Kemble had no déshabille talent, if I may coin the phrase; away from the lamps he was a mere private gentleman, and to most persons must have appeared an exceedingly dull one. His mind was not obtuse, but his extreme slowness gave him all the appearance of obtusity. In allusion to his asthma, he was wont to say that no one else of his family knew the misery of "drawing on their own chest, and finding the check dishonoured." Kemble and Henderson were both subject at times to profound melancholy; Kean gave way to despondency, but that his habits sufficiently accounted for; with his two great predecessors the feeling seemed to be "a part of them and of their natures." It is singular to remark, that neither Garrick, Quin, Kemble, Barry, Henderson, or Cooke ever had a son. Of all our tragedians for the last hundred years, Kean alone has left a perpetuator of his name.

A Preventive Check to an Elopement.— fortunate enough, whilst in a provincial town, to win the affections of a a young actor, had been lady, young, beautiful, and accomplished, and who, moreover, was entitled to a considerable fortune on her attaining the age of twenty-one. Her friends were hostile to the attachment she had formed, and no chance was left but the old resource-an elopement. Not without difficulty the actor obtained a gig and a tolerable trotter, and having got his adored snugly seated by his side, it was crack whip and away. To take the high road he knew would be madness, he therefore dashed along by a bye-way: after journeying some miles, they got into one of those interminable lanes that are too narrow to turn in, and make amends for their lack of breadth by their enormous length; five miles of this "long lane that had no turning" had he traversed, when he was stopped by a turnpike-gate. It was night; the gate locked, and the inmates of the turnpike asleep. He rapped, he thundered, and his agony was increased by hearing the sound of a trotting horse behind him. He threw stones at the windows to awaken the tollcollector, and at length a child about four years old popped his head through the broken pane, and unburthened himself of the following pleasing intelligence:-"Daddy dunk abed." Such was indeed the fact; the toll-keeper was insensible, and thus ended the elopement, for the pursuers overtook the delinquent, and the lady was secured by her friends.

Elliston and the Cryer.-Elliston had several relatives and many friends in the church; visiting one of the latter, who had some occasion to call upon his clerk, who was also the public cryer, Elliston accompanied his friend; the cryer was from home, and whilst the reverend gentleman explained to the good man's wife the purport of his business, Elliston looked over two or three things that had been left to be cried that afternoon, amongst others one was of a dog lost, who, mid his peculiar spots and blemishes, had "sore eyes;" Elliston, always on the qui vive for a frolic, altered the word 66 sore to "four." The cryer came home, took up the several matters, and commenced his duties, enunciating in sonorous tones, "Lost a black and tan-coloured terrier, answers to the name of Carlo, has two white legs and four eyes." "You scoundrel," cried a traveller, who was the owner of the animal," how d'ye think I shall ever get my dog, if you describe it in that manner?" The cryer protested it was according to copy, and on examination it was evident the paper had been tampered with. Home went the cryer, boiling with indignation; his wife had informed him of the call of his reverend employer, but had said nothing about his companion, and therefore no doubt remained on the official's mind that the clergyman himself had played him the trick. He awaited patiently until Sunday for his revenge, and before he took his seat as clerk, removed the book of St. John from the New Testament. The clergyman gave out the lesson, as the 2nd chapter of St. John, and then began to look in vain for the book in question; at last he whispered to the clerk,

"What has become of St. John?" "He can't come," was the reply," he has got sore eyes."

Tom Sheridan's filial Duty.-Miles Andrews one day meeting Tom Sheridan, expressed his surprise at seeing him out; after a good deal of astonishment on both sides, Andrews cried, " Is it possible you do not know that your father is no more?" (Such a report had that day been current in the City.) Why," replied Tom, " I left him half an hour ago, and he said he was very well; but he is such a cursed liar, there's no believing a word he says, and therefore, notwithstanding his assertion, it's very likely to be as you say."

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Coleridge's Tragedy.-Coleridge was very fond of quoting burlesque distiches one of his favourites was the letter of one Smart, who had been promised a hare by a forgetful Welchman; it ran thus

"Tell me, thou son of great Cadwallader!

