REMARKS.

Wildfire Bick.

THIS little drama was first performed at the Leeds Theatre, December 15, 1836, MR. COMPTON, now of Drury Lane, supporting the character of Drill. Nearly the whole of the third scene was afterwards added, and the piece produced at Sadler's Wells, London, Nov. 6, 1837, where it met with the most decided success. The characters in Mr. Middleton's farce are all ably drawn. It is a painful thing for him to reflect that he was indebted to a provincial theatre for its introduction to the public, and this fact alone proves there must be "something rotten in the state of Denmark." Authors not being able to bear the contumely heaped upon them at the large houses, and feeling themselves ill-used, have assisted in creating fresh channels for support by a more frivolous and easy composition; for what man that has ever seen the piles of rejected tragedies-rejected sometimes without any thing like due consideration, or from an alleged cause equally shameful, that this part Macready won't study, and that part there is no lady to represent, &c. &c.-would ever think of braining himself beyond the weekly trifles now in use; and for performers, turn to half the minor houses, and you will recognise in various situations, those, who instead of being driven away, would have been too proud of the opportunity of being established at theatres, whose first-rate importance thereby, would have been maintained and cherished instead of being deteriorated. And with regard to the accommodation of the Public, when at these giant houses, how many volumes might be written. Orders should be more limited, none allowed but for the Press; and instead of actors being a drawback upon the theatre they should throw in their support, and, indeed, would require no such privilege were it not made a consideration for an abatement of their full salary. The Free Admissions, also, of Renters, &c. is a heavy pull, acting as a dead weight upon the nightly receipts; these burdens, by Parliamentary grant or otherwise, must be got rid of; for so long as these drawbacks exist it is unfair to say the legitimate Drama will not answer. Again, refer to the

manner in which the plays have been cast; see the want of discrimination observable in placing actors in situations calculated to reflect neither credit on themselves nor benefit to their employers. People will put up with many privations to be amused, and with plays efficiently cast, the Theatres, instead of being as they now are, a disgrace to the nation, would arise in redoubled power, owing to the improvement of the times, and consequently the better power of discrimination in an audience. Should, however, these proper means be found insufficient, and attended by private loss, it then becomes necessary to preserve the purity of our language, and to support the Dramatic Literature of our own country, that the National Theatres or others under the charge of government be established, when so close a consideration of pounds, shillings, and pence may not be necessary, when the public good is at stake, and where Actors may set at defiance petty pique, and find shelter when age or accident renders it seemly for them to retire, to make room for others, for new faces are as necessary to a Theatre as new clothes are for the body. We get tired by frequent repetition of the best things, and how much soever we may all regret that our outward man is of no longer duration, yet the moment that an Actor's appearance and powers have yielded to time and mortal custom, however our best sympathies may be awakened, yet on the stage there is no room for this indulgent feeling, but like the high-mettled racer, when time has destroyed his powers, he must secede, as was the case with poor Palmer, the hero of the farce now under review, the last character, by the way, poor Palmer ever sustained on the stage, who, unable to contend against an untimely decay of his constitution, sank in the full flower of his age, leaving a young and worthy widow to the tender mercies of "a generous and enlightened public." Generous! Ye Gods! Twenty pounds was about the product of a night gotten up by a few charitable individuals, for the "Benefit of the widow of the late Stephen Palmer." There was little of charity in all this. The public paid to be amused, and we fear that the "sins" covered upon the occasion did not amount in Scriptural language to a "multitude." PHILO DRAMATICUS.

WILDFIRE DICK.

SCENE I.

Interior of a room in Wildfire's lodgings-Tables, chairs, paper, pens, inkstand, &c.-DRILL discovered sitting at table, L. looking over a long scroll of paper:

Drill. One hundred and fifty nine pounds, nine shillings, and eleven pence. It's positively shocking! I have a decided objection to interfere with another man's affairs, but I must say, this young master of mine is the most unconscionable scapegrace that ever was born of woman. [Advancing.] Yes, certainly, for driving a pair of tits fifteen miles an hour, upsetting a jarvey, bilking a policeman, throwing the dice, coaxing a maid, and pleasing a mistress, I'll back him against any three of the oldest stagers in the metropolis. But as the old saw says, "Every dog has his day; yet I shall be much mistaken if Wildfire Dick doesn't come to the end of his a very great deal sooner than he anticipates. This is the third bill I have received since morning, and if it alone is not somewhere near the extent of his purse, I'm seriously wrong in my calculations. But here he comes.

