ginality of the Jordan; and the charm of youth secured her from a rival vivacity, which was rather ungenerously obtruded, in a lady past the season in which alone the hoyden. can look natural and prove attractive.

Mrs. Jordan appeared the first night in town with no particular éclât; rather as one who came to know whether she had sterling merit, than as a conqueror pursuing her victory in the field, and marching to the capital in triumph. The house was by no means good--little fashion then entered her boxes-even the pit was not full. BUT she was received with shouts in her great points, and those who attended her debût were unanimous in their reports of the roars of laughter which she excited. For several nights, it was easy to get a seat at any part of the performance. One critic thought her vulgar, another conceived that she might do in Filch in the Beggar's Opera, but denied any great comic requisites.The actress pursued her course, and by the end of her first season, she had a train of fashionables on her nights, such as had before never assembled their carriages together, but on the performances of the tragic wonder-Mrs. Siddons.

The difficulty of fixing the Country Girl in London may be deemed surprising with our present knowledge of Mrs. Jordan; but she did not repeat the part till the 24th of the month, and acted it a third time on the 28th. On the 11th of the following month, she changed the style of her attraction, and in the character of Viola in Twelfth Night, evinced her tenderness and grace, and the neatness of her figure in the male habit. It is unnecessary to say more of a part, which became so peculiarly her own. The charm of her speaking voice in Viola found the happiest expressions of the great poet, and the harmony of the lines was felt by the most insensible.

At Covent Garden Mr. Holcroft produced his comic opera of the Choleric Fathers, with but slender success. He was

a man of considerable talent, but rather hasty in the formation of his plots, and careless as to point in his dialogue, into which he was, perhaps, betrayed by his habit of dictation. It may be assumed as a position quite incontrovertible, that such dialogue as that of Congreve must be written, literally, by the hand of its author.

Miss Brunton, on the 14th of November, appeared in Juliet, and exhibited, like every other performer of the character, occasional deficiency. If the actress have the charming simplicity and artless affection of the early scenes, it is nearly impossible that she should possess the tragic vigour and profound art called for as the interest rises. Miss Brun

Y

on was too obviously a declaimer of passion-the heart was decidedly still. Yet study will always do something, and she seemed a refined and sensible actress.

But I must not omit the revival of the Jubilee at Drury Lane, on the 18th, because Mrs. Siddons actually condescended to be wheeled over the stage as the Tragic Muse, and the attitude of her noble figure reminded the spectator of the picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds. As a full and most absurd contrast, the tall insipidity of Mrs. Cuyler figured as the Comic Muse. In this present age of processions, I still prefer the moving drama of the Jubilee. All the characters, it is true, cannot be finely done, but many of the groups will be perfect; and they display, let it be remembered, such strength of interest, and variety of character, as can be paralleled by no other author, and belong to no other stage.

Mrs. Jordan, on the 21st, ventured upon Imogen, but she could act only the disguise of the character; with Iachimo, in the temptation of her honour, the mingled astonishment, grief, indignation, reconcilement, and virtuous dignity, were all wanting. Imogen is but a name for the perfect loveliness of the female character; and yet we have heard such absurdity from the poet and the critic, as

"For stronger Shakspeare felt for MAN alone."

I hope I have not been inattentive to the excellence of Fletcher; but in very few of his female characters will a steady comparison le with those of Shakspeare; they have more of prettiness than passion. Fletcher is always a poet, but his heroines seem to have their origin in romance rather than nature, and some of his females disgrace the sex by the looseness of their conversation.

On the 25th of November, I am to record the death of Mr. Henderson, who, after a seeming recovery from a fever, died of some spasmodic action upon the brain, utterly unapprehended by his medical attendants. He had not completed the 39th year of his age, and yet had long been a perfect master in his art, the range of which he carried to an extent, that seems hopeless to succeeding actors. "I will not," said Mr. Kemble once to me, "speak of Henderson's Falstaff; every body can say how rich and voluptuous it was: but I will say, that his Shylock was the greatest effort that I ever witnessed on the stage." I remember it in its principal scenes, and I have no doubt whatever, that it fully merited so high a praise; but I respectfully insinuate, that Macklin in the trial scene was superior to him and all men. Yet it may be proper here

to say, that in many of his characters, Henderson's superiority may be disputed; but that his performance of Falstaff is as much above all competition, as the character itself transcends all that was ever thought comic in man. The cause of this pre-eminence was purely mental-he understood it better in its diversity of powers-his imagination was congenial; the images seemed coined in the brain of the actor; they sparkled in his eye, before the tongue supplied them with language. I saw him act the character in the second part of Henry IV. where it is more metaphysical, and consequently less powerful. He could not supply the want of active dilemmas, such as exhilarate the Falstaff of the first part, but it was equally perfect in conception and execution. I have already described his Falstaff at Windsor, which completed this astonishing creation of the poet. I have born with many invasions on this peculiar domain of Henderson. It has in truth been an ungracious task to most of his successors; they seem all to have doubted their right of possession; to have considered themselves tenants only upon sufferance; and thus it was with King, and Palmer, and Stephen Kemble, and Ryder, and a whole tedious chapter of fat knights, who have roared and chuckled, at the slighest possible expense of thought; and, laughing much themselves, in their turns, perhaps "set on some quantity of barren spectalors to laugh too. Peace to all such !" It was the strong sense of Henderson's excellence in Falstaff, that made me miserable whenever Mr. Kemble announced his intention of assuming the character. He was not naturally a comedian, nor a man of wit. He might have given a fine reading of the text, but the soul of the knight would have been wanting. A Falstaff only endured out of respect for the actor's other merits, is at any period of life, prejudicial to his fame. He could afford to leave the stage without aiming at the praise of universality, and I sincerely rejoice that he did so.

