God, one Farinelli," was the enthusiastic and impious exclamation of one of his female admirers, whose beauty, not animated by good sense, procured for her rank and fortune. The nett annual receipt of Farinelli, while in England, was, by his own confession, in an hour of gaiety, four thousand pounds; but Philip V., King of Spain, unwilling that England should possess such a treasure, enticed him to Madrid, by a pension of two thousand pounds a year: to this income, was added the dignity and emolument of a knight of Calatrava. After the death of his royal patron, this fortunate candidate for public favour retired to enjoy a splendid independence in his native country, and built a magnificent house near Bologna, where he was visited by several English travellers.

SHAKSPEARE'S REMAINS.

SHAKSPEARE has anathematized, in some lines on his tomb, any one who might disturb his bones; yet, about the year 1811, in digging a grave for a deceased ecclesiastic, the gravedigger proceeded so near to Shakspeare's coffin, as to break away a part of it: and Mr. Wheeler, the ingenious historian of Stratford, was tempted by curiosity, and stimulated by the anathema, to

thrust his hand into the coffin, aud take holdof the bard's skull; which, however, he did not presume to disturb.

EPIGRAM.

On reading of a gentleman of the name of Lightfoot being robbed of notes to a considerable amount, at the door of Drury Lane Theatre, when going to see Mr. Kean, in " A new way to pay old debts."

LIGHTFOOT, perhaps, had walk'd some miles
To give the play his praise and penny;
To find ere he could see Sir Giles,

One Over-reach at least too many.

""Tis hard," he cried, " to be thus cross'd,-·
By one's own base relation robb'd;
For, doubtless, what Lightfoot has lost,
Lightfinger has that instant fobb'd.

"But hence, vain grief!-Away from me!
That man is half a fool who frets;
My money gone, it's time to see

This same New Way to Pay Old Debts.'"

GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE.

THE late George F. Cooke had been per forming at the old Theatre, Limerick. The last night of his appearance, he acted Petruchio, and, a little before the fall of the curtain, he had paid such constant attention to a little keg of whiskey, that the fumes overpowered his faculties, and in

bestowing the whip upon the unfortunate Grumio, he belaboured him so severely, that the miserable actor roared in downright earnest, every now and then threatening Cooke with a retaliation, who, doubly inspired on the occasion, both by the beverage he had drank, and the protection of the audience, persevered till he had made a clear stage for himself. The actor who had been thus treated vowed vengeance on Cooke, which he was determined to inflict the moment he had undressed himself. Somewhat sobered by these threats, Petruchio bethought himself of the advice of Hudibras

"He who fights, and runs away,

May live to fight another day."

Heedless of the strangeness of his dress, he instantly slipped down the back stairs, and sought refuge in one of the obscure alleys behind the Theatre. It was then just twelve o'clock, and as Cooke had rambled out of the high street, he did not even encounter a watchman asleep on his post. The sounds of woe, issuing with strange solemnity from an humble hut, presently attracted his attention; they proceeded from an assemblage of persons, who (according to a custom still continued in the Southern parts of Ireland, on the death

of a relation, or even acquaintance) were assembled round a dead body, chaunting a dismal song, or howl, in full chorus. The reader must bear in mind the broad brimmed hat and whimsical dress of Petruchio, and that, most likely, not one individual assembled in that place had ever seen a play; imagine, then, if possible, the wonder and horror of the poor simple souls, when George Frederick applied his shoulder to the slender wicket of the cabin, plunged into the midst of the group, sword in hand, oversetting those he first encountered, and advancing up to the foot of the bed, on which the body of an old woman was placed, exclaiming, in his own rough way, with his eyes distended to the utmost extent by intoxication

"How now, ye secret black and midnight hags,

What is't ye do?"

Thunderstruck by the figure of the apparition, and the tones which proceeded from it, some of the mourners sought shelter under the bed, others crept half way up the chimney, while the remainder sallied out into the lane, praying, most fervently, to be released from the visitation of the devil, for a human being none could suppose George, who, left alone with the shrivelled re

mains of the old peasant, taking her parchmentcoloured hand, pathetically exclaimed

"O, my love! my wife!

Death that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
Thou art not conquered-beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson on thy lips."-

"Beauty!-no, hang me, if it is though;
Avaunt, thou horrid spectre !"

"But stop," said George, for his eye at that instant rested on a jug of whiskey punch, smoking in the chimney corner;-he eagerly grasped the handle and cried,

"Here's to my love."

The affrighted company taking by degrees a little courage, ventured, one by one, to peep through the key-hole, and then observing George had thrown away his sword, returned into the apartment, when he, in order to encourage them, exclaimed-" Don't fear me; 'tis only George Frederick Cooke; come, sit down, I'll smoke with you, and drink with you, aye, and pray with you, my jolly lads and lasses." Thus re-assured, George became gradually a great favourite with them, and revelled in the delights of tobacco and whiskey, "until his eye-lids could no longer