TALLIS'S 
 
 OF 
 
 m\xM lnrtrmte, JEmra, mil Innkkt 
 
 MISS ISABELLA GLTI^'S EEADINGS OE SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 We cannot commence this work more appf opriatMy than by a n^^ of a kind of entertainment peculiarlj 
 suited to the drawing-room, and which is rapidly ^beeop[iing\as fashionable, as it is interesting and intel- 
 lectual. We allude to the practice of public dramatic reading^^ which has hitherto been much neglected. 
 Among the ancients, it was far more common than it has been 'with us ; poets then recited their own 
 verses, and philosophers published their' doctrine^ orally in^schools .and -lecture-rooms. In those times, 
 books were rare and precious things, not-to b^'^ob&ifled but' 'by 'thfe Wealthy ; but then men listened to 
 the sage or poet, and grew accpiainlefc wijh hp thoug^^ l!^Gw we have many books, 
 
 but comparatively few appreciative readei%,-^# with 2^ e^c^feoiirf^advantages, the want of cultivated 
 public readers, who can invest the lines of 'the poetrw&rth^^ of intellect and art ; who 
 
 can transform dead words into living things ; who, by ,th#:^magie of exqgis^ elocution, and a passionate, 
 impulsive delivery can, singly, without the adventitious aids' of iliusiS ja;n illustration, present to 
 
 the auditor, with all the force of actual embodiment, groups drawn lay our. dramatic poets ; is as much felt 
 now, as in the time when a book would, sell for its weight in gold. _ ' ■ 
 
 In the present age, the great Siddons was the ifiost; distinguished public reader; from her lips the 
 language of both Shakspere and Miitoii received a greater chafm^ her 'reading had a grace beyond the 
 reach of art, words of beauty quivered in the air, and sank iSto the -hearts of the listeners like a fairy 
 spell; it was genius interpreting genius. Imagination ^> brings her to us now ; there she stands before a 
 screen of richest scarlet, .dressed in a snow-white robe, whose ample foMs- gave her stately form the appear- 
 ance of a marble statue ; the listeners are charmed to a deep silence,"they breathe softly and low, eager 
 to catch every intonation- of that sweet, yet powerful voice, which swells and rises to the coming climax, 
 and then is for a moment hushed, for the audience relieve their wrought-up feelings by a loud applause. 
 
 Her younger brother Charles, now a venerable man, enjoying in private life, that comfort which 
 should always cheer the latter days of the children of genius, has, since his retirement from the stage, 
 exercised his talent as a public reader ; and has succeeded in diffusing a greatei; knowledge of the poet he 
 loved, and whose works he had devoted his life to illustrate, than could perhaps have been gained even by 
 the most finished stage representation. Eor, in a reading, we have all the minor characters quickened by 
 the voice of the great actor ; tlie hero or the rustic, the messenger and the soldier arei delineated with an 
 equal power. His daughter, Mrs. E. Kemble, is even now delighting the worM of wealth and fashion 
 at the west- end by her Shaksperian readijigs; but a new candidate for public favour in this capacity 
 has arisen in another quarter, in an actress, who, though still in the early summer of life, possessed of all 
 the energy, grace, and attractiontof youth, is yet hailed by many of the most mature and acknowledged 
 judges of histrionic art, as the rising star who is to become the future Siddons of the stage. 
 
 We lately witnessed Miss Grlyn's reading at . the Sadler's Wells Theatre, of Shakspere' s historical 
 tragedy, Antony and Cleopatra, m.d we purpose as a fitting accompaniment of the life-like portrait of that 
 distinguished actress, which is contained in this work, to give an analytical notice of the ideal presents^ 
 tion of one df the greatest, yet= least known of the dramas of our national idol, the player-poet, the wild, 
 self-taught genius, to whto Schelegel alludes as the " tragical Titan who storms the heavens, .and 
 threatens:to tear ;the woifd of its hinges." Antoni/ and Cleopatra is the most varied and romantic of all 
 Shakspere's classical tragedies^ every thing is there treated "in the high Eoman fashion," and we 
 have a fine representation of the pride and courage of Italy, and the magnificence of Egypt. " Shaks- 
 pere's genius," says Hazlitt, " has spread over the whole a richness like the overflowing of the Mle," 
 1 
 
MISS ISABELLA QLYN'S EEADIJSraS OE SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 We should like to see dramatic readings always prefaced hy a brief explanation, wMcli would place 
 the scene and circumstances of the play more forcibly before the audience ; much is lost by this not 
 being done ; those unacquainted with the work cannot always understand the particulars of the story. 
 Again, throughout the play, the reader should throw in a few connecting links of an explanatory nature, 
 which would render the action clearer, and bind and connect the whole. Indeed, a brief running 
 criticism might be kept up by the reader, who would thus at once be an exponent and a commentator 
 upon the work under consideration. 
 
 But to speak particularly of Miss Glyn's performance ; it was marked by a boldness and energy 
 throughout ; she never relaxed her exertions, never subsided into indifference ; if, indeed, we found a 
 fault, it would be that she sometimes did too much, and thus lacked the dignity of repose ; her declama- 
 tion was occasionally too warm, too passionate ; her burning energy blazed sometimes for a moment 
 beyond bounds, still it was but for a moment, and judgment instantly reassumed the reins. 
 
 The character most successfully elaborated by Miss Glyn was the voluptuous, the wilful, the beau- 
 tiful, passionate, and loving Cleopatra ; she made us feel the truth of Enobarbus' praise of the queenly 
 profligate : — 
 
 Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her infinite variety. 
 
 Her tenderness, her love, her tears, her smiles, the depth and extravagance of her affection for Antony, 
 her despair and stormy gusts of passion in his absence, her rapture on his return, and her calm resigna- 
 tion and dignified death — • 
 
 . Fitting for a princess 
 
 Descended of so many royal kings, 
 
 were all wonderfully and faultlessly executed. It was strange that so miich dramatic power could be 
 infused into a reading ; and when in her last moments she rebukes the passionate sorrow of her maid 
 Charmian, and pointing to the asp exclaims — • 
 
 Peace, peace ! 
 
 Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, 
 That sucks the nurse asleep ? 
 
 the presence of impending death seemed to give an absolute spirituality to the effort. 
 
 Her idealisation of the quaint bluff soldier Enobarbus was next in meritorious execution; this is a 
 kind of character that Shakspere loved — something of his own lightheartedness appears in it ; this Miss 
 Glyn seemed fully to feel, and she invested it with a rough heartiness that was highly characteristic. 
 Her delivery of that gorgeous description of Cleopatra on the l^ile ; where the wanton queen sits on a 
 throne of gold, in a barge of which the sails were purple, and the oars of silver, and from which such 
 perfume stole, that the very winds are represented as being enamoured of the pageant, was a piece of 
 beautiful and indeed perfect elocution. After Enobarbus' desertion of his master Antony, who mourns 
 that his ill fortunes have corrupted honest men, the character of the bluff soldier undergoes a change : 
 he is a repentant and broken-hearted man, and dies from a too acute sense of his own ingratitude and 
 treason. This portion of the play Miss Glyn gave with much pathos, and made great use of that sub- 
 dued impressive utterance which is the chief charm of her reading ; but some connecting description was 
 much wanting here. The length of the play compelled her to omit several scenes, and to abbreviate 
 others ; thus, to those who were not familiar with it, the despair and death of Enobarbus was scarcely 
 intelligible. A short graphic account of the scene, too, would have added greatly to the realization of the 
 picture," the silent night, the soft light of the waning moon, showing the distant pyramids, and the camp 
 of Csesar,.from which is heard the roll of drums startling the silence; these just alluded to in passing 
 would have heightened the effect of the death of Enobarbus. In the delineation of Antony, Miss Glyn 
 was scarcely so happy ; it was too trying for a female voice, and it required a powerful effort of the 
 imagination to keep pace with the reader. Still, viewed synthetically, the tragedy was well understood, 
 and effectively rendered.; there is an earnestness and intelligence in Miss Glyn's manner, which redeems 
 all minor errors ; her conceptions are faultless, and her execution powerful and impulsive. In the warm 
 and impassioned scenes the spirit of the poet seems to speak through her, and her face is lit up with an 
 enthusiastic appreciation of the beautiful ; she seems identified with, and ennobled by, the lofty art of 
 which she is a votary. 
 
 "We shall, from time to time, give notices of such displays of talent connected with the drama as 
 deserve encomium, and we have in this instance spoke thus at length of a young artist, because we think 
 the critic more generously and justly employed in raising genius from comparative obscurity, than in 
 blazoning forth the triumphs of that which is already known and rewarded. H. T. 
 
MEB: riTZWILLIAM. i 
 
 i - I 
 
 This most' natural, and 'highiy aceomplislied actress may be said to have been literally born upon the | | 
 stage ; for^ in the dwelling-house attached to the Dover Theatre, which her father, Mr. Bobert Copeland, | | 
 at that time managed, in conjunction with those of Deal, Sandwich, and Margate, did she make hon \ )■ 
 first appearance on the great stage of this breathing, busy w^orld. At the early age of two years, Miss^ | j 
 Eanny Oopeland may be said to have commenced her theatrical career, as she appeared in her father's j 
 theatre as one of the children in the play of The Stranger. .Shortly after she represented the child in \ 
 Fizarro, vrh^n Master Betty, known as the young J^oscius, performed the noble Peruvian. At the age 
 of Sve years, a period when few children hav€ done more than master the mysteries of ■ the alphabet, she 
 performed the character of Tom Thumbs and actually sang all the music, to the delight of a charmed and 1 
 wondering audience. When she was but ten years of age, Charles Incledon, the gi^eat English vocalist, | i 
 i heard her sing " Savourneen Deelish," and strongly recommended her family to take her entirely from 
 the stage, and educate her solely for- music and singiug. She was accordingly placed under Michael 
 Wieppert, the father of the late John Wieppert, who gave her instructions on the harp, while Mr. Sutton, . 
 of Dover, conducted herN studies on the pianoforte. She made such rapid progress, that, at the early age 
 of twelve years, she presided at the then fashionable promenade concerts given at Howe's Assembly 
 Sooms, at Margate, Three years w^ere devoted to her musical studies ; when, on a performance of the 
 i musical farce of The Foot Soldier^ at the Dover Theatre, under the patronage of the Earl of G-uilford, 
 j the lady advertised to sustain fche- character - of JNTor ah being ill, there was left no resource but to send for 
 I little Eanny, who fortunately having been in the habit of perfecting herself in the music of all the pieces 
 I she saw represented at her father's theatres, was quite ready in the part, which she performed with such 
 j success, that she determined on returning to the stage, w'hich determination, fortunately ]br herself and 
 j her admirersy she adhered to^ and became a leading actress in her father'^s theatres, acquiring that expe- 
 I rience which must ever be the basis of a sound dramatic reputation. . At this period, she was greatly 
 indebted' for the development of those brilliant qualifications which distinguish her as an histrionic artist, 
 and, indeed, for the most valuable part of her education, to the fostering care of the late, Mr. Archibald 
 Montgomery^ a gentleman of high attainments and family, and at that time a member of her father's 
 company. 
 
 Her professional difficulties w^ere but trifiing. Eortune appears to have been ai3 liberal to her as 
 nature ; forj at the age of fourteen, she came to London, was placed under Mrs. Bland, the exquisite 
 English ballad singer, to -improve her vocal powers, and presented herself with a letter of recommendation 
 to George Oolmau, the younger^ then proprietor and manager of the Haymarket Theatre : she was 
 requested by that gentleman to attend, and give a taste of her quality before him and his co-managers, 
 Messrs. Morris and Winston, when, to their complete satisfa^ction,' she sang " The Grarland of Love," 
 from the melodrama of Teheli; and, on being asked what characters she had performed, she produced a 
 large sheet of foolscap paper, containing a long list of' parts, such as the Duke of York, the Prince of 
 Wales, and Lady Anne, in Bieharcl III.; Prince Arthur, Blanche, and Lady Eaulconbridge, in Kmg 
 John; and a multitude of characters in all the tragedies^, comedies, operas, and farces of the period. 
 Greorge Colman, on glancing over this formidable list, exclaimed— "Aye, aye, I see — manager's 
 daughter -splays everything." However, she was immediately- engaged, and made her first appearance 
 before a London audience ai?^ the Haymarket Theatre; in the character . of Lucy, in The Bevieiv; 
 this was followed by her assumption- of the Page in The -Follies of a Day ; Gicely in The Beehive, &c. 
 Her success in these characters miay be^ estiruated by a relation^ of the following singular incident. 
 That admirable comedian, thor father of the present Mr. Gharles Matthews, .possessed, in conjunction 
 with much natural goodness of hearty a very large share of that nervous irritability, which is not unfre- 
 quently the characteristic of the distinguished actor ; and on her being encored in the song of " Heigho," 
 in the character of Cicely, in the excitement of the moment, slapped her face on her leaving the stage, 
 as he conceived that her success would deprive him of an encore for his song in the next scene. He 
 immediately afterwards felt the rudeness of his conduct, and begging her pardon, called himself a brute ; 
 wondered how he could have done it, and promised her his assistance in her professional career. He 
 never forgot this ebullition -of temper, and endeavoured to compensate for it by his kindness and atten- 
 tion in ail their subsequent professional intercourse. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Dibdin having seen Miss- Copeland, while in Kent, as Bianca, in Fazio, ofiJered her an 
 engagement at the Surrey Theatre, to sustain a principal character in his adaptation of Sir Walter Scott's 
 novel, Th& SeavP of Midlothian. It has always been supposed that she was the original Madge Wildfire 
 in that interesting - drama, but this is not the fact ; the late Mrs. Egerton was its first representative, 
 and created so great a sensation in it, that the young actress accepted the part with considerable 
 reluctance, but her personation was crowned with an ilnequivocal and brilliant success ; her extreme 
 youth imparted a new charm to it, which w^as also increased by the effective manner in which she sung 
 the snatches of old Scottish song, with which the part abounds. So great was the admiration elicited 
 by her performance, that the drama was played during the greater part of two or three seasons ; and on 
 one occasion she appeared in it at the desire of the late Duke of Kent, who, with the Duchess of Kent, the 
 mother of her present Majesty, honoured her with their presence. 
 
4 
 
 MES. EITZ WILLI AM. 
 
 About this time Dibdin produced his extravaganza of Harlequin Hoax^ or a Pantomime ~Postponed, 
 in which a scene was introduced to afford Miss Copeland an opportunity of giving an imitation, for 
 which she had become celebrated, of a French ballad singer, in the ^o^v^pjr chanson JP or trait OharmantP 
 It was so successful that Mr. Buckstone introduced it into the monopologue of Widow Wiggins^ which 
 he wrote expressly for her, and the melody became at last almost identified with the subject of the pre- 
 sent memoir, and which is now referred to merely for the sake of the fact, as other actresses have recently 
 adopted this imitation, and acquired some degree of reputation in giving it, even in the same theatre 
 where the original was engaged, and iwhose varied and delightful talent had first bestowed upon it the 
 attraction it afterwards possessed. 
 
 From the Surrey Theatre Miss Gopeland was engaged by the late Mr. Elliston for Drury-Lane, 
 where she made her appearance in the farce of Maid or Wife, afterwards known as the Married Bachelor ; 
 Elliston and Harley appearing with her as the baronet and his servant. About this time she entered 
 into a matrimonial alliance with Mr. Fitzwilliam. A dispute with Mr. Elliston having caused her to 
 relinquish her engagement at Di^ury-Lane, she, after appearing at several of the metropolitan theatres, 
 during which time she added fresh honours to her then established reputation, entered into an engage- 
 ment with Messrs. Terry and Yates at the A^elphi Theatre, and was the original Kate Plowden in The 
 JBilot, and Louisa Lovetrick in The Dead Shot. To be a leading actress among such a company as the 
 Adelphi possessed at that time, required talent of the highest order ; few playgoers can forget the delight 
 they experienced in witnessing the performances of that phalanx of dramatic talent, that cluster of stars 
 whose combined radiance nightly drew crowded and enthusiastic audiences. Here she sang mock 
 bravuras with glorious John fieeve, and played the leading comic characters with him, Terry, the elder 
 Charles Mathews, Yates, and Buckstone. Here also she was the original representative of Bella in 
 The Wreck Asho7'e,,^ose in. Ifenriette, Elise in Victorine, Mid. many other characters in that justly 
 celebrated and intensely interesting series of dramas produced by Mr. Buckstone during this period. 
 
 On Mr. Benjamin Webster becoming lessee of the H\ymarket Theatre, she entered into an engage- 
 ment with him, and on its conclasion took her departure for America. 
 
 In the United States she was every where received with perfect enthusiasm ; the rapidity of her 
 changes of character and - costume, and the truth and nature with which she delineated the various 
 eccentric creations in her celebrated monopologues of Widow Wiggins, and The Belle of the Hotel, 
 astonished the Americans : they had never before seen anything of the kind attempted by an. actress ; 
 and in^^ every state of the Union wherever she appeared her attraction was immense, while the facility 
 with which she accompanied her songs on the harp, the pianoforte, and the guitar ; and the command 
 she possessed ' over those instruments was the theme of universal praise and admiration. Her first 
 appearance in New York was as Peggy in The Country Girl; that, and her personation of the six 
 characters in J^'c^o if; Wiggins, obtained for her a great and indeed enthusiastic reception — a reception 
 always given by that warm-hearted : and generous people to all who, while they seek, also deserve their 
 favour. 
 
 The impression she made at I^ew York secured her a welcome throughout America, and both in the 
 north and south, and particularly at ISTew Orleans, no English actress has ever been more attractive or 
 successful. She was serenaded nightly, ,. and . showers of bouquets were given to her on every per- 
 formance. . 
 
 In the southern American theatres the galleries or upper boxes are set apart for coloured people 
 only ; ;one evening, after a pelting of bouquets from the white portion of the audience, she broke into a 
 pathetic negro songy; to a very beautiful air : . the delight of the negro part of the audience was 
 unbounded ; and one woman, in her enthtisiasm, threw down an enormous houquet of that beautiful 
 fl.ower, the magnolia, which, in the so mthern . states of America, is found in great perfection. The size of 
 the offering, combined with the height from nvhich it descended, was such, that the intended compliment 
 became rather an equivocal one, as it struck the object of admiration so violently j, as to throw her off her 
 equilibrium, and it was with great diffieultr that 4 Mrs. Eitzwilliam preserved herself from falling. At 
 New Orleans, her. engagements were so frequently renewed, that, on her first visit, she performed there 
 fifty nights. Mr. -Buckstone, who,'..at the same time^ was acting at another theatre in ISTew Orleans, here 
 joined her, and added; greatly to tha- attraction, , They visited the Havannah in company during the 
 carnival ; and although only^ going there for a pleasure trip, they found their reputation had travelled 
 with them, and they were prevailed upon to appear at the Diorama, a theatre near the Paseo, where 
 their popular duo-drama of The Snapping Turtles, Widow Wiggins, Foreign Airs and Native Graces, the 
 latter written for Mrs. Eitzwilliam's great imitative talent . by the veteran Moncrief, elicited from the 
 Spaniards roars of laughter, as loud and as genial as were ever given by an English audience ; and on 
 the walls of the old city appeared bills, announcing the great success of Madama Eitzwilliam and Y el 
 Sen or B uckstone. They were the first English comedians who ever gave a decided dramatic represen- 
 tation ai? the Havannah. . Mrs. Eitzwilliam made two visits to the United States, both of which were 
 highly gratifying and remunerative.. On her last return, after having fulfilled several most successful 
 provincial engagements, sh^ returned to the metropolis, and appeared in Mr.. Buckstone' s romantic 
 drama of The Green Bushes, in which her unrivalled performance of Nelly O'Neil is still fresh in the 
 memory of our readers ; while in the same author's Flowers of the^ Forest, her powerful delineation of 
 Starlight Bess, the gipsy girl, has never been surpassed. 
 
JO.Iiil '.I'AliliJG U CUMj'ANy LONDON ic N yofiK 
 
MES. FITZWILLIAM. 
 
 She is now fulfilling an engagement at the Ilaymarket, the true home of comedy, where, as if in 
 evidence of the admitted axiom, that the great artiste has always something further to learn — for life 
 itself is too short for the attainment of perfect excellence in the dramatic art — her reputation is, if 
 possible, still increasing, and justly so : for where, on the modern stage, is to be found two characters so 
 touchingly natural — so full of mingled humour and pathos — so true, in every light and shade of our 
 varied nature, as her personation of Nan, in Good for JSfotliing^ and Margery, in The BoiigJi Diamond. 
 The former is a creation of great, originality, utterly unlike the mass of characters constantly appearing 
 on our stage. It is no abstraction— no thing of stilts and muslin, but a veritable living, breathing- 
 creature, whose good qualities are obscured by a pernicious education. A young girl, who would have 
 been an ornament to her sex iunder proper trainiiig, pexmitted to run loose in the streets, becomes rude, 
 mischievous, dirty, and seemingly, in all respects, good for nothing. And thus she remains, until her 
 heart is touched by kindness ; then, for the first time in her life, she begins seriously to reflect ; and the 
 result of that reflection is her transformation into a clean, cheerful, and industrious girl. A fine lesson 
 is taught in this little drama : the course that is successful with one, may be so with a thousand. If 
 gentleness were the universal teacher, we should not hear much of punishments. Mrs. Fitzwilliam's 
 appearance in this part^^ — very truthfully represented in the engraving from the daguerreotype, which 
 accompanies this memoir—was a wonderful instance of her skill in the assumption of character: it was 
 the most perfect disguise that can be imagihed ; the actress had disappeared, and it was the poor, rough- 
 headed, neglected orphan that stood before us. But her better feelings once awakened, how womanly is 
 this poor, rude, creature : what a warm affection resides in her rough nature for her humble lover ; and 
 how touchingly was all this represented by Mrs. Pitzwilliam. And in the young country-girl, Margery, 
 who marries far above her station in life, but neither forgets her old habits or her old friends, and gives 
 her awkward country cousin, Joe, -who is going to service, a zealous welcome in her new and elegant 
 mansion, there is a sincerity and heartiness that is quite delightful. 
 
 We never see her play such characters but we love humanity better, that it possesses such rude, 
 uncultivated instances of simple nobility and aflectionate kindness. In thB classic drama, her recent 
 excellent performance of Dorin^, in Moliere's Tartuffe, dit the Ilaymarket Theatre, proves her to be 
 a complete mistress of her art. The great charm of hei* acting is its womanly character; ten- 
 der solicitude and unrestrained sincerity seem to radiate from her; not only are her impersona- 
 tions natural, but they are chiefly transcripts of nature in its most amiable and attractive garb. 
 There is a sweetness in the clear, joyous tones of her voice, whether speaking or singing, which 
 at once captivates the senses, goes to the heart, and there awakes our most geiierous and aiFectionate 
 emotions. Notwithstanding this sweetness of manner, which might seem to imply a similarity of feature 
 in many of her representationSj her versatility, or rather comprehensiveness of talent is extraordinary. 
 Her genius is of a Protean cast. The old woman, trembling on the verge of imbecile decrepitude — ^the 
 young, hoyderi, just bursting into, womanhood — the frolicksome . schoolboy— the wild country rustic, 
 " warbling her native wood-notes," and the accomplished or coquettish pri7na donna — the Irish lady, or 
 the Irish peasant— these, and a thousand varieties of them, live in her charming and delightful repre- 
 sentations. The late Mr. EUiston pronounced her to be the best Lady Teazle he had ever acted with. 
 It is a popular error to suppose that character a high-bred London lady : she is a simple country girl 
 just before, her marriage with Sir Peter, and in her assumption of the fine lady, her original rusticity 
 should occasionally appear through her fashionable attire and her constrained behaviour. This feature 
 Mrs. Pitzwilliam rendered pleasingly apparent. Her Lady Teazle retained the natural glow of country 
 beauty, and the cheerfulness of a young, untainted hearty as yet but touched, not; contaminated, by the 
 &Zi?2;e and vicious society which surrounded her. 
 
 Mrs. Pitzwilliam's singings also, is touchingly sweet and exquisitely correct, and possesses one great 
 and uncommon excellence— the auditor can hear every word she utters. This peculiarity also attaches to 
 her acting. She has reached that perfection which enables the great artiste e'SeGtudllj to conceBl all art ; 
 so that wJiile her elocution is faultless, her delivery appears entirely ungoverned and impulsive. A child 
 of nature, while we listen to her, the measured cadences and artificialities- of the stage are forgotten, and 
 we seem in actual communion with, the ideal of the dramatist. 
 
 In private life she is beloved by those immediately around her for her amiable and kindly qualities, 
 and esteemed by all who have, even though remotely, had the pleasure of associating with her. She has 
 a son and a daughter: the latter is now at the Adelphi Theatre, where she has established herself 
 a favourite with the audience ; and the former has given abundant promise of becoming one of our best 
 English musical composers, as some of his productions at Saint Martin's Hall, at the concerts given by 
 Mr. HuUah, and a Stahat Mater, performed with great success at the Hanover Square Eooms, and written 
 by him while in his minority, have sufficiently testified. One of the first musical critics of the day de- 
 clares him to be the most rising English composer now appearing on the musical horizon. 
 
 H. T. 
 
 2 
 
ME. JOHN BALDWIN BIJCKSTONE. ; 
 
 i 
 I 
 
 This highly popular and degerye.dly ' favourite comedian is descended fern an ancient country family, I 
 who have always spelt their name in the same way ;..and are not in any degree allied to the far=more 
 numerous families of the name of Buxton, throughout the kingdom.. 
 
 He was born not very far from the city of London in the September of 1802, .and having received a 
 liberal education, was placed in the legal profession, wMch not possessing, many charms for a young and 
 romantic mind, disposed rather to the elegancies of literature than to the stern and laborious studies: ©f 
 the law, he at the age of nineteen abandoned all hope of the woolsack, and, embracing the stage, made 
 his first appearance as an actor at the little town of Oakingham, in Berkshire. Like most of our 
 distinguished comedians, he first paid his addresses to the tragic muse, and was engaged for . the juvenile 
 tragedy and walking gentlemen ; but the comic performer of the company being one night absent, Mr. 
 Buckstone Avas requested by the management of this Theatre Bural io play the part of the drunken 
 servant Grabriel in The Children of the Wood at half-an-hour's notice ; in which performance we presume 
 he was so far successful, notwithstanding the extreme brevity of • the time . allowed him for preparation,, 
 as to give decisive indications that his histrionic talent, lay in the delineation, of low comedy characters, 
 for he retained that line of business to the conclusion of his stay in this humble, temple of the drama. 
 
 Previously to his forsaking the desk he had written , two five-act tragedies, and a comedy, also in 
 five acts, and in blank verse, which, ^.boyish productions as they were, were so- fa^r meritorious that the 
 late Mr. Elliston, then manager of Brury-Lane Theatre, expressed a. very. high opinion. .of the latter, and 
 greatly gratified the author, then but eighteen years of age, by sending for him to his room in the 
 theatre, and reading selections from the manuscript and although the comedy was not represented, it 
 was returned to the young author with expressions of encouragement, and a desire that he should con- 
 tinue his efibrts as a. writer of legitimate comedy. 
 
 At the close of his Oakingham attempt he returned home, being earnestly persuaded by his friends 
 to abandon all idea of the stage, and resume the study of the profession for which he was originally 
 intended; this he admitted himself willing to do if they would at once enter him.^in. one of the inns of 
 court; but fortunately for the lovers of true comedy and hearty mirth, they delaj^ed doing so from time 
 to time until an incident occurred which at. once revived the dying embers of his histrionic ambition. 
 
 The mother of a stage-struck acquaintance having left a small fortune to her son, the latter became 
 the lessee of the Paversham, Hastings, and Polkstone theatres, previously the property of Mr. Dowton ; 
 for these theatres Mr., Buckstone was engaged by his friend; he re-entered the profession, and for three 
 years experienced all the vicissitudes, hopes and fears, trials and triumphs of a country actor's life. 
 
 When the late Edmund Kean was in the zenith of his popularity, Mr. Buckstone was at Hastings. 
 One fine morning, he ascended a beautiful : spot, overlooking the sea, for the purpose of studying a part 
 for the evening's performance. While reposing on-. the grass, he noticed, walking to and fro, a gentlehian, j 
 dressed in white tight, pantaloons, Hessian boots, .and blue coat, with metal buttons, who, also, was deeply 
 intent on a book,. The stranger gradually approached him ;. and, glancing over his shoulder, exclaimed— 
 " What are you doing ?— studying ?" " Yes, sir," " Are you .up ?" On hearing this technical phrase 
 for being perfect, the comedian, closely regarded his questioner. There was no mistaking the dark, 
 piercing eyes, and the fine intellectual countenance of Edmund Eean. " E'o, sir ; I wish 1 was up," 
 replied Mr. Buckstone, "And so do I, too," continued the tragedian; " for I am here for the purpose 
 of studying a new part— look at the length of it," On parting, Mr,. Buckstone received .an invitation to 
 Mr, Kean's cottage, who behavBdin the most liberal manner to the young, country actor;,: and, in after 
 years, when the latter was a rising comedian at the Adelphi Theatre, Edmund Kean frequently visited 
 that house, to witness the performances and dramas of; his fellow-student of the " Windmill Hill.'V 
 
 Having while at home become acquainted, with Mr. Watkins Burroughs, that gentleman, when he 
 succeeded Mr. T. Dibdin in the management of the Surrey Theatre, entered into an engagement with 
 Mr. Buckstone, who accordingly mad© his first bow to a metropolitan audience at that house, .in the 
 character of Peter Smiiik, in a little piece called The Armistice, written by Mr. Howard. P^yne, . His 
 unequivocal success procured him several other engagements at the transpontine theatres, during which 
 time he wrote his early but very touching and beautiful, drama of Ltihe the Labourer,, which will doubt- 
 less continue to be a stock piece at our minor theatres as long as earnest and truthful pictures of the 
 wrongs and vices of poverty awaken the sympathy of the kindly bosom. Having attracted the notice of 
 the late Mr. Daniel Terry, then one of the managers of the Adelphi Theatre, he made his first appear- 
 ance at that house in his own character of Bobby Trot in the piece just mentioned, .and soon became .th© 
 intimate, associate both of Mr. Terry, and of his co-manager Mr. Prederick Yates, and by the former of 
 these gentlemen he was introduced to Sir Walter Scott on the occasion of the great novelist. visiting the 
 home of melodrama, a circumstance which is indicative of the. estimation in which his talents as a 
 comedian, even at this early period, were held both by the management and the public, and an event 
 which no doubt had a favourable influence in fostering that untiring love of literature which has ever 
 characterised him; for he always alludes, in a tone of enthusiasm, and with a warmth of pleasurable 
 
I cazuLot g'et a. ser-vice , no ! Ili_a.-ve ne'er a. tongiLe 
 in my iead. —"Well ( looMng cm his palm J, if any man 
 in Italy iLa-ve a farcer talaLe , -wiiiclL dotih offer to 
 STrear nj)on a "booi: I sltalL lia-ve good fcrrtnne. G-oto, 
 liere's a siuaple line of life I liene's a small trifle of Tvf/es : 
 
MR. JOHN BALDWm BUCKSTONE. 
 
 7 
 
 excitement, to Ms association at various periods of his professional life with many of the most brilliant 
 and esteemed authors of the age. 
 
