Do you see yonder mirror that 's almost in the shape of a stag with large horns?

Pol. By the mass 't is like a stag indeed.

Ham. Methinks it 's like an old ram's horn..
Pol. It is crooked like an old ram's horn.
Ham. Or like a white liver?

Pol. Very like a white liver.

This was uttered in such a sycophantic style and manner, that, when repeated on the stage, I am sure the audience will thunder down applause. The other courtiers did tolerably well. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have lived too much in low company to play. the polished men of fashion; the former has often been exposed to the public, and the latter is precisely what Hotspur describes in the First Part of Henry IV.

"A certain Lord, neat and trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his whiskers long,
Show'd like a stubble land at harvest-home.
He was perfumed like a milliner,

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon

He gave his nose, and took't away again;
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in suuff.".

My other courtier, Osrick, I fear will be mistaken by the galleries for ostrich, as he is so devilish ill made about the legs, which are like those of the bird. in question; besides, he must always wear gloves, as he lost his fore-finger when a boy, stealing toasted cheese out of a rat-trap. I suspect he will be well hissed.

My Sub-Property-man, Sir, will never do in genteel comedy. I hear he has once played Lovel, in High Life below Stairs, and was inimitable when he' personated the red-haired foot-boy; he is, however,

at home in Filch, Scrub, and those sorts of characters where impudence and vice prevail.

The rest of the company I have no right to complain of; they are subservient in every respect, and have neither prejudices nor predilections; they sweep the stage, pick up the rotten apples and orange-peel, fetch and carry, snuff candles, and trim lamps. But I do not see any prospect of my being able to go through the season, unless you can assist me. Hitherto all efforts to strengthen my hands have failed. What the d-1 is come to the fellows I cannot tell, as they seem to be upon their high ropes, and not to care about salaries or emoluments; on the contrary, they appear to fancy themselves no longer actors, like myself, but talk of feelings of honour, private virtue, and such stuff. You will scarce believe me when I relate to you, that a stout-hearted little fellow, not five feet four inches high, had the impudence to refuse to accept of the offer I made him, of taking charge of all the horses, elephants, and live animals, which are now so much in request. Nay, I offered to put him in the fine gilt car, in our first grand procession, whenever it should take place. There's a fellow for you! I have begged of him not to tell of my offer, lest Sawney M'Greedy should fancy himself affronted, and quit me; for I must say, Sawney takes good care of the cattle, and of himself too. I have written to the Managers of Norfolk, Leicester, Bedford, Scarborough, and Guildford, but all without effect. You will perceive what a miserable set I have got, and, unless you can assist me, I must open with the present company, bad as it is. Do answer this, my dearest brother, and let me know your sentiments, and advise me how to pursue my plans in the best manner.

I hear Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee have decided to appear in the front row of the pit.

How

can

can I face them? I am, my dearest brother, ever yours most affectionately,

JOHN SCOT, Manager, P. O. H. P. S. I believe I must get rid of my first fiddler ; the little fellow begins to be d-d insolent, and I see is wishing to govern me that won't do. Petticoat influence is the only influence a Manager ought to acknowledge.

ANSWER OF LORDS GREY AND GRENVILLE *. [From the Morning Post, March 16.]

N a dutiful strain we beg leave to address

IN

Your Highness in terms of respect, and express Our thanks for the manner so gracious and kind, You adopt of unfolding the Regent's good mind, By laying before us his Letter to you,

Where the good of the State seems alone his great view.
With your Highness's leave, we shall jointly make free,`
As the subject strikes us, just to let you now see.
The Regent, in style than which nought can be better,
On various topics has touch'd in his Letter;
In patriot strains, for the good of the State,
He invites Rival Parties to scorn strife and hate;
To join hand and heart in one noble endeavour,
Their Country to save, and its perils to weather:
The thought is refin'd, and can only proceed
From breast long the seat of each generous deed
From a Prince whose best glory is only to find
The proud prop of a Throne is a patriot mind.
At the close of his Letter he wishes those friends
Who early in life turn'd his name to their ends,
Would strengthen his hands, and their int'rest embrace,
By sharing with Perceval, power and place:
From Councils thus form'd, on a liberal plan
Of wisely selecting each eminent man,
He fondly predicts he with glory shall close
A war unexampled for dangers and woes.
Your Highness will easily see the cause why
To parts of this Letter we give no reply:

182 ANSWER OF LORDS GREY AND GRENVILLE.

But where it alludes to our Party, we think
From frank explanation we ought not to shrink:
We most earnestly beg that the Prince will believe,
For office or power we never can grieve:

No sacrifice, Sir, can be ever too great

To show our regard for the Prince and the State,
Save of honour and duty-and there we must say,
That we never can barter these jewels away:
All else we could yield, if we only could see
The People and Government wisely agree:
If discord and strife could be banish'd awhile,
And union and harmony strengthen our isle.
All exclusion that's personal, Sir, we disclaim,
One general sweep is alone our true aim;
For unless we are all of one mind, we foretell,
We shall never in Council amalgamate well.
And how to agree can we venture to hope,
When intolerant Perceval bawls out-No Pope !
No bloody Queen Mary's days seek to revive!
No roasting of Protestant martyrs alive!
No vespers Sicilian-Bartholomew's day!

No Hanover Prince to bring back James's sway !
But down with the Catholics-up "Church and State,"
And No Popery! chalk on each wall and each gate.
Intolerant bigot!-you ne'er can succeed

To force on your Prince so unchristian a creed.
In this age more enlighten'd, Philosophy reigns,
And Princes and People now list to her strains;
So Louis, by sapping the props of his Church,
By philosopher Neckar was left in the lurch;
And we, all philanthropists, ne'er will refuse
For our colleagues in office-Turks, Papists, or Jews.
From no one we seek to exact a harsh test,
On public political measures we rest ;
Religion we leave to each varying mind,
To choose for itself as it best seems inclin'd

Though experience shows that in Britain alone,
On a National Church safe reposes her Throne.
On this ground alone, whence we never can swerve,
We candidly say, without any reserve,

We

We scorn to unite with a Bigot so great,

Who won't let the Pope have a voice in the State.
On other grave points we so firm are oppos'd,
An union can ne'er with success be propos'd;
The Regent will do us the justice to say,
Already we twice have declin'd to give way;
First two years ago, when propos'd by the King,
And again by himself in the course of last spring:
When his Highness was pleas'd to request we would state
Our advice how to form a strong Council of State.
The reasons we humbly then brought to his view,
Are strengthen'd by dangers increasing and new;
Nor down to this moment it ne'er can appear
That conflicting opinions are drawing more near.
Reluctant we feel, as the subject is stale,
To enter at large on a wider detail :
Suffice it to say of each act that is past,

We, in toto, condemn, from the first to the last.
No political folly was ever more plain,

Than wasting our blood and our treasure in Spain:

And mark the sad consequence, often foretold,

We're chok'd with Bank-paper-and drain'd of our gold.

We daily are nearing a terrible smash,

When our blood is all wasted, as well as our cash;
But the danger most pressing that threatens the State,
Is the feverish turn of the Irish of late:

For whiskey and politics jointly combine

To make Ireland seem a combustible mine:
His Highness alludes to a recent debate,
When a motion was made to consider her fate,
When Administration most wisely profess'd,
That resisting her claims would retain her at rest.
So widely we deem on this point they are wrong,
'Tis in vain to expect we could act with them long;
For were we to-morrow in public employ,
Each Catholic bosom should vibrate with joy;
The Pope and his train of grim Catholic sons,
Of Abbesses, Relics, fat Monks, and lean Nuns,
Again should revive Superstition's dark day,
And Freedom's bright orb be obscur'd by its sway.

We