of another love. On the 6th
September 1823, at St. Georges, Hanover Square, Mr. Coates was married
to Miss Anne Robinson, who was a faithful and devoted wife to him till
he died.

Meanwhile, the rejected Romeo did not long repine. Two months after the
tragedy at Bath, he was at Brighton, mingling with all the fashionable
folk, and giving admirable recitations at routs. He was seen every day
on the Parade, attired in an extravagant manner, very different to that
he had adopted in Bath. A pale-blue surtout, tasselled Hessians, and a
cocked hat were the most obvious items of his costume. He also affected
a very curious tumbril, shaped like a shell and richly gilded. In
this he used to drive around, every afternoon, amid the gapes of the
populace. It is evident that, once having tasted the fruit of notoriety,
he was loath to fall back on simpler fare. He had become a prey to the
love of absurd ostentation. A lively example of dandyism unrestrained
by taste, he parodied in his person the foibles of Mr. Brummell and the
King. His diamonds and his equipage and other follies became the
gossip of every newspaper in England. Nor did a day pass without the
publication of some little rigmarole from his pen. Wherever there was a
vacant theatre--were it in Cheltenham, Birmingham, or any other town--he
would engage it for his productions. One night he would play his
favourite part, Romeo, with reverence and ability. The next, he would
repeat his first travesty in all its hideous harlequinade. Indeed, there
can be little doubt that Mr. Coates, with his vile performances, must
be held responsible for the decline of dramatic art in England and the
invasion of the amateur. The sight of such folly, strutting unabashed,
spoilt the prestige of the theatre. To-day our stage is filled with
tailors'-dummy heroes, with heroines who have real curls and can open
and shut their eyes and, at a pinch, say 'mamma' and 'papa.' We
must blame the Antiguan, I fear, for their existence. It was he--the
rascal--who first spread that scenae sacra fames. Some say that he was
a schemer and impostor, feigning eccentricity for his private ends. They
are quite wrong; Mr. Coates was a very good man. He never made a penny
out of his performances; he even lost many hundred pounds. Moreover, as
his speeches before the curtain and his letters to the papers show,
he took himself quite seriously. Only the insane take themselves quite
seriously.

It was the unkindness o