fes PR 20^ 6 
 Book_j l! 
 
/ 
 
 AN ESSAY 
 
 ON THE 
 
 GENIUS OF SHAKESPEARE,* 
 
0*1 
 
 ^4 
 
 LdNDON: 
 IBOTSOK A»t> PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND. 
 
TO THE 
 
 RIGHT HON. GEORGE CANNING. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 I DO MYSELF THE HONOUR 
 
 OF 
 
 PRESENTING TO YOU THE FOLLOWING WORK, 
 
 AS YOUR NAME CARRIES ITS OWN EULOGY WITH IT, 
 
 YOUR TALENTS REQUIRE NO FLATTERY FROM ME, 
 
 IN A MORE PROLIX DEDICATION, 
 
 I kM, SIR., 
 YOUR VERY OBEDIENT 
 
 AND VERY HUMBLE SERVANT. 
 
 HENRY M. GRAVES. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 In submitting the following Essay to the reader, 
 I shall be permitted to mention to him, that I have 
 purposely avoided reading any critique, paper, 
 essay, or remarks on either the genius or the cha- 
 racters of our celebrated Bard. I mention this, 
 more for the professed critic than for the general 
 reader, for the purpose of saying that if pla- 
 giarism (than which I know nothing more un- 
 pardonable) is to be discovered in the work, I 
 trust it will be attributed to accident, and not 
 wilfulness. 
 
 The Essay which follows, was one of four 
 others, for which the author received a prize; 
 (unjustly he owns when he recollects the clever- 
 ness of the other papers;) and the Letter which is 
 
Vlll ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 annexed, was intended by me to be made more 
 polished and finished for the public eye ; but I 
 found that in doing so, i but added study instead 
 of ornament ; and as the former is totally irrele- 
 vant in the epistolary style, I shall allow it to be 
 perused exactly as it was originally written, and 
 have only to blame myself, if the critic should 
 treat it harshly. 
 
AN ESSAY 
 
 ON THE 
 
 GENIUS OF SHAKESPEARE, 
 
 fyc. fyc. 
 
 In writing the following essay on the genius of 
 our immortal bard, I dare say I shall meet some 
 readers who will tell me that I have been pervaded 
 too much with those kind of favourable ideas 
 which look on the works of such a poet as fault- 
 less. Minds uninfluenced by the melody of poetry, 
 (melody too such as his) and uncaptivated by the 
 charms which his scenes present, will necessarily 
 agree in thinking, that my admiration is some- 
 what too warm, and my eulogy too high. To 
 such readers, I own I should feel but little plea- 
 sure in addressing myself. I blame them not, 
 however. Business, and a thousand other avo- 
 actions must, necessarily, prevent their having 
 
 B 
 
2 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 either time or inclination to look into his works, 
 or admire his beauties. Interest in them they 
 cannot take — then why should they in his praise ; 
 however, if apology is necessary to severer critics 
 or duller minds, I must only say, that somewhat 
 of warmth and eulogy must be allowed when 
 writing on such a theme as the praise of Shake- 
 speare. 
 
 I am blamed, perhaps, by many as one who is 
 led away, by too delightedly listening to the tones 
 of a harp, struck by such a mighty master as 
 Shakespeare. The melody has been flung too 
 harmoniously on my ear, and the breathings of 
 its chords has been thrown too hurriedly on a 
 mind, perhaps too sensible to the beauty which 
 rings from it, and the sweetness which pervades 
 it. To this charge I own. Perhaps I am too 
 fond both of him and the temple where he is 
 worshipped. Sincerity though I claim. His 
 worshipper is not a cold one ; and if I am lavish 
 in my praises of him, I feel convinced they are 
 deserved. 
 
 I address myself then to those who can take 
 an interest in subjects such as the present. If 
 any should find fault with it, who do not exactly 
 belong to this class, their censure, I should imagine, 
 would be unfair. Like the laws of my country, I 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 3 
 
 claim a right to be tried by my peers, and though 
 I have no doubt that many will be willing enough 
 to blame me, I yet shall not much heed their 
 opinion, unless it has judgment to give it weight. 
 To legitimate critics I commit myself. I can- 
 not say that I will claim much merit for writing 
 on the genius of Shakespeare. It is a subject 
 fertile in itself, and abundant and sufficient for 
 him who would draw materials from it. Many 
 have spoken of it, but it yet remains a fund rich 
 and inexhausted, from which the sons of genius 
 can yet draw themes to hand down to latest ages. 
 Though I readily admit that the subject has been 
 most ably handled before, yet I may, in some 
 measure, skreen myself from the charge of te- 
 merity, in writing on what such able critics have 
 gone through, by remarking, that the perusal of 
 the plays of this master have been a source of the 
 most infinite delight to me. Thus would I endea- 
 vour to do away the idea that I am wrong in 
 speaking on a subject, which has been so often 
 and so critically passed over. It is yet though 
 inexhausted. It is a path and a region of sweets. 
 Flowers spring around you at every turn, scat- 
 tered by that hand, whose touch has thrilled on the 
 high harp of poetry, and whose fingers leave on 
 them the sweetness which thev for ever will 
 
4 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 breathe of. The laurel here blooms fresh and 
 fair — blooms brightest too ; for Shakespeare 
 hallows its soil. To pluck a branch I will dare. 
 My merit, I own, may not be equivalent to the 
 boldness of the attempt, but the theme of Shake- 
 speare's praise is fertile in itself; it can enlarge 
 and invigorate the most torpid mind, and even on 
 the leaden gravity of dulness, can bind the airy 
 wing of fancy. 
 
 Above all those poets who have, in any age or 
 nation shed a lustre on mankind, Shakespeare 
 stands unrivalled in the power of painting with 
 the energy and fidelity of truth and nature ; his 
 pictures live before you; they strike at once on 
 the heart, enter into all its feelings, and enchain 
 all its attentions. Let the eye throw but a cur- 
 sory glance on them, 'tis irresistibly impelled 
 to fix its most earnest gaze. While engaged in 
 his scenes, you think no longer of him who 
 writes, but of those who act and speak ; you weep 
 for their distresses, and rejoice at their happiness; 
 you follow them through all the variety of their 
 fortunes, and sympathize in all their feelings; 
 you watch over them with anxious solicitude for 
 their welfare when good, and burn against them with 
 indignation and hatred when bad. Whence does 
 this proceed ? Why is it that his representations 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 5 
 
 thus seem realities, and that they find their way 
 at once to the heart, with such immediate and 
 resistless force? Whence is it, that while the 
 woiks of other poets are at once overwhelmed 
 beneath the ocean of time, or at best feebly resist 
 the gulphs\of oblivion, the blasts of prejudice, or 
 the rocks of criticism ; that those of Shakespeare 
 still bear up triumphant and unimpaired? 'Tis 
 because he wrote from the inspiration of nature 
 herself; 'tis because she filled his whole soul, and 
 made it her temple to dwell in. She guided every 
 idea, warmed and perfected every description, and 
 fired every effusion and passion. She made him 
 acquainted with all her wide extended kingdom, 
 laid before him all its various views, led him 
 through every path, and to every hidden recess; 
 displayed to him the gardens of her roses and 
 flowers, and made him copy the loveliest scenes 
 of hill and dale, of beauteous skies, of gloomy 
 forests, and stupendous rocks, and lay them before 
 the charmed and ravished eye of man ! She showed 
 to him the ample and irregular province of the 
 human heart; gave him to trace with penetrative 
 sagacity through all its mazy windings, and 
 look through its most secret ways ; and as his 
 eye glowed from the view, she commanded him to 
 stamp each living image that he drew, with the 
 
6 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 indelible impression of truth, and the vivid co- 
 louring of nature. 
 
 Where meet we with the burst of woe and the 
 wail of sadness ? Where, with the low voice of 
 feeling, and the tremulous tone of despondency ? 
 Where shall we look for the flowing melody that 
 ravishes the ear, and the dulcet songs that thrill 
 on the soul ? Where for the language that reaches 
 the heart, and hurries it away with the deep 
 impulse of wonder and ravishment? In Shake- 
 speare — in all- creative Shakespeare ! unrivalled 
 and alone he stands single and pre-eminent as the 
 only master who has struck the chords of the harp 
 of nature — others are but learners — scholars. He 
 the proud and high spirit that has played on its 
 tones with the might and the melody of an omni- 
 potence ! 
 
 Where shall we look for his rival? I in vain 
 look around me to try and place some mighty 
 spirit by his side, but I see him not. There is a 
 peculiar and a flowing sweetness in the rhyme of 
 Shakespeare, that never yet has been attained. 
 It runs from his harp, as if he were so conscious 
 of its pleasing, that he heeded not the tones which 
 swept beneath his fingers. Carefulness is laid by. 
 Unheeded by him, harmony, softness, plaintiveness, 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 7 
 
 and beauty, and eloquence, and melody, and bright- 
 ness flow and flash from the strings that are dashed 
 over with the hurried and yet beautiful minstrelsy 
 of creative diversity. Extremes here meet. Terror 
 and touchingness — simplicity and sublimity melt 
 and mingle into such eloquent discordia concors, 
 that the soul is hurried away by the divineness of 
 the tones, and gives itself up to his guidance as if 
 overpowered and entranced. What other mortal 
 had this power but Shakespeare ? Why should 
 he not have had it, when he was Nature's own 
 child — her favourite son — her beloved offspring. 
 Step-sons are her other children. They have 
 been received into her family ; but they have not 
 been nursed by her. Shakespeare was under her 
 own eye — her guidance — her protection. She 
 gave him power unlimited, and sway uncon- 
 trolled — told him to range the earth and sweep 
 the sea — bid him look into her most hidden re- 
 cesses and open her secret springs — empowered 
 him to go over the wide globe and to trace the 
 pathless plains of the scenes of other worlds — 
 then soar to her heaven and stay throned there, 
 high and immortal ! 
 
 If we look carefully into other writers, we shall 
 find that they paint their characters, actuated by 
 peculiar modes and customs, accidental fashions 
 
8 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 and local, personal, and professional opinions and 
 prejudices, unknown to mankind in general, and 
 practised perhaps not by a nation or sect, but by 
 a single individual. Such character therefore can 
 only interest that inconsiderable portion, with 
 whom they are connected by a similarity in cus- 
 toms, manners, and sentiments. But Shakespeare 
 with a powerful eye looked abroad on the whole 
 race of man. The grand outlines of human 
 nature are ever the same, and however the light, 
 shades, colouring, and costume may be influenced 
 by those contingent changes, which affect time 
 and place ; yet the principal figures still retain 
 their original form, force, and size. The piercing 
 optics of our mighty poet saw this, and with a 
 well skilled hand he drew those universal habits, 
 feelings, passions, and desires, which are born 
 with all men, and interwoven with their existence. 
 His characters are no creatures of a day — no 
 ephemeral abortions that only live to die— no spu- 
 rious progeny raised by the false sunshine of a 
 transient fashion, and fading into the darkness of 
 oblivion when that fashion yields to another as 
 fleeting as itself : — and thus it is that those of all 
 nations and all ages, however distinguished by 
 particular modes and prejudices, and whatever 
 else forms a difference in the human character — 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 9 
 
 will find in his works pleasure and instruction — 
 will feel interested in his scenes and characters, 
 for the hearts of all will be touched, where each 
 owns a relation and connection. 
 
 I shall now glance at three or four characters, 
 which have indeed been sketched by a true mas- 
 ter's hand ; and there are few portraits by this 
 first of painters which have been embodied in such 
 glowing, vivid, and just colouring, as those to 
 which I allude. 
 
 Two of them have been imitated a thousand 
 and a thousand times, but never have succeed- 
 ed ; the second (for it seems unapproachable) 
 has never been imitated. I now speak of the 
 first. 
 
 The character of Romeo is that of the most 
 perfectly drawn lover I ever read. All succeeding 
 impressions seem to have been taken from this, 
 but have never come up to it in pathos, feeling, 
 and overwhelming depth of passion. In this last 
 attribute, the character of " The Giaour," from 
 the creative and powerful hand of Byron, comes 
 nearest to it of any I have read ; but his stormy 
 passions want the other two redeeming qualities^ 
 to give it that interest and suavity, which wins 
 and twines round the female heart so impercepti- 
 
10 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 bly — so powerfully. The language which Shake- 
 speare uses when he makes these interesting lovers 
 converse, is some of the very sweetest that ever 
 flowed from his pen. I know nothing (in that 
 line) so exquisitely sweet — so passingly tender, as 
 the garden scene in Romeo and Juliet. Passion, 
 tenderness, feeling, omnipotent love breathe in 
 every line, and run rich and riotous through 
 every expression. Mark his discrimination. His 
 scene is a garden of blushing roses and balmy 
 flowers. It is night — the night that is in Italy — 
 soft, silent, calm, and lonely. The moon is up, 
 and his interesting and most lovely heroine is 
 flung on a couch watching her course among her 
 attending stars, but her thoughts far away on 
 " the God of her Idolatry." How natural is her 
 sigh, and the short but expressive 
 
 " Ah me '." 
 
 The reader must look into this, or it will appear 
 common-place to him. Had Shakespeare put a 
 long and elaborate speech into her mouth for her 
 first expressions there is no ear of taste that would 
 not have deprecated the incorrectness of it. But 
 that word speaks her heart, and wherever the heart 
 speaks, either on the stage or in real life, it never 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 11 
 
 is incorrect. How appropriate too is her lover's 
 appeal to her, when he hears that first sound of 
 her well known voice. It is brilliant and vivid. 
 She speaks ! she speaks ! 
 Oh speak again bright angel, for thou art 
 As glorious to this sight, being o'er my head 
 As is a winged messenger from heaven 
 To the upturn'd wond'ring eyes of mortals 
 When he bestrides the lazy pacing clouds, 
 And sails upon the bosom of the air. 
 If the reader looks closely into this, he will per- 
 ceive a little of bombast in it. 'Tis correct. Carried 
 away by the feelings of the moment — hurried on 
 by the actual appearance to him, of the being he 
 loved most; it would have evinced little know- 
 ledge of human nature if " the mighty master " 
 had not allowed his feelings to govern him, and 
 thus break at once into passion and enthusiasm. 
 Pass this part of the play, and in no other place 
 is this slight touch of the extravaganza perceived. 
 Mark again this judgment. There is of course 
 (and correctly) warmth and enthusiasm ; but I 
 cannot find out any part of the drama which glides 
 into the bombast in the perceptible manner that 
 this does. 
 
 What perfect music is in the vowels of the fol- 
 lowing line. I also beg of the reader to mark the 
 
12 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 force, both of love and language in the word 
 Y wherefore." 
 
 Romeo ! Romeo ! — wherefore art thou Romeo ? 
 
 In the next line to this her love breaks out. 
 She can no longer with old even telling herself of 
 it, and in the very second line that she speaks, 
 she accordingly with solicitous fondness says, 
 Deny thy father, and refuse thy name, 
 Or, if thou will not, be but sworn my love, 
 And I'll no longer be a Capulet. 
 
 Romeo. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at 
 this, (aside.) 
 
 The judgment of this reply of Romeo's consists, 
 not in the line itself, but in the direction of the 
 inimitable painter to have it spoken " aside." 
 
 How sweet and girlish, and how full of satisfied 
 argument are the following lines. 
 
 'Tis not thy name, that is my enemy ! 
 What's in a name? that, which we call a rose 
 By any other name would smell as sweet. 
 So Romeo would, (were he not Romeo called) 
 Retain that dear perfection which he owns, 
 Without that title ; Romeo, quit thy name, 
 And for thy name, which is no part of thee, 
 Take all myself!* 
 
 * In writing this passage, I have made two altera- 
 tions in it, which I think make it plainer. In the 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 13 
 
 Romeo's next answer discovers himself ; and it 
 is here that the judgment of Shakespeare more 
 particularly evinces itself. Juliet is on the bal- 
 cony, enjoying the " cool and silent hour/' and to- 
 tally heedless of every sight and sound, while 
 her thoughts are wrapped up in " the one loved 
 name." She perceives not Romeo — hears not 
 Romeo ; but is so completely lost in her own soli- 
 tary and love-fraught musings, that she can do 
 nothing, but as it were think aloud of the one / 
 on whom her heart is set. She can no longer con- 
 tain herself, and she exclaims with the heedless 
 but deep fondness of woman, " Take all myself!" 
 On hearing this, Romeo can no longer withhold, 
 and he accordingly says, " I take thee at thy 
 word." She then discovers that Romeo (unheeded 
 by her) has been listening all the while to her 
 fond and tender exclamations, and after some 
 further discourse, addresses him in the following 
 
 third line, I have inclosed some of the words in a paren- 
 thesis, joining them thus — u So Romeo would retain 
 that dear perfection, " &c. &c. In several editions 
 they write the word " owes." I have made it owns, 
 which makes both sense and grammar. The words 
 " dear perfection," strike me as being very expressive. - 
 Mark the woman's love of " Take all myself" 
 
14 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 sweet apostrophe. I mark some of the words in 
 italics. 
 
 Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, 
 
 Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, 
 
 For that which thou hast heard me speak to night. 
 
 Fain would I dwell on form ; fain, fain deny 
 
 What 1 have spoke ; but farewell compliment — 
 
 Dost thou love me ? I know thou wilt say, aye, 
 
 And I will take thy word* — Yet if thou swear'st, 
 
 Thou may'st prove false ; at lover's perjuries • 
 
 They say Jove laughs. Oh gentle Romeo, 
 
 If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully ; 
 
 Or, if thou think I am too quickly won, 
 
 I'll be perverse, and say thee nay, 
 
 So thou wilt woo ; but else, not for the world. 
 
 In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, 
 
 And, therefore, thou mayst think my 'haviour light, 
 
 But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true 
 
 Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 
 
 / should have been more strange, I must confess,^ 
 
 But that thou overheard'st, ere I was 'ware, 
 
 My true love's passion ; therefore pardon me, 
 
 * This is the finest stroke of character in this most 
 musical speech. 
 
 t I request the reader to mark the great naturalness 
 of this line — the three last words particularly.. 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE; 15 
 
 And not impute this yielding to light love 
 Which the dark night hath so discovered. 
 
 Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon, I vow, 
 That tips with silver all these tree tops. 
 
 Jul. Oh ! swear not by the moon, the inconstant 
 moon, 
 That monthly changes in her circled orb, 
 Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 
 
 Rom. What shall I swear by ? 
 
 Jul. Do not swear at all ; 
 Or, if thou wilt ; swear by thy gracious self, 
 Which is the god of my idolatry, 
 
 And I'll believe thee. 
 
 sweet, good night ! 
 
 Rom. Oh ! wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 
 
 Jul. What satisfaction can'st thou have to night ? 
 
 Rom. T\\ exchange of thy love's faithful vow 
 for mine. 
 
 Jul. I gave thee mine, before thou didst request it ; 
 And yet I would it were to give again. 
 
 Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it? — For what 
 purpose, love ? 
 
 Jul. But to be frank, I give it thee again. 
 My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 
 My love as deep ; — the more I give to thee, 
 The more I have, for both* are infinite. 
 
 * Id est, bounty and love. Mark the false (but 
 womanish) philosophy of this. 
 
16 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 I hear some noise within. — Dear love, adieu ! 
 Sweet Montague be true ; 
 Stay but a little, I will come again. 
 
 Enter Juliet again. 
 
 Jul. If that thy bent of love be honourable, 
 Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, 
 And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay 
 And follow thee,, my love, throughout the world. 
 
 but if thou mean'st not well, 
 
 I do beseech thee 
 
 To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief. 
 
 A thousand times good night. 
 
 She enters again. 
 
 Hist ! Romeo, Hist ! Oh for a falc'ner's voice 
 To lure this tassel-gentle back again — 
 Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud, 
 Else would I tear the cave where echo lies, 
 And make her voice more hoarse than mine, 
 With repetition of my Romeo. 
 
 Rom. It is my love that calls upon my name. 
 How wond'rous sweet sound lovers' tongues by 
 
 night 
 Like softest music to attending ears ! 
 
 Jul. Romeo ! 
 
 Rom. My sweet ! 
 
 Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow shall I send to 
 thee? 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 17 
 
 Rom. By the hour of nine. 
 
 Jul. I will not fail. 'Tis twenty years till then. 
 I have forgot why I did call thee back. 
 
 Rom. Let rne stand here till thou remember it. 
 
 Jul. I shall forget to have thee still stand there, 
 Remembering how I love thy company. 
 
 Rom. And I'll stay here, to have thee still forget, 
 Forgetting any other home but this. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis almost morning. I would have thee 
 gone, 
 And yet no farther than a wanton's bird 
 That lets it hop a little from her hand 
 And with a silk thread pulls it back again, 
 So loving jealous of his liberty. 
 
 Rom. I would I were thy bird. 
 
 Jul. Sweet, so would I ; 
 Yet, I should kill thee with much cherishing — 
 Good night, good night. Parting is such svjeet 
 
 sorrow, 
 That I shall say good night till it be morrow. 
 
 Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy 
 breast, 
 Would, I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest. 
 
 I feel confident the reader will forgive me, for 
 extracting so much of this beautiful dialogue. 
 He who has any ear for music, will read this 
 garden scene over and over again. Often as I 
 have perused it (as well as the characters of Ham- 
 
18 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 let and Othello) I even, at this hour, discover new 
 beauties in it as well as them. It is all nature. 
 There is no study — no art in it — no laboured and 
 mawkish effusions of love. The lines are the very 
 eloquence of love and music. Mark the winning 
 gentleness — the girlish sweetness — the timid and 
 shrinking, yet deep and overwhelming fondness of 
 the interesting Juliet ; and the unconquerable, 
 enthusiastic, and idolatrous adoration of the 
 " heart-smitten " Romeo. Never did I read a 
 character where love was so omnipotent — affect- 
 tion and constancy so predominant, as in that of 
 Juliet. Eloise, all Voltaire's characters, Cleo- 
 patra, even those warm and winning fairy-forms 
 from the voluptuous hand of Byron, fade and 
 shrink before it. Juliet is all love, all gentleness, 
 all woman. Love is her life and being. She lives 
 in Romeo. She hears, sees, talks, thinks of no- 
 thing but " the god of her idolatry." Even from 
 the first moment she talks to him, she gives him 
 her heart, after the insinuating discourse which he 
 uses to her in the ball room. Mark the hurry, 
 the first love, the fluttering fear of 
 
 Go ask his name. If he be married 
 My grave is like to be my wedding-bed. 
 
 Even in the ball-room, she cannot contain her 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 19 
 
 affection for him (for it is still the heart that is 
 speaking) and she instantly enquires the name of 
 the unknown who kissed her hand, and with it 
 took her heart. 
 
 He is the ocean to the river of her thoughts.* 
 In the garden scene the eloquence of Juliet is 
 beyond that of Romeo. Sweet and winning as are 
 his words, there is not so much character in them 
 as those of Juliet's. Here again mark the 
 judgment. Love is woman's life. Should she 
 not therefore be more eloquent on the subject 
 which is in a manner herself? If the reader will 
 look attentively at the entire of this most pleasing- 
 drama, he will still find this trait carried through- 
 out all her language. It breathes in warm and 
 
 * I have here changed the personal pronouns. I look 
 on this verse to contain the most beautiful metaphor 
 in one line, in the entire compass of English poetry. 
 Recollecting this, I cannot account for the strange 
 taste of the inimitable author of it (Byron) in adding 
 any thing to it. It stands thus in the original, 
 
 " She was the ocean to the river of his thoughts 
 Which teryninated all." 
 
 What use are the three last words. They cannot — 
 they do not add to it. Addition spoils the line. Read 
 it without them, (putting the period at " thoughts,") 
 and it is exquisitely beautiful. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 vivid sighs in the night scene — glows with truth 
 and fond ardour in the hour of her marriage — and 
 deepens into despair, but changeless affection in 
 the moment of trial and death. Looking at the 
 character in this — in these lights, she is the most 
 interesting of all the heroines of the " divine 
 bard." Ophelia and Desdemona are not. to be 
 excepted. It strikes me that correct taste would 
 place Ophelia (before Desdemona) as the second 
 most interesting heroine of his plays. Juliet is, 
 in every respect, pre-eminently the first. She 
 loves — she is crossed in love — her husband is 
 banished — she is commanded to love another — she 
 refuses — she entails the curse of her father— the 
 very means she assumes to save her from marry- 
 ing Paris, brings death not merely to herself, but 
 to the being for whom alone she would live. 
 This catastrophe is highly wrought, and most 
 deeply affecting. And here, her love changes not. 
 Even though there is poison on the lips of her 
 lover, still she hugs — still she kisses him. In this 
 scene the sound of his voice recalls back her 
 fleeting senses. Mark the fondness — the sweet- 
 ness of the following lines — 
 
 I know that voice ! Its magic sweetness wakes 
 
 My tranced soul — I now remember well 
 
 Each circumstance — oh, my lord ! my husband ! 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 21 
 
 Let me touch 
 
 Thy hand, and touch the cordial of thy lips. 
 It would be wrong not to continue such melody. 
 I copy some lines more, taken from this harp of 
 u love and song." 
 
 Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? It is not yet near day : 
 It was the nightingale and not the lark, 
 That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
 Nightly she sings on yon pomegranite tree : 
 Believe me, Love, it was the nightingale. 
 
 Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 
 
 No nightingale 
 
 I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 
 
 Jul. Yon light is not day light, I know it well. 
 Then stay awhile, thou shalt not go so soon. 
 
 Rom. Ah ! Farewell, my Love ! one kiss, and I'll 
 begone. 
 
 Jul. Art thou gone so ? Love ! Lord ! Ah Hus- 
 band, Friend ! 
 I must hear from thee every day in tK hour, 
 For in love's hours there are many days : 
 Oh ! by this count I shall be much in years 
 Ere I again behold my Romeo. 
 Oh, thinkst thou we shall ever meet again ? 
 
 Rom. I doubt it not. 
 
 Jul. Oh Heavens ! I have an ill divining soul, 
 Methinks I see thee, now thou'rt parting from me 
 As one, dead in the bottom of a tomb ! 
 
22 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 I think all this excessively sweet — pre-emi- 
 nently natural and tender. I beg to notice to the 
 reader the great propriety of the repetition of the 
 second line of Juliet's address respecting the 
 nightingale. Likewise, the judgment of making 
 her commence her discourse by the tender interro- 
 gatory of, "Wilt thou begone, Love?" I also 
 notice the great naturalness of these two lines, 
 
 Yon light is not daylight, / know it well. 
 I must hear from thee every day in the hour. 
 
 I further remark the hurried eagerness, and fond 
 delight, with which she catches the phial from 
 the Friar, the contents of which are to induce the 
 drowsiness which afterwards terminates so fatally. 
 
 Jul. (Taking the phial.) Give me ! Oh, give me ! 
 Tell me not of fear. 
 
 But extracts would multiply on me without end, 
 from this interesting and perfectly Italian drama. 
 One would almost think that Shakespeare sat 
 amid the " starry skies and cloudless climes " of 
 the calm and classic Italy. That he felt the warm 
 inspiration and the voluptuous dreaming of a poet 
 bom in the amorous and sunny south ; and that 
 the spirits of Tasso, Catullus, and Ariosto hovered 
 about him, while his rich and rapid pen was 
 sketching off (vivid and beautiful) the warm and 
 
ESSAY OxN SHAKESPEARE. 23 
 
 love breathing scenes of his delightful " Romeo 
 and Juliet." Tis nothing but love, and warmth, 
 and imagination, and voluptuous attachment from 
 beginning to end. All the picture is sketched in 
 Italian painting. 'Tis all sunny hues and warm 
 dyes. Fervour, and fondness, and most magical 
 sweetness flow and irradiate from his pen while it 
 is pourtraying the scenes and characters of this 
 highly wrought drama. # The music which is to 
 be found in its scenes, is I think superior to any 
 other tones struck from the harp that this master 
 of surpassing melody knew so well how to sweep. 
 The chords of it are all strung to love. Blighted 
 and unhappy, but fond and overwhelming love is 
 his theme ; and with mighty and magic touches — 
 
 * I refer the reader to the conversation between 
 Nurse and Juliet, in the fifth scene of the second act, 
 and request of him to mark the infinite effect of the 
 repetition of — 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me what says my 
 love ! 
 
 I also refer him to the vivid and love breathing soli- 
 loquy of — 
 
 Gallop apace, ye fiery footed steeds ! 
 
 Here mark the force of " love performing night/- and 
 " leap to these arms." 
 
24 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 with tones of dark and most melancholy woe, he 
 tells a tale of love — 
 
 That tale of true love, that never did run smooth ! 
 
 Romeo is a most difficult character to perform. 
 I shall own to the reader that (like the u Dori- 
 court" of Mrs. Cowley) I never saw it performed 
 yet. It requires so many things to act this cha- 
 racter, that I almost despair of ever having the 
 pleasure of seeing it correctly done. Feeling and 
 judgment are indispensably necessary to perform 
 the part. So it is with that master piece — 
 Hamlet. I would however draw this distinction. 
 There is (of the two) more of feeling than judg- 
 ment, required in acting Romeo — more oi judg- 
 ment than feeling in acting Hamlet. Romeo is 
 completely made, to tell 
 
 A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear 
 Such as would please. 
 
 I refer the reader to the part where he is first 
 introduced, for the " first sitting " (if I may use 
 the term) of his character. You are there told, 
 not who, but what he is. I here adduce another 
 instance of the judgment of this creator. Romeo 
 is made to fall in love with a person whom he has 
 as yet had no conversation with. This is ro- 
 mantic — and 'tis characteristic because romantic- — 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 25 
 
 and 'tis dramatic because characteristic. I here 
 will readily grant that it does not evince com- 
 mon sense ; but this quality we really must 
 forget in the lover. In this latter character the 
 master wished to pourtray him, and he has ac- 
 cordingly throughout, done so. The acutest 
 reader cannot find any scene— any word which 
 does not evince the pensive but at the same time 
 fervid lover. I know nothing more perfectly insi- 
 nuating than his first brilliant but yet retiring 
 address to Juliet at the masquerade. 
 
 If I profane, with my unworthy hand 
 This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this. 
 
 The brilliancy consists in the last line — the 
 timidness is expressed in the words " profane " 
 and " unworthy." I also quote his second and 
 third replies to Juliet as instances of this insi- 
 nuating manner. 
 
