Next to the pyxis itself, the most remarkable piece is a silver capsula, which, from the chains appended to it, appears to have been carried about on the arm. It is one foot in height, and is, at the base, one foot and two or three inches broad. It is a regular polygon of sixteen sides, which corners are all rounded off into a circle where the lid is inserted. The first glance is sufficient to suggest the resemblance which this bears to the receptacles of book-rolls which are often to be seen on ancient monuments, for example, at the feet of the Muses, or wrapped in the folds of the toga; although in general the form of these is either square, or, in the decline of taste, cylindrical or circular. The capsula was used by the Romans, in travelling, for the accommodation of a small library; and in their own apartments, for the purpose of preserving books of an unusual value. The figures in relievo, on the sixteen sides of this capsula, harmonize very well with this idea of its destination. These are the nine Muses, eight of them around the capsula, each alternate surface being occupied by a garland of flowers. The ninth Muse is on the flat summit of the whole,Erato, it is probable, the Muse that united love and poetry, and therefore the fittest to preside over the dressing table of a beauty. The other Muses are indeed distinguished by their appropriate emblemata.

On one of the intermediate spaces there is a lock and bolt, for the security of the precious rolls. But why all this learned apparatus at the toilette of a Roman lady? Might the whole capsula not be meant for holding loveletters and billets-doux? For this no such formal preparation had been necessary. The safest place for such deposits was in the girdle, or below the bosom-band (the strophium), close to the heart. But there were learned ladies among the Romans as well as among ourselves; and why might not Asteria be a Blue Stocking? We have Ovid's authority, that the Roman ladies were as fond of Menander as ever the French Bas Bleus were of their Florian or Picard. Even of romances, at that time called Milesian tales, there was no dearth.-But luckily there is no need for so much conjecture. The capsula's contents have been preserved, as well as itself.

We have all read of the astonishment of a young heir, who, in tumbling over the library of his grandfather, shook from the centre of one of the fathers a purse of beautiful louis d'or. Our fair readers will guess what was the astonishment of the worthy antiquarian, Baron von Schellersheim, who lifted the lid of his capsula librorum with the expectation of drawing forth some precious fragments of Menander or Sapho, and found nothing but five salve-boxes and essence-vials. In the midst of the capsula there is a copper tablet with five openings, one of a larger, and four around it of a smaller size. In these openings, originally, no doubt, intended for MSS., were found the receptacles of pomatums and lotions. Alexander threw out the balsams from the casket of Darius, and inserted the Iliad in their stead: our Asteria followed quite a different course; with her the books gave place to the essences. But our readers must not be too severe on Asteria. We have ourselves seen modern books, and pretty books too, which, on examination, turned out to be snuff-boxes-or counterboxes; and Prince Potenikin, it is well known, had a number of booksthe chief objects of his attentionwhich were filled with Russian bank assignats. We remember to have read of the surprise of a German traveller, who opened a large and splendid quarto in the apartment of a French lady, and found it to contain-the very reverse of what occupied the capsula of Asteria.

*

Besides these two principal pieces, there are a variety of lesser articles appertaining to the Trousseau, or, as the Roman jurisconsults would have called it, the Mundus Muliebris of Asteria; several small silver paterae and ewers, with ciphers on them; one beautiful little vase covered with Arabesques, without doubt for nard or incense; several small toilette-spoons for dropping out essences, or tasting sweetmeats or liqueurs. There is also a silver hollow hand for holding a taper; for the ancients always preferred natural forms to artificial, and hands of this kind are seen on all kinds of monuments,what a contrast to some of our clumsy

* Zwey briefe u. d. neuesten veranderungen in Reussland. Zurich 1797. see p.

80.

and tasteless inventions. The last piece is a human head of silver, belonging to the awning of a litter, and. four sitting figures of exquisite beauty, with screw-ends-for ornamenting the extremities of the poles, by which Asteria's palanquin was carried.

