Goose"-Mrs. Dickons-"Two Faces under a Hood"- Harlequin in his Element"-Charles Incledon-Mr. Lewis -"Bonifacio and Bridgetina"-Retirement of Mrs. Mat- tocks-Death of Mr. Hull-Trips to Nottingham, to the West, and to Deal to act for brother Cecil-Eleventh cam- paign, and destruction of Covent-Garden Theatre" Forest of Hermanstadt," my first and only production at the King's Theatre-Little Theatre-Mark Lonsdale-I withdraw my wife from Covent-Garden-Destruction of Drury-Lane The- atre-His present Majesty lays the first stone of New Covent-Garden-Retirement of Mr. Lewis-New Theatre built with extraordinary celerity-Twelfth campaign at Covent-Garden-O. P. Row-" The Jubilee"-" Harle- quin Pedlar"-Kind letter from Sir William-Close my annual engagement at Covent-Garden-Rural retirement- Surrey Theatre-A birth and christening-" Up to Town" -Conquest of Java-" Secret Mine"-Lyceum Theatre— CORRECTIONS. In vol. I. page 257, the name of Mrs. Siddons is accident- THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THOMAS DIBDI N. CHAP. I. FROM 1771 TO 1785. When I was a little tiny boy.-SHAKSPEARE. Commencement of my life-Fears, hopes, and promises to avoid future digression-Amazing chronological coincidences-Birth, parentage, and education-(Life, character, and behaviour to come presently)-Characteristic introductions to professional life-Musical tuition-School instruction, &c. &c. 1826, I am beginsincere wish that I On the last day of June, ning my Life, with the most had arrived at the end of it. When I first contemplated inflicting these retrospections on a public whose kindness I have so frequently ex VOL. I. perienced, I saw nothing in perspective but unvaried sunshine. Every little disaster I may have to relate (said I) will be read with the tenderest sympathy, and every whimsical incident will furnish a paysage riante" in my biographical landscape: but when I reflect how many of my former contemporaries, to whom some features of my narrative would probably have proved interesting, are now no more; when I reflect how many of those who remain have lost all taste for theatricals; how many other "Reminiscences," "Recollections," "Lives," "Times," and "Memoirs" have, in the short space of a twelvemonth, anticipated more than half my store of anecdote, and satiated the town with real good things, I begin to fear, that unless the reader's appetite Can grow on what it fed he will here find but a wearisome "Life" of it, unless he set out with a determination, as I always do on a journey, to be as pleased with every thing on the road as possible. The author of nearly two centenaries of dramatic attempts will obtain very little credit with any class of readers by professions of diffidence, and gain no sort of critical consideration by venturing to ask it; I shall therefore frankly state, I have numerous and cogent reasons for essay ing this task, and putting inclination and vanity hors du combat: if I find the book worth writing, it will be my interest, as well as my duty, to endeavour to make it worth reading. Some of the difficulties and comforts of the undertaking have flitted across my imagination in the following " questionable shapes:" First comes "I," and truly the greatest enemy I ever had; and which, to a writer who professes abjuration of all personalities, is a most dangerous and seductive pronoun, whose egotistical and impertinent interference on all occasions will not only be an eye-sore (no pun, upon my honour!) to the reader, but a tiresome recurrence to myself; so much so, that unless I have all my eyes about me, (as I dare not emulate the style of Cæsar, and write in the third person,) I shall have to say with the school-boy "egomet I myself," in every line. Next comes that intuitive partiality for the important personage described and represented by the aforesaid self-sufficient pronoun: it is not in human nature to get rid of it; and I defy the meekest of the meek to assert with truth, whether, in all self-representations or narratives of his own actions, he is not invariably of counsel for himself;-or that even should he tell a story to his own disadvantage, he has not a sort of sneaking kindness, lurking under his humility, for the reputation he expects to acquire of ingenuousness and candour: accuse me as you will, reader, of illustrating an old proverb about "measuring corn," and "one's own bushel," &c. &c. I can resolutely assure you, however the following memoirs may seem to contradict the assertion, I am but man, and not exactly the most perfect of my species; and therefore you must judge of I, while talking of I, cum grano salis. Somebody says, somewhere, or something very like it, in an old epitaph, His history you may thus comprise :- Born, dead, and buried-Here he lies. And so do most folks who write their own memoirs; memory, in matters of self, is so deceitful. Yet I have one security to offer my perusers; most of the main points in my story corroborate themselves so completely by their notoriety, that were I even inclined to let human nature lead me astray, the certainty of detection would be sufficient to preserve my honesty. The third grand obstacle opposed to my undertaking is the dread of criticism: observe, I deprecate it not, although I tremble; for cri |