 The reader will here permit me (and perhaps he 
 will understand the character the better) to draw 
 a distinction between genteel manners and imi- 
 nuating manners. I affirm then that a person 
 may be genteel — nay, that he may be very genteel, 
 and yet not be in the slightest degree insinuating ; 
 but — a person cannot be insinuating without being 
 eminently genteel. Insinuating manners are, in a 
 
26 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 manner, like talent— -bom with a person ; now 
 genteel manners can be acquired. For proofs of 
 what I advance I ask the reader to go to the next 
 party he may chance to be invited to, and he will 
 there meet, a hundred persons who possess genteel 
 manners, and perhaps about one who possesses 
 insinuating manners. How comes this discre- 
 pancy it may be asked? I answer by saying, 
 that to be insinuating, requires talent — graceful 
 figure — sweet voice — great gentility — and a slight 
 touch of the warm and playful " Charles,'' of the 
 brilliant Sheridan. Now these are qualities that 
 are not always combined ; and unless my observa- 
 tions deceive me, I remark that this character is 
 to be seen in more natural perfection in the sister 
 kingdom than in England. The Englishman is 
 constitutionally dull ; the Irishman constitutionally 
 cheerful. 
 
 I perceive I am somewhat digressing, but I do 
 so for the purpose of making myself more clear to 
 the reader. The intuitive mind of Shakespeare 
 then knew the advantage of insinuation in man- 
 ner, and accordingly I bring up as proofs of it, 
 the entire words of Romeo to Juliet ; the addresses 
 (the touches are slight but masterly) of Hamlet 
 to the interesting Ophelia ; the manly and warrior 
 like, but soft and tender wooings of the Moor to 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 27 
 
 Desdemona ; and reciprocally, the soft and insi- 
 nuating appeals of the gentle bride to her Lord, 
 to have the disgraced favourite restored ; the 
 pleadings of Isabella to the lustful Angelo; all 
 these (and many more) might be adduced to show- 
 how Shakespeare knew this trait of character; 
 and he accordingly has put into the mouths of 
 those personages, the very sweetest music that the 
 English language could possibly afford. This 
 again is another proof of the versatility of his 
 genius. He not only wrote in the tragical and 
 comical, but (and it is a most difficult one) in the 
 amatory style of poetry. The play I am now 
 speaking of is the most eloquent instance of it. 
 I here remark that since the death of this divine 
 bard, there have been but two poets that have 
 completely succeeded in this amatory style — 
 Byron and Moore. The first unites nerve along 
 with voluptuousness — the second, antithesis along 
 with brilliancy. It might remain a question for 
 the genuine critic (I regret to say a very rare cha- 
 racter) to decide, which style would be best suited 
 to lyrical and amatory poetry. It is in song poetry 
 that Moore, pre-eminently and dazzlingly stands 
 before every other writer since the days of the Greek 
 Anacreon. In this respect I cannot help owning 
 that the songs of Shakespeare fade before those of 
 
28 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 this living Anacreon ; and here I am greatly re- 
 minded of a similarity in style between some of 
 the songs of Moore's great admirer (Byron) and 
 the Dirge in the last act of Romeo and Juliet. 
 If the critic looks attentively at both, he will find 
 a striking similarity. 
 
 Were I to proceed further with these cha- 
 racters, I perceive I should be led on to an im- 
 measurable length. It was my intention to have 
 separated them and spoken of them in the order 
 in which they appear in the title page, thus 
 making distinct notices of each ; but I found 
 them so twined together that I could not well 
 disjoin them ; besides, in this age of divorces, it 
 would be quite a serious thing, and matter for 
 legal (if not critical inquiry) were I to separate 
 Mrs. Romeo from her faithful and constant spouse. 
 The only thing therefore which I shall further 
 remark, is, that the next best drawn character in 
 the play is Mercutio ; and the fourth, the loqua- 
 cious nurse. 
 
 , I now enter on more difficult ground — Hamlet. 
 This is the most original of the characters created 
 by the first of dramatic writers. A quick eye 
 may perceive some shades of similarity in others 
 of his characters. In this — to this, there are 
 none. Neither has Shakespeare himself, nor any 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 29 
 
 succeeding author attempted any imitation. It 
 stands alone, unrivalled, and majestic — unimitated 
 and inimitable. • 
 
 He who performs Hamlet must be a critic — a 
 gentleman — a scholar, and a good actor. He 
 must possess a graceful figure, not a fine figure — 
 he must have a sweet voice not a strong voice — he 
 must be gifted with insinuating manners, not 
 genteel manners — he must be a fluent and sweet 
 declaimer, and not a turgid and studied one — he 
 must possess the most exquisite judgment, and 
 along with all these requisites, his acting (for he 
 has half a dozen characters to assume) must be 
 all nature. These are difficult and appalling 
 obstacles ; but I unhesitatingly assert that with- 
 out all these, " the Prince of Denmark" cannot 
 be effectively and completely personated; and 
 with them, the character is perfectly and easily 
 accomplished. 
 
 Speaking of the acting of this character would 
 easily lead me to dilate on the topic ; I reserve 
 this however for the last pages, and shall proceed 
 with this difficult and inimitable creation. 
 
 It strikes me that a good deal of judgment can 
 often be perceived in the introduction of a cha- 
 racter, either on the stage, in a poem, or in a 
 
30 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 novel. I could adduce a great many instances of 
 this nice trait in bringing in a leading character 
 to the notice of the reader. There is scarcely any 
 novel by that first novel writer of the day — Sir 
 W. Scott, which has not this peculiarity, when 
 he wishes to bring among his other subordinate 
 personages, some leading favourite. There is 
 some touch, some trait, some preparation, which 
 goes as a forerunner to this favoured person, and 
 then his reply or his speech invariably stamps, 
 and as it were, lets you in (often in a line) to the 
 character of the person. 
 
 There is an instance of this before me. Hamlet 
 is introduced along with the king, queen, and 
 lords and ladies of the court, but he remains 
 silent and thoughtful — wrapped up in his lonely 
 and lordly musings on the event which has so 
 lately taken place, and which presses so on his 
 memory. This is a retired but a striking touch 
 of character. Further — he heeds not the glare 
 and the show of the court — the flourish of trum- 
 pets and the pageantry that is passing round 
 him ; but lost in his reflections he does not speak, 
 until spoken to. Then mark the depth and the 
 pith of his two first replies — the first spoken so, 
 as to be heard, and not to be heard. (The actor 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 31 
 
 who does not speak the words thus, speaks them 
 wrong.) 
 
 Ham. A little more than kin,* and less than kind. 
 King. How is it that the cloud still hangs upon you ? 
 Ham. Not so, my Lord; I am too much i' th' sun. 
 
 How sententious, and how completely in cha- 
 racter with his soul, are these replies. The first 
 (correctly) breaks in on the speech of the king. 
 The second is at once ready and characteristic. 
 Join these, with his two following replies to his 
 mother, (the last, the best of the four,) and if the 
 reader possess anything of quickness, he is at 
 once let into the character of Hamlet. In this 
 scene (and the words would be incorrect intro- 
 duced earlier or later in the drama) he speaks the 
 first of those inimitable soliloquies, than which, I 
 know nothing more masterly in this divine bard. 
 This soliloquy is not so hard to speak, as that 
 grand piece of elocution and morality — 
 
 To be — or not to be — that is the question. 
 
 The reason of it is, that there must be the most 
 acute judgment observed in delivering this last 
 one. It is a cold, deep, pithy, moralizing piece of 
 oratory, and it is one actor in a thousand that can 
 
 * This is the Teuton ick word for child. 
 
32 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 properly conceive the part. The acting must be 
 nothing but nature. Ranting is here (and indeed 
 throughout the entire of this masterly character) 
 completely done away. I could scarcely conceive 
 anything more perfectly sickening than to see " a 
 robustious periwig pated fellow," go through this 
 part with his turgid movements, his grand start- 
 ings, and his see-saw motions. Hamlet must be 
 played differently from all the other characters of 
 Shakespeare. If a man does not possess all the 
 requisites which I have already mentioned, I again 
 repeat that he cannot do this princely and majestic 
 personage. 
 
 I said that he who personated him, must assume 
 half a dozen characters. He must not only 
 assume, but he must sustain them. Here lies the 
 difficulty — for — to sustain these characters, he 
 must be gifted by nature with all the required 
 endowments. There may be some other cha- 
 racters in these dramas (and perhaps I might be 
 ready to admit it) where a fine flourish of hands, 
 feet, and legs — a grand movement of some mighty 
 fine bombastical arrangement, might for the mo- 
 ment strike, and perhaps deceive the eye ; but in 
 the royal Dane, it must be all temperance, and 
 smoothness, and grace, and finished deportment. 
 The very acutest judgment must be carried 
 
ESSAY ON. SHAKESPEARE. 33 
 
 through every line of it; if not, the personation 
 degenerates into a sickening nothingness ; and 
 infinitely sooner would I prefer seeing the cha- 
 racter regularly and manfully badly performed ; 
 than to have my ear tortured and nerves dilapi- 
 dated by some vile would-be imitating the subli- 
 mity of it, and " curtailing it of its fair propor- 
 tions." 
 
 I spoke of the different shades of character of 
 Hamlet. Hamlet is a gentleman — mark his de- 
 meanour through the entire of the play. Hamlet 
 is a critic — mark his inimitable directions to the 
 players. Hamlet is a scholar — various passages 
 of the drama evince it. Hamlet possessed insi- 
 nuating manners — read his suasive addresses to 
 the lovely Ophelia, and contrast her opinions and 
 ideas of him. Hamlet possessed a graceful 
 figure — vide act iii. scene 1. " The glass of 
 fashion and the mould of form ; the observed of 
 all observers." Hamlet was a master of the 
 graceful art of fencing — vide last act. Hamlet 
 was a keen observer of human nature — take his 
 pithy and correct remarks on man and the world, 
 as examples of this. Hamlet appears in the cha- 
 racter of the lover — (and to a critic's eye, this is 
 quite a distinct personation) — mark his love for 
 
34 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Ophelia, and read these exquisite lines to her 
 brother — 
 
 I loved Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers 
 Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
 Make up my sum* What wilt thou do for her ? 
 
 The reader will allow me to call his attention to 
 the three first words here — .so simple, so striking, 
 I loved Ophelia ! 
 
 Hamlet was a " courtier, soldier, and scholar." 
 The play tells us so. Hamlet assumed (and suc- 
 cessfully maintained) the character of a madman. 
 
 I have here shown Hamlet in a variety of cha- 
 racters. This last observation however opens 
 somewhat of a wider field to me. 
 
 I have heard it remarked by many, and have 
 further perused laborious papers on the subject; 
 that the madness of Hamlet was not assumed, 
 but was real! This is a proposition which I 
 must endeavour to distinctly combat ; nor can I 
 at all see, on what fair and tenable grounds, the 
 supporters of such proposition can rest their argu- 
 ments. It strikes me that the play is completely 
 altered — the characters excessively lessened — the 
 power and intellect of Hamlet made a nothing of — 
 if this proposition can be made valid. How 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 35 
 
 greatly does Hamlet degenerate, if we consider 
 his reason to be impaired. How far does he fall 
 below that lordly (and I may add) majestic de- 
 portment — that high and grand solitariness of sen- 
 timent — that graceful and winning demeanour — 
 which the poet has so nobly depicted him in, if 
 we suppose him to be — an ideot. Look now on 
 the other side of the picture. Suppose him not 
 mad. Suppose him to be in full exercise of those 
 powers of reasoning, and that depth of intellect 
 which is the noblest gift of man ; and then 
 observe how much more highly he appears in our 
 esteem. This view of the portrait, makes him 
 Hamlet — that view of it, makes him almost the 
 meanest character in the play. Yet again. I un- 
 hesitatingly assert that to assume and perform well 
 on the stage, the character of either a madman or a 
 drunkard, is one of the very hardest exertions in 
 the histrionic art. This was one of Garrick's 
 (Garrick — thou unimitated ! thou inimitable !) 
 most excelling personations. Every would-be 
 actor thinks this, an excessively easy thing. I 
 have seen some of them imitate the drunkard and 
 the madman, and they have done it so abominably, 
 that I have often shut my eyes, or else taken up 
 the play bill and read it over about one hundred 
 
 d 2 
 
36 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 times. Why is it hard to perform? Because the 
 drunkard and the madman have thoughts, actions, 
 opinions, conceits, and movements quite different 
 from the every day persons that we meet in real life. 
 They have, as it were, a world of their own. 
 Judgment then (not taste — for taste and judgment 
 are two perfectly distinct things) and true his- 
 trionic talent are absolutely necessary in perso- 
 nating either of these characters. 
 
 Now make the madness of Hamlet real, and 
 you take away from him an excelling merit in the 
 character. Make it assumed, and you give him 
 this merit. But what are the facts (and as I am 
 an unworthy follower of the Bar, I shall prove 
 perverse and say, I must have facts) I say where 
 are the facts which tell us that the madness of 
 Hamlet is real ? I have read the play over and 
 over again to try and discover these said impor- 
 tant facts, but I must confess unto the mad manu- 
 facturers of poor Hamlet that I could not even get 
 a single tenable one which would hold good in any 
 court of justice in His Britannic (or even Danish) 
 Majesty's dominions — even though I got my 
 sharpest wits and keenest Dollond spectacles to 
 assist me in the search, backed too by a formal 
 writ of—" De lunatico inquirendo. 9 * 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 37 
 
 What is almost the first expression of Hamlet 
 to Horatio and Marcellus ? Let us bring it into 
 court. 
 
 Come here ; 
 
 How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself 
 
 As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 
 
 To put an antic disposition on — 
 
 That you never shall note, that you know aught 
 
 Of me. 
 
 Yet again — 
 
 Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore : your 
 hands ; you are welcome : — but my uncle-father, and 
 my aunt-mother are deceived. 
 
 And again — 
 
 It is not madness 
 That I have uttered : bring me to the test 
 And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
 Would gambol from. 
 
 It is not my intention to bring up any more ex- 
 tracts than these few lines from this play. I 
 consider even these, perfectly sufficient to establish 
 the proposition which I have laid down ; and I 
 feel I would be but wasting both my time and my 
 ink (and like Cowper's inkstand it is almost dried 
 in the sun) were I to waste either, in attempting 
 to establish " a self-evident proposition." I how- 
 
38 
 
 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ever do not want to prove an unfair antagonist. 
 If any " literary lady or gentleman " should 
 choose to enter the lists with me, (for I know, 
 many entertain the opinion,) I can pledge myself 
 to them, that I shall endeavour to answer their 
 arguments by more copious extracts, and more 
 pressing proofs, should they favour me with any 
 reply to this essay. Let me now return to Hamlet 
 and his " fair Ophelia." 
 
 Hamlet was possessed of both taste and judg- 
 ment. His remarks to the players confirm the 
 first — his demeanor to the king and queen, the 
 last. I know scarcely any thing which evinces so 
 much taste, so much nice discrimination, such 
 delicacy of conception, as his " advice to 
 the players." (Oh ! would that it were better 
 attended to now-a-days.) In this, is set down the 
 every precept which a finished actor should re- 
 quire ; and so difficult is it for one man to unite 
 in himself all the requisites which are there so 
 nicely put forth, that only one man has been able 
 to come up to, and obey them all ; for there was 
 no shade of character, either in tragedy or co- 
 medy that he could not perform. 
 
 I said that the love addresses of Hamlet to 
 Ophelia were slightly touched, but done with a 
 master's hand. I think the following excessively 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 39 
 
 beautiful, and greatly admire the ease with which 
 he turns from the depth and morality of his 
 soliloquy, to the beautiful form which crosses his 
 sight. 
 
 Soft you, now ! 
 The fair Ophelia: — nymph, in thy orisons 
 Be all my sins remembered. 
 
 Oph. Good, my Lord, 
 How does your honour for this many a day ? 
 Ham. I humbly thank you; well. 
 
 The reader of taste will perceive the soft and 
 suasive expressions in the first lines. He will 
 further allow me to call his attention to the word 
 ** humbly," and the slight hesitation or pause, (the 
 actor who does not see this, leaves out a beauty,) 
 before the word ci well." Put any other word in 
 the place of " humbly," and though it may express 
 the politesse of Hamlet, it cannot give it the half 
 mad, half sensible turn, which that single word 
 conveys ; and which it was Hamlet's intention to 
 convey to his interesting interlocutor. As another 
 instance of what I am speaking of, I adduce the 
 
 Lady, shall I lie in your lap ? 
 This, if possible, is more masterly than the 
 former ; though I have often endeavoured to drill 
 into the thick pates of many of my companions 
 where the beauty in it lay, which they would fain 
 
40 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 aflirm was gross and irrelevant. Shall I endea- 
 vour to explain where the judgment of this line 
 lies ? and I do fervently pray if I have got any 
 aforesaid thick-pated animal reading my book, 
 that he will even forthwith (but good humouredly) 
 put it by. 
 
 The company are all assembled to see the play 
 performed which Hamlet gets up for the purpose 
 of '* touching the conscience of the king." Here 
 there is need of his utmost discretion and judg- 
 ment, for the purpose of carrying on the plot of 
 his assumed madness. If he addressed Ophelia 
 untowardly and rudely, he would forsake his cha- 
 racter both of courtier and gentleman. If he ad- 
 dressed her without some mixture of waywardness, 
 he could not carry on his design. He therefore 
 prefaces the blunt and amorous question in the 
 above line, by the complimentary words of 
 
 No, good mother ; here's metal more attractive. 
 
 and then he immediately turns to his fair inter- 
 locutor, and says, 
 
 Lady, shall I lie in your lap? 
 
 There is inimitable propriety in both these lines. 
 The last is a difficult line to speak correctly. I 
 shall here remark to the reader, that I once heard 
 a gentleman (in a drawing-room,) change this 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 41 
 
 last line, and place the verb in the potential mood, 
 thus, 
 
 Lady, may I lie in your lap ? 
 
 It struck me that this (at least the way he pro- 
 nounced it,) had more of insinuation in it; and 
 as we have got a great many readings of different 
 parts of this celebrated poet, I mention this to the 
 judicious actor for his perusal and observation. 
 Had Hamlet at first said, 
 
 Lady, shall I lie at your feet? 
 
 it would have been all insinuation, and no way- 
 wardness. But spoken as it is, it indescribably 
 gives us that mixture of politesse and forgetful- 
 ness, which it certainly was the author's intention 
 to evince ; nor can I by any means suppose 
 that it was the intention of our author to give the 
 following construction to this line, which con- 
 struction, I have heard some say it bears, viz. 
 " Lady, let me lie down at your feet, and then be 
 kind enough to let me put my head in your lap ;" 
 and even though thus mentioned afterwards, (in 
 some editions) it does not impugn the first reading 
 of the line. It is awkward and distorted, nor 
 does it evince any judgment in the writer. If we 
 look at the line as above construed, it shows judg- 
 ment (that pre-eminent quality) both in the cha- 
 
42 
 
 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE 
 
 racter and the creator of it. The scene from 
 which I have taken these lines, is in the third act. 
 This and the fifth are the two hardest acts for a 
 judicious performer to get through in this admi- 
 rable drama. In them it is pre-eminently neces- 
 sary — 
 
 " To snatch a grace beyond the reach of art." 
 
 I have heard some advance, that the acting of 
 Hamlet should all be governed by art. This is a 
 dangerous argument to go on. If so, where is 
 nature ? If art governs the performer in his per- 
 sonation of Hamlet, then there is not the slightest 
 use whatever in natural acting, which, Jam simple 
 and untutored enough to look on, as the greatest 
 grace — the chiefest ornament — the only recom- 
 mendation to the finished actor. To be a finished 
 actor, is, indeed, a hard thing ; it requires colle- 
 giate education — gentlemanly manners— know- 
 ledge of the world — immense versatility of mind — 
 genuine talent — and eminent taste and eminent 
 judgment. With these, a man can claim respect 
 from an appreciating and discerning public, but 
 without them, he treads hazardous ground, who 
 attempts to personify Shakespeare and Otway, 
 and has not the requisites I enumerate. 
 
 Shall I look on Hamlet (in parts of the play) 
 in another character? If we allow his madness to 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 43 
 
 be assumed, (and I do not plainly see to the con- 
 trary) he appears in the light of an amateur per- 
 former. That he had a taste for the drama ap- 
 pears from his directions to the players — the 
 action and emphasis (as well as the fidelity of 
 his memory) in his quotation of Pyrrhus to the 
 first actor — and his desire to have the players 
 well lodged, and properly provided for. This is 
 another respect in which this character bears the 
 impress of an original. There is no other play 
 which has a character of this cast in it. There is 
 no other author who has attempted to place his 
 hero in this commanding and teaching position. 
 He tells the others exactly, nay critically, what to 
 do ; so that if he fails himself in his part of the 
 drama, he but brings greater judgment against 
 himself — another reason why the character of 
 Hamlet can never be performed by a would-be 
 actor. 
 
 I further spoke of much being expressed in a 
 single line. This author has a wonderful facility 
 in doing so. I here more particularly allude to 
 the first lines which his characters speak, and 
 these first lines are often extremely difficult to 
 deliver. I adduce the following. 
 
 A little more than kin, and less than kind. 
 
 So foul and fair a day, I have not seen. 
 
44 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 1 Three thousand ducats — Well ? 
 It's better as it is. 
 I pray you, is Signor Montanto returned from the 
 
 wars, or no ? 
 My noble Lord, did Michael Cassio, when you wooed 
 
 my Lady, 
 Know of your love ? 
 
 (Theseus. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.) 
 Hermia. So is Lysander. 
 Is the day so young ? — Ah me ! sad hours seem 
 
 long. 
 What shall I say ? — I cannot bring my tongue 
 To such a pace. 
 What would ye have, ye curs, that like nor peace 
 
 nor war ?* 
 If it be love indeed tell me how much, 
 There's beggary in the love that can be reckoned . 
 
 A quick eye will instantly glean from looking 
 at these lines (and comparing them with what 
 surrounds them) the kinds of characters which 
 follow. They are the prefaces, as it were, to the 
 beautiful books of " men and manners " which 
 the creator opens to you ; and with true discrimi- 
 
 * This line (simple as it appears,) is, perhaps, the 
 hardest in this drama to act. Coriolanus cannot be 
 acted now. John Kemble is gone, and who is it that 
 does not regret him. 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 45 
 
 nate tact — with genuine insight into mankind, he 
 shows you, even in a line (Oh, thou excelling 
 poet!) the disposition, force, bent — the complete 
 temperament of either the hero or heroine which 
 he intends developing to the delighted eye, with 
 either the vivid colouring of his boundless fancy, 
 or the creative strokes of his almighty invention. 
 I am not aware that this beautiful (but hidden) 
 touch of the master has been noticed before. 
 I think it eminently striking. It is a touch of 
 nature which I have never discovered in the 
 would-be poet. You are obliged to wade through 
 his characters to try and make them out. The 
 master shows you at once what his creative pencil 
 is going to develope on the glowing canvass — lets 
 you in by this fine but hurried dash of that en- 
 chanting pencil what the scene and the character 
 are to be which he is going to embody. Mark 
 the intrusive question of the playful but proud 
 Beatrice, 
 
 I pray you is Signor Montanto returned from the wars, 
 or no ? 
 
 This question is put at a time when nobody in 
 the company (mark this) was expecting the query ; 
 but her meddling spirit was busy — was on the 
 stretch to hear about the very man whom she 
 
46 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 doats on, and yet (out of womanish pride) hates ! 
 Let me follow this again. Benedict comes in. 
 He does not immediately address Beatrice. Now 
 the young scamp (what else am I to call her) is 
 dying to talk to him, and with the infinite cun- 
 ning of woman she pretends to abuse him, 
 merely to give herself an opportunity of speaking 
 to the very man, that I feel perfectly confident she 
 would have liked to have kissed! — aye kissed, 
 reader, and if you are a female who are perusing 
 these critiques, my knowledge of you deceives 
 me, if I do not say so correctly. Here is the 
 notable address : 
 
 I wonder that you will still be talking Signor 
 Benedict ; nobody marks you. 
 
 Though she was " marking " every word he 
 uttered. I call these two instances in this cha- 
 racter, excelling nature. How completely, too, is 
 the thoughtful lover recognized instantly in the 
 two or three words — 
 
 Ah me ! sad hours seem long. 
 
 Mark also the first words of Hamlet — the sen- 
 tentious and keen first words of Hamlet. They 
 tell what was brooding in his mind. They are 
 in a manner the " prologue " to the '• play" 
 which he was forming and planning in his lonely 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 47 
 
 and melancholy hours. But the opening words 
 of Iago to Othello are pre-eminently striking. 
 Mark the depth — the fawning solicitude — the 
 suasive but serpent- like query of, 
 
 My noble Lord, did Michael Cassio, when you 
 Wooed my Lady, know of your love ? 
 
 The reader will please remark it is not 
 " my lord/' but " my noble lord." The words, 
 " so is Lysander," appear nothing ; but if the 
 reader will look over the first act of the play, he 
 will instantly see why Hermia spoke them. The 
 two last lines (in the sentences) which I have 
 quoted are from the play of Anthony and Cleo- 
 patra. How expressive are they of the mild and 
 unrestrained love of each. In this play I have 
 read scenes and passages on which I am confident 
 Byron in a great measure formed himself — at least 
 took instruction from. The following line recalls 
 something of his lawless and lustful magnificence 
 to me, but goes infinitely beyond him. 
 Eternity was in our lips and eyes ! 
 
 There is but one line in the English language 
 which rivals this. It is from the divine Milton : 
 
 Imparadised within each other's arms ! 
 I perceive I am digressing. But Shakespeare 
 
48 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE, 
 
 is inexhaustible. You can scarcely wander from 
 him ; for wherever you turn — whatever book you 
 open, (if the scenes and characters are drawn from 
 nature,) there is the master before you. All 
 authors — all eminent poets draw from him. He 
 is the overflowing and unsullied fountain, whose 
 eternal freshness and inexhaustible springs ferti- 
 lize and make glad whatever they run through. 
 All read Shakespeare. All make extracts from 
 him. All understand him. And why? Nature was 
 his goddess. Nature was his preceptress. Nature 
 was his hallowed divinity ; and with the vivid touch 
 of her inspiration — with the glowing fervour of her 
 enchantment — with that boundless and unlimited 
 command which she delegated to her darling, 
 he wrote, he sketched, he delighted, he asto- 
 nished ! 
 
 Bard of divinity ! master of the heart ! thou 
 excelling poet of passion and feeling, what 
 was not at thy command ? Fear, hope, joy, 
 sorrow, anger, hate, were all at thy sovereign 
 disposal ! and even in the soft and subduing 
 passion of love — Oh, who doth go beyond thee ! 
 Is not thy pencil watered with the very tears of 
 the maid, when sorrow would speak her heart? 
 and is not it dipped in the bright colours of thy 
 vivid fancy when it would depict " beauty in 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 49 
 
 smiles?" Hast thou not a magic music in that 
 harp which heaven gave thee, and dost thou not 
 run over, and thrill on its chords with a richness 
 and a ravishment that the heart — the heart bows 
 to and delighted owns ! Where is the master 
 that has come after thee — where he that has gone 
 before thee ? who has dared to touch those chords, 
 over which an immortality doth hover ! — No ! 
 There, at the foot of that throne on which thou 
 sittest in unapproachable divinity, there doth that 
 harp lie unswept — untouched — unawakened ! mor- 
 tal hath struck it but once ; mortal cannot strike 
 it again ! 
 
 But hark ! the forlorn Ophelia is singing. 
 He is dead and gone, Lady, 
 
 He is dead and gone ; 
 At his head a grass green turf, 
 At his heels a stone. 
 
 There is exquisite beauty in this verse. There 
 are two things which strike me in it. First, the 
 sorrow which is expressed by the mournful itera- 
 tion of the first line. Second, the inattention 
 which is paid to the metre. A musical ear will 
 instantly perceive the disparity of the numbers in 
 the songs of Ophelia, and in this verse it is only the 
 second and fourth lines which rhyme. Correctly. 
 If Shakespeare had studied these songs, it would 
 
 E 
 
60 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 have evinced no acquaintance with human nature. 
 The master knew this, and with true discrimina- 
 tion, he writes as if he almost forgot metre, for, 
 when did madness study? Listen to the wild but 
 touching mournfulness — the irregular but over- 
 whelming sorrow that his fingers strike from this 
 harp of beauty, in the following heart-broken 
 lines : 
 
 They bore him barefaced on the bier, 
 And on the grave rain'd many a tear ; 
 Fare you well, my dove ! 
 
 It is the false steward that stole his master's daugh- 
 ter. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance ; Pray 
 you, love, remember ; and there is pansies, that's for 
 thoughts. There's fennel for you, (to the king.) 
 There's rue for you, (to the queen,) and here's some 
 for me ; there's a daisy ; I would give you some violets, 
 but they wither'd all when my father died. They 
 say he made a good end. (Sings.) 
 
 For my bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. 
 And will he not come again ? 
 And will he not come again ? 
 No, no, he is dead, 
 Go to thy death bed, 
 He never will come again ! 
 
 I challenge the best dramatic writers of either 
 Italy, Germany, or England, to produce lines 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 51 
 
 which shall surpass these for truth and nature. I 
 know nothing more moving — nothing more mourn- 
 ful than these slight, evanescent, but inimi- 
 table touches of misery and madness. She is in- 
 troduced with flowers — ever the delight of the 
 madwoman — and she gives fennel to the king — 
 rue to the queen — and rue to herself (correctly,) 
 and then she says that she would give them some 
 violets, but (mark the exquisite turn) " They 
 wither' d all ivhen my father died /" she then kneels 
 down and sings, still repeating and still turning 
 on the same question. The reader will please 
 mark the abstraction of the third line. She sings 
 it to herself ; and as if she forgot all the gaudy 
 and gorgeous personages around her, tells herself 
 to go and lie down on her death bed ! because, 
 
 He never will come again ! 
 
 I scarcely know where Shakespeare appears 
 more eloquent in this play, than in this inimitable 
 sketch of the fond, timid, deep loving, brain -warped 
 Ophelia. He has drawn her a beautiful young 
 creature with fond feelings and gentle disposition 
 — unknown in the ways of the world, and as it 
 were, unconscious of the charms and the beauty 
 she possessed. Her heart is captivated by that 
 most noble and eminently finished portrait, which 
 
 e 2 
 
52 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE 
 
 he has chosen for the hero of his play, and so 
 alive is she to anything that concerns him, that 
 even the feigning of madness in the object of her 
 affections, strikes on her tender heart, and crushes 
 it. # I here must not omit to turn to the first 
 words which she utters, and I again find nature 
 speaking : 
 
 Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark ? 
 
 The word " beauteous" particularly strikes me. 
 It is so fond and womanish, and also, so perfectly 
 irrelevant and maniacal ; for what woman in her 
 senses would rush into a court and ask for a 
 
 * I adduce this as another instance of the difficulty 
 that lies in performing Hamlet. He who cannot per- 
 form this scene inimitably well (personating madness) 
 cannot carry on the illusion; for how can the mind 
 suppose Ophelia to lose her senses, unless Hamlet 
 makes her believe that he is mad. I again repeat that 
 there is no character in Shakespeare, in the perform- 
 ance of which there is so much exquisite judgment 
 required as that of Hamlet. 
 