All this was within the chest. Close by it there were found, at the same time, two little pieces, whose form and execution prove them to have belonged to a more elegant age than that of Asteria. The first is a bronze vessel, the only thing of that metal in the whole collection. It is an ewer, in the form of a female head, having a double row of pearls round the forehead, and the hair interwoven with bandlets. Nothing is more common than vessels of this kind in this beautiful form. The swelling above the head is borrowed from the Caryatides, and forms commonly the neck of the vessel. It is worthy of notice, that the eyes, and other small ornaments of this vessel, are of silver inlaid on the bronze, a fashion very common even in the case of the marble statues of antiquity, although not exactly reconcileable with our ideas of simplicity.*

But the most beautiful of all is unquestionably a large silver patera, in the midst of which there is an exquisite representation of Venus rising from the sea-the Venus Anadyomene. "Equoreo madidas quæ premit imbre comas."+

The very handle of this patera is a dorned with a most graceful carving of Adonis, the lover of Venus, represented en heros, with his lance, but having, in token of his passion for the chace, a favourite dog at his feet.

What might not our goldsmiths, porcelain manufacturers, and decoration-artists, learn even from the smallest, and apparently least important, parts of antique workmanship? What use might they not make of those natural forms, those heads, hands, paws, serpents, &c. so endlessly, and yet so gracefully, introduced by the artists of the Greeks?

The Colossal Pallas of Phidias had precious stones in the eyes. See Plin. xxxiii. 3.20.

See also Visconti Busti di Museo Pio-clementino, vol. vi. p. 11. and the Monumens Antiques du Musée Napoleon, lib. ix. p. 16. The custom was of oriental or Egyptian origin.

+Ovid, ex. Pont. iv. 1. 29.

THESE are the memoirs of an unfortunate veteran of the stage, who is now concluding a long life of unsuccessful labour by an old age of penury and wretchedness. The theatrical talents of Mr Everard, it appears, were never sufficient to maintain him in the first walks of his profession; and he has ever been one of those obscure but useful performers, on whom devolves most of the drudgery of the stage, but little of the applause. The work (as the memoirs of actors generally are) is extremely entertaining, and contains much amusing anecdote and green-room scandal. There is no profession so much separated from the pursuits of the rest of the world as that of an actor. What is our pleasure is their business; and the public, who are generally kept before the curtain, are always glad to get a peep behind it. We love to mingle with those whom we have hitherto seen only in an assumed character, and for a time to behold them in their own. We can assure those, therefore, who wish to become acquainted with all the petty arts, bickerings, and jealousies of the green-room, that they will have their curiosity amply gratified by the perusal of the present volume.

If autobiography is excusable in any man, it is surely so in a case like the present, where the unfortunate narrator only resorts to it as a last endeavour to derive from his past misfortunes something which may enable him to sink in peace and comfort to the grave.

At the advanced age Mr Everard has now attained, this is all he can expect, and what we most sincerely trust he will be enabled to obtain.

It is not our intention to enter on a review of the present work, which, however, is sufficiently creditable both to his principles and his talents. We shall, however, give a summary view of his unfortunate career, and extract from it a few theatrical anecdotes, from

Memoirs of an Unfortunate Son of Thespis; being a Sketch of the Life of Edward Cape Everard, Comedian, Twentythree Years of the Theatre-Royal, DruryLane, London, and Pupil of the late David Garrick, Esq.; with Reflections, Remarks, and Anecdotes. Written by Himself. Royal 18mo. pp. 274. Edinburgh. 1818.

which we think our readers will derive some entertainment.