Henderson had died in good circumstances, and it was determined to bury him in the Abbey. Every respect that could be paid to a good man and an excellent artist, was paid on this occasion; his remains were followed to the grave by his nearest friends; and his brother actors, from both theatres, saw the final honour bestowed, (perhaps the greatest he ever received) the placing him between Dr. Johnson and David Garrick. For many years I occasionally enjoyed the sad luxury of musing over his grave, and in my memory reviving the splendid triumphs of his genius. But though he war always presented to my fancy surrounded by a group of chaacters the creation of Shakspeare; yet at no great distances

were strongly seen the whole family of Shandy, and the mingled sorrows and enjoyments of the Sentimental Journey. I write, with suitable indignation, that now MONEY must be paid for the privilege of approaching his grave, and the Commons of Great Britain doubt whether they have the power to drive the money changers out of the Temple!

On the same day that Mr. Henderson died immaturely at thirty-nine, Leonidas Glover dropt into the grave at the age of seventy-four. His Epic Poem rather disappointed the world. The critic showed it to be replete with poetic excellence, and the patriot bosom glowed at the very name of Leonidas; yet it faded away as deficient in its interest, and too narrow in its plan. What has been said tauntingly of the French, may be more liberally and not less justly put: Les modernes n'ont pas la tête epique. Mr. Glover wrote three tragedies, two of which were upon the subject of Medea and Jason; the other had for its heroine Boadicea. Mrs. Yates was fond of Glover's cold declamation, and frequently displayed herself in the character of Medea. Glover, like Mason, loved and preferred the classic model, and would not see the incompatibility of the Greek chorus with the modern stage. His widow resided in a state of blindness under the same roof with the late Noel Desenfans, Esq. who attended to her infirmities with a friendly assiduity, that was never intermitted for a single day. She was related to the Wellesley family.

The 25th of November had yet another occurrence memorable in stage history. I mean the first appearance of Frederick Reynolds as a dramatic writer. He was then but in his twentieth year, and on that day presented to the Bath audience a tragedy, upon the subject of Werter. From Westminster School, he had passed into his father's office, and his father was the celebrated attorney of that name, so conspicuous in the times of Wilkes and liberty. His son, probably from some of the operations of politics to the prejudice of his family, has, through life, discovered the most decided abhorrence of all faction, and happily for himself, arrived at the wise conclusion, that petty evils might be endured, provided domestic security and national strength flowed from the steady operations of government.

In a rather serious indisposition, he had been ordered to Bath by his physician, and in his small portmanteau had found room for his tragedy of Werter, which he composed in his nineteenth year. He placed himself on his arrival in one of the boarding-houses of that city, and sent his play to Mr. Dimond, the manager of the Bath Theatre. Several days elapsed, and he heard nothing whatever of his tragedy. It

was rather a new thing to act a play, which had not previously been sanctioned by the London audience, and he began to conclude that his offering would be treated with contempt, when one of the guests of his boarding-house, at table, excited his attention by saying, that he had been that morning amusing himself at the theatre, and had among other things been shown two very beautiful scenes, which were in preparation for the new tragedy of Werter, coming out there. Reynolds gaily offered a bet that his communicative friend was mistaken, and for once at a bet heartily hoped he might lose his money. He was speedily set at rest upon the grand point, by a summons, from the manager himself, to attend a rehearsal of his play-and soon was initiated into the morning mysteries of the boards, so astonishing to a young author, and so ridiculous to an old one. The tragedy was brought out with the best aids of the Bath management. The hero was acted by the manager, Dimond; the heroine by a Mrs. Bernard, a very interesting woman and judicious actress. The dramatist had the invaluable delight of seeing his effects, for the first time, in the tears of an audience piled up to the roof. The tragedy not only succeeded at Bath, but became popular through the country. Mr. Kemble himself, in the summer, acted the character of Werter, but always cut out the readings from Ossian, which the young author considered to be little short of treason to his interest.

Meyler, a bookseller, well known, wrote his prologue and epilogue, and whether displaying the author's tact or his own, introduced all the great theatric names, to which the Bath judges had affixed the stamp of excellence; Siddons and Brnuton, and Edwin, and alas! Henderson. The author attended the company and his play, on the removal to Bristol; of fame, he certainly got as much as he could possibly have expected of money, though much needed at the time, he got not a sixpence. The theatre even expected him to pay the two guinea fee to the licenser, whose sanction was necessary, the play not having previously been acted; this Reynolds properly refused. His play, however, made him known in the world, and procured him the usual introductions to the fashionables, who take credit in their parties for showing off any new feature of public amusement, Reynolds then, and since, I believe, estimated this tribute at its full value.

Variety is to the theatre absolutely indispensable. The range of characters performed by Mrs. Siddons in tragedy, was rather circumscribed; but it was not owing to the powers of the actress, but to the want of power in the authors. To write an inferior part for Mrs. Siddons was, as to