A LOVER OF JUSTICE asserts that the memoir of the late Francis Douce, esq., inserted in our Magazine for August, " contains some details of that gentleman's family and connexions, so much at variance with the truth, that it becomes an imperative duty upon one who knows their falsehood, to expose them. Mr. Douce's father never settled at Town Malling, never built a house there, never enjoyed one acre of land there. The writer states, that the conduct of his elder brother UPON THAT OCCASION (his father's death), estranged him from part of his family; that he, Mr. Francis Douce, suspected it was owing to his brother's influence with his father, that his own portion was so small; and that when he was asked whether the desire of founding a family might not have influenced his father, he said, 'No, I owed it to the misrepresentations of my brother, who used to say it was of no use to leave me money, for I should waste it in books.' Here, see the miserable apology for placing about 50,000l. in the pockets of the Rev. Mr. Goddard and Mr. Singer, (because, as the writer of your article modestly asserts, he was 'warmly attached to the first from his youth,' and had lived in 'habits of intimate friendship' with the last, for upwards of twenty years') while, from the vast accumulation of wealth he was enabled to leave behind, there is an apportionment, among the eight surviving children of his two brothers, of the munificent sum of 40001. The brother thus traduced (who lived esteemed by all who knew him for his amiable manners, and the remembrance of whom is still warmly cherished by those who survive him) was the eldest son of his father; he formed a connexion with one of the two daughters and coheiresses of Benjamin Hubble, esq., of Town Malling, a gentleman possessing a considerable landed estate there; which, in consideration of a corresponding settlement made by Mr. Douce's father, became vested in Mr. Thomas Douce, and the issue of that marriage. Is this of unusual occurrence? is it very unnatural in a father to assist in promoting the interest of an eldest son by a competent settlement in exchange for the larger accession of fortune which Mr. Hubble bestowed upon his daughter? was this arrangement kept a profound secret from Mr. Francis Douce, during the whole period of his lengthened life? was it inconsistent, was it unjust? How dare, then, this writer to assert

that Mr. Francis Douce discovered, to his

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great surprise, that his elder brother had contrived to monopolize two-thirds of the paternal estate?' how dare he insinuate that owing to the misrepresentations' of this elder brother, he was deprived of a participation in the paternal fortune? how stands the case?Mr. Francis Douce was a younger brother, and his father had several other children to provide for beside his eldest son. Mr. Francis Douce received from his father, in money 30007., the ground-rents in Grafton-street and elsewhere, worth from 1500l. to 20007. more, and he resigned to him his situation in the Six Clerks' Office, from the emoluments of which the elder Mr. Douce had been enabled principally to amass the fortune he possessed; in addition to which, by the death of a sister, he acquired to his own share 30007. more. Was this so contemptible a portion for a younger son? These are facts incontrovertible, and will prove, I trust, sufficient to destroy the gross delusion under which the readers of the article in your August number would otherwise remain."

P. 215. We are requested by the widow of the late Mr. J. T. Smith, to contradict the statement in the memoir of Mr. Douce, that Smith lived to express his contrition for his conduct.' The fact was, it was not Mr. Smith who had done any thing to be ashamed of. It is true that, a few days before he died, Mr. Smith said on his death-bed, that forgave Mr. Douce for the injury he had done him and his family;' but no further intercourse took place between Mr. Douce and Mr. Smith.

he

J. G. N. is desirous to be referred to a Pedigree of the Norman or Breton family of de Vitri; of whom one, named Andrew, married a grand-daughter of Roger Montgomery, Earl of Shrewsbury and Arundel; another, Alianor, was the wife of William Earl of Salisbury; and a third, another Andrew, was slain with William Longespé II. at Massoura, and appears to be the same person who married a daughter of Constance Duchess of Britany, and a half-sister to the unfortunate Prince Arthur.

The extraordinary correspondence between Father la Chaise and Jacob Spon, shall appear in our next number.

