Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
Mr. Cooke Gives Mr. Treat Paine the Snub Direct
By William Dunlap (17661839)S
“Sam! bring glasses, and let these gentlemen help themselves to wine.”
Mr. White took some wine, but Mr. Robert Treat Paine excused himself, by saying he preferred brandy.
“I thought so,” says Cooke; “Sam! some brandy for the gentleman.” The brandy was brought. The orator proceeded:
“I thought, Mr. Cooke, that I was pretty well read in Shakespeare; that I understood him well, few much better; but, Sir, your Richard convinced me of my ignorance.”
“The stage does sometimes bring the truth home to a man.”
“Ha, ha, ha! very well, Sir, a fair hit—but, Sir, the first beauty I shall mention was, when the attendant informed you of your brother’s death—the manner in which you received the intelligence—and the way in which you gave the passage—
Cooke, who was writhing under this praise, roared out in his sharpest and shrillest tone—“Marrowbones and cleavers, by G—d!”
Robert Treat Paine, Esquire, was for once confounded—the company laughed—and he joined in it, to get rid of it.
“Pray, Sir, help your silent friend to a glass of wine.”
“My silent friend—come, Mr. White, your glass. I’ll assure you Mr. Cooke, though Mr. White says little—”
“He thinks the more, I suppose—may be so!”
“Mr. White, Sir, is a man of literature, a player, a poet, a dramatic writer; but, Sir, Mr. White is a modest man—”
“I wish the gentleman could say as much for his friend.”
“Very well, Sir! That’s very well.—Mr. Cooper is your friend, Mr. Cooke. When he first played here, I wrote a good deal for the theatre then; I gave him a lift; my opinion was of some consequence—but Mr. Cooper’s playing—why—a—to be sure—but you know, Mr. Cooke, what playing is—and I must say, Mr. Cooper’s attempting to represent such characters as—”
Cooke, who had looked at Price and at Paine alternately, now seized one of the candles, and starting up, held it before Paine, and pointed to the door.
“Good-night, Sir—good-night!—There’s the door!—Good-night, I say!—there’s the door, there’s the door, Sir!—there’s the door!” and continued repeating “there’s the door,” till the visiting gentlemen were fairly out of the room. Then returning and putting down the candle, he joined in the laugh with his former companions.