I am sorry," remarks Mr. Campbell," to have seen in our own day, in Mr. Bellchamber's edition of Cibber's Apology, an attack upon her memory, in my opinion, as unfair as it is furious; raking up the very scandal which the more respectable part of her contemporaries appear to have disbelieved. Perhaps I may be asked, of what consequence now is Mrs. Bracegirdle's character ? Very true: as a matter taken entirely by itself, it is of no consequence whether she was a wanton or a vestal; but it is of importance that even deceased human character should not be taken away on forced suspicions, or on feeble proofs; for injustice towards the dead leads, by no very circuitous route, to injustice towards the living. Once convict the one on false or defective evidence, and you will soon leave the other at the mercy of malignity. The serpent vituperation will thus grow into an amphisbæna, to sting at both ends."

In speaking of another actress, Mrs. Oldfield, whom he imagines the most beautiful woman that ever trod the British stage-one, "whose countenance was benevolent as her heart," he says, "Pope attacked her, dead and alive, four, times, in his poetry. He hated her, merely for being the friend of Cibber, who had ridiculed the obscene and stupid farce of Five Hours after Marriage,' which Pope was concerned in getting up. In chapter xii. of The Art of Sinking in Poetry,' he accuses her of prurient conversation; but his own indecency disarms his scandal, for he utters it in sentences unfit to be quoted, and which he was himself ashamed to reprint. The damnation of the Five Hours,' gave Pope an implacable aversion to players. He says, 'The players and I are luckily no friends;' but he might have omitted the word luckily,' for his enmity to players, as to other people, kept him in the foul atmosphere of satire, when he should have been breathing the empyreal of poetry."

How well said is this!

We must take Mrs. Siddons's really first appearance from her own pen.

"On the 10th of October, 1782, I made my first new appearance at Drury-Lane, with my own dear beautiful boy, then but eight years old, in Southerne's tragedy of Isabella.' This character was judiciously recommended to me by my kind friend, Mr. Sheridan, the father of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, who had seen me in that play at Bath. The interest he took in my success was like that of a father."

Speaking of her first appearance on this occasion, Mrs. Siddons says, "For a whole fortnight before this (to me) memorable day, I suffered from nervous agitation more than can be imagined. No wonder! for my own fate, and that of my little family, hung upon it. I had quitted Bath, where all my efforts had been successful, and I feared lest a second failure might influence the public mind greatly to my prejudice, in the event of my return from Drury-Lane, disgraced as I formerly had been. In due time I was summoned to the rehearsal of Isabella.' Who can imagine my terror? I feared to utter a sound above an audible whisper; but by degrees enthusiasm cheered me into a forgetfulness of my fears, and I unconsciously threw out my voice, which failed not to be heard in the remotest part of the house, by a friend who kindly undertook to ascertain the happy circumstance. The countenances, no less than tears and flattering encourage

ments of my companions, emboldened me more and more; and the second rehearsal was even more affecting than the first. Mr. King, who was then manager, was loud in his applauses. This second rehearsal took place on the 8th of October, 1782, and on the evening of that day I was seized with a nervous hoarseness, which made me extremely wretched; for I dreaded being obliged to defer my appearance on the 10th, longing, as I most earnestly did, at least to know the worst. I went to bed, therefore, in a state of dreadful suspense. Awaking, the next morning, however, though out of restless, unrefreshing sleep, I found, upon speaking to my husband, that my voice was very much clearer. This, of course, was a great comfort to me; and, moreover, the sun, which had been completely obscured for many days, shone brightly through my curtains. I hailed it, though tearfully, yet thankfully, as a happy omen; and even now I am not ashamed of this (as it may perhaps be called) childish superstition. On the morning of the 10th, my voice was, most happily, perfectly restored; and again, 'The blessed sun shone brightly on me.' On this eventful day my father arrived to comfort me, and to be a witness of my trial. He accompanied me to my dressingroom at the theatre. There he left me; and I, in one of what I call my desperate tranquillities, which usually impress me under terrific circumstances, there completed my dress, to the astonishment of my attendants, without uttering one word, though often sighing most profoundly.

"At length I was called to my fiery trial. I found my venerable father behind the scenes, little less agitated than myself. The awful consciousness that one is the sole object of attention to that immense space, lined as it were with human intellect from top to bottom, and all around, may perhaps be imagined, but can never be described; and by me can never be forgotten.