A Correspondent begs the favour of any of our readers conversant with the fact, to inform us where a file of the Public Ledger newspaper for 1761 may be seen.

unbecoming manner, in a faded salmoncoloured sack and coat, and uncertain whereabouts to fix either her eyes or her feet. She spoke in a broken tremulous tone, and at the close of a sentence her words generally lapsed into a horrid whisper, that was absolutely inaudible. After her first exit, the buzzing comment went round the pit generally. She certainly is very pretty; but then how awkward, and what a shocking dresser! Towards the famous trial scene, she became more collected, and delivered the great speech to Shylock with the most critical propriety, but still with a faintness of utterance which seemed the result rather of internal physical weakness, than of a deficiency of spirit and feeling. Altogether the impression made on the audience by this first effort, was of the most negative character. Mrs. Siddons repeated the character of Portia a few nights afterwards, but with no greater effect. This was in the year 1775, and in consequence of this unsuccessful debut, she was dismissed by a letter from the prompter, and retired to the provincial theatres. There she remained applauded by the critics at Bath, and receiving even the approbation of Henderson himself; when in consequence of her fame, which was every day increasing, in 1782 she was recalled to Drury-lane. Her memoranda at this time mention,-' On the 10th of October 1782, I made my first new appearance at Drury-lane, with my own dear beautiful boy, then but eight years old, in Southerne's tragedy of Isabella. This tragedy was judiciously recommended to me by my kind friend Mr. Sheridan, the father of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, who had seen me in that play at Bath. The interest he took in my success was like that of a father; for a whole fortnight before this (to me) memorable day, I suffered from nervous agitation more than can be imagined. No wonder! for my own fate, and that of my little family, hung upon it. I had quitted Bath, where all my efforts had been successful, and I feared lest a second failure in London might influence the public mind greatly to my prejudice, in the event of my return from Drurylane, disgraced as I had formerly been. In due time I was summoned to the rehearsal of Isabella. Who can imagine my terror! I feared to utter a sound above an audible whisper, but by degrees enthusiasm cheered me into a forgetfulness of my fears, and I unconsciously threw out my voice, which failed not to be heard in the remotest part of the house, by a friend who kindly undertook to ascertain the happy circumstance. The countenances no less than tears, and

flattering encouragements of my companions, emboldened me more and more; and the second rehearsal was more effective than the first. Mr. King, who was the manager, was loud in his applause. This second rehearsal took place on the 8th of October, 1782, and on the evening of that day I was seized with a nervous hoarseness which made me extremely wretched, for I dreaded being obliged to defer my appearance on the 10th, longing, as I most earnestly did, at least to know the worst. I went to bed, therefore, in a state of dreadful suspense. Awaking the next morning, however, though out of a restless unrefreshing sleep, I found, upon speaking to my husband, that my voice was very much clearer. This of course was a great comfort to me, and moreover the sun, which had been completely obscured for many days, shone brightly through my curtains. I hailed it, though tearfully, yet thankfully, as a happy omen; and even now I am not ashamed of this, as it may perhaps be called, childish superstition. On the morning of the 10th, my voice was most happily restored, and again the 'blessed sun shone brightly on me.' On this eventful day, my father arrived to comfort me, and to be a witness of my trial. He accompanied me to my dressing-room at the theatre. There he left me; and I in one of what I call my desperate tranquillities, which usually impress me under terrific circumstances, there completed my dress, to the astonishment of my attendants, without uttering one word, though often sighing most profoundly. At length I was called to my fiery trial. I found my venerable father behind the scenes, little less agitated than myself. The awful consciousness that one is the sole object of attention to that immense space, lined as it were with human intellect, from top to bottom, and all around, may perhaps be imagined, but can never be described, and by me can be never forgotten. Of the general effect of this night's performance I need not speak; it has already been publicly recorded. I reached my own quiet fireside. On retiring from the scene of reiterated shouts and plaudits,* I was half dead, and my joy and thankfulness were of too solemn and overpowering a nature to admit of words, or even tears. My father, my husband, and myself sate down to a frugal meat sup

"G. Steevens was heard to say, in reference to the clamorous applause of my first night, If Garrick could hear this, it would turn him upon his face in his coffin.""