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have I enjoyed the supreme felicity you were last in town. I also want of weeping over her performance of to know, whether you can recomthe enamoured and luckless Juliet, mend to me a good honest butler, in the Duchess of St Albans' private for we have turned away our last; box. My beloved Glorvina was so because the man was so silly as to infinitely affected the first time she write poetry, forsooth; and, would witnessed this great triumph of his- you believe it, he used to clap his trionic art, that she implored me to hand to his forehead, when he was permit her to stay at home on the waiting at dinner, and run out of the other two evenings, and her cousin, room. Then, when he came back, Henry St Aubyn, kindly requested he used to say, 'Only a thought, also to remain in our mansion, to ma'am, which I feared might escape cheer the sweet girl's solitude. On me. But the worst of it was, that the third evening, my darling Virgi- the silly gander chose to write verses nia-you know her sensibility-ac- to my niece Lucy; and, as I was tually fainted in Colonel Quintin's settling the chairs in the best drawarms, who happened most fortuitous- ing-room, I spied Lucy's sack upon ly to be seated behind her, so that as the sofa. Now, you must know that she sank gracefully back from the is a thing which I never allow; and, high stool on which she was sitting as I want to cure Madam Lucy of I think by the by this sort of sédia is her trapesy ways, I turned all the but an uneasy place of repose--she things out of the bag, meaning to could not avoid reclining on the Co- lock them up in my own drawer, lonel's shoulder. I would that you and frighten the girl by thinking she could have seen how sweetly the had lost them. But what should I poor thing blushed when she half

see amongst the things, but a copy unclosed her dark eyes upon the Co- of verses by Tripp, my butler-a lonel's moustachios! She has, how- rebus, I believe, they call it on Maever, promised not to be so naughty dam Lucy's name. I'll copy it for again. But what do I hear ? A bell you. loudly rung, -it comes from my Lovely thou art, as planets in the sky Glorvina’s chamber! Scarcely an

Unless thou pity me, I soon must die. hour since, she expressed a wish for

Come, beauteous nymph, and bless these some mulligatawney soup, and I

longing arms; know she could not eat it, were I

[Shocking wasn't it?] not to cheer her with the maternal

Your face and form unite a thousand presence of,

charms.' My dear sir, “ Your very affectionate friend “I must say, that, when I shewed it

and cousin, to Lucy, she was as angry as I was ; “ DORINDA.for she, poor soul, knew nothing

about the verses being in the bag. “Alias,” said I, “Dorothy, Dolly, or It seems the impudent fellow had Doll, in the good days of our child-' popt them in a little while before I hood! Oh, my poor Coz, thou art, found it. Of course, after this, I indeed, sophisticated ! I warrant me soon made Master Tripp trip off. I now, that thou thinkest thyself a se haven't yet filled my three pages, cond Madame de Sevigne! How which I think it is genteel to do-for much pains, I wonder, did the con I like to give my friends as much as clusion of thy letter cost thee? No I can for their money—and postage doubt, thou wert vastly elevated at runs very high. I scarcely know bringing in thy name so cleverly at what to write about-Oh, I and the the end. Ha, ha, I know a little ! girls have been to Covent-Garden But now for the huckaback of Dame. theatre, to see the young lady they Dykes. Coarse as it will be, I shall talk so much about. I couldn't preprefer it to thy flimsy tissue !" vail on Mr D- to go, for he hasn't

been to a theatre, since he fell asleep “ My dear FRIEND,

the first night that Madame Catalani “ This comes to enquire, whether sung in England, and was woke up you have done that little law-business by her dying scream over her husfor me, about which we talked when band's tomb. I may say, that I know

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VOL, XXVII. NO. CLXI.

