first night.

The superb scenery and decorations, sweet songs and duets of Mrs. Kennedy, and Leoni, the fine Italian Jew singer, one of these to the tune of "Vorneen Deelish Elleen Oge," this beautiful air at that time only known by its Irish words, were of no saving effect. The audience seemed to take offence at lightning flashing outside of the house through the windows of a dark room, though this at rehearsals was thought a fine preparation for the tempest and horrors of the scene in the forest when the travellers are astray, and the banditti known to have issued from their cave to attack them. They also disliked the character of Agnes, a good-natured talkative old nurse, my favourite, with which in writing I had taken the greatest pains. Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, who happened to be sitting by me that night in an upper box, said, "As you see they do not like your old woman, you must contrive to give them as little of her company as you can ;” which remark determined me, if I could without hurting the plot (had the opera gone on) to omit her altogether.

Before the curtain dropped upon my disgrace, I slipped out of the theatre, told my servant to call a coach, flung myself into it, and got to my lodgings in Titchfield Street, and in a state of confusion and utter despondency threw myself on the bed. I thought of my poor children whom I had taken from the kind and fostering care of their grandfather and grandmother Heaphy in Ireland, and the pang went to my heart. I was scarcely ten minutes in this situation, when a coachman's loud rap was heard at the door, and before John could apprise me of my visitor, in bolted into the