 While enjoying a career of prosperity at the Adelphi, Mr. Buckstone permitted no hour to pass 
 unoccupied, and though actuated by a love for his profession, still found time to write several pieces for 
 the Haymarket, which eventually led to his being engaged by Mr. Morris, as principal comedian of that 
 theatre. Thus for some years he enjoyed a great and increasing reputation, performing at two of the 
 most prosperous of our metropolitan theatres, the Adelphi in the winter, and the Haymarket in the 
 summer. In 1837, on Mr. Benjamin Webster becoming lessee of the last establishment, and extending 
 its season, he devoted himself entirely to that house, where he has ever since remained with two excep- 
 tions, once on the occasion of a visit to the United States, and also when he accepted an engagement at 
 the Lyceum Theatre during the first season of the management of Madam Yestris. He also, during one 
 of the vacations at the Haymarket Theatre, accepted an engagement at Drury-Lane, then under the 
 management of Mr. Bunn, Avhere he made a most successful debut in the character of Wormwood in The 
 Lottery Ticket, and sustained a round of comedy characters, till the temptation of an increased salary 
 saw him again under the banner of his friend Benjamin W ebster. At Drury-Lane he produced his 
 pieces of I^opping the Question, Our Mary Anne, Snahes in the Grass, The Ice Witch, and other produc-, 
 tions, with his customary great success. 
 
 Li boyhood Mr. Buckstone' s constant companions were Mr. Douglas Jerrold, and the late lamented 
 Laman Blanchard, and when Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton wrote the memoir of the latter, Mr. Buckstone 
 was applied to, as Blanchard' s oldest friend, to furnish materials for the biography ; and to these associates 
 of his early life does he attribute to a very large extent his literary bias and distinction ; and often refers to 
 the genial nature, delightful society, and firm friendship of his talented but ill-fated companion. 
 
 The public are so accustomed to regard Mr. Buckstone as an admirable comedian — they are so 
 engrossed with, and delighted by, the actor, that his great merits as a dramatic author are not so well 
 known and appreciated as they probably would be, had he never set his foot upon the stage the 
 world scarcely likes to admit that a man excels in more than one department of letters or art, and 
 Mr. Buckstone' s reputation as a dramatic author will shine with a brighter lustre when his exqusite 
 impersonations and joyous hilarity are missed from the theatre by those whom they have so long 
 delighted. Few, even among playgoers, are aware that he has written as many as about one hundred 
 and fifty comedies, dramas, and farces, a very large number of which have become standard plays, 
 and will remain so, long after the present generation have all passed away, and the mere ephemeral 
 literature of to-day is forgotten. 
 
 Among his early productions were LuJce, the Lahoiorer, in which the late Mr. Terry, as the 
 Labourer, and Mr. T. P. Cooke, as Philip, the sailor, displayed such rare excellence 5 after which 
 came John Street Adelphi, written to display the peculiarities of the late Erederick Yates ; The Wreck 
 Ashore follow^ed, and ran through two seasons, then came Victorine, and an adaptation from the 
 G-erman, entitled The King of the Alps ; these were rapidly succeeded by The Bake and his I^tipil 
 (a three-act comedy), The May Queen, Senriette the Forsaken, Isahelle, or Woman's Life, The Dream 
 at Sea, and other highly successful dramas. At this period the Adelphi was the most fashionable house 
 in London, and it was no unusual thing for all the places to be booked at the Box-ofiice a fortnight in 
 advance of the performances ; the admirable company then performing there (which included the names of 
 Terry, Yates, T. P. Cooke, John E-eeve, Buckstone, 0. Smith, Hemming, Mrs. Yates, Mrs. Eitzwilliam, and 
 Mrs. Honey,) were doubtless the chief cause of this high tide of popularity, but it is equally beyond doubt, 
 that the highly interesting dramas of Mr. Buckstone were a coeval attraction of almost equal power. 
 At this theatre he also produced his dramas of The Reading of the Will, a version of Thirty Years 
 of a Gambler'' s Life, Presumptive JEvidence, and. Poor Jack, besides farces and burlesques innumerable, 
 including The Lead Shot, Damon and Pythias, Billy Taylor, Crimson Crimes, or the Blood Stained 
 Bandit, in which the late John E-eeve appeared as a sanguinary captain of banditti, and O. Smith as 
 an interesting lover, serenading his mistress in a parody on " Oh listen to the voice of love," sung 
 and accompanied by himself on the flageolet. The Christening, Bad Business, or a Meeting of Managers, 
 The Lions of Mysore, and all the Christmas pantomimes produced at that house for nine years. 
 Previously to this he had produced many highly successful dramas which we have not space here 
 to enumerate. His early plays at the Haymarket Avere, The Happiest Doaj of my Life, A Husband 
 at Sight, John Jones, tfncle John, Second Thoughts, Married Life, Single Life, Love and Murder, 
 A Lesson for Ladies, The Scholar, Nicholas Plam, Rural Felicity, Weak Points, The Thimble Big, 
 and The Irish Lion, in which poor Power made a great hit in the character of the Tailor, Mrs. Eitz- 
 wdlliam admirably supporting him as the lion-hunting Mrs. Eizgig, and singing in an exquisite manner 
 a medley of the L4sh melodies. He has also recently produced there his three-act comedy of Lea]) 
 Year, or the Ladies'' Privilege, and the admirable comic dramas now continually being performed of 
 An Alarming Sacrifice, The Bough Diamiond, and Good for Nothing; and during the management of 
 Madam Celeste at the Adelphi, he has written two dramas which have equalled, if not surpassed, in 
 point of attraction, all his previous productions at that theatre. We need scarcely mention The 
 Green Bushes, and The Blowers of the Forest, to prove this assertion to any modern playgoer. We 
 have not enumerated one-half of the dramatic works of this interesting and industrious author; to 
 record them all would occupy more space than we can hei^e devote to the subject, 
 
8 
 
 MR. JOHN BALDWIlSr BFCKSTOlSrE. 
 
 It is but an act of justice to a very cleliglitful and liigbly interesting actress, to mention, that 
 Mr. Buckstone's earliest patron as a dramatic author was Mrs. Eitzwilliam. One of his first efforts, 
 entitled Curiosity Cured, was purchased bj that ladj at a period when he was altogether unkiaown to 
 fame, and the young author and comedian was still struggling in the twilight of obscurity. Mrs. Pitz- 
 william's judgment was equivalent to her kindness ; for the piece was afterwards performed at Sadler's 
 "Wells, the Adelphi, and I)rury Lane theatres with the greatest success. To that lady, also, was he 
 indebted for many acts of kindness and encouragement, which laid the foundation of his subsequent 
 progress in the public estimation, both as an actor and a dramatist. 
 
 As a comedian, Mr. Buckstone has been accused of being a mannerist, even by some of those who 
 readily acknowledge his excellence in all other respects. But admitting this, to some extent, to be the 
 case, we must not attribute too much value to the charge. The late Mr. James Kenney, the dramatist, 
 frequently asserted, that every comedian ought to be a mannerist, provided the manner was good and 
 original. Mr. Buckstone' s originality cannot be questioned : his style is essentially his own ; and 
 must be admitted, even by the most lachrymose critic, to be not only highly natural and truthful, but 
 overflowing with a native mirth and spontaneous humour which takes irresistible possession of his 
 audience, and makes the gravest smile, and the cheerful roar. Every original mind has always an 
 appearance of mannerism, acute critic is ever dec^ved as to the style of any distinguished 
 
 author or actor : mediocrity and insipidity alone is destitute of some peculiar idiosyncrasies to which 
 the hypercritic may apply the term mannerism. But if this mode of criticism, or rather cavilling, be 
 allowed to pass current, no distinguished actor that ever trod the stage shall escape its censure ; 
 for all have been mannerists ; and the greatest, the most so. 
 
 There is so small an amount of sameness in Mr. Backstone's representations, that it would be 
 very difficult to say in what line of characters he chiefly excels. We have seen him in a vast round 
 of parts, and always liked him best in that which he was then playing. What can be more opposite, 
 in every respect, than his representation of that awkward lout. Cousin Joe, in his own drama of The 
 Mough Diamond? and Mr. Creepmouse, the pompous army tailor, in Douglas Jerrold's comedy of 
 ^Retired from Business ? or Mr. Henry Dove, the footman, who had married his mistress, but could 
 never forget his early duties, and always jumped up from his chair to answer the bell, until admonished 
 by the severe glances of his oflended spouse P and the love-sick and sentimentally- drunken gentleman, 
 Mr. Sadgrove, in Parry's comedy of A Cure for Love ? Again, his manner in the delineation of the 
 grandiloquent John Duck, in Blanche's drama of The Jacohite, and that of the ancient constable, Yerges, 
 who is as honest as any man living, that is an old man, and no honester than he," may be truly 
 asserted to be " wide as the poles asunder." The same may be said of his portraiture of Mr. Aminadab 
 Sleek, the serious and selfish gentleman, who lifts up his voice against the pomps and vanities of the 
 world, and indulges in an occasional groan at the moral and spiritual destitution of his neighbours : 
 and the hilarious young heir to his uncle's property. Bob, in An Alarming Sacrifice: or what can be 
 more apart from each other in manner than the representations of his original characters, the ferocious 
 Mr. Box, in the famous farce of Box and Cox, and the timid Mr. Pinkey, the bashful bachelor, in his 
 own comedy of Single Life? Indeed, a very imperfect list of characters, made highly popular by Mr. 
 Buckstone, and utterly dissimilar in every feature, would lead us far beyond our limits. 
 
 In the standard plays so frequently performed at their legitimate home the Haymarket Theatre, 
 Mr. Buckstone is always the acknowledged Tony Lumpkin, Sir Andrew Aguecheek, Master Slender, 
 Touchstone, Mawworm, Frank Oatland, Scrub, Sim, and nearly all the low comedy characters of the 
 English drama. He has had the honour of appearing at the Court Theatricals at Windsor Castle, 
 where his performance of Box, and of Simon Box, in Jerrold's Hoitsehecper, were commanded, and 
 gave great satisfaction to the royal audience. 
 
 He is still in the enjoyment of a highly prosperous career, both as author and actor, and has, 
 perhaps, scarcely yet reached the meridian of his reputation ; for he has considerably added to his justly 
 earned fame by some of his very latest assumptions. During the vacations at the Haymarket Theatre, 
 he, in conjunction with Mrs. Pitzwilliam, usually make a provincial excursion; and, in the principal 
 cities of the north, they are the most attractive stars the managers can secure. 
 
 Mr. Buckstone is one of the most industrious men in the profession ; and, in addition to his duties 
 as actor and author, is master and treasurer of that thriving and popular institution, the Greneral 
 Theatrical Pund. He contemplates, should he live to retire from the stage, (which, we trust, he will not 
 do for very many years to come,) writing an autobiography, chiefly for the sake of presenting the public 
 with recollections of his distinguished contemporaries, and giving some account of the London theatres 
 since the year 1820, with descriptions of the performers, authors, poets, and critics with whom he has 
 been associated. 
 
 In private life, Mr. Buckstone enjoys the friendship and esteem of his familiars, and the respect 
 of every one. 
 
 H. T. 
 
MES. MO WATT. 
 
 Political contentions are a great fountain of injustice. It is a principle in strategy, that any 
 manoeuvre, however paltry, is allowable to win a battle, and in party warfare, any stigma that can 
 depreciate an opponent. Hence it is only very lately that America has begun to receive a fair estimate 
 from England. Admitting, as we were forced to do, her great material civilization, we have constantly 
 denied that she had any pretensions to refinement, had any sympathy with art or poetry, or any special 
 class they influenced. 'We have said this, though aware that it is more than fifty years ago she sent a 
 native painter to become the president of our Academy, though in sculpture :she claims the fame of a 
 Power and a Grreenhough, and in literature a host of names, from Eranldin down to Longfellow, which 
 have become as household words with us. 
 
 This injustice, however, is beginning to abate ; and among the means of its extinction, next of 
 course to increased intercourse, and the fraternal influences which must flow out of the great Industrial 
 Exposition, we class such evidence as is afforded by the subject of this memoir, who embodies in her own 
 person so many answers to these charges, A woman of cultivation, and no ordinary refinement, a poet 
 and an artist in a most difficult profession, her case would have much weight were it only allowed to be 
 exceptional ; but convinced, on the contrary, that it rather presents to us a type of a large section of 
 American society, we are proportionately gratified in acknowledging its significance. The story of 
 Mrs. Mo watt's life is highly eventful and affecting, and after detailing its leading features, we shall 
 proceed, as in other instances, to estimate her genius. ^ 
 
 Mrs. Mowatt is the daughter of Samuel G. Ogden, Esq;, a :merchant of 'New York, and of Eliza 
 Lewis, the grand- daughter of one of the signers of the fieciaration of Independence. Hence it will be 
 seen that even in origin she is not wanting in distinction. She was born at Bourdeaux during a visit to 
 that city, made by her parents we believe in the year 1824, though we are aware this is a point upon 
 which we have no right to be precise — the birth of heroines and ancient heroes being always 
 involved in mystery. She is one of a numerous family,, not less than twelve sisters and six brothers, 
 fourteen of whom are living ; and, certainly, if we are allowed to take her as a type of such a group, 
 we cannot but think that her parents deserve a medal from their country. It was in the bosom of this 
 circle that her innate dramatic faculty received its first excitement. Amongst her home amusements 
 was the performance of private plays, at the hands of her brothers and sisters, and her own dehut was at 
 the age of five, when, arrayed in wig and gown, she was placed in a high chair, as one of the " grave and 
 potent seignors," in the trial scene of Othello, On her parents' return to l^ew York, this taste for private 
 theatricals was not abandoned by her family ; and, though strange as the case may seem, that she never 
 entered a theatre till within a twelvemonth of her marriage, her dramatic faculty at home became so 
 conspicuous, that, she gvew to be both heroine and director of its amusements. Her's alone were the 
 tasks of adaptation and production, and it is easy to surmise the range of reading it must have led to, 
 and the sympathies it aroused. Of an ardent buoyant temperament, and an ideal cast of mind, we can 
 conceive her favourite authors, and first desires to embody them. 
 
 It was during this interval that Mr. James Mowatt, a barrister of New York, and a man in pros- 
 perous circumstances, became acquainted with her family, and a frequent visitor to her house ; and it 
 would seem that his first impression of the gay impulsive child was of a nature that soon ripened into a 
 sincere and deep attachment. His position and cultivation enabled him to interfere in, and direct her 
 course of study, and the services thus rendered, and the intimacy induced, could scarcely fail of awaking 
 a return of his own feelings. An engagement was the result, and in her fifteenth year she married him ; 
 a common age in America for the commencement of the term of womanhood. Eemoving to her 
 husband's residence in the neighbourhood of jSTew York, she was now surrounded with every luxury that 
 his affluence could command, and passed several happy years, not merely in social ease, but in the 
 enlargement of her artistic and intellectual pleasures. She applied to the study of various languages, as 
 well as of music and of painting, and received the best instruction that the New "World could afford. 
 And as it will be supposed that all this culture in the case of a creative faculty could not fail of some 
 result, its fruit was a poem in five cantos, published under a feigned name, which, however, was not so 
 fortunate as to conciliate the critics, and which, together with another one that encountered the same 
 fate, she was content to dismiss to the oblivion assigned to them. 
 
 Her health failing at this period, and showing symptoms of consumption, she was at once ordered 
 to travel, and accordingly visited Europe in company with her husband, and passed a winter and spring 
 in Paris ; where, whilst partaking of its gaieties, she had still the self-control to proceed with a course 
 of study ; and it was here that she sat down to her first effort for the stage. It was a play in five acts, 
 entitled Gulzara, or the Persian Slave, which, however, being intended in the first instance for private 
 representation, was necessarily restricted both in its action and expression. It was performed on her 
 return home by amateurs at her own residence, and its publication served to repay her for the fate of 
 her first poetic efforts. It was in verse, and pronounced to be of a high dramatic order. 
 
 During this period, Mr. Mowatt had been seized with an affection of the eyes, which compelled him 
 3 
 
10 
 
 MES. MOWATT. 
 
 to relinqnisli his profession, and soon after it was his misfortune to embark in some speciilations, which 
 proved signally disastrous. He lost nearly all his property, and at a moment when incapable of making 
 an effort to regain it. This blow to his young wife, reared and settled in the lap of affluence, may be easily 
 conceived. Por the first time in her life she was awoke to a sense of need, and to a necessity of labour ; 
 but a blow which, in the end, served to develop slumbering faculties, and to endow her with self-reliance, 
 must be regarded as a blessing, however harsh in its first infliction. Mrs. Mowatt proved immediately 
 her claim to her lost fortunes, by the energy and talent with which she resolved upon regaining them. 
 Having often been called upon in private to give poetic recitations, her success on such occasions now 
 suggested a resource to her— she resolved to ofier them to the public in the shape of dramatic readings, 
 and for the scene of her debui, she wisely resolved on Eoston, as the sphere of a more literary and culti- 
 vated public. This experiment, as it deserved to be, proved triumphantly successful, its talent not requiring 
 the support of its necessity. It was repeated at New York, Philadelphia, and other cities, with scarcely 
 less advantage. The effort, however, was arduous, and so overtasked her strength, as to result in an 
 illness, that she was not free from for some years. 
 
 Mrs. Mowatt now exhibited a new phase in her career. Her husband partly regaining his health, 
 had embarked in business as a publisher, and it was obvious that she had talents that could materially 
 assist him. He proposed a series of works, both original and adapted, and in respect to their production, 
 she had proved that her own powers were almost as various as his scheme. Her ready acquiescence, 
 notwithstanding her weak health, and resolve, by every effort, to re-establish his broken fortunes, was 
 another instance of her devotion, and disregard of self, not less honourable to her heart, than the genius 
 it inspired. She accordingly set to work, and in a short space of time poured forth every variety of con- 
 tribation he required ; — sketches, tales and poetry, domestic guide books, and translations from lives of 
 Groethe and Madame D'Arblay, down to books on crqchet-work and knitting ; from Grerman criticism and 
 fiction down to etiquette and cookery ; from the poetic to the practical ; from the antique down to the 
 daily ; her pen ran the round of a publisher's demands, and yielded various results, that were both 
 popular and profitable. These efforts were not concluded without her rising in self-defence into original 
 compositions, and accordingly, she now produced her first novel, under the title of The Forttme Hunter, 
 which was given to the world as the work of Mrs. Helen Berkley . This tale was very successful, and 
 circulated largely, and was followed by another, entitled 'Evelyn, which was even more remunerative, both 
 in fame and receipt, ten thousand copies being sold of its first edition only. 
 
 Sad to say, all these exertions, successful as they were, and tasking as they did her mind and spirit 
 to the utmost, were still unequal to their end. Her husband's speculation failed, and swept off, in its 
 ruin, the last remnant of his property ; whilst to complete his prostration, his malady returned, and again 
 rendered him incapable of repairing his misfortunes. Thus another, and stronger call was made on the 
 powers of his best friend ; again was she required, by her own unaided efibrts, to rescue both from desti- 
 tution, and the spirit with which she responded, fully merited the success that at length permanently 
 repaid her. Mrs. Mowatt was now about to pass into a new sphere, to complete the circle of her 
 capacity, by illustrating an art which as she was naturally formed for, all her previous experience had most 
 likely served but to develop. Mrs. Mowatt became an actress ; the heroine of refined comedy, and of 1 
 young and romantic passion. 
 
 Having produced a new work for the stage, entitled fashion, which had met with the best fortune, 
 she was induced, three months afterwards, to try the experiment of her personal powers ; and accordingly 
 made her dehut in July, 1845, in that great favourite of modern audiences— the dreamy and capricious, 
 but sore-tried and true Pauline— a character, perhaps, for whose grace, romance, and passion, she was 
 more highly qualified than any representative it has ever had, save Helen Paucit. JSTeed we say that her 
 success was instantaneous and complete, and her future pursuit and fortunes were decided from that 
 hour. Proiii Pauline she rose into the grander heroines of Shakspere, followed by those of Knowles and 
 Sheridan ; and, at every new embodiment, confirmed her first impression. After completing a most 
 profitable engagement at ISTew York, she made a tour of the Union, and received, in every city, the most 
 flattering recognition of the verdict that had been pronounced on her. It was on her return to ISTew 
 York, and when about to proceed on a second circuit of the States, that she witnessed the acting of 
 Mr. Davenport, and seeing it was of a character that harmonized greatly with her own, she induced her 
 husband to make him an offer to accompany her on her tour, and sustain the heroes of her repertoire, in 
 order to avoid the impaired eflect and fatal incongruity which she had so often been exposed to in her 
 professional associates. The policy of this engagement will be felt at once by any person who has ever 
 witnessed her performances ; their grace and delicacy being obviously at the mercy of any actor who chose 
 to encounter them with either violence or coarseness. This arrangement, as we have said elsewhere, was 
 productive of mutual benefit ; and at length Mrs. Mowatt, in common with ail Americans of any superior 
 power, felt the ambition to visit England, and court the verdict of its first tribunal ; and as Mr. Daven- 
 port partook her feeling, that course was resolved on. Previously, however, to her departure, she found 
 time to make her last and best contribution to the drama, in the charming play of Armand, which was 
 produced at IS^ew York in September, 1847, and met with a success equally signal and deserved. Into 
 the merits of this production we have not space to enter ; so must content ourselves with saying, that 
 both in the conception of the heroine, and in the general treatment of the subject, she has evinced a 
 dramatic and poetic capability that warrants us in believing her greatest triumphs are to come. 
 
11 
 
 Iler subsequent career has been told in that of Mr. Davenport. She made her dehut with him at 
 Manchester, on reaching the English shores, and afterwards in London, at the Princess's Theatre, in the 
 character of J" ulia, in The Hunchback; and it is needless to repeat the immediate and decisive impression 
 she produced. Erom thence she passed to the Olympic Theatre, under the management of Mr. Spicer ; 
 and from thence to the Marylebone Theatre, where, in conjunction with Mr. Davenport, she became the 
 sole attraction, during a season of great prosperity. She here appeared in some new characters, which 
 did not abate from her reputation, and produced her play of Amand, which considerably enlarged it. 
 She now added a creative, to her sympathetic claims, and gave to her powers an appropriate and graceful 
 culmination. She next proceeded to the I^ew Olympic Theatre, in conjunction with Mr. Davenport, 
 where she became the heroine of several new plays, the Ariadne of Corneille, translated by Mr. Oxenford, 
 being one of her most important, when a severe attack of illness, succeeding the closing of the theatre, 
 compelled her for a considerable period to leave the stage. 
 
 Such is this lady's history; and we regret that our space limits us in endeavouring to estimate 
 her claims. Mrs. Mowatt, like Mr, Davenport, has a serio-comic genius ; but we think, upon the whole, 
 more inclining to the latter. I^ature has not adapted her for the higher walks of tragedy, nor even that ;> 
 of its youthful heroines, in denying her the force which their due expression calls for. She wants 
 strength for Juliet's passion, or even Julia's, in The JEEundibacJc ; nor is her face of that marked 
 character that could atone for this defect, by affording a reflex of the mind, whereon the throes and 
 changes of a great passion could be pictured. It is essentially bright and cheerful^made up of 
 rounded outlines, and gay, laughter-loving features, that, when forced into gloom or passion, become 
 more painful than expressive. Thus, whilst she has a tenderness and pathos that render her Imogen and 
 Yiola scarcely equalled in our memory, there is such an entire adaptation of her whole person, look, 
 and spirit, to the blander sphere of comedy, that we cannot but feel it is her true one. It is marked 
 by an enjoyment that shows at once it is most natural to her, however^her tears and gentleness may 
 charm us to the contrary. But her comedy has its distinction— we thirLk it peculiarly Shaksperian, 
 owing to that thrill of poetic feeling which winds through all its passages. That mixed exposition 
 of the ideal and the true, which stamps all Shakspere's writings as the -profoundest insight into man, 
 receives the happiest illustration in the genius of Mrs. Mowatt. Sensibility and mirth are ever 
 neighbours to each other : aiid our fair artist well interprets what our best poet has so well 
 divined. In the comedy of modern life she has unquestionable merit ; but if it impress us the less 
 forcibly, it is on account of its lower grade, which limits her expression. It is in Beatrice and Bosa- 
 iind that she must be witnessed, to be estimated — equalled by some in artj and. surpassed in force by 
 many, she alone has that poetic fervour which imparts to thein their truth^ and makes our laughter 
 ever ready to tremble into tears. B. B. 
 
 ME. DAYENPOET, 
 
 We have referred at length elsewhere to the causes that have. retarded dramatic art in America.* The 
 use of the English tongue, and the possession in . its literature of the grandest models of composition ; and 
 a delay in the art of acting may be assigned to the like obstacles, to the influx of English actors, the 
 great favourites of their capital, who at once became their standards in their several fields of exposition. 
 It was thus against no little prejudice, both English and American, that native genius had to struggle in 
 the persons of Forest and Miss Gushman, of Hackett and Placide, of Mrs, Mowatt and Mr. Davenport, 
 and it was with an ardour highly honourable, that not content with nativB homage, they each resolved 
 upon encountering the higher test of a London public, and winning the gold mark of the capital of the 
 Anglo-Saxon mind. 
 
 Among all the artists mentioned who partook this just ambition, and achieved its best results, none 
 were tested more severely than the subject of this memoir, whose life we shall now briefly sketch, and 
 then proceed to an analysis of his claims to public favour. 
 
 Mr, Davenport was born at Boston, the modern Athens of America, in 1816, and can boast of 
 being descended from a true JTew England stock. His father was engaged in commerce, the chief 
 employment of the north, and according to old usage, destined his son to follow his steps. But unluckily 
 for him, that son was destined to illustrate another old example, that of an inherent faculty begetting 
 a craving for its enjoyment. Already the boy at school had felt the stirrings of the actor — had plunged 
 oceans deep in Shakspere — had had dreams of his embodiment — had seen the benches of the school-room 
 stretch into those of a shouting theatre, his lesson become a character, and his pedagogue an audience. 
 Beautiful illusion, from which we must surmise that he was now and then awoke by the criticism of a 
 cow skin. 
 
 * See " Early Days of the American Stage," in Tallis's Dramatic 3Iagazine. 
 
12 ME. DAYENPOET. 
 
 In America; where labour has been hitherto so vaUiable, a youith enters the world betimes, and 
 accordingly Mr. Davenport was made to fulfil his father's wishes soon after he left school. He was 
 placed in a commercial house in Boston, and sentenced to learn the mysteries of invoices and ledgers. 
 Of course this delay served only to augment his passion. In its hopes he found his solace, and most 
 likely his great enjoyment in secret visits to the theatre. However, he was dutiful, and adhered to his 
 pursuit for the space of several years, when deliverance at length came to him in rather an unexpected 
 form — the panic. This sad event, which threw so many thousands into prison, took him, as he felt, out 
 of one. The house failed that he was engaged in ; he was of age, and he was free. " It is an ill wind," 
 says the proverb, " which to nobody blows good," and ruin whom it might, this crisis favoured him. He 
 now resolved that his next "engagement" should be entered into with a manager; that his future 
 "call" should be to rehearsal, and the only "bills" he would look over, should be those of the per- 
 formance. Alas for the second panic — about to ruffle the paternal hearthrug. 
 
 His wishes were soon gratified — a friend had taken the theatre at Providence, Ehode Island, and 
 there he was enabled to make his dehut in the character of Welborn, in A New Way to Fay Old Debts, 
 the Sir Griles Overreach of the evening being Mr. Lucius Junius Booth. His success was so decided 
 that he obtained at once a round of characters adapted to his youth and energy, and from thence he 
 passed to better theatres at Boston and Philadelphia, where he at length acquired experience, and the 
 art of stage expression, and rose from the mere tyro into the various and efficient actor. It was when 
 he had gained this position in the Bowery Theatre, in New York, under the management of Mr. 
 Hamblin, that Mr. Davenport attained to the turning point of his career, in encountering Mrs. Mowatt, 
 then of established popularity, who induced her husband to make him an offer to accompany her pro- 
 fessionally through the various cities of the Union, and ultimately to England. This arrangement was 
 a source of mutual profit and distinction, and in JSTovember, 1847, they made their bow to a British 
 public at the Theatre Eoyal, Manchester, in the play of Tlie Lady of Lyons, and produced an impression 
 which led to their immediate and successful visit to the metropolis. The manager of the Princess's 
 Theatre was induced to offer them an engagement, and they sought the verdict of the great tribunal in 
 Knowles's masterpiece, TJie Sunchhach, when, it scarcely need be added, that their success was as 
 decisive as it was in every way deserved. 
 
 Such is the simple story of Mr. Davenport's career. His subsequent fortunes are weU known to 
 the public. His support of the Marylebone Theatre, in conjunction with Mrs. Mowatt, and afterwards 
 of the New Olympic up to the period of its close, during which intervals he sustained, with increasing 
 reputation, not only his usual round of characters, ranging from lago to Long Tom Coffin, and "Wil drake 
 to Yirginius, but several originals in new plays, such as Mr. Spicer's Lords of Ellingham, and Mrs. 
 Mowatt' s play of Armand, until at length he completed both his experience and success by sustaining, 
 as we have already said, a very formidable ordeal. He was engaged by Mr. "Webster to play with Mr. 
 Macready during the farewell performances of that last of great tragedians ; and if the fact is undeniable, 
 that at the time when public sympathy was converged on its departing favourite, and every last per- 
 formance proved that he was departing in his prime — no lack of thought or fire, of force, physical or 
 mental, being apparent in his efforts — if we say it is undeniable that Mr. Davenport was able to main- 
 tain his ground beside him, and even on occasions to divide the impressions of the night, we presume we 
 have said enough in attestation of his merits. 
 
 "We will now briefly give our estimate of his claims to public favour. If Mr. Eorest and 
 Mr. Hackett, have been recognised as the tragedian and comedian of America, Mr. Davenport stands 
 between them, partaking the powers of both, if not to the extent of either. His is the tragi-comic 
 genius, which holds the same place on the stage, that the romantic play does in the drama- — that mixture 
 of humour and passion which has always been a compound most agreeable to English feelings. That 
 more plastic class of faculty which makes some sacrifice of depth, in order to increase its range of surface, 
 and which passes with equal truth from a Benedick to a Eomeo, and a Jaffier to a Eaulconbridge, has been 
 illustrated in our own time by the genius of Charles Kemble, and will soon have no exponent so accom- 
 plished as Mr. Davenport. Thus we see his great distinction — an extraordinary versatility, in which he 
 has no rival, with the sole exception of James Wallack, and for which his physical endowments are quite 
 commensurate with his mental. Nature has been most liberal in her outfit of this gentleman, and his 
 taste and artistic feeling show his sense of the obligation. He has an open, well-marked countenance, 
 expressive eyes, and pliant brows — a voice that is clear and flexible, and a well-formed, manly person. 
 "We shall now notice his defects, which we do with the more willingness, since they are so easily removed. 
 His acting is at present characterized more by vigour than refinement — by attention to the leading 
 features, than the general treatment of a character ; and thus is wanting in repose, and in those finer 
 shades of feeling, which constitute not only so much of truth, but of efiect. This is the case with all 
 young actors, whose first aim is to succeed, and whose evidence of success must be the applause that 
 they elicit. But success being obtained, the point is, how to make ifc permanent. Mr. Davenport is in 
 a position to solve this question without fear. Let him rely more upon his art and his own indisputable 
 resources, in giving completeness to conception, rather than special force or colouring, and he will rise, 
 we feel assured, to a height in his profession which will place him among the truest and most lasting of 
 its ornaments, B. B. 
 
JOHN TATJJS &. Cai£PAHY. LOBDOIT 
 
ME, WILLIAM CEESWICK. 
 
 LoNDOiT is the birthplace of this gentleman, and on the 27th of December, 1818, he made his first 
 appearance on the great stage of life. After a liberal education had been bestowed upon him, he was 
 received hj his father into his own counting-house, and designed for mercantile pursuits, but an early 
 passion for the stage had taken complete possession of him, and to a dramatic aspirant the unromantic 
 avocations of business possessed but little attraction; and > although his duties were not entirely 
 neglected during the day, still his evenings were devoted to the study of his favourite dramatic authors, 
 and to private performances. 
 
 An actor, in his eyes, was a being of a superior order, almost a demigod, and a theatre a sacred 
 place, whose mysteries were alone unveiled to the gifted and favoured few. When a boy, recognising 
 Mr. Charles Kemble in the street, he was not content with simply running, after him, but he reverently 
 placed his feet in the prints made by the. footsteps of the great actor. This trifiing anecdote of itself 
 proves Mr. Creswick's early devotion and enthusiasm for the. histrionic art, and adds one more instance 
 to the many that the child is but the father of the man, and that our tastes and ambitions are implanted 
 within us from the beginning. 
 