D

something of these things, for I al ance Prodgers is dead-left a wife ways loved going to a play—and I and thirteen children-badly offremember Mrs Siddons and my [poor fellow, poor things--must see opinion is, that Miss Fanny isn't a what I can do for them)–Court bit like her, though the newspapers Journal a great humbug—[knew that say she is. I thought her more like before]—Fanny Kemble-[oh, here Miss Betty Cuckoo, whom you and it comes at last.]. You desire my I remember, (Heavens, I exclaimed, opinion of Fanny Kemble. My exthen she must be lovely!] and i pectations of her were too much thought that she died very well, in- raised in the first instance, and theredeed. I do wonder how persons can fore I am hardly a fair judge. The fall back so, quite like a stone, on drama has, for the last few years, the hard boards, without breaking been so far beyond the possibility of all their bones. Perhaps the boards getting worse, that I have long hoped on the stage are only mattrasses it might grow better. Tragic acting, painted to look like boards. Nancy especially, has been so completely and Susy were very much pleased, buried its grave, that I have con. and were obliged to ask me very fidently expected a Phænix to rise often for my pocket-handkerchief, from its ashes. There have been having-like careless chits as they many false alarms, many counterfeit always are—forgotten to bring their births—from all I had heard, I thought own. My niece Lucy, who is very we had got the true thing at last. clever, and reads Italian, says, that And I do not say that we have not. Miss Kemble has a very good notion Miss Kemble is a girl of sense and of acting; but not so good as Miss feeling, possessing an hereditary and Aithæa Cod at Elysium-house aca instinctive talent for acting. But she demy, where she was brought up. has much to learn. It is, indeed, ridiShe doesn't like her voice at all. In culous to suppose that she should a day or two, you will receive a col- leap out at once, a ready-armed Milar of brawn and a Stilton cheese, nerva of the theatre, from her papa's which our son Samuel brought, on drawing-room-yet, such is the inpurpose for you, from Trinity Col- sensible effect, which the opinion of lege, at Cambridge. He says, they the multitude has upon even such do such things very well there. I strong heads as ours, my dear Crusty, am now come to the end of my pa -[what an excellent observation ! per. So with love from all, I re, -that I entered Covent-Garden, exmain,

pecting I knew not what-something “ Your old friend to command, beyond nature. Of course I was dis“ MARY DYKES. appointed, and deserved to be so.

If Raphael's pictures disappointed ; “P.S. I was so squeezed, and so Sir Joshua Reynolds, I must not hot at the play, that if I hadn't quarrel with the fair Fanny for disthought of bringing some apples and appointing me. The fact is, that oranges with me from our dessert, I the human imagination is such a think I should have been obliged to wonderful power, that its poorest come away before the dying scene, operations transcend the finest realiwhich would have been a pity, as ties. [There's a sensible man for that is always so much the best part you !] Miss Kemble is very young, of a play.

and it would be hard to expect from “P.S.- Encore. I forgot to tell her such excellence as practice and you, that I think Miss Kemble screams experience alone can bestow. Even very well. She made me jump three Garrick, when he first appeared on times, and creeble all over.”

the London boards, was by no means

perfect in his art; as the contempoI laid down the letter to enjoy a rary critics prove by their not very quiet laugh, and then opened Frank courteous, letters of advice to him. Prosser’s dispatch. “ Dear Crusty, Yet we are so apt to deify things Um-um-3 per cent—Norfolk te- past, that I doubt not it would ofnants very backward with their rents fend many excellent

persons to tell --wet season-Russia has out-ma them, that Garrick ever improved, næuvred us with a vengeance

from the first hour that he trode the [right, right!] -Our old acquaint- stage. Perhaps I should even shock

the enthusiastic by saying of their nine-tenths of the world that such
present idol, that she will improve things were. He will forgive an old
-but to you, my dear friend, who man's garrulity; for, if I remember
are not easily carried away by the rightly, he has an income in his leg
popular breath, [That's very true !] himself, and almost as comely a frosty
I may assert, that Miss Kemble will, pow as I have." But before I dash
nay, must improve, not only mental- in medias res, I must make two need-
ly, but physically. At present, her ful observations. [Thus I begin, while
figure is by no means wholly de- seated in my own warm study, with
veloped, neither has her voice reach my feet on a turkey rug.] The first
ed its full powers. When she strains is, that I have not the slightest in-
the latter beyond its pitch, it becomes tention of detracting from Miss Kem-
unpleasing; and, in a scream, posi- ble’s fame. I do not mean to follow
tively disagreeable. {Many men, the poet's recipe for complimenting
many minds, Mrs Dykes liked her ladies
scream.] Her countenance is intel-
lectual, but not handsome. (I thought Must call her sister ugly creature.'

• Who praises Lesbia's form and feature,
so.] To call it plain, would shock the
gallantry of só devoted an admirer Indeed I must needs be acquitted of
of the fair sex, as I am. [What would any intent to institute odious com-
Mrs Prosser say to that, I wonder ?] parisons, by the simple fact, that I
The most promising, circumstance have never seen the charming Fan-
of all is, that she evidently throws ny, who is, I doubt not, from my ju-
out her best coups de theatre from dicious Frank's account of her, a girl
native genius, and not from teach- of great and unusual endowments.
ing. The proof of this is, that when That she is generous and amiable,
not highly excited and hurried away, her coming forward in the way she
as it were, by the passion of the mo has done, sufficiently testifies. May
ment, she rarely succeeds. When all success attend her virtuous ef-
she is