Hast sent the hare? or hast thou swallow'd her ?"

After the production, and failure in attraction of "Remorse," Coleridge sent" Zayola" to a dramatist for his opinion as to its fitness for theatrical representation; his friend answered him in his favourite style

"It never can be acted; thus, dear Coleridge, answer I :

It isn't like a play; but it's like a bill in Chancery.”

Mathews, and some of his Contemporaries.-Poor Mathews! he was a man of harmless eccentricities, and of the strangest anomalies. Amid the many things that he believed or affected to believe, one was, that "no man ever eaught a fish by rod and line." No, no," he would exclaim, a net might deceive anything, but fishes are not such cursed fools as not know that cat-gut and wire isn't good for 'em!"

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He had an intense, an unceasing love of approbation, and this led him occasionally obtrusively to occupy the attention of the company he was in. I once actually heard him sing fourteen comic songs (those strange mixtures of melody and mimicry which were created by, lived, and died with him) in one evening. He implicitly believed in his own tragic powers; he felt he had the mind to conceive, and-as far as enunciation alone went-the power to execute; he did not see that his appearance, his gesture, and his eternal restlessness, all partook of the ludicrous. He was a little prone to speech-making at public meetings, and was on the tenterhooks to bring forth some witticisms that should "set the table in a roar ;" his extemporaneous jokes, however, were seldom good. He had no eye for painting; the most miserable daubs were foisted on him, and as he affected a taste, he was continually the victim of print and pieture dealers. He could not bear (few can) to have the genuineness of any original painting or curiosity in his collection impugned. A celebrated upholsterer going through Mathews's gallery, was called upon to admire the cassolette (sent to Garrick with the freedom of Stratford, and purchased by Mathews at an enormous price,) made of the Shakspeare mulberry tree. The gentleman in question, who was a connoisseur in wood, declared that the material was of walnut, not of mulberry. Mathews grew livid with anger, his rage was really awful; and this trivial circumstance (for the man of furniture persisted) wholly estranged the parties. He had what might be termed a knack at music, but he was not a musician; he played the violin with taste; (his original tutor was Mr. Charles Cummins, Professor of Music, Leeds, who when a boy was, with his father, Mr. Cummins, the Yorkshire Kemble, in all the towns of the northern circuit, where Mathews was then low comedian ;) could play a little on the piano and organ, and was fond of attempting any instrument that came in his way. His industry in his art, and in all that in any way, however remotely appertained to it, had no parallel he was studying fresh characters to the day of his death; in America (where his attraction needed not the provocative of novelty), he studied and played Coddle, in “Married Life." When he went into the

provinces, he had a machine resembling a mail-coach, which was formed of a portion, and contained the rest, of his monopolylogue scenery; in this vehicle there was room for Mathews and friend; outside were his servants and luggage. He carried his own proscenium, which was so arranged as to fit up, in a couple of hours, in an assembly-room or town-hall, and give it all the appearance of a complete stage front. No actor was ever such a slave to the humour of his auditors; if they, in the technical phrase, went with him, he was the gayest creature upon earth; if-and this occurred occasionally in the provinces-they were dull, and did not take his jokes, he was depressed beyond all conception, out of humour with the world. and all therein contained, and delivered his entertainment wretchedly. He was not only sensitive as to what his friends said, but brooded over what they did not, but ought to have said; what they looked, he noted. When he first came to the Haymarket, in his professional ardour he shaved his head, that his wigs might fit the better. Harris, of Covent Garden, heard of him, and asked Fawcett what sort of actor Mathews was? Mathews, Mathews," said Fawcett, with an air of difficult recollection," Eh! ay, yes; that's the thin man that shaves his head to be funny." Mathews, doubtless, forgave, but he never forgot this. He had such a rage for collecting, that in the green-rooms of provincial theatres he would watch any one who received a letter, per post, and if he perceived the party about to put it by carelessly, would offer the price of the postage for it, and, in this way, he had purchased hundreds of epistles that possessed no interest in any eyes but his own.