Enter WILDFire, r.

Wild. Hollo! Drill, my boy, where are you ?

Drill. Sir, your obedient servant. I trust you have had an agreeable walk.

Wild. No, Drill; there is no walking now-a-days. I no sooner set out than a couple of bailiffs set to; well I gave

them a run up one street, doubled round the corner of año. ther, and fairly distanced them in a third How shall I sa- fo tisfy them, Dick?

Drill. Why, weren't they satisfied after all that?

Wild. Come, come, don't joke me.

Drill. Well, Sir, since you wish to be serious, I should seriously recommend you to reform your conduct.

Wild. Pshaw! nonsense, nonsense, man! what has conduct to do in the matter?

Drill. Why, you must be thoroughly convinced, Sir, that it is nothing but your high living by which you have been brought so low; and I really think it would be better for you

Wild. To throw myself into the hands of my merciless creditors-be marched off to the sponging house-prisoned up like a bird in a hen roost-live upon light diet-schedule out, and honourably start off in the world as an honest tradesman after all, I suppose?

Drill. Yes, Sir, regularly whitewashed.

Wild. No, no, Drill; it won't do.

Drill. Then my advice is not worth following, it appears? [Showing the bill.] Sir!

Wild. What! another bill?

Drill. Yes; twelve months after date, excepted at sight, I presume?

Wild. Ay, ay, throw it amongst the others, Drill-they must all be dishonoured [Drill throws bill on to the table.] And now, my good fellow, you are half as true to your master as you profess to be, my present situation affords you a most favorable opportunity for manifesting your fidelity.

Drill. Indeed, Sir.

Wild. Yes, Drill, if you now stick close to me

Drill. I shall some day or other be sticking like a scarecrow on the gallows at the old Bailey, I suppose a very pleasing reflection for a man of my character.

Wild. No; you shall be a watchman to-night, a traveller to-morrow, a sailor the day following, and finally, a retired gentleman's gentleman, enjoying the salubrious air of a continental coast.

Drill. Why, 'gad Sir, that will be so foreign, I shan't know myself.

Wild. Nor my creditors either, should they happen to appear.

Drill. Stay there; I'm too familiar with their looks to orget them so easily.

Wild. Well, well; will you accompany me or not??

Drill. Certainly I will, Sir; how is it possible I can efuse? [Aside.] An inspired gentleman's gentleman, enoying the protuberous fair on a penitential coast; lord! what a swell I shall cut amongst the little ones.

Wild. But I say, Drill, before we leave town, I shall want you to assist me in another adventure.

Drill. Surely, Sir, you cannot mean it?

Wild. I do though it will be the last-the last-the very last. I met with such a sweet little woman at the Opera, last night-oh! Drill, you cannot imagine such a beautiful, angelic creature; she was-nay, in short, what was she not?

Drill. Why, I should say, not a quarter so beautiful as the little bar-maid you caught me playing at bob-cherry with, in the pantry the other day. But who may this lady of yours be, Sir.

Wild. The wife of a gallant sailor, Lieutenant Dorval.

Drill, [Aside.] It's positively shocking! Why, surely you're not going to run foul of Cape Horn before we start? Lieutenant! oh! I shudder to think of it, Sir.

Wild. No, no, you quite mistake me; my intentions are of the most honourable nature imaginable. The Lieutenant being absent from home this evening, I merely intend to avail myself of the opportunity, and-and-you perfectly understand me.

Drill. Not at all, Sir.

Wild. Why, I shall wait upon his lady, spend the evening at her hospitable mansion, enjoy a game of ecarte, &c. Humph! very innocent recreation is it not?

Drill. Innocent enough, Sir. [Aside.] I don't half like a thing that ends with etceteras though.

Wild. Ay, but should the Lieutenant return and find his lady in company with

Drill. You, Sir, you! so renowned a gallant, he might be a little jealous without the least occasion, and transport you, in the twirling of a hand-spike, from Good Hope to Davis Straits.

Wild. Right, my good fellow, and to avoid all unpleasantness of this nature, I have arranged that, while I am en- € joying myself in the inside of the house, you shall stand sentinel on the outside.