 When Mr. Greswick had reached his seventeenth year his father died, the family party in some 
 measure broke up, and our young aspirant at once, without having one theatrical friend or acquaintance, 
 entered into his darling profession, by obtg,ining. an engagement with Mr. Amherst,. then manager of the 
 East London Theatre, where he made his bow in 1831 as Erederick, m. Lovers' Vows, Miss Eanny 
 Clifton, now the celebrated Mrs. Stirling, playing Amelia Wilderheim. Eut he soon felt that this was 
 not the best school for a young actor ; he was aware that he had much both to learn and to unlearn, and 
 therefore wisely determined to commence at the foot of the ladder^ and to win his way gradually to dis- 
 tinction. With this; view he joined a small company in Suffolk, and .remained with it for nearly two 
 years, working untiringly and willingly through all the drudgery of the profession, : a labour which is 
 absolutely necessary for every young aspirant, as there is no royal road to professional distinction. 
 
 Erom Suffolk Mr. Creswick went into Kent, where he also remained two years, and ran through a 
 long list of secondary and leading characters, and during the latter part of this engagement he played 
 with that charming actress Mrs. Msbett, whose 'good opinion and favour he was fortunate enough to 
 obtain; and at v^hose request he, six months afterwards, accepted a short engagement at the Queen's 
 Theatre, then under her management, and distinguished himself in Mr. . Douglas Jerrold's play of 
 The Sehoolfellow. 
 
 Again turning his , attention to. our provincial towns, he visited Oxford, Eyde, and Eeading, and in 
 the last mentioned place he first came fairly and prominently before the public .by performing Ion in 
 Judge Talfourd's tragedy with such power and effect as to elicit, hot only the passing applause of the 
 evening, but numerous letters of encouragement and congratulation from those who had witnessed his 
 performance; amongst which was one trom Miss Mitford^ who expressed herself in the most flattering 
 terms. I^or was this letter a solitary one, that delightful authoress continuing to address. him, offering 
 judicious remarks upon his acting, and giving him every hope that his future career w6uld.be a brilliant 
 one. It was at this period that he felt for the first time an ambitious hope for the future, and that hope 
 was strengthened considerably when, on the judges being at Oxford, Ion was the play bespoken. Sir 
 Thomas, then Serjeant Talfotird, was present at the representation, and was so greatly pleased with 
 the young tragedian's delineation of the character, that he immediately sought his acquaintance, which 
 has since ripened into friendship, and Mr. Creswick is still a frequent and welcome .guest at the house of 
 the liberal and learned judge. 
 
 In 1837 Mr.' Creswick appeared at Tork, and performed for the first time Hamlet, Macbeth, 
 Eichard III', Brutus, Coriolanus, , and other great great masterpieces of our national poet; every- 
 where he was heartily welcomed, Applauded, and appreciated ; and the critiques^ upon his performances 
 were of the most gratifying and eulogistic nature. : - 
 
 In 1839 Mr. Creswick w^as married to Miss Paget, of the Olympic Theatre, a talented actress, and 
 a highly accomplished ladyj and in the same year he performed the passionate, and romantic Erench 
 peasant, Claude Melnotte, to Mrs. Nisbett's Pauline ; he thus entered the field with the most distin- 
 guished and popular tragedians of the age, and the comparisons he elicited were by no means to his 
 disadvantage. He also added greatly to his reputation by his assumption of J oseph Surface (one of his 
 most finished performances), Eomeo, Young Dornton, Eob Eoy, Benedick, and Eichelieu : this last 
 character was perhaps the most able ; his conception of the character of the crafty cardinal is purely 
 original, and his delineation powerful and graphic ; stern and dignified, yet at times playful, he makes 
 Eichelieu the lion as well as the fox. 
 
 Up to this period he had been rising rapidly in public estimation ; he had studied hard; he loved, 
 and was in earnest with his art, and probably no actor ever enjoyed a more widely spread provincial 
 fame. 
 
 A tempting offer at length brought him to London, and in 1839, he appeared at the Lyceum 
 Theatre, then under the management of Mr. Penley ; great expectations of his metropolitan distinction 
 4 
 
14 ME. WILLIAM CEESWICK. 
 
 were entertained by Ms admirers, but unfortunatelj tlie theatre closed witliin a week, and these expec- 
 tations were, for a time at least, overthrown. The dramatic world was, at this period, in an exceedingly 
 depressed condition — Covent- Garden was without a tenant, and Drury-lane was devoted to musical 
 entertainments ; Mr. Creswick, therefore, followed the example of many of his brother actors, and 
 departed for America, trusting for a better day when he should return. 
 
 In the States he was everywhere received with enthusiasm; and, after a sojourn of three years 
 amongst our transatlantic neighbours, he returned home with brighter laurels, and a reputation attested 
 by the concurrent eulogies of two great nations. He recommenced his histrionic career in his own 
 country at ]N"ewcastle, and delighted his audiences by his personations of Hamlefc, Macbeth, Othello, 
 ShylQck, Sir Giles Overreach, Claude Melnotte, Eob Eoy, Lear, and King John. Of these varied 
 assumptions, his Hamlet, Othello, and Macbeth were most admired. 
 
 From ]Srewcastle, Mr. Creswick went to Birmingham and Liverpool, appearing, with Miss Taucit, in 
 BicTielieu, The Lady of Lyons, and the leading Shaksperian characters, and then proceeded to Dublin, as 
 a star, playing Spinola, in the tragedy of Nina Sforza; Mordaunt, in The Fatrieian's Daughter; also 
 Shylock, Jaques, Othello, and Hamlet. His career in Dublin was honoured by universal and vehement 
 applause, and he won "golden opinions" of all who saw him; and when he returned to Liverpool, to 
 perform with Mr. Macready, he frequently divided the approbation of the house with that great actor, in 
 Cassius, Macduif, and Edgar. In 1846, he performed Mordaunt, to Miss Eaucit's Lady Mabel, and was 
 greatly admired ; while his Master "Walter, in The Hunchhach, was considered the most perfect on the 
 stage. This is a difficult and peculiar part to portray, and not usually a favourite one with most 
 tragedians ; and Mr. Creswick's delineation of it is marked by great originality, and many expressive and 
 highly characteristic features. In the latter part of the same year, he entered into an engagement with 
 Messrs. Phelps and Greenwood, at Sadler's Wells Theatre, to play leading parts ; but during the six 
 months that he remained there, he appeared only in seven characters, namely — Hotspur, Eomeo, Master 
 Walter, Pierre, Ion, Pythius, and Cassius ; and as it appeared that he would not be brought more 
 prominently forward, he left that establishment, and again departed for the provinces, from whence he 
 was summoned to appear, with Mrs. Butler, at the Princess's Theatre, on her return to the stage, and 
 aided the effect of that lady's intellectual personifications by his performances of Beverley, Master 
 Walter, St. Pierre, and the Stranger. 
 
 The following season, he concluded an engagement, for three years, for the Haymarket ; but finding 
 himself in the disagreeable predicament of being quietly shelved, he cancelled his engagement with 
 Mr. Webster, and, quitting the Haymarket, immediately entered into partnership with Mr. Shepherd, 
 the lessee of the Surrey Theatre, and, in conjunction with that gentleman, undertook to give a refining 
 and improving tone to the general entertainments, and a taste for the classical drama in that locality. 
 He entered upon his mew and arduous duties with great energy and earnestness, and with a spirit not to 
 be deterred by any surmountable obstacles, and a determination to educate the supporters of that theatre 
 to a perfect appreciation of the most intellectual and exalted of the tragedies not only of our illustrious 
 dead, but also of our living poets. 
 
 He has been censured for not pursuing that object with an undivided attention ; but it should be 
 remembered, that the locality is not the most favourable for the hazardous task he has undertaken ; that 
 just and iatellectual taste is not a plant which is sown at night, and springs up in the morning ; and 
 that since his connection with the management of the Surrey, he has produced Othello, Macheth, Samlet, 
 Julius GcGsar, Lear, Coriolamis, Money, Hichelieu, The Fatal Dowry, The Bridal, and other kindred 
 works, in a manner fitting for such brilliant emanations of genius ; and that he has shown every desire 
 to bring the modern dramatists before the^public, having produced Marston's play of Trevanion, Chorley's 
 Old Love and New Fortune, and Waltheof, a tragedy, by a young and unknown author, besides others 
 of considerable merit. 
 
 The great characteristics of Mr. Creswick' s acting are an earnestness, and a clear, manly delineation 
 of character, attending but little to the time-worn readings of the stage — indeed, altogether regardless 
 of its traditions and conventionalities, he aims at what should be, rather than enquires what has been ; 
 and thus, in many points of conception and execution, he differs both from his contemporaries and his 
 predecessors. He is not a mere reader or declaimer, but studies deeply and earnestly, and gives to every 
 character he represents the impress of individuality ; and as he is guided by a clear understanding, gifted 
 with a delicate and ready perception of poetical beauty, and possessed by nature of a sympathy for the 
 bard he illustrates, his conceptions are worthy of sedulous attention, although they may differ from those 
 that have been received as nearly allied to perfection. 
 
 Genius is creative ; it loves to be untrammelled, and to labour in freedom, governed only by such 
 rules as are based on nature — " those rules of old, discovered, not devised ;" and this freedom of action, 
 and disregard of customs, for which no just reason can be given, is the surest evidence of power, and 
 should be so esteemed and encouraged. 
 
 Mr. Creswick' s voice is powerful and flexible ; he is rather above the average height ; his eye is full 
 of meaning, and capable of great expression; his person dignified; and his action and deportment 
 graceful. In private life, he is esteemed and respected by all who have the pleasure of associating with 
 him ; and few men enjoy more happiness in their domestic circles. 
 
 H. T. 
 
MR. lEA ALDEIDGE. 
 
 This gentleitian, popularly known as the Afriean JRioscius, is a veritable negro ; and we believe the only 
 member of his race who ever adopted the stage as a profession. His ancestors were princes of the 
 Pulah tribe, whose dominions were Senegal, on the banks of the river of that name, on the west coast of 
 Africa. His grandfather appears to have been more enlightened than his subjects, for he proposed that 
 prisoners taken in war should.be exchanged, and not, as was the 'custom, sold for slaves; this humane 
 desire, as it interfered with, the perquisites of his chiefs, caused a revolt among them, in which the 
 prince, together with his family, attendants, and. connections, were savagely butchered. 
 
 One son only, then a boy, escaped this massacre ; and, in conjunction with a missionary who had 
 found his way to that rude and inhospitable tribe, .fled to America. Here he was educated as a minister 
 of the gospel, and was ^ generally regarded as a man of remarkable talent. Desirous of establishing 
 himself at the head of his tribe, and also of propagating; amongst them the religion he had embraced, he 
 returned' to his native land, taking with him a young wife of his own colour, whom he had married in 
 America. The result pf .his arrival in his own country was a civil war, in which his adherents were 
 defeated, and he himself compelled to fly for his life. At this period Mr. Ira Aldridge was born, and 
 until he was nine years old lived concealed with his parents in the neighbourhood of their foes, enduring 
 every variety of . hardship and vicissitudes. On the termination of this period of trial, the fugitive family 
 found means to escape to America, where the father resumed his sacred functions as a minister of religion. 
 He died at JN'ew Tprk^ greatly regretted by his coloured brethren, on the 27th of September, 1840. 
 
 The subject of the present memoir was intended by his fathei' for the church, but this was not to 
 be ; his first visit to a theatre so dazzled and fascinated him that he resolved, at all hazards, to adopt the 
 stage as his profession and means of life. Having studied the part of JRolla, in the play of JPizarro, he 
 made his appearance in that character at a private theatre, where all his fellow performers were of his 
 own sable complexion, and wore, as Shakspere eloquently expresses it,--- 
 
 " The shadowed livery of tHe burnished sun.'' 
 
 The success he met in this boyish performance confirmed his histrionic desires. Having in some trivial 
 capacity obtained the entree behind the scenes of the Chatham Theatre, Kew York, he hung nightly 
 about the " wings," and listened with delight to the various performers ; whom he trusted, at some future 
 time, to rival in the intellectual and intoxicating art which he so passionately loved. 
 
 But an abrupt termination was put to these evening pleasures ; through the interest of Bishops 
 Brenton and Milner, he was entered at Schenectady College, near New York, in order to prepare him- 
 self for the ministry ; and here for a time he devoted himself to theological studies. He was eventually 
 sent to Britain, and entered at the Griasgow University, where, under Professor Sandford, he obtained 
 several premiums, and the medal for Latin composition. 
 
 After remaining there for about eighteen months, he abandoned his scholastic labours, and came to 
 London, where, after great exertions, he obtained an appearance, in the year 1826, at the Hoyalty, an 
 east-end theatre, now no longer standing. Othello was his opening character in this locality, where he 
 was highly successful, and from which he went to the Cobourg, then a theatre of higher pretensions than 
 at present, and performed Oroonoko, Grambia, Zarambo, &c., with great applause. 
 
 One evening, after representing Grambia, in The Sl(we, Mr. Aldridge was invited by a friend to a 
 private box, to receive the congratulations of a party who had witnessed his performance ; among the 
 company was a young lady, who appeared to have entertained something more than an admiration for 
 the dark actor, who stood alone in a land of strangers. She saw his " visage in his mind," and within a 
 brief period from that accidental introduction entered into a matrimonial alliance with him. 
 
 Mr. Aldridge's next engagement was at the Sadler's Wells Theatre, where he performed several 
 leading characters, and then left that establishment for the Olympic. 
 
 He now determined to withdraw into the country, and there go through that course of study and 
 practice which he very justly deemed essential to the acquirement of a sound metropolitan reputation. 
 He therefore entered on a provincial tour, and acted in succession at Brighton, Chichester, Leicester, 
 Liverpool, Manchester, Griasgow, Edinburgh, Exeter, &c. ; in every town he visited, his reception was 
 extremely flattering, and his reputation as a rising tragedian at last reached the capital. 
 
 Eor a length of time he had been unable to obtain an engagement at Dublin, the manager could 
 not be induced by letter to accept the services of a man of colour. Mr. Aldridge, therefore, went there 
 at his own expense, and had an interview with Mr. Calcraft, which terminated in an engagement for a 
 limited period. Here he appeared as Othello, and created a great sensation ; the inhabitants of Dublin 
 were surprised and delighted, and the newspapers spoke in the highest terms of his great and remarkable 
 talent. He subsequently ran through his list of favourite characters, viz., Zanga, BoUa, Grambiaj 
 Alhambra, Mungo, &c., in all of which he added to his rapidly increasing reputation. 
 
 During this period, Edmund Kean came to Dublm, and (having seen Mr. Aldridge play) with 
 that good nature w^hich was so conspicuous a part of his character, gave him a letter of recommendation 
 
16 ME. lEA ALDEIDQE. 
 
 to the manager of the Bath Theatre, couched in verj complimentary terms. At Belfast, Mr. Charles 
 Kean played lago to his Othello ; and he Aboan, to that gentleman's Oroonoko. The testimonials and 
 letters of congratulation which he receiyed at this period would, of themselves, form a small volume ; 
 and among those who complimented and encouraged the " only actor of colour upon the stage," was 
 the distinguished dramatist, Mr. Sheridan Knowles. 
 
 About this period a report was spread of his death : a paragraph went the round of the papers, 
 stating, that while returning in his carriage from the seat of Colonel Powell, when within half-a-mile 
 of Llandillo, one of the horses took fright at the blaze of light from the iron-works, while on the very 
 brink of a precipice, over which the carriage swerved with its inmate, dragging down the horses and 
 postilion. The footman, it was said, was providentially saved, as he was in the act of alighting to 
 seize the horses' heads, when the carriage was precipitated over the cliff. The account, which was 
 exceedingly circumstantial, and for this reason obtained general credit, concluded by stating that Mr. 
 Aldridge, the postilion, and horses, were killed on the spot, and the carriage dashed to pieces. This 
 story, if circulated by some illiberal opponent of Mr. Aldridge, as it was supposed to be, failed of its 
 effect, for when the public became aware that it was a forgery, and that the African tragedian was 
 still living, they went even in greater numbers to witness his performances. 
 
 After the fulfilment of several other provincial engagements, Mr. Aldridge received an offer from 
 Mr. Laporte, at that time the lessee both of the Italian Opera House and of Covent- Garden Theatre. 
 This he readily accepted, and made his appearance at the latter house on the 10th of April, 
 1833, in his favourite character of Othello. One of the morning papers spoke thus of his per- 
 formance :— " We Sit once gladly express our unqualified delight at his delineation of this masterpiece 
 of the divine Shakspere. To attempt a minute description would be as superfluous as diffi.cult : he 
 succeeded in deeply afiecting the feelings of his audience ; and the representation all through was 
 watched with an intense stillness, almost approaching to awe." At the fall of the curtain, he was 
 vociferously called for, and enthusiastically applauded ; indeed, nothing could have been more complete 
 than his success. But there were circumstances against him: a portion of the public press were 
 inimical to his dramatic pretensions, and met him — not with candid criticism, to which, however severe, 
 no aspirant to histrionic fame can justly object — ^but with levity and ridicule — a kind of attack no one 
 can refute, and which, though its effects are often fatally injurious both to interest and reputation, it 
 has almost passed into a proverb that it is idle to resent. The legitimate drama was in an unusually 
 depressed condition. Mr. Laporte, the lessee, became bankrupt, the theatre closed, and the company 
 seceded to the Olympic. 
 
 He then played for a few evenings at the Surrey Theatre, and left the metropolis, to wait 
 patiently a more favourable opportunity for an appearance in the great city. Though he had not met 
 with the success which he both expected and deserved, still he had stood the test of a London audi- 
 ence, and had not failed ; and his reputation and value were enhanced among country managers. 
 
 While performing at Manchester, in 1834, he received a highly complimentary note from that 
 gifted and ill-fated vocalist. Madam Malibran, who stated, that never, in the course of her professional 
 career, had she witnessed a more interesting and powerful performance. A similar compliment was 
 paid to him by Lady "Wrixon Beecher, late Miss O'Neill, who said — " During my professional, as well 
 as private life, I never saw so correct a portraiture of Othello amidst the principal luminaries of 
 my day." 
 
 In 1848, he accepted another engagement at the Surrey, and made his appearance there in the 
 character of Zanga. IJpon this occasion, the press was unanimous in its expression of unqualified 
 approbation ; encomiums of the loftiest character were lavishly bestowed upon him ; and his engage- 
 ment terminated with an offer to renew it: but it is on the Middlesex side of the river that he is 
 desirous of again submitting himself to the judgment of the London playgoers ; and we trust that, 
 at no distant period, his wish will be gratified. 
 
 As both a tragic and a comic actor, Mr. Aldridge' s talents are undeniable : he possesses every 
 mental and physical requisite for both walks of the profession. In tragedy, he has a solemn intensity 
 of style, bursting occasionally into a blaze of fierce invective, or passionate declamation ; while the dark 
 shades of his face become doubly sombre in their thoughtful aspect : a night-like gloom is spread over 
 them, and an expression more terrible than paler lineaments can readily assume. In farce, he is 
 exceedingly amusing — the ebony becomes polished — the coal emits sparks. His face is the faithful 
 index of his mind; and as there is not a darker frown than his, there is not a broader grin. The 
 ecstasy of his long, shrill note, in " Oppossum up a gum-tree," can only be equalled by the agony of 
 his cry of despair over the body of Desdemona. 
 
 A fugitive from his father-land, and an enthusiastic follower of an elegant and refining art, the 
 African tragedian has made this country the land of his adoption ; and we sincerely trust that no 
 ungenerous prejudice against his colour or his race may be permitted to interfere with his professional 
 progress, or to rob him of one leaf of that histrionic laurel which, we believe, he is destiued to enjoy. 
 G-enius is not confined to any one race or country : it is of all complexions and of all climes ; and its 
 mission is uniformly beneficial or elevating to humanity. Be its recipient white or black, let none 
 dare to despise it. 
 
ME. CHAELES KEAN. 
 
 Me. Keai^ is a native of the sister kingdom, and was bom at "Waterford, on tlie ISth. of January, 
 1811. His fatlier, the celebrated Edmund Kean, tben a performer of little note in that city, had 
 married a member of the CufFe family, long known and respected in those parts. The lady, whose name, 
 was Mary Chambers, had, from straitened circumstances, turned her thoughts to the stage, and first 
 became known to her future husband at the Cheltenham theatre, where she Was one of Mr. Eeverley's 
 company. They were married in 1808. , 
 
 The subject of this notice was their second son. His elder brother died while a child. It need 
 hardly be stated that the circumstances of Mr. and Mrs. Kean were far from affluent, but Kean seems 
 greatly to have exerted himself to gain a respectable livelihood ; not only sustaining the leading characters 
 in tragedy, but those of pantomime also, and on the same night : a proof that his talent was abeady 
 recogmsed, however inadequately it might be rewarded. Years before, his versatihty was proved. A play- 
 bill is still extant, in which he was announced to represent the bhnd man in Fizarro, and to sing " Eour- 
 and-twenty cobblers all of a row," in the course of the evening. Besides this industry on the stage, he gave 
 lessons in fencing, dancing, and other exercises. These, as "teaching we learn," qualified him to appear 
 to such advantage on the boards, that while performing to a wretched house, one of an audience of three 
 persons in the boxes, at once decided that he would be an acquisition to the London theatre. It was 
 Mr. Arnold, the dramatist, who that night invited Kean to breakfast with him on the following morning, 
 when he immediately ofifered him an engagement at Drury-lane. 
 
 This was in 1814. He came to the metropolis— made a favourable impression in Shylock, and fairly 
 took the town by storm in Eichard the Third. Then came to the fortunate actor the fuU tide of pros- 
 perity. The idol of the public, wealth flowed in upon him, and nobles were proud of being called his 
 patrons. Such a change it would be difficult for any son of Adam to sustain unmoved. Kean had the 
 weakness to give his company to mean hangers-on, who estranged him to his family, and betrayed him 
 into reprehensible excesses. In the melancholy sequel he lost the favour of those who had been his 
 most fervent admirers ; be became, temporarily, an object of public indignation; and finally, ruiaed and lost, 
 he sunk to his grave worn out, when he ought to have been in the zenith of his fame. 
 
 It is necessary to give an outline of the father's extraordinary career, to explain the position of his 
 son. Obliged to glance at the dark side of the picture, however reluctant in the case of such a man as 
 Edmund Kean, 
 
 " To draw his failings from their dread abode," 
 
 Candour demands it should be added that many traits of generosity furnish . redeeming points iu his 
 character. He could visit with righteous indignation mean hypocrisy; and tenderly sympathise with 
 misfortune. At Portsmouth, on one occasion, having entered a tavern with some friends, the landlord 
 was offensively obsequious, and offered extravagant acknowledgments of the honour conferred on his 
 house by the great actor of the day, Kean scornfully reminded him of the heartless insolence which he 
 had met with from the same individual, some years before, when a poor stroller he had entered his 
 house for half-a-pint of beer, and instantly quitted the place. Starring it at Erighton, the prices were 
 doubled, and he performed to a crowded house ; Kean was to receive half the proceeds. The manager, 
 on the following morning, waited upon him with his share, when he nobly rejected it, saying, "I will 
 not touch a farthing of it. My reason for refusiag it is this — I know you have been unfortunate, and 
 you have nine children, while I have but one." 
 
 Erom what we have stated, it ^^dll be seen that it was the lot of Mr. Charle$ Kean to be born in 
 poverty; but when he first woke to consciousness, he was apparently the heir of fortune. He was sent 
 to Eton School at the proper age, having previously been placed in a preparatory school, at "Worplesdon 
 in Surrey, and afterwards at Grreenford, near Harrow. 
 
 The declining fortunes of the , senior Kean could not long be concealed from Charles. His father 
 and mother were separated ; and, in the early part of 1827, he received a pressing letter from the latter, 
 desiring him to come to her without loss of time. He obeyed the summons, and found her suffering from 
 ill health, but more from anxiety on his account ; Mr. Calcraft, a member of Parliament, and one of 
 the Drury-lane managing committee, offered to procure him a cadet ship in the East India Company's 
 service, which his father wished him to accept, and indeed ordered him instantly to make prepara- 
 tions for his departure. The mother prayed him not to leave her. Parted from her husband^ nearly 
 bed-ridden^ and having no relative in London, she could not bear the thought of being deprived of her 
 only child. Charles was thus placed in a most trying situation. He could not obey one parent without 
 distressing the other. His resolution was soon taken to reject the cadetship. 
 
 The circumstances of Edmund Kean were no longer in a flourishing state ; the tide in his affairs was 
 now turned ; and he told his son that he must accept what Mr. Calcraft offered. He added, he would 
 give him his outfit ; and, that done, he must not look to him for any farther assistance. Charles was now 
 disposed to close with the offer, if a proper allowance could be secured to his mother. Kean was not in 
 5 
 
18 ME. OHAELES KEAN. 
 
 circumstances to do that, and thereupon the youth declined the appointment, and declared he would not 
 leave England while his mother was alive. Such a decision gave great offence to his father, who over- 
 whelmed Charles with bitter reproaches. What, he asked, would he do, if he should find himself discarded, 
 and left wholly to his own resources ? The young man replied : " In that case, I shall be obliged to go 
 on the stage ; and though I may probably never be a great actor, I shall at least be able to obtain a 
 livelihood for my mother and myself, without being under an obligation to any one." 
 
 The impetuous senior smiled contemptuously, but expressed himself with great bitterness at the 
 refractory, and, as he probably thought it, foolish conduct of the youth ; and though the latter never forgot 
 he was in the presence of his father, they parted with feelings remote from those which human beings 
 whom nature has so closely connected ought to share. In the summer, when the vacation was at hand, he 
 learned that his allowance was stopped, and that he was not to return to Eton. He sought his mother, 
 whom he found in ill health, and exposed to aU the ills of poverty. The income which she had, up to that 
 period, received from her husband, had ceased ; and mother and son had no resources to fall back upon. 
 
 It was at this period that the then manager of Drury-lane theatre, Mr. Stephen Price, from America, 
 who had gained from the Thespian fraternity, in consideration of his economical advent, the soubriquet of 
 half Price, quarrelled with Edmund Kean, who lefb the scene of his early triumphs to appear on the 
 Covent-garden stage. The name of Kean, alone, was worth something ; and he offered Charles an engage- 
 ment for three years, at £10 a week ; which, however, was to rise to £11 and £12, in the second and third 
 years, if he should prove successful. After what has been stated, it need hardly be added that this 
 overture was most acceptable. 
 
 On Monday, the 1st of October, 1827, Mr. Charles Kean first presented himself, on the boards of 
 Drury-lane theatre, in the character of jN"orval. He was favourably received ; but the enthusiastic approba- 
 tion, which he sighed to obtain, was wanting. To be tolerated, to be languidly approved, could not satisfy 
 him. He was impatient to know what the critics thought of him, but had the affliction to find that they 
 were unfavourable. Such a result was almost heart-breaking ; but, in that moment of bitter disappointment, 
 he had the magnanimity to offer to relieve Price from the engagement which he had concluded. The 
 American was too discerning, or too liberal, to part from his new performer ; and he kindly, and wisely, 
 counselled him to persevere. He did so ; but he found the steep he had to climb to fame, rugged and 
 wearisome. The pubhc regarded him with coldness ; the newspapers spoke of him contemptuously, or 
 not at all ; and he languished through the season. As Erederick, in Lovers' Vows, he first met his future 
 wife. Miss EUen Tree, who was the representative of Amelia WHdenham. 
 
 Drury-lane closed its doors for the season, and the young actor determined to try his fortune in the 
 country. He obtained an engagement at Grlasgow; and while there, he went to visit his father, 
 who was living on an estate which he had purchased in the Isle of Bute. Charles met with more kindness 
 than he could have hoped for, remembering under what circumstances they had parted. Mr. Kean con- 
 sented to perform for the benefit of his son. On the 1st of October, the anniversary of tke junior's 
 appearance at Drury-lane, they acted together as Brutus and Titus, in Howard Payne's tragedy of Brutus. 
 An applauding crowd attended, and the receipts amounted to nearly £300. Shortly afterwards Mr. 
 Charles Kean returned to London, and in January, 1829, he appeared as Eomeo to Miss PhiOips's 
 J uliet. Still he appeared to make little progress in gaining public favour ; and when the season closed 
 he withdrew to the provinces. He acted with his father in Dubhn and Cork, and being offered an 
 engagement by Mr. Morris at the Haymarket theatre, to play six nights at the close of the season, he 
 appeared there as Eomeo to Miss E. H. KeUey's Juliet. That character he performed twice, as he did 
 that of Erederick, in Lover's Vows. His fifth appearance was in Sir Edward Mortimer, a character in 
 which J ohn Kemble had failed ; in which EUiston had succeeded, and in that, for the first time in his 
 life, Mr. Charles Kean felt that he had succeeded — felt that he had at length been able to do justice to 
 his conceptions — and the newspapers, least favourable before, now gave him the meed of their applause. 
 
 About this period he was offered an engagement of £20 per week, by a person named Aubrey, in a 
 company which was to act at Amsterdam and the Hague. He had little cause to congratulate himself on 
 this connexion, as his salary was never paid. Except a trifling advance, he received nothing. Aubrey 
 seems to have been a wretched swindler, and having carried his dupes to Holland, he speedily decamped, 
 leaving them to shift for themselves as they could, mthout funds, in a foreign country. A performance 
 was got up for the benefit of the sufferers, at Amsterdam, which was aided by the present of a sum of 
 money from the King of Holland. Having returned, via Erance, to England, Mr. Kean next resolved on 
 visiting America. He obtained an engagement at the Park theatre, where, in September, 1830, he made 
 his first appearance as Eichard the Third. The elder Kean had been mu.ch admired on the American 
 stage. " Like father like son," seems to have been the general feeling. Crowded houses testified their 
 admiration of his talents, and wherever he appeared in the United States, his success was complete. 
 
 That his circumstances were improved by such good -fortune may be surmised, but that which his 
 friends thought of still greater importance, was, " the vast renown he had acquired" ; which however did 
 not greatly serve him when he next appeared in England. It was in January, 1833, that he returned ; and, 
 says a contemporary biographer, " as if to prepare a cool reception of him at home, in descending into the 
 boat which was to convey him on shore, he fell overboard. Such was his anxiety to reach London and see 
 his mother after an absence of more than two years, that he travelled right from Portsmouth in his wet 
 clothes, but fortunately sustained no injury from this act of hasty imprudence." 
 
JOHN 'i'Ai,i,;is cor.ji'AiNy o t-j i ) oj;;' i :k j'V\'r yojxk 
 
ME. CHAELES KEAN. 
 
 19 
 
 By M. Laporte, who was now the manager of Covent-garden Theatre, Mr. Kean was offered an 
 engagement at £30 per week. The engagement was concluded, but Mr. Kean made it an express con- 
 dition that his first appearance should be in Sir Edward Mortimer. He had no great reason to applaud 
 his determination, as, notwithstanding the impression he had formerly made in that character, he met 
 with but an indifferent reception, and the newspapers again became unfavourable. 
 
 Charles Kean had not completed his engagement when Laporte concluded an agreement with 
 Kean, senior, which brought him to Covent-garden Theatre. Circumstances to which allusion has 
 akeady been made, had now reduced the great actor to a mere shadow^ of his former self His memory 
 had become defective, and though he had still some . brilliant moments, it was painfully obvious that 
 he could never again be what he was some years before. Laporte was, however, of opinion, that the 
 appearance of father and son in the same play would prove an attraction of importance, and accord- 
 ingly, it was determined that they should act the parts of Othello and lago, in the tragedy of Othello. 
 The day named for the performance was the 25th of March— a memorable date in theatrical history, 
 when that brilliant light which had so long been the admiration of the public, was to be extinguished 
 for ever— when Edmund Kean was again to appear on the boards— only to die. He opened the part of 
 Othello, but could not complete his task. The dying actor was removed to Eichmond. He lingered till 
 the 15th of May, when he expired. 
 
