difficult of all qualities, buoyancy and effervescence of spirits, without over-acting-brilliancy, without the least tinsel. Don John was one of Garrick's favourite parts, but I can scarcely think it could have been superior in his hands to the way in which I have seen it played by Charles Kemble. It is a most admirable comedy, full of the raciness of the old writers, and brimmed with life and action throughout. The cutting it into an opera in some degree broke and impeded its continuous rapidity-but then it gave us Miss Stephens-and as an actress also a delightful actress !-There was, I believe, a spark of emulation alive at that moment-at all events, she played Violetta with a vivacity and archness which would have been worthy of its old representative*. The scene between her and Don John was one of the most fascinating comic exhibitions I ever witnessed.

Charles Kemble's Cassio is also a remarkable performance; he is the only man I ever saw, who can act a drunken gentleman. It is not a character (I thank heaven) often introduced upon the stage; but it is most difficult in representation-in Cassio, especially, where the gradations of getting drunk take place before the audience. Nothing can be finer than the manner in which they are given, unless it be the endeavouring to assume self-guidance, on the appearance of his General-and the sobering occasioned by the shock of his final sentence.

In tragedy, Jaffier and Romeo are his finest parts, (his Hamlet I have never seen), but his Stranger-his Antonyhis Biron-and many others, are excellent. Grief is the passion which he delineates the best, and in that no one excels him; he is also, certainly, the best lover at pre

* I believe allusion is made to Mrs. Abington.-ED.

sent on the stage, to which perhaps his personal beauty in a great degree conduces-and these qualities it is which gives such power and truth to the characters I have named above. He has been accused of degrading Jaffier too much-of making him too mean, too despicable. I think this impossible :-the man who is alternately a traitor to both parties, half a dozen times over-who is swayed to treble and four-fold treachery by the voice of the last speaker, whether it be in the indignant voice of his friend, or the tears and blandishments of his wife, cannot be pictured as more contemptible than he really is. In Romeo, the youthfulness and spirit of the lover in the early part of the play, are finely contrasted with the saddened and broken-hearted man towards the close. Both the forgetfulness and the sudden remembrance (perhaps especially the latter, as being the more difficult) of his own impending death, on the recovery of Juliet, are perfect touches ;-but there is one which has always struck me as peculiarly happy, which I have never seen noticed by the critics.—I mean, when the death of Mercutio has urged him to madness against Tybalt.-He does not attack him like a fencerhe does not stop to put himself into attitudes like a posture-master,-but dashes his sword with fury from his hand, and runs him two or three times through the body, almost before he knows what he is about.

In addition to these two lines of acting, Charles Kemble lately played a part in a style hitherto unattempted by him ;-I allude to Friar Tuck, in an opera founded on the pretty Robin Hood story, of "Maid Marian”.—This effort has made many of opinion, and I incline to it myself, that he is the knight who might achieve the so-long-unperformed adventure of playing

Falstaff! It is a most hazardous piece of business, certainly-but the glory of success would be proportionate. In speaking of Young and Charles Kemble, one cannot but call to mind Macready-and, in this instance, with wonder at his not being in the picture. The Covent Garden company cannot be said to be complete, without this one of its most distinguished members. I am not sure that I should not have regretted this strange omission more last year than I do now -for Macready has certainly declined in my opinion during that time. I thought him, taken all in all, the first tragedian on the stage. Without the coldness of Young, or the extravagance of Kean, he had the fine declamation of the one, and the energetic passion of the other. I thought, in a word, that, with a multitude of faults to correct, he had in him the making of a great actor. But he has, of late, been becoming so hardened in his faults-he has brought them forward so exclusively, and insisted upon their being beautiesthat I almost fear that the misplaced praise of friends, and the still more misplaced applause of a very large proportion of his audiences, have gone far towards spoiling him for ever. The last part I saw him in was in a villainous tragedy, since deceased, entitled Julianand the way in which he acted that night tended much to operate this change in my opinions concerning him. In that, he displayed all his faults without any of his redeeming beauties:-to be sure, the play was wretched, but that did not necessitate those tricks of voice and manner which are his worst blemishes. He always had, to a certain degree, the trick originally introduced by Kean, of suddenly dropping his voice from the tone of a whirlwind of passion, to a deep rumbling double-bass

note, or one of childish whining, and expostulation. He does this now about twice as often as formerly ;-but, indeed, I do not wonder at it, for it always is sure to draw down thunders of applause. Now, I would wish to ask those who play, and those who applaud, this trick (for it is nothing else), if ever they heard a man off the stage, on any occasion whatever, of however deep affliction or violent passion, do this?—I will defy them to say they ever did-and, if not, I should like to know, what does it mean?—what is it intended to represent ?-Macready has, in addition to this, another trick of voice still more disagreeable, because it amounts nearly to being disgusting. I allude to the manner in which he draws his breath when he is speaking passionately. It is, in intonation, like the sound produced by a horse biting his crib thence called a roarer, but in loudness it more nearly resembles those emitted by a baited bull. I lament these things the more, from thinking that Macready has by nature the finest voice that I ever knew a human being to be gifted with. But, perhaps, it is not fair to say, because a man acted very ill in a very bad play, that he is declining-I hope it is not so. Certain it is, that the last time I saw him play Othello, I thought it, by much, the finest piece of tragic acting on the stage. He is a very fine speaker, with a magnificent voice hence the speech to the senate was admirable. When he refrains from those tricks I have been blaming, -and on this occasion he did in a great degree refrain,there is no one who depicts passion so powerfully, so finely; -the magnificent third and fourth acts were, therefore, played in a manner worthy their composition. But the fifth act was the finest of all;-here contemplation of the most exalted kind, and passion-all passions—are

mingled, and here the actor shewed, indeed, the triumph of his art.-Why will a man, who has such powers as these, degrade and lessen them by tricks which he ought to scorn, that he may obtain an applause which he should from his heart despise ?

To return to the picture. Miss Chester stands next to Faulconbridge, as Constance. I do not know that she ever played the part, but she looks stately and queen-like enough for any thing. It must have been a pleasant thing to paint this company, if it were only for the quantity of beauty which it includes. (Apropos of beauty, where is Miss Foote-why is she also omitted from the picture?)-Over Miss Chester's shoulder, peer two beautiful heads, whose high and pointed hats sufficiently betoken them to belong to the Merry Wives. But oh! Mr. Sharpe, what an anachronism !—you surely cannot mean that Miss Beaumont and Miss Love are passed "the holiday-time of their beauty" -your pencil indeed belies it-and then what becomes of the jest?-But no matter-it is better to gaze on young and lovely faces, than on faded and wrinkled ones, even on canvass. But I have another quarrel with the disposition of these figures ;-fine as is Miss Chester's form, you should not, Mr. Sharpe, have so placed it, as to shut out Miss Love's. Instead of Miss Tree's legs, the critics should have talked of Miss Love's arms-I never beheld any so beautifully moulded since I saw those of the marble woman at Florence.

"

Next in the procession, are Touchstone and Audrey— Fawcett, and Mrs. Gibbs. Fawcett is the only representative of Shakspeare's fools;"-he did wisely to choose "motley" as his "only wear"-there is none who can wear it like him. In his own line, too,-the