There was during the early part of my career an actor of the name of Lovegrove, who made a most successful début in London in the character of Lord Ogleby, and retained his position until death prematurely deprived the stage of an ornament. Mr. Rae also appeared in Bath, and with all the advantages of patronage. He accidentally forgot to mention that he had assisted in lighting Hymen's torch; and several old maids, a class both numerous and influential in that city, took a deep interest in his success; and one of these antiques became the mother.- be it not irreverently spoken of the following offspring:

'BATH long had mourn'd her favorite son,

The lively, varying ELLISTON;

But soon her loss full to repay,

Bade shine a bright and glowing RAE.'

In person he was handsome, and in manners refined and gentlemanlike, although perhaps rather affected. He was fortunate in his career, and held a prominent situation in Drury-Lane Theatre, of which establishment he became stage-manager. His talent was unquestionably mediocre.

I was not satisfied at this time with treading one thorny path, but took it into my head to write a series of essays, which were published by my friend Mr. Meyler, a very influential person, and proprietor and editor of the Bath Herald. I was rather a favorite with him, for I always made it a point to laugh at his jokes and compassionate his gout. He ushered my essays into the world under the title of The Contemplator ;' the Contemplator, by a boy of eighteen!! I never heard of their having been translated into any foreign language; but I do not hold myself responsible for the want of taste here exemplified. I had the honor of dedicating them by permission to the Lady WILLOUGHBY D'ERESBY, the hereditary High Chamberlain of England; and the amiable character and position of this lady rendered it sufficiently flattering to my vanity.

THE UNFORTUNATE CONWAY.

I FIND I have neglected to mention an actor who stood sufficiently forward, both by his position and his misfortunes, to be entitled to a respectful notice; I mean Mr. CONWAY. He was said to be the illegitimate offspring of a distinguished nobleman; but whether his own pride prevented his making advances, and he was resolved to lay the foundation of his own fame and fortune, or whether he met with a check upon his own natural feelings from one who was bound to support him, I know not; but gifted as he was with a commanding person, a most gentlemanlike deportment, and advantages peculiarly adapted for the stage, it is no wonder that the histrionic art held forth inducements and hopes of obtaining a brighter position than any other career open to him, without the aid of pecuniary means, and the patronage which was withheld from him. He made his appearance in 1813, the season previous to KEAN, in the character of Alexander the Great.' He met with a very flattering reception, and produced a great effect upon the fair sex. Indeed the actors, who are upon these occasions lynx-eyed, could not avoid

their remarks upon a certain Dutchess, who never missed one of his performances, and appeared to take the deepest interest in his success. CONWAY was upward of six feet in height. He was deficient in strong intellectual expression, yet he had the reputation of being very handsome. His head was too small for his frame, and his complexion too light and sanguine for the profound and varied emotions of deep tragedy. There was a tinge of affectation in his deportment, which had the effect of creating among many a strong feeling of prejudice against him. His bearing was always gentlemanlike, and with the exception of a slight superciliousness of manner, amiable to every body; and his talent, though not of the highest order, was still sufficiently prominent to enable him to maintain a distinguished position. And yet this man, with so little to justify spleen, was literally, from an unaccountable prejudice, driven from the stage by one of the leading weekly journals, edited by a gentleman whose biting satire was death to those who had the misfortune to come under his lash. In complete disgust, he retired from the boards, and filled the humble situation of prompter at the Haymarket. Theatre, but afterward left for the United States, where he became a great favorite. But the canker was at his heart. He again quitted the stage, and prepared himself for the church. But there again he was foiled. The ministers of our holy religion refused to receive him, not from any moral stain upon his character, but because he had been an actor. What is to become of the priesthood, who in the early periods were the only actors, and selected scriptural subjects for representation? He left in a packet for Savannah, overwhelmed with misery and disappointment. Ushered into the world by a parent who would not acknowledge him; driven out of it in the belief that he was the proscribed of heaven. At the moment they were passing the bar at Charleston, he threw himself overboard. Efforts were made to save him; a settee was thrown over for him to cling to, until they could adopt more decisive measures for his rescue. He saw the object; but his resolution was taken. He waved his hand, and sunk to rise no more. I have reason to believe that the gentleman to whom I have alluded, as having made such fearful use of his editorial powers, felt bitterly when the news of his ill-timed death arrived. He also is now no more. Poor CONWAY! had he possessed more nerve, he might still have triumphed over the unkindness of his fate :