The parents of Mr Everard were respectable plebeians, who died in an humble situation, "leaving no blot on their fame." On account, however, of some casual resemblance to Mr Garrick, it was rumoured by the scandalmongers of the theatre, that he was indebted for his being to the unlawful embraces of the great Roscius; an opinion which, though utterly without foundation, Mr Everard was weak and vain enough to encourage, thus venturing to cast an imputation on the character of his mother, which, even by his own shewing, it was impossible she could deserve. On the death of his parents, he became an inmate of his uncle, Mr Cape, who kept a lodging-house in the Piazza, Covent-garden. This vicinity to the stage produced its natural effect; and he soon after came out at Covent-garden in the character of Cupid. He shewed considerable talents for dancing, and was placed under the tuition of an eminent master of that art, and had the honour of becoming a fellow-scholar of the celebrated Nuncy Dawson. From his extreme youth, he became a favourite with the public, and, it would appear, gave promise of talents for the stage which he never afterwards fully realised. He attracted likewise much notice from Mr Garrick, who gave him occasional instructions, and encouraged him to persist in his theatrical career. For some years he continued to perform on the London stage with considerable success, but was at length left without an engagement, and compelled to seek a precarious subsistence by becoming an itinerant performer in the provincial theatres. It were needless to pursue him farther. The narrative of his

succeeding life exhibits only a picture of respectable mediocrity labouring to attain success, but for the most part encountering disappointment. Those, however, who choose to read the work itself, will find it not unentertaining. We recommend it particularly to the perusal of all young stage-aspirants, who will there become acquainted with all the difficulties that await them, and learn how

"Hard is his fate, whom evil stars have led To seek in scenic art precarious bread."

To the present theatrical mania, we think, it will afford a complete anti

dote, and (if the would-be Romeos have one spark of common sense left) lead them to turn their abilities to some more profitable and respectable occupation.

The galaxy of talent which adorned the stage in the days of Garrick, Barry, Powell, Palmer, Mossop, Foote, Quin, Macklin, Clive, Pritchard, and Woffington, has since been wholly unrivalled. They not only raised their profession from the degraded condition to which it had been reduced, but succeeded, in a certain degree, in giving a tone and character to the taste and manners of the times in which they lived. The theatre and its affairs then occupied a much greater share of the public attention than they have since been able to attract. The witticisms of the greenroom were quoted in polite society, and the names of Garrick, Quin, Foote, and Palmer, have not only been transmitted to us as those of great actors, but as the first wits of their day. It was among these great men that Mr Everard made his theatrical debût; and we have many new and curious anecdotes, illustrative of their character and temper, in the work before us. We shall extract at random the following account of Mr Barry and Mr Garrick. We think he has discriminated their different excellences with considerable judgment.

"I remember the great Barry, in his de cline, could scarcely walk off the stage in his unequalled Othello; and, after, he was too old for playing Old King Lear. He was, as Mr Fawcett observed, the "afflicted actor, under the real pressure of age and infirmity." And when the audience plainly saw that he could scarcely stand, that he could not kneel down without help, or rise again without evident pain to himself and great support, they forgot "King Lear," and remembered he was " Barry." Romeo, all that may be called love parts, none ever Othello, Marc Anthony, Varanes, and in

equalled him, I believe; his voice was so sweet and harmonious, that he was called the silver-toned Barry, the tuneful swan." His figure, too, was tall and even handsome, and in Romeo none could have stood against him but a Garrick. They played it in opposition at the different theatres twelve successive nights. In the balcony or love

scenes, with Juliet, in the 2d and 3d acts, the critics gave Barry the preference; the 1st act, the scene with the Friar in the 3d act, and the last scene, they allowed it to Garrick; but I think, they never agreed or could determine, which, upon the whole, was greatest. Garrick then attacked him in

his favourite character of Othello, but without success; indeed it may be said, it was the only part he ever failed in; yet I have heard it said by those who were reputed good judges, that he struck out many new beauties in it, never before hit upon;-his not succeeding might, in a great measure, be attributed to his want of height, being much below Barry's ;-he also dressed it in a shape which was not then the custom. It was, too, the fashion of those days for ladies of quality to have a little black boy, in a fancy dress and turban, to wait on them with the tea-table equipage; and the celebrated actor Quin, being in one of these parties, was asked what he thought of Garrick's Othello? Why,' says he, the boy plays it well enough; but confound it, whenever he came on, he put me in mind of little Pompey there with the tea-kettle.' This ludicrous remark hurt him more than his want of figure;-he immediately gave it up, and soon was universally admired in the same tragedy, by his judicious acting in Iago. In King Lear, Jaffier, and many other parts, they were likewise powerful rivals. Their opposition in the first occasioned some remarks, which I remember reading in a paper with the following lines: "The town has found two different ways To praise the different Lears; To Barry they give loud huzzas,