 It is not necessary here to notice the remarks made by thoughtless writers on Mr. Charles Kean 
 having omitted to purchase some of his father's valuables^ when they were offered for sale. Had it 
 been his duty to do so, it is probable that a valid reason could be given for the non-fulfilment 
 of it, in the shape of a poor excuse. We proceed with his professional history. When Knowles's 
 play of The Wife, came out, Mr. Charles Kean acted the part of Leonardo Gonzaga, and the drama 
 ran for the remainder of the season. Mr. Kean was still dissatisfied with the result of his labours, 
 and determined to leave London, Meeting one day with Mr. Dunn^ the treasurer of the theatre, 
 that gentleman offered him, on the part of Mr. Bunn, a benefit for Ws mother. The offer was proudly 
 but gratefully declined; as, feeling that he could support his parent out of his own means, he dis- 
 dained to suffer an appeal to charity on her behalf. i mi 
 
 In 1833, Mr. Kean accepted an engagement to join an English company at Hamburgh. The 
 heroine of the company was Miss Ellen Tree, and an attachment arose between them which led to their 
 future : union. They did not long continue their professional . exertions at Hamburgh, which were 
 abruptly closed by the authorities of the place, who held it to be their duty to guard ag:ainst their own 
 establishments being damaged by the attractive entertainments of foreigners. Eeturnmg to England, 
 success attended him in the provinces. In 1837, at Edinburgh, a single engagement gave him nearly 
 £1,000. Men of the greatest eminence in the learned professions attended his performances, and 
 on visiting Waterford, his native city, he was honoured with a public dinner, at which a silver claret 
 jug of £100 value was presented to him, bearing the following compHmentary inscription :— " Presented 
 to Charles Kean, Esq., as a token of esteem for his private character, and admiration of his talents, by 
 a few friends in his native city of Waterford, June 28th, 1838." 
 
 When Mr. Macready had become manager of Covent Garden Theatre, in 1837, he wrote to 
 Mr, Kean, who was in Ireland, expressing a wish for his assistance, and desiring to know his terms, 
 which, if it were possible, he would gladly meet. In conclusion, he expressed a hope that he might be 
 relieved from any apprehension of Mr. Kean's becoming an antagonist, should he declme enrolling 
 himself as a co-operator. Mr. Kean replied in a letter, dated, " Cork, July 27th., 1837," decHnmg f^r 
 various reasons to accept an engagement at Covent G-arden Theatre. To the latter part of the 
 manager's letter he gave this frank reply:—" You express your confidence that my own disposition wiU 
 so far suggest to me the professional importance of your present enterprise, as to assure, you against 
 my becoming an antagonist elsewhere, should I decline your offer to co-operate mth yourself. . You 
 may indeed believe that I could not, neither would I, oppose myself to the interests of any estabhshment 
 or any individual. But surely you could never suppose that my acceptance of an engagement at any- 
 time, with any manager of the other great theatre, would involve hostility to you. The interests ol both 
 the national theatres are alike important to the public. I should naturally consider my own advantage 
 in connecting myself vdth either, consistently with my rank in the drama, and its welfare generally ; 
 and were I to assent to your view, I should necessarily shut myself out of a large sphere of action. 
 I might deprive myself of those professional associations I most valued. I should, m fact, compro- 
 mise my professional freedom and independence ; and it does not belong to the proud emmence you 
 have yourseK attained, to narrow my efforts in working out my individual fame." 
 
 This correspondence led to no arrangement, but in the J anuary following, Mr. Kean accepted an 
 engagement offered to him by Mr. Bunn to act twenty nights, for which he was to have what Mr. Dunn 
 had five years before, been persuaded neither he nor any one else would ever receive again, £50 a night. 
 He made a new first appearance at Drury Lane Theatre on the 8th of January, 1838. Hamlet was the 
 part in which he now chose to appear, and though some of his, readings startled veteraii critics, his 
 success was complete. The pit rose in the third act to honour him with their loudest acclamations lor 
 his admirable performance of the closet scene. It was no packed or starving jury, that gave a sordid or 
 corrupt verdict ; but it was the unbought suffrages of the real public, that established his lame. ^ Agam 
 the metropolitan critics proclaimed his merits were of a superior order. That patronage which is ever 
 
20 ME. ClIAELES KEAJSr. 
 
 readj to idolize success^ was now most liberalij extended to Mr. Kean ; and what was better still, tlie 
 renown lie liad acquired continued to fill tlie theatre. On the 30th of March he had the honour to 
 receive, after a public dinner in the saloon of Drury Lane Theatre, a magnificent silver vase, valued at 
 £200, which bore on its bright surface a record of its having been presented to him " by the admirers of 
 his distinguished talents." On this interesting occasion. Lord Morpeth, now Earl of Carlisle, was to 
 have presided, but public duties having unexpectedly detained him in the House of Commons, the 
 Marquis of Clanricarde took the chair. There were present on this occasion, one hundred and fifty 
 persons, including many gentlemen distinguished in the varied walks of literature. The merits of 
 Mr. Kean were the subject of animated panegyric. He responded to the compliments he received in 
 modest and appropriate terms. During this engagement he only assumed three characters — Hamlet, 
 E-ichard III., and Sir Giles Overreach. 
 
 His way has since been through pleasant paths. Some opposition he has certainly encountered, 
 but nothing that could materially retard his onward progress. In June, 1839, he took an engagement at 
 the Haymarket Theatre under Mr. "Webster, receiving there, as at Drury Lane, £50 a night, and a 
 benefit. His attraction was so great that his engagement was extended beyond the number of nights 
 originally contemplated. His task completed there, he again visited the Hnited States, but in this 
 instance he was less fortunate than before. He sufiered from severe indisposition, his voice failed him, 
 and he was in great danger of losing his life by an accident. At Eoston, in December, 1839, during the 
 performance of Fizarro, in which he sustained the character of Eolla, while standing on the wing, and 
 about to commence the dying scene, the child which he has to bear to Cora being brought towards, him 
 he moved forward a step or two to receive it. The spot on which he had stood was immediately occupied 
 by one of the soldiers who was also waiting to go on, when a heavy counter-weight fell from the machinery 
 above, and killed the unfortunate supernumerary on the spot ; his blood actually sprinkling the dress 
 Mr. Kean wore as the Peruvian hero. 
 
 Sufiering from an attack of bronchitis he found it necessary to relinquish and to refuse various 
 engagements, and return to Europe. In June, 1840, he resumed his station at the Haymarket Theatre, 
 when he personated Macbeth for the first time, and with such success that the tragedy was acted for 
 fifteen -nights. In the next season he sustained the character of Eomeo to the Juliet of Miss Ellen Tree. 
 It has already been mentioned that they had become more than mere acquaintances some years before. 
 Circumstances had opposed their union, but these were now removed, and on the 29th of January, 1842, 
 they were married at St. Thomas's church, Dublin, and appeared on the same evening as Aranza and 
 Juliana in The Honeymoon. Their combined attraction is stated to have produced " in five performances 
 m one week £1,000." In 1843 he took a new engagement at Drury Lane on the same terms as before ; 
 and in 1845, accompanied by Mrs. Kean, he for the third time repaired to America. Their exertions 
 were astonishingly successful, and before the close of the first year, they had realized a very large sum. 
 The Wife's Secret, a play written by Mr. Gr. Lovell, was greatly applauded. It had been purchased by 
 . Mr. Kean from the author for £400. 
 
 . Eeturning from America, in 1847, they learned that their old friend and manager, Mr. Calcraft, of 
 the Dublin theatre, was in difficulties. Mr. and Mrs. Kean kindly hastened to his relief, and performed 
 for his benefit, as Mr. and Mrs. Oakley, in The Jealous Wife. The Earl of Clarendon was present on 
 this occasion ; and his lordship, on the following Saturday, commanded the play of The Wonder, in which 
 they sustained the principal characters. Yarious engagements previously made having been disposed of!, 
 they, at the commencement of 1848,- appeared at the Haymarket theatre, in Mr. Lovell's play of The Wife's 
 Secret. It was performed there thirty-six nights. They were to have acted thirty nights, but the engage- 
 ment was extended to sixty; and on the night of their benefit the Queen honoured the performance with 
 her presence. Her Majesty's "special patronage" was farther extended to them by the appointment 
 of Mr. Kean to manage the theatrical performances in Windsor Castle, at the opening of 1849. Eor 
 his exertions on that occasion, he Was presented with a diamond ring by her Majesty, and was honoured 
 by his sovereign with a personal interview. 
 
 Shortly after this he lost his mother. The widow of Edmund Kean died on the 30th of March, 1849, 
 at Keydell, near Horndean, in Hampshire, at a residence on a small estate which Mr. Kean had pur- 
 chased in 1844. Her latter days, through the kind care and honourable exertions of her son, were passed 
 in affluence and peace. 
 
 He had the honour to be commanded a second time to attend at Windsor, for the purpose of 
 arranging a series of theatrical performances, in January, 1850. Her Majesty's intentions were interfered 
 with by the death of Queen Adelaide ; they were resumed, under his direction, in IN'ovember last. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Kean appeared at the Haymarket theatre in March; and the Queen a third time honoured 
 their benefit with her presence, when they sustained the characters of Benedict and Beatrice, in 
 Much Ado about Nothing . Eecently Mr. Kean, in conjunction with Mr. Keeley, has come before the 
 town in a new character, as manager of the Princess's theatre, where he has fully sustained the high 
 reputation he had previously acquired. 
 
JOHN 'I'ALF.IS c^c COtylRAWY 1,UN1J0N X I-.', W YORK 
 
ME. JAMES HUDSOK 
 
 Mr. Hfdsoi?', who is now very justly aclmowledged as tlie first representative of Irisla cliaracter and 
 eccentricities upon the boards, first drew breath in the " green island," the characteristics of whose 
 children he so truthfully delineates. He was born in Aungier-street, Dublin, in the March of 1811. 
 At a very early age, Mr. Hudson evinced a decided partiality to the, fine arts, and while but in his tenth 
 year, he was admitted as a student to the figure drawing compartment of the "Royal Dublin Society," 
 and afterwards articled to an historical and portrait painter, in his native city. But the actor, like the 
 poet, must be born, not made ; at least, this is always the case with the actor of genius ; the drama claims 
 its own, and no matter what career of distinction or affluence is opened to the gifted aspirant in other 
 quarters, he obeys the call. " Seek not after thy fate," said the sage, " it is seeking after thee ;" and 
 that axiom was illustrated in the person of the subject of this memoir ; an absorbing passion for the stage 
 had seized him, and he was irresistibly attracted to the profession of which he was destined to become a 
 distinguished ornament. 
 
 In the year 1830, when scarcely twenty years of age, he made his appearance at the ; ]N"6ttingham 
 Theatre, starting in the profession after the fashion of most comedians, as the representative of the 
 tragic emotions of our varied nature. He subsequently obtained engagements at Manchester, Edin- 
 burgh, Grlasgow, and many smaller towns, experiencing the usual vicissitudes and difficulties of an 
 actor's life. 
 
 After a probationary struggle of four years' duration, in which period he became, of course, 
 thoroughly grounded in dramatic art, and obtained that easy grace, and knowledge of artistic efiect, so 
 indispensable to the finished actor, he made his first bow to an audience in his native city, in 1834, at 
 the Hawkins- street Theatre. Here he- displayed his versatility of talent, by the performance of juvenile 
 tragedy, light comedy, and operatic parts for a space of nearly seven years more ; slowly, but surely 
 rising in public estimation, and climbing the steep and briary path which leads to Thespian fame. 
 
 On one of Mr. Macready's periodical visits to Dublin, he took particular notice of Mr. Hudson, and 
 was so much pleased with the earnestness and , variety of his performances, that he ofiered him an 
 engagement at Drury-Lane Theatre, where he appeared as Grratiano in The Merchant of Venice, the 
 same year: that the President was lost, with the talented and ill-fated comedian, poor Power. , But Mr. 
 Hudson had not yet devoted himself to that branch of the profession in which he so peculiarly excels, 
 and the first decided sensation which he created on [the London boards, was in Blanche's admirable 
 extravaganza of Fortunio. "When Mr. Macready produced Handel's _J^m ^35^2^^ (ratoe^^, with scenic 
 illustrations from the pencil of, Stanfield, and in so perfect and exquisite a manner, that we almost 
 despair of seeing it equalled, Mr. Hudson was the Damon of the piece, and obtained universal approba- 
 tion, for the feeling and efi'ective manner in which he sang the music allotted to him. On the termina- 
 tion of his first season with Mr. Macready, he paid a starring visit to his native city, and appeared with 
 that distinguished tragedian as Icilius in Knowles's tragedy of Virpnius, Ulric in Werner, &c,, performing 
 subsequently, on the same, evening, as Jeremy Diddler, or in other equally broad and amusing farces. 
 The warmth of his reception there, showed that they had not forgotten their old favourite. . 
 
 In his third season at Drury-Lane he performed Bichmond and Macdufi" to Mr. Charles Kean, 
 when Bichard JJJ. and Maclethy^QTe produced for that gentleman in a: very costly and effective manner 
 by Mr. Bunn. Transferring his services to the Hay market Theatre, in 1845, he sustained the whole 
 of the light comedy for three seasons, until the great success which he met with in The . Irish Fost 
 induced him to turn his attention exclusively to the delineation of Hibernian characters. If even, after 
 this brief chronicle of his histrionic career, evidence were wanted of the versatility, or rather compre- 
 hensiveness, of his dramatic talent, it may be found in : the fact of his performing before so critical an 
 audience as that usually assembled within the walls of the Haymarket, (a house not inappropriately 
 known in the profession as *'the grave of ambition,") the characters of Charles Surface and Dennis 
 Brulgruddery on the same evening. At the close of the year 1847, he made a second starring trip 
 to Dublin, and from the success he had met with in Eory . O'More, having appeared in that cha- 
 racter for sixty successive nights at the Adelphi Theatre, he selected it for his debut. Hitherto he 
 had only been known to his countrymen as a light comedian, and considerable curiosity was excited to 
 witness his portraiture of th^ Irish peasant. A warm and most enthusiastic welcome greeted him on 
 his first appearance from a house crowded to the ceiling, and his performances at once convinced them 
 that the great reputation he had won in London as the representative of Irish character was eminently 
 deserved. Speaking of his delineation of the Hibernian there — in the capital of . Ireland — a Dublin 
 critic says, " He did not make the character the bufibon long held to be the representative of a people 
 whose racy spontaneity of humour has been sadly outraged from time immemorial, by those who cannot 
 appreciate the genius of the Irish nation." 
 
 ]By this time his name had become favourably known in dramatic circles in America, and as he had 
 had several ofiers from that country, he was at length induced (at the close of the year 1849) to cross 
 6 
 
22 
 
 ME. JAMES HUDSON. 
 
 tlie Atlantic, and to try his fortunes in the United States. Here he made his first appearance at the 
 Eroadway Theatre, JSTew York, as Paudeen O'EafFerty, in Born to Good Luch, and Tim Moore, in the 
 well known laughable burletta of the Irish Lion, The Americans are a generous people, and always 
 give a hearty welcome to genius, let it visit them in what form it will ; to this truth Mr. Hudson can 
 bear testimony, for his reception on this occasion was most enthusiastic, and he was called before the 
 curtain to receive the congratulations of his audience on the conclusion of each of the pieces in which 
 he appeared. The press also was highly complimentary, and we extract a^ few passages of a critique of 
 his appearance from an American paper, because we think they contain a very excellent summary of 
 his dramatic qualifications : — " Mr. Hudson possesses a good figure and handsome face, an artful eye, 
 vivacious manner, and a rich Hibernian accent ; and if the ' brogue ' is not so thick as some actors deem 
 it necessary to assume in order to portray the Irish character, it is rich, racy, and natural ; and in his 
 singing he gave convincing evidence of the sweet and melodious power of his voice. In Paudeen 
 O'Eafferty he sung the ' Boys of Kilkenny,' and a new ballad, composed expressly for him by Elewitt, 
 entitled ' iSTorah Dear,' in exquisite style, in both of which he was encored ; but in the humorous medley 
 which he sang in the Irish Lion, he drew down the most rapturous applause, as the plaintive cadence of 
 his voice fell soothingly on the ear. In the portraiture of Irish character there is a certain degree of 
 extravagance that must be tolerated to give it efiect, and in no instance does Mr. Hudson, in his delinea- 
 tions, exceed the liberty taken by the author, but in every incident renders himself perfectly natural and 
 amusing." Another American critic, in comparing him with the late Mr. Power, whom all will recollect 
 with both pleasurable and painful feelings, says that he has hardly the rich brogue and the rollicking 
 indifierence of that distinguished comedian ; but adds, " in appearance, intelligence, and familiarity with 
 the stage, he is fully equal, and as a vocalist infinitely superior, giving all his songs with a sweetness 
 and efiect which can never fail to carry him through every part successfully." During a period of 
 nearly twelve months that he remained in America his career was a constant reiteration of the success 
 which attended him on his first appearance there ; from north to south it was the same, and his time 
 was passed as pleasantly and as profitably as he could desire. 
 
 On his return to England he re-opened at the Haymarket, in his original character of the Knight of 
 Arva, in Mr. Eourcicault's drama of that name, with his customary success ; but a very lucrative 
 engagement having been offered to him by Messrs. Crainer and Eeale, to join that interesting and 
 popular vocalist, Madame Anna Thillon, in a new Musical Entertainment, he appeared with that lady at 
 Willis's Eooms, and the experiment was immediately stamped with the most flattering and decisive 
 success. In this entertainment, Mr. Hudson represented several characters, which were all delineated 
 with remarkable skill and humour. He first appears as Mr. Jeremy Jinks, a professional diner-out, who 
 interests the audience by a number of amusing anecdotes, and finally entertains them with a song ; after 
 which, as Mrs. Montmorency Brown, a lady of uncertain age, who indulges in a little amiable satire on 
 the peculiarities of all her female acquaintances ; then as Lord Eitzsappy, a noble young noodle, who 
 devotes his vast energies to the invention of new patterns for waistcoats ; and finally as Mr. Eackstraw, 
 an inventive genius, in difficulties, to whom it has, however, never occurred, that the best method of 
 getting his bread is by labouring honestly to obtain it. These representations were varied by a number 
 of songs, both amusing and sentimental, and tended to exhibit the versatile character of Mr. Hudson's 
 talents in a more prominent light than ever. 
 
 This entertainment, the dialogue of which is the joint production of Mr. Albert Smith and 
 Mr. Charles Selby, has been since repeated in most of the principal provincial towns in England, and 
 also in Dublin, Cork, Edinburgh, and GMasgow, with universal and unqualified favour. 
 
 On the conclusion of this provincial tour, Mr. Hudson made his appearance at the Adelphi on 
 Easter Monday last, in a burlesque, entitled O^Mannigan and the Fairies, in which he represented a 
 vivacious, rattling, hearty young Irish peasant, in an irresistibly amusing manner. Since then he has 
 performed at the Haymarket, where he has, up to a late period, been delighting the public with his 
 delineations of Irish character ; but this part of his career is too fresh in the memory of his admirers 
 to need recapitulation. He has now gone, for a second trip, among our transatlantic relations, and 
 we doubt not will be received by them with the same generous enthusiasm which it was his good 
 fortune to meet on a previous occasion. 
 
 Mr. Hudson has a tall and manly figure, a graceful deportment, a handsome and expressive 
 countenance, and a mischievous, merry-looking eye. He also possesses a seemingly inexhaustible fund 
 of good humour and animal spirits : a love of fun lurks in his countenance, as if repressed by an effort, 
 and anxious to burst forth. A child of nature, he seems to have never heard or thought about acting in 
 his life, but breaks out into wild effusions of mirth, as brilliant as they appear spontaneous; while his 
 voice, which is clear, full-toned, and musical, is excellently adapted for illustrating the eccentricities of 
 the singular and brilliant, but fugitive genius of his countrymen. Nature moulded him in one of her 
 most liberal moods ; and all that he owes to art, he has the art effectually to conceal. "With poor Power 
 fresh in our recollection, and his rich, sweet voice still haunting our memory, we gaze on his per- 
 formances, and not only feel no void, but are delighted and enthralled by the actor before us. As a 
 tragedian, Mr. Hudson is careful and intellectual ; as a general comedian, he is natural, hearty, and 
 mirthful ; and as an Irishman, irresistible. 
 
 H. T. 
 
JOHN TALTlIS & COMPAlsy, LONDGtr StrnW^XORK; 
 
MISS LAUEA ADDISO^T. 
 
 The present age is remarkable for the number of those who, both in letters and the arts, have 
 risen to honourable distinction by their own arduous and unaided exertions. There are some minds 
 on which difficulties appear to produce no effect— obstacleSj apparently insurmountable to the weak 
 or timid, merely stimulate them to renewed exertions ; they propose to themselves a certain end, and 
 struggle perseveringly onward until they obtain it. 
 
 Of this class is the young lady whose memoir we are about to record. Her family were not 
 only altogether unconnected with theatrical matters, but stedfastly opposed her desire to enter the 
 profession. She never had any introduction, teacher, or patron ; but went forth, alone and unaided, 
 cherishing a lofty hope that time would shortly give her an opportunity of displaying that histrionic 
 talent which she felt a proud consciousness that she possessed. 
 
 Her progress to distinction has been singularly rapid ; for her first appearance dates no further 
 back than the November of 1843, when she made her dehut at the Worcester Theatre, in the very 
 difficult and trying character, for a novice, of Lady Townly, in The JProvohed Husband: but she had 
 prepared herself for the attempt by severe and laborious study, and the result was highly flattering 
 and successful. This performance was followed by her assumption of Lady Macbeth, when she was 
 at once hailed as a rising actress, and continued playing the leading characters in tragedy at Wor- 
 cester until the termination of the season. 
 
 Her next engagement was at the Theatre Eoyal, Hunlop-street, Glasgow, where, for one entire 
 season of nine months' duration, she sustained the juvenile and leading tragedy. During this 
 period, Mr. Macready came to perform, for a, few evenings, in Grlasgow, and Miss Addison, representing 
 Desdemona to his Othello, that distinguished actor was much struck by her performance, and sending 
 for her to his own room, at the conclusion of the play, he said— " Miss Addison, I believe I may safely 
 predict that you will become a distinguished actress," After this, he frequently corresponded with her, 
 giving her both advice and encouragement ; and it was ultimately through his influence and recommen- 
 dation that she made her appearance in the metropolis. 
 
 From Grlasgow she proceeded to Dublin, opening at the Theatre Boyal as Pauline, in Tlie Lady of 
 Lyons, Mr. Eorrest, the American tragedian, being the Melnotte of the evening. .. She was received in 
 the most flattering and liberal manner, and greatly complimented and encouraged by the local press. 
 After performing six weeks in the Irish capital, she received an invitation from Mr. Murray, to accept 
 an engagement at the Adelphi Theatre, Edinburgh, for the summer season. This she deemed it 
 advisable to close with, and having fulfilled her engagement there, proceeded to Grlasgow, where 
 she created a great sensation by her adnlirable and touching performance of Zara,< the gipsy girl, in 
 the drama of that name— a character which was originally played by Mrs. Msbett, when that delightful 
 and fascinating actress presided over the fortunes of the . Queen's Theatre. Miss Addison played the 
 character for about thirty nights, a run which is seldom obtained for any drama out of London. 
 
 On the termination of this engagement, she received a letter from her friend and patron, 
 Mr. Macready, to come to London, and support him during a brief engagement which he had entered 
 into at the Surrey Theatre during the September of 1846. She immediately came to London, and, on 
 her arrival, discovered that from some misunderstanding other arrangements . had been entered into, and 
 that she was not engaged. Mr. Macready, much hurt at . her disappointment, gave her a letter of 
 recommendation to Mr. Phelps, the manager of the Sadler's Wells Theatre, who engaged her, at five 
 guineas a-week, for the performance of leading tragedy. Her first appearance was to be in the character 
 of Lady Mabel, in Westland Marston's tragedy of The Patrician's JDaughteTy d^ndi immediately on the 
 conclusion of the rehearsal^ Mr. Phelps, calling her into his private room, cancelled the engagement 
 which he had already made with her, and, with a generosity not common among managers, offered her 
 another, for two years, at the liberal salary of ten guineas a-week. This offer, which was, of course, 
 gratefully accepted, requires no comment at our hands, it being the most solid, as well as most flattering 
 acknowledgment which could have been paid to her histrionic talents. Her first performance of the 
 character, on Wednesday, August 26th, 1846, was rewarded by a success equal to, if not beyond her most 
 sanguine wishes. Her extremely youthful appearance disarmed criticism, and her passionate earnestness 
 and intense feeling won the universal sympathy and approbation of the audience. The press, without 
 exception, was loud in its commendation ; and as The Times is very justly considered the most influential 
 and powerful journal of the day, we extract the following paragraph from it, to show the general tone of 
 the criticism which was bestowed upon her :— " She displays a depth of feeling, and has a store of 
 passion — ^hearty, vehement, and strongly expressed, which are by no means common with the present 
 generation of actors. The last act, in which Mabel dies, affords the grand opportunity ; and here her 
 delirious manner, and her bursts of intense feeling, are very remarkable." 
 
 Her next character was Pauline, in The Lady of Lyons, which she sustained with great truth and 
 pathos. She then appeared as Juliet, Mr* Creswick sustaining Borneo, and Mr. Phelps, Mercutio. This 
 
24 MISS LAUEA ABDISON. 
 
 was the greatest trmmpli she liad yet acliieved : her representation of the young, loving girl, was so 
 exquisitely affectionate and womanly — so fervid and devoted, that she held the attention of the audience 
 as by some spell over their feelings : and in her soliloquy in the fourth act, where she takes the potion 
 which is to produce her seeming death, she pictured the horrors of her situation with such wonderful 
 power and effect, that an absolute storm of applause burst from the house, and the audience appeared 
 perfectly frantic in its enthusiasm. 
 
 Isabella, in Shakspere's comedy of Measure for Measure, was her next performance; hitherto she 
 had been travelling in the beaten track, performing characters which had all been represented by the 
 most popular, and established actresses of the day, characters which, in some instances, had been 
 by common consent assigned to, and considered identified with them; but in Isabella she had no rival ; 
 the present generation of play- goers had not witnessed its performance ; she was left to re-create 
 the character, and she invested it with so much interest, and delineated it so effectively, that the most 
 extravagant eulogies were passed upon her, and several metropolitan papers of great standing, declared 
 her to have no equal on the stage. 
 
 Belvidera was her next part, and this was followed by her personation of Margaret Eandolph, 
 in Mr. White's play of Feudal Times, a character peculiarly fitted for her, and which will probably never 
 have a more efficient representative. Her performance of Miranda in The Tempest also elicited many 
 highly favourable critiques, and her Imogen in Cymbeline was much admired ; in this, as in J uliet, her 
 great capability of expressing womanly tenderness and affection won the sympathy of her audience, and 
 the play ran for no less than thirty-seven nights. 
 
 Lady Macbeth was her next attempt, a character for which she, herself, has no partiality, but which, 
 in our estimation, is one of her finest efforts ; it was performed thirty nights. She then appeared 
 successively as Mrs. Oakley, in The Jealous Wife ; Lilian Saville, Mrs. Haller, Mrs. Beverley, Portia, 
 in The Merchant of Venice, and concluded her engagement by the performance of Lady Mabel for her 
 own benefit, on which occasion, bouquets were thrown to her in such profusion, as to convert the stage 
 into a temporary flower-bed, and a handsome wreath was presented to her. The exceeeding respecta- 
 bility of the audience, and the heartiness of their reception of her, evinced the high esteem in which this 
 young lady is held, no less for her great professional abilities, than for her pure, unsullied reputation. 
 
 Her next engagement was at the Haymarket, where she appeared in the ]N"ovember of 1849, as 
 Juliet, with the same success which had accompanied her first metropolitan appearance in that character, 
 the play running for three weeks ; she then represented Lady Mabel, repeating the performance for 
 twelve successive evenings. Seceding for a short time from the metropolis, she went on a starring 
 engagement for six nights to Edinburgh, where she opened in Juliet, and met with a very flattering 
 and hearty reception, the inhabitants of the Scottish capital declaring, that she left them a promising 
 actress, and returned a perfect artist. Coming back to the Haymarket, she reappeared as Desdemona, 
 in the tragedy of Othello, which was produced with a novel and attractive cast ; Mr. James Wallack 
 performing the Moor, while lago and Emilia were sustained by Mr. and Mrs. Charles Kean. 
 
 During Mr. Anderson's first season at Drury-Lane, Miss Addison accepted an engagement at that 
 theatre, and appeared as Mrs. Haller in The Stranger, Mrs. Beverley in The Gamester, Bianca in Fazio, 
 and Leonora, in Schiller's Mesco, &c., but Mr. Anderson being unable to meet his engagements, she left 
 that theatre for the provinces, and proceeded to Manchester, where she appeared at the Theatre Eoyal 
 as Lady Macbeth, and having fulfilled a highly successful engagement there of three w^eeks' duration, 
 she played as a star at several minor provincial towns, and reappeared at Grlasgow in the winter of 1850, 
 drawing crowded and enthusiastic audiences every evening of her performance. 
 
 After a lengthened absence from the metropolis, Miss Addison reappeared at the Haymarket, as 
 Mariana, in Knowles' play of The Wife, on the 6th of March in the present year (1851), and met with 
 a very hearty reception. She has since performed Emilia in Othello, Pauline, and Lady Macbeth ; Mr. 
 William J. Wallack, a tragedian of great merit from beyond the Atlantic, sustaining the leading male 
 characters. It is needless to dwell upon a period so fresh in the recollection of our readers, and it will 
 be sufficient to record, that she made her last appearance in this country on the 31st of July, in the 
 character of Julia, in The Ilumchhaclc, previous to her departure for America, where she has proceeded to 
 court the suffrages of our transatlantic neighbours. 
 
 We have thus recorded the chief incidents of Miss Addison's career, which has been by no means a 
 chequered or romantic one ; destitute of those vicissitudes which usually accompany the early life of the 
 aspirant for dramatic honours, her's has been chiefly remarkable for a series of successes, which seldom 
 fall even to the lot of genius, in its youth. „ 
 
 A few words only are requisite as to her talents as an actress ; her style is entirely original ; she has 
 formed herself upon no great predecessor ; her very faults are peculiar, and arise chiefly from an exces- 
 sive energy, which sometimes hurries her iDeyond the control of judgment. Her conceptions are usualjy 
 correct, never very erroneous, and always marked by a most intelligent appreciation of her author ; there 
 is much animation and womanly sensibility in her manner ; her deportment is unrestrained and easy, 
 and her attitudes natural and graceful. Her greatest deficiency is a want of physical power, but this, in 
 moments of great earnestness, is more than compensated for by her grand and overpowering bursts 
 of passion, when her eyes flash vivid meanings, every muscle and fibre ieem to tremble with excitement, 
 and her whole frame radiates the inspired thoughts of the poet. ' ^ H, T. 
 
MR BENJAMI!^ WEBSTER. 
 