forts! My second remark is,—that "Not touchd but rapt, not waken'd but

I daresay persons will be not a little inspired,'

surprised, that I, who must remem

ber Fanny's aunt in her best days, then it is that her acting may be and even the mild decline of that called great, and even wonderful. more distant luminary, Mrs Yates, In short, the girl will do very well; should depart so much from the usual and can only be injured by such in- habits of old men—the laudatores judicious praise as the papers lavish temporis acti, you know-as to rave, upon her, when they assert, that her with all the fervour of youth, about debût is the finest since the days of an actress of yesterday. My dear Mrs Siddons ;-or, in still a higher readers, (if I have any,) be it known strain, that her Belvidera will be to you, that I always determined, even

the sublimest effort of female ge- from my youth up, to avoid the com-
nius ever beheld !!'“ Admirable mon errors and follies of old men;
Frank Prosser,” said I, as I consigned and I thank Heaven, that I have been
his letter to my green morocco pock- enabled to fulfil my resolution. By
et-book, and the two others to the thus retarding the senility of my
fire, by which I had been toasting mind, I have managed (I must say)
my toes in the Club-room-ramming to escape the usual jests and jibes
them well down with the poker, at against old bachelors, and to establish
the same time that I mended the fire myself an universal favourite amongst
with my own peculiar dexterity, ac the young and the lively. Were I
quired by forty years’ practice. “Ad- disposed to tell tales, I could men-
mirable; Frank, you and I always tion various proofs of my present
agree. You know what's what as popularity with pretty girls; but,
well as any one. Well, now that the sweet creatures, depend upon my
subject is fresh in my head, I'll go honour- I will never betray you !
home and write down all I can re Now, let me return to “ that which
member about Miss O'Neill. Perhaps is immediate.”
my friend North will put it in the

The first character in which I saw cleverest Magazine going, just to give Miss O'Neill, was Isabella, in the the public memory a jog, and remind Fatal Marriage. She had already be

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come popular, and drew crowds to sion. This allowed of its taking the the house; a circumstance so far impress of all. Some faces seem peagainst her, in my estimation, that I trified into fierceness by a glance at took my place in the front row of the the Gorgon; others appear always pit, with a dogged resolution not to striving to repress a simper. Any be imposed upon, and by no means malformation of the mouth, more esto be hurried out of my critical com pecially, will give an unfortunate posure by a start or a scream. But eternity to some one, and that, genefrom the moment that the enchant- rally, not very agreeable expression. ress entered in her sable robe, which But Miss O'Neill's face was wholly so admirably set off the snowy white devoid of any professional or pertiness of her skin-from the instant nacious look. Her countenance was that she had made her first mostgrace the sleep of feeling. When awakenful courtesy, I was a gone man. I felt ed, it was but the instrument of the that she was the true thing. Even internal agency: Passion moulded as the first note of a great singer ri- her delicate features to its own purvets the attention-even as a single poses, and Genius hallowed it as the touch from a master's hand demands interpreter of his meaning. The and satisfies the eye-so did Miss mouth-that wonderful organ of inO'Neill's first look and word take telligence, that distinguishing characpossession of my heart and soul, and teristic of humanity—which requires proclaim all her greatness. I never not the aid of words to confer upon it felt this with Mrs Siddons. Her style the gift of speech--that marvellous addressed the intellect more exclu- feature, whose mutable vitality baffles sively. She was a great actress—but the painter's skill even more than the she was an actress. Miss O'Neill eye, common to all animated beings was a woman-a confiding, tender, the mouth of Miss O'Neill was expassionate, love-inspiring woman; ceedingly beautiful. The lower lip yet not without dignity and grandeur just protruded enough to rescue it too, and a proudly humble sense of from that symptom of fatuity—its rewhat was due to her feminine majes- treat—" Some bee had stung it newty. It is not my intention to go ly.” Her brow, as I said before, was through her performance of that dis not marked enough for the beau-ideal agreeable play, the Fatal Marriage, of a tragic empress—and I am glad it which her performance alone could was not. The manner in which her have rendered bearable,-mor indeed head was set upon her bust might to give any of her characters a regu- have challenged the art of Phidias. lar and critical consideration. I ra- Nothing could possibly be more dether wish to impart to my reader some void of fault than the line from the general notion of her merits, if he back of her head to her shoulder, has been so unfortunate as never to when her face was turned in profile. have seen her, or if he has, to recall Her hand was beautiful, and her foot them to his remembrance. Miss worthy of such a hand. From this O'Neill, in face and figure, might be exquisite conformation, and from the characterised by the epithet lovely. mind which dwelt within so fair a There was a harmony in her features, shrine, resulted a presiding grace, and in the proportions of her form, which modelled every gesture, and which was music to the mind. Had swayed every movement. Never, in she been taller, she might have been the course of my long life, have I a tragedy Queen-but she would not