"Of the general effect of this night's performance I need not speak: it has already been publicly recorded. I reached my own quiet fireside, on retiring from the scene

of reiterated shouts and plaudits. I was half dead; and my joy and thankfulness were of too solemn and overpowering a nature to admit of words, or even tears. My father, my husband, and myself, sat down to a frugal neat supper, in a silence uninterrupted, except by excla mations of gladness from Mr. Siddons. My father enjoyed his refreshments; but occasionally stopped short, and, laying down his knife and fork, lifting up his venerable face, and throwing back his silver hair, gave way

to tears of happiness. We soon parted for the night; and I, worn out with continually broken rest and laborious exertion, after an hour's retrospection, (who can conceive the intenseness of that reverie ?) fell into a sweet and profound sleep, which lasted to the middle of the next day. I arose alert in mind and body."

From some ingenious remarks on the wonderful power which great players, like Siddons, possess to delight us on the stage with dramatic poetry which we read with indifference, we cite the following:

It is not more certain, that the northern lights can play upon ice, than that electrifying acting has often irradiated dramas very frigid to the reader. What is the "Cato" of Addison to our perusal; and yet how nobly John Kemble performed its hero? The greatest acting, it is true, cannot create a soul under the ribs of death, nor reconcile us to false or insipid views of human nature. A tragedy, to affect us by the best possible acting, must assuredly have some leading conceptions of grandeur, some general outlines of affecting character and situation. Nevertheless, it is astonishing how faint and general those outlines may be.

Shakspeare's plays would continue to be read, if there was not a theatre in existence; whereas, if poor Murphy, as a tragedian, were to be banished from the stage to the library, it may be said, in the fullest sense of the phrase, that he would be laid on the shelf. And yet Murphy might affirm with truth, that in playing his heroine, Mrs. Siddons herself increased her reputation. The part of Isabella had developed her strength as well as her tenderness; but Euphrasia allowed her to assume a royal

loftiness still more imposing, (at least to the many,) and a look of majesty, which she alone could assume. When she rushed on the stage, addressing the Grecian patriots, "War on, ye heroes!" she was a picture to every eye, and she spoke passion to every heart.

The next part in which Mrs. Siddons appeared was Jane Shore. Fainting fits were long and frequent in the house." We were aware that no one went to the theatre when Mrs. Siddons performed, without providing himself with decent cambric. The ladies were at the same time going to weep in the mornings before her picture, as Isabella. They had all of them at least their white handkerchiefs, ready for that demonstration of sensibility." One gentleman was seized with the female malady of hysterics, and in danger of being turned out of the pit for laughing at the deepest tragedy of Mrs. Siddons, till a lady, who understood, explained the real condition of the poor man. In brief, the most gifted preachers of the Ranters and Jumpers, never produced more violent physical effects among their audience than Mrs. Siddons; the important difference being, that the one kind of audience were set down as persons of fine taste, and of the liveliest and most profound sensibility, while the other continues to be regarded as half-mad, ignorant fanatics. Mr. Campbell, we make no doubt, duly appreciates the white handkerchiefs, and the hysterical commotions.

Mrs. Siddons chose Belvidera for her first benefit in the metropolis. Another benefit, or extra night, produced her L.650; but this was by the gratuities of her fashionable patrons. Of the Drama, “ Venice Preserved," Mr. Campbell speaks the truth affectionately. Of the Belvidera, of Mrs. Siddons, he, we apprehend, does the same. But many years before, the public had thought differently; and he concludes, "she attached herself by this part with a new and bright link to public favour."

The poet-biographer gives us a clue to some of his judgments, which we must not let slip. Some years before he had seen Mrs. Siddons play Belvidera; and, while his gifted eyes still retained their young enchantment, and threw their own magic on whatever they looked, he had stumbled by accident into the Edinburgh

theatre. But he shall tell the tale himself.

The first time that I saw the great actress represent Desdemona, was at Edinburgh, when I was a very young man, (I think it was in 1798.) I had gone into the theatre without a play-bill. I knew not that she was in the place. I had never seen her before, since I was a child of eight years old; and, though I ought to have recognized her from that circumstance, and from her picture, yet I was for some time not aware that I was looking at the Tragic Queen. But her exquisite gracefulness, and the emotions and plaudits of the house, ere long convinced me that she must be some very great actress,—— only the notion I had preconceived of her pride and majesty made me think that "this soft, sweet creature, could not be the Siddons." When I asked the person next me the name of the actress, I felt, or fancied, a toue of rebuke in his answer; as if he had said, Could you suppose that any other actress could affect the house in this manner?