 Mb. "Webster was born on the Srd of September, in the year 1800, and is a tborougbbred 
 Yorkshireinan, his father being from Sheffield, and his mother from Leeds. He is well descended,^ 
 his father being the representative, by the mother's side, of the family of the Euckes, one of 
 whom wrote A Vindication of the Life of Eichard IIL^ quoted by Walpole in his Historic DoiMsj 
 and there are large estates near Sheffield, which formerly belonged to the family, and bear their 
 name to the present day. The father of Mr. Webster was in the army, and served during the 
 rebellion in Ireland, and also for some years in the West Indies. Master Benjamin was educated, by 
 choice, for the navy ; but in consequence of the arrival of the weak, piping times of peace, his father 
 refused to incur the expense of fitting him out, " only to be a middy all his life." Deprived of a sea life, 
 he imbibed a love for a scenic one, and deserted miniature ship-building for the construction of a little 
 theatre, for which he, had composed a pantomime, with models of astounding tricks, at the precocious 
 age of twelve, ■ 
 
 He had lost his mother, an amiable and excellent woman, when he had scarcely emerged from 
 infancy, and his home was rendered cheerless by the presence of a penurious step-mother. As years 
 rolled on, family diflferences became not unfrequent, and ultimately drove him, at the age of seventeen, 
 io try his own fortune in the world. He started for Cheltenham, and, after an interview with the 
 manager of the theatre, was engaged by him, at a salary of twenty-five shillings a-week, to play (at 
 Warwick, Litchfield, and Walsall) harlequin, utility business, and second fiddle in the orchestra. He 
 made his first appearance as Thessalus, in Alexander the Great, at Warwick, in which town he lodged 
 with an old couple who were methodistSv They took a great liking to our young actor, and introduced 
 him to Eowland Hill, who was preaching there at the time, and whd, wishing to convert him from what 
 that amiable enthusiast deemed a profligate course of life, thus addressed him:—'' If you are fond of 
 public speaking, how much better it would be to speak out in favour of Grod, than to speak out in favour 
 of Satan. How sweet a reflection it will be in after-life, to think you haye aided in saving souls instead 
 of damning them* Consider how much more a preacher is respected in society than an actor; and if 
 fame is your object, is it not more glorious and honourable to acquire it in a good cause than a bad one ? 
 Would it not be more grateful to yOur feelings, to be blessed by the repentant sinner, for pointing out the 
 road to heaven, than cursed by the unrepenting, for pointing out the road to hell ?" In conclusion, 
 Eowland Hill oflered to place the young actor in the school fpr the instruction of easy preachers ; but 
 although Mr. Webster promised to consider this kind oifer, he eventually declined it, saying, he thought 
 there was as good a moral in every pla3r, if rightly understood, as there was in any sermon he ever heard, 
 and that the stage conveyed morality, in its most pleasing form, to the . mind, by powerfully exciting the 
 feelings. From Warwick he proceeded to Litchfield, and afterwards visited Walsall and Birmingham. 
 At Walsall he narrowly escaped bringing his dramatic career to a sudden and fatal conclusion; for the 
 stage carpenter had inadvertently placed a scene, through which he was to leap, within a yard of a 
 brick wall; and Mr. Webster, not having examined the place, and leaping with considerable force, 
 was providentially saved by Mr, Betty (the young Eoscius) from dashing his brains out. Mr. Watson 
 having got into difficulties, set off to Cheltenham with all the money he could muster, leaving one of the 
 corapany to pay the salaries of the rest with the last night's receipts : this sum proved insufficient for 
 the purpose, and the company were soon in a very distressed condition. But accident introduced 
 Mr. Webster, and two or three others of the deserted Thespians, to a well-known strolling Irish 
 manager, of the name of Wilson, who stated his confidence of being able to procure a town, 
 if he could only collect a , company ; and he proposed to his new friends to enter into a 
 sharing speculation with him, he reserving a share and-a-half for . himself, as manager. This was 
 speedily agreed to, and Wilson proceeded to Bromsgrove, near Birnpiinghajn, where he erected a 
 theatre in a very old barn, the stage being ten feet long and seven feet high. Our hero's ambition 
 was a little damped on witnessing - this dingy and dilapidated temple of the^drama, but he, nevertheless, 
 commenced his engagement by doubling the parts of Sir Charles Cropland and Stephen Harrowby, in 
 The Foor Gentleman, dancing a hornpipe without music, after the comedy, and playing Old Plain- 
 way, in Raising the Wind, with his head chalked to represent grey hair. Eor the first week they 
 were very prosperous, and shared eighteen shillings each; but, in about a month, the shares dwindled 
 to eighteen-pence each, per week, and a crust of bread and cheese, washed down with a draught of 
 water, became an absolute luxury ; indeed, Mr. Webster would have run some chance of starvation, 
 but that a little maiden of the town had been captivated by the young actor, and sent him certain 
 anonymous parcels of eatables. Erom this frightful position he was ultimately rescued by Mr, Talbot, 
 the manager of the Belfast, and other theatres, who engaged him at thirty shiUings per week, and 
 generously advanced the money to enable him to reach his place of destination. 
 
 Here Mr. Webster got on pleasantly enough, but he was very much annoyed by Talbot s telling him 
 that his forte lay in low comedy ; as, like most comedians, he fancied that he excelled in tragedy, 
 and looked upon Eichard the Third as the character in which he should ultimately astonish the 
 7 
 
26 ME. BEISTJAMUN" WEBSTEE. 
 
 town. After a time he returned to England, and obtained an engagement at the Coburg (now the 
 Victoria), where he remained nine weeks ; several unimportant provincial engagements followed this, 
 in which he successively fulfilled the post of ballet-master, principal dancer, leader of the band, light 
 comedian, and low comedian. We next find him at the English Opera, where he sustained the 
 character of Pereah, in Captain Qook ; Eaymond, in Raymond and Agnes, &c. Here he attracted the 
 notice of Elliston, who expressed himself greatly pleased with Mr. Webster's performance, and wished 
 him to become a member of the Drury Lane Company, over the destinies of which Elliston, at that 
 time, presided ; but our actor's vicissitudes were by no mean^ at an end. He experienced very un- 
 generous conduct at the hands of Elliston, whom he left accordingly, and proceeded to Birmingham, 
 where he was subjected to so many managerial caprices, that he made up his mind, in a fit of disgust, 
 to leave the stage. But Elliston again offered him an engagement, and of so advantageous a character, 
 that he did not deem himself justified in refusing it. Still Mr. Webster was kept in the background, 
 until, in 1825, Shakspere's play of Measure for Measure was produced with a very powerful cast. 
 Mr. Harley, who was to have represented Pompey, the clown, was taken suddenly ill, and the part 
 was sent to Webster, who did not receive it until half-past five in the evening; but he was, not- 
 withstanding, not only perfect in the words, but created so great a sensation in the characterj as to 
 obtain the highest eulogy from the leading journals of the day. At the end of the play many of 
 the principal performers shook hands with him and said his fortune was made ; but Elliston still 
 kept him in the background, and it was not until his engagement by Mr. Morris, of the Hay market 
 theatre, that scope was given him for the exhibition of that broad humour and varied talent which 
 his latei? performances show him to be so abundantly possessed of. Hi^ first appearance at the Hay- 
 market was on the 15th of June, 1829, in Mr. Poole's admirable farce of Lodgings for Single Gentlemen ; 
 here he at once acquired the reputation for which he had so long and so laboriously toiled, and has 
 never since left that establishment, of which he became the lessee, in 1837. The most romantic period 
 of Mr. Webster's life was then terminated, but the most brilliant was before him ; his sufiorings and 
 vicissitudes were past, but they had taught him valuable lessons ; he had studied his profession, step 
 by step, in the severest school— he had passed through that ordeal by which men of the greatest 
 genius have been tried and strengthened, and to which both John Kemble, Edmund Kean, and the 
 great Siddons, w^as subjected; like them, he had looked nature in the face, trod down want and 
 temptation, and pressed boldly on, until he stood beneath the warm sunbeams of prosperity and public 
 estimation. 
 
 In 1844, Mr. Webster became lessee, and is now nearly the sole proprietor of the popular pet'''* 
 theatre, the Adelphi, which has made one long season since he opened it, not having closed once during 
 that period, a task which neither Yates, or any other manager before him, ever accomplished. 
 
 Mr. Webster is the author of a great number of dramas and other literary works, to which his 
 name has never appeared, besides having been in early days the editor of several publications. His first 
 acted dramatic work was a farce, in two acts, called Highways and Byeways, produced at Hrury-Lane in 
 -1831, in which Listen obtained a great success. The touching and celebrated drama of The Golden 
 Farmer is also one of the children of his active brain ; it was written during periods of performance, on 
 the backs of stage letters, and was taken from him in fragments, as he completed them, so that he w^as 
 unable to read the context, or really know what were its merits, until after it was produced with a 
 " blaze of success." In America, this drama realised a fortune for Mr. Dimsford, the manager, who 
 produced it, and made the reputation of Mr. John Sefton, the renowned Jemmy Twitcher of the piece. 
 
 Mr. Webster has been the most successful manager of the present age, and probably so because he 
 has been about the most liberal and spirited ; companies unparalleled for the production of our sterling 
 comedies have been from time to time collected within the walls of his theatre ; and a remarkable 
 number of original dramas, by the first authors of the day, have been produced under his superinten- 
 dance. It is pleasurable to know, that Mr. Webster's good fortune is singularly deserved, as he is a 
 man of the purest and most unsullied honour ; and although he has somtimes met with serious reverses 
 in his managerial career, he has never failed in honourably carrying out every pecuniary engagement he 
 entered into. 
 
 As an actor, he excels in the delineation of what are called character parts, where the performer 
 has to work conjointly with the author in their creation ; he is admirable in dramatic eccentricities, and 
 his Malvolio in Twelfth-Night is the most perfect we have witnessed; but his range of characters is by 
 no means limited, and perhaps we could not mention two greater contrasts, as dramatic pictures, than 
 his dashing, vigorous representation of the bold Petruchio, and his admirable polished performance of 
 the deceitful and malignant Tartuffe, in the recent translation of Moliere's comedy, produced at the 
 Haymarket; a more finished realisation of this subtle and difficult conception, it would be hard to .. 
 imagine. 
 
 Mr. Webster is a correct and careful actor at all times ; occasionally he is a very brilliant one ; in - 
 his worst parts he scarcely falls to mediocrity, in his best he rises to the development of genius. He 
 has a clear and powerful voice, though sometimes deficient in variety • a rich vein of humour, and in 
 serious parts, often exhibits pathetic po^er of no common kind. 
 
 H. T. 
 
 ■X. 
 
MADAME CELESTE. 
 
 The professional career of this lady is rather a remarkable one: — a foreigner by birfch, and even now 
 unable to speak our language with any great degree of purity, she has still made for herself a new walk 
 in the drama, in which she has not only won universal admiration, but reigned paramount without a rival. 
 
 Madame Celeste was born on the 6th of August, 1.814, at Paris, where her parents struggled against 
 the pressure of pecuniary difficulties in an obscure and humble path of life ; and as, at a very early age, 
 she exhibited signs of a histrionic talent, she was entered as a pupil in the Oonsertatoire of the Academie 
 Roy ale de Musique^where it was soon discovered that she possessed the necessary qualifications for theatrical 
 distinction. During her probation she acted, with Talma, the boy in Le Vieuos Gelibataire, and one of the 
 children with Pasta in Medea. She was the regular Cupid of the Academie, and for her precocious ability was 
 selected to present the bouquet to Charles X. on the occasion of his visiting the Eavart, then the Italian 
 Opera. Here she remained until she nearly attained her fifteenth year, when she received an ofier to enter 
 on an American engagement ; this she at once accepted, and proceeded to the United States, where she 
 laboured hard at her profession, visiting almost every city in the lJnion,an.d finally becoming a great favourite 
 with our transatlantic neighbours. During her residence in the ISTew World she entered into a matri- 
 monial alliance with a gentleman of the name of Elliott, who was charmed by the playful fascination and 
 personal beauty of the young French actress ; one child only was the result of this union — a daughter; 
 an amiable and highly interesting young lady, who, a few years since followed her mother's example, and 
 in the early spring of existence, was married to Mr. Johnston of Baltimore, a member of an eminent 
 banking firm in tUat city. Mr. Elliott is since dead, and Madame Celeste is now in the ranks of that 
 proverbially interesting and irresistible class of women known as widows. 
 
 In 1830^: whil^ yet but a mere girl, she sailed from New Orleans, and arriving in this country 
 a;ppeared at the Theatre E-oyal, Liverpool, as Eenella in Massaniello, where her touching and simple 
 acting at onc^ won the sympathies and admiration of an English audience. Her dumb expressive action 
 afiected the spectators even niore than words, and she was eagerly sought after by the management of 
 our principal provincial theatres. Her success was the more remarkable, as at this period she was a;lmost 
 wholly ignorant of the English language. She afterwards fulfilled engagements at Glasgow, Edinburgh, 
 and Dublin, and then arriving in the metropolis^ appeared at Drury Lane, and afterwards at the Queen's 
 Theatre, then under the management of Mr. Macfarren, the father of the present popular composer, in a, 
 drama called iTi^^- French Spy, which, in consequence of the interest her performance created, drew 
 crowded houses for, a considerable period. Although this w^as not the most favourable field for her 
 exertions, still she acquired no small reputation, and was soon known as a very fascinating and 
 highly talented pantomimic actress. She became a star at most of the minor theatres, and fulfilled 
 engagements successively at the Surrey, the Coburg, Adelphi, and the Strand Theatres, invariably 
 winning not only the approbation but the enthusiastic admiration of her auditors. 
 
 In 1832 she visited her native Erance, and also Italy and G-ermany, and on her return to this 
 country, fulfilled a brief engagement at Dublin, which city she left for Edinburghj where such was her 
 attraction, that an extension of her engagement was imperatively demanded by the supporters of the 
 theatre. She had now acquired such a reputation as to induce the management of Drury Lane to ofier 
 her a second engagement for more responsible and important bumness than that which had been 
 previously allotted to her, and she appeared in the March of 1833 with Mademoiselle Duvernay, in the 
 operatic ballet of The Maid of Gashmere. 
 
 Public taste is an arbitary thing ; and sometimes, with all deference be it spoken, a little whimsical 
 and contradictory; on her appearance at Drury Lane but a year or two since, Madame Celeste had been 
 but coldly received, but now she was most triumphantly welcomed, and vehemently applauded. She 
 played during the season in The Maid of Cashmere, Frince Le Boo, and The Revolt of the Harem, 
 
 Madame Celeste now determined upon visiting America, the land which had been the scene of her 
 earliest exertions, and in 1834 she a second time sailed for the United States. Here a reception awaited 
 her which is never accorded by our less excitable people to a popular favourite of any kind ; the Swedish 
 Nightingale herself was scarcely caressed and idolised by the American people to a greater extent. She 
 was cheered by the populace whenever she made her appearance, saluted by the soldiery, and elected a 
 free citizen of the States. At Kentucky all the seats were taken weeks before her arrival, and at 
 Washington, the late Greneral Jackson introduced her to the cabinet, who congratulated her on her 
 attaining the honourable distinction of being elected a free citizen of the States. Indeed, America must 
 have been to her the true Fl Forada ; for, during her stay there — a period of three years— she realized, 
 by her histrionic exertions, the enormous sum of £40,000. Our transatlantic neighbours do occasionally 
 convert their admiration to idolatry ; but there is still something princely in this munificence to art, 
 from which this country might learn a graceful lesson. The nation that most fosters the artist will, in 
 time, become , most renowned for the art. A liberal appreciation, and a generous esteem for excellence, 
 is the true nurse of genius. The more w^e honour art, the higher do we exalt it. The sculptors of 
 Grreece, and the painters of Italy, would never have produced such rare and wonderful productions — 
 
28 MADAME CELESTE, 
 
 statues and pictures which succeeding ages have gazed with reverent wonder on, and despaired to equal, 
 but that the art and artist were not only cherished and honoured, but ranked among rulers and princes. 
 
 Loaded with wealth and honours, she returned to the land of her adoption in 1837, and, on the 
 7th of October, reappeared at Drurj Lane Theatre, in a drama entitled The Child of the Wreck, written 
 expressly for her by Mr. Planche. The character was a speechless one ; but the mute eloquence of her 
 actions appealed to the audience as powerfully as the most florid and passionate language, while her 
 fawn-like grace and lightness were the theme of general admiration and delight. Her admirable per- 
 formance secured for the piece a run of thirty nights, successively. 
 
 As may be imagined, her reputation was now thoroughly established in this country ; and, on the 
 expiration of her engagement at Drury Lane, she proceeded to the Haymarket, and afterwards to the 
 Adelphi, being received at both houses with ardent and enthusiastic admiration. When not performing 
 at these theatres, she has made brief starring engagements in the provinces ; and, in the Christmas of 
 1843, she became, in conjunction with Mr. "Webster, the lessee of the Theatre Royal, Wiliiamson^square, 
 Liverpool, the management of which she retained during only one seasouj as in the autumn of 18M 
 she assumed the reins of direction at the Adelphi theatre, which she has retained to the present time, 
 and, by the ability and liberality of her management, secured to it a patronage as brilliant as that which 
 it enjoyed in the time of Yates and John Eeeve. 
 
 Her first great dramatic speaking character was in Bernard's popular drama of St, Mary's Mve, the 
 plot of which Mr. Lovell adapted entirely in his play of The Wife's Secret, even to the shadows on the 
 blinds, until Mr. Webster altered it to prevent it from being too immediately recognised. Mr. LoveU 
 was perfectly ignorant of the resemblance, having accidentally read a story founded on the drama. 
 
 In the particular line of the profession which she has adopted, or we should rather say which she 
 has created, she is without a rival ; in comedy, her droll quaintness, imperfect English, and inexhaustible 
 vivacity, keep her audiences in continual roars of laughter ; while, in the pathetic parts of domestic 
 drama, she moves the feelings and excites the tears, of the spectators as powerfully as the most fluent 
 speaker of the English language on the stage. Let those who doubt this assertion witness her repre- 
 sentation of Miami, in Mr. Buck stone's drama of The Green Bushes, Her touching devotion to her 
 husband, her doubts of his fidelity towards her, her remorse and mental agony after his murder, and the 
 final breaking of her crushed heart, and flight of her wounded spirit even while fondling the child of her 
 faithless husband, are painfully true to nature. We lately witnessed her assumption of this character 
 at the Adelphi Theatre; in the next box to us sat a gentleman who seemed strongly affected by the 
 performance. In the death scene he sat with his eyes rivetted upon the actress, and large tears trickled 
 down his cheeks ; whether the performance recalled the memory of one whom he had loved and lost, we 
 cannot say, but we thought so at the time ; for as the last breath quivered on the lips of Miami, and the 
 curtain began slowly to descend, his head sank heavily upon his breast, and he was carried out insen- 
 sible. Whatever secret chord might have been touched in his heart, his emotion was a faithful evidence 
 of the pathetic powers of the subject of this memoir. 
 
 Madame Celeste is, perhaps, the most graceful woman upon our stage ; her attitudes, though 
 simple and natural, are singularly elegant; and, in repose, she resembles a beautiful marble statue 
 which the sculptor, by some superhuman art, had rendered flexible and warm. Her /c>ri5<? is generally 
 supposed to be in the representation of characters which involve a pleasant mingling of singing, 
 dancing, and action ; but although, in such pieces, she is invariably very interesting and charming, 
 we think her capable of a higher flight in the paths of the drama. Her representation of Miami can not 
 be surpassed for pathetic interest, and has extended the run of The Greevi Bushes to nearly four bundled 
 nights. Her performance of the Gripsey Qaeen in The Floivers of the J^brest, is another popular and 
 beaiUtiful realization of the same cast, while her artistic display^ in The Wilhto Oopse, The Cabin Boy, 
 The Sons of Mars^ &c., especially in the last new drama of The Queen's Secret, or the Iron Mash, have 
 excited the tears and applause of the crowds who nightly frequent the Adelphi, and her grace and 
 activity in The Taming of a Tartar, The BeviVs Violin, Giralda, &c,, have been the delight of all who 
 have witnessed her exertions. 
 
 In proof of the estimation in which Madame Celeste is held by her own countrymen, she has h^ad 
 several offers to act at the Porte St. Martin, Academic Eoyal, and Grymnasium Theatres in Paris, and 
 lately was honoured with a proposal to lead the tragic and high comedy business of the Gdeon, the 
 second classic theatre of France, 
 
 She has amassed a considerable fortune by her histrionic talents, and lives in a style of affluence, 
 esteemed by all who know her, as a woman of most amiable and endearing- manners ; she is a very 
 delightful creature in society, extremely affkble and cheerful, brilliant in conversation, and full of 
 anecdotes, which she relates in an irresistibly amusing manner. 
 
 Madame Celeste is now playing her farewell nights previous to her departure for America, where 
 she 13 going to take her last adieus of her first and kindest friends ; after which she intends to return 
 agaiii to the management of the theatre where she has so long enjoyed such brilliant success. 
 
 The esteem in which she is held by the Company may be best inferred by the fact, that from the 
 highest to the lowest, they have entered into a subscription to present her with a handsome testimonial 
 of their admiration and affection, in the shape of a diamond bracelet of great value. 
 
ME. EICHAED JOHN SMITH. 
 
 Mr. EiCHAED JoHif Smith, popularly known as O'Smith, a name lie obtained in consequence of liis 
 admirable personation of Gbi, in the drama of Three Fmgered JacJcy Was born at York in the year 
 1786 ; bis father and mother were both' in the theatrical profession, and Were much respected in the 
 York circuit for talent, and also for respectability in private life, His mother, whose maiden name 
 was Scrace, had previously enjoyed considerable reputation as an actress in the Dublin Theatre, where 
 his father had nearly faiUen a victim to the following accident :-— Performing Polydore, one evening, 
 in the tragedy of The Orphan, in which character he has to destroy himself by rushing on the sword 
 of his brother^ Gastalio, Mr. Smith,- not knowing that Mr; Eeddish, who played Gastalio, had a sword 
 instead of a foil, rushed on the point, which penetrated his side; and had nbt the sword providentially 
 broken, the wound might have been attended by the most fatal consequences. Mr. Smith fell, saying 
 that he was killed ! and Mr. Eeddish; greatly distressed in mind, exclaimed, " I have killed the man, 
 but, by Heaven, I had no intention.'' The wound, however, upon examiriation, proved less dangerous 
 than had been anticipated, and the actor recovered, to the great joy of his young wife, to whom he had 
 been united not quite a month. 
 
 Upon the subsequent removal of the family to Bath, young Smith, then but &ix years old, made 
 his first appearance on the stage in the character of Ariel, in Pr. Hawksworth's fairy tale of lEdgar 
 and JEJmmelme, ajid continued for some years to perform such characters as were suited to, his juvenile 
 appearance and abilities. His family having other views for him, he was, in due time, placed in the 
 office of an attorney in that city; but the piainting room of. the theatre, to which, from his father's 
 situation of treasurer, he obtained habitual access, possessed siipierior attractions for him. Pens and 
 parchment were abandoned for brushes and canvass, which occasioned a total neglect of his appointed 
 pursuits. This dereliction from what his family considered as a serious and essential duty, was pro* 
 ductive of unpleasant altercations, in consequence of which, and to avoid the obnoxious duties imposed 
 upon him, he entered on board a merchantniah, iand sailed from Bristol to the coast of Africa, in 
 At Sierra Leone his talent for drawing attracted the notice of the Grovernor, Who proposed to take 
 him under his protection, but the captain refused to dispense with his services. /W;hile in the Eiver 
 Grabonj from motives of humanity, he assisted the escape of tWo slaves, a father and son^ who were 
 confined in the hold of the vessel ; the particulars of which adventure are related in '- A Tough Yarn,'* 
 published in ^e^ifZe^'^ Jf^sceZZa^. . 
 
 On his return to England his early passion for the stage was revived by his witnessing the per- 
 formance of one or two grand serious pMtomimes ; ' at that time a great novelty in the country* 
 This inclination, certainly a very natural one, considering his theatrical connections; encountered the 
 serious opposition of his friends, who were bent on seeiiig him one day Lord Ghancellor; To avoid 
 these unpleasant disputes he left Bath, rambled through Wales and part of Ireland, and then crossed 
 over to Liverpool, where he was pressed and sent on board the receiving ship, from whence he was 
 released on stating himself to be an actor, and giving them " a passionate speech" as " a taste of his 
 quality." 
 
 At length he was engaged by Mr. Macready, the father of the celebrated tragedian, as prompter, 
 painter, and actor of all work, at the liberal salary of twelve shillings a-week. It was,< however, an 
 excellent school for a young beginner, as Mr. Macready Was an indefatigable manager, well acquainted 
 with the business of the stage, and a strict disciplinarian. Gircumstances not permitting the young 
 actor to> travel in his own carriage, he was often compelled to walk his journeys, and on one occasion^ 
 while travelling between Sheffield and Eochdale, nearly perished in the snow : an incident which he has 
 himself forcibly described in the following , abbreviated letter ; — ^" Thank Grod I hate at. last reached 
 Eochdale in safety. I left Sheffield on Saturday morning, alone, and on foot. I found the road in many- 
 places cut through the snow, eight or nine feet deep, and made my way with difficulty through a cross- 
 country road to Thong, a village about twenty-two miles from Sheffield, Early next morning I arose to 
 pursue my journey. After proceeding three or four miles, through a heavy fall of snow, I lost the track 
 of the road, and after some time spent in fruitless endeavours to regain the path, found it alike impiossible 
 to return or to proceed. Heart-sick and weary, and benumbed with cold, I sat down in the snow, to 
 Wait the chance of some casual assistance. I took out my pocket-book and pencil, and endeavoured to 
 address a few lines to you and the family, but found it impossible. I felt a drowsy sensation creeping 
 upon me, which all my endeavours were unable to shake off, and I resigned myself to my fate ; when I 
 thought I heard the barking of a dog. This aroused me from my stupor, and I endeavoured .to whistle 
 and call him. The sagacious animal shortly after found me where I lay, licked my face and hands, and 
 by his barking and howling, attracted the attention of his master, who was on horseback. He came to 
 iny assistance, not without difficulty placed me behind him, and carried me to Marsden." 
 
 Tempted by an offer of superior advantages, he left Mr. Macready for the Edinburgh and Glasgow 
 theatres, then under the management of Mr. Eock, and here his talent in serious pantomime and 
 extravagant characters first attracted attention. He returned to Bath in the year 1807, and made so 
 8 
 
30 ME. EICHAED JOHN SMITH. 
 
 great an impression in the part of Eobert, in the pantomime of Haymond and Agnes, as induced Mr. 
 EUiston to offer him an engagement at the Surrey Theatre. 
 
 A writer in the Monthly Magaziney thus referred to tliis period of his career : — " this gentleman 
 was eminent in assassins, sorcerers- tlie moSs-#o6piiig heroes in Sir Walter Scott's poems, and other 
 romantic characters, in which a bold, or rather a gigantic figure could be turned to good account. 
 0n oaO' occasion^ a'pef former who played the leading part in a burlesque, was taken ill, and for fault 
 of any body else at hand^ Mr. Obi Smith undertook the part, and his performance was so extraordinary, 
 that he became instantlyj by acclamation, the burlesque actor of the theatre !— playing this character, 
 which had before been turned to very little account, forty or fifty nights successively. Smith has since 
 played several comic characters of a coarse description, with great success, at Drury-Lane, and might 
 probably do more, were the opportunity afforded him. His Captain Croff", in a play called The Pirate, 
 was one of the finest pictures perhaps ever seen upon the stage, He fills up his time in studying 
 costume, &c. ; is a very grave man in his manners and demeanour; and has very little idea, probably, 
 when he plays comic characters, why it is the people laugh at him." 
 
 This is doubtless the true intent and meaning of burlesque ; an apparent contradiction between 
 the language and sentiments, and the manner of expressing them; committing the greatest absurdities 
 in action and delivery, with a perfect unconsciousness of their ludicrous effect, and this Mr. O' Smith 
 certainly does to perfection. The late Mr. EUiston, no indifferent judge of talent, gave up the part of 
 Bombastes to him, after having played it one night, very candidly saying, " you perhaps can make 
 something of the part, though I cannot." That he did make something very considerable of it, may be 
 inferred from the fact, that his representation of Bombastes, for comic power, and ludicrous effect, has 
 been placed on a par with Listen's celebrated performance of the same whimsical character. 
 
 In 1813, Mr. OBUiston having taken the Olympic Theatre, engaged Mr. Kean, then a provincial 
 actor, as stago-manager and principal melo-dramatic actor, and he was to have made his first appearance 
 in the character of Mandeville '\n. Tlie False Friend, but a dispute with the management of Hrury-Lane, 
 which was not settled without difficulty, prevented his appearance, and Mr. Smith was sent for from the 
 Surrey to perform the part^ which he did to the perfect satisfaction of the audience. 
 
 After having played at most of the London theatres, including Drury-Lane, Covent-Glarden, and 
 the Lyceum, Mr. Smith at last settled at the Adelphi, then under the management of Messrs. Yates and 
 Mathews, where his talents were duly appreciated and encouraged, and where he has since remained, 
 and has been long regarded as an essential part of the attractions of, that well conducted establishment. 
 
 While Mr. Smith was engaged at the Lyceum j and during the run of The Bottle Imp, he became 
 so famous for his representations of demons and monsters, that he addressed a very whimsical and 
 amusing letter to the management, soliciting to be permitted to appear sometimes in his own natural 
 shape, without the accdinpaniilient of brimstone and blue fire. He says — -"for the last five years of my 
 life> I have played nothing but demons, devils, monsters, and assassins ; and this line of business, how-- 
 ever amusing it may be to the public, or profitable to the managers, has proved totally destructive of 
 my peace of mindj detrimental to my interests, and injurious to my health. I find myself banished from 
 all respectable society; what man will receive the Devil upon friendly terms, or introduce a Demon into 
 his family circle ? My infernal reputation follows me everywhere, &c." 
 
 As an actor Mr. Smith's talent is of a v^ry remarkable and varied order, unequalled in the represen- 
 tation of creations of a supernatural cast, and in the delineation of terrific grandeur and implacable 
 ferocity; giving to his performance of the arch-fiend that sepulchral character and derisive malignity 
 which have so long been considered the chief features of the satanic character; and in his appearance 
 recalling to our memory Milton's fine comparison of the fiend to a mountain pine struck by lightning, 
 still standing in stately solitude, with singed top and bare branches, upon the blasted heath ; yet can he 
 not only assume the very-reverse of these gloomy pictures, but make an audience roar with laughter at 
 his comic delineations, or melt them with sympathy by his portrayal of parental and tender emotions. 
 This latter talent he evinced to a painful extent by his performance, some years since, at the English 
 Opera House of the maniac Githian, in a piece called The Cornish Miners, where he visits the grave of 
 his lost child and covers it with flowers ; every movement of the actor was watched by the audience, and 
 tears trembled in the dimmed eyes of many a father who witnessed it. Every character which he 
 attempts he devotes himself to thoroughly, and studies it in every aspect and feeling, and whatever may 
 be its importance, performs it with as much care and exactness as if he considered that the fate of the 
 piece depended entirely upon his representation. 
 
 Mr; Smith may now be justly considered as one of the veterans of the stage, being in his sixty- 
 ■ seventh year, and though he has scarcely the energy of his younger days, he is still without a rival in his 
 peculiar line of business, and has been for more than half a century^ a lustly esteemed member of the 
 profession. 
 
 H.T. 
 
MISS PATSTjVTY CQOPEE. 
 