seen a being so graceful as Miss have been Miss O'Neill. Had she O'Neill—and I never expect to see possessed a dark eye and beetling Our actresses are, in general, brow, she might have frowned and sadly deficient in this particular. I scowled to the delight of the distant remember, after being on the Contigalleries; but what would have be nent for some time, that, when I recome of her smile-of all the just turned, the women on our stage gradations of feeling which dawned seemed to toss their arms like so and melted away upon her fair cheek? many windmills in full sail. Miss

I have always thought it a favour O'Neill never displayed such starts able circumstance that her counte- and Alings. I do not think that it was nance, when at rest, was not fixed. possible she could. Even had she and frozen into any marked expres- been obliged to perform a saraband

one.

A poem

over the kitchen poker, she would ingly, our ears are stunned with vain have done it gracefully-she was babblings about “

green fields,” and grace even to the very tips of her “ dark thoughts,” and I know not fingers. I used to remark that she what. To hear the present generanever grasped the arm of a lover or tion talk, one would imagine that all husband, as some ladies, whom I the arcana of human nature had been have seen give a gripe like a black- just discovered, and made as easy as smith's vice, but tenderly and deli- A, B, C. How Sophocles contrived to cately. She laid her white fingers affect the feelings, or Shakspeare to upon the arm of him whom she ad- get such an odd insight into things, dressed in love or in supplication must appear a mystery to the men

Talk of Lady Hamilton's attitudes ! of this generation, seeing that their I maintain that a woman, who was theories had not yet issued from no better than she should be, could the womb of time. Every one nownot be innately and truly graceful. a-days, who can write a novel or a Miss O'Neill's attitudes might have poem, that shall set the young misses afforded a gallery of statues for the a weeping, is pronounced to be brimcourt of Virtue-or for the court of full of passion and profound reflecGeorge IV. In Isabella, for instance, tion. Truly this profundity is that when

the tiresome man (whose name of a slop-basin, the bottom of which I forget) who worried her into ma you cannot see, only because it is so trimony, first proposes to take charge full of dregs. Ah! Mr North, the of her child-never shall I forget the good old days of Pope and Dryden expressive gesture with which she are passed away! Depend upon it, turned round to the boy, clasped him could Paradise Lost now issue from with one arm, and, with the other, Murray's press, it would be progave an apparently involuntary move nounced - Such a work as it is by ment of repulsion. In Mrs Haller, no means lese-majesté in the court again, when she sunk upon the floor, of criticism to pass over. and, clasping her knees, let her head of some merit, certainly—but by no fall upon them, so that her “wild-re means distinguished by that depth verted tresses” hung as a veil before of feeling and intuitive insight into her, no ancient statue could have af- the human heart which distinguish forded a finer model for the chisel. the productions of the present day.”

I scarcely know how it happened, Do I exaggerate? The Literary Gabut certain it is that Miss O'Neilí zette, which affirms that a drama never excited that burst of popular by L. E. L. can only be compared feeling which Fanny Kemble seems to Shakspeare's Romeo and Juliet, to be now exciting. It is so easy to could not consistently write of such see, when persons praise any thing a work as Paradise Lost in warmor any body, from being really er terms than those I have imaginpleased! In such a case the sen ed above. Of such critics one niay tences trip off the tongue without re sayservation. Now, Miss O'Neill was generally praised with an if or a but. “ Their praise is censure, and their cenSome wiseacres went so far as to

sure praise.” discover, that if she had been Mrs Siddons, she would have been a very To these blind leaders of the blind, fine actress. One cause of this com I attribute the half-and-half praise parative indifference to Miss O'Neill's which was too often bestowed upon superlative merits, I think, may be Miss O'Neill—by their influence I found in the peculiar aspect which explain the phenomenon of her being folly has assumed in our enlighten

“compounded with forgoted era. There is a great deal of cant ten things.” Persons of this stamp abroad about “ deep passion,” and (stupid

fellows !) discovered that the “ human heart," and thoughts Miss O'Neill wanted genius-forthat lie too deep for tears.” Now, as sooth! In the character of Juliet, I the language of all species of cant is remember that, after the masquerade very easily learned, it follows that the

scene, when she had been eagerly great proportion of fools who can do enquiring who Romeo is, just as she nothing else, adopt that which hap- was preparing to quit the banquetpens to be most in vogue. Accord- room, she turned round and stood as

so soon

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