Now, we venture to affirm that, had Mrs. Siddons played Belvidera on that night, her perfor

mance of that character would have found more grace in Mr. Campbell's eyes in all future time. As it is, he says,—

I am glad that I have far better testimonies than my own to offer in proof of the great actress's triumph in this character; for, to say the truth, when I saw her perform Belvidera, she was in the autumn of her beauty, large, august, and matronly; and my imagination had been accustomed to picture the object of Jaffier's fondness as a much younger woman. Accordingly, I recollect having thought, (it was a new thought, indeed, for her acting to inspire,) that I could have conceived another actress to have played the part more perfectly. But, without retracting my general opinion that she continued to act this character when she was somewhat too old for it, I can easily conceive that in my boyish criticism I may have judged of her unspiritually, and too much by externals. Attending to the woman more than the actress, I dare say I was blind to innumerable beauties, that made her Belvidera, even late in life, one of her finest performances in the eyes of better judges than myself. When she was young, there were not two opinions about her perfection in that part.

But the bride of Othello is conceived to be even a younger woman than the wife of Jaffier. When Mr. Campbell first saw the Desdemona of Mrs. Siddons, she could not be much younger than when he beheld her Belvidera. The true secret lies in the sudden change that, at particular eras, comes over even poets' eyes.

Mrs. Siddons had been taken to London at a salary of ten pounds a week. She concluded her first season most prosperously,-visited Ireland in the summer months, and opened the campaign of 1783, with her salary more than doubled, and her reputation continually increasing. Her brother John now procured an engagement at DruryLane, and formed, in every way, the most desirable of coadjutors on and off the stage. "There was a pleasing harmony in their manner, although hers was the more natural; and, side by side, they appeared the two noblest specimens that could be produced of the breed of England."

Their first appearance together in London was in the "Gamester ;"-at the command of his Majesty,-for we believe it is one of the royal privileges to command a play,—the brother and sister afterwards appeared in King John; and Constance was added to the great stock characters of Mrs. Siddons. Her first appearances in that part were indifferent. She was, indeed, in nothing less remarkable than for steady improvement. No length of time, no height of fame, ever abated her diligence and persevering efforts to attain perfection. Even those characters which, having played for twenty or thirty years, and hundreds of times, until their performance might be supposed as mechanical as any ordinary bodily function, were regularly studied, previous to every new appearance. The lives of Kemble and of Mrs. Siddons ought, in this respect, to form the text-book of players. The press was certainly never harsh with Mrs. Siddons, but rather laudatory; but Mr. Campbell finds the remarks on her Constance" exceedingly truculent," and he is compelled to believe that she was not at that period the same perfect Lady Constance he saw ten years afterwards. Of that part he says with enthusiasm:—

☛ I could speak as a wonder-struck witness to her power in the character, with almost as many circumstantial recollections of her as there are speeches in the part. I see her in my mind's eye, the embodied image of maternal love and intrepidity; of wronged and righteous feeling; of proud grief and majestic desolation. With what unutterable tenderness was her brow bent over her pretty Arthur at one moment, and in the next how nobly drawn back, in a look at her enemies that dignified her vituperation. When she patted Lewis on the breast, with the words "Thine honour!-oh, thine honour!" there was a sublimity in the laugh of her sarcasm. I could point out the passages where her vicissitudes of hurried and deliberate gesture would have made you imagine that her very body seemed to think. Her elocution varied its tones from the height of vehemence to the lowest despondency, with an eagle-like power of stooping and soaring, and with the rapidity of thought.

In the memoir, we are favoured with Mrs. Siddons's criticisms on some of her principal characters; and it is strange indeed, to find that she, who so gloriously embodied Shakspeare's sublime conception of Lady Macbeth, should have entertained so inaccurate, or rather so false an idea of the character. Mr. Campbell analyzes Shakspeare's Lady Macbeth with fine sagacity.

The observations written by Mrs. Siddons on Constance, make an admirable lecture for dramatic performers.

"If the representative of Constance shall ever forget, even behind the scenes, those disastrous events which impel her to break forth into the overwhelming effusions of wounded friendship, disappointed ambition, and maternal tenderness, upon the first moment of her appearance in the third Act, when stunned with terrible surprise, she exclaims,

Gone to be married-gone to swear a peace! False blood to false blood joined-gone to be friends!' -if, I say, the mind of the actress for one moment wanders from these distressing events, she must inevitably fall short of that high and glorious colouring which is indispensable to the painting of this magnificent portrait.

"The quality of abstraction has always appeared to me so necessary in the art of acting, that I shall probably, in the course of these remarks, be thought too frequently and pertinaciously to advert to it. I am now, however, going to give a proof of its usefulness in the character under our consideration; and I wish my opinion were of sufficient weight to impress the importance of this power on the minds of all candidates for dramatic fame. Here then is one example among many others which I could adduce. Whenever I was called upon to personate the character of Constance, I never, [from the beginning of the play to the end of my part in it, once suffered my dressing-room door to be closed, in order that my attention might be constantly fixed on those distressing events which, by this