 Jhe parents of this young lady were both in the dramatic profession, and her mother attained some 
 distinction as the representative alike of tragedy and comedy heroines ; her father, being induced , 
 by the success of many of our English actors in the United States, sailed for America and died 
 there in 1825. His daughter Fanny, the subject of this memoir, was born in London in the year 
 1819, and her mother, feeling her health .declining, gradually withdraw her^^^ from the profession, 
 and devoted her time to the education and advancement of her daughter, who, not being intended 
 for the stage, was situdiously kept apart from the drama and. its associations. Mrs. Parry^ a lady 
 of wealth and some' distinction in Surrey, generously received Miss Cooper beneath her roof, and 
 behaved to her with the kindness of a parent ; but the young lady's predilection for theatrical 
 life began to show itself in too powerful a manner to be pleasing to the. adverse tastes of Mrs. Parry^ 
 and she consequently returned to her home, where her mother, yielding to her wish, addressed herself 
 to educate her daughter for the stage. At the age of fourteen she made her, first appearance at 
 the Eeading Theatre, as Sophia, in The Road to Muin, SLnd we believe that she met with as much 
 success as is commonly obtained by one so young in a first experiment ; still, a lapse of some months 
 occurred before an opportunity oifered itself for a second appearance* This took place at the Eich- 
 mond Theatre, for the benefit of her father-in-law, when the young aspirant for dramatic honours 
 sustained the character of Christine, in Love in Humble Life,, and Mr. John Poole, the dramatist, and 
 other literary gentlemen who were present, congratulated the. young actress upon her success, and 
 the probability of her ultimate distinction in .the profession. , ,:. > ■ 
 
 Miss Cooper shortly afterwards obtained an. engagement with Mr, Dowhe, the maiiager of the 
 York circuit, an admirable school for a. young actress, and here she may ^e said to have learnt thp 
 essential rudiments of the histrionic artj as she had to perform a number of diverse and unimportant 
 characters, and , thus she acquired that easy deport|nent . and familiarity with the stage which is indis- 
 pensable to the dramatic artist. ^ , , - : . ^ 
 
 Her next engagement was with Mr. Eobertsori, of the Lincoln circuit,, which she joined in 1837, 
 and where she performed the leading tragic and comic characters ; her progress here was so rapid, 
 that she was speedily looked upon as one of the most promising young actresses in-the provincesj and 
 sought for accordingly by country managers. . . . . . . . ^ . 
 
 In consequence of* a strong recommendation from the late Mrs. Waylett, :who had, during a 
 starring visit to Mr. Eobertson's circuit, seen Miss Cooper's performance with great satisfaction, 
 she received an offer from Mr. Benjamin "Webster, of the Haymarket Theatre, tendering her the 
 second business, with a part of the first." Such an engagement as this was, of course, willingly 
 accepted, and Miss Cooper took her farewell of the Lincoln circuit with a benefit at Wisbeach, per- 
 forming Eosalind, in As You Like It, to a crowded house, and receiving from the audience many tokens 
 of their admiration and esteem. 
 
 Accompanied by her mother, Miss Cooper arrived in London, and made her dehui st>t the Hay- 
 market at the opening of Mr. Webster's second season, on the 16th of April, 1838, in the character 
 of Lydia, in Knowles's comedy of The Love Chase, , Miss Yandenhoff had been the original repre- 
 sentative of the part, and it is certainly not too much to say, that Miss Cooper's performance suffered 
 nothing in reputation from a comparison with that of the former lady. Her youthful and exceedingly 
 pleasing appearance, and the graceful simplicity of her manner, won for her an immediate interest 
 among the audience, and the fairest anticipations of the future seemed warranted by her success. 
 But Mi. Webster did not require an actress for leading business, .Mrs. Walter Lacy, Miss Elphin- 
 stone, and Madame Celeste, were in possession of that line of characters which Miss Cooper had 
 hoped to obtain, and the young actress felt no small amount of disappointment. After some remon- 
 strance with the management against the allotment of such characters to her as she was required to 
 perform, she eventually refused a part of more than ordinary insignificance, and by so doing, incui^red 
 a very heavy fine, and her salary - was withheld until the fine was paid ; at the conclusion of the 
 season, however, Mr. Webster returned the salary which had been suspended, and the engagement was 
 canceUed by mutual consent. / , ; ; ^_,r 
 
 Miss Cooper then reappeared bpfor(3 her . old patrons in the Lincoln circuit, where she was 
 heartily welcomed, and afterwards fulfilled several provincial engagements with great success, termi- 
 nating her tour just .befoxe the commencement of Mr; Hammond's unfortunate speculation at Drury 
 Lane^ .whieh- lasted from the 26th of October, 1839, to the 29th: of Eebruary, 1840. Miss Copper 
 was hehigaged, but her services were seldom required, and then for characters of no great importance. 
 It is almost needless to say that this engagement was by no means a profitable one, .nor was her next 
 Inore fortunate, she being one of the company with which Miss Kelly opened her little theatre, in 
 Dean-street, Soho, on thei 25th of May, 1840, which ill-judged experiment lasted no longer than five 
 
 nights; . '■ - ^ ■• ^: . . ■ 
 
 In the following June the Lyceum opened, under the management of a comnnttee, with a very 
 
32 
 
 MISS EANJSTY COOPER. 
 
 admirable company, of which Misa Cooper was a member. During their short season she had some 
 scope for the display of her versatile talents ; and in Madame Darbert, in The Three Secrets, Grwyn- 
 neth Yaugban, and other characters of the same nature, she was eminently successful. 
 
 Her next engagement was under the management of Madame Yestris, when that lady opened 
 Covent-G-arden Theatre, with a very powerful company, on the 7th of October, 1840. Miss Cooper's 
 first appearance was on the 29th, as Benedetta, in Mr. Lover's musical drama of The Greeh Boy, She 
 performed several other important characters with marked success ; and in the gorgeous revival of ^ The 
 Midsummer Night's Bream, sustained that of Helena in such a manner as to win universal encomiums 
 and admiration. 
 
 At the close of Covent-G-arden she accepted an engagement as leading lady at the Windsor 
 Theatre, during the last season of Mr. Penley's management, and opened as Clari, in The Maid of 
 Milan, The notices of the local press were of the most flattering kind, and she concluded her engage- 
 ment in the character of Eosalind, in As You Lihe It. 
 
 Upon the reopening of Oovent- Garden by Madame Yestris, in September, 1841, Miss Cooper 
 rejoined the company, and again appeared as Helena, with the same favour as in the previous season, 
 and also performed several original and highly responsible characters. It was during this season that 
 she was united to Mr. T. H. Lacy, then the manager of the Shefiield Theatre : their marriage took 
 place on the 25th of January, 1842, at St. Paul's, Co vent- Garden. 
 
 The Yestris dynasty at Covent-Garden terminating in the April of 1842, Mrs. Lacy accompanied 
 her husband to Sheffield, and appeared there, for the first time, on the 4th of the following May, as 
 Madame Darbert, and also in her favourite character of Eosalind, Mr. Lacy sustaining^ that of the 
 melancholy Jaques, and Mr. G-. Y. Brooke appearing as Orlando. After some other provincial engage- 
 ments she returned to Covent-G-arden, where she was engaged by Mr. C. Kemble for the two following 
 seasons. That theatre opened on the 11th of September, with the opera of Norma, and a new after- 
 piece by Mr. Douglas Jerrold, caEed Gertrude's Cherries, in which Miss Cooper (for she still retained 
 that name in the profession) represented the part of Angelica. She subsequently appeared as Harriet, 
 in The Jealous Wife, wheii Mrs. Salzberg (formerly the celebrated Miss Phillips) returned to the stage, 
 md sustained Mrs. Oakley ; Margaret, in A New Way to Pay Old Debts; Mary Thornberry, in John 
 BuU; l^o^\imm>, in Oheron; Young Jj^dij lj?^^^ 
 
 She then proceeded to Brighton, opening as Margaret, in Love's Sacrifice, for the benefit of her 
 husband, that gentleman representing Elmore ; and after fulfilling a short engagement there, she per- 
 formed during the summer at the Pavilion Theatre, where she sustained the leading tragedy. On the 
 opening of Covent-Garden on the 2nd of October, 1843, under the brief management of Mr. H. J. 
 WaUack, she appeared in several princiijal characters, amongst which were Euth, in the comedy of 
 Woman; Desdemona ; G-race Harkaway, in London Assurance; Julia, in The Rivals, &c. 
 
 After again performing for a short time at the Pavilion Theatre, Mrs. Lacy and ber busband 
 were both engaged by Mrs. Warner and Mr. Phelps for their famous legitimate experiment at 
 Sadler's Wells Theatre, which commenced on the 27th of May, 1844, Miss Cooper appearing on 
 the second week of performance as Desdemona. In the following October she quitted the estab- 
 lishment^ and proceeded with her husband to Manchester, where she made her appearance as 
 Mariana in The Wife, and where she afterwards performed Maritana in Don Ccesar for twenty-four, 
 consecutive nights to full houses as a first piece. 
 
 On the opening of the second season at Sadler's Wells, under Mr. Phelps and Mrs. Warner, 
 Miss Cooper again joined that establishment, and performed a great variety of characters, amongst 
 which her representation of Jane Shore obtained great notice and commendation. Here she 
 remained until Mr. Phelps terminated his third season, when she was engaged by Mr. Maddox for 
 the Princess's Theatre, making her first appearance there on the 14th of June, 1847, as Matilda, in a 
 new piece called Ladies Beware, in which her delicate and lady-like style of acting was peculiarly 
 conspicuous. She then appeared as Aspacia, in The Bridal, to the Melantius of Mr. Macready, and 
 afterwards performed Cordelia to the King Lear of that gentleman ; establishing her reputation in that 
 locality as a highly finished and talented actress. She returned again to Sadler's Wells, and remained 
 at that theatre a great and deserved favourite until a very late period, playing a comprehensive round of 
 characters in tragedy, comedy, and farce, and winning the good opinion of every frequenter to the 
 theatre. Eor the last two years, we regret to say, tbat she has been unable, from severe illness^ to con* 
 tinue her professional duties, except at brief and uncertain intervals. A few occasional performances 
 for benefits, and a brief engagement at the Surrey, comprise the account of the latter part of her 
 histrionie career* 
 
 As an actress she is cbiefly distinguished in the higher walks of comedy, and in certain characters 
 of this cast sh^ has probably no superior upon the boards; her youthful and interesting appearance, 
 graceful carriage, playful manner, and soft and natural voice, no doubt contribute largely to the impres- 
 sion she creates. In juvenile tragedy also her efforts are highly effective, her Cordelia and Desdemona 
 are admirable, and in characters of that nature she never fails to elicit the sympathy and applause of 
 her audiencOj but heir physical powers are unequal to the highest walks in tragedy. Let us, however, 
 remember that this, her only failing, is merely one of power, while in intelligence and art the actress 
 stands forth without a fault. 
 
MISS CATHEEINB HAYES. 
 
 This gifted vocalist, appropnately called the " Swan of Erin,?* and so jnstly tlie pride of an island long 
 distinguished for its love and appreciation of the divine art of mnsic, was born at No. 4, Patrick- 
 street, in the city of Limerick. Her musical talent was made known at a very early age, and in a 
 somewhat romantic manner. Miss. Hayes was on a visit to an aged female relative residing in the 
 town mansion of the Earl of Limerick, near to which was the residence of the late Hon. and Eight 
 Eeverend E. Knox, and the spacious and luxurious gardens attached to each house stretched in 
 parallel lines- down to the picturesque and beautiful banks of the river Shannon. The young visitor 
 being of a timid and retiring nature, often sought the shade of a leafy arbour overhung with w^ood- 
 bines and honeysuckle,- near the brink of the river; here, hidden aniong the rich foliage, would she 
 sit for hours,' and warble the sweet and touching ballads of her native land. Untaught as the 
 feathered vocalists around her— like them, she poured; forth, her, s#eet strains out of the lightness 
 of her young and happy heart, and in obedience to the promptings of a nature whose very soul w^as 
 music. One evening, while thus pleasingly employed, a boat filled with a party: rowing down the 
 calm stream foi* amusement, gently approached the alcove, and paused beneath the shadow of the 
 trees; not a whisper announced to the unconscious girl the immediate vicinity of the audience she 
 was delighting, until, as she was concluding the air of "The Lass of Gowrie/' she dwelt upon 
 the last line with that prolonged and thrilling shake of her voice which was destined, in after times, 
 to elicit rapturous applause from crowded and delighted audiences. Her unseen listeners could 
 restrain themselves no longer, but burst into a spontaneous shout of approbatioUj and the timid girl 
 fled from her concealment like a frigh tented faw^ii. Among her auditory on the river was the worthy 
 Eishop Knox, and his correct musical taste at once discerned the germs of that great gift possessed 
 by Miss Hayes. . = : ■ . ^ ■ ; ' 
 
 The young vocalist was- immediately invited to- the See House, where th^ kindness of the Eishop 
 soon allayed the inherent timidity of her nature^ and she shortly became the leading attraction of 
 a series of musical parties which were given, partially for her instruction, by her generous patron. 
 
 Bishop Knox, highly pleased with the rapid progress of his yoiing /protege, resolved that the glorious^ 
 natural voice which she possessed should not be neglected, and having consulted with her friends upon 
 the subject, it was finally determined that her musical education should: be confided to some professor of 
 distinction, and Signer Antonio Sapio was at once selected for that purpose. . 
 
 Accordingly^ Miss Hayes was sent to Dublin, where she arrived on the 1st of April, 1839, and 
 immediately took up her residence at the house of Signer Sapio, in Percy-street. It is said that her 
 voice, even at this time, possessed the bell-like clearness, and soft mellowness, which now contribute so 
 greatly to the delight of her audiences; and that her natural taste was remarkable for its purity and 
 refinement ; bnt it was, of course, dMcient in the mechanical portion of her art, which is only to be 
 acquired by a well-directed, systematic, and industrious course of study- This she devoted herself to 
 with an eager avidity, amounting to enthusiasm ; her whole soul was devoted to the cultivation of her 
 beloved art; and her progress, now that it was under judicious direction, was singularly rapid; indeed, 
 so much so, that after one month's instruction, she was permitted to make her first public appearance. 
 
 This, then dreaded event, took place on the 3rd of May, 1839, in the great room of the E/otunda, at 
 the annaal concert of her instructor, before a large and fashionable audience; Although her great 
 timidity scarcely permitted her fairiy to exhibit the powers of her, beautiful voice, still, when reassured 
 by the cordial welcome bestowed upon her, she sufficiently recovered her self-possession to astonish the 
 professional friends of her instructor, who had heard her sing immediately after her arrival in Dublin, 
 and who could scarcely conceive that a few weeks' instruction could have effected such a difierence. 
 
 The ardour with which Miss Hayes pursued her musical studies, was such that it had to be 
 restrained by her instructor, for fear that her health might be sacrificed by too close an application to 
 them. Early in 1841, she was introduced to the celebrated pianist, Liszt, who complimented her 
 greatly on the brilliancy of her voice and style; and, indeed, was so much struck with her performance, 
 that he wrote as follows, to the daughter-in-law of her generous patron, the Eishop of Limerick : — " I do 
 not know of any voice more expressive than that of Miss Hayes. I doubt if among the singers of the 
 day, there is one equal in extent and volume, to what her's will be." During the whole of that year, she 
 was one of the principal vocalists at the Anacreontic, Philharmonic, and other concerts, held in the 
 metropolis of Ireland. As an unanswerable evidence of her improvement, and consequently augmented 
 popularity, we may mention, that during this year, her terms gradually rose from five, until they reached 
 ten guineas each performance. During the summer of the same year, she visited and sang at Belfast, 
 Limerick, Parsonstown, <fec., everywhere winning " golden opinions from all sorts of people." 
 
 During this period an event occurred which Miss Hayes regarded as another era in her existence ; 
 it was her introduction to the distinguished singer, "the great creature" of the Italian stage, Lablache, 
 before whom, she, ^ith great diffidence, sang " Qui la Yoice,'" that she might obtain- the valuable judgment 
 9 
 
MISS CATHEEIJSTE HAYES. 
 
 of tlie veteran upon her musical pretensions. Having listened with attention until the air was finished, 
 Lablache, without any expression of approbation, requested her to sing another and more difficult piece, 
 and then another; but he finally expressed his admiration in terms of a flattering character, and 
 invited her to go to the theatre the next evening to hear Grrisi and Mario together in Norma : she went, 
 and the result of that evening was totally to change her intentions with respect to the future ; her 
 greatest ambition had hitherto been limited to becoming a distinguished concert singer, but she felt that 
 a new world was opened to her — her beloved art appeared before her in a totally different aspect ; never 
 until then had she seen great singing and great acting combined ; and when she beheld the multitudes 
 of wreaths and bouquets which were finally showered down upon the queen of Italian song, she deter- 
 mined to devote herself to the attainment of excellence in the lyric drama. 
 
 In the August of 1842 Miss Hayes's period of tuition under Signer Sapio expired, and she returned 
 to her friends in Limerick, to whom she painted with the enthusiasm of an imaginative nature, the 
 brilliant glories of the stage, and besieged them with entreaties to sanction her undertaking the study 
 necessary to obtain success in so lofty and hazardous an enterprize. This proposal they would not at 
 first entertain, but they ultimately yielded to the incessant pleadings of the young enthusiast, and Miss 
 Hayes eventually proceeded to Paris to prosecute her studies under the direction of Signer Emmanuel 
 G-arcia, who had educated the ill-fated Malibran for the operatic stage, and to whom Jenny Lind was 
 indebted for some of her earliest lessons. 
 
 In the October of 1842, Catherine Hayes arrived at Paris, where, for a period of eighteen months, 
 she studied under G-arcia, who, in her own language, proved to her " the dearest, kindest, and the most 
 generous of masters." At the end of that time, he voluntarily declared, that he could not add a single 
 grace or charm to the fally-developed and beautiful voice she possessed, and advised her to go to Italy, 
 where she could best obtain the dramatic instruction necessary for her eventual success upon the lyric 
 stage. She accordingly proceeded to Milan, and placed herself under the direction of Signer Eelice 
 Honconi, then professor of singing to the Conservatoire 'Royal, 
 
 While at Milan, she accepted an engagement offered her by Signer Provini, the manager of the 
 Italian Opera at Marseilles, and accordingly made her dehut there on the 10th of May, 1845, in Bellini's 
 opera of I Puritan% to a house intensely crowded. At first, she experienced a sensation of timidity and 
 faintness so strongly, that these emotions threatened almost to deprive her of the power of utterance : 
 she thought her failure almost a certainty ; and has often since declared that the agony of that 
 thought was insupportable. After her first reception, the opera proceeded in ominous silence ; not a 
 single expression of approbation did she obtain from that critical audience until the eighth scene, when 
 the beautiful opening polacca, " Son Yergin," aroused in her all her powers, and a burst of approbation 
 fell gratefully upon the ears of the despairing debutante. Erom this moment she proceeded with 
 increased vigour and freedom of execution ; and, on the fall of the curtain, the shower of flowers thrown 
 to her feet, and the enthusiastic plaudits of the audience, proclaimed her perfect success. 
 
 At the expiration of her engagement, she again devoted herself to study, from which she was 
 drawn by an offer from Signer Morelli, of the position oi 'prima donna of the La Scala Theatre at Milan, 
 where she appeared in Donizetti's opera of Linda di CJiamouni. Of her reception some idea may be 
 formed, when we state that she was called before the curtain no less than twelve times in the course 
 of the evening. On her second appearance, which was in Otello, her exquisite and touching performance 
 gained for her the title of " The Pearl of the Theatre." 
 
 8he next proceeded to Vienna, where she met with equal success, and afterwards to Yenice, where 
 she appeared on the first night of the carnival of 1847, in a new opera entitled Albergo de Romana, which 
 her brilliant singing saved from condemnation. 
 
 She again returned to Italy, and at Elorence became acquainted with Catalani, who treated her with 
 the greatest kindness and hospitality, and on one occasion kissing her affectionately, said—" "What would 
 I not give to be in London when you make your debut I Your fortune is certain; and, remember, 
 whenever you come, my doors shall always be open to you." 
 
 After the fulfiment of a second engagement in Yienna, where Eicci composed his JEstella for her, 
 and where she also appeared as JSTorma, the exquisite performance of which by Grrisi, first attracted the 
 attention of Miss Hayes to the stage ; she successively visited Bergamo, Yerona, Elorence, and Genoa, 
 representing Maria di Rohan, and the leading characters in Yerdi's works with great success, and indeed, 
 constantly increasing reputation. 
 
 Having concluded her engagement at the Carlo Eelice, in Genoa, Miss Hayes was offered her own 
 terms for London, both by Mr. Lumley, for her Majesty's Theatre, and Mr. Delafield, for the lioyal 
 Italian Opera at Covent- Garden. 
 
 She made her appearance at the last-mentioned house, as Linda, on the 10th of April, 1849, with 
 most complete success, winning not only the rapturous applause of the audience, but the general appro- 
 bation of the public press. During the season, she had the honour of singing at a private concert at 
 Buckingham Palace, and of being complimented by her Majesty " on her deserved success." 
 
 In the IN'ovember of the same year, she visited her native country, and sang at the Dublin Philhar- 
 monic Society, where she created an immense sensation ; which was raised even to a higher degree of 
 enthusiasm, when she appeared with the Italian company at the Theatre E-oyal, and performed Lucia, 
 If orma, and Amina. . She then visited Limerick and Cork a^ the prima donna of the opera company, 
 
MISS CATHEEIJSTE HATES. 35 
 
 meeting in each city with that warmth and heartiness of reception, for which her countrymen are 
 proverbial. 
 
 Eeturning to London, she engaged with Mr. Lnmley, of her Majesty's Theatre, for the season of 
 1850, and made her appearance there on the 2nd of April, in Lucia, thoroughly sustaining the great 
 reputation she had acquired. In the winter, she again visited Ireland, and also made a triumphal tour 
 through the English provincial towns, where she was everywhere received with acclamations, especially 
 at Manchester, Liverpool, and Birmingham. She then again visited the " eternal city," and appeared 
 at the Apollo Theatre, at E-ome, during the Garnival of 1851, concluding her engagement in Maria de 
 Eohan, w^hich character she performed for twelve successive evenings. After a professional visit to 
 Trouville and Havre, she again returned to England. 
 
 Here, after a few farewell concerts. Miss Hayes determined on visiting the New World; and 
 having engaged for her passage on board the JPaciJic, in which, by a singular coincidence, she occupied 
 the state berth originally prepared for J enny Lind in this magnificent vessel, she went on board on 
 Wednesday, the 3rd of September. As the vessel was departing, and Miss Hayes's friends, who had 
 accompanied her on board, were returning to land, they gave her three hearty cheers, in which they were 
 joined by the whole of the passengers, the distinguished vocalist standing by the side of the captain upon 
 the paddle-box, and waving her handkerchief as long as they remained in sight. 
 
 Arriving at New York, Miss Hayes made her first appearance at Tripler Hall, on Tuesday, the 23rd 
 of September, and our excitable transatlantic neighbours gave her a most enthusiastic reception. The 
 hall was intensely crowded, and several thousand dollars were actually refused at the doors. But 
 perhaps we shall give a more truthful and interesting account of her appearance there, and of the 
 opinions entertained of Miss Hayes's talents in New York, by making a few quotations in reference to 
 it from the heap of American papers which now lie before us. The N'ew York Weekly Mirror says— 
 " Her appearance was hailed by a shout of welcome that reverberated like thunder through the building, 
 and made the windows fairly tremble. Shout after shoat, mingled with a universal clapping of hands, 
 arose for nearly a minute, and after it had died away it was caught up by the thousands outside, who 
 thronged Mercer-street, in the hope of catching some stray notes of the Swan of Erin. When the 
 applause ceased, Catherine Hayes was evidently deeply agitated by feelings aroused by the warmth and 
 kindness of her reception ; and when she commenced her voice wavered and trembled ; but as she pro- 
 ceeded she gained confidence, and did justice to herself. The piece she sang was " Ah ! Mon Eils," 
 from The I^rophete, and a more difficult song there cannot be found in the whole range of vocal music. 
 It is a mourning complaint, a passionate utterance of grief, devoid of melody or extrinsic ornament to 
 tickle the ear, and is, consequently, entirely dependent on the truthful conception of the singer for its 
 effbct. In the hands of an ordinary vocalist it would be a mere melancholy drone, but Catherine Hayes 
 made it the embodiment of living grief — ^her voice wept and trembled with emotion, expressing with 
 painful truthfulness utter desolateness of heart. To our thinking this was the vocal triumph of the 
 evening, and more artistic than any other effort. 
 
 Catherine Hayes is a great artiste ; she is not without blemish — none are perfect, but she possesses the 
 elements of universal popularity. She has art for the critic, and nature for the mass, and she can sway 
 them both at will." Erom Ihe Spirit of the Times we extract the following: — "To compare her, as 
 some have done, with Jenny Lind, is at once out of the question. They are strikingly difierent, and we 
 cannot imagine with what object this has been done. Jenny Lind has a voice which has, indisputably, 
 the advantage of Kate Hayes in its upper notes, while it is altogether as inferior in extent and quality 
 in the lower portion of its register. And as thoroughly accomplished and educated artists, we must 
 confess that they stand upon a par.'^ Another paper speaks of her second appearance thus : — " There 
 is no imitation of any other artist ; her conception is broad, bold, and masterly. The last piece she 
 sang was the lovely Irish ballad, " Savourneen Deelish," which, to the mass, was the great piece of the 
 evening. She delivers these simple airs with a pathos so natural, a passion so thrilling, and a gentle 
 simplicity so truly characteristic, that she charms the people with an irresistible spell, so that the tears 
 come unbidden, and will not be stayed. Her success is no longer problematical ; it is a settled fact, and 
 her fame is now broadcast over the country." 
 
 Miss Hayes is a lady of great personal attractions and gentle unassuming manners ; her voice is 
 of singular natural beauty and extraordinary compass ; and when we consider her great enthusiasm in 
 the glorious art to which she has utterly devoted herself, and her wonderful industry in improving the 
 organ with which she has been gifted, we must confess that brilliant and flattering as her numerous 
 triumphs have been, still they are well deserved. 
 
■ 
 
 ME. JAMES HENEY HACKETT. 
 
 AMOisra the distinguished American actors who have visited this country and courted the judgment 
 of a metropolitan audience, the name of this gentleman stands very prominently forward. He was 
 born in the city of JNTew York,- on the 15th of March, 1800. According to his " family pedigree," which, 
 as the last of the " barons of Hackett's town," Ireland, Mr. Haekett holds (duly and officially attested 
 and issued in 1834, by the Ulster king at arms), he is descended from " Kaket^ a Norman noble and a 
 general who accompanied William: the Conqueror to England."* 
 
 "While a boy, at . school, he displayed a remarkably vivacious and imitative turn of mind, and his 
 juvenile histrionic talent was employed in portraying the peculiarities of his tutors, which he did 
 in a manner to call forth the unqualified approbation and delight of his schoolfellows. 
 
 In the autumn of 1815, he was admitted a student of Columbia College; but a severe fit of 
 illness interrupted his classical pursuits, and on his recovery he commenced the study of the law. 
 But it was not as a lawyer that Mr. Haekett was to acquire distinction; Shakspere possessed more 
 attractions for him than Blackstone, and a study of the laws of mind, as exemplified by the poet, 
 lured him from the more useful but less attractive study of the laws of the land. ;Kot feeling him- 
 self rightly placed in life, he abandoned his legal studies and entered the counting-house of a 
 relative with the view of becoming a merchant. Although an ardent admirer of the universal poet, 
 he so regulated and controlled the enthusiastic adrairation he entertained of his wonderful dramas, 
 as to content himself with a close and analytical perusal of them in the solitude of , his own chamber. 
 His anxiety was not to display that which he knew, by appearing at the theatre, but to dive deeply 
 into the arcana of beauty and wisdom contained in the works of the poet, and to learn that of which 
 he was ignorant. . 
 
 In 1819 Mr. Haekett married, and settled in Utica, ISTew York. Here he became extensively 
 engaged in trade, until, desirous of extending his sphere of enterprise, he. returned to the city of 
 ]N"ew York, and became a merchant in Eront-street, in that , city, in the .year 1825. Within that 
 year, becoming unsuccessful, unsettled, and dissatisfied, he turned his attention to the stage, and made 
 his first appearance on the boards at the Park Theatre, N'ew York, March, 1826, as Justice Woodcock, in 
 Ziove in a Village^ and soon after produced Shakspere's Comedy of Errors, acting theBromio of Ephesus,^ 
 and imitating the personal peculiarities of a very favourite comedian, who performed the twin-brother of 
 Syracuse, to such perfection as to confound the audience with their respective identity, and convulse the 
 house with laughter. This performance created an unprecedented sensation, and filled the theatre for a 
 large portion of the season. , .In the April of the following year, having crossed the Atlantic, he made 
 his appearance in London at Covent-garden theatre, as Sylvester Paggerwood, in which he introduced 
 anecdotes illustrative of American life, , and imitations of Keah and Macready., Such was the enthu- 
 siasm with which the imitation of Edmund Kean was received, that, soon after, he was invited by 
 the celebrated and since retired Eichard Jones, of Oovent-Grarden, to perform a scene oi BicJiard IIL 
 in imitation of Kean, at his benefit, which Mr. Haekett did, and then the whole character, with great 
 applause, for the late Mr. Elliston, who had just receded from the management of Drury-Lane, and taken 
 the Surrey Theatre. . 
 
 In the JSTovember of 1832 he appeared at Drury-lane Theatre in Colman's comedy of Who Wants 
 a Guinea ? in an alteration of the character of Solomon Grundy, which he transformed into a Yankee 
 of the name. of Solomon Swop, of course retaining all the original situations; and both in this, 
 and the singularly opposite .character of the persecuted Erenchman, Morbleu, in Monsieur Tonson^ was 
 he eminently successful. 
 
 In the March of 1833 he reappeared at Covent-garden as Colonel Mmrod Wildfire, in Ihe 
 Kentuckian, and delighted the public by his faithful representation of American eccentricities. The 
 following May found him at the Haymarket, where he produced Hip Van Winkle, a. drama founded 
 oil Washington Irving' s highly interesting story, in which he represented an American desceuded ot 
 a Dutch family, with a success which ensured for the piece an extensive run, and considerably 
 enhanced his spreading reputation as an actor of character parts. He concluded his engagement by 
 a representation of Shakspere's richest and most humorous comic creation. Sir John Ealstafi", appearing 
 as the fat knight in the first part of Henry IV., which was favourably received, though but his second 
 performance of the character on any stage. He had first played it about a year previously at^ Phila- 
 delphia, Mr. Charles Kean sustaining Hotspur ; that being, by a singular coincidence, also his first 
 appearance in that character. 
 
 In 1839 he carried on a highly interesting correspondence with the late Hon. John Quincy 
 
 * Haekett, of Haekett's-town, County Carlow, and Shelton Abbey, County "Wicklow, clerived from Dominus Paganus de 
 Haekett, who himself descended from one of the great Norman barons under the Conqueror at Hastings, whose name appears on 
 the roll of Battel Abbey. Paganus, in more than a eentury afterwards, accompanied Henry II. into Ireland, and acquired broad 
 lands and seignories there ; and his descendants, generation after generation, were subsequently parliamentary barons and potent 
 magnates in Ireland. — Burke's At^morie of England, Scotland, and Ireland, London, 4to., 1844. 
 
TT AS HHP 
 
 Wliy llie Ji Ltle l^nsli lias grown a great big tree m tlie nigTit , 
 andtlieic liajigs mj gnu m tTie "branches " 
 
 JOHN 'UM.I.IS & COW PAN Y, I,OMj)QN & NliW YOLIK 
 
ME. JAMES HEJSTEY HAOKETT. 
 
 Adams, ex-president of the United States, respecting Sliakspere's character of Hamlet ; printed copies 
 of the letters lie before us now, and we regret that in a memoir of the present limits we can but 
 allude to them. They prove Mr. Hackett a subtle and most industrious critic, and a very acute com- 
 mentator upon the works of Shakspere. 
 
 In 1840, he again visited England, and reappeared at Drury Lane Theatre, where he performed 
 Falstaff (in Henry IV., 'Part 1.) repeatedly, with great success. Some depreciating newspaper 
 criticisms having appeared, prefaced by what Mr. Hackett regarded as false ideal of the character and 
 its qualities, he published a reply, entitled Falstaff; a Shalcsjperian Tract, in which he vindicated the 
 justice and propriety of his conception ; and, after quoting from the original text various proofs of his 
 own views, concluded thus : — " Shakspere has invested that philosophic compound of vice and sensuality 
 with no amiable or tolerable quality to gloss or cover his moral deformity, except a surpassingly 
 brilliant and charming wit, and a spontaneous and irresistible flow of humour." 
 
