548 The Si)cophanl. (^Nov. 



helplessly towards the earth, he added, in a low and falteriiifv voice, 

 " and as you called me the sycophant, why, you may call that the syco- 

 phant's grave.'' 



They were his last words — ^he would have fallen on the earth, but 

 CoUingwood caught him in his arms — a quantity of blood rushed from 

 his mouth — his face for a moment was crimson as the gore itself, 

 and then it faded almost as quickly, into the cold and pallid hue of 

 death. H. 



THINGS THEATRICAL. 



The winter season has begun, a season of great joy to the vicinity of 

 Covent Garden, Drury-lane, the Coburg, the Surrey, and a hundred 

 others of the chosen temples of JMelpomene, Thalia, or whatever nymph 

 or goddess presides over tumblers, harlequins, monkeys, and melo-drames. 



Covent Garden has begun, under the fortunate and extraordinary 

 omen of finishing a Chancery suit. This celebrated litigation, which 

 has cost more time, money, and law, than the luckiest decision can ever 

 repay ; whose briefs would cover the two Houses of Parliament with 

 parchment, and whose confusion would to this hour perplex the brains 

 of Lord Eldon himself, has closed ; and relieving Charles Kemble of 

 the third of an incumbrance to the amount of a hundred-and-fifty thou- 

 sand pounds, and Mr. Harris of the anxieties of being in Chancery for 

 the term of his natural life, sets the theatre afloat again, to steer through 

 the whirlpools and shallows of the season, arte sua. 



Young has appeared, for the last season, as he threatens ; but he is 

 too valuable an actor to be suffered to sink into his arm-chair yet, and 

 has too practical a sense of the wisdom of attending to the public wishes, 

 to transgress in this style. He may retire, and no one can help it. But 

 he will regret the step, every hour that he is able to take one from his 

 fireside, and the fact is that tragedy cannot do without him. We must 

 see this accomplished actor and well conducted man, leading the tragic 

 troop of kings and sages, for a season or two more, at least. When we 

 can find a hero and a lover for our Melpomene, like Charles Kemble ; 

 or a monarch and a sage to assist at her majesty of Helicon's councils, 

 like Young, we shall be disposed to give them both leave to retire, but 

 not till then. A long list of new performances is announced as in the 

 manager's Iiands, and we need only say, that novelty is the great charm 

 with the public, and that the opulence of the manager's portfolio can- 

 not too soon be made public property. 



Drury Lane has begun with the most vigorous resolution to melo- 

 dramatize mankind, t j witch the world by noble lionship, and to win 

 golden opinions by more gold and silver scenery, more shewy prodi- 

 gality of procession, more lion-fighting, love-making, and tiger-cat- 

 hunting than ever was seen on human stage before. 



The drama is entitled The Lions of Mysore. Hyder Alt is the royal 

 tyrant, and, under JMr. H. Wallack's auspices, he looks the very fiercest 

 specimen of rage and royalty. M. Martin, the lion's friend — as M. 

 Martin, of Connemara, was the donkey's — acts the victim of his royal 

 rage, as Sadhusing, an Indian, who is robbed of every thing, and driven 

 to bivouac among the lords of the forest. 



Hyder AH pursues Sadhusing, the hero, with all the fury of an 

 Oriental despot ; he borrows his tongue, and then pursues his wife and 



