" COOKE IN AMERICA. It stands not safe with us― The terms of our estate may not endure Out of his lunes."-SHAKSPEARE. MR. COOKE had made an extraordinary impression on the American stage, and his society was anxiously sought in private. Early after his arrival he was invited to dine with a large party, and during the first portion of the time he delighted every body present with his urbanity, politeness, and the marked intelligence of his mind. There were no ladies of the party, and the bottle remained rather too long "in hand;" and in its course the wine suddenly turning to vinegar by the process of fermentation upon the stomach of Cooke, he all at once began to curve his lip, round his elbows, and draw up his head, in scorn of his entertainer and his friends-a transition which confounded every body; in short, Mr. Cooke's natural manner was entirely reversed. He contradicted all that was said; and became altogether so rude and offensive that those present, who had been previously charmed with his bland and well-bred manner and conversation, were now disgusted with his coarseness, and one by one fell off in their notice of him, and entering upon local themes, conversed with each other upon the passing events of their own particular circle. Cooke had discernment enough left to be conscious that he had committed himself, and lost caste with the persons present; and as he filled his glass, on each occasion gathered new ground of dissatisfaction. He felt himself neglected-overlooked. Resentment grew by what it fed on, and promised vengeance in due course; while his hoarded discontent only waited for opportunity to vent itself. It appeared from the conversation, that a robbery had recently taken place in the house of a gentleman present-a very uncommon event in an American city; and he was questioned as to the particulars, which he detailed at some length, and with a minuteness which Cooke deemed quite unworthy the occasion, especially as no part of the account was addressed to him. In fact, his very presence seemed to be forgotten. This mortified him to the quick, and excited his indignation, which was in proportion to his consciousness, notwithstanding the wine he had taken, that the neglect he experienced had been drawn upon him by himself. The relater of the robbery coming to the close of his account, Cooke vainly hoped for a cue which might enable him to exhibit the contempt he now felt for his American associates, but he was in despair of a fitting opportunity for venting his disgust. At this crisis the gentleman observed, in conclusion of his story, that the only serious part of his regret, in relation to the described event, arose from the irreparable loss of the family jewels. Here Cooke's malice found an opening; and uttering an exclamation that almost startled every man upon his legs by its violence, in his most grinding and sarcastic tones, with his face puckered up to an expression of the direst scorn be bellowed forth I "Your what, Sir? Your family jewels!" adding, in an actor's aside, with a gritty laugh, by way of parenthesis, "A Yankee Doodle's family jewels!— what are they, Sir? An American's family jewels! suppose you mean,-the handcuffs and fetters!" With a mildness which spoke honourably of their forbearance, the parties suffered the temporary madman to depart at the close of this outrageous attack without any indication of resentment, though they might have addressed him in the language of the grieved Othello, more in sorrow than in anger, "I love thee, Cassio, but never more be officer of mine," for Mr. Cooke was never again invited by the same party. COOKE IN SCOTLAND. "One cup more, an' thou lovedst me." His COOKE, one day calling upon a bachelor friend in Edinburgh who had ordered an early dinner for the purpose of being at the theatre in good time to witness the great tragedian's performance, invited himself to partake of what was just then upon the table. host, who on the present occasion would rather have dispensed with the tête-à-tête, could not do otherwise than permit the visit; but knowing the necessity of his friend being very abstemious and collected for his coming duty, and being aware of the plague-spot with which Cooke was marked, and could not at all times conceal, he was cautious not to offer him enough to inflame it; and therefore, "not to task his weakness," the host was very chary of his bottle, taking little from it himself, by way of excuse for not passing it often to his guest. Notwithstanding his friendly reserve, Cooke contrived to obtain sufficient wine to render him desirous of more; but the prudent master of the house, who felt his own responsibility at the moment to the whole of the Edinburgh audience, was blind and deaf to the actor's hints, and Cooke, though quite aware that his friend's non-convivial behaviour was wisely and kindly occasioned, nevertheless felt much teased and tantalised by such reserve, and became moody and silent for a time in his discontent. Thus "We often see, against some storms, the bold winds speechless,' At the close of the dinner, the servant, in compliance with Scottish custom, was about to hand the farintosh, which his master had unluckily forgotten to countermand. On the present occasion he caused the delicious poison to be placed near him, and looking anxiously at Cooke, as if he would have said "I am afraid to give you any of this," and at the same time perceiving that his guest waited with expectant lips for the accustomed portion, the host slowly and reluctantly poured out about a third part of the usual quantity, and timidly presenting the wee drappie to his visiter, observed, with a faint smile, "You may venture to drink that, Mr. Cooke, it cannot, I think, hurt you." Cooke was unprepared for this; he "grinned horribly a ghastly smile," and then an awful frown gathered on his stern brow as he surveyed, with the most sovereign contempt, the mere thimble-full offered of the liquor that he loved, and with a rueful expression of disappointment, he neglected to take the offered glass; which his friend mistaking for prudent forbearance, again observed that he thought "it would not hurt him." "No, Sir!" replied his indignant guest, in grating tones of irony, as he held it up, "nor would it if it were H |