 In 1841, he gave further evidence of the comprehensive nature of his dramatic talent, by appearing 
 in that arduous and wonderful creation of the greatest of dramatic poets. King Lear, which he performed 
 at the Park Theatre, JSTew York, and which had a very successful run, not only in that city, but also in 
 Philadelphia and Boston. 
 
 In 1842, he appeared at the Park Theatre as Hamlet, Mrs. "Wood representing Ophelia ; and in the 
 same year he performed Sir Pertinax Mac Sycophant, in Macklin's comedy of The Man of tJie World, 
 which has since become one of his standard parts ; and then branching out into a very opposite kind of 
 character, a23peared as the Irishman, O'Oallaghan, in Sis Last Legs, on the same evening, as an 
 afterpiece. 
 
 Encouraged by his success in Lear and Hamlet, he appeared during the same year as Eichard III., 
 performing the character with a greater regard to historical truth than is usually aimed at by our 
 tragedians. 
 
 Having again crossed the Atlantic, Mr. Hackett reappeared] in the winter of 1845, at Covent- 
 Grarden Theatre, in his favourite part of the fat knight, and in Eip Yan Winkle, with a very decided 
 and flattering success. And in the same year, by command of her Majesty, who in company with the 
 Prince Albert, honoured him with their presence ; he performed Monsieur Mallet at the Haymarket. 
 Her Majesty and the Prince were much entertained by his representation, and frequently applauded 
 him with great heartiness. Of this performance The Times said, " Mr. Hackett' s Erenchman is care- 
 fully studied from nature, and is altogether unconventional. He abounds in little traits of startling- 
 reality, and it is from this quiet truthfulness that his effects are made, rather than the exaggerated 
 absurdities which more commonly constitute a stage ^ mounseer.' The mixture of strong inward 
 feeling, with all the outward demonstrations of conventional politeness, is conceived with a true sense 
 of nature, and pourtrayed with quaint and frequently touching effect." 
 
 Having made a visit to England during the present year, as a matter of pleasure, he has been 
 induced to fulfil a few provincial " starring" engagements, and also to appear at the Haymarket as Sir 
 John in The Merry Wives of Windsor, which had such a successful run there, that the manager proposed 
 a flattering engagement to Mr. Hackett to reappear there early next season in a wider range than he 
 has lately represented before an English audience. 
 
 Mr. Hackett has, at various periods of his career, held the reins of management at the Old 
 Chatham, the Bowery, and the JN'ational Theatres, in New York ; and also of the new and beautiful 
 edifice built expressly for him at Boston, known as the Howard Athenaeum. Our readers also may 
 remember that he was the manager of the Astor Place Opera House, at JSTew York, when the riot 
 originating in the jealousy entertained by Mr. Eorrest towards Mr. Macready occurred, on the 10th 
 of May, 1849. Mr, Hackett was so materially injured in his business as a manager, by his honourable 
 efforts to sustain Mr. Macready, whom he regarded as most unjustly abused, through the influence 
 of Mr. Forrest's friends, that he threw up his lease of the establishment in disgust, and immediately 
 withdrew from all connection with theatrical management, in which resolution he has since persevered. 
 Indeed, since the death of his wife, in 1845, an event which seriously affected his spirits, Mr. Hackett 
 has been seen upon the stage but rarely and irregularly. 
 
 It will be seen from this rapid glance at his professional career, that Mr. Hackett is an actor 
 of fa surprisingly varied ability; English, Irish, Scotch, Dutch, Erench, or American peculiarities are 
 all hit off with a wonderful accuracy, while both in the delineation of pathos or humour, he is 
 equally successful. Possibly, no actor that ever trod the stage since the days of Grarrick, has played 
 successfully such varied and opposite parts. His great Shaksperian character, Ealstaff, has been the 
 study of a life, every light and shade of it is wonderfully brought out, and delineated with great truth 
 and humour. Mr. Hackett enters heartily into the fun of the part, and his smile of triumph and 
 low mellow chuckle at his wit, and the humour of his situations, seem to indicate not only a perfect 
 appreciation, but an absolute love of the character. His appearance, too, is admirable ; Ealstaff, in all 
 his vast proportion, stands before us, his entrance puts us into good humour — a sort of sunshine 
 radiates from him, and we prepare for mirth. IN'or are we disappointed — every line is delivered so 
 pointedly, that the audience share the comedian's acute appreciation of this irresistibly amusing 
 creation. His performance of Ealstaff is not only a rare entertainment, but a most intellectual Shak- 
 sperian study. 
 10 
 
ME. WILLIAM HAEEIES TILBUEY. 
 
 This gentleman, for several years a respeciJed member of the Haymarket company, and a comedian of 
 considerable talent in a line in the profession which cannot, at present, boast of possessing any really 
 great actor, drew his first breath in the modern Eabylon, within the sound of Bow-bells; for he was 
 born at JN'o. 63, Watling Street, on the 25th of May, in the year 1806. He is, therefore, a genuine 
 Londoner ; though his frequent visits to JN'orfolk, and his connexions in that county, have led many to 
 the impression that he " was raised'' in "the land of dumplings." His father was a wholesale druggist 
 in the city, and his mother was originally a Miss Harries, of Cardigan, through whom Mr. Tilbury is 
 related to some leading families in the northern portion of the principality. Mr. Tilbury's parents 
 have both paid the] debt of nature; and he is indebted for his education to his uncle, the late 
 Mr. Thomas Tilbury, for many years an eininent solicitor of London, a man respected, and indeed 
 beloved, by all who knewjhim. This exemplary relative, having no family, adopted the subject of our 
 memoir at a very early age, treating him as a favourite son, and always regarding him with the affec- 
 tionate solicitude of a parent. He entrusted the education of his young charge, first, to the Eev. Pierre 
 Beau, of Tottenham, afterwards to the talented Mr. John Eamsay, of Muswell Hill, and finally to 
 Mr. "W". Grittins, of Highgate. 
 
 Even as a school-bpy, the dramatic bias of young Tilbury was discernable: the promptings of 
 nature are not to be disregarded; and the lad who has an innate though latent talent for any art, 
 whether for music, painting, " sculpture, or the drama, will find some means of following his favourite 
 pursuit ; and several of Mr. Tilbury's schoolfellows, now established in our capital, remember the time 
 when, with his coat turned inside out for costume, their young companion raved and ranted as Eichard 
 or Shy lock, on wet half-holiday Sj in the dancing-room attached to the school. Parents should carefully 
 observe the tendency of their children's amusements, and foster the feeble shoots of talent they may 
 discern in them : this would lead to a happier ; condition of society. Chance is too great a regulator 
 of position in the world at present: capacity is seldom thought of in the selection of a profession. 
 Thus, in our parish, we have a stuttering clergyman, who can, with difficulty, read his own sermons, 
 and an eloquent cheesemonger, who delivers speeches on political freedom, and lectures on universal 
 education. 
 
 Towards the, close of his school-days, Mr. Tilbury lived with his uncle at Highgate, which suburban 
 little town was visited by " a cry of players," under the management of the veteran Jackman. The 
 dramatic yearning which had been, for some time, secretly cherished, now did its work; and the then 
 school-boy, and now long-established comedian, w^y^^ee? himself behind the scenes. Once there, it 
 became his constant resort: every moment that he could stealthily snatch from home, or from his 
 scholastic duties, was passed in the fascinations of the Theatre Eoyal (que. Eural) Southwood Lane. 
 We have heard Mr. Tilbury say, that his earliest dramatic remembrance is of JIarlequin and the Silver 
 Sivans, at Covent-&arden ; but his next is The School for Scandal, and Don Juan; or a Spectre on 
 HorsehacJc, at the Highgate temple. Proin this hour . his fate was decided ; his resolution was fix;ed to 
 be an actor: his dreams ^were dazzled by the tinsel glories of the stage, and peopled with phantom 
 appearances of the great creations of our national poet. Although it was not until some years after 
 that a diGGidiQdi declaration of principles took place, yet the laceration of folding door-posts and cornices 
 with forks, to suspend the green-baize table-cloth for a curtain, with the abstraction of sheets and 
 clothes-horses for scenery, and the performance of a monopolological extravaganza, while the family were 
 absent in town, to the no small wonder and delight of the cook, housemaid, and gardener, attested 
 that the spark was only smouldering, and would at length break forth. 
 
 Preed from school, Mr. Tilbury was articled to his uncle, and, in due time, admitted as a solicitor ; 
 but we presume that his clients were not very numerous; for he soon, abandoned his practice, and 
 startled his family by. the, announcement that he should adopt the stage as a profession, . and that he 
 had secretly, for yearSj been reading Shakspere and Sheridan, instead 'of Blackstone and Bay ley. 
 During the progress of his clerkship, he had acted at Eawstorne Street, "Wilson Street, and other places 
 of, then, amateur practice, where he shared the plaudits with several other now favourite actors then 
 similarly situated ; and towards the close of his articles he had represented Plexible, in Love, Law, 
 and Fhysic, at Sadler's Wells Theatre : and with .this amount of experience he proceeded to Gosport, 
 and there fulfilled his earliest professional engagement as first low comedian. Tlie theatre was under 
 the management of Messrs. Drouet and Woolgar, the latter the father of the talented actress of that 
 name at the Adelphi. Mr. Tilbury went with the company to Jersey, and afterwards performed in a 
 variety of small towns, where he became acquainted with the deprivations and vicissitudes which an 
 obscure country actor must undergo, and with the meagre houses which await the young beginner. 
 His kind uncle, however, kept him personally from want ; and, by his generous supplies, gave him the 
 means of sometimes lending a helping hand to others. 
 
 Perhaps he was a little disgusted with the view afforded him of early professional life, for after some 
 time, Mr. Tilbury yielded to the solicitations of his family, and proceeding to London, returned to his 
 legal pursuits. An occasional rub against the scenes was, however, still irresistible ; the passion was 
 
JOHTnT TAT,L:?y So CO'MPAKY, l,OIv DON fi-'Ui^N YOBK. 
 
ME. WILLIAM HAEEIES TILBUET. 
 
 39 
 
 tlius kept alive, and in a few montts tlie chambers were resigned, and lie determined on making bis 
 reappearance in the theatrical profession. 
 
 Mr. Tilbury's intimacy with the late Mr. Yates, procured him an introduction from that gentleman 
 to the late Mr. George Macfarren, who was then about to open the Queen's Theatre, and there Mr. 
 Tilbury made his appearance in the farce of JEverylody^ s Husband^ in conjunction with late "W". Smith, 
 Mr. Munro, Mr. T. Grreen, Mrs. Grlover, Mrs. Humby, &c. Erom thence he went to the Erighton 
 Theatre, then under the management of Messrs. Bew and Yining, and having decided upon changing his 
 line of business, he abandoned low comedy, and eschewing drunken servants and funny rustics, engaged 
 with them for old men, and sustained a great round of characters of that nature during 1881-2. He was 
 then engaged by' Mr. Osbaldiston for the Surrey, and succeeded Mr. "Williams in his department, 
 where he remained until the theatre closed, when, finding himself without employment, he once more 
 made a virtue of necessity, by acceding to the wishes of his relatives ; and quitted the sock and buskin, 
 as he then deemed, for ever. !For some time he filled a government appointment, where he hoped to be 
 permanently retained, but the pressure of the affair being answered, and change of principles effecting 
 change of patronage, Mr. Tilbury was doomed to disappointment, and again found himself an idler in the 
 great city. 
 
 At this period, Mr. Tilbury met a gentleman who introduced him to the proprietor of the Kensington 
 Theatre (then about to open,) with whom he engaged to conduct the stage department ; from here he 
 was invited to join the company at the English Opera House, where, making a hit in Major Havannah, 
 in before Breahfast, (a character in which he had some years before, during an engagement at Brighton, 
 elicited the commendation of that distinguished comedian, Charles Mathews, senior,) he was engaged for 
 five years by Mr. Arnold, But it " is not in mortals to command success," and the affairs of the theatre 
 not continuing prosperous, Mr. Tilbury was released from his engagement, to enable him to accept an 
 offer from his old manager, Mr. Osbaldiston, for Covent-G-arden, where he remained with that gentleman 
 for two years, and was engaged by Mr. Macready, when he succeeded to the management in the October 
 of 1837. We next find him at the St. James's Theatre, with Mr. Bunn, where he remained for a short 
 season, and then left the metropolis for Liverpool, to assist Messrs. Hammond and Eaymond at the Liver ; 
 he also appeared at the Theatre Eoyal, and was highly popular, and much respected there. He next 
 visited Swansea and Bath with Mr. J. E. ISTewcombe, also Chester and other towns with Mr. Alexander 
 Lee and Mrs. Waylett, the late talented songstress, after which he was engaged by Mr. Webster for the 
 Haymarket, where for nine years he did good " suit and service," gradually rising in public favour, filling 
 the gap left by the late Mr. Strickland, and representing Hardcastle, Polonius, &c., when Mr. Earren 
 quitted. Arrived at this point, cheered by gradual success, and augmented respect and prosperity, Mr. 
 Tilbury, much to his regret, and equally to the surprise of a large circle of friends and admirers, found 
 his services dispensed with, and the renewal of his engagement declined. After watching events for 
 several months, Mr. Tilbury joined Mr. W. E. Copeland, the respected manager of the Strand Theatre, 
 where his representation of Doctor Botts in The Foot Belation, and Don Torribio in The Hopeless 
 Fassion, attest the soundness of the engagement. We trust, however, and nowise disloyally to his 
 present manager, soon to see Mr. Tilbury filling a position of more importance, to which his tried 
 abilities, and general commendable deportment entitle him. 
 
 His excellent performance of Cedar, in Jerrold's comedy of The Schoolfellow, first brought Mr. 
 Tilbury into notice, and his personation of Professor Truffles, Sir Toby Belch, Sir Oliver Surface, and 
 Count Muffenough, in Lola Monies, with other characters, including many original ones, have creditably 
 sustained the promise his appearance first promised. 
 
 Mr. Tilbury is a useful and sterling actor, formed in the old school ; always correct, and frequently 
 displaying a broad humour, without ever descending to vulgarity or buffoonery. His pictures of the 
 English gentleman in the decline of life, are natural and easy, vivacious and hearty. His voice is not 
 only distinct and powerful, but rich and unctuous, reminding the listener of good living, and suggesting 
 visions of turtle, venison, and rare old wines. He is of a portly figure, and quiet unassuming manners, 
 and is particularly still in his style of street costume. Mr. Charles Mathews, having, some years since, 
 promoted him to the imaginary See of E-ill-tilhiory, he is most commonly addressed and spoken of, 
 among his professional friends, as the Bishop — a title according with his appearance, which certainly 
 savours more of a priest, or a dissenting minister, than a comedian. 
 
 Some years since Mr. Tilbury received offers to cross the Atlantic, and, indeed, was absolutely 
 engaged by Mr. E, Maywood, for Philadelphia, but the arrangement was ultimately abandoned, in 
 consequence of Mr. Maywood surrendering his position as manager sooner than had been anticipated. 
 A second offer proceeded from Mr. James Wallack, when that gentleman ruled at the National, ISTew 
 York; but the necessity of starting at the short notice of eight days, and the impossibility of com- 
 pleting the necessary arrangements for his family either continuing in England, or accompanying 
 him to the New World, obliged him to forego that advantage .also. 
 
 Mr. Tilbury is a pleasing companion, good-natured and humorous,'' and by no means averse to the 
 good things of this life. He has the reputation of being a fluent speaker, and a capital chairman at the 
 social board ; and is a member, and on the committee of, the Covent- Garden Theatrical Eund. 
 
 Mr. Tilbury married the second daughter of a highly respectable family in Oxford, an amiable lady, 
 by whom he has had five children, but only three now survive. 
 
ME. JAMES EOGEES. 
 
 This gentleman, like his friend Tilbury, is a veritable Londoner, and first entered this breathing, 
 bustling world at Barbican, on the 9th of JN'ovember, 1822. His father having bestowed upon him a 
 sound and useful education, brought him up to his own business, that of an engraver, in which 
 Mr. Eogers acquired great ability, and which he even now occasionally practises, with both profit and 
 distinction. He is also an artist of considerable talent, and the faithfulness of his portraits (mostly 
 hastily pencilled), are universally admitted. 
 
 "What first induced Mr. Eogers to turn his attention to the stage, we know not, but certain it is, 
 that, a few years since, his graver was almost wholly resigned ; and having for some time studied the 
 histrionic art, under the guidance of that excellent comedian, Mr. Oxberry, he obtained an engagement 
 for low comedy at the Olympic Theatre, where he made his first bow to the public, in some subordinate 
 character, in The MaJce's Progress ; appearing afterwards as Paddington Eill, in conjunction with Mr. 
 Greorge Wild, in the farce of '^orh OTiops. 
 
 He soon, however, became convinced that an actor's best school was the provinces, and accordingly 
 sought and obtained an engagement at Norwich, where he succeeded the late Mr. Munyard as low 
 comedian ; and opened as Jemmy Starling, in Buckst one's popular drama. The Wreclc Ashore. Here he 
 gradually became a favourite with the play-goers of JS^orwich ; and, in conjunction with the company, 
 visited Lynn and other towns in the circuit. 
 
 It has always been our desire to give the theatrical amateur a correct idea of the difficulties to be 
 encountered by him, if, ^actuated by enthusiasm, he determines on making the stage his profession ; and 
 for this purpose we subjoin the following incident in the provincial career of Mr. Eogers. Having been 
 engaged by a Mr. Wilson to perform the low comedy at the Southend Theatre, in 1843, he proceeded 
 to this quiet little town, where he was announced to play Bowbell, in The Illustrious Stranger, and two 
 or three other parts beside. The evening came, but the band did not, and as Mr. Eogers is a very 
 respectable performer on the violin, he was induced to fiddle in the orchestra, and play upon the stage 
 alternately during the evening. This double duty merited some little return, but what money was 
 taken, we presume went into the pocket of the manager ; for, after having played for a fortnight, and 
 received no salary whatever, Mr. Eogers paid his last five shillings to the owner of a fishing smack, for 
 the permission of travelling with him by night to G-ravesend, from whence he made his way again to 
 the metropolis. 
 
 Some months of this year were also passed in making a pleasant tour with the late lamented 
 Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Lee. He again returned to the metropolis, and played with Mr. G-. Wild, 
 in the broadly-amusing farce of The Artful Bodge, and then proceeded to the Theatre Eoyal, Liverpool, 
 where his performance of G-ruel, in Webb's drama of The Secretary, and other parts, brought him into 
 highly favourable notice. 
 
 We next find him at the City of London, where he played second low comedy parts to Mr. George 
 Wild ; and afterwards at the Pavilion Theatre, at which house he opened as William Small, in an original 
 farce, entitled Coming of Age ; and continuing to play the principal low comedy business, became a decided 
 favourite with the eastern playgoers towards the close of the year 1850. 
 
 At present, he is a member of Mr. Copeland's company at Punch's Playhouse, lately the l^ew 
 Strand, where he has made the most of every opportunity afibrded him of exciting the risibility of 
 her Majesty's lieges. The succession of novelties which have been produced at this little theatre, have 
 given Mr. Eogers scope for the exercise of his original talent ; and in Glass Souses, Kensington 
 Gardens, JPoor Relations, My Wife^s Future Husband, The Shot Tower, The Lady Godiva, and Mr. Stir- 
 ling's farce of The Bloomer Costume, he has had a variety of excellent parts, to all of which he has 
 paid great attention, and won much commendation by the opposite characteristics of his performances. 
 His representation of IN'obby Mck, the showman, in The Bloomer Costume, is a rare bit of truthfal 
 delineation, occasionally heightened by some of those happy spontanieties for which our little friend is 
 remarkable. 
 
 His ma'ke-up is always first-rate ; and if any fault can be found with Mr. Eogers, as an actor, it 
 is that he sometimes evinces a proneness to high colouring and caricature : but this he now appears 
 to be subduing; and we think we may venture to say, that if he steadily pursues his profession, 
 observing carefully, and studying industriously, that he may some day occupy a prominent rank among 
 the comedians of the metropolis. 
 
 Mr. Eogers is married, and is also the father of a charming pigeon's pair — a son and a daughter. 
 He is a cheerful companion, a quiet, unassuming man, and a general favourite among his friends and 
 acquaintances. 
 
ME. aUSTAVUS YASA BEOOKE, 
 
 We class tMs gentleman as our most distinguishbd provincial tragedian, for although he has fulfilled 
 several engagements at the minor metropolitan theatres, yet he has certainly not succeeded in 
 establishing himself with the London public ; we do not lay this to his want of dramatic talent, for we 
 willingly admit that he possesses something far greater than talent, even genius in this direction; but to 
 a certain inaptitude for business, and inattention to the usual customs of society, the effect of which, in 
 retarding his prosperity, have been strilungly evident. 
 
 Mr. Gr. V. Brooke was born on the 25th of April, 1818, at Hardwick-place, Dublin ; where his 
 father was a gentleman of independent property. When very young. Master Brooke was sent to 
 Edge worth' s-town school, then conducted by a brother of Miss Edgeworth, the distinguished novelist. 
 Even here he gave evidence of his dramatic talent by winning most of the prizes for English declama- 
 tion. On leaving school he was placed under the direction of the Eev. "William Jones, to whom was 
 confided the task of preparing him for college, as his father intended^ to have him educated for the Irish 
 bar. But a different destiny awaited him ; when about fifteen years of age he paid his first visit to the 
 Theatre Eoyal^ in Dublin, where the performance made so great an impression upon his susceptible 
 imagination, that he at once i^esolved upon adopting the stage as a profession. " Thought and done," 
 appears to have been his motto, for the next morning he , absolutely waited upon Mr. Calcraft (then, as 
 now, the manager of the theatre), and startled that gentleman with a request to permit him to appear 
 at his theatre, in the character of William Tell. Those only who. are acquainted with theatrical life, and 
 the difficulty which men of acknowledged talent often experience in obtaining a suitable opportunity 
 for the display of their ability, can guess the astonishment of the worthy manager. A tall youth of 
 fifteen, without any experience in. the dramatic art, desiring to make his first appearance in a principal 
 character, in the lirst theatre of the Irish metropolis, had in it, at first, an air of absurdity, and the 
 probability was that the ambitiQus young = aspirant would have been dismissed with a smile at his 
 presumption. But young Brooke's bearing was singularly manly and gentlemanly, something in his 
 manner attracted the notice of the manager, who was at length induced to hear him recite the 
 w^ell known extract from William Tell, usually called " Tell' s address to his native mountains." This 
 he delivei-ed with such grace of action, and power of elocution, that Mr. Calcraft could not withhold 
 an expression pf approval, but that was the only result of the interview. 
 
 About this period Edmund Kean w^as announced to appear in Dublin, but was prevented from doing 
 so by serious illness ; what was to be done ? suddenly the manager thought of his young visitor ; an Irish 
 audience are easily taken by novelty, still it was a perilous experiment ; no matter, it should be tried, 
 and Mr. Brooke was accordingly announced, and made his appearance on Easter Tuesday, 1833 ; in his 
 coveted character of William Tell. That the performance was full of . faults may very naturally be 
 expected, and the only wonder is, that under such circumstances, it was^ not a total and irredeemable 
 failure; but this was by no means the case, he evinced considerable histrionic talent, and high hopes 
 were entertained of his ultimate distinction. ; An engagement was the result of this effort, and he suc- 
 cessively appeared in Virginius, Erederick in Lover's Vows, Douglas, Bolla, &c. His education in the 
 histrionic art now commenced in earnest, and he laboured assidoiisly at it for several years, during which 
 time he performed leading Shakspereian characters at Griasgow, Edinburgh, Kewcastle-upon-Tyne, 
 Manchester, Liverpool, Slieffi^eld, Norwich, Ipswich, Colchester, , Yarmouth, Cambridge, Bury St. 
 Edmund's, Belfast, Cork, and indeed at most of our leading provincial theatres. ^ 
 
 But it was not for his tragic powers alone that Mr. Brooke acquired a. provincial reputation, he was 
 an excellent light comedian and a humorous representative of Irish peculiarities. Indeed, remarkable 
 as it may appear to those who have only heard Mr. Brooke's fine voice upon the stage, so utterly free 
 from even the slightest provincialism or peculiarity, he has a very decided touch of his native brogue 
 when engaged in private conversation. 
 
 Mr. Brooke's reputation at length reached the metropolis, and several offers were made him for the 
 London theatres, which it appears were not sufficiently attractive to allure him from his provincial 
 admirers. At length he accepted an offer from Mr. Macready, when that gentleman became the manager 
 of Drury Lane in 1840 ; it was stated at the time that Mr. Brooke on finding himself east to play 
 Laertes to Macready' s Hamlet, immediately wrote to the manager, saying, that he was only in the habit 
 of performing one part in the play, and that was Hamlet, and that Mr. Macready might play the Ghost 
 if he choose. This statement is very far from being a correct one, the opening play was The Merchant of 
 Venice, and Mr. Brooke, who had been engaged to share the second business, or "juvenile tragedy," 
 with Mr. Anderson, was announced for the insignificant character of Salarino ! ^ He immediately 
 declined complying with this ungenerous arrangement, and an action was entered against him for breach 
 of engagement, but it was withdrawn on his writing to Mr. Macready, that unless proceedings were 
 abandoned, he must publish the whole correspondence in self-defence. 
 
 Some years passed by and Mr. Brooke still remained a provincial actor, but at length he accepted 
 an engagement from the management of the Olympic Theatre, where he made his first metropolitan 
 11 
 
42 ME. aUSTAVUS VASA BEOOKE. 
 
 appearance as Othello, on the third of January, 1848. We were present upon that occasion, the house 
 was crowded by an expectant audience, among whom were many distinguished members of the press, and 
 also of the dramatic profession. Mr. Brooke's first appearance was hailed with a shout of vehement 
 applause, his bold and majestic figure was singularly striking, but after this he proceeded almost in 
 silence, the audience appeared to be disappointed in the actor concerning whom fame had blown so loud 
 a blast upon her trumpet ; this was evidenced by an increasing inattention on their part, conversation 
 going on in various parts of the house so loud as to seriously interrupt the performance. At length, at 
 the commencement of the great scene in the third act, the stage manager entered and begged their 
 attention for the debutant ; they were, he said, not doing justice to Mr. Brooke, or acting with their 
 accustomed generosity ; the rebuke was taken in good part, and a loud cheer was given to reassure the 
 insulted actor. During this Mr. Brooke had retired to a couch at the back of the stage, where he sat, 
 seemingly overcome, and with his eyes bent upon the ground. Slowly raising his head, he gave the 
 audience a look so dejected and appealing, that universal sympathy was enlisted on his behalf, and a 
 hearty shout of applause was followed by profound silence. The scene proceeded until he came to the 
 lines — 
 
 " If thou 'dost slander her and torture me, 
 Never pray more." 
 
 We never listened to anything more fearful in its racking sublimity of passion, a simultaneous emotion 
 ran through the house like an electric shock ; the whole audience rose and greeted the actor with loud 
 and repeated cheers ; he had fired them with enthusiastic excitement, and from that moment was 
 acknowledged as one of the greatest tragedians of the day. On leaving the theatre, we heard a gentleman 
 exclaim excitedly to another—" Well, what do you think of him ?" " Great, hut not perfect was the 
 pithy and truthful reply. The newspapers of the following day were, however, unanimous in their con- 
 gratulations, and many compared his success with that of Edmund Kean in 1814. 
 
 Mr. Brooke sustained a large round of the principal characters in tragedy, during his engagement 
 at the Olympic, and while there received an ofier from Mr. Webster for the Haymarket Theatre. 
 -Fortune now seemed disposed to strew his path with roses, a brilliant opportunity was before him, and 
 he might have become the most distinguished tragedian of the age, but with a singular indifference to 
 his own interest, and from some motive incomprehensible, we believe, even to his most immediate friends, 
 he declined the liberal offer of £15 per night for one hundred nights certain. Nor was the pecuniary loss 
 to him, in this eccentric proceeding, his only one ; an engagement for that period at the Haymarket 
 would have thoroughly established him in the public favour, and placed him in a position more lofty and 
 distinguished than that which he now occupies. 
 
 Since that period Mr, Brooke has, with the exception of an engagement he fulfilled at the Maryle- 
 bone Theatre and another at the Olympic (under the management of Mr. Earren), again devoted himself 
 to the provinces, and he is now about to depart to the shores of America, where he will no doubt 
 produce an extraordinary sensation among the acute and appreciative citizens of the new world. 
 
 Mr. Brooke is indisputably a tragedian of the highest rank, nature has showered down her gifts 
 upon him with an unsparing hand ; to a tall, manly, and singularly graceful figure, is added a countenance 
 strikingly handsome and expressive; his carriage is bold and majestic, and his whole appearance classical 
 and statuesque. His voice is a deep chest voice, full and sonorous, but with something of a nasal tone, 
 it has been much injured by that irritating and painful disorder of the throat, IroncJiitis, aggravated by 
 occasional dissipation, but, we believe, it is now perfectly restored to its original power and beauty. 
 
 Mr. Brooke's performance of Othello has been lauded as his most perfect and finished efibrt; but 
 we cannot altogether acquiesce in this opinion. By many of his provincial admirers, his lago is con- 
 sidered a still more perfect and original performance ; in it he endeavours to show that lago acts, not 
 from a native fiendishness, and a sordid hope of advancement, but from a deeply grafted feeling 
 of revenge for domestic wrongs, which he believes the Moor has inflicted upon him, and which he 
 resolves to pursue till he is even with him, wife for wife. 
 
 We merely record this conception, and do not coincide in it : Mr. Brooke is probably in this, as in 
 some points in his version of Hamlet, elaborately wrong; but the extreme of originality is not a 
 common error, merely the fault of an overactive imagination ; and whatever conception Mr. Brooke 
 adheres to, he executes with such natural colouring and artistic finish that renders it highly probable and 
 efiective. 
 
 Mr. Brooke's Hamlet is princely and natural, but he makes the woe-stricken distraught prince too 
 attentive to his personal appearance, he is a model to the sculptor, the Apollo Belvidere in a suit of 
 black velvet, with every bow and ribbon carefully arranged ; though his death-scene is grand, the 
 corrosive poison seems to burn him up, and his throat and mouth are parched with a thirst which never 
 can be slacked. But his finest effort, in our estimation, is his Sir G-iles Overreach, the concluding 
 scene is terrific, absolutely awful in its intensity ; he looks like some fiend struck by the avenging thun- 
 derbolt in the very moment of triumph. But we must draw these remarks to a close, our space will 
 not permit us to enter into that analysis of his various performances which would doubtless be as 
 interesting to our readers as it is engrossing to ourselves. 
 
LN" S.^/1^[JEL \A^OOD'WOilTaS 
 CO¥iIC DRAMA OF TliE FOREST HOSK 
 
 hAN'/JFOJW '7\re joii a shop -koepei: ? 
 TOBJTJJAl^ VYai.jGes.r guess maybe 1 
 would come uniicr dial head ; for I selLsl^ 
 
 e\/eiyLiiiiig ia created naler.aiid a / 
 \ ciaru'd sigliL mciEO lae ' /' - - 
 
 ActlSc 3 
 
 JOIfN TAiiJilS k COMI'ANY ION!;Ofr t! K\V YOVjl. 
 
ME. JOSHUA SILSBEE. 
 
 There is, perhaps, scarcely a man, woman, or child in any considerable city in America that is not 
 famiKar with the name of Silsbee, the Yankee comedian: from north to south, like Shakspere's Yorick, 
 he has the reputation of being "a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy," and is spoken of 
 as a mad wag, full of fun and anecdote— sparkling with :v7it, beaming. with humour, and possessing "a 
 heart as large as all out of doors." His recent highly successful d^hut at the Adelphi, where he has 
 b^en attracting crowded houses, has awakened curiosity respecting him on this side of the Atlantic; 
 and we proceed accordingly to place the following brief sketch of his career before our readers. 
 