To Garrick only tears!" Which had the greater compliment, I submit to the judicious reader."

The jealous irascibility of the temper of Mr Garrick is well illustrated by the next anecdote we shall lay before our readers.

"As Garrick advanced in life, and still increasing reputation, so he still, if possible, became more and more tenacious of it, and more easily disconcerted; therefore, during the last two years of his acting, he requested the musicians not to leave the orchestra for the future when he played tragedy, as their going in and out, and the doors opening and shutting, caught his eye and ear, and distressed him. Till this time, after playing the music between the acts, the band used to bob under the stage, and in their music-room enjoy themselves quietly at a game of whist or drafts, till the prompter's bell gave them warning that the act was just over: this in future they were obliged to forego when he performed tragedy. His first part after this order was Macbeth; and, conformably to the same, all the musicians reluctantly kept their seats. But a Mr Cervetto, well known to the galleries by the appellation of Nosey,' who had belonged to the theatre above forty years, and repeatedly seen Garrick in all his characters, now deprived of his customary indulgence, found it difficult to keep awake during the first act; after playing the music to which, he profoundly fell asleep! The longest pause that Garrick ever made was in this

part, and in the second act, previous to his saying,

sup

Is this a dagger that I see before me?' "At this moment the house was all eyes and ears, all silence, all attention; pose no one thought they were in a theatre; the "very cunning of the scene" had obtained the deception which it aims at, and wholly engrossed all their faculties. At this critical moment, unfortunately, poor Cervetto awoke with an uncommon gape; a loud, long, uncouth, tremendous gape! such a one ne'er heard before! The howling of a dog, compared to it, was harmony! Had a loaded gun been fired among the audience, they could not have been more alarmed: they were electrified,-then, in a few seconds, went into a general laugh; indeed 'twas irresistible. However, they restored themselves to order, and Garrick became composed as soon as possible; but when once he got into his room, after the play was over, the storm broke out. He demanded to know who it was that made that infernal noise from the orchestra. On being told, Cervetto was brought up to him; and perhaps no criminal ever came before a judge with more anxiety and trepidation than he did to Garrick.

"On his entering, the enraged Roscius incoherently exclaimed, What! is it possible? can it be you, sir? is it you, who have been in the house with me so many years? is it you that made that cursed outlandish noise from the orchestra, and set the whole audience in a roar of laughter ?' He went on, till poor Cervetto could just get an opening to say, Sir, I am extremely sorry." Confound your sorrow, sir! what's your sorrow to me? You have ruined me; I could not recover myself the whole night; all the reputation I have gained in forty years, I have lost in two hours by your execrable noise. You must have been suborned;

Ay,

you've been hired to destroy me; you have joined with assassins, to stab me in the vulnerable part. No, sir, I assure you I was not hired; I abhor the idea, and tomorrow you will do me the justice to believe me, but you are now in a passion.' fall asleep? Did my acting displease you? sir, and no wonder; but how came you to was it so tiresome as to make you go to sleep?' No, sir; but the house was so attentive, so very silent, and your acting was so wonderfully great, so much beyond, I thought, what I have often seen you do in the same part, that I was overcome, quite overpowered with sensations that I cannot express, and involuntarily dropt into sleep. I know not how to account for it, but I

always do so when I am very highly pleased."

Perhaps no theatrical occurrence ever excited a greater sensation in the public than the farewell appearance of the great Roscius on the stage. The following account of his last performance