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Notwithstanding his reiterated public declarations to the contrary, he had a great antipathy to being imitated, because, as he affirmed, "They are none of them a bit like me.' Those who have seen Yates's identification of the great mimic may judge how far prejudice and self-love had blinded judgment.

G. F. Cooke and Mathews.-For the first season or two that Mathews was in London, whenever Cooke met him, the conversation began and ended with an exhortation to Mathews " to avoid drink." "Young man, if you wish to rise to be a great actor, in fact, to be a Cooke, eschew drinking; by that sin fall the greatest, how then can a comedian hope to prosper by it?" In vain did Mathews truly affirm that he never so indulged; George always made this injunction the burden of his talk. [This strange impression on G. F. Cooke's mind regarding the mimic, arose from a confused recollection of some potent potting at Mrs. Judy Burn's, on which occasion George well remembered that one of the party was dead drunk, without being exactly certain whether it was Mathews or himself; we need not tell the reader it was not the former.] Soon after Mr. Mathews's marriage with Miss Jackson (now his widow), he was walking with an eminent divine, and met Cooke in one of his maudlin moods; George would not be avoided; he congratulated his friend on the happy event, and Cooke could be elegant, and even fascinating. The reverend gentleman was charmed; not so poor Mathews, for George wound up with the following rhapsody-" "She is a lovely creature, an amiable creature, formed to make any man happy; God bless you, Charles, your felicity is in your own power; but do let me intreat and implore you now, whatever you do, to avoid that d-d drink."

Mathews and T. Hood.-" Hood's words don't act," Mathews said: "he sets out on a pilgrimage in pursuit of puns. He is an inquisitor upon the King's English, and has tortured every word in the language till it confessed a double meaning. His drollery is addressed to the eye rather than the ear he is pleasant in print. Peake is a punster to hear, Hood to read." Mathews and Theodore Hook." No one ever fitted me dramatically like Hook: he knew every note of my gamut, but then he and I had been intimate associates; and, moreover, Theodore was a musician and a mimic, and would have been (had he chosen) an admirable comedian: he knew

enough of the histrionic art to know exactly what material a comic actor wanted from which to work out his effects.

Mathews, Carpue, and R- Dr. Carpue had long since given it as his opinion that Mathews had experienced improper treatment at the time of his accident, and that had he been in judicious hands he would not have been lame. Some one speaking on this subject to R———— said, “I understand Mathews means to leave his broken leg to Carpue when he dies." "The devil he does!" said R-, " well, for my part, I should be sorry to have such a leg-as-he (legacy)."

Mathews' criterion of docility in a Horse.-After being thrown out of his gig (by which he was lamed) he declared he would never drive a horse that would not allow him to saw the reins underneath his tail. As quadrupeds of this philosophical temperament are rare, Mathews seldom, if ever, drove again.

Russell (Samuel).-Russell, who lately took a benefit at Drury-lane, and who is best known as Jerry Sneak Russell, is the oldest exhibitor now extant, that is to say, he appeared in some capacity full sixty years since (exceeding Bannister by two years); at the time of Russell's debût, however, he was only seven or eight years old. He performed at Coachmakers' Hall, gave a series of songs, recitations, &c., and was much followed. When Breslaw, the " emperor of all the conjurors," started through the provinces with his ambidexteral displays, he engaged little Sam Russell and little Miss Romanzini (afterwards Mrs. Bland, then nine years old) to accompany him: these juvenile performers proved very attractive, and received a lucrative offer at the opening of the Circus (now the Surrey), under the management of old Charles Dibdin, (of Sans Souci celebrity,) in 1779 or 1780. There Russell spoke the opening address, and there he remained until

He grew hobbady-hoyish

For Cupidons and Fairies much too old,

For Calibans and Devils much too boyish.

About the year 1785 he launched into the drama, and ten years afterwards appeared at Drury in Charles Surface and Fribble.