 Mr. Joshua S. Silsbee was born at Stenben County, JN'ew York, December; 1, 1813. His 
 early life was, we believe, not distinguished by anything very remarkable : we presume he was 
 whipped at school, and petted at home, like most little boys, whether in England or America. In 
 process of time he, as all of Yankee stock do, travelled west, "to seek his 'tarnal fortin and, 
 after a variety of adventures incident upon such a rambling mode of life, he settled for a time at 
 Natchez, Mississippi. We are not aware what circumstance kindled the dramatic fire in the breast 
 of young Silsbee; but here he took it into his head to go upon the stage, hoping and believing that 
 he would ultimately eclipse the reputation of Kemble, Cooke, Kean, &c., and become, what every 
 young American actor believes he will, tragedian of his country. He very properly commenced 
 at the bottom of the ladder,, and determined, as our transatlantic neighbours say, to work his way up 
 to glory, and a pocket full of rocks." ^ 
 
 He made his first appearance, in the winter of 1838, under the management of the eccentric 
 Charles B. Parsons, now an eminent^ and we doubt not very pious divine, but at that time a 
 theatrical manager. The character in which Mr. Silsbee made his first essay was doubtless not a 
 very important one, as he was engaged for what is technically called "general utility," that is, to 
 perform those unimportant characters which actors of any pretensions deem beneath their notice— 
 to represent servants, soldiers, villagers, or messengers; or even to carry on a banner at the head of 
 a troop of supernumeraries. ^ ; 
 
 During the early time of his noviciate, Mr, Silsbee was, on one occasion, very near piaymg a 
 more tragic part than he had dreamed of even in his loftiest aspirations. He was cast for the 
 Spanish ruffian, Davilla, in Fizarro, in which character it is his business to stab Grazembo, an aged 
 Peruvian prisoner, and thus give the latter, in his dying moments, an opportunity to make a very 
 moral and edifying speech. In his flurry and confusion— for the part was new to him, and he was 
 impressed with a due sense of its importance— his knife slipped, and he actually did stab J emmy 
 Thorne, who played Grazembo, directly in the back. The wound inflicted was not very severe, but 
 it frightened both parties : Silsbee, not unnaturaUy, forgot the precise words of his part; and instead 
 of exclaiming— " Death and vengeance seize the whole Peruvian race!" roared out—" Death and ven- 
 geance seize the whole race 1" This benevolent denunciation sent tho ; audience into a broad 
 guflaw, which, when Thorne cried out, in an agony of fear— "I'm a murdered man— take me off," 
 increased to a perfect explosion: The wound fortunately turned out to.be only a slight one ; but 
 Thorne never would play the part again to Silsbee's Davilla. \ , . 
 
 Mr. Silsbee next went to Cincinnati, where he was engaged for fops and juvenile business, not 
 then having quite so robust a figure, or so humourous a countenance as at present, but being suitably 
 thin and genteel-looking. Erom thence he " circulated himself" throughout the west^ where lie was 
 usually considered a very useful member of the Companies to which he was attached, but still he 
 gave no promise of any very brilliant success. . p 4.1 
 
 Our most distinguished comedians have usually been indebted to some trifling event, tor the proper 
 direction of their talents, so also was it with Mr. Silsbee, for, at a complimentary benefit to the late 
 J. M. Scott, given at Cincinnati in 1840, to add to the attractions of the entertainment, he volunteered 
 to tell a Yankee story. His offer was accepted, although no great expectations were entertained of his 
 success, but to the astonishment of the company, and even of himself, he created an extraordinary 
 sensation. The humour and originality of his manner, his quaint racy style, and ludicrously laithtul 
 vernacular, surprised the house into general and enthusiastic approval, and roars of laughter and ap- 
 plause, testified the triumph of the young actor. The next morning, the press confirmed the lavourabie 
 opinion expressed by the audience, and that in so warm and unqualified a manner, that the inanager 
 turned his attention to giving a fair scope for the display of the hitherto latent talent displayed by the 
 young actor, and reproduced the little drama of The Forest Bose and tie TanJcee Flougfiboy expressly lor 
 him. This revival brought overflowing houses for four weeks, an amount of success very remarkable lor 
 an old piece, the principal character of which was in the hands of a comparative novice. 
 
 Mr. Silsbee then purchased the copyright of two or three Yankee pieces, ^ and proceeded to 
 Philadelphia, where he opened in 1841, and played with the celebrated comedian Dmneford, with very 
 favourable results. He then fulfiUed a starring engagement at the Tremont Theatre, Boston, and m 
 1842, he played another highly successful engagement there, shortly before the theatre was converted 
 into a church. His reception was highly flattering, and Mr. Silsbee probably felt it the more so, from 
 the fact that he appeared, together with the late distinguished comedian, Yankee Hill, whose reputation 
 
M ME. JOSRIJA SILSBEE. 
 
 was then at its zenith, and it is said, so far overshadowed his talented rival, that the latter withdrew 
 before the termination of his engagement. 
 
 "We next find Mr. Silsbee at the l!^ational, under the management of Mr. Pelby, where he met the 
 same success and liberal patronage which had hitherto followed his footsteps. Since that period his 
 career has been unchequered by vicissitudes, and uninterrupted by any of those events, which, although 
 they may render the life of an actor interesting to the reader of his biography, often make it exceedingly 
 trying to himself. Mr. Silsbee has occasionally been tempted into theatrical management, which we '\ 
 believe he has judiciously relinquished; after a fair trial. 
 
 The death of both Hill and Marble, the only comedians who had previously devoted their talents 
 to the illustration of Yankee characteristics, has left Silsbee without a rival in his peculiar walk of : 
 the drama ; but he would probably have gained the same amount of popularity, had they still remained 
 upon the great stage of life, as his style of acting differs considerably from either of theirs, and is, 
 indeed, so far peculiar, that it may be said to form a new and original school. Eaithfully as he 
 portrays the Yankee character, still his performances are permeated with the natural humour of the 
 man. His looks, gesture, and action— even the arch twinkle of his eye — ^impress the spectator with 
 ludicrous emotions, and his inflexible countenance, rigidly innocent of fun, while his audience are in 
 roars of laughter, gives an additional zest to the humour of the language and the absurdity of the 
 situations. 
 
 Mr. Silsbee ia said to be an excellent actor off the stage, and has perpetrated many an innocent 
 and amusing deception in private life ; he is excellent company— indeed, the very soul of a social 
 party — a keen observer of the foibles and singularities of his fellow creatures, and has an inexhaustible 
 budget of odd stories picked up in his travels, and which he dresses and colours with singular 
 dexterity. The following anecdote of Mr, Silsbee' s visit to the Tower, since his stay in the metropolis, 
 exhibits his native fun and high spirits. A pompous little man was showing the cannon to the visitors. 
 " This piece," said he, " was from Waterloo. Lord, how we did beat 'em there 1 This is from Badajos \ 
 this is from so and so ;" &c. Mr. Silsbee, seeing the little guide was highly diverted with relating the 
 exploits of his country, thought he would " bring him to anchor a little," as the sailors say, and therefore 
 began looking about in a very careful and enquiring manner. " What are you looking for," said the 
 guide ; " we 've got trophies from all nations." " Have you, indeed ?" said Silsbee, carelessly : " I wasn't 
 looking for the Erench trophies, nor the Spanish." " Perhaps it 's the Chinese ?" said the guide. 
 " JSTo; nor the Chinese," continued Silsbee ; " but where 's all that was captured from the Americans, 
 eh ?" " Ah ! grunted the guide, looking rather blank, " the Americans— yes— from the Americans, you 
 mean ?" " Yes," returned Silsbee, " I heard you took a good deal at Bunker's Hill, and Bennington, 
 and Trenton, and those places." " So we did," replied the guide, " but it was such old stuff that we 
 didn't care about bringing it home." At this moment a thought struck him, and feeling that he had 
 evidently been " smoked," he became rather quiet, and presently whispered in Silsbee's ear that he was 
 a Yankee. " I 'm nothing else, sir," said the sportive comedian: " and as for that old stuff you took at 
 Yorktown, I '11 tell them to send it over to you, when I get home again." 
 
 He has been engaged by Mr. Webster for the Adelphi and Haymarket theatres, and will pro- 
 bably appear in most of his important characters during his stay in this country. His Jonathan 
 Ploughboy is a " green specimen" of the Yankee, a downright rustic, whose natural shrewdness and 
 ingenuity are mingled with country awkwardness and simplicity, and forms a great contrast to his 
 representation of the fast, go-a-head American, Lott Sap Sago, in the drama of YanTcee Land, or to 
 his great part of Sam Slick, in The ClockmaJcer, adapted from Judge Hali burton's acute and humor- 
 ous work. Among his favourite pieces we may also include Mr. Bayle Bernard's interesting 
 petite comedies of A Wife for a Day, The Yankee I^edlar, and New Notions, with Stirling Coyne's 
 comedy of Seth Slope, &c. 
 
 It would be premature, at present, to enter into any critical investigation of Mr. Silsbee's talents 
 as a comedian— our knowledge of them is too scanty, and our acquaintance too brief; as it would 
 be unjust to condemn a foreign artist for a comparatively feeble effort, before an audience to whom 
 he was a stranger ; so, on the other hand, it would betray a giddiness and superficiality of criticism, 
 to proclaim him a great actor, because, he had been successful in a single character. Public opinion 
 has, however, so far, declared for Mr. Silsbee ; he has already shaken hands with his audiences, and 
 is on capital terms with them, and we think we may fairly say, that his peculiar talents will be even 
 more keenly appreciated, when they become more familiarly known. If asked to name Mr. Silsbee's 
 imperfections, we should say that they are comprised in this one — an occasional indistinctness in 
 utterance, possibly arising from the provincialisms and peculiarities of the dialect in which he clothes 
 his whimsicalities. " Yeou git eoutl" and "Hello! 'taint no euse o' your scrougin, 'taint;" and 
 similar phraseology, though exceedingly humoroiis, and, no doubt, perfectly truthful, perhaps interfere 
 with that clearness of articulation which we look for upon the stage. Still, we believe Mr. Silsbee 
 to be an admirable and highly original comedian, and we wish him that success in this country which 
 he has hitherto enjoyed in his own; and which the American people so liberally bestow upon such 
 of our English actors as court their judgment and solicit their approbation. 
 
JOTIN TAT,I,I.S & COMPANY", -how DON .^NKWyoRE 
 
ME. EMEEY. 
 
 The son of a distinguislied comedtaii/ and tlie tHan. respectable in the 
 
 Thespian ranks, this gentleman may be said to be an actpr by birthright ; and although talent is by no 
 means an heirloom, and certain of transmission from one. generation to the next, still, the subject of this 
 memoir bids fair ultimately to succeed to that honourable position, in the professiph., which was filled by 
 his father. ' ' - . . 
 
 Mr. Emery was born, on the 10th of September, 1817, in Hyde-street, Elooni^bury, being the 
 youngest but one of a fam% of " seven. He was educated at : Eridport the pro- 
 
 prietor of which school, (at that period) the ^ also lessee of the City Theatre, Mil- 
 
 ton-street; which he, in conjunction with ano party, had converted from a chapel into a theatre, 
 but w4iich has since been restored to the purpose tor which it was originally intended. Among 
 some of the more favoured boys, young Eme^^^^ on one oceaision, permitted to walii from Edmon- 
 ton to town, to witness the performance of JbM ^Bzdl, after which treat they again walke^d back to 
 school, under the charge of the head-master. Dr. Eurgin. To this visit doe^. Mr. Emery attribute his 
 innocuiation with the dramatic virus, for this performance at an obscure raihor theatre , arpused in him a 
 love for the histrionic profession which has never left him. : 
 
 On leaving school he was placed with an uncle, the late Mr; John 'Thompspn, a .merqhant in th 
 Irish provision trade, well knowii on the Irish Walk; '' but dislLking the processes of *Hast/ing" Irish 
 butters, and inspecting tierces Mess ForJc md India JBeef, he yMed the scene by becoming clerk to a 
 well known member of the Stoct Exchange, and, for the second, time in his life, % became acquainted 
 with the mysteries of w^M^*^. Although he . found the ^ZZs and: the rough Acquaintances, 
 he, nevertheless, sought tp cultivate a fcther intimacy with them, under the auspices of aiiother employer, 
 who rejoiced in the soubriquet of the " J^glish noblemany-' bilt a muiual feeling of dislike springing 
 up between them, the following trifling incident led to their separation. . Those who are initiated in the 
 mysteries of the Stock Exchange are aware that pieces of square blank pappr,, stock re^ipts^ &c., 
 are hung about for the convenience of the members. These pieces of paper young Emery fre- 
 quently transferred to the office of his einployer, where, with the aid of blue, red, and black inks, 
 he converted them into scenes, on which, in idle moments, he used, to feast his eyes and gratify his 
 histrionic fancies. On one occasion, when entering the office with a bundle of Dutch bonds, he 
 found his venerable magister working himself into aphrenzy over the hoard of Lilliputian scenes, which, by 
 some accident, he had discovered! "What are these?" was the enquiry, in a tone of awful stern- 
 ness ; to this question there was but one reply, and Emery confessed that they were the amusements 
 of his idle hours. *'Ah!" answered his senior, with a portentous grant ; " what's bred in the bone — 
 hum ; better try something more suited to your abilities." Stung by this allusion to a profession 
 in wliich his father had gained a great and honourable name, Emery replied, that if his employer 
 chose to hand him a cheque for a quarter's salary, due the next day, he would at once; relieve the 
 autocrat of his presence. The old gentleman took him at his word, and our young "adventurer 
 transferred his services to the house of a well-known jeweller and goldsmith ; but as the principals 
 were compelled, shortly after, to open accounts with a learned cpnimissioner near Basinghall-street, 
 he was again compelled to seek some new occupation, when a gentleman to whom he had imparted 
 his desire of seeking a livelihood upon the stage, interested himself in his behalf, and on one eventful 
 Saturday, sent to him to know whether he was prepared to play his father's part of Dan, in John 
 Bull; he joyfully said he would be, and on the following Monday, in the May of 1834, he made 
 his first appearance at the Queen's Theatre, in the Tottenham Court-road. We presume that he 
 succeeded tolerably well, for the manager offered him an engagement, and the next week, under the 
 assumed name of Anderson, he appeared as Eobin Eoughhead. 
 
 Mr. Downe, *the late respected manager of the York circuit, having seen the young debutant, 
 engaged him to open in Hull in the ensuing winter season, and he accordingly appeared there as 
 Eobin Eoughhead, as he felt himself a little seasoned in the part. The next day he was sent for 
 by the manager, at the door of whose sanctum Mr. Emery appeared, big with expectation that he 
 was about to compliment him on his performance of the previous night. This illusion was speedily 
 dissipated, for Mr. Downe thus addressed him;— "Well, young man, I saw you last night; hut you 
 are not worth your salt, sir! If you like to remain with me, I '11 give you fifteen shillings a- week. 
 I have arranged that you shall board and lodge in my house for twelve shillings, so you will have three 
 shillings per week for pocket-money. It will cost more trouble than you are worth, to lick you into 
 shape ; but, for your father's sake, I '11 undertake the task." 
 
 Mr. Emery's love of the profession was stronger than his mortified pride, and he remained, and 
 was made to deliver messages, and appear in groups, as third officer, fourth monk, &c., and was occa- 
 sionally entrusted with bandits, with two lines to utter. ^ G-reat was his joy on one occasion, at finding 
 himself cast for the Bleeding Captain in Macbeth, He got the words into his head; but from an over 
 12 
 
46 Mil. EMERY. 
 
 anxiety and excitement, when he went on the stage they deserted him : and when he came to the 
 line — "Like two spent swimmers that do choke their art," his art was choked, and, to use a technical 
 term, "he stuck dead.'* He was again reduced to the ranks; but feeling that he had "that within" 
 which Mr. Downe had failed to discover, he resolved to try some more removed ground, and joined 
 the Edinburgh corps, under the management of Mr. Murray, in the summer of 1835. Being cast a 
 part which he conceived was not his duty to play, he refused it, and this refusal led to his secession 
 from the theatre. He next joined a small sharing company in Ealkirk, with which he proceeded to 
 numberless small towns ; and in Dunfermline first met with his friend, Mr. Gustavus Brooke. At 
 length, after encountering the usual vicissitudes attendant upon sharing schemes, Mr. Emery became 
 located at Liverpool ; and, for several years, followed his profession in Manchester, Chester, and the 
 towns in their vicinity. 
 
 At length he obtained a metropolitan engagement, and appeared at the Lyceum, on the 18th of 
 April, 1843, in the singularly opposite characters of Giles, in The Miller's Maid, and Lovegold, in 
 The Miser, with decided success. It is, perhaps, worthy of remark, that his father, on his first 
 appearance in London, forty-five years before, at Covent- Garden, had chosen characters of a similarly 
 varied nature, playing Erank Oatlands, and also concluding with Lovegold. 
 
 Mr. Emery's stay at the Lyceum proved but a brief one ; for the heat of the summer was such, 
 that the theatre closed after a very short season. 
 
 He was next engaged by Mr. Henry Wallack for Co vent- Garden, for three years, and made his 
 first appearance there on the 19th of October, 1843, as Eixture, in A Bowland for an Oliver. "Wal- 
 lack's brief career is too well known to need comment ; but an incident occurred on the night of 
 his benefit which is worth relating. ' The carpenters had all struck for arrears of salary, and the 
 " flymen" had refused to draw up the curtain : Miss Kelly, who was ready dressed for the stage, 
 became impatient, and requested Mr. Emery to ascertain the cause of the delay. On hearing it, Miss 
 Kelly consented to act in front of the curtain; and Mr. "Wallack, having manfully made the audience 
 acquainted with the true state of the case, the piece was actually proceeding in this manner, when 
 Emery determined to frustrate the malicious conduct of the carpenters. He climbed to the "flies," 
 accompanied by the well-known Dr. B., where, having found a spare winch which fitted to the curtain 
 barrel, they hove up the curtain, to the astonishment of the actors, and amidst the applause of the 
 audience; and as the scene was set behind, the piece proceeded smoothly enough. Mr. Emery and 
 his friend returned to the green-room ; and, after some time had elapsed, a grey-headed old man came 
 to the door, and beckoning him out, said — " Sir, I knew your father : I worked in this theatre thirty 
 years ago^ and I can't see his son come to harm. When you go out — and don't go till all is over — 
 go by the curtain, and through the passage by the ladies' dressing-rooms — don't cross the stage ; for 
 they have unshored all the traps, and you and your friend will break your necks if you fall through 
 one." Mr. Emery thanked the old man for his advice, and took it, or he might probably never have 
 lived to tell the tale. 
 
 In 1844, he was engaged for the Lyceum by the Keeleys, whose prosperous management there for 
 several years, was the theme of general conversation in theatrical circles. Many of our readers will 
 doubtless recollect his admirable personations of Jonas Chuzzlewit, of Will Eern, in The Chimes ; 
 Perrybingle, in The Cricket on the Hearth ; the Creole, and many other characters, in which he proved 
 his dramatic talent to be of a highly original and powerful character. When the Keeleys withdrew, 
 Mr. Emery assumed the reins of management on behalf of Mr. Levi, and kept the theatre open through 
 a broiling summer, for a period of ten weeks. He afterwards joined Mr. Leigh Murray at the Olympic, 
 and remained with him to the end of his term ; he then became stage-manager for Mr. Shepherd, of >the 
 Surrey Theatre, with whom he stayed a twelvemonth, and transferred his services, in 1850, to Drury- 
 Lane, under the management of Mr. Anderson. In the autumn, he fulfilled several starring engage- 
 ments, appearing with brilliant success at the Theatres Eoyal, Leeds, Hull, Liverpool, JN'ewcastle-upon- 
 Tyne, &c., and reopened at Drury-Lane in the winter. There he played a remarkably varied and 
 extensive round of characters, embracing Dandie Dinmont, Silky, Baillie T^icol Jarvie, Autolycus, 
 Touchstone, Menenius, the Grave-digger, Miramont in The Elder Brother ; Hassan, in^Planche's trans- 
 lation of Fiesco ; Sam, in Baising the Wind ; Major Stock, in Sullivan's new comedy of The Old Love 
 and the New ; Wormwood ; Harrop, in Mary the Maid of the Inn ; Crack, in The Turnpike Gate ; 
 Gibbie, in The Wonder ; Sam Sharpset, in The Slave; Walter, in The Children in the Wood, and 
 many others. He is now under a three-years' engagement to Mr. Webster, of the Haymarket and 
 Adelphi Theatres, and appeared at the latter house in the March of the present year, and remains a 
 much respected member of the powerful company assembled within its walls. 
 
 Mr. Emery is a graphic and romantic actor, admirable in eccentricities and character parts, a highly 
 legitimate and amusing comic performer, and a powerful serious one. He makes a most artistic use of a 
 bold and manly appearance ; his skill in making up for a part is very great ; and his Will Eern, Harrop, 
 &c., are absolute pictures. His rustic delineations are very natural, especially those of the rougher cast ; 
 and we should much like to see him in his father's great character of Eobert Tyke. His voice, though 
 high, is clear and powerful, and his action natural and picturesque. He is a man of strong intelligence, 
 an excellent companion, and much respected by his professional brethren. 
 
JOJIH TaLLIS S; C'OJVLPy^MT LOHUCW S: t"r£^\'- YORK 
 
ME. AND MES. ALFEED WIGAN. 
 
 Mr. Wigak is descended from an ancient Lancashire family, the name of which was originally Wogan, 
 but, in consequence of some political troubles in which they were involved, was altered to its present 
 form. The name of one of his ancestors is appended to the death-warrant pf Charles the Eirst, though, 
 at a later period, the family were attached to the Stuart cause ; for that Captain Wogan, who suffered as 
 a Jacobite, and whose memory is cherished by Scott's heroine in Wmerly, Elora Mac Ivor, is also an 
 ancestor of the present actor, not in political, but histrionic circles. 
 
 Mr. Alfred Wigan was born in 1818, and his family being in opulent circumstances, it was intended 
 he should sail smoothly -over the billows of life, unvexed by the usual toils and cares of existence; but 
 circumstances rendering the choice of a profession necessary, he chose the stage, as according more 
 readily with his own taste and inclinatioh than many other less romantic, though usually more profitable 
 occupations. 
 
 Accordingly Mr. "Wigan made his first professional appearance on the opening of the St. James's 
 Theatre, in John Btullah's opera of The Village Coquettes, the words of which were written by Mr. Charles 
 Dickens. His: early career is unmarked by the usual vicissitudes of an actor's life, his first appearance in 
 the metropolis being sufficiently successful and fortunate to enable him to remain in it ; for we find that 
 his next engagemeiit was with Madame Yestris, when that lady opened Covent-G-ardeii Theatre in 1840, 
 where he appeared as Monsieur Blague, in Jerrold's play of Gertrude's Cherries, in. which he obtained 
 very favourable notice. He was also highly successful in a piece by Mark Lemon, called The Turf, in 
 which he represented an English swindler assuming to be a Erenchman. During the^ season also he 
 played Lord i^lleash, ;in iD^^ and sang all the music, haying only undertaken the part the same 
 
 morning. ^ . 
 
 On the 5th of August j 1839, Mr. "Wigan formed a matrimonial allianpe with Miss Pincott, a niece 
 of Mr. James "Wallack, and a lady favourably known at the' metropolitan theatres for her sprightly and 
 pleasing performance of chambermaids and other comedy parts: she has since addressed herself princi- 
 pally to Erenchwomen^ which she represents with great naivete and truthfulness. \ 
 
 Mr. Wigan remained at Covent-Grarden unde the management of Charles Kemble, ^^a^^ also that 
 of Mr. Bunn, playing an extensive round of characters, including eccentrics. Irishmen, and Erench- 
 men. During tKe latter part of Mr. Macready's management at Drury-Lane, in "the May of 1843, that 
 gentleman sent for Mr. and. Mrs. /Wigan. He was then producing The Sehooiybr Seandq^^ a great 
 and peculiar cast, and desired Mr, Wigan' s services for Trip ; Mrs. Wigan appearing as Maria. 
 
 They next played . conjointly at the Strand, when under the management of Mr. May wood, of 
 America, from whence Mrs. Wigan was engaged for Drury-Lane, by Mr. Bunh, as a farce actress, 
 while her husband joined Henry Wallack for a short time at Covent-G-arden. A few provincial engage- 
 ments followed, after which they were both retained for the Lyceum, when the Keeleys opened that 
 house on the 8th of April, in 1844. To this period of his career is Mr, Wigan much indebted, as the 
 many excellent original characters which he sustained during the three years he remained under that 
 management tended to the perfect establishment of his reputation with the public as an actor of great 
 and highly original powers. The following pieces from the pen of Mr. Wigan were also produced here 
 during his engagement, viz;. Watch and Ward, A Model of a Wife, LucF s All, The Loan of a Wife, 
 Next Door, and T^ive Hundred bounds Meward, 
 
 In the September of 1847, Mr. and Mr. Wigan were engaged for the Haymarket, where he per- 
 formed the chief eccentrics. During the first vacation he played for a short time at the Olympic, and 
 afterwards starred at the Surrey as Monsieur Jaques, and in some of his own pieces, Mrs. Wigan playing 
 with him. On the re-opening of the Haymarket he returned to that theatre ; but some little disagree- 
 ments arising between him and Mr. Webster, the engagement was cancelled by mutual consent.^ 
 
 Mr. Wigan, after starring at Bath and Bristol, was engaged by Mr. Maddox for the Princess's, 
 where he appeared on the 26th of December, 1849, in a new "^leQQ, (i^lledi' The MrsiNight, which ran for 
 nearly three months. Both Mr. and Mrs. Wigan were then engaged for the Olympic, under the manage- 
 ment of the late unfortunate Watts, whose career and death are- still fresh in the minds of our readers. 
 There he performed in Mrs. Mowatt's comedy of Fashion, which was not so successful as it deserved to 
 be. After a brief period, occupied in provincial engagements, Mr. and Mrs.. Wigan were engaged at the 
 Princess's by Messrs. Kean and Keeley, at which theatre they at present remain, established, and still 
 increasing favourites with the patrons of that well-conducted establishment. 
 
 Mr. Wigan has had the honour of performing before Her Majesty at the private theatricals at 
 Windsor Castle, where, in addition to his usual line of business, he has sustained several of the promi- 
 nent characters in juvenile tragedy, his success in which has induced him to accept an engagement for 
 the performance, at the Princess's, of the youthful heroic tragedy. 
 
 Mr. Wigan is an admirable light comedian, graceful and gentlemanly in his demeanour, and gifted 
 by nature with a manly, well-proportioned figure, and a handsome and expressive countenance. His 
 I'renchmen and his fops are, perhaps, the best on the stage ; but his line of business is comprehensive, 
 and all that he attempts he does well. Mrs. Wigan is seen to great advantage with her husband, in the 
 representation of Erench women, especially of the coquettish order : she is a very pleasing and vivacious 
 comic actress, and deservedly a favourite. 
 
ME. EDWAED STIELING. 
 
 This gentleman, though not at present prominently before the public, is one of the most industrious 
 members of the profession. He possesses great judgment as a stage-manager, and has officiated in that 
 capacity not only at many of our chief provincial theatres, but in metropolitan ones of all grades, from 
 the Marylebone, Surrey, Adelphi, Olympic, Lyceum, , Strand, to Covent-Grarden, and is at present acting 
 in that capacity at one of our London theatres. ^ 
 
 Mr. Stirling was born on. the 19th of April, 1800, at Thatne, in Oxfordshire. In early life a mer- 
 chant's counting^holise was the limited arena of his exertions ; b^t having acquired a love for theatrical 
 literature, he sought to be admitted one bf a society of amateurs, and in company with them made his 
 first appearance on the . mimic scene. At the private theatres in Gatherine. Street, Grloucester Street, 
 &c., he occasionaUy poured forth his tender wailing for the fair Julietj or as the resolute Israelite 
 insisted on his bond j but pleasure and duty are steeds that will not go (juietly together, pleasure ever 
 running too fast for his companion, and Mr. Stirling's daily duties were not very sedulously attended to ; 
 notipe was given him by his employers, the balance was struck, and w hesitation he at once 
 
 embi?aced the theatricai profession, dazzled by its , attractions, and forgetful of its vicissitu^^ This 
 step he has since had no cause to repent, for a short career' transfbrmed him into the triple character of 
 actor, manager, and author. \ Indeed iii the, latter capacity he became oiie of' the most prolific and 
 popular dramatic if^^riters of the present day. He can reckon pieces by dozens, played at every theatre 
 in the metropiilis with success ; and, in some Cases, success of ho ordinary character, but drawing 
 crowded houses for many weeks together. . Indeed, all his productioELS exhibit a remarkable tact, com- 
 bined with good taste, and a perfect knowledge of the capabilities, and business of the stage. He has 
 the painter's and acfer's eye> for eff^ and can at ohce, a^ by intuition, seize upon the most salient and 
 dramatic points of a subject. 
 
 The London puMic have not of Mr. Stirling's talents as an 
 
 actor, but it may- be sufficient to state that he has acted the second parts in tragedy to the late Edmund 
 Kean; also to M^^sys. Macrea^^ representiiig Eichmond, Macdufi^, Grratiano, "Wilford, 
 
 4&C., besides playing the , lea^^ melodrame and comedy while at the Adelphi; where also on many 
 occasions he acted for the late Erederic Yates, O'Smith, and Lyon, with decided success. He stands 
 high as ah actor of character parts, creations which require a man to divest himself of his own individu- 
 ality, and assume another nature ; in his representation of these he displays much judgment, and a close 
 study of humanity iii every phase of its inexhaustible and ever-changing variety. A slight eccentricity 
 of manners, or a hideous moral deformity, are each by him truthfully depicted. The Eag- Picker of 
 Paris, Newman ISloggs in Nicholas Nichlehy, St. Hilaire in A Soldier's Fortune, Ishmael Lyons the 
 Bondsman, in Albert Shiith's drama of that name, Charles the Twelfth, G-ratiano, Oassio, Sir Benjamin 
 Backbite, William iti jSZ^^cyb uE/yec? /S^^^saj^, all afford evidence of the truth of these assertions. 
 
 Mes. Hekrt YiNi^ra v^as born at. Lancaster;: she is a daughter of the late Mr. W. Quantrill, who for 
 many years held a responsible position at Drury Lane Theatre ; so that Mrs. Yining may be said to be 
 an actress by inheritance. - Having at an early period given signs of histrionic talent. Miss Quantrill 
 was educated for the stage, and made her first ; essay in some obscure provincial theatre in the character 
 of Belvedera, her performance of . which was so full of promise, that she received an ofier from the 
 manager of the Hereford circuit, where she accordingly appeared as Juliet, and at once ingratiated her- 
 self into the good opinion of her audience. Her next engagement was at Birmingham, where she 
 appeared in The Gamester, in conjunction with Mr.. Charles Kemble, and his gifted daughter Miss Eanny 
 Kemble, by both of whom she was highly complimented, besides receiving a most gratifying recep- 
 tion from a densely crowded house; She then proceeded to Liverpool^ where she made her bow as 
 Josephine to Mr. Macready's Werner. 
 
 When Miss Huddart (now Mrs. Warner) left Liverpool to appear in the metropolis, she was 
 succeeded by Mrs. Yining, who was engaged for leading business for three years, and during that 
 period performed the principal female characters to Messrs. Macready, Charles Kean and James 
 Wallack. 
 
 An ofier from the late Mr. Davidge brought her to London, where she made her first appear- 
 ance at the Surrey Theatre, in the drama of Grichton, and rapidly became a great and deserved favourite. 
 Here she remained until a change of management took place, when with much regret she took leave of 
 her numerous friends and patrons, and of the scene where she had gained a well-earned reputation for 
 her chaste and finished representation of the characters allotted to her. She is at present fulfilling an 
 engagement at the City of London Theatre. 
 
 Mrs. Yining is surrounded by a host of friends, who equally appreciate her histrionic talents, and 
 the endearing amiability of her private character.