 I also remark, that in one of Ophelia's songs, there 
 is an incorrect rhyme. " Valence " rhymes to " be- 
 time," This is the only instance of complete caco- 
 phony in the poetry of Shakespeare. It would be 
 completely hypercritical to say, this was done pur- 
 posely. It was done unknowingly, and proves the 
 hurry in which the bard composed. 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 53 
 
 beauteous lover ? But make her mad, and then 
 see how appropriate is the adjective. Following 
 the idea which is above suggested to me, I again 
 turn to that part of the play where Ophelia is first 
 introduced, and here I find her character developed 
 (mark the power that sketched) in one short 
 scene. I follow it throughout. 
 
 Ophelia and Laertes are introduced. The 
 latter takes leave of her, and requests of her to 
 write to him. She instantly replies with a sister's 
 affection : 
 
 Do you doubt that ? 
 
 I here remark, that instead of making a long 
 speech to him, she answers him by interrogatory, 
 at once short and sisterly. Her brother then pro- 
 ceeds to tell her of " Hamlet's favour," and 
 cautions her from indulging in his fascinating 
 society too much. The following is her reply- 
 gentle and sensible. 
 
 I shall the effect of this good lesson keep 
 
 As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, 
 
 Do not as some ungracious pastors do, 
 
 Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; 
 
 Whilst like a reckless libertine 
 
 Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 
 
 And recks not his own road. 
 
54 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Her father is here introduced, and having caught 
 the last words of Ophelia to her brother, he asks 
 what it was Laertes was advising her about. Ophe- 
 lia, like a true woman, tries to evade the query, 
 and timidly, merely glances at their discourse. 
 So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. 
 
 This is another trait of character, and the 
 actress who does not speak the line as above, 
 speaks it incorrectly. Her father perceives she is 
 somewhat avoiding him, and he accordingly says, 
 " Give me up the truth." As she then must 
 declare it, she tells the secret, and puts the word 
 " affection " in place of love. Mark the correct- 
 ness of this, 
 
 He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders 
 Of his affection to me. 
 
 Polonius rallies her on this, and says that she 
 speaks like an inexperienced girl. He then asks 
 her, if she could rely on the proffers he had made 
 her ? Her answer to this is a very master-piece of 
 nature and character, and the reader will please 
 observe, that both are distinct. 
 
 I do not know, my lord, what I should think. 
 
 Can anything be more completely girlish — more 
 sweetly feminine, than these simple words. Had she 
 made a long speech on the ( to her) important subject, 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 55 
 
 it would have disgusted any ear of taste ; but this 
 single and simple line is a touch of nature, than 
 which I know nothing finer in the drama. I 
 proceed. 
 
 Polonius, on hearing her make this inexperi- 
 enced declaration, tells her, that he will tell her 
 " what to think." He desires her to be cautious 
 in receiving the addresses of Hamlet, and informs 
 her that she " has taken these tenders for true 
 pay, which are not sterling." She instantly per- 
 ceives that her father is about to discountenance 
 the entire proceeding, and assuredly thinking that 
 nothing could be dishonourable in the noble and 
 finished courtier who had won her heart, she 
 exclaims, 
 
 My Lord, he hath importuned me with love 
 In honourable fashion. 
 
 Polonius seems to laugh at her credulity, and 
 says, * go to — go to." Again she harps on the 
 word — again with the confiding fondness of youth 
 and innocence, she tells of his vows and con- 
 stancy. 
 
 And hath given countenance to his speech, my Lord, 
 With almost all the holy vows of heaven. 
 
 These are delightful touches from the pencil of 
 the master. There are two things which I have 
 
56 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 here to remark. When she finds that Polonius is 
 going to blame her, for her too yielding confi- 
 dence, she instantly drops the cold word of 
 " affection," and introduces the stronger word of 
 " love" — telling him he must be in earnest, as it 
 is " love in honourable fashion." The second 
 thing, is, that she joins her replies together — 
 
 And hath given countenance, &c. &c. 
 
 Thus making it appear as if she did not heed 
 (or could not heed) any word which her father 
 might interpose, and as if she wanted to press on 
 him another argument which her girlish simplicity 
 thought would be conclusive. I am perfectly 
 delighted with these exquisite strokes of nature. 
 I here caution any vile actress from mangling 
 these two replies, by pronouncing them coldly, 
 and by repeating the first, without a mixture of 
 surprize, which is difficult to delicately catch. I 
 had the happiness of seeing this character per- 
 formed once, (and but once, in Ireland,) and it 
 was executed so barbarously, that the only thing 
 
 I recollect respecting poor Ophelia, was that 
 
 it was performed by a woman. But to proceed. 
 
 Polonius still remains unbelieving. All her 
 arguments — all her woman's rhetoric cannot shake 
 the crafty experience of the old man. He there- 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 57 
 
 fore openly tells her, to give neither " words nor 
 talk to the Lord Hamlet ;" and desires her to, 
 " Look to 't.» The reply which she makes, still 
 preserves her character. Had she once more 
 attempted to remonstrate with her father, the 
 interest of the character would be taken away, for 
 it would have evinced her to be stiff and head- 
 strong. Mark the gentle reply. 
 
 I shall obey, my Lord. 
 
 There is both sorrow and compliance expressed 
 in these five words. He also correctly takes her 
 off the stage, as if to let her in quiet feel the 
 check which had been so suddenly given to her 
 fond hopes. Here then is the entire character of 
 Ophelia (at least to one who has ear and soul for 
 strokes of nature) completely developed in one 
 scene. I know nothing more gentle — more elo- 
 quent — more delightful — more fraught with the 
 first tremblings of love and the trusting confi- 
 dence of woman, than these single but pre- 
 eminent touches of skill and mastery. All her 
 replies are short — and all in character. How 
 beautiful is the sister — the daughter — and the lover 
 preserved throughout. How winning and how 
 gentle — how tender and how fond — how submis- 
 sive, and how perfectly ivoman, does she here 
 
58 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 appear. The reader will perhaps require to look 
 over it again. Like a beautiful and finished 
 painting though, its master touches can never 
 tire. I again introduce her. 
 
 She appears in the palace with all the lords and 
 ladies of the court. Here her gentleness is again 
 apparent, and her only remark is, " Madam, I 
 wish it may/' to the queen who hopes that by 
 her interference, Hamlet may again resume his 
 senses. The king and queen, &c. &c. retire. 
 Ophelia, remains. Hamlet enters and speaks that 
 noble soliloquy, " To be or not to be." Ophelia 
 comes forward, and requests of Hamlet to take 
 back from her those remembrances, which in hours 
 of love, he had bestowed on her. Hamlet (to 
 carry on his plot) says he never gave her any- 
 thing. Her reply to this sudden declaration, is 
 full of suavity and fondness. 
 
 My honoured Lord, you know right well you did ; 
 And with them words of so sweet breath compared, 
 As made the things more rich.* Their perfume lost 
 Take these again ; for to the noble mind 
 
 * I have altered the punctuation of this line — 
 putting a period at " rich." If the colon or semi- 
 colon are retained; it does not keep the words and 
 sense so distinct. 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 59 
 
 Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. 
 There, my Lord. 
 
 Mark here, the love of " my honoured Lord" — 
 the assuring testimony of, " You know right 
 well" — and the fond compliment of, " words of 
 so sweet breath compared." This appears easy to 
 deliver. It is difficult. The difficulty lies in the 
 first and last lines. 
 
 Hamlet proceeds to partly moralize with her, 
 and draws some distinction between beauty and 
 honesty, which she beautifully answers in one 
 line. He then concludes by the startling words, 
 u I did love you once." She instantly replies, 
 
 Indeed, my Lord, you made me believe so. 
 
 This is excessively natural. The force of the 
 line lies in the word " indeed :" and the person 
 who repeats it, should notice this, taking care to 
 also lay an emphasis on the word " made." And 
 yet this emphasis should not be so distinct as that 
 on the word " indeed." If I could go express it, 
 I would say, it should be mezzo forte. It is these 
 finished and delicate modulations of accent and 
 manner that mark the true actor or actress. 
 
 Hamlet (still carrying on his plot) now breaks 
 out into more decisive language, and tells her, 
 " he did not love her." How simple, but how 
 
60 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 touching is her reply to the fatal declaration 
 which warps her brain — 
 
 " I was the more deceived !" 
 
 There are volumes in this, and it is conse- 
 quently the most difficult line in this scene to 
 deliver. She then exclaims, when she sees him 
 using such untoward words and gestures — 
 Oh help him you sweet* heavens ! 
 
 He again rallies her, and again her love breaks 
 out for him in prayer — 
 
 Oh heavenly powers restore him ! 
 
 Hamlet runs off, after again speaking to her in 
 disjointed sentences, and the words which she 
 then utters are full both of love and sorrow. 
 
 Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
 The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 
 The glass of fashion and the mould of form, 
 The observed of all observers, quite, quite down ! 
 And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
 That sucked the honey of his music vows, 
 Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh, 
 Oh, woe is me ! 
 
 * The reader will please mark the force of " sweet." 
 I cannot omit a word even in this divine bard. 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 61 
 
 I conclude these extracts by again repeating 
 that this is one of Shakespeare's most beautifully 
 drawn female portraits. With the exception of 
 his Juliet, I know nothing beyond it for love, for 
 tenderness, for constancy, and feminine sweetness. 
 I shall now dismiss her (unwillingly I own) but 
 must not forget to remark that her madness does 
 not proceed from her father's death, (though I 
 have heard it said that it does,) but from a con- 
 viction that the madness of Hamlet was real. 
 Her innocence and tenderness could not endure 
 the harshness of his conduct, and the unexpected 
 turn which his deportment towards her takes ; and 
 she in consequence falls a victim — a victim too in 
 the flower of her youth and her beauty, to a plot 
 which the " purpose of his soul" would not 
 allow him to swerve from. Gentleness seems to 
 be the predominant quality of this interesting 
 heroine. She wants the fervid warmth and power- 
 ful passion of " Juliet ;" and therefore her heart 
 is at once sensibly affected even by the first mad 
 addresses of Hamlet to her ; and I know scarcely 
 anything in a young female (before she is led into 
 the world) more attractive or pleasing than a gentle 
 demeanour. 
 
 I must not here omit to remark, that other 
 writers may, by the help of a fervid imagination, 
 
62 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 throw together a splendid train of artificial images 
 unfounded in nature, which please for a moment 
 by their lustre and novelty ; soon, though the 
 mental eye becomes dazzled by the former, and 
 fatigued from the latter. The mind strains itself 
 to follow the flights of the author, but wearied by 
 the effort, gladly descends to seek repose in the 
 scenes of Shakespeare, painted with the faithful 
 pencil of nature. The pictures of life and man- 
 ners, drawn by most other writers, are impro- 
 bable, unnatural, and distorted. Their characters 
 are modified in every respect, foreign to real life, 
 and are furnished with such qualities, passions, 
 sentiments, actions, and situations, as are totally 
 distinct from what mankind has ever experienced. 
 In many tragedies, passion is converted into an 
 instrument for the display of the author's powers 
 of description ; and the ever changing extensive- 
 ness of character is constrained into fixed rules 
 and modes ; for each person must be eminently 
 virtuous, wise, or brave; or infamously depraved, 
 weak, or mean. Instead of the sudden burst of 
 anger, short, rapid, eager, and incoherent; we 
 find the tardy pomp of declamation, and the ela- 
 borate arrangement of style. Instead of the ex- 
 pressive silence of grief, the suppressed sigh, the 
 half uttered groan, the concise and piercing ex- 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 63 
 
 clamation that breaks from the wounded- heart, 
 we find a wearisome detail of grievances, and 
 tedious, studied complainings, industriously po- 
 lished with the trappings of partial imagery. I 
 have heard and read of the passion of love, and I 
 dare say it has sometimes actually appeared in the 
 world, but if it has ever stormed, and ranted, and 
 flamed, and raved ; if it has ever flown to the 
 empyrean realms of ecstacy, or sunk into the 
 hideous abyss of despair, as it is represented by 
 some of our grand novels, our scenic furiosos, 
 and our tremendous actors, I might venture to 
 believe that it is in bedlam alone we could expect 
 to find it. Have I not heard the unmeaning 
 plaudits of the multitude follow the plays of the 
 Castle Spectre, Blue Beard, the Barmecide, and 
 such other dramatic monsters? Have I not heard 
 the novel-read Miss, with a head that could not 
 discern, and a heart that could not feel, expatiate 
 — enlarge — dilate on their merits in the hackneyed 
 phrases of, " fine language, elegant sentiment ! 
 beautiful thoughts ! delightful ! sublime ! hea- 
 venly !" And when I have expected to be en- 
 lightened by the manly observations of the firm 
 and accurate judgment of a male critic on the 
 plot, the characters, the passions, the incident, the 
 dialogue, the conduct of the play; my ear has 
 
64 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 been disgusted with some trite and idle exclama- 
 tion of praise in dilating on some bombastic pas- 
 sage, whose chief excellence is, that it has a 
 number of sounding words, heterogeneously strung 
 together to serve as a cumbersome unadapted 
 dress to " some unmeaning thing they call a 
 thought." 
 
 Among the numerous commendations bestowed 
 on Pizzaro, I have heard the loudest attributed 
 to a part, which the laws of nature and just cri- 
 ticism would direct to be for ever suppressed. 
 Rolla, in the fervour of enthusiastic friendship, im- 
 patient to execute his purpose, resolves on the 
 salvation of Alonza's life by the sacrifice of his 
 own. When he has gained admittance, however, 
 to his friend's cell, over whose head fate hangs 
 menacing and prepared to strike, (perhaps the 
 next moment,) he stays calmly and deliberately 
 to cull the flowers of poetry for the purpose of 
 manufacturing an address to nature, and to tell, 
 in a very philosophical manner to the audience, 
 that the vulture is as careful of her young as the 
 ring-dove. This might do very well in descriptive 
 poetry, but there is in it nothing of the drama — 
 nothing of nature — nothing of Shakespeare. 
 
 Mr. Sheridan made this very injudicious altera- 
 tion. Rolla in the original merely utters a concise 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 65 
 
 ejaculation, at once sufficient and natural — such 
 too, as the occasion would obviously call forth. 
 But Sheridan, as a manager, knew what would 
 please ; and it is clear he consulted in the whole 
 undertaking more his pocket than his head* At 
 the same time, I believe it to be one of the most 
 beautiful specimens of the romantic drama that 
 exists. There are some of the scenes most strik- 
 ingly thrown together — and some of them which 
 (to use common language) run away with the heart. 
 I instance the last scene between Rolla and Pizzaro, 
 and particularly when the former drops the dagger 
 at the feet of Pizzaro. There is also powerful 
 scenic delineation in the snatching of the child 
 and sword, and the dropping dead at Cora's 
 feet. 
 
 Still, though, would I doubt if it could 
 shelter itself beneath the Aristotelian rules of the 
 drama ; nor can it claim those allowances to which 
 Shakespeare's true delineation and unity of cha- 
 racter, and faithful, masterly display of the pas- 
 sions amply entitle him. Does it not appear a 
 
 * I find it a most ungrateful task to say anything 
 against my most favourite comic writer ; and I shall 
 excuse myself by saying that he was the translator, 
 not the author of the play. 
 
 F 
 
66 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 matter of astonishment that that writer who emi- 
 nently united in his character, the orator, the 
 statesman, and the dramatist ; who was so capable 
 of guiding the public taste to " the greatest ends 
 by the justest means," and of blessing the literary 
 world with the beautiful and vigorous issue of his 
 own brain, should condescend to be the fosterer of 
 a foreign and feeble progeny. Some of Kotzebue's 
 admirers have drawn a parallel between him and 
 Shakespeare, but (with a just exception to the 
 beautiful play of the " Count of Burgundy — there 
 are also some fine touches in " the Stranger ") I 
 can trace but feeble marks of similitude, save that 
 they are both authors and dramatists; but we 
 should remember that though the sovereign oak 
 which seeks the skies, and the lowly hawthorn 
 which grovels on the earth are both trees, yet how 
 remotely different are they in nature, excellence, 
 and greatness ! 
 
 Speaking of this difference, induces me also to 
 compare the characters of those writers who daub and 
 scratch away for the purpose of filling up a circulat- 
 ing library, or killing the time of a miss vapid. If 
 they can get tears to flow, and sighs to swell by being 
 mighty distressing, mighty pretty, mighty magna- 
 nimous, (without one touch of nature,) why, 
 they think they may rank themselves with a 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 67 
 
 Scott or a Goldsmith. What I would chiefly 
 point the asperity of the critic and the moralist 
 against, is that host of monstrous and despicable 
 productions named novels, that daily issue from 
 the press. In them we see characters whose feli- 
 city and misery are directed to objects ; and pro- 
 moted, retarded, and fulfilled by means which 
 never affect mankind. They are placed in situa- 
 tions which have never occurred in the drama of 
 life, and are preserved therein, or delivered there- 
 from by a concurrence of circumstances, causes, 
 and effects, such as human nature never will 
 know and never can know. Their motives of 
 action are irrational and absurd — their passions are 
 forced and unnatural — their virtues and vices are 
 ever in the extreme — and their object^ and feel- 
 ings inconsistent with man's nature arid man's 
 conduct. Still this mass of absurdity is rendered 
 more worthless by the poverty and sameness of 
 thought — the florid feebleness of language — the 
 incongruous combinations of style — the expanded 
 nothingness — and the ridiculous pictures of never 
 seen life. It is to the reading of such works 
 therefore, that we may trace in a great measure 
 that frivolity of employment — that imbecility and 
 vacuity of mind — that fantastic extravagance and 
 intolerance of thought and action which charac- 
 
 f 2 
 
68 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 terize that rank of people, who, being elevated 
 above the dread of want, the censures of their 
 neighbours, and the necessity of thinking for them- 
 selves, seek, during one half of their time, a 
 refuge from self in these books, and waste the 
 other in the frantic whirl of folly. 
 
 I perceive I have made a digression, and have 
 no doubt, shall accordingly be blamed for it. As 
 my foot is already, then, on the path, I think I may 
 as well tread away and make a good fault at once. 
 
 From this general censure I must except the 
 writings of d'Arblay, Radcliffe, and Bennett. (Scott 
 I have mentioned before, besides I cannot class him 
 with women*) The first has done all that genius 
 enlisted beneath the banner of taste and virtue could 
 do. When the second lady wrote her Udolpho, she 
 should have ceased to write. In that work are 
 displayed the wild and captivating treasure of 
 fancy — the luxuriance and variety of scenery — the 
 fair and picturesque charm of description — the 
 awful terrors of romantic shades and superstitious 
 gloom, and the thrilling scenery of forests, seas, 
 cliffs, ivied towers, and mouldering ruins ; in short, 
 all that the sportive ardour of imagination could 
 desire to revel in, and all that could awaken that 
 
 * Heaven help me ! if the ladies see this censure. 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 69 
 
 secret, indefinable, and powerful emotion — that 
 fearful and chilling, yet pleasing and resistless 
 desire which draws the human breast towards 
 what is mysterious and terrible. Though the 
 mind, however, is kept on the stretch by this 
 potent magic through the course of a long nar- 
 rative, still [like an elastic body (expanded to an 
 unnatural and disproportioned tensity) will it 
 soon relapse to its former tone, and recovering 
 from the delusion, see in their true light, that the 
 characters are unnatural and monstrous — the pas- 
 sions extravagant and inordinate — the morality 
 unapt and ineffectual, and the situations, actions, 
 motions, causes, and events, unparalleled and 
 impossible. It sees that the whole work is an 
 outrage to nature and truth, and dispassionately 
 lays it by, to seek for profit in the beautiful and 
 heart-touching scenes of Shakespeare ; or, (correct- 
 ing the words, and more pertinently, perhaps, as I 
 speak of novels) to seek for profit in the beautiful 
 and heart-touching scenes of Scott. (That is the 
 novel writer.) It also sees that Mrs. RadclifFe 
 having there exhausted all the characters of ro i 
 mance, could, in any future attempt do little 
 more than transcribe them anew, with some slight 
 indiscriminate alterations in scene and incident. 
 She should, therefore, when she wrote that work 
 
70 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 have laid down her pen — at least with respect to 
 romances. She had sufficiently mazed herself and 
 her readers in the wilds of imagination, and should 
 have returned to mingle with and describe the 
 world of real things. But I would not degrade her 
 by pinning on her the housewife's apron, to learn 
 to make Christmas pies, as Dr. Johnson said Mrs. 
 Macauley should have been doing, instead of 
 writing an history of England. She should 
 have allowed her fame to rest on " Udolpho ;" 
 which, though not a solid, is a beautiful fabric ; 
 and has, if not the permanence and regularity of 
 nature, at least the unconstrained and pleasing 
 graces of fancy. If permitted to remain alone, it 
 would have shone with conspicuous magnificence. 
 As other structures are raised round it, she there- 
 by divides and lessens the admiration due to the 
 former, without fixing it on the latter. 
 
 # Mrs. Bennett has shown much genius in her 
 
 * In here speaking of female novel writers, I ought 
 not to omit (though I have done so) alluding to the 
 works of the pleasing Miss Edgeworth, as well as those 
 of Hannah More. The former has already earned 
 her own praise. With respect to the latter, it is 
 fashionable to dispraise her, but I confess I refuse to 
 do so. Her " Lucilla " is a most lovely portrait, and I 
 perhaps shall regret that I do not more often meet the 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 71 
 
 very entertaining novel of " The Beggar Girl." 
 I never met with any of her works till this capital 
 performance fell into my hands; since then, I 
 have valued it as an unfailing fund of profit and 
 delight. It is one of those few books which can 
 be perused a second time with pleasure. 
 
 But who is it that outshines them all in novel 
 writing ? Who is it that surpasses every writer 
 that ever went before him in the masterly and 
 mighty touches of nature, description, scenery, 
 dialogue, and plot? Who is it that leads the 
 mind along, as if it were listening to the tones of 
 a harp struck with sweet and wizard touch ?— 
 Scott ! — enchanting — powerful — imitated but in- 
 imitable Scott ! 
 
 By the extensive multiplicity of his productions ; 
 the variety and novelty of his incidents; the 
 number, discrimination, and true representation of 
 character ; the ease, aptness, and liveliness of his 
 dialogue 5 the good humoured turn (when it does 
 appear) of. his wit ; the faithful delineation of 
 nature ; the vigorous and skilful, (or to use the 
 words of the celebrated Review of his country,) 
 
 character in private life. I have seen one who emi- 
 nently comes up to the portrait ; and if her beautiful 
 eyes read these lines, she can give me full credit for the 
 affection with which I speak of and here allude to her. 
 
72 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 " the broad and blazing " displays of passion ; the 
 force, purity, and propriety of his morality ; the 
 profoundness and accuracy of his observations ; 
 the justice, obviousness, and beauty — the uncom- 
 mon beauty of his descriptions ; his exact and un- 
 bounded knowledge of life and manners ; the 
 depth, solidity, and critical acuteness of his 
 judgment, and the ardour, fertility, and extent of 
 his imagination; "the author ofWaverly" has 
 established himself as the most ingenious and ex- 
 quisite tale writer that England has ever pro- 
 duced. 
 
 Let the reader take up any of his tales, (and 
 which of them am I to point out as the most 
 beautiful ?) and whatever may be the disposition 
 of such reader, or in whatever temper of mind 
 he opens it, it will captivate his attention, and 
 will suit with and charm each varying mood of 
 head or heart. 
 
 If I mistake not his " Ivanhoe " is one of the 
 most vigorous of his productions. There are three 
 scenes in it that are truly enchanting. One is 
 the combats of Ashby, the other is the scene be- 
 tween Rebecca and her passionate admirer — in- 
 cluding also the description of the fray at the bar- 
 bican (this is magic) and the other is the parting 
 scene between Rebecca and her rival. These 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 73 
 
 scenes live before you. You behold them as 
 plainly as if you were looking and witnessing them. 
 Their intensity and beauty of description is both 
 enchanting and magnificent. They strike the eye 
 and reach the heart. While reading them — you 
 are almost breathless, and you think you are in a 
 theatre pausing on the tones and catching the 
 words that live and lighten — and breathe and 
 burn before you. 
 
 To me Ivanhoe appears the most beautiful of his 
 works. Whether it is that it possesses so much 
 of that dramatic cast which I so much admire, I 
 will not exactly say. But I cannot now recollect 
 having ever read a romantic history (for almost 
 all his works have their ground-work from history) 
 that so caught and captivated me. It is some- 
 what remarkable, too, that it is written entirely in 
 English — no Scottish scenery ; which shows that 
 he can with as much ease send his muse to wan- 
 der among the fertile and delightful plains of this 
 fine country, and from thence bring him home 
 flowers, sweets, and beauties, as he can make her 
 roam among the wild and woody glens, the high 
 and towering rocks, the ancient and ivied towers, 
 and the lowly and humble cots of his own native 
 and wild home. 
 
 In this work he has shown that he possesses 
 
74 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 in an exalted degree, the faculty of calling into 
 existence and reality whatever presents itself to 
 his creative mind, and of giving the living and 
 actual form to every human emotion and passion. 
 Every page is graced with rich and various excel- 
 lencies — with the beauties of fancy, of genius, of 
 morality, of passion, and of nature. 
 
 But am I not wrong — am I not wrong, reader, 
 in attempting to criticize a work that has already 
 passed the ordeal of the puissant and tremendous 
 reviewers of the North. Their fiat has been pro- 
 nounced, and what need is there of my attempt- 
 ing to enlarge on what' has received " the great 
 seal of Scotland." If they are severe though, I 
 readily will award them good-nature, (that is, if 
 they are not offended — always saving and barring 
 their not being offended.) This being the case, 
 then, I must think that they entertain no harm 
 against me, and as I am not aware that I have 
 offended them particularly (at least, as yet) I shall 
 resume ; for I must dwell with pleasure on a writer 
 who has delighted me so much. 
 
 In this work, Sir W. Scott (I am here sup- 
 posing him the author) has evinced what very great 
 and powerful resources are ever at his hand. With 
 such vigour, exactitude, and vivifying energy does 
 he represent each circumstance — each situation — 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE, 75 
 
 each change of incident, time, and place ; in short, 
 all those varieties, and minutenesses which must 
 necessarily interfere in the actions of such a vast 
 number of characters, that the mind insensibly 
 resigns the consciousness of being engaged in ideal 
 scenes, and actually feels as if living, speaking, 
 and acting in those of real life. The force and 
 fervour of his mind, while it summons into life, 
 and throws forth the noblest fruits and fairest 
 flowers of literary composition, can yet so far im- 
 prove and sublimate the meanest and most com- 
 mon weed, as to make it pleasing if not beautiful 
 — attractive if not great. Walter Scott is the 
 Shakespeare of novel writers. Few resemble him 
 more in the well defined discrimination, the strictly 
 preserved identity, the natural representation, and 
 delicate developement of character. Few resemble 
 him more, too, in the powerfully affecting touches 
 of passion, and in the piercing, profound, and ex- 
 tensive sagacity of vision, into all the strange and 
 complicated intricacies of the human breast. Like 
 him, he has the art to give to his persons " a 
 local habitation and a name " — a form and size— a 
 palpable impression of living reality. Any com- 
 mon observer of men and manners, any unapt and 
 uncouth hand, may exhibit the general character, 
 the undistinguished mass of mind ; but to work 
 
76 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 up this formless chaos into figured existence — 
 to realize and perfect it with the minute and 
 masterly strokes — the skilful touches of nature 
 — the little starts, changes, and turns of humour, 
 passion, inclination, and manners ; and the varied 
 involutions of opinion and observation which ac- 
 cident or situation produce on different minds 
 (through all which the soul can be seen more dis- 
 tinctly, than through the more obtrusive parade of 
 great and general qualities) and which stamp on 
 the character life and force, and give it identity ; 
 to do this requires a spirited, vigorous, and life- 
 giving hand of the first order; accurately and 
 boundlessly versed in man and all his complicated 
 ways ; and such Sir W. Scott has here shown himself 
 to possess. There are few books which contain a 
 larger number of persons, and yet all are diversified 
 from the highest to the lowest, with distinct and 
 definite characters. Each has his own appro- 
 priate sphere, in which he ever moves and strictly 
 sustains throughout, those peculiar traits which 
 singularize him from every other. Madame 
 d'Arblay has been justly censured for circum- 
 scribing the character of her " Cecilia," with 
 limits too strongly marked, and too inviolably 
 preserved; but the strength and exactitude of 
 that unrivalled historic fiction writer, Sir W. 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 77 
 
 Scott, showed him, that endlessly distingushed as 
 the branches of human nature are by particular 
 varieties, yet the stems always bear to each other 
 a general resemblance. He has therefore avoided 
 this error and painted his characters with more of 
 the truth of nature, by sometimes tinging them 
 with this hue of universal similitude. The art, 
 too, with which he has contrasted them one with 
 another, has seldom been equalled, and perhaps 
 never surpassed. Each acts, and is so acted upon 
 by its opponent, as to exhibit, with the most 
 striking and manifest effect, the lights and shades 
 of both. He never so eminently exalts his cha- 
 racters above, or so far sinks them beneath the 
 standard of humanity as to remove them beyond 
 our sympathy and interest. His heroine does not 
 come forward with a splendid load of superhuman 
 perfections like the " mawkish drabs " of other 
 novels, whose divine accomplishments, heavenly 
 qualifications, sublime attributes, are poured in on 
 us at once in quantity and quality so disgusting, 
 that a dose of ipecacuanha would be a recreation 
 in comparison. The mind, person, graces, and 
 virtues of Rebecca are gradually developed by her 
 actions and situations, and by the approving testi- 
 mony of the other characters. She is the most 
 truly lovely, the most interesting, the most exem- 
 
78 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 plary, the most natural, the best painted, and 
 best preserved heroine of any exhibited on the 
 English world of romance writing. 
 
 Oh, says some snarling critic, you praise her 
 because a certain set of reviewers praise her. The 
 remark, as it is irrelevant, so do I despise to 
 answer it. 
 
 His beautiful tale of " the Heart of Mid Lo- 
 thian" is lying before me. I cannot help re- 
 marking with what an exquisite hand he has 
 drawn the character of the beautiful but unfortu- 
 nate Euphemia. Touches of nature are scattered 
 every where in the delineation of her character 
 both brightly and profusely. The following is 
 truly beautiful. I abridge it from her trial. 
 
 " Euphemia Deans," said the presiding judge, 
 in an accent in which pity was blended with dig- 
 nity, " stand up and listen to the criminal indict- 
 ment now to be preferred against you." 
 