THE chief passion of my ancestor was hunting, which he practised incessantly, to the great disgust of his father, who was a farmer, and of his grand-father, who was a clergyman at Deerfield, Massachusetts. Under the auspices of this reverend gentleman, who was no other than the celebrated Dr. Ezekiel Carver, and who was earnest that his grandson should follow in his own footsteps, my ancestor had been honored with the name of a stubborn old puritan governor, whose character was the doctor's beau-ideal of earthly excellence. He was called Endicott Carver. I take pains thus early to mention his designation, that I may have a handle always ready to seize hold of him by; and not be reduced to such awkward expedients as calling him 'our hero,' or 'the subject of our story,' after the fashion of less provident historians.

Endicott was hunting one day among the mountains of the Taconic range, in the extreme south-west corner of the province of Massachusetts Bay. As evening approached, and he began to think of his night's shelter, he recollected to have heard that a few restless pioneers from the borders of the bay had the year before built their cluster of loghouses in the midst of those woods and mountains. Preferring the shelter of a roof to that of a hemlock tree, he began to search for the settlement. At length after scrambling down the steep sides of a hill, he struck upon a broad new path, which would have led him to the hamlet, had he known which way to follow it. He turned to the left at random, and had not gone far, before the road, which was obstructed by roots, stumps, and fallen trees, and perfectly shaded by the over-arching boughs of the dense wood, began to descend. It expanded at length into a new clearing, with its usual attractive spectacle of burnt trunks of trees, standing grimly upright, with great piles of black half-consumed logs and brushwood, the whole girt around by the gloomy border of forest trees, whose foliage was miserably scorched by the fire that had lately destroyed their fallen

brethren. It was a dreary scene; but the light of the setting sun that now poured into the opening, gilding the tall summits of the wretched half-burnt pines, gave an air of picturesque wildness to its desolation.

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My ancestor had now the opportunity to look about him. He saw that he was in the midst of mountains, rearing their rocky and wooded summits all around, while far distant, through one of their openings, lay in misty perspective the valley of the Hudson, and the blue Catskills. The peaceful June sunlight was still reposing on the craggy tops of the mountains; no trace of human labor was visible; all was silent as midnight, except a low sound of falling water, where some mountain stream was flinging itself into the deep hollow that my ancestor could see just below him. After walking a few moments more, he found himself in a long narrow valley, through which a clear stream ran swiftly. It was shut in between parallel mountains that gradually approached each other as he passed on. The banks of the stream had been partially cleared here was a tract of dead, girdled trees, with sickly Indian corn growing in the intervening spaces; and here a field, of wheat, interspersed with blackened stumps. Soon after, in the increasing darkness, he could discern a neat log-house, surrounded by some rigid and shaggy pines, that gave the place a rude, wild air, much increased by a waterfall just beyond. When Endicott came opposite the house, he saw no means provided for crossing the stream dry-shod; so he stepped into the water and waded over; for he was too good a woodsman to be scrupulous in such matters. The ducks and hens around the house set up a loud cackling at his intrusion, at which an old man appeared from behind a corner of the building, where he had been digging in a kitchengarden. He approached my ancestor with the utmost deliberation, looking at him with no very hospitable eye. He was six feet and a quarter high, but sallow and sharp-featured, and so emaciated in his limbs that his clothes seemed hung on a skeleton. There was a little old clay-pipe in his mouth, at which he did not cease puffing, while he was giving a cold and unwilling assent to my ancestor's request for a night's lodging.

Endicott stared hard at his ill-favored host. He was sure that he had seen him before. His doubts were removed, and changed to surprise, when on entering the house he found there an old woman of very good appearance, but bearing deep marks of sorrow on her face, and a tall, black-eyed girl, whom he immediately recognized as an old partner of his in many a dance and country frolic. Combining certain reports he had heard with what he now saw, Endicott had acuteness enough to hit the clue to the mystery. The man had been a rich dishonest adventurer, who not having skill enough to make his practices turn always to his own advantage, had become involved in debt and beset by duns; to say nothing of the evil odor. into which he had fallen with the community. It is but fair to say, that while he was looked upon with contempt, his wife, a woman of education and excellent character, was respected and pitied, while his daughter was the admiration of the whole country round, and undeniably the belle of her native town of Concord. Suddenly the family disappeared; no one could say whither they had gone; but the truth was, that the old man had taken a resolution to run away from his perplexities, and hide somewhere in the back-woods.