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John Kemble and Mr. WA Mr. W (who originally enacted under the tutorage of Jack Bannister, and who was, according to Suett, an amphibious animal, half amateur and half actor) played at the Liverpool theatre for practice many years since, when John Kemble appeared as a star: the play was "Hamlet," and W- was cast the Grave-digger: it was this gentleman's custom to play each character he appeared in after the manner (and, as S- said, a long way after the manner") of some approved London favourite; but, unfortunately, he could not fix upon any style in which to represent the Grave-digger: he commenced å la Bannister, but, finding that would not do, attempted the quaintness of Quick, then veered to the hard style of Fawcett, and wound up with the mouthing of Munden. Kemble, who was ill and fretful, acted in considerable amazement through the churchyard scene, whilst the ghosts of all his comic contemporaries were successively raised by the Liverpool Grave-digger. The play ended, the tragedian came into the green-room very much exhausted; every one paid him attention, but our Grave-digger was peculiarly officious; (John was acting manager then of Drury, and made all the engagements;) at last Mr. Kemble was assisted to his dressing-room by his servant on one side and the untiring Grave-digger on the other. "You must be fatigued, my dear Sir," said Mr. W--; " playing with performers all strange to you, having to rehearse this morning, and instruct us, and I am sure many of them have distressed and annoyed you. I'm afraid I have also, but, as it was unintentional, I am sure you will forgive me." W paused for a compliment, and John, looking steadfastly at him, replied, "My dear Sir, if you can forgive yourself,

I'm sure

can."

Workings of the New Poor Laws-Theatrical Licences-The "Youthful Betty' -The British Legion in Spain.

WORKINGS OF THE NEW POOR LAWS.-We cannot afford, in this era of "crisises," to allow "good intentions" to go for more than they are worth. We are hardly in a condition to make liberal allowances. Sorely urged by the necessities and commotions of the time, we must judge by results. We must pronounce remedies to be good or bad as they affect our case, and not as they indicate the intentions of those who prescribe them. To mean well is much; but it is small consolation to feel that we are being ruined by people who mean well. Granting that the legislature in passing the amendments of the poor-law "meant well."-granting that the ends of morality and the cause of the poor may ultimately be served by the subversion of the principles of the old law, by the repeal of poverty's Magna-charta, the 43d of Elizabeth, it must be admitted that frightful evils are meantime sustained, and that we are encountering great risks and inflicting certain miseries for the sake of a perhaps questionable good. To say the least, the present time is hardly the proper one for making so hazardous and agitating an experiment. There were already sufficient causes of exasperarion afloat, already enough to inflame the feelings of the poorest classes, to excite their imagination and perplex their understanding, without the addition of an extreme innovation upon rights established as theirs for centuries, an innovation, the fine philosophy of which they cannot be supposed to comprehend, and about the ulterior effects whereof they cannot be expected to care, while they are actually suffering under it the acutest of miseries and the most unnatural of deprivations.

We are persuaded that these Whig amendments are working, and will work, infinitely more discontent and exasperated feeling among those whom it is most essential to the ends of order to tranquillize, than all other causes of agitation put together. Here the agitator cannot be charged with creating the evils he professes to deplore. Nobody harangues the people on this topic: nobody takes this for his theme in starting upon a talking tour through the country. And yet this is the subject which rankles most in the minds of by far the largest mass of the industrious community. Here at least the excitement and disaffection work unassisted. The examples of this pervading feeling are infinitely more numerous than are recorded.

One example threatening to lead to most disastrous consequences, occurred a few weeks since at Steyning. The Board of Guardians had resolved upon separating some pauper-families-to remove the parents to Henfield and retain the children in Steyning workhouse. The men, and the women also, refused compliance. A general spirit of resistance was manifested by the other paupers. The town became disturbed; the governor of the workhouse could not put the order into execution; a constable went round to the inhabitants calling upon them for assistance; they positively refused, and appeared to countenance the resistance to a decree which, in professing to recognise one noble law, establishing the right of every human being to food and shelter, violated another-that which connects parent and child. A struggle took place, and one or two were wounded. Captain Goring was taken prisoner, and forcibly detained in the workhouse. The calling-in of the military and coast blockade towards night terminated the fray, but the inhabitants to the last refused to interfere. The parish authorities there, by the way, have since excited further