 The unhappy girl who had been stupified by the 
 confusion of the crowd through which the guards 
 had forced a passage, cast a bewildered look on 
 the multitude of faces around her; and instinc- 
 tively obeyed a command which sung in her ears 
 like the trumpet of the judgment day. 
 
 " Put back your hair, Effie," said one of the 
 macers. For her beautiful and abundant tresses 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 79 
 
 of long fair hair, which alas ! Effie dared no 
 longer to confine with the snood or ribband, which 
 implied purity of maidenhood, now hung unbound 
 and dishevelled over her face, and almost con- 
 cealed her features. On receiving this hint from 
 the attendant, she put back her locks, and showed 
 to the whole audience, a countenance which 
 though pale and emaciated, was so lovely amid 
 its agony, that it called forth an universal murmur 
 of compassion and sympathy." Her counsel pro- 
 ceeds. " In this fever, my Lord, she appears to 
 have been deceived by the person who waited on 
 her, and on recovering her senses, she found that 
 she was childless in that abode of misery. Her 
 infant had been carried off, perhaps for the worst 
 purposes by the wretch who waited on her. It 
 may have been murdered for what I can tell." 
 
 ff He was here interrupted by a piercing shriek, 
 uttered by the unfortunate prisoner. She was 
 with difficulty brought to compose herself." 
 
 It is to this shriek I would call the attention of 
 the reader. What a beautiful and powerful effect 
 has it! and how natural! 
 
 His description too of her attitude when breath- 
 lessly waiting the arrival of her sister into court, 
 whose evidence was so materially to affect her — 
 lives before you as if you were looking at that 
 
80 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 attitude in a painting hung by West in his gal- 
 lery. I quote. 
 
 " Her sister was called, and she instantly 
 started up and stretched herself half way over 
 the bar towards the side at which her sister was 
 to enter. And when slowly following the officer 
 she advanced to the foot of the table, Effie, with 
 the whole expression of her countenance altered 
 from that of confused shame and dismay, to an 
 eager, imploring, and almost ecstatic earnestness 
 of entreaty, with outstretched hands, hair stream- 
 ing back, eyes raised eagerly to her sister's face, 
 and glistening through tears, exclaimed in a tone 
 which went through the heart of all who heard 
 
 her u O Jeanie, Jeanie, save me, save me !" 
 
 I cannot praise this. Tis beyond all praise. 
 
 I must now come back more immediately to 
 my subject, and like a truant school-boy, ask 
 pardon for having forgotten the task given to me. 
 I however doubt though, if I shall ask forgiveness 
 reverently from the reader, for he must recollect 
 that if I have strayed a little from the beaten path, 
 I yet have regaled him with a repast served up 
 by that delightful restaurateur — Walter Scott. 
 Beaten paths too are a thing that I am not over 
 and above fond of trudging in, so that I must walk 
 about a little to renovate myself; besides too I 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 81 
 
 told the reader that I was going to make a digres- 
 sion, and I believe I have made a good one. 
 
 Still though I should imagine that talking of 
 Walter Scott is not exactly foreign to my pur- 
 pose. I wanted to draw a comparison between 
 him and Shakespeare, and accordingly have done 
 so ; so that if the reader will but please to recol- 
 lect the thing, he will see that the fault of the 
 digression is not altogether so bad as what it 
 might otherwise appear, did I not brush up his 
 memory with this hint. 
 
 To resume however. 
 
 Can such characters as those I spake (not such 
 as I speak) of, interest the heart? Can such 
 superhuman beings call forth the reader's sym- 
 pathy ? No surely. (How different with Shakes- 
 peare!) The consciousness that the scenes in 
 which they are engaged have never been paralleled 
 in life — that such forced hyperbolical and extra- 
 ordinary passions and feelings — joys and misfor- 
 tunes — virtues and vices — have never actuated the 
 human breast, and were never exhibited on the 
 theatre of the world, will haunt the mind, and 
 repress the sympathetic movements of the heart. 
 The heat and activity of the author's genius may 
 throw over his personages the gloss of wit, know- 
 ledge, and eloquence, and thus catch for a nio- 
 
 G 
 
82 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ment the eye ; but their influence stops there, 
 they make no progress to the heart, for they will 
 still appear to me as beings of another order — 
 another nature, who have no relation to me or 
 mankind, and cannot therefore create in me aught 
 of sympathy or interest. I shall look on them as 
 on the figures raised by the magic glass, with 
 whom I have no connexion — whose existence I 
 know to be unreal — whose strangeness and splen- 
 dour attract my attention for a moment, and then 
 pass away and are forgotten. 
 
 Yet further. Let us look to those characters as 
 delineated by different authors, we shall find 
 nearly the entire of them moulded from the same 
 impression, and continued from one to another, 
 unvaried in aught but by being arrayed in an- 
 other style, or viewed through another medium, 
 by some unimportant changes in situations, ac- 
 tions, and circumstances. We see the same 
 feature of unattainable excellence in each hero 
 and heroine — of superlative courage, magnani- 
 mity, and unbending virtue in each warrior — of 
 uniform dignity in each king — and of unparalleled 
 purity or depravity in each virtuous or vicious 
 character. They are all family likenesses ; all of 
 the same class, undistinguished but by a difference 
 in the style of shades and colours; yet the lines 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 83 
 
 of separation between the latter are so imper- 
 fectly defined, and the former melt into each other 
 with such languid discrimination, that they rather 
 connect and establish, than annul the resemblance. 
 But the characters of Shakespeare are no second 
 hand copies, meanly stolen from preceding authors, 
 and varnished over to deceive the injudicious eye. 
 His mighty mind disdained such sordid traffic. 
 He drew the originals themselves, and having 
 exhausted the almost infinite variety of human 
 nature, he then repaired to the fountain head of 
 his own uncircumscribed imagination, and bade 
 the rich streams flow from thence with all the 
 conscious energy of native excellence. His cha- 
 racters are frequently numerous, even to excess, 
 and yet in all those multitudes that people his 
 dramas, and move in such rapid succession 
 through his scenes, no two shall ever be found 
 alike. Though this may not at first strike a 
 superficial view, yet a nearer examination will 
 always evince some well-marked (though perhaps 
 not immediately obvious) limit, that separates 
 them and stamps the distinction. 
 
 His representations of life appear rather origi- 
 nals than copies. He viewed the wide labyrinth 
 of human nature with an acuteness of vision, and 
 extensiveness of observation, such as no other 
 
 g 2 
 
84 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 mortal has ever been favoured with, and painted 
 from thence with such accuracy, fidelity, and 
 vigour, that a being of another sphere could (from 
 the study of his works) judge of each character 
 and H scene of this many coloured life" with 
 nearly as much precision as though he himself 
 had been an actor and an observer. In Shakes- 
 peare's personages we find no distorted aggrava- 
 tions—no hideous caricatures of mental defor- 
 mity — no well polished pictures of internal and 
 external symmetrical perfection. They are men 
 and women, not male and female Gods and God- 
 desses, whom he has laid before our view ; who 
 are actuated by the same motives, passions, and 
 interests, which always sway the human breast, 
 and who look forward to such objects, move in 
 such situations, and are shrouded by the shade of 
 misery, or illumined by the ray of happiness, 
 through such means as I myself may feel. 'Tis 
 with such characters as these I can feel myself 
 interested, as though it were by that universal 
 chain which binds mankind together. Tis with 
 their sorrows — their joys — that I can yield my 
 whole heart to sympathetic delusion, and in the 
 enthusiasm of feeling overleaping the bounds, 
 dividing reality from fiction, be a fellow sufferer 
 myself. 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 85 
 
 Even where our bard's creative mind fled be- 
 yond the limits of this " visible diurnal sphere," 
 to stray amidst the worlds of imagination, yet 
 there did nature # attend him ; and while fancy, 
 with irregular and rapid step, led him through 
 her magic regions — her hanging rocks and foam- 
 ing cataracts — her gloomy caverns and shades — 
 her savage desarts and darkening tempests ; or, 
 amidst her autumnal hills and vales — her cloud- 
 less skies — her zephyrs, meads, and streams, and 
 all her fairest views ; yet still his " mighty 
 mother "t held her faithful glass before his eye, 
 as it ranged over each enchanted scene, and 
 
 "Ina fine frenzy rolling, 
 
 Glanced from heav'n to earth, from earth to heaven." 
 
 and thus guided — swayed — and illumined its 
 beautiful and creative movements. 
 
 It has been asserted by some as a bar to that 
 
 * The Tempest, if I mistake not, is one of the 
 justest and most beautiful specimens of the fair and 
 artful combination of nature with fancy, that any age 
 or nation can exhibit. 
 
 f Thus nature is characterized in Gray's sublime 
 Ode of the " Progress of Poesy. " 
 
86 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 originality to which none was more liberally en- 
 titled than Shakespeare; that he was skilled in 
 languages both ancient and modern. This re- 
 quires examination. Ben Jonson, # who knew 
 him well, says that he was ignorant of Greek, and 
 so moderately acquainted with the Latin lan- 
 guage, that he never attained to facility in reading 
 it. It is likewise advanced in support of the 
 above ill founded assertion, that some thoughts 
 and images of Shakespeare, bear a near resem- 
 blance to, and were stolen from, some passages in 
 the Classics. Tis true there is a similarity disco- 
 verable in some parts ; but let it be considered 
 that most of the ancients, as well as Shakespeare, 
 were accurate and attentive students of nature, 
 
 * It would be an unjust omission not to observe 
 that Shakespeare, rich in generosity as in genius, and 
 with a nobility of soul that disdained the selfish views 
 of envy, or the fear of rivalship, not only introduced 
 Jonson to the royal patronage, but established an 
 infant play of his on the stage. Indeed, dramatic 
 talent should be " a citizen of the world ;" and in- 
 terest should have nothing whatsoever to do with the 
 rejection or reception of manuscripts. The directors 
 of a theatre, should look alone to the merit of the 
 piece, and forget both authors and friends. 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 87 
 
 and it will then no longer be believed that a know- 
 ledge of the writings of the former, was neces- 
 sary to make the latter sometimes think and speak 
 like them. Two poets who walk through nature's 
 kingdom, will often in their various wanderings, 
 undesignedly and unknown to each other, stray 
 into the same path, meet with the same fruits and 
 flowers, haunt the same hill, or seek the same 
 shade. In the eastern world, where the hallowed 
 Ganges pours his broad wave, and in the western, 
 where the Orellana rolls through unnumbered 
 nations, as the rude inhabitant of either wanders 
 on the bank and marks the morning sun look 
 from the hills and shed his glories on their sur- 
 face, will not the same emotions dilate the bosom 
 of each, and the same fervid prayer rise from each 
 heart to that all ruling being, who nature tells 
 them, bade the sun to shine and the stream to 
 flow? 
 
 Shakespeare has, indeed, drawn the plots of 
 many of his plays from Plutarch, Plautus, Lu~ 
 cian, the Roman historians, and Italian novelists. 
 But this affords no conviction that he was versed 
 in the originals ; for, from the most accurate in- 
 vestigation, it appears that translations alone were 
 the medium through which he had recourse to 
 
88 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 them ; and, as a presumptive proof of this, it 
 also appears that it was only from those foreign 
 works, which at that time were transferred into 
 the English language, that he has devised his plots. 
 His obligations extend no farther ; and he rather 
 dignifies others than debases himself, where he con- 
 descends to be indebted to them. The groundwork 
 may be another's ; but the beauteous and majestic 
 fabric is his own. The characters are his own — 
 he animates them and works them up into exist- 
 ence. He gives them their very form and pressure 
 — creating them according to those just, faithful, 
 and perfect models, which, without number, 
 peopled his unbounded mind. He finishes them 
 with such a masterly well-skilled hand — such true 
 discriminative judgment—such exquisitely wrought 
 strokes of nature, and such piercing faculty of 
 vision through the vast and many-winding laby- 
 rinth of the human heart, that it requires no un- 
 common portion of critical sagacity to see that he 
 neither needed nor used any other resources than 
 those his own illimitable genius supplied him with. 
 His thoughts and his images are his own; for 
 could he, whose ample eye drew in the true hori- 
 zon of the world of nature, could he, I say, deign 
 to copy the confined and spiritless paintings of 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 89 
 
 those, whose feeble vision extended not beyond 
 that narrow circle which limits the sight of com- 
 mon mortals. But his thoughts and his images 
 bear in themselves sufficient testimony that they 
 are the genuine progeny of Shakespeare. They 
 possess the warmth, vigour, truth, and form of a 
 first-hand original impression, draughted in the 
 glow of nature, and coloured with the vividness 
 of fancy ! 
 
 It is one of Shakespeare's excellencies, perhaps 
 peculiar to himself, that he, who in understand- 
 ing and knowledge has not attained even the rank 
 of mediocrity, is equally adequate with the most 
 eminent scholar to imbibe amusement and instruc- 
 tion from his works. An effusion of the genuine 
 feelings of the heart — a just picture of life, nature, 
 and character — a pervading sentiment of morality 
 — an acuteness founded on observation and expe- 
 rience — a clear and obvious reasoning, unclouded 
 by sophistical perplexities — wit undebased by af- 
 fectation, and undistorted by extravagance, situ- 
 ation, and circumstances ; all these, ignorance 
 itself can appreciate and understand ; while the 
 deep-inquiring critic confesses them the basis of 
 that lofty and eternal monument of merit and fame 
 that towers proud and high above the low and 
 tottering piles of other poets ! 
 
90 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Thus is Shakespeare the poet of every rank and 
 of every age ; and thus does each father deliver to 
 his son, from generation to generation, the in- 
 estimable legacy of his writings, and bids him 
 revere them as the productions of the moralist, the 
 wit, and the deep-skilled adept in the heart of 
 man; which have moved, delighted, and in- 
 structed himself, and will continue to move, de- 
 light, and instruct until human nature change. 
 
 Among those qualities which have ennobled 
 Shakespeare above the sons of men, his fancy 
 stands in the foremost rank. 
 
 " Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, 
 " And panting Time toiled after him in vain/' 
 
 When viewed in this light, he appears more fully 
 in his character of poet ; stationed in the fore- 
 ground, conspicuous, unrivalled, and alone ! 
 
 Save two, from the countless thousands that 
 have in every age aspired to the laurel of poetic 
 fame, there are none others who are entitled to 
 dispute with him the dignified distinction. These 
 are our own Milton and the Grecian Homer. It 
 would be an arduous office to assign with strict 
 j ustice the palm of victory to this godlike trium- 
 virate. Yet would I, though with fear and trem- 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 91 
 
 bling, dare to adjudge it to Shakespeare, not only 
 in preference to Milton, but to Homer. 
 
 But here the puissant Pope # is in arms against 
 me, as well as all the classical prejudices of every 
 scholar, from Longinus down to the pedantic 
 schoolmaster, " who mouths out Homer's Greek 
 like thunder/' and neglects the noble fire, preg- 
 nant thought, and simple majesty of the poet, 
 whilst his cold head traces his verses through 
 grammar, case, and gender. But perhaps I am 
 partial ; and, as Pope himself allows Shakespeare's 
 superior skill in nature, his most ardent admirer 
 may well remit his zeal, without vainly endeavour- 
 ing to assert his pre-eminence in fancy above the 
 Grecian bard, the venerable " father of verse." 
 
 With respect to Milton ; the universal and stu- 
 pendous greatness, the awful sublimity of the 
 subject of Paradise Lost, seem at first sight to fix 
 the wavering balance in his favour. But let us 
 look with the naked unbiassed eye of truth and 
 justice, and it will be found that this greatness, 
 this sublimity in the subject, acts as a magnifying 
 glass, which falsely enlarges the merit of th.^ per- 
 
 * Vide Pope's preface to his translation of the Iliad, 
 more particularly his own comparison between Homer 
 and the other poets. 
 
92 
 
 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 formance. This is an observation which I am 
 surprised has never occurred to his commentators 
 and critics : one even of mean talents, when em- 
 ploying them in the description of things vast, 
 splendid, and uncommon, will receive from them 
 a lustre and importance which may easily deceive 
 the eye, as the emanation of intrinsic excellence. 
 When we take up Milton's book, the revolutions 
 of heaven and of hell — the tremendous majesty of 
 Omnipotence — the creation of the world — the 
 formation of man — his state of bliss and subse- 
 quent fall, pass in awful review before our eyes, as 
 objects of astonishing and boundless grandeur and 
 magnitude ; objects over which religion has 
 thrown the hue of fearful veneration, and which 
 custom has taught us to reverence. And thus are 
 we prepared to look up to him with admiration 
 and esteem, whether sanctioned or not by the as- 
 sent of justice. Though his performance is un- 
 questionably equal to his subject, and though he 
 shines with holy and transcendent magnificence, 
 yet does he, in some places, sink below other poets 
 as far as he at other times rises great and glo- 
 rious above them. Unlike theirs, his flights of ima- 
 gination are not temperate and even ; but are of 
 that kind which dazzles and overpowers you. His 
 brightness (and it is a heavenly and a holy bright- 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 93 
 
 ness) is as the splendour of a comet, which flames 
 on the brow of night, and then vanishes, leaving 
 the beholder to gaze on the grandeur which 
 lightened from it, even though the heaven which 
 it has left is shrouded in darkness. 
 
 Far be it from me to try and depreciate the 
 bard of heaven. None can more truly admire — 
 none can more deeply feel the beauty and the 
 majesty of his song. Angels touched his harp, and 
 why should it not be beautiful. Inspiration 
 breathed through its tones, and why should it not 
 be divine ! With an unawed and a giant step he 
 strides over the grovellers that bow and crouch to 
 him, and sits throned and towering amid the god- 
 like few whom Poesy bows to as its only " trium- 
 vir ate." 
 
 I write this for the purpose of comparison. 
 Under this idea, my warmth will be allowed a 
 little latitude. 
 
 Let it then be remembered, that few, if any, 
 have possessed such profound and extensive 
 learning as Milton. He not only was an accom- 
 plished proficient in the Greek and Latin lan- 
 guages, but also perfectly understood the Hebrew, 
 Syriac, and Chaldean, and most of the modern 
 languages of Europe. So that his mind was a 
 vast repository of the knowledge of all ages and 
 
94 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 nations ; and it would be a vain and idle argument 
 to pretend that he borrowed nought from thence, 
 to enrich his writings. A slight acquaintance 
 with them will evince the contrary. 
 
 But Shakespeare was indebted to none. His 
 powerful mind neither sought for, nor required the 
 assistance of any. Milton himself bestows on him 
 the title of " Fancy's child." The expression is 
 not, one of Fancy's children — but as if he alone 
 were the sole and the legitimate offspring of that 
 lovely goddess. 
 
 The epithet is in that beautiful poem, " L'Alle- 
 gro," which, had he written nothing else, would 
 have raised his name above the sons of men. 
 
 " Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, 
 Warbled his native wood-notes wild." 
 
 He was Fancy's child indeed. It was she who 
 gave to his infant fingers that harp which he 
 awoke with that wild melody which chains the 
 listening soul in enraptured attention. His was 
 the strength, and the power, and the beauty, 
 and the might. His was the livingness which 
 could impart to thought a form and size — to 
 things inanimate, existence — to things mortal, im- 
 mortality. His was the power — the unbounded 
 and mighty power (that power which was like 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 95 
 
 the creative hand when it brooded over chaos) 
 to call beings when he willed, and forms w T hen 
 he chose ! 
 
 Criticism is disarmed when it looks to his fancy. 
 However reprehensible he may sometimes be in his 
 representations of nature, he in this particular 
 soars above the most scrutinizing malignity of the 
 critic. Its flame ever burns with a pure, steady, 
 fand vigorous fervour. As the sun's evening ray 
 mild but beautiful, it shines in the "Midsummer's 
 Night's Dream." As his noontide brightness, it 
 glows in the " Tempest," and as his lowering 
 front looking through the storm's blackening 
 clouds, it glares with terrible splendour in If Mac- 
 beth." 
 
 Our heaven-inspired bard was lord of all the 
 passions which agitate the human breast. Nature 
 herself delegated to him the sceptre of their com- 
 mand, and with an uncontrolled and immediate 
 force he sends them forth to excite, to sooth, to 
 draw the tear of sympathy, or raise the fire of 
 vengeance. When guilt, beneath the shades of 
 night gives utterance to the pangs of remorse — 
 when the strains of innocence, of mirth, of wit, 
 and humour strike on the heart — when horror 
 stalks abroad and sheds on the threatening gloom 
 
96 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 a deeper gloom— when love sighs forth his soft 
 complaints — when oppression extends his iron rod 
 — -when grief pours forth the loud sigh in mourn- 
 ful succession, or bends in mute uncomplaining 
 submission beneath the stroke of fate ; — is there a 
 heart that does not heave to such varying emotion, 
 or an eye that does not let fall the sacred drop of 
 accordant feeling ? 
 
 Oh! thou hallowed spirit! whose powerful 
 hand could thus lead the subject mind at will ! 
 Thou heavenly harper ! whose touches thrill 
 through the inmost soul, and fix it in a dream of 
 delirium ! Thou mortal-god ! to whom the heart 
 bows, as if thou alone couldst claim its worship ! 
 Thou — oh thou ! — while listening to whose music, 
 I have forgotten the cheerless and heavy weight of 
 sickness, and with whose magic touches I quicken- 
 ed the pace of tedious time ; tell me — say, in what 
 new and glorious light shall I yet consider thee ? 
 Livest thou in thy heaven so high and immortal 
 that the harps which surround thee cannot admit 
 the dull offerings of notes untuned as mine ! or 
 sittest thou on thy own throne, so mighty and 
 majestic, that even praise thou lookest down on, 
 and despisest? Who shall give thee a worthy 
 offering ? Who shall award to thee a praise, meet 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 97 
 
 as thy Fancy — boundless as thy Fame ? With 
 adoration have I viewed thee, as fancy's favourite 
 son— as the vicegerent of nature — as the master of 
 the passions — as the well-skilled teacher of the 
 human heart. Yet dost thou still enjoy a more 
 illustrious station, wherein thou surpassest the 
 conquerors and princes of the earth. For thou 
 art the moralist, whose pure, just, and rich pre- 
 cepts, warmed by virtue and guided by the keenest 
 insight into the mind of man, can direct the fiery 
 eye of youth — give vigour to the impotence of 
 vision in old age, and can guide the novice in ex- 
 perience and virtue, with honour and propriety 
 through this earthly labyrinth of vice and folly. 
 
 How unwillingly, then, do I now turn to the 
 following. 
 
 I have hitherto but exhibited the brightness of 
 the picture, I would now be unwelcomely asked 
 to point out its shades. It is an ungrateful, an 
 unpleasing office. Shall I now seek for specks in 
 the sun of glory ? Shall I now look for a sterile 
 branch or faded leaf in the luxuriant and imperial 
 oak ? Shall I now search for the ruggedness of a 
 stone in the graceful and noble fabric of excellence 
 and fame? Yet, as my object was to write on the 
 genius of Shakespeare my task would not be ful- 
 filled did I not notice the obscurities that clouded, 
 
98 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 as well as the lustre that illuminated it. I shall 
 therefore glance at his most obvious faults, leaving 
 it to others more able or more willing to comment 
 more largely on them. 
 
 I have commended his scenes as deeply interest- 
 ing, though they often fail of this effect ; by their 
 tediousness, the negligence of the author, and the 
 quantity of unnecessary and unavailing matter that 
 retards the main business and fatigues the mind. 
 I have commended his characters as natural, 
 though they not unfrequently act and speak extra- 
 vagantly and unnaturally. I have spoken of his 
 wit as not affected nor artificial, though it often 
 degenerates into puerile conceits. He is often 
 obscure, clouded, and embarrassed; but this is 
 more the consequence of his own haste and indo- 
 lence, than of the deficiency of his genius. As he 
 found his plots, so he preserved them. Insomuch, 
 that when the display, the elevation, or the beauti- 
 fying of character, circumstance, passion, descrip- 
 tion, or moral, would have been the result of even 
 a slight alteration, his blindness or his negligence 
 (indubitably the latter) prevented him from taking 
 advantage of it. 
 
 The frequent indelicacy and grossness of his 
 comedy, the unrefinement of his age can scarcely 
 justify. But let us remember that he composed 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 99 
 
 with a rapidity and luxuriance even to a fault, and 
 that his known carelessness, hurry, and inatten- 
 tion prevented him from practising, 
 
 " The last and greatest art, the art to blot." 
 
 Besides, as he wrote less for future fame, than 
 present popularity, he was obliged in some mea- 
 sure to conform to that lowness, obscenity, and 
 impure witticism, which were the prevalent taste 
 of the times. I am conscious he was not indecent 
 through choice ; for a great mind naturally revolts 
 with disgust and abhorrence from whatever would 
 awake the most transient blush on the cheek of 
 modesty. 
 
 In his tragedy are instances of ineffectual empti- 
 ness, unproductive effort, and weak and useless 
 declamation. Insomuch, that, save where passion " 
 and character invigorate the scene, he is often 
 tedious, vapid, and feeble. 
 
 But, back to my more pleasing subject. It is 
 ungrateful to find fault where so much beauty 
 dwells — useless to look for specks when all is 
 bright and splendid. Do we mind the cloud that 
 obscures the sun when his glory bursts and burns 
 underneath it ? or seek we for the turbid wave in 
 the stream when its waters roll clear and calm, 
 and breathe music as they flow and rush along ? 
 Oh ! surely the mind must be malignant that 
 
 h 2 
 
100 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 would thus act — surely the eye must be distem- 
 pered that would thus look. Gaze on the full, 
 dark, and bright eye of woman, and tell me if you 
 will stop to consider whether the brow which over- 
 shades it has scorn or distance in it ? Irresistibly 
 you gaze — irresistibly you feel. What, you cannot 
 tell ; but you only know that beauty (contrast the 
 eye and the writings) allures — captivates — en- 
 chains — enthralls you. I cannot suppose you so 
 dull, as to be insensible to the magic of the one, 
 or the melody of the other. If you are, I have 
 written but in vain. Voice of mine you will not 
 care about, and had I the sweetness of a Moore to 
 allure you, the attempt would be but unavailing. 
 On the other hand, if you are the reader of taste 
 and talent — if you take pleasure in whatever be- 
 longs to the drama — if you admire the works of 
 poesy and song, and thrill with the high and in- 
 describable throb of delight, when listening to 
 the harp of nature swept by this son of glory and 
 of science — to such would I turn with pleasure — 
 to such would I present my imperfect lines, and 
 to such would I ask of them to excuse whatever 
 faults may be found in it. My intention has been 
 to try and amuse the leisure hour of the critic, and 
 to add a mite of praise to the immortal honours of 
 our bard. Perhaps the colouring is somewhat too 
 
ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 101 
 
 warm ; but it must be recollected that years not 
 many have produced it. Youth is not exactly the 
 season for cold and prosaic praise on a subject 
 which might be capable of invigorating and warm- 
 ing even old age. The heart of such a person 
 wants tutoring on a theme that possesses a capa- 
 bility of affording it latitude and glowingness of 
 idea. Correctly to stop, I knew not where. Pro- 
 perly 9 to go on I almost feared. To the hands, 
 then, of the more liberal and experienced I confide 
 it — satisfied that the faults (I own to them) of it 
 will be told me, not with the snarling; censure of 
 the pedant, but with the enlightened tone of the 
 refined critic. I could almost wish that all of this 
 class would let me and my poor work alone, except 
 two branches. The intelligent reader will guess 
 that I allude to a celebrated northern and southern 
 set. If I am to be mangled, I would rather it was 
 done by those who know how to do it property, 
 and not by those who seem to take a certain de- 
 light in looking at the dark side of the picture 
 without ever casting a glance at the bright. 
 There is a wide difference between the critic and 
 the censurer. To the former I confide myself — to 
 the latter I have nothing further to say. 
 
 To conclude, then. 
 
 After an impartial review of the labours of 
 
102 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Shakespeare, and with the candid allowances due 
 to human imperfection, he may safely be pro- 
 nounced the greatest of poets, and the most illus- 
 trious ornament that ever exalted the dignity of 
 the race of man. We may have another Milton — 
 We may see another Homer — Eternity has 
 but one Shakespeare. 
 
A LETTER 
 
 TASTE, JUDGMENT, 
 
 RHETORICAL EXPRESSION. 
 

A LETTER 
 
 TASTE, JUDGMENT, 
 
 RHETORICAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 " Gods ! on those boards shall folly Taise her head, where 
 Garrick trod !" 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 " He who refines the public taste, is a public benefactor/' 
 
 JOHNSON. 
 
 In receiving and replying to the letter with 
 which your Lordship has favoured me, I have at 
 once to express my pleasure and my embarrass- 
 ment — pleasure, at its agreeable contents ; em- 
 barrassment, at its difficult injunction. You 
 desire me to send you critical definitions of taste 
 and judgment, (including general observations) 
 and, at the same time, requiring from me remarks 
 on the principal performers, who at present oc- 
 cupy the London stage. I own, my Lord, that 
 you could scarcely have given me a more difficult 
 
106 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 thing to do ; and when I recollect the weak pen 
 which is at present running over this paper, I 
 would willingly request of you to have made the 
 demand on some more able person of your nu- 
 merous correspondents. I am aware too, of the 
 great difficulty of epistolary composition; and 
 that it requires something besides mere words 
 and mere periods to make up that light and play- 
 ful fascination which belongs to its style. Singled 
 out by your Lordship, however, for the task, and 
 recollecting that a little dash of satire cannot be 
 of the least harm, on the present state of the 
 drama in London, t shall proceed. I shall despatch 
 a messenger to Juvenal for one of his pens, and at 
 the same time request of him to glide in through 
 one of the windows of your Lordship's delightful 
 seat, and politely ask you for some of your good 
 humour ; for in truth, my Lord, when I look 
 around me, and perceive the declining state of 
 genuine comedy and genuine tragedy; I scarcely 
 know whether most to mourn or to satirize. I 
 shall at once, however, enter on my subject; and 
 forgetting any further useless apology, leave it to 
 reviewers, critics, and would he's, to cut me up. 
 
 Taste is nice and quick discrimination, joined 
 to cultivated talent. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 107 
 
 Judgment is depth and solidity of intellect, 
 joined to sound sense. # 
 
 Both (though often confounded) are perfectly 
 distinct — for 
 
 A man may possess the most solid judgment, 
 and yet possess no taste ; and 
 
 A man may be gifted with correct taste, and 
 yet want the sterling and useful quality, judgment. 
 
 Both must be possessed in an eminent degree to 
 form a great, poet, a great painter, a great actor, 
 a great musician. Separate them, or distribute 
 them partially, and the person degenerates into 
 the large class of mediocrity men. 
 
 Taste, makes its appearance sooner in the 
 mind than judgment. 
 
 The person who possesses only taste in music, 
 will play, but never can compose. 
 
 The person who possesses only judgment in 
 music, will compose, but never can compose with 
 brilliancy. 
 
 Invention and originality are eminently 
 and essentially necessary in the mind of the poet, 
 as well as taste and judgment. 
 
 * It is hard to give exact definitions on such diffuse 
 subjects in one line. If the reader understands my 
 meaning, I am satisfied. 
 
108 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 To be a great poet, therefore, is harder than to 
 be a great painter, actor, musician ; for 
 
 There is something of mechanical adjunct in the 
 three last ; there is no such help to the poet. 
 
 Doctor Johnson is an instance of a man 
 possessing the most solid judgment, with no taste. 
 
 Thomas Moore is an instance of a man pos- 
 sessing the most sparkling taste, with no solid 
 judgment. 
 
 In music — Mozart is an instance of taste and 
 judgment combined. 
 
 In painting — R affaelle is an instance of taste 
 and judgment combined. 
 
 In poetry — Shakespeare is an eminent in- 
 stance of taste and judgment combined. 
 
 In acting — Garrick is an instance of taste and 
 judgment combined. 
 
 Education may improve and expand taste and 
 judgment; but 
 
 If Nature does not give the qualities, they 
 never can be acquired. 
 
 Taste is more nearly allied to wit than judg- 
 ment. 
 
 You seldom see men of solid judgment, wits. 
 
 Taste is the sole arbi tress in dress — in deco- 
 rating a room — laying out of pleasure grounds — 
 ornamenting the interior of a theatre, both scenery 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 109 
 
 and house — making improvements either in the 
 city or the field — arranging prints, collections, 
 books — dictating thoughts for the lighter pieces 
 of prose and poetry, and giving from the mind to 
 the manners of the gentleman (as it were by re- 
 flection) a finished and winning demeanour. 
 
 An architect without taste, is without eyes. 
 
 A sculptor without taste, is truly without his 
 hands. 
 
 In playing from a book, taste is more neces- 
 sary than JUDGMENT. 
 
 The person who plays a " solo" exactly as it is 
 marked in the book, is no player. 
 
 If you want to discover whether a musician pos- 
 sesses true taste and judgment, tell him to play 
 an extempore accompaniment to a piece which he 
 has not heard before. There is nothing tries his 
 talent like this. # 
 
 In varying a musical theme, taste is more ne- 
 cessary than JUDGMENT. 
 
 In composing an overture both taste and judg- 
 ment are a sine qua non. 
 
 It is extremely easy to introduce graces in an 
 Italian air, and extremely hard to introduce them 
 
 * I never met but one person who could do this 
 correctly and scientifically. 
 
110 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 in an Irish. In the former, taste should be the 
 guide ; in the latter, judgment. 
 
 The person who sings without taste, sings with- 
 out a voice. 
 
 Originality in composing a piece of music, is as 
 necessary as in composing a piece of poetry. 
 
 The Design of a painting, is what shows talent 
 — not the colouring of it. For this reason, Epic 
 composition is harder than landscape or portrait 
 painting. 
 
 Episodial composition in poetry and painting is 
 difficult. Music (a connected piece of music) 
 does not admit of it, though I have heard it falsely 
 asserted that it does. Wherever introduced, it is 
 forced and unnatural. It must here be remembered, 
 that the allegro movement of an overture is not 
 episodical. 
 
 Though the press teems with reviews and pe- 
 riodical publications, yet are there but few writers 
 who possess taste and judgment enough to con- 
 stitute them censors either in music, poetry, or 
 paintings 
 
 The overture is the Epic of music. 
 
 A person may compose a song, and not be at 
 all able to compose an overture ; but he who can 
 compose an overture well, can compose any style 
 of music. But, 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. Ill 
 
 Many persons write overtures, who cannot write 
 overtures. 
 
 Universality of talent is the rarest gift of nature. 
 
 Taste and judgment are gifts, not acquirements. 
 
 There is not (strictly speaking,) any pathetic or 
 comic character in English music ; nor (strictly 
 speaking,) is there any national character in it. 
 
 There is a national character in the Irish music, 
 which further possesses one amazing peculiarity, 
 viz. that the deepest woe and the wildest mirth 
 are discoverable in its strains. 
 
 Taste has more to do with the general com- 
 positions of Italy and France, than judgment. 
 
 Sweetness and science are two extremes in 
 music — both are not often combined in an eminent 
 degree in one person. 
 
 There is no music which reaches the heart, like 
 the Irish ; other music catches the ear and fancy ; 
 sports round the imagination, and pleases it for a 
 moment; but the pathetic of the Irish music 
 " melts to the heart." 
 
 A medley overture is not an example of genius. 
 
 Original graces and original turns, are extremely 
 hard to introduce, either in composing or playing ; 
 but— 
 
 It is possible to introduce a common grace or 
 turn (with great skill) in an original manner. 
 
112 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 No person should be considered a legitimate 
 judge of music, who is not a composer. 
 
 In painting, this last rule should not be con- 
 sidered strictly arbitrary. 
 
 In poetry, no person should be considered a 
 legitimate judge, who cannot write either prose or 
 poetry. 
 
 Would-be critics are very common — true critics 
 very scarce. 
 
 Gracefulness is the motion of taste. This 
 
 (Gracefulness) is essentially necessary in dancing 
 — in entering a room- — in riding — walking — in 
 sitting on a sofa — addressing a superior — making 
 a bow — placing the body in a proper attitude, 
 either in the pulpit, on the stage, or in the forum 
 — and in any action of a finished gentleman. 
 
 Dancing, is the music of motion. # 
 
 * I have heard somebody remark, that " Dancing is 
 the poetry of motion !" Now this remark of the afore- 
 said somebody is infinitely too refined and metaphysical 
 for me. I can conceive music in motion ; but I never 
 could conceive poetry in motion. The legs that could 
 form poetry, must have been cleverer than even Ma- 
 demoiselle Mercandotti's, which said legs shot the 
 heart of the hospitable BAL^-lover, while other people 
 use their eyes for this kind of storming. Perhaps 
 Madame Vestris, Miss Foote, Miss Tree, the Opera 
 dancers, cum multis aliis, could kindly inform the 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 113 
 
 Painting, is poetry embodied in colours. 
 
 Statuary, is life unanimated. 
 
 Music, is eloquent poetry in sounds. And 
 
 There is no art which speaks like music. 
 
 Acting and oratory are the language of the 
 hands, lips, and eyes. 
 
 Poetry, is music, painting, and sculpture com- 
 bined. 
 
 Prose, is the repose (I use the word as a painter,) 
 of poetry. 
 
 Amatory poetry is the metrical music of love. 
 
 Singing, is speech in sound. 
 
 author whether they ever felt poetry in their pretty 
 feet. I have seen all the above performers dance in 
 different shapes, modes, and attitudes ; but dash my 
 buttons, (as gay old Fawcett jocosely hath it in Copp,) 
 if I ever could perceive (sharp as my eye is) the 
 divine and ecstatic art denominated poetry, in their 
 feet. Perhaps the word feet, in the metre of poetry, 
 suggested the idea to the somebody. I must here, 
 however, remark, that an objection might be raised 
 against me. I stop it by saying, that. I have given a 
 different and more suitable definition ; and conclude 
 by quoting the beautiful expression of an Irish pea- 
 sant to a friend of the author's who danced most 
 gracefully— 
 
 " She shook the verv music from her foot." , 
 
114 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 In all the above, I find taste and judgment 
 to be pre-eminently necessary. 
 
 Thus, my Lord, I have giyen you a large 
 number of critical definitions. As a few minutes 
 has written the entire, I am not prepared to enter 
 into a minute or circumstantial enquiry as to the 
 appropriate merits of each. It is relevant to you, 
 to point out to me the defects of any, or all of 
 them, and to furnish me with better or more suit- 
 able ones, when you next address me. I consider 
 that taste and judgment must be united — and not 
 only united, but united, in an eminent degree, to 
 form a great poet, painter, actor, and musician. 
 There are other grades of life — -such as the states- 
 man, the warrior, the accomptant, &c. where their 
 junction and effect, are not so completely necessary. 
 But in the other four, I consider them sine qua non's. 
 It is the want, or the separation of them, which 
 gives us such lamentable instances of false talent ; 
 and which at present inundates the world with the 
 swarms of productions of books, paintings, com- 
 positions, and the vile rantings of the mock actor. 
 Both the qualities I speak of, must act in con- 
 junction. They cannot be separated without de- 
 triment: for their action is reciprocal; and though 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 115 
 
 a large share of judgment, and a large share of 
 taste is desirable ; yet if they are not equally ba- 
 lanced, and largely distributed, the possessor never 
 can attain to an eminence in those arts which I 
 have above enumerated. And yet, my Lord, I 
 must here also remark that, perhaps 'tis well they 
 are not common. Were genius common, it would 
 not be prized. Were beauty common, it would 
 not be valued. 
 
 If every one was a hero, a statesman, an actor, 
 a poet, the world would not care about them. 
 Genius must be rare, to make it genius. It must 
 be left solely to that pre-eminent but wayward 
 goddess nature, to distribute her precious gifts 
 as she chooses. She will not be constrained. 
 Her dowers cannot be bought. With the wayward 
 fantasy of a beautiful woman she is wafted along 
 this world (her dominion) on the buoyant and 
 magic wings of Fancy ; and just as the happy 
 freak enters into her impartial head, she selects- 
 owns — adopts. Her favourites (and how few are 
 they !) are never neglected by her. They are ever 
 and always her supreme and sovereign delight. 
 When she does get into this happy mood, she 
 never does her work by halves. When she does 
 wish to make a poet, (witness the bard of Avon,) 
 how complete is her work. When she does wish 
 
 i 2 
 
116 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 to make a statesman, (witness Chatham,) how 
 perfect is the moulding. When she does wish to 
 make an actor, (witness Garrick) how gifted was 
 her son. When she does wish to make a musician, 
 (witness Mozart,) how divine is the composition. 
 But then it is about once in a hundred (perhaps 
 a thousand) years, that the wanton goddess is in 
 these freaks. With ruthless negligence she hurries 
 from the prince to the peasant, from the peasant 
 to the king, from the king to the mine digger, 
 from the mine digger back to nobility again ; and 
 just as she happens to be " i'th' vein," (totally 
 regardless of titles, birth, and wealth) she calls her 
 favourite, leads him by the hand, and at length 
 crowns him with her green and unfading laurels. . 
 
 I shall now glance at oratory — both that of the 
 forum and the stage. 
 
 In speaking of rhetorical expression, I shall 
 commence with a line, than which I know nothing 
 more correct, just, or true, from the Rosciad of 
 the celebrated Churchill. 
 
 It is the manner which gives strength to all. 
 
 In conjunction with this, I shall also quote a 
 line from one whom I look on to be no bad judge 
 in such matters — Chesterfield. " The maimer is 
 as important as the matter." 
 
 Hand the finest sermon by a Tillotson or a 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 117 
 
 Kirwan to a bad preacher — give the best piece of 
 oratory by a Canning or a Chatham, to a would- 
 be speaker ; and I would as soon hear a ballad 
 singer enact. Where then lies the secret charm ? 
 Where the undefinable, winning, and powerful 
 spell, which the orator or the actor uses when he 
 speaks ? I answer it is in the manner. For a 
 proof of this, I ask the reader to pass any day 
 into the law courts, or to the House of Commons, 
 and he will there often hear the soundest sense, 
 the best arguments, the most elaborate proposi- 
 tions laid down by persons who have not the 
 manner, and who will not win on his mind or 
 captivate his ear, (and many such names could I 
 reckon up.) I shall now ask of him to pass into 
 the same places, and tell him to listen to those 
 sound arguments — to those elaborate composi- 
 tions, spoken by the splendid and brilliant orator ; 
 and I shall then ask him, if his mind is uncon- 
 vinced — then ask him if his ear is uncaptivated. 
 I wait not for his answer. I fearlessly answer for 
 him, and say no. 
 
 " It is the manner which gives strength to all." 
 
 Yet again. Tell Kean to speak his opening 
 speech in his inimitable and powerful Richard — 
 listen and be delighted. Tell some wretched actor 
 
118 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 to repeat the same — sicken and be disgusted 
 Where lies the difference, the charm which capti- 
 vates in the one and disgusts in the other ? In the 
 manner. Manner is to the actor and the orator, 
 what touch is to the piano or the harp. String 
 the harp ever so beautifully — tune the piano ever 
 so correctly, and run the finger badly over it, and 
 the melody pleases not — the airs are discord. 
 Hand now the harp to the bold musician, and 
 mark the melody that rings from it. The ear 
 tires not. It listens long and delighted to it. 
 (And here, my Lord, if I wished to pay a compli- 
 ment, I could easily find a fair and graceful form 
 not very far from your house, with whose playing 
 my very ear has been chained, and whose sweet 
 turns and touches are yet recollected by that ear.) 
 To such a harper the ear can listen in rapt atten- 
 tion. To such an orator, the same ear can turn^ 
 " and think down hours to moments." The 
 harper plays — the orator speaks. In either case, 
 'tis music. When Cicero was making those noble 
 appeals to the senate of Rome to save his country, 
 and was standing unabashed and undaunted be- 
 fore the terrific and lawless Catiline — when Chat- 
 ham stood forth before the assembly of the first 
 empire in the world, and delivered his sublime 
 orations for the prosperity of the country which 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, 8CC. 119 
 
 was nearest to his heart ; who is it that did not 
 feel " the mind — the music" (as Lord Byron 
 beautifully says) breathing and burning from their 
 eloquent lips ? 
 
 If the harp has music in it, so has the voice. 
 When combined with manner, it has a thousand- 
 fold power in it, and sways beyond any harp. 
 The voice is a harp. Take the voice and the 
 manner away, and the actor and orator are actu- 
 ally a cypher. A speech badly delivered, is like 
 a piece of music badly played. It is impossible 
 the ear can feel pleased with either y and if the 
 ear is captivated, be assured that the mind will 
 follow. If the actor or the orator wishes to per- 
 suade, it is not by what he has to say, but by the 
 manner in which it is said, that he can accomplish 
 his object. Mere speaking will not do. Mere 
 motion of the hands and feet — measured looks — 
 studied starts — dropping the voice at the tag end 
 of a period — all these have nothing to do with 
 rhetorical expression. They disgust. Rhetorical 
 expression is a just and beautiful combination of 
 the language of the eyes, lips, countenance, arms, 
 and body. Nature must here be the guide. They 
 all must move in concert. All must act together. 
 Each must be dependant on the other, and be 
 under such perfect and complete controul of the 
 
120 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 possessor, that he can summon at his will, that 
 which he chooses to call into action. Graceful- 
 ness and brilliancy are two very essential requi- 
 sites in an orator. There are two capital examples 
 in the present day for both of these. I know no- 
 thing better thai! the manner of Mr. Peel for the 
 first ; and for the last, Canning is a special ex- 
 ample. The first is a most desirable and winning 
 quality. Without it, speech is almost nothing; 
 and it is just as requisite in the senate as on the 
 stage. I do not see much of it in either of these 
 places. The great study of the present day drives 
 it from the stage ; and the want of talent, makes 
 it rare in parliament. There is a graceful suavity 
 in the manner of Mr. Peel, which I think is 
 greatly becoming ; and it is seen to advantage in 
 him, as he has not been taught* Cicero tells us 
 that an orator should not be " vastus" — His 
 figure must be graceful. This shows what a keen 
 sense he had of what was requisite in a speaker. 
 A celebrated critic also tells us, 
 
 The actor's province, they but vainly try 
 
 Who want these things — deportment, voice, and eye. 
 
 In this I readily agree. It is impossible that a 
 man can possess rhetorical expression if he is not 
 gifted with all these. A quick and keen eye (and 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &Ci 121 
 
 I never saw real talent with a dull one) is necessary 
 to give expression to the face. " Voice" is indis- 
 pensably necessary to give effect to the words, and 
 make them reach the heart. And " deportment" is 
 essential to give a finish to the entire, and throw 
 a winning charm over the gait, the step, and air. 
 
 In speaking (as well as in singing) care should 
 be taken to open the mouth, and give free vent to 
 the words, taking care to mark the emphatic 
 words, and vary the voice as the sense and as the 
 author intend. It is excessively hard to know 
 icell how to manage the arms ; and even in the 
 graceful art of dancing, it is not every one who 
 knows how to carry the body properly from the 
 hips upward. A single raising of the arm will 
 often speak more than the most studied swagger- 
 ing of them ; and one of the hardest things in the 
 actor or orator is to beget what Hamlet calls " a 
 temperance and a smoothness." It is just as dif- 
 ficult in comedy as tragedy, and unless nature 
 directs, art never can attain it. The position of 
 the body standing should also be attended to, and 
 in the forum or on the stage it should not be neg- 
 lected. In waiting to take up a part (while the 
 other is speaking) the actor should not stand as if 
 he were a statue, or as if he were waiting for some 
 sign (and I really fear it is often the case) from 
 
122 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 his interlocutor to begin. The deception should 
 be kept up as much as possible, and the dialogue 
 should appear easy, flowing, and natural, and 
 ftol'as if it were got off to repeat like a parrot. 
 The dress should also correspond with the charac- 
 ter, and be consonant to it. I have seen actors 
 and actresses so load and besmear themselves with 
 ornaments and tassels, that they looked more like 
 mountebanks than ladies and gentlemen. Taste 
 must here be the guide ; and it is very possible 
 (in comedy) for a dress to be splendid without 
 being genteel — for a person to put on the clothes 
 without the manners (the grand requisite) of the 
 gentleman, and for a performer to mistake levity 
 for humour, mimickry for nature, and studied 
 negligence for grace and ease ; which two last 
 things are perhaps the very hardest for either actor 
 or gentleman to acquire. 
 
 The dress of the bar I think an help to an orator. 
 The senator wants it. In a painting, we always 
 see the pencil employed to dress the figure grace- 
 fully and pleasingly ; and West, when he painted 
 his '• Marc Anthony haranguing," and his 
 " Christ rejected," # knew well that his draperies 
 
 * These pictures are masterpieces. I never saw 
 grouping in painting till I saw " Christ rejected ;" nor 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 123 
 
 should be attended to, and he has accordingly- 
 done so. 
 
 The face is also another peculiar care of the ac- 
 tor ; and the school of study informs him, that 
 unless his eyebrows are besmeared so as to look 
 like soot— his cheeks daubed until they appear 
 like glowing beef-steaks — his wig curled with the 
 nicety of a head in a barber's window — and his 
 cheeks with plumpers in them to stick them out — 
 he never can succeed in getting admiration from 
 the critic's row in the pit, or an ogle from some 
 Miss in the boxes. The actor who wants expres- 
 sion — the female who wants beauty alway resorts 
 to these aids ; and in the morning both are the 
 most frightful of animals. The school of study 
 
 did I ever see sublimity till I saw his transcendant picture 
 of u Death on the pale Horse." It would be a hazard- 
 ous thing to find fault with such a master, and perhaps 
 it might be deemed hypercriticism to say that the last 
 picture is too crowded. He, however, had so many 
 things to express, that it must have been indeed hard: 
 to have included them all in one sheet of canvass. 
 The figure protecting the dying female from the infu- 
 riated horse, is delightfully episodical. No amateur 
 of painting should live in England without seeing these 
 three pictures. Were I to include a fourth, I would 
 mention his " Cupid complaining to Venus." 
 
124 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 says — walk by rule, speak by rule, act by rule, 
 and even paint by rule. To such egregious 
 lengths even is it carried, that I heard an actor 
 say, that, when a boy, he was informed by a stage 
 manager, " that he might be able to hand a chair 
 to a female (simple as it might appear) very well 
 in a drawing-room, yet he never could do it on 
 the stage ! !" Now I go in direct contradiction to 
 this, and say it is infinitely harder to hand it in a 
 drawing-room than on the stage. 
 
 I before spoke of gracefulness. Without it the 
 actor and orator are nothing. Mr, Peel is the 
 best model in the senate, and I think Mr. Kemble 
 is our most graceful actor. I much regret to find 
 his voice failing him, and that age should appear 
 so on him. When a young man he must have 
 possessed the quality eminently, and " the grace- 
 ful levity of youth" is no easy thing to catch on 
 the stage. There are few things where study can 
 be so easily perceived as any attempt to catch 
 gracefulness. Handsome figure and innate gen- 
 tility of manner are essential requisites for it, 
 and without these it never can be attained. 
 Sweetness and flexibility of voice is also another 
 requisite in rhetorical expression. Its charm is 
 powerful ; and I remember being told by a mem- 
 ber of the Irish Parliament, thatihey used fre- 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 125 
 
 quently to go and listen to the silver tones of one 
 of the then leading speakers (whose name I now 
 forget,) though neither his arguments or periods 
 were particularly brilliant. This kind of voice I 
 do not often find in the bar, senate, or stage. It 
 is a rare gift. I take it to be one of the most 
 powerful instruments in the hands of the judicious 
 orator or actor. It is like a harp delightfully 
 tuned, which, when well played on, wins on and 
 captivates the ear ; and, like that harp, can change 
 (with infinitely more variety) its keys, and can be 
 varied and modulated on with a power and a 
 charm beyond any harp. 
 
 Speaking and reading in private will improve it, 
 or rehearsing on the sea shore, where the noise 
 partly drowns it, will strengthen its tone. Dis- 
 tinctness in its tones should be attended to, with- 
 out at the same time laying stress on particular 
 syllables or monosyllables. This is a barbarism : 
 a nice ear will avoid it ; and a wrong emphasis in 
 a speech is as bad as a false note in music. In 
 this respect 1 see a great similarity between speak- 
 ing and music ; and I cannot help saying, that 
 unless a person has a nice ear for one, he cannot 
 succeed in the other. 
 
 As a model for action, the great orator is better 
 to copy from than the actor. And the reason is that 
 
126 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 a leading orator will not study his speeches. Now, 
 the actor does. In the orator, according as the 
 words flow from him, so will the hands be raised 
 and the face be lighted up, thus following the 
 impulse and the passion of his subject. In the 
 actor, the speech is made for him, and he has to 
 adjust his hands and fix his attitudes to it pre- 
 viously. Of this, the less the better ; and if the 
 actor had talent enough to do so daring a thing, 
 I could conceive scarcely any thing more delight- 
 ful than to see him perform in a new play on a 
 first night without having rehearsed. Every thing 
 would then be dictated by his own genius, and 
 we should find nature performing instead of art, 
 its copyist. But Garrick is gone, and it is once 
 in a hundred years that " we shall look on his like 
 again." 
 
 Imitation, or copying any particular speaker, 
 is also a thing which should be strenuously avoid- 
 ed. Genius never copies : " originality," says our 
 leading poet, u is a distinguishing mark of talent." 
 I once saw an actor in a provincial town copy even 
 the voice (bad as it is) of Kean. In parliament I 
 have also seen the leading men aped. Wherever 
 this appears, genius is absent. Indeed, to be a 
 distinguished and leading orator, and a distin- 
 guished and leading actor are hard, very hard 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 127 
 
 things. The former is more so than the latter. 
 The speech is made in the latter — it is to be made 
 in the former. The first has the senate of Eng- 
 land to speak before and to please — the last a 
 mixture of all sorts to gratify ; and the ground 
 lings will often applaud when the true critic will 
 condemn. And here I would remark, that I fear 
 actors frequently strain at what, in their language, 
 is deemed stage effect, merely to catch the ears of 
 these groundlings, and thus raise a clap. " This 
 is vile." If too, it is found by some lucky piece 
 of stage trick, that a clap or a laugh is once raised 
 it will be imitated by the next person who wants 
 to purchase a plaudit at a cheap rate. Imitation 
 in any respect is vile. # 
 
 * " The actor who would build a solid fame, 
 Must imitation's servile arts disclaim ; 
 Act from himself — on his own bottom stand, 
 I hate e'en Garrick at this second hand." 
 
 Churchill. 
 
 I shall here introduce the following anecdote, which 
 is perhaps not generally known. 
 
 Prior to the publication of his celebrated satire by 
 the above capital author, it somehow got wind that he 
 was engaged in satirizing the gentlemen of small-ware 
 talent. The poor would-be 9 s were each and every of 
 
128 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 
 
 Antithesis is a powerful figure in the hands of 
 an orator. Climax and metaphor (the latter par- 
 
 them in sore affright, and as it flew like wild-fire among 
 them, and as they well knew his keen powers in that 
 line, the whole armament of them were alive and buz- 
 zing about; and they were every day watching him 
 and prying after him to see when he would go into his 
 bookseller's with the awful instrument of their death in 
 his hand. Some of them used to look big and 
 gigantic at him, others would shake portentous whips at 
 him some hundred yards from him, some would grin 
 " ghastly smiles " at him. Poor Churchill, amid all 
 this " hurly burly," well knew that as long as a man 
 threatens, so long will he never fight ; and with an im- 
 mensity of maliciousness he used to pretend to be deeply 
 affected by them, and would ever and anon go into his 
 bookseller's. 
 
 Now I certainly must own that this would be very 
 appalling indeed{%$> John Bull saith) for a young author 
 to go through, and yet I beg, with a world and a half 
 of respect to inform the aforesaid gentlemen of small- 
 ware talent of the present day, that I intend satirizing 
 them, and that I shall publish it cc after convenience." 
 If it were possible for any of them to know me by sight, 
 it would be the prettiest little farce in the world to see 
 them go on as above. It really is amusing to see a man 
 (I thought it only belonged to " womankind") go on 
 with all this pretty little artillery and knickery-knack- 
 ery. " After this public notice, all would-be s shall be 
 
ON TASTK, JUDGMENT, &C. 129 
 
 ticularly) are beautiful figures in such a man's 
 hands. They essentially belong to rhetorical ex- 
 pression. In musical expression, even these can 
 be somehow attended to, and I here again trace 
 the similarity between rhetoric and music. Pro- 
 sopopaeia is also another powerful figure. " The 
 author of Waverly " has immense tact in embody- 
 ing persons and scenes, and sketching them off so 
 as to appear like copper-plates instead of letter- 
 press in his leaves. In this respect, he is beyond 
 any writer of the present day. But wit is per- 
 fectly essential (and a sine qua non) in the hands 
 of any one who aspires to be a brilliant orator. 
 It is impossible to be this latter without it. It 
 affords a readiness and a quickness in replying to 
 
 prosecuted " who do not hate me as per above. And 
 yet satire is a rare gift ; so rare, that I shall fail in it. 
 But one man (since the death of the giant Byron) is 
 gifted with it — the immortal author of the Bseviad and 
 Maviad. 
 
 But if some man more daring than the rest, 
 
 Should dare attack these gnatlings in their nest ; 
 
 At once they rise with impotence of rage, 
 
 Whet their small stings and buzz about the stage. 
 
 What ! shall opinion then be chain'd ? 
 
 No ! though half-poets with half-players join. 
 
 Churchill, 
 
130 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 your antagonist ; and often by a happy stroke or 
 brilliant expression turns the argument on him. 
 An orator must also have the power of concentra- 
 tion. He must put his adversary's arguments into 
 the narrowest compass, and seize on his weak 
 parts, and also be able to instantly catch the 
 slightest opening which he makes. This is the 
 most powerful mode of attack ; and the man who 
 turns his own arguments against his opponent, 
 and fights him on his own ground, is ever the 
 most able and talented speaker. Satire (I mean 
 true satire) is also another pre-eminent auxiliary. 
 The man who has it in perfection, can crush his 
 enemy even to his feet ; and we all have seen with 
 what terrific force Junius once wielded it. I know 
 nothing in the English language (in this style) 
 beyond these letters, for classic elegance, force, 
 terseness, and mighty satire. His letters stand 
 alone and unrivalled, nor since their appearance 
 (nor even before it) has there anything appeared 
 which can equal them. Canning (of our present 
 speakers) possesses this quality richer than his 
 cotemporaries. Brougham has it also. This 
 latter gentleman has the method which I above 
 described, of seizing on his adversary's words, and 
 turning them either by wit or satire (these are dis- 
 tinct, though they often go hand in hand) to his 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 131 
 
 own advantage ; and I once heard him in parlia- 
 ment turn the argument completely on his adver- 
 sary, by catching some of his words and turning 
 them into ludicrous wit. His manner wants the 
 suavity of Peel. Peel's wants the energy of 
 Brougham. Canning steers somewhat a middle 
 course. In a w r ord, if a speaker could catch the 
 gracefulness of Peel — the nerve of Brougham — 
 and the brilliancy of Canning, he would be a 
 finished and a complete orator. 
 
 When I recollect this, my Lord, I almost think 
 that the task which I would engage in is nearly 
 hopeless. I here allude to the great study and 
 technicality of the acting ; and the excessive for- 
 mality, want of truth, and vapidity of the dra- 
 matic pieces of the present day. Strange as 
 it may appear (to those who form schools of acting,) 
 yet I must distinctly assert, that study is the 
 ruin of the actor. It, perhaps, will appear still 
 stranger, when I assert, (and am prepared to 
 maintain it,) that there has been but one genuine 
 comedy (oh, tempora !) written since the pro- 
 duction of that unrivalled piece of comic humour 
 — wit — and character — " The School for Scandal. " 
 It is not my intention to enter now into the 
 causes of this, as I intend to reserve it for a future 
 
 k2 
 
132 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 Essay ; but it certainly is my intention to allude 
 to studied acting. 
 
 As prefatory matter then to those remarks which 
 your Lordship has requested from me ; I must 
 inform you (which I was not aware of until lately,) 
 that there are schools of acting in London — re- 
 gular masters who drill into their poor scholars 
 " the art, secret, and mystery" of acting ; exactly, 
 I presume, as your Lordship's relative orders his 
 adjutant to put the men of the regiment through 
 their facings!! Here, my Lord, is the secret — 
 this the cause of nature being banished from the 
 stage. The actor is not left to his own discretion, 
 his own judgment ; but his talent (if he has any,) 
 is warped — twisted — screwed — and at length 
 ruined, by their regius professors and histrionic 
 mystery. After breakfast, he goes to be taught ; 
 after supper (for even at night, I am told, it is kept 
 up) he goes to be taught ; and then, when he 
 comes home, to share perhaps, in the domestic 
 comforts of his friends and family, he again runs 
 over " the dull dry lesson," for the next day's 
 rehearsal. My Lord, this is vile. I care not 
 whether these regius professors get angry or not 
 at my impugnment of their system ; I do pro- 
 nounce it, not only vile, but ruinous and detri- 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 133 
 
 mental. What, my Lord ! Teach a man how to 
 walk into a large room boarded like any other 
 room, and hung round with scenery instead of 
 paper hangings. Teach a man how to talk to his 
 fellow brethren, and repeat words which are before- 
 hand made for him. Teach a man how to address 
 himself as a gentleman to those who are around 
 him — to walk in, walk out, sit in a chair, raise his 
 hands up and down, and make his legs move one 
 before the other, and all this because he happens 
 to be on a large area called a stage, and not in a 
 private drawing-room ! My Lord, it may require 
 teaching, but I unhesitatingly say, that the taught 
 actor is the spoiled actor. Who taught Garrick ? 
 Who instructed Chatham ? (and it must here be 
 observed, that I by no means wander from my 
 subject when I class forensic and theatrical elo- 
 quence together.) Who taught Cicero? Who 
 Demosthenes ? Who the brilliant Canning, or 
 the graceful Peel ? Who taught Kemble how to 
 do his Mirabel, Kean his Richard, or Miss O'Neil 
 her Juliet ? Who taught the celebrated Kilkenny 
 amateurs how to perform their parts ? You, my 
 Lord, have seen this classical and elegant com- 
 pany of amateurs, and you can bear me out in 
 saying that there was no character which they 
 performed, that did not rival, and oftentimes sur- 
 
134 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 pass the same characters performed in London or 
 Dublin. Tis true, my Lord, that all those per- 
 sons whom I have above-mentioned had an in- 
 structor. But, who was that instructor ? Nature. 
 -* Enchanting nature !" as the poet most justly 
 calls her. When nature once fixes on a favourite, 
 he requires no help from art; and I fearlessly 
 assert, that the man who cannot act unless he is 
 taught, should never attempt the hazardous task 
 of wielding the hearts of his audience. If he 
 cannot do it by nature, can he do it by art ? What 
 is art ? Tis a vile, second-hand thing that mimics 
 nature. It wants the stamp and glowing colour 
 of the original — its boldness, freedom, and fresh- 
 ness. It wants those master strokes — those ini- 
 mitable touches — those transient, delicate, but 
 electrical flashes, which fall on the heart with de- 
 lightful and hurried ravishment, and like the tones 
 of that harp which the divine Milton described, 
 
 Take 
 The prisoned soul, and lap it in Elysium ! 
 
 This is the acting of nature. Ask me to prac- 
 tically describe it to you, and I cannot. It as- 
 sumes a thousand different forms, but all true, all 
 correct. Tell such an actor as I am now descri- 
 bing, to perform a character, and on the leading 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 135 
 
 points of it, he will make a hundred different va- 
 riations, all of which shall be natural. # But — 
 tell the poor taught creature to perform a cha- 
 racter, and exactly as he performs it on the first 
 day of January, one thousand eight hnndred and 
 twenty-five, so exactly will he perform it on the 
 first day of January, one thousand eight hundred 
 and twenty-six. Here lies the immeasurable dis- 
 tance between the true actor and the would-be. 
 The would-be, has no idea of acting a character 
 beyond one particular stated way. He studies 
 for a week perhaps at a character, measures it by 
 rule and compass, lays down a scale of inches, 
 marks on what particular board he is to walk,+ 
 
 * I have seen Miss O'Neil perform the scene with 
 her nurse in her inimitable Juliet, in three different 
 ways, all of which were correct and natural. 
 
 f The following anecdote., taken from Macklin's life, 
 is far too good to be omitted here. Macklin was en- 
 gaged to perform some of his leading characters in a 
 certain town (I believe Dublin). Intending to perform 
 the part of " Shylock," on the night to which I allude, 
 and wishing to give some particular point to one of the 
 principal passages of the play, he told one of the dis- 
 ciples of the school of study (guessing, I suppose, his 
 stupidity) not to speak, until he put his foot on a 
 certain nail in a certain board. Macklin spoke, but 
 the said Macklin forgot to put his foot on the said nail, 
 
136 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 fixes a glass before him, and calculates the aphelion 
 and perihelion of the orbit of the hand to the 
 heart, marks at what line he is to take off his 
 glove, at what period he is to take out his pocket- 
 handkerchief,* and how obtuse or acute the 
 angle of his body shall be, when he is going to 
 make a grand — a remarkably grand exit entirely, 
 in the shape and fashion of — a super-superlative 
 bow. My Lord, I call this, acting by steam. In 
 truth, I know not what to call it. It is beyond 
 my limited and circumscribed comprehension en- 
 tirely. I can't understand studied acting; but I 
 can vividly and delightedly understand natural 
 acting. It is the very soul of a character. It is 
 that which gives it life — animation — zest. Take 
 it away, and you take away the words of it. Give 
 
 at the fitting and proper time. " Why don't you 
 speak, and be cursed to you," said the enraged tra- 
 gedian. " Why don't you put your foot on the nail," 
 was the happy and inimitable reply. Stare, my Lord, 
 or laugh, whichever you like. 
 
 * There is one actor whom I have seen perform, but 
 I never saw him come out on the stage yet, that he did 
 not take out his handkerchief at a particular part. I 
 however must not omit to mention, that the last time I 
 saw him, he took it out with his right hand instead of 
 his left. May the heavens kindly bless him for it! 
 it was an amazing relief to me. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 137 
 
 it this magic charm, and you give it every thing. 
 If I am asked what it is, I cannot define it. It 
 plays in the quick glances of the eye, in the grace- 
 ful action of the hands, in the rapid or retarded 
 motion of the feet — directs the soft and suasive 
 accents of the voice in Romeo, and collects and 
 pours forth its thunder in Macbeth and Richard 
 — sits on the features of the face in acute despair, 
 when it would thus mould the countenance, and 
 with its magic sway can even speak, though the 
 tongue be silent ! Even in music does this " spell 
 and charm" act, and it sits on the eloquent lips of 
 the enchantress Stephens* when she is pouring 
 her w T ild and native melodies on the ear — directs 
 the mellow thunder of a Braham, when his 
 voice rolls in volumes through the theatre, or wafts 
 and varies it in a thousand tones in his graceful 
 " ad libitum " — or guides the enlightened notes of 
 Weber in his rapid and rapturous movements. 
 Yes, nature ! I know thee — feel thee — bow to 
 thee — but my pen fails when it would try to catch 
 thee and paint thee. 
 
 I have been speaking of the power of nature in 
 acting, and I here am led to advance another pro- 
 position, which I am aware will to some appear 
 
 * This lady is an instance of the natural in singing. 
 
138 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 
 
 strange. I say then, that it is infinitely harder to 
 perform the part of a finished gentleman in any 
 fashionable drawing-room, for one night, than it 
 is to perform the leading character of a comedy. 
 Why? In a comedy the words are made for you. 
 In the drawing-room you have to make them 
 yourself-, and any deviation from which, either in 
 grammar or elegance, will infallibly set you down 
 as a would-be gentleman. Also, to carry on the 
 character of a finished gentleman for the night, 
 you must be a politician with the politician — a 
 man of business with the merchant — be able to 
 descant on music, poetry, and the fine arts, with 
 those who are disciples of them — introduce light 
 and pleasant talk to the females — fling your wit 
 about with the brilliant barrister — talk of Hebrew 
 and Latin to the scholar — and support a winning 
 and gentlemanly address throughout the entire 
 night. I therefore laugh when I am told that it 
 is harder to personate fictitious than real life ; and 
 I am perfectly confident that my eye would in- 
 stantly catch the would-be actor in a drawing- 
 room, from the harshness and stiffness which for 
 ever clings to him : the rule and compass system 
 follows him wherever he goes ; and I scarcely 
 know any quality harder to attain than that of the 
 ease of the gentleman : unless it sits naturally on 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 139 
 
 you, it cannot sit on you. You will here of course 
 ask me what remedy I would propose, in place of 
 the study system. # I instantly reply, if the actor 
 cannot act without being taught, let him never 
 attempt the stage ; and, if he does not require all 
 this proposed course of discipline and tutoring, 
 let him be left to his own judgment. What says 
 the first master that ever wrote on the subject? 
 
 " Let your own discretion be your tutor. 
 
 I will take — I can take no authority beyond this. 
 If then the man has not ' ' discretion" — if he has 
 not judgment, let him even turn his back grace- 
 fully on the stage, and not bore the town with his 
 insanity. My Lord, I laugh at these words, but 
 they have slipped out from my pen, and I really 
 cannot go blot my paper, (I hate your blotters) 
 
 * New performers are regularly announced in the 
 bills as a pupils" of such and such a one. Pupils ! ! 
 are you laughing, my lord ? Does not this appear as 
 outre as if a new poet was announced in the title page 
 of his book, as pupil to Mr. Campbell, or pupil to Mr. 
 Moore ? or as if a new member of Parliament was an- 
 nounced as pupil to Mr. Canning, or pupil to Mr. Peel ? 
 Alas ! I would these four gentlemen could take pupils 
 and save us from the would-be*s. Perhaps there never 
 was an age so delightfully and obligingly prolific in 
 gentlemen of small ware talent, as the present. God 
 bless them all particularly ! Amen ! 
 
140 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 and send my nice gilt-edged sheets of " Bath 
 superfine" with nasty blotted lines to the drawing- 
 room of your Lordship. But let me return to the 
 inimitable advice from whence I have quoted the 
 above line. 
 
 " Any thing overdone (and studied acting is al- 
 ways overdone) is from the purpose of playing. 
 Any thing overdone, or come tardy off, though it 
 make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the 
 judicious grieve ; the censure of which one must, 
 in your allowance, overweigh a whole theatre of 
 others. ~ Oh ! there be players that I have seen 
 play;" (and, my good Lord, there be players that 
 you and I have seen play,) " and heard others 
 praise, and that highly ;" (let me recall the scene 
 in Dublin, my Lord,) " not to speak it profanely, 
 that neither having the accent of Christians, nor 
 the gait of Christian, Pagan, nor man, have so 
 strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some 
 of nature's journeymen had made men, and not 
 made them well, they imitated humanity so abo- 
 minably IP Ah me ! my Lord, this picture is not 
 overcharged — not in the least too highly coloured. 
 Never was ranting or studied acting so inimitably 
 or so masterly defined. How nice must have been 
 the ear— how exquisite the conception of what a 
 finished actor should be, to Shakespeare, when he 
 \VTote the above lines. You will here at once ask 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 141 
 
 me, " if he had this keen sense of propriety and 
 nature of acting, why was not he a great actor?" 
 My Lord, would you really want to set the entire 
 world laughing at dame nature for such a perfectly 
 preposterous frolic. Would you want to have such 
 an outrageous monopoly of talent in one man, as 
 to be a great poet and a great actor. It is such a 
 thing as the world never heard of. There is no 
 man in his sober senses who would not have 
 scouted at the wanton and freakish goddess for 
 making such an outrage on nature. She was very 
 near doing it with that extra -favourite of her's, 
 Garrick ; but you perceive, my Lord, she thought 
 it would be most divine nonsense, and she accord- 
 ingly thought better of it, and made him the great 
 actor and the little poet. It is true, when she 
 does take one of these freaks into her noddle there 
 is no accounting for what she may do ; and if 
 once she falls in love with any young fellow in her 
 giddy rambles through the world, (that is, if she 
 falls regularly in love with him,) she will take 
 him home with her, and totally forgetful of the 
 modesty of her sex, will play with him in her lap, 
 kiss him, fondle him, take him out with her to 
 walk, show him and point out to him with a skill 
 and a touch that none but she possesses, the 
 beauties of her wide domain ; lead him through 
 
142 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 her foaming cataracts, her mazy woods, her 
 spangled grottoes ; and even placing him on the 
 downy and brilliant wings of her fancy, waft him 
 through her realms of space, show him her starry 
 and studded skies, her wheeling spheres rolling 
 to the music of the harp of night, point out to him 
 her fearful storms and tempests, and then bid him 
 paint, feel, describe! 
 
 But alas ! my Lord, these freaks she but seldom, 
 very seldom gets into. Stubborn and untractable, 
 she must be left solely to herself 5 and so nice is 
 she in her choice — so fastidious is she in her taste, 
 that the veriest and proudest beauty that ever 
 graced a drawing-room is not half so niggard of 
 her smiles or her favours as the giddy nymph that 
 I have been above describing. Shakespeare and 
 Sheridan — Pope and Otway — Byron, Garrick, 
 and Kemble are gone, and she now but frowns 
 (instead of smiling) on the pigmies that crowd 
 and usurp her domain. # 
 
 * I was in company, some time ago, with a member 
 of Parliament, whose taste for the drama was both 
 correct and judicious. The topic of conversation was 
 the declining state of genuine comedy in the present 
 day ; and I made some remarks on one of the epheme- 
 ral dramas. a Do not blame it, Sir, said the critic, 
 it is a capital one- for the present day !' I remained 
 silent. The remark seemed unanswerable. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 143 
 
 I am ready to perceive, my Lord, that you will 
 ask me what is the cause of this declining state of 
 the drama. This would lead me into a very large 
 and wide discussion, and I therefore should prefer 
 reserving it to a future opportunity. I, however, 
 really cannot help saying, that I do not think it is 
 for want of encouragement in the managers of 
 either of the national theatres. Nothing can be 
 more spirited or liberal than the manner in which 
 the management of both houses is conducted ; so 
 that if " the gay and laughing Thalia" is dead, 
 she has not been sent to her grave by neglect on 
 the part of those people. On the contrary, my 
 Lord, I am very positive they would shake hands 
 with her most cordially, were she to show her 
 . smiling lips and funny eyes again ; but since our 
 mutual favourite, the immortal Sheridan, went, 
 she followed him to his grave, and there in grief 
 yet mourns over him, unmoved by one smile of 
 mirth from her temple — unawoke by one scene of 
 genuine humour from her dull and prosing sons ! 
 If it would so please your Lordship, I would ex- 
 tremely wish that your Lordship, when you next 
 visit Parnassus, would contrive to present her 
 with " one thousand and one" compliments, re- 
 spects and good wishes from me. You may fur- 
 ther inform her (" confession is good for the soul") 
 
144 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 that I have been head over ears in love with her 
 ever since I was a boy, and that, if I could once 
 get near her, I would give her the most nefarious 
 kissing that ever either mortal or immortal got. 
 You smile, my Lord ; but to carry on my meta- 
 phors, I plainly tell you that, were I to meet her 
 in a drawing-room in " this diurnal sphere," I 
 should sit by her the entire night ; for her counte- 
 nance has something in it which attracts and wins 
 me, more than her sad (though interesting) sister, 
 Melpomene. Let me paint her, for I see her 
 plainly before me. 
 
 Her eyes are blue — dark, sparkling, brilliant 
 blue. Her cheeks are covered with blushes which 
 she has stolen from the morning beams of that 
 " rude drunkard, the rosy sun." Her hair — her 
 thick and auburn hair is floating around her in 
 waving and wanton curls, and serves as a kind of 
 covering to her Venus- shaped limbs, which are 
 partly seen through the floating gauze which but 
 ill conceals the lower part of her exquisitely turned 
 and bare legs — for I am ashamed to say, my Lord, 
 she never thinks of wearing a garter. She is 
 dancing — her lips apart, and disclosing pearls 
 which mock the glittering shells that spangle the 
 caves of the Indian water nymphs. A wreath of 
 roses is flung round her shoulder, and she is also 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 145 
 
 flinging them from her, round her path with one 
 hand, while the other holds her risible mask. 
 There are no pearls in her hair, nor are there any 
 braided ornaments round her brow — her eyes are 
 the sole diamonds that she wears; and the 
 " quips and cranks and smiles" that are glancing 
 from them, tell how infinitely mocked would be 
 the rarest diamond by their side. Her bosom is 
 full and prominent, " on whose top, the pinks 
 that grow, are of those that April wears." Her 
 neck, high and commanding. Her shoulders 
 firmly set, and most delicately sloped. Her arms 
 white, round, and tapering — waist, slender and 
 graceful — step, light and airy — limbs, uncovered 
 and buoyant. — She is singing. Listen. 
 
 1. 
 Away ! away ! o'er the wild flowers fleeting, 
 
 I roam thus on 'mid my heaven of smiles, 
 And every woe that my bright eye is meeting, 
 
 I turn to that joy, which care best beguiles. 
 Fleet from me care — fleet away — fleet away ! 
 
 Thou never may'st come 'mid my laughing retreat ; 
 But come to me joy ; sweet joy ! with me stay, 
 
 And fling thy bright roses around my gay feet. 
 
 2. 
 Oh, here 'mid my bowers of laughter and roses, 
 I live amid joys which I never let die, 
 
 L 
 
146 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 For if on my path, a sad cloud e'er discloses, 
 I turn it to beams, with the smile of my eye. 
 
 Away ! then away ! thus I buoyantly trip, 
 Nor sorrow, nor care comes wherever / flee ; 
 
 With the smile in my eye — with the kiss on my lip, 
 Oh, who could cause grief to such a sweet one as me ! 
 
 Now, my Lord, here is a whole string of poetry, 
 and a whole string of prose, but " by the Ghost 
 of Roller/' as Schiller has it, I know not how it 
 slipped out of my pen. Shall we call it a lapsus 
 ink-and-bottle-<e ! — as I do not exactly know what 
 the genitive case of this new Latin word is ; I 
 must leave it to your Lordship to fix properly, 
 and in the mean time request of you to pardon 
 me should you bring in a verdict of " wilful 
 trespass " against me. Your Lordship must how- 
 ever further perceive that I have been guilty of a 
 most vile anomaly. For, I have said that Thalia 
 was as it were dead, and weeping her bright eyes 
 out, over the grave of Sheridan; and above, I 
 have made her, dancing ! My Lord, this is too 
 bad. I however have painted her the way I 
 should wish to see her, not in the doleful and sad 
 plight that she is in ; for I would much rather see 
 " Beauty in smiles" than " Beauty in tears." 
 
 But to my subject. Before I proceed farther in 
 my Letter, I can perceive your Lordship is asking 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 147 
 
 rue, \* How is the natural style of acting which I 
 have been speaking of, to be acquired?" My 
 Lord, it cannot be acquired. If nature does not 
 bestow it ; all the study, all the lessons, all the 
 veriest labour, will never throw round the actor 
 this natural grace. The moment he attempts to 
 catch it, the awkwardness with which it sits on 
 him, is to a quick eye, instantly perceived ; and 
 though I say that it cannot be acquired, yet I 
 fearlessly assert that should he enroll himself in 
 the school of study (to be taught it) it will be infi- 
 nitely worse. I therefore again say, let him give 
 up any hope of being able to hold any sway over 
 the hearts of an audience, if nature does not 
 fit him for the task. Should these lines meet the 
 eye of any young man who has an unfortunate 
 predilection for the stage, I warn him (and his 
 best friend would but do the same) to never 
 attempt setting foot on the stage unless his talent 
 for it is of genuine stamp. It will in the end be 
 only his ruin. For, unless he can rise to eminence 
 either in the comic or tragic line, what life is there 
 more idle — what more useless ? If he is obliged 
 to go to school, the labour which he then uses, 
 will just enable him to get off his part correctly, 
 saw his hand in the air, use his feet in regular 
 time, and — nothing more. Imagine such a per- 
 
 l 2 
 
148 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 son coming into a genteel and fashionable drawing- 
 room, with his studied bows and scrapes, his stiff 
 demeanour, his automaton conversation — his shreds 
 of Shakespeare and Sheridan, and then contrast 
 him with the finished and easy address of the 
 gentleman yonder, his graceful and unembarrassed 
 deportment, suasive conversation, and classical 
 language. Contrast them thus, and then see the 
 infinite difference. This (a straining for the effect) 
 is the rock which so many of our actors and 
 actresses split on. They think that the moment 
 they come in on the stage, they must do some- 
 thing very fine — -very grand — very sublime ; and 
 they are on thorns until they get an opportunity 
 of making some fine, ranting, tatter-tearing 
 speech ; they think also they must do this, just 
 because they happen to be on a stage, and a 
 parcel of well dressed people looking at them. 
 You will here then say — " acting is easy." My 
 Lord, it is excessively hard. The difficulty con- 
 sists in possessing judgment, to know where to 
 introduce the simple thing of raising the hand, 
 advancing the foot, swelling or lowering the voice, 
 and frowning or smiling with the eye. Here lies 
 the extreme difficulty ; and simple as it may here 
 appear ; it is about one in a hundred that know 
 how to do it. Yet again. What should the stage 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 149 
 
 be (in comedy) but, a fashionable drawing-room ? 
 This I know is quite a startling query to the pre- 
 sent day ; but I unhesitatingly say, that to carry 
 on the illusion correctly, the stage, and those who 
 move on it, should appear to those who are look- 
 ing on, as if a suite of rooms were thrown open to 
 them, and that they were admitted to hear the 
 inmates converse. If then we look on the stage in 
 this light, (and I am content to enter into contro- 
 versy with any person to support my theory,) if, I 
 say, we look on the stage in this light ; how de- 
 lightful — how almost fascinating, appears the 
 acting of the natural performer. But I shall here 
 be told by the Regius Professors that there is no 
 effect from this kind of acting. I am perfectly 
 positive that to the eye of taste, there is infinitely 
 more effect, than from the most studied, most 
 laboured piece of performance. What was it 
 made Garrick's acting so delightful ? Because it 
 was all nature. He could not be made to study — 
 no more than the actor of study could be taught 
 to personate nature. 
 
 I am here to remark that in the view which I 
 have taken of the stage (likening it to a drawing- 
 room), I distinctly expel from it any and every 
 species of that vile and hideous thing called 
 melodrame. It is a thing unknown among writers 
 
150 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 of distinction, or actors of distinction. My re- 
 marks more particularly apply to parts of tragedy, 
 and the entire of genteel comedy. The melo- 
 drama is a dramatic monster, fit only for fairs and 
 public shows. It does not belong to real life. It 
 has no connexion with the " world of reality/ 9 
 and if I had my wish, I would for ever banish it 
 from that stage on which Garrick trod, and for 
 which Shakespeare wrote. 
 
 These observations lead me to speak of a farce 
 which has become extremely popular (from inci- 
 dental circumstances) during the last season. I 
 allude to the ever-memorable-and-never-to-be- 
 forgotten farce of " A Roland for an Oliver." 
 My Lord, this is a farce, (I beg the said farce's 
 pardon, it is a comedy. Farces of two acts are 
 now announced at all the theatres as comedies.) 
 This, my Lord, is a comedy which is sustained by 
 mad characters. The hero of it is mad, and the 
 heroine of it is mad, and the servant is mad, and 
 the servant's wife is nearly mad, and poor " Sir 
 Mark Chase" (the only natural portrait in the 
 play) most dolefully exclaims, that *• he is afraid 
 he shall get in the family way, and become mad 
 too !" In short, my Lord, it is a regular insane 
 
 AFTERPIECE ! ! 
 
 I am quite aware that I ought, " Lightly tread, 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 151 
 
 as this is hallowed ground/' for the whole town 
 has been running after this afterpiece. There are 
 also the brilliant Mr. Jones, (an actor worth a whole 
 dozen of would-be' s,) and likewise the puissant 
 Miss Foote, who perform in it; and I suppose 
 they will forthwith apply to Sir Richard Birnie 
 for a warrant to apprehend me should I criticize 
 the play. But criticism must not necessarily 
 glance from the performance to the performers. 
 On the contrary, I am perfectly willing to suppose 
 that but for these performers* the piece would not 
 
 * It would be unfair were I not also to speak of 
 Fawcett's Sir Mark Chase. If, my Lord, you have 
 
 ever seen the brother of Mr. of Summer Hill,, 
 
 (that hospitable sportsman — that terror of all the 
 snipe, partridge, and woodcock for ten miles round,) 
 you have seen Sir Mark Chase. I have seen no one 
 who so strongly reminds me of this known character. 
 He wears even the same dress, and like him, keeps 
 open house to all who choose to enter. There is one 
 thing performed by Fawcett in this character which is 
 beyond any thing performed by either Mr. Jones or 
 Miss Foote. (I humbly go down on my two bare 
 knees, and ask pardon .from mistress Maria Darlington 
 for this want of gallantry.) I allude to the stamp, 
 
 and accompanying " D me," which he gives 
 
 when Highflyer runs away with his gun. This is 
 done so excessively natural, so impromptu ; that I do 
 
152 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 have succeeded in the manner it has done. I 
 have scarcely seen any piece which is so desti- 
 
 not think I see him on the stage, but in a field where 
 the fugitive has taken his piece and scampered over a 
 hedge with it, which is too high for Sir Mark to get 
 over. He also does another thing in the first act, ex- 
 cessively droll. I allude to the outrageous kiss which 
 he gives Miss Foote when he first sees her. My Lord, 
 here is an old man of fifty or sixty, and were you to 
 see him give this loving smack, you would think the 
 poor girl's lips were bit off! The instant he sees 
 her -Whoop ! he flings up his hands and he cocks up 
 his legs (in true sportsmanlike style), and he makes 
 into her arms like a young scamp of five and twenty ! 
 If the milliner of the aforesaid Mistress Darlington 
 will look at the third finger of her left hand glove, 
 she will perceive it most dreadfully torn, picked, and 
 otherwise despitefully maltreated. When she tells 
 " Selborne " that she will never either look at or speak 
 to Alfred Highflyer (this is a sublime name, my Lord) 
 any more, (for his defalcation in gallantry,) she catches 
 hold of this unfortunate finger, and pulls, drags, and 
 tears at it as if Highflyer himself was embodied in the 
 said finger, and she was pecking at him. Now I do 
 most humbly and dutifully submit that she might 
 catch hold of and drag at the thumb, by way of 
 variety. If it was not done with such scrupulous and 
 conscientious regularity (Ecce studium !) every time 
 she performs it, I should not notice it. I also have 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 153 
 
 tute of situation, (situation belongs to genuine 
 comedy,) and which is so full of stage trick, (stage 
 
 another matter to notice, and it is my intention to by 
 no means pass it over. There are two certain theatres 
 in London, one of which is situated in Drury Lane, 
 the other in Co vent Garden ; and at these two said 
 theatres I have heard the same overtures and sympho- 
 nies played two or three times over in the course of 
 a fortnight ! Now this is " a wretched way to dole 
 out melody." When I go to a minor theatre I am 
 prepared to see things on a minor scale ; but when I 
 go to a national theatre, I expect to see every thing on 
 a proper and suitable scale. 1 do not blame the ma- 
 nagement for this, for they cannot well be aware of it, 
 unless it were purposely mentioned to them; but it 
 should be the business of the attendant of the orchestra 
 to change the books at least twice a week, nor can I 
 by any means suppose but that the music-room of two 
 such theatres is well supplied with music. Now I 
 know many who go to hear the music of the orchestra 
 (and nothing can be more delightful when well per- 
 formed) as much as to see the play. It may here be 
 objected, that this kind of promiscuous playing might 
 perhaps produce confusion, unless the pieces are pre- 
 viously practised. I instantly reply to this — let no 
 one attempt to play in the orchestra of a national 
 theatre unless he is perfect master of his instrument, 
 and can play at sight. Shall I remark, en passent, 
 that the tone (the reader will please distinguish between 
 
154 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 trick belongs to farces and melodrames.) Almost 
 every scene in it is forced ; and for the purpose of 
 dragging a smile from the lips of the audience, 
 such an infinity of knickery knackery and stage 
 
 tone and execution) of the " first clarionet" at Covent 
 Garden Theatre is one of the sweetest I ever heard. I 
 however think that the bassoon playing might (in soft 
 airs) be " emended" It was infinitely too loud in the 
 latter bars of the accompaniment to " Home, sweet 
 Home." The voice was drowned. I am always glad 
 when I see manuscript music in an orchestra. It 
 speaks well for the leader ; nor should I have the 
 slightest objection to hear graces and cadenzas more 
 frequently from the leaders of the national theatres. 
 The execution of a Kiesewetter, and the articulation 
 of a Mori are difficult to catch, but almost every man 
 of taste can introduce these extra turns and graces. I 
 have heard Barton (the most graceful bowhand I ever 
 saw) run on a mile before his band, and come back 
 again with perfect sangfroid. You will perhaps here 
 enquire, how my memory can be so retentive of all 
 these minutise? If you ask me to philosophically 
 account for it, I own I cannot do it. I can only say 
 that the smallest defect, or the smallest beauty, in 
 either acting or music, is indelibly impressed on my 
 memory. And yet, there are hours when I would fain 
 have a shorter and more oblivious memory. Mo- 
 ments at times come blightingly across me, 
 
 " The weight of which I would fling aside for ever!" 
 
O^ TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 155 
 
 trick is had recourse to, that I only wonder at the 
 prolific invention which could have got up such a 
 '* charming variety. " I niay as well class this 
 with another drama of buffoonery and nonsense, 
 designated under the title of " Animal Magne- 
 tism." I suppose the authors of those pieces will 
 get very angry and highly wrathful, if I denounce 
 them as ridiculous and absurd. The press is open 
 to them to confute me if they wish, but I must 
 very broadly declare that the characters and the 
 scenes in them have never been paralleled in 
 nature. There is no person of taste that would 
 not be offended at the buffoonery of the one and 
 the insanity of the other. There is however one 
 redeeming character in this last afterpiece — Sir 
 Mark Chase. I may meet a hundred such cha- 
 racters as this in the world ; but were I to meet a 
 Highflyer in any respectable drawing-room I 
 should instantly get up into some corner of the 
 room, lest he should do detriment to my body 
 corporate. Maria Darlington also comes in with 
 a great white thing flying and flapping about her 
 ears, and crowned with flowers unwreathed through 
 her auburn locks, (I suppose to set off her pretty 
 eyes,) and she forthwith doth chaunt a song to 
 her " dearly beloved/' and sings, and waltzes, 
 and whirls him about like a top — he (the said 
 
156 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 Highflyer) having ordered the mad servant (that 
 he may talk lovingly and alone to his elect) to take 
 off poor quiet Selborne out of the way, on his back, 
 without the consent of the said Selborne " being 
 first had and obtained." Well, my Lord, after 
 she waltzes (and I almost forgive the piece for the 
 sake of the grace with which she does it) she 
 enpierceth the heart of the insane and inconstant 
 Highflyer, with the whirling of her legs, and the 
 sweetness of her song — the metre of which said 
 song by the by is anapaestic, and the writer has 
 thought proper to make it bad heroic in one of 
 the lines. The song being ended, he thereupon 
 doth most pathetically exclaim. <( How divine she 
 valtzes !" and in a trice they swing* into each 
 other's arms, and make up the amantium irce, in 
 " a long embrace," though Mistress Maria Dar- 
 lington had told the whole host of critics and 
 Gods, in the first act, that she " never would 
 speak to him more!" — "Thus, my Lord, ends 
 this eventful story ;" and I have nothing further 
 to add, except that this insane afterpiece was 
 acted every week during the engagement of the 
 
 * I regret I cannot claim this word as original. 1 
 have taken it from a graceful monosyllable called 
 " swang" in the " Hebrew Family" — a piece of 
 brilliant wit and mellifluous music ! 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 157 
 
 aforesaid deponent, Maria Darlington, and (will 
 you believe it my lord, ?) the first comedy that 
 ever was written, " The School for Scandal," was 
 acted during that time — once! so much for the 
 taste of the present day ; nor do I believe Lord 
 Byron was incorrect when he said that " the taste 
 of the present day was false and declining." (I 
 w r ould his pen were still awake to lash away its 
 follies and foibles !) 
 
 He would depict infinitely better than I could, 
 that class of persons whom I have so repeatedly 
 called Would-be's through my letter. You, my 
 Lord, who live in the upper regions of fashion, 
 politics, and literature, have never met a would-be 
 poet or actor. Suffer me, then, to take the pencil 
 and pallet and trick him out for you. First, for 
 the would-be poet. 
 
 He is exactly forty-two years of age — for he has 
 been all that time endeavouring to bring forth 
 something in the literary world, and has never 
 been able to get beyond a neat sonnet in a maga- 
 zine — a pretty charade in a newspaper — or a love 
 sick stanza in a Sunday paper. If your Lordship 
 will open the door of his room, you will find him 
 sitting at an old-fashioned mahogany table, one 
 hand supporting his brow, the other with the pen 
 in it, not writing, for he is at a dead stop, cogi- 
 
158 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 tating some divine thought. It is midnight, and 
 the candle is almost burned down, and is just ex- 
 piring, giving out its last speech and dying words 
 —which he is almost totally unconscious of, so 
 wrapped up is he in the divine cogitation. The fire 
 has been out two hours ago, and a small kitten 
 (his child's plaything) is reclining on the flowered 
 rug, which his wife has worked to ornament the 
 fire-place. She — a pretty looking little body, (for 
 poets, my lord, are amorous, and must fain have 
 handsome wives,) she is in bed, and is calling out 
 to the poor devil to come to her, from the inside 
 bed-room ; the door of which is left half open that 
 she may have an eye on him, lest in his lucubra- 
 tions he may set both himself and the house on 
 fire. But alas ! he heeds not — hears not her re- 
 peated calls, for — he is completely up in the 
 clouds. His coat and waistcoat are open — his 
 feet slip-shod, one foot out of the slipper — his chin 
 has a three day's beard on it — his hands are un- 
 washed — and the middle finger of his right hand 
 is in complete mourning for its heavy duty, as it is 
 covered all over with ink. His room is in a 
 glorious upper story of the house, some sixty feet 
 from the ground, and its furniture consists of a 
 dining-table, a reading-table, with his desk on it, 
 (which neither wife not child dare touch,) half 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 159 
 
 a dozen of chairs, and one shelf of books, in the 
 midst of which stands prominent and conspicuous 
 a volume (and only one volume) of his own pre- 
 cious and dearly beloved poems " beautifully 
 printed by Davison on royal octavo." 
 
 Two visiting-cards are on the chimney-piece — 
 one of them from a young gentleman fond of the 
 theatre and its fair Cyprians, and who would fain 
 be looking after his pretty wife — for the purpose 
 of philosophically minding her ; as he (the afore- 
 said would-be) seemeth to be fonder of his incon- 
 stant muse, than of his own " lawful wedded 
 wife." His watch is lying on the table — stopped. 
 That part of the table w T hich surrounds his writ- 
 ing-desk, is furnished with two unfinished essays ; 
 one, " an attempt to find out the longitude," the 
 other " an essay on the precise time of finding- 
 out the resurrection." He has his brow still 
 leaning on his hand, and if you will look closely 
 at his countenance, you will find that there is 
 neither talent, animation, or expression in it. To 
 complete the picture, the moon is struggling 
 through a dark and rainy cloud, and is pouring 
 her dim rays in through the window, one pane of 
 which has been broken by an urchin, the youngest 
 son of the shop-keeper who lives below, and who 
 
160 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 flung an envious stone at him while he was 
 '* finding out the longitude." The picture is now 
 completed, Will it do, think you, my lord, to 
 send to " The exhibition?" And now for the 
 would-be actor. 
 
 Come forth — come forth ! thou thing of Shake- 
 speare, ranting, study, and idleness. Come forth 
 thou man whom everybody sees, and nobody ad- 
 mires. Thou who triest to please every body, and 
 yet pleasest nobody. There, thou art walking up 
 Bond Street, with the neatest stock, the neatest 
 coat, the neatest summer waistcoat, and the 
 brightest " Day and Martin " on thy shoes. 
 Switch or whip in thy hand (thou conshumate* 
 rogue, though thou hast never crossed a horse) 
 spur, perhaps, on thy heel, though thou never 
 hast used it — glove dangling in thy hand — a neat 
 coloured kid glove en dishabille — thy hat balanced 
 exquisitely on three hairs, and a smicky smacky, 
 lack-a-daysical " how d'do" on thy pretty lips 
 (the Lord love it!) with a super-exquisite bow 
 bestowed on the first Cyprian that thou meet- 
 est. Yes — there, thou art hastening down to 
 the corner of the street to look for " gape-seed " 
 
 * Anglice, consummate. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 161 
 
 both ways ; just let loose from either thy school 
 of study, or let out from the drawing-room of a 
 third-rate Cyprian. # 
 
 Not political enough for a club-room, and too 
 full of mannerism for the saloon of fashion, thou 
 paradest in the streets, gaping — gaping — gaping 
 at men, coaches, shops, prints of actors, mousetraps 
 and other sweet-meats. Thy height is just five 
 feet eight. This is the true regulation would-be 
 height — " taken by permission of the manager 
 from the prompt book" — and thou art leaning 
 perchance on a dearly beloved brother would-be, 
 or else walking solus and sentimental with thy 
 switch or thy whip, twirling in all the neat and 
 pretty convolutions of a fragrant and essenced 
 amateur. The Lord love thee ! 'twere pity to 
 let " the wind of heaven visit thy nobility too 
 roughly." 
 
 Thou thinkest (so exquisite is thy taste) that 
 " Pizzaro " is the finest play that ever was written ; 
 and its ranting hero, is the very " god of thy ido- 
 
 * This description was taken from life, from a win- 
 dow of Trinity College, Dublin, some months ago. It 
 is a south-west view of a front elevation in the florid 
 Gothic style. 
 
 M 
 
162 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 latry." Thou dolest out shreds of Shakespeare,* 
 and will tell jokes of Joe Miller, " until the ear is 
 pained." Music thou knowest nought of, or if thou 
 dost hammer any of it into thy skull, it is — *' a 
 little on the flute "f Politics and religion thou 
 despisest — the first being too deep, and the second 
 " quite too much of a good thing " for thee. 
 Ranting in never-fading glory on the stage is thy 
 hobby ; and to rant in ever- fading glory shall be 
 thy lot to the end of the chapter. In short — " Thou 
 art a great man in thy own little pewter-pot way"% 
 But— to kill thee completely dead entirely ; let 
 some wag inform thee, " that an actor of emi- 
 nence last night made his appearance, and was 
 received with ' thunders of applause ■ by the entire 
 house." 
 
 " He dies, dead ! dead ! ! dead ! ! ! " 
 
 Then — then, thou art all bustle, all confusion, 
 
 * I was one day in company with one of these 
 bipeds, and I do not exaggerate when I say that to 
 every period he tacked a shred of Shakespeare. 
 
 f The invariable and indivisible answer of young 
 men when asked " What instrument they play on ?" 
 
 I This capital expression is not my own. I believe 
 it is to be traced to one of the Secretary of State's 
 officers. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 163 
 
 all spleen. # Then flies about the all-important 
 question, " Who is he — what is he — whence is 
 he ? — Does he do my part, says one — does he do 
 my part, says another — does he do my part, says 
 a third ? I wish he was in Kamschatka, says A. — 
 
 I wish the d 1 had him, says B. — I wish he 
 
 were in a horse-pond, says C. — I could eat him up 
 with some salt, says D. — Let us give him a duck- 
 ing, says E. — Let us put him in the papers, says F. 
 — Let us get him into a broil and send him to 
 New Holland, says G. — But let us see the vara avis, 
 says H. — What kind of an eye has he — how high 
 is his nose — has he a handsome figure — how does 
 he stand with the big wigs — how with fashionable 
 life — is he clever, if so we're undone — is he a 
 satirist, if thai direful character, we're blown to 
 
 * " No people are so open to envy and jealousy as 
 theatrical people. A man of cleverness is sure to be- 
 come a professed enemy to the lower orders of them." 
 — Vide Life of Gar rick. 
 
 I was informed by a gentlemen well conversant with 
 London and its theatres, that when Kean first came 
 out, so anxious were those who dreaded his rising po- 
 pularity to get a glimpse of him, that the streets were 
 crowded every day with secondary actors, to look at 
 the " wonderful man." Envy and jealousy are cer- 
 tainly despicable p assions. 
 
 m 2 
 
164 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 the d 1 — is he a man of wit — oh worse and 
 
 worse ! What is to be done ?" Thus runs on the 
 dialogue — thus runs the important dispute, until 
 at length it is " Resolved unanimously," that a 
 man of talent being a thing unknown among them, 
 he is to be voted as an excessive bore, as it would 
 afford a bad precedent to either encourage him, or 
 allow him to mix in the company of their high 
 mightinesses — said resolution being totally at va- 
 riance with the feelings of a great and leading 
 actor, who is ever glad to make himself the com- 
 panion of the man of talent and cleverness. 
 
 I have now, my lord, drawn the picture — drawn 
 it from life ; but as there happens to be more — 
 infinitely more than one of these creatures in this 
 ungrateful world, which does not properly appre- 
 ciate their abilities ; I shall merely hang the pic- 
 ture up to the public through my bookseller, and 
 shall with all the politeness in the world, request 
 of any one who finds it to be a likeness, to pur- 
 chase it ; which, I make no doubt, will be per- 
 fectly gratifying to the said bookseller. 
 
 Your Lordship will no doubt now ask me to 
 depict for you the would-be musician, and the 
 would-be painter, as companions to the other two, 
 thus making a neat quartett. Another time, my 
 lord, another time. It is bad to crowd an exhibi- 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 165 
 
 tion too much. Your Lordship, however, engaged 
 the drawings from me long ago, and, permit me to 
 assure you, that I shall keep my word ; not for- 
 getting my friends the thunderers in banco; re- 
 questing of the aforesaid " knot of gentlemen " 
 to get exceedingly wrathful and magnificently 
 inflated against me, and to either look most direful 
 things at me, or to write " a neat duodecimo '' of 
 satire against myself, my pen, and my books ; it 
 being a happy pastime unto me (forgive my un- 
 godliness, my lord) to reverse the text, and to 
 " provoke these Ishmaelites unto wrath, and to 
 secretly laugh at their inward disquietude and 
 vexation of spirit." 
 
 I think I hear your Lordship saying, " you 
 are going the surest way to make enemies to 
 yourself." Those, my lord, whose esteem I would 
 value — those whose friendship I would uncease- 
 jngly covet — the favourable opinion of one of 
 whom, would weigh more with me, than the ap- 
 plause of hundreds of others — those persons, my 
 lord, (and I feel pleasure in mentioning your lord- 
 ship amongst the number) will never, have never 
 turned against me ; and, believe me, my lord, 
 that I am reckless and stubborn enough to forgive 
 and laugh at the worst clamour that could be raised 
 against me, were it got up by those who have 
 
166 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 merely talent enough to keep them struggling for 
 life in the ignoble class of " mediocrity." But let 
 me turn to something more agreeable. Let me 
 reverse the picture. If we have would-be s, we 
 have also men of talent, and there is no one who 
 has seen the splendid and magnificent acting of 
 Kean in " Richard the Third/' that does not bow 
 to the superior judgment and spirited conception 
 with which he has embodied this most daring 
 portrait of Shakespeare. I know nothing in act- 
 ing beyond his personation of this character ; and 
 I never can believe that any actor from the time 
 of Garrick, has ever exceeded him in his eloquent 
 and masterly delineation of it. I shall go farther 
 than this ; I fearlessly say, that Kean never will 
 be exceeded either in the conception or the acting 
 of the " crook-backed tyrant." I must not omit 
 to draw a distinction here between the conception 
 and the acting of a character. A person may con- 
 ceive a character very well, and yet not be able to 
 execute it, (witness the critics in the pit,) but the 
 opposite of this does not follow ; for, if a person 
 acts a character correctly, he must conceive it cor- 
 rectly. The conception, therefore, and the acting 
 of a character are different, and in both of these 
 Kean has eminently succeeded. There is yet 
 another reason, too, why he performs " Richard " 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 167 
 
 so inimitably well. He looks the character. It is 
 impossible for an actor to completely perform any 
 character, unless he acts, looks, and dresses it. 
 Kean does all these. He is completely cut out for 
 the performance of this character. Look at the 
 man and say if you were seeking for a " Richard, " 
 where could be found so inimitable and perfect a 
 representation. Mark his dark and fiery eye that 
 at times flashes very lightning — his rapid and 
 violent bursts of passion — his bold and haughty 
 countenance — his hurried step— his stern and 
 lowering brow— his very voice even is Richard's, 
 and it totally wants the soft and suasive tones 
 which could suit " the dalliance of gentle lover." 
 I know nothing finer than the speech which he 
 delivers on his first entrance, his " good night," 
 and the entire of the last act. It has been said 
 that tho way the late Mr. Kemble came in first on 
 the stage was the proper conception of this part — 
 slow and measured. There cannot be a doubt, 
 but that hurry mixed with restrained rejoicing- 
 should be the accompaniments of this part, joined, 
 in the latter part of the speech to cold and plotting 
 calculation. This is Kean's conception. This is 
 the true one. It is impossible that the late Mr. 
 Kemble could have done this character so com- 
 pletely well as Kean. The reason of it is, he 
 
168 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 could not look the character so well as the latter. 
 I lay a great stress on the looking of a character. 
 Imagine Mr. Kean's performing " Coriolanus," 
 and then the importance of it will be seen. Or 
 imagine the figure that would suit " Romeo " 
 performing <( Falstaff," # This would appear 
 egregious. Until, therefore, I see an actor who 
 can look and act " Richard, " I cannot help think- 
 ing Kean to be the best personifier of it. I take 
 him, in a word, to be the Richard of Shakespeare. 
 His " Sir Giles Overreach/' is also another most 
 vigorous performance ; the last act of which is 
 totally beyond the power of any actor of the pre- 
 sent day. The third act of his " Othello " is also 
 inimitably fine ; but he does not so completely 
 look this character as he does the other two. This 
 actor possesses another most essential requisite to 
 a performer — the power of performing extremes. 
 Sir Giles Overreach and Abel D rugger, and 
 Richard the Third and Silvester Daggerwood are 
 opposites, and yet I believe there is no actor of the 
 present day who could unite them. There is also 
 another reason why I look on this actor as possess- 
 
 * It is no impugnment of what I advance, to say 
 that Mr. C. Kemble performs both Romeo and FalstafF. 
 I affirm that he does not look the character, though 
 he may act it. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 169 
 
 ing true talent (that rare gem) and it is this — he 
 burst on the town at once. He was not years 
 creeping up tne hill of fame, and the critic who 
 saw him on the first night that he made his ap- 
 pearance to a most miserable house at Drury Lane, 
 could at once (if he possessed any insight) have 
 augured well of his future popularity. True talent 
 is seldom long in arriving at perfection. Even in 
 its first dawning " the soul that is within" can be 
 be seen ; and I am not aware that I ever heard 
 of an instance of true talent taking any great 
 length of time to place itself among the foremost. 
 In proof of this, I might adduce many instances, 
 which I dare say the reader is as equally conver- 
 sant with. I rather think, then, that I express 
 the opinion of our best critics, when I pronounce 
 him the first tragedian of the day. In giving him 
 this distinction, however, I must remark that the 
 approbation has to be qualified. I have seen him 
 play a part where he failed most completely. I 
 allude to Hamlet. Hamlet was not made for him, 
 nor was he made for Hamlet. It was therefore 
 bad ambition which tempted him to personate the 
 part. If the reader will turn to page 29 he will 
 there find those requisites enumerated which an 
 actor must possess to completely perform this part. 
 If an actor does not possess them all,! cannot help 
 
170 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 again repeating that he cannot perform this diffi- 
 cult character. 
 
 Young: — I could wish that all actors were ever 
 like this performer. He is not only the popular 
 actor on the stage, but is the gentleman (no com- 
 mon character) in private life. Were I to enter 
 into the very strict rules of criticism, I should 
 perhaps not be unwilling to observe, that the pub- 
 lic have not a right to inquire into the private life 
 of a public character. I must, however, on the 
 other hand, observe, that amiability in private life 
 adds a lustre and enhances the value of public — 
 that the man is often coupled with the performer ; 
 and that, however great the talents of a public 
 character may be, they are infinitely more set off 
 if his private life sustains the character of the 
 gentleman. Who is it does not feel greater plea- 
 sure in associating with such gentlemanly charac- 
 ters as Mr. Peel or Mr. Canning, than in mixing 
 with those who have only talents, and possess not 
 integrity? It will here be told me, that youth 
 must have its faults. I am willing (who would 
 not be so?) to make allowances for youth ; but I 
 never grant the same indulgence to manhood. I 
 therefore look with pleasure at this performer 
 whenever I see him ; and in the outset of my re- 
 marks, I at once say, that I never heard declama- 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 171 
 
 tion (I mean declamation on the stage *■) until I 
 heard Mr. Young. It is true, I have seen this 
 performer but once or twice ; but then an actor once 
 seen, his style is (in my mind) seen for ever, f No- 
 thing but the amazing versatility of a Garrtck 
 (unapproachable in these days) can make him alter 
 or depart from that style, which the first scene of 
 his first act will at once develope to a quick eye. 
 When about to deliver a round and set speech, or 
 any striking though transient touch of poetry, 
 Mr. Young's delivery and action (both most dis- 
 tinct things) are both fine and expressive, and 
 there is also a grace and an ease about him, which 
 in this particular, I have seen with no other actor. 
 I fear his voice is not quite so good as what a 
 musical ear could wish. I am informed there is a 
 natural defect in it, which, though it may not be 
 perceptible in his tragic characters, (I observed it 
 in his "Joseph Surface,") yet cannot but prevent 
 that fine full and round tone of voice, which is an 
 essential requisite for the stage. I know scarcely 
 
 * In Parliament, the best debater is Mr. Brougham 
 —the best declaimer, Mr. Peel — the best sophist, 
 Mr. Plunkett — and the most brilliant orator is Mr. 
 Canning. 
 
 t I have seen him in the part of " Foster ;" but it 
 is a mere plaything in his hands. 
 
172 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 any thing, either in private or public life, so pre- 
 possessing as a good voice. The voice and manner 
 of speaking is the very surest criterion of the 
 gentleman, and I never was deceived in this me- 
 thod of judging yet. If then it is important in 
 private, how indispensable is it in public life. The 
 finest action — the best choice of words in an orator, 
 would disgust me, were I to hear an unmusical 
 voice ; and the most beautiful face that ever glit- 
 tered in a drawing-room could never attract me, 
 did I not perceive the gentlewoman (for it is dis- 
 cernible at once) in her voice and manner of 
 speaking. The voice is the grand medium of ex- 
 pression. It goes beyond the eye or the hand, 
 nor can the finest set of features in the world de- 
 clare any thing, unless this indispensable adjunct 
 is present. I express that finished tone of voice 
 which I allude to, by saying, that it should be in 
 speaking what Braham's voice is in singing — rich, 
 round, mellow, and musical. It is impossible 
 that characters, where tenderness and feeling are to 
 be expressed, can be adequately performed unless 
 this kind of voice is possessed by the person who 
 would personate. He may act — perhaps act the 
 character far above mediocrity ; but I must repeat, 
 that he cannot describe those tender and impas- 
 sioned touches — cannot paint and indelibly fix on 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 173 
 
 the heart these eloquent, soft, and suasive turns 
 and tones of nature, which a vivid poetical pen 
 may write down for him. It is the most powerful 
 engine I know of in the hands of a man of talent. 
 By it the statesman addresses the senate and wins 
 over the votes of those who were before even his 
 enemies. With this suasive organ the courtier 
 gains admittance to royalty and moulds the minds 
 of the glittering; thrones that surround him. It is 
 this which, when poured from the lips of a grace- 
 ful and finished orator, melts the heart, wins un- 
 seen, unknown, its insinuating way, and then 
 either brings forth the tear on the trembling eye ; 
 or else calls forth the smile on the dimpling cheek. 
 It is this with which the lover pleads to the ear of 
 beauty, and tells his vows and his constancy, 
 making them even more grateful and delightful to 
 her, when thus sung in sweetness. The voice 
 then is the key which unlocks the heart and lets out 
 all its hidden and tender feelings. The heart 
 cannot speak unless the voice has music and mu- 
 sical eloquence in all its tones. Most justly is it 
 observed by Madame Roland, V that the charms 
 of the voice possess a powerful influence over the 
 senses ; and that this charm does not merely be- 
 long to the mind, but results still more from that 
 
174 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 
 
 delicacy of sentiment which varies the expression 
 and modulates the accent." 
 
 I perfectly coincide in this remark ; but I ex- 
 press my regret at not being able to discover this 
 kind of voice in any actor of the present day. # I 
 therefore found the want of it in Mr. Young, more 
 particularly in a passage which I have not room 
 here to extract ; but I am not aware that the lisp 
 in his voice was the slightest harm in his " Joseph 
 Surface," while at the same time such a fault 
 would ruin the acting of his open-hearted and 
 generous brother, Charles. There was also an 
 inimitable shuffle (if I may use the word) in his 
 " Joseph," which he managed some way with his 
 
 * There are some tones in Miss F. Kelly's voice, 
 which remind me of the kind of voice above alluded 
 to. There was also one sentence pronounced by Miss 
 Foote, (in a popular comedy,) which was given with 
 eloquent sweetness, and I almost yet hear the music 
 of it — " Will he not tell me where my heart lies buried ?" 
 The sweet voice which spoke this should not be de- 
 stroyed by verging into (what it often does) a sharp 
 key. There are also some magnificent tones on the 
 lower notes of Mr. Irving's (the preacher's) voice. The 
 most perfect voice is that which possesses such exten- 
 siveness of compass and modulation, as to unite in it 
 fineness and sweetness. The present speaker's voice is 
 also a fine and impressive one, and fills the senate house. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 175 
 
 legs and arms, that gave infinite effect to the 
 character. And yet in his interview with Lady 
 Teazle, he appeared to me to want insinuation, 
 both in voice and manner. But this is just as 
 rare a thing on the stage as it is in private life. 
 There is also another excellence in Mr. Young's 
 acting. He never rants. I have never seen him 
 " tear a passion to tatters." Ranting is not na- 
 ture. Ranting belongs to the vile school of study, 
 and is looked upon as a most important requisite 
 by its disciples. And yet to know where to make 
 passion stop, and where to make it begin, is a 
 difficult thing, and here is an instance where 
 judgment must be particularly called to aid. 
 Often have I been obliged to stop my ears and 
 shut my eyes, to avoid booking at or hearing 
 " a periwig-pated fellow,' ' bellowing and roaring, 
 " to split the ears of the groundlings." And I 
 have again heard parts pronounced perfectly tame 
 which ought to be vigorous and impassioned. 
 Rules cannot be drawn. Genius, and genius alone 
 must direct the actor. That kind of versatility 
 which can perform tragedy equally well with 
 comedy — which can glide into extremes, and play 
 them with ease and unembarrassment, and which 
 has the power of completely wielding the passions 
 of audience, in leading characters in both lines — 
 
176 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 this kind of versatility (one of the actor's rarest 
 gifts) is wanting in Mr. Young. # 
 , C. Kemble. — The versatility, above alluded to, 
 seems to be possessed more by this actor than any 
 other leading performer I know of. There is yet 
 another perfection which he has — a perfection the 
 most fascinating that a comic actor can be gifted 
 with. He possesses, and he alone on the Eng- 
 lish stage, that which Junius elegantly terms 
 % the graceful levity of youth." I have frequently 
 seen levity, but I never saw graceful levity till I 
 saw Mr. Kemble. This must be a gift. It never 
 can be acquired. Here is the reason why it is so 
 seldom met with. There are also a multiplicity 
 of adjuncts belonging to it, and unless they are 
 all combined, the quality is defective. I here 
 again have to express my regret, respecting the 
 want of that finished and musical voice, which I 
 have already spoken of. But it is almost unrea- 
 
 * I am informed that the " Hamlet" of Mr. Young 
 is a finished performance. I never saw the character 
 but once, and then it was done so " lamely and un- 
 fashionably, (though by a leading actor,) that I vow>- 
 ed a vow" unto the goddess Melpomene never to go 
 look at it again. I fear I shall prove perjurer, should 
 Mr. Y. perform the character. To see Hamlet well 
 performed would indeed be a treat. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 177 
 
 sonable to expect so many perfections in one man. 
 I know nothing in comedv more correct — more 
 classical (and to be correct and classical is indeed 
 difficult) than the « Young Mirabel" of Charles 
 Kemble. Had he the voice Ispoke of, (and, if 
 not too fastidious, a little more gracefulness of 
 figure,) he would be the Mirabel of the play. The 
 conception and the acting of it are eminently cor- 
 rect. His " Charles Surface" is also another de- 
 lightful performance. He possesses the qualities 
 for those characters which I really thought had 
 died with Garrick; nor is there another person on 
 the English stage that could successfully perform 
 either of them. It therefore seems to me extremely 
 odd that he does not completely succeed in doing 
 " Doricourt." This, I do not know that I can 
 readily account for. Doricourt was sketched by 
 the pen of a woman. She was in love perhaps 
 with a character that she never saw in real life ; 
 and in endeavouring to make it the beau ideal, 
 she failed. Now Charles and Mirabel were drawn 
 by the vigorous hands of those masters, Sheridan 
 and Farquhar. They are characters you can often 
 meet with in polished society, and there are many 
 points in them which the less brilliant and less 
 prominent character of Doricourt wants. Mirabel 
 was drawn by the author from the author. We 
 
 N 
 
178 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 
 
 are informed that he was in private life what Mira- 
 bel is on the stage. There are also a hundred 
 such characters as Charles to be met with in high 
 society in Ireland, to which place both these bril- 
 liant portraits exclusively belong ; and I here am 
 led to the remark, that the men from that country 
 have written our best and wittiest comedies. The 
 farther, therefore, a character is removed from real 
 life, the more difficult is it to act ; and there is no 
 writer of genius who will attempt to draw any 
 thing but real life. " When characters and events 
 (says the Quarterly Review, most justly) are re- 
 moved from those we meet with in real life, we 
 take no interest in them." 
 
 I can scarcely define in writing that kind of 
 acting necessary in Dorictmrt, which would make 
 the character appear finished. It requires ex- 
 cessive grace and suavity of manner, with (as he 
 says himself) " that something, that nothing, 
 which every one feels, but nobody can describe. '* 
 Doricourt # wants the brilliant wit of Charles and 
 Mirabel; and very great judgment should be re- 
 quired in its personation. 
 
 * Would the Doricourts of the present day oblige 
 me by informing me, why they pronounce the English 
 word " Medicean," like the Italian MedicAean? 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 197 
 
 The word elegant should be seldom applied to 
 any thing that does not most justly deserve it. I 
 heard a most acute observer once say that it 
 should only be applied to women. For once, how- 
 ever, I depart from the rule he so strictly laid 
 down, and, applying it to the other sex, say, that 
 Mr. Kemble is the most elegant performer on 
 the English stage. This line, therefore, designates 
 his style, and 'tis needless to write more, with the 
 exception of again expressing my regret respecting 
 his voice, and the want of that magic charm which 
 youth throws around its characters. 
 
 Macready. This is the only rival which that 
 powerful performer Mr.Kean has to contend with. 
 There is no other person can mate him in the 
 hurried bursts of passion, and the vivid touches of 
 energy, which mark so much the materiel of the 
 acting of Kean. There are some tones of his 
 voice which have infinitely more of insinuation in 
 them than Kean's. His figure is also more grace- 
 ful, but it is because he has this gracefulness of 
 figure, (as well as a want of fire in the countenance,) 
 that I think he does not do " Richard" so com- 
 pletely well as his rival. Passion — vivid touches 
 of passion, embodied in the character of some war- 
 like hero, constitute the forte of this actor. This 
 is his style. The person who drew " Virginius" 
 
 n 2 
 
180 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 and " Mirandola" for him knew the extent of his 
 powers ; and the former character would sit more 
 easily on him than " Cams Gracchus." I have 
 seen no one imitate him, nor do I suppose that he 
 would imitate any one. In one respect, there is 
 a similarity in the acting of him and Kean ; but 
 it is easy to perceive that he possesses talent 
 enough to " mark out his path/' and act boldly 
 from his own genius. With respect to taste and 
 judgment, he possesses more of the latter than of 
 the former, and as he is a tragic actor, the re- 
 quisite is more useful to him. I am positive he 
 gave some hints to the author of" Mirandola," 
 as to those passages where his acting could be 
 made effective — could be made into his own style. 
 In " Virginius" and " Caius Gracchus," the traces 
 are plainly perceived. There are more striking 
 touches of nature in the first, than in the two last 
 tragedies; but there is no dramatic writer of the 
 present day, possesses such nerve or such tender- 
 ness (two most distinct, but most essential qua- 
 lities in the dramatist) as the professor of poetry 
 for Oxford — Millman. A character drawn by such 
 a master as that for Macready, would indeed be 
 worth going to see. 
 
 As I am on the subject, I cannot help remarking, 
 that the newspapers and magazines (I except the 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 181 
 
 reviews,) who blame authors for drawing cha- 
 racters for particular actors, evince a very great 
 want of knowledge of the w T orld. If they can 
 prove to me that Sheridan had no actor in his eye 
 when he wrote the first comedy of the age, I give 
 up the point : or if they can prove to me, that a 
 drama written even by Sir Walter Scott, which 
 had no character in it that would suit any actor 
 in the theatre, would yet be accepted ; I also 
 shall grant this argument. How is it to be ex- 
 pected that an actor can do justice to a character 
 unless there is something in it that suits his style ? 
 It is unfair to throw harness (however gilded the 
 trappings may be) on the steed, unless it fits him. 
 Fit him, and he puts forth his strength. I there- 
 fore call it the summit of affectation and nonsense 
 to say, that no dramatic writer should have any 
 leading actor or actress in his eye, when he is 
 writing. If he has not, it is impossible that justice 
 can be done to his plays ; nor can I help thinking 
 that it shows a want of talent in the author, not to 
 be able to adapt himself to the different styles. In 
 this respect, tragedy is more successful in the pre- 
 sent day than comedy. Thalia is dead. 
 
 It is useless to write further on this actor. If 
 he did not possess leading abilities, he could not 
 be the rival of Kean; and I believe his private 
 
182 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 character is as correct as his public character is 
 popular. 
 
 Jones. Away, dull tragedy ! Enter Richard 
 Jones. Enter thou merriest of all merry crickets 
 and make me laugh. There thou art, slipping in 
 on the stage with thy slim-slam — slide along— 
 dash along entry — thy neat figure — thy slim 
 turned ankle — thy Opera-hat, twitched under thy 
 arm — spy- glass to thy eye — bunch of roses in thy 
 coat — and a " How d'do, demme, Sir J 9 twittering 
 on thy funny lips, Make room, make room for 
 him ye would-be's; and let him hop, and frisk, 
 and dance about, for there are springs in his 
 ankles, elastic belts round his body, double refined 
 grasshopper springs in his arms, and some half 
 dozen quarto volumes of fun (edited by himself 
 and with glossarial notes) on his tongue. 
 
 Yes ; make room all manner of would-be's, male 
 and female ; for all your humour is flung at an 
 extra distance up in the back ground scenery, 
 when this favourite of Thalia glides in and mingles 
 with ye. Either the dull mope, or the lively 
 beau — the pretty love-sick swain, or the mad and 
 tear-away " Highflyer" — all are perfect and cor- 
 rect in thy hands. Thy style is thy own. Thou 
 hast no match, or if thou hast, I will back thee for 
 one thousand five hundred and fifty-five — kisses 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 183 
 
 from Thalia, that thou, u her loving son/' dost 
 win the stakes that may be set down for thee to 
 play. 
 
 And now as thou hast slipped in on the stage, 
 stand steady for a moment, and let me view and 
 review thee ? How am I to begin ? I shall begin 
 by ending ; for thou art too good-humoured to 
 criticize, and too popular to require praise. So, 
 bon-jour, merry one. # 
 
 Farren. Far r en the inimitable! I scarcely 
 know any comic actor on the stage, that gives 
 such force and truth of colouring to his portraits 
 as this performer.f I have seen him in a variety 
 of characters, and I have never yet seen him make 
 a blunder. Here is an instance of unstudied and 
 correct acting. The man does all his characters, 
 not as if he came to show himself off on a raised 
 platform like a wild beast, and had been paid a 
 handsome salary by his employer to start, and 
 smirk, and laugh, and wriggle about. He acts as 
 
 * 1 am informed that we are indebted to this actor 
 for the introduction of the only comedy that has ap- 
 peared these some years. I am further informed he 
 has introduced more than one performer of merit to 
 Covent Garden. If Thalia is dead, he must be sorry. 
 
 f " This is to give public nottis," that there are two 
 Mr. Farren's. 
 
184 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 if he was not acting before an audience, but as if 
 he was speaking to his friends, and amusing them 
 with his humour and his wit ; and this, (I care 
 not what the would-be *s say,) this is the true style 
 of comic acting. I know this is most startling 
 doctrine in the present day, but I am " stiff- 
 necked" enough to maintain it; and if any one 
 avers to the contrary, I shall be happy to meet 
 the argument — " always made and provided " 
 that the said reply shall be worth answering. 
 There are two peculiarities in Farren ; first, though 
 a young man, it is old, crabbed characters he does 
 best ! —second — with all his grimaces, he has no 
 grimace. His countenance is moulded,, not by 
 grimace, but by humour and passion; and ex- 
 actly as these are to be pourtrayed, so does his 
 countenance indicate the within feelings. The 
 moment an author resorts to stage trick # for si- 
 tuation — to puns for wit, or is obliged to ask the 
 pencil of the painter to help the efforts of his poor 
 pen, he at once evinces that the mind and the 
 
 * The after-pieces of the present day are actually 
 saturated with this " villainous stuff." I wish both 
 authors and actors would read and attend to the cri- 
 ticisms in "The Times." I never find slip-slop in " The 
 Times." " John Bull" might also be read as a com 
 mentary to it. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 185 
 
 talent are not within. The moment an actor 
 resorts to grimace for expression, to study for 
 nature, or to by-play for acting, he also evinces 
 that the mind and the talent are not within. I 
 have never seen this truly humoursome performer 
 resort to those subterfuges. If the persons who 
 drew i Sir Peter Teazle" and " Lord Ogleby" were 
 alive, (alas ! they are gone,) how delighted would 
 they be to employ a leisure hour in sketching a 
 character for one w r ho would do it so much justice. 
 Quaint and pristine humour — a touch of antique 
 amativeness — with a gentlemanly bearing, and a 
 most happy and original drollery, designate the 
 style of this leading performer. 
 
 Fawcett. Were I disposed to criticize this 
 performer, I shall confess that there is a some- 
 thing in the countenance and manner of the gay 
 old veteran which disarms me. I therefore refer 
 the reader (to prevent tautology) to what I have 
 already said of him. His " Copp" is a more 
 natural piece of acting than that of any performer 
 in the play with the exception of " Mary" by the 
 all interesting Miss Tree. 
 
 Liston. The style of this performer is the 
 
 most original of the present day. He has no 
 
 imitators, for he cannot be imitated. # 
 
 * His " Mawworm" never was, and never will be 
 exceeded. 
 
186 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 Cooper. The " Bromley "* of Mr. Cooper 
 is a very capital performance, and is an instance 
 of correct and natural acting. Perhaps I could 
 scarcely praise him more, for nothing but talent 
 can personate nature — for — it is nature which 
 gives talent. I heard two very valiant would-be \s 
 say that there was no acting in " Mr. Bromley." 
 As it is best to take no notice of fools, I at once 
 agreed with them. This gentleman possesses one 
 of the finest voices on the stage. I however can 
 perceive that it wants suavity — I mean that kind 
 of soft and sweet tone which would be necessary 
 to perform some of the leading passages in 
 " Romeo.f" He has a handsome but not an ex- 
 
 * Vide " Simpson and Co." — the first farce of the 
 day, and worth a score of " Animal Magnetisms" — 
 "Rolands for Olivers" — " All Mistakes"— et hoc 
 genus omne." The spouse too of Mr. Bromley is a 
 most happy performance by Miss Chester. I doubt if 
 I have ever seen a countenance that possesses such a 
 gay mixture of loveliness and good humour as this 
 lady's. In fact, all her features seem lips, and these 
 lips in eternal smiles. 
 
 f I have never seen united in one man, all the [re- 
 quisites for Romeo. It is the most difficult of Shakes- 
 peare's sentimental characters to perform ; and I 
 almost despair of seeing it done. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 187 
 
 pressive countenance. He is an extremely even 
 performer, and never bores you to death by mak- 
 ing overstrained flights at sublimity. The words 
 smooth genteel designate his style. 
 
 I saw him perform " Doricourt," but I men- 
 tion the character not for the purpose of criti- 
 cizing him, but for the purpose of passing remarks 
 on the comedy to which it belongs. 
 
 It has been mentioned then, my Lord, to me, 
 
 (and by no less a critic than your friend Mr. ) 
 
 that the plot of this comedy is not natural. Now, 
 my Lord, as " Letitia Hardy," the said contriver 
 of the plot, happens to be a favourite with me, 
 and I think the comedy a good one ; I shall en- 
 deavour to reply to the remark of " my learned 
 friend." He said then, " that no woman would 
 make love to man in this opposite — antipode way ; 
 for if she wanted to get a husband, she would 
 have put forth all her charms, et cetera, et cetera, 
 et cetera." 
 
 My Lord, this man, (a redoubtable old bachelor 
 be it known unto all female readers who shall 
 peruse this work,) I say this man knew nothing 
 of women. Opposition as well as curiosity are 
 ingredients in the character of women ; and 
 though I do not say that all possess them ; yet, 
 at the same time, I must not admit that all do not. 
 
188 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 This aforesaid favourite of mine (plaintiff) then 
 wants to convince the defendant, Mr. Doricourt, 
 that she is not in love with him, by assuming that 
 air and manner which she knew his elegance 
 hated ; while at the same time she is actually 
 dying for the young fellow. She however well 
 knew that she could assume the woman of sense 
 and elegance when she chose, and being well 
 aware that the pleasure of the ecclaircissemerd 
 would be doubled when he discovered the school 
 girl trick she had played on him, she accordingly 
 proceeds in her mawkish manoeuvres, but takes 
 care " to catch his attention" at the ball-room, 
 by twirling her feet in sundry and divers convolu- 
 tions, showing pouting lips and a lovely chin, and 
 doing other litttle et ceteras, which all women 
 know how to play off when they want to ensnare 
 the biped man. She does catch his attention, but 
 it is not the mere giddy wish of running her neck 
 into the marriage knot that makes her pause at 
 this moment, before she discovers herself. She 
 tells him that ff this is the most important point 
 of her life/' (and how true is that remark,) for 
 that the simple pulling off her mask makes her 
 eternally happy or eternally miserable. This 
 proves her the woman of sense, and also proves that 
 her plan succeeded, for he cries out " Rapture !" 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 189 
 
 (no easy word by the by to pronounce,) and rushes 
 into her arms ; thus at once evincing his joy, and 
 appreciating the plot of the woman who had sense 
 and art enough to win him by so happy a con- 
 trivance. 
 
 There is another reason why I think the plot 
 natural. Women must have their little tricks and 
 their little plots, and if they cannot play them off, 
 (more particularly when they are in love,) they 
 will actually get stupid and melancholy. Man 
 has other things to do besides thinking of such 
 frippery; but woman has scarcely any thing to 
 engage her attention, besides a book, her needle, 
 and all this little petty warfare which takes off 
 many a weary hour in the important planning of 
 it. # The following is a truth — that marriage is 
 
 * The following is such a neat, pretty little woman- 
 ish anecdote, that I really must extract it for my neat, 
 pretty little womanish readers. I give it exactly in 
 the words (but not with half the humour) of the witty 
 narrator. 
 
 Some time ago a Scotch lady was on a visit with her 
 friends in Ireland, and it so happened that the heir 
 apparent of a title was introduced to her while on her 
 visit. His manners being completely of the higher 
 order of Irish society — frank, open, and gentlemanly, 
 
190 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 either the heaven or the grave of love. To woman 
 it is every thing. It is her life — " her being, end, 
 
 she was somewhat taken by surprize by him, not hav- 
 ing seen any thing exactly similar to the deponent in 
 the mountains and rough " highways and byeways" of 
 Scotland. She resolved therefore on carrying off his 
 body corporate to Scotland, and surprizing her friends 
 by presenting to them a perfect specimen of a polished 
 Paddy. She was handsome and accomplished — had 
 lots of piano playing, tricks, and cunning about her — 
 could manage a horse and her tongue most adroitly, 
 and withal looked very saint-like. When once a 
 woman determines on doing a thing, Doctor Faustus 
 himself would not stop her ; so she accordingly com- 
 menced " a series of operations both offensive and de- 
 fensive " (to speak a la militaire) on the heart of the 
 Hibernian, which was to be taken u vi et armis" 
 She was however aware that it was an Irishman whom 
 she had to capture,, and that though she might easily 
 destroy the heart of an Englishman, pin it to her 
 apron string, and then make him follow her as she 
 listed, yet she well knew that Paddy would redoubt- 
 ably and strenuously oppose any such treatment, and 
 not allow himself to be dragged, hauled, and bandied 
 about in any such uncourtly and unchristian man- 
 ner. As well did she know, that the Englishman once 
 conquered, is in a manner for ever conquered ; but 
 that if her Irishman was to be won, he must be con- 
 quered every day, " Treasons, stratagems, and 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, SCC. 191 
 
 and aim." If she gives her heart to one whom 
 she thinks will love her, but finds too late that he 
 
 spoils " therefore were had recourse to, to keep up in 
 his mind every day, something of her who wished to 
 make him her " conquered captive." She had sense 
 enough to think that marriage was the most important 
 part of a woman's life, and, with a love which forgot 
 all trouble, and which only a woman would put in 
 execution, began to throw her chains around the heart 
 of the person whom she would only have ; and to aid 
 her in this murderous and mischievous design, her 
 friends and her family — men servants and maid ser- 
 vants — brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts — 
 saucepans, kettle-drums, masks, candlesticks — horses, 
 mares, ponies, asses, and fools were all engaged on 
 her side " to agitate the question." In short, the 
 armament to Walcheren was nothing to the armament 
 which this Scotch lassie (I must ask Sir Walter Scott, 
 if they are all so cunning?) had fitted out for the 
 utter destruction and abolition of the poor Irishman. 
 A quarrel, (we have all heard of " amantium irce" 
 and when was there a brace of lovers without a spice 
 of mock warfare ?) A quarrel was however agreed on 
 during the siege, and " operations" were accordingly 
 commenced ; but the lovely girl went to such infinite 
 pains and trouble to prove that it was a quarrel, that 
 our Paddy was convinced it was not. Infinitely too 
 good humoured therefore to do any thing but smile at 
 the knickery-knackery, (when was a woman in love 
 
192 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 
 
 does not ; that heart is indeed crushed. I scarcely 
 know terms foul enough for the wretch who mar- 
 without it ?) he pretended to be seriously aggrieved by 
 the proceeding, at the same time secretly resolving (as 
 there was no real quarrel in the case) to await the 
 issue of the petit comedy, and that then, if her love 
 for him was real, she could easily evince it, and that if 
 it was not, he had studied her sex infinitely too well, 
 and had been far too great a rover, (a national fault 
 with poor Paddy, arising, I really believe, from ex- 
 cessive buoyancy of spirit, and not from badness of 
 principle,) to heed the matter. She was frequently 
 warned that it was ridiculous for her (on this account) 
 to try and regularly catch his heart. She was also 
 told that he was young and dissipated — that he was 
 fond of spending money, entertaining his friends, kiss- 
 ing the pretty lips of women, and doing other nefarious 
 and unchristian things. But 'twas all in vain : when 
 a woman is in earnest in her love, she never will give 
 up the person she fixes her affections on ; and she 
 accordingly very particularly told them all that she 
 would have him, and that no one else but her (i bril- 
 liant Paddy " (she thus designated him) should ever 
 lead her, either to church or to bed. (Well done, 
 Scotch lassie.) 
 
 She proved it. Her beauty and her accomplish- 
 ments imperceptibly wound round him, and they were 
 at length married. She afterwards told her husband 
 (from whom I have the above) that some of the hap- 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C, 19& 
 
 ries, and then behaves cruel to one whom he has 
 sworn to cherish and protect. 
 
 You will tell me, my Lord, I moralize. You 
 will perceive it is only for a few lines, besides, if I 
 joke on the matter, I should also wish to write 
 serious ; so, with the same versatility if you please, 
 I shall come back again, and quote unto your 
 Lordship " the first authority" in the land on 
 such a subject, videlicet — an old maid. 
 
 I do remember me, my Lord, having been in 
 company some fifty years ago with one of these 
 
 piest moments of her life were spent in laying plans, 
 plots, and devices for him ! ! ! 
 
 But jokes apart. I should blame myself were I not 
 to own (though I satirize my own sex in the avowal) 
 that the love of woman, when once it is fixed on any 
 object, is infinitely more pure and constant than that 
 of man. Even when the very last hope is gone, she 
 still loves on ; and frowns, threats, and coldness are 
 unable to. quench it. My life is not very long, but the 
 observations which I have made on the sex, induce me 
 to say, that if woman has her waywardness and her 
 fantasies — her little arts and devices ; yet she also has 
 that which throws them all into shade, and makes up by 
 its lovely lustre her other defects — love, unquenchable 
 and changeless love. To this, I bear willing testi- 
 mony ; and some instances of it have been sketched 
 by the author in a forthcoming Tale. 
 
 o 
 
194 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 marriage despising animals, now dead and gone, 
 (rest and bless her!) and she did assuredly and 
 didactically declare unto me, the words and terms 
 following, viz. — " that the moment a woman went 
 to any trouble to convince you that she was not in 
 love with you, that you might be certain (unless 
 arising from your own fault) that she entertained 
 a favourable opinion of you." If this " declara- 
 tion" set forth in the " court of chancery" of 
 old maids (rest and bless them !) be correct, I 
 here bring up another instance where my favourite, 
 Mistress " Letitia" was correct; and though Mr. 
 Doricourt, with all his sense and all his elegance, 
 could not solve her problems, conundrums, and 
 riddles, yet she, by a magic stroke, at once gave 
 him real delight and the most touching rapture. 
 As a commentary on this, take the following ex- 
 ample from real life — said example proving the 
 above doctrine of old maids (rest and bless them!) 
 to be correct. 
 
 You recollect, my Lord, the gay and the grace- 
 ful : ; You recollect his gentlemanly and 
 
 winning address — his brilliant wit — amiable dis- 
 position — and most extraordinary endowments. 
 You do not forget the night he first caught your 
 
 eye at the ball room of . You saw him 
 
 whirl through the mazes of the dance, fling him- 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 195 
 
 self at the piano, take up the flute and accompany- 
 that piano, throw himself among half the women 
 of the room and find conversation for them, and 
 in ten minutes after, enter the deserted anti room, 
 and with the member for the county, draw up the 
 heads of a bill for him, which it was his intention 
 to present to parliament the ensuing session ; 
 and remarking to him the leading topics of its 
 accompanying speech. 
 
 Your Lordship^ however, does not forget the 
 pale and Madonna countenance which was sitting 
 on the Ottoman at the lower end of the room. 
 He went up to her. Would she dance with him ? 
 "No; she would not dance with him." Would 
 she take wine with him ? " No ; she would take 
 no wine with him." Would she allow him to sit 
 next her at supper? " No; she would not on 
 any account sit near him." Might he attend her 
 home? " No ; other persons would do it." And 
 yet after all this antipode way of showing " grace 
 and favour," a week after brought him a present 
 which he could not mistake ; and in another w.eek 
 was confined to her bed with a snug and pretty 
 physician attending her in an amatory fever — he 
 totally unconscious of having been the cause. 
 Now '•« set this in case," (as the bailiff in " The 
 Good-natured Man " has it,) and it will afford an 
 
 o 2 
 
196 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 additional proof that opposiies are one way of 
 falling into, and making love. Further inform 
 your friend, my Lord, that for every reason, I 
 think the plot a natural one ; and declare unto 
 him, that I am willing to defend my gay favourite 
 against any stiff and uncourtly bachelor, who 
 presumes to find fault with her ; or against any 
 other unchristian aggressor who would harm, ill- 
 treat, or otherwise despitefully use her. She is a 
 sensible and elegant woman,* and I cannot allow 
 nasty, fusty bachelors (however full of college 
 learning they may be,) to cut her up. 
 
 This concludes my remarks on actors and acting. 
 I however am to mention to your Lordship, that 
 there are more actors in London than those above 
 enumerated ; but as I have not either seen them, or 
 having seen them but once, (Harley and Wallack for 
 instance,) I should not deem myself prepared to en- 
 ter into minute criticism on them. There is a young 
 manhere of the name of Yates, who possesses powers 
 of imitation in a surprizing degree ; and it would 
 
 * These are qualities which it grieves me much to 
 say, are not often to be found in the world. Few things 
 are more delightful than the company of the elegant 
 and sensible female. Sense without elegance is as 
 unwinning and forbidding, as elegance without sense. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 197 
 
 afford both a curious and interesting inquiry to 
 the critic, how, when he is able to imitate the 
 leading actors so well, (in some selected passages) 
 that he still does not take a range of those 
 leading characters. This would take up more 
 time to answer, than what it is my present in- 
 tention to engage in, and shall, perhaps, leave it 
 to some other opportunity. 
 
 The only local circumstances which your Lord- 
 ship inquires about, are, if the music saloon # is 
 yet finished in St. James's-street, and if '* The 
 Diorama," in Regent's Park, representing two 
 paintings, shows them done on a flat surface or 
 not ; mentioning, that from the accounts you have 
 
 * This is the most elegant shop of the kind either 
 in London or Dublin. Those who do not wish to lay 
 out money, should never go to this shop ; as the civility 
 and kindness of its proprietor will certainly make them 
 buy whether it is convenient and agreeable to their 
 purses or not. If certain national theatres would take 
 hints, I would say that it is a capital place for buying 
 music for orchestras, so as to make a large collection 
 for that public who support the said theatres. — Vide 
 Note, p. 153. I here remark that I have never played 
 on such fine toned grand pianos either in London or 
 Dublin, as what I have met at Mr. Willis's. I believe 
 they are manufactured expressly for his splendid esta- 
 blishment. 
 
198 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 heard of them, you wish you could be informed as 
 to a certainty. 
 
 With respect to the first, it is completely and 
 elegantly furnished, and your family can have a 
 piano /emitted to them (and I suppose tuned, one 
 of th/ase days) by all-powerful steam. With respect 
 to the " Diorama," I can assure your Lordship as 
 a fact, that they are painted on a flat surface. I 
 spoke to the young man, who was bold enough to 
 walk out on the frame-work of the awning which 
 is spread out in front of the seats, for the purpose 
 of satisfactorily assuring his eyesight that they 
 were painted on a flat surface. I own the " Ruins 
 of Holyrood by moonlight," to be the most beau- 
 tiful example of deception in perspective I ever 
 looked at ; and the execution of it, as well as the 
 way in which the eye is deceived, does infinite 
 credit to the inventor. There is a female figure 
 in it which is episodical, but which is perfectly 
 allowable ; and it evinced great taste to introduce 
 her here ; but I at the same time think, that if 
 the figure were a little more light and graceful, it 
 would produce more effect. The head too of the 
 kneeling monk in the foreground in the " Ca- 
 thedral," is, I think too large — larger, I think, 
 than Napoleon's or Lord Byron's ; and we do not 
 often look for such talented characters in monks. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 199 
 
 It now remains for me, my Lord, to conclude, 
 and to apologize for having written so very long a 
 letter to you. It strikes me I shall have to send 
 it to you on some half dozen of franks, and to 
 request that the mail-coach will order new springs 
 before it conveys it, as the weight of dulness in it 
 will break them down, 
 
 I know your Lordship will enquire, why I have 
 not sent you an account of the female performers 
 of London ; but, my Lord, I do most humbly pray 
 of your lordship to recollect, that were I to go 
 and roughly criticize these right worshipful crea- 
 tures, they would forthwith, and with the utmost 
 sangfroid take off their garters, and strangle me 
 instanter without either judge or jury. All the 
 most refined and classical criticism, that I could 
 pour forth on them would be as nought to them, 
 if I attempted to say one uncourtly word against 
 their high mightinesses. Besides, my Lord, my 
 gallantry would be at once called in question, and 
 as the celebrated Junius says, " a pretty woman 
 is the only tyrant which an Englishman is not 
 authorized to resist," I must only " beg to decline" 
 as the official refusals have it. Further, if your 
 Lordship will look to the title page, you will per- 
 ceive it is actors only I have engaged to speak 
 of. 
 
200 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 The only thing, therefore, which I shall request 
 of my fair female friends (and, indeed, there are 
 many of them which have delighted me) is, to 
 humbly and dutifully request that they will not 
 paint their cheeks so very highly. In some cases, 
 the rouge appears to me to be laid on with a 
 trowel! instead of a delicate finger or pencil, so 
 outrageously high is the colouring ; and at other 
 times I have thought that they had opened an 
 account with " the new London patent brick com- 
 pany," for to supply them good red bricks ; for 
 in truth, their " glowing cheeks/' have often 
 appeared to me as if rubbed over with a brick-bat, 
 instead of rouge or carmine. I confess I do not 
 admire this, for it instantly puts me into the 
 middle of the saloon of Drury Lane Theatre, or 
 
 the saloon at . Now, not only in dress but 
 
 in deportment, would I wish to see actresses, 
 ladies ; and were I to meet such cheeks as those 
 in any genteel drawing-room, (I have before 
 hinted at a similarity between the drawing-room 
 and the stage,) I would but get disgusted, and 
 should only be obliged to politely hand her the 
 tail of my coat to brush off the dust, colour, 
 plaister, &c. &c. &c. 
 
 I had written so far, my Lord, when I was in- 
 vited to . During my visit there, I had 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 201 
 
 an opportunity of reading a most valuable work, 
 " Schlegel's Lectures on Dramatic Literature." 
 It is written throughout with the most correct 
 taste, and profound erudition. I am therefore 
 extremely happy in finding that such a man 
 should coincide with me in the leading features 
 which this letter presents, and I shall accordingly 
 write down a few extracts from his admirable 
 work, which (coming from such authority) will 
 fully bear me out in what I have advanced. By 
 the way of preface, I shall also just add the fol- 
 lowing from the high authority of Lord Byron. 
 
 " Writing for the stage, in its present state, is 
 certainly not an object of very exalted ambi- 
 tion." 
 
 " I may safely say that the dramatic art and 
 the taste of the public are in England in a wretch- 
 ed decline." — Schlegel. 
 
 " If an actor requires instruction, he never can 
 possess talent for acting. Directions respecting 
 action are of the greatest detriment to dramatic 
 eloquence. — Idem." 
 
 " Some players (even good ones) are always 
 afraid of underdoing their parts ; and hence they 
 are worst qualified for reserved action, for eloquent 
 silence" (this is a just and a beautiful expression,) 
 " when under an appearance of outward tranquillity, 
 
202 ON TASTE^ judgment, &c. 
 
 the most hidden emotions of the mind are be- 
 trayed. In general, they rather endeavour to 
 make the most of each separate passage, indepen- 
 dently of the rest, than to go back to the invisible 
 central point of the character, and to consider the 
 whole of the expressions as so many emanations 
 from that point." — Idem. 
 
 " The person who represents a character should 
 resemble as much as possible in size, age, and figure, 
 the ideas which we form of the imaginary being 
 of the poet, and even assume every peculiarity by 
 which that being is distinguished ; so that every 
 speech should be delivered in a suitable tone of 
 voice, and accompanied by corresponding looks 
 and motions. He must also appear in a costume 
 suitable to the assumed rank, age, country." # — 
 Idenu 
 
 * Notwithstanding the appalling account whichSchle- 
 gel and Byron give of the present state of the English 
 stage, the author of this work is at present engaged in 
 a comedy, (though his favourite Thalia is dead,) which 
 he intends submitting for the approval or rejection of 
 the public. His ardent wish is to see comedy restored; 
 and though the attempt is arduous, yet, (as the com- 
 mon saying has it,) there is nothing like a beginning. 
 Besides, he has heen promised the assistance of one, 
 who is a favourite both with the writer and with Thalia. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 203 
 
 I feel happy, my Lord, in being able to produce 
 the above extracts. They are convincing and 
 unanswerable, and until some other more clever 
 person confutes him, I shall implicitly believe in 
 all he advances. 
 
 Your Lordship further requests of me to write 
 you a list of our composers, poets, dramatists, 
 &c. &c. I shall, my Lord, write you a list ; but 
 I regret to say it will be a very short one. We 
 have got one composer, two poets, one prose wri- 
 ter, and no dramatist (in genuine comedy or tra- 
 gedy) of the present day. * The name of the com- 
 poser is Carl Maria Von Weber ; the names of the 
 poets are H. H. Millman, and Thomas Moore, 
 (how I regret that the splendid name of Byron is 
 not alive to here add him;) and the name of the 
 prose writer is Walter Scott, f As for tragedy 
 and comedy — 
 
 (i Oh ! what a falling off was there." 
 
 * Why will the author of that interesting tragedy 
 " Virginius," put so much prose in his tragedies ? 
 Surely his pen is vigorous enough to give us all poetry. 
 
 f I believe there is no one who will not allow that 
 Scott's genius lies in prose, and not in poetry. I 
 make this assertion, generally speaking ; and yet I 
 know nothing in the English language (of its kind) 
 beyond the delightful pastoral of " The Lady of the 
 
204 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 Now, my Lord, after this "fair, open, and 
 candid avowal '," (as the Parliamentarians have it,) 
 I do pray you to put up a short (but effective) 
 prayer for me, for I shall certainly be murdered by 
 the Reviewers, particularly if any poets or prosers 
 happen to write for them. I must only patiently 
 and very heedlessly bear their stripes, but I shall 
 never own my fault. Your Lordship will, no 
 doubt, ask me, what have I done with the puis- 
 sant Rossini ? # Be assured, my Lord, that if 
 he was to write until Doomsday, he never will be 
 able to equal that giant Weber. Weber pos- 
 sesses the master -mind. Rossini has it not, and 
 never will have it. One is a master — the other a 
 school-boy. Even his best song (" Di Palpiti") 
 is not completely original. There are some pieces, 
 by Kalkbrenner, infinitely beyond Rossini. 
 
 Lake." — With respect to English composers, I ought 
 not to except Bishop. I am speaking, however, of 
 composers (whether English or foreign) of the present 
 day. In song composition, and in the lighter pieces 
 of music, Bishop stands eminently high. Indeed, in 
 this respect, Mr. B. has more than one competitor. 
 
 * An instance of unpoliteness in this composer has 
 been mentioned to me, (when he was over on a visit 
 here,) which I can scarcely credit. I can easily for- 
 give eccentricity, (for it belongs to genius,) but I can 
 never forgive unpoliteness in any person. 
 
ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 205 
 
 Am I to conclude now, my Lord ? Your Lord- 
 ship will, I doubt not, tell me that my letter is 
 like the web of Penelope — never to have an 
 ending. 
 
 I shall then but ask from you a dozen lines 
 more. They shall be the following. 
 
 I would wish then to see spectacles, shows, 
 melo-drames and such other monstrous exhibi- 
 tions expelled for ever from the stage, and feeble 
 as is my pen, I shall always labour for it. I 
 should w 7 ish — ardently wish to see genuine comedy 
 and genuine tragedy restored in the present de- 
 clining state of the legitimate drama. I should 
 wish, that our leading actors should be always 
 not only gentlemen but scholars, not only scholars 
 but gentlemen. The actresses would I wish to see 
 ladies in every respect. Further would I be un- 
 fashionable enough to banish any and every species 
 of immorality from the stage, and also restrain 
 the boundaries of w T it to the model of Sheridan, 
 and not to that of Wycherly. In a word, I should 
 wish to see the stage (what it ought to be, and 
 what it can be) respected and respectable. 
 
 " You talk impossibilities," says your Lordship. 
 
 Be it so, my Lord. It only remains for me to 
 
 express my regret — to greatly express my regret, 
 
 that they should prove impossibilities ; and though 
 
206 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 
 
 my pen is but feeble, I shall ever aim for the 
 accomplishment of the above objects, satisfied that 
 I shall have the countenance of those who lead 
 in the drama and belles lettres. 
 
 I have now only to add that, that I am sincerely 
 and faithfully, 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 THE END 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 tBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.