refusal of the manager's offer seems to us to have been very injudicious. From Plautus, with whom we dare say he had long before had an intimacy, he might have taken this profitable lesson, Viam qui nescit qua deveniat ad mare Eum oportet amnem quaerere comitem sibi. Had he not rejected that offer he would long ere this have had permanent possession of the rank to which he too prematurely aspired. His refusal was followed by a retreat into the country, where, with the perseverance of Demosthenes, he laboured in fitting himself for a more successful effort; resolved to force his way if possible to the high object of his ambition. During his retirement intimations of his success crossed the Atlantic. Mr. Tyler, some time since the manager of the New-York theatre, received the intelligence from a friend in England: "Prepare yourself for astonishment," said his correspondent, "that identical Mr. Cooper who, a few months ago, was playing the very underling characters at our theatre, and who appeared so extremely incompetent, is now performing Hamlet with applause in London." Sometime after this the agent of the Philadelphia manager in England made proposals to Mr. Cooper, who exulting in the thoughts of obtaining in America that rank which he was refused in London, closed with the offer, and soon after passed over to America. In Philadelphia, however, he found that his object was not altogether so attainable as he imagined. In no place does favouritism flourish with much more rank luxuriance than in that city--in no place do personal prepossessions more frequently operate to the overthrow of judgment, to the exclusion of merit, and to the fostering of incapacity. The multitude had their favourites whose merit touched the highest standard of their conceptions--any thing beyond that was hid in an intellectual mist. The taste of the many was formed upon the kind of merit which they so much admired in their favourites, and little did it relish that of Mr. Cooper. It is astonishing how constantly fond overweening prejudice deceives itself. The philosopher who told the powerful despot, his sovereign, that there was no royal way to mathematics, was believed, because the despot had common sense--but a headstrong multitude can never be persuaded that a person can be incompetent to any one thing, if they only _will_ him to be great in it: and thus it has happened not infrequently, in all cities as well as Philadelphia, that splendid talents have stood behind as lackeys, while doleful incapacity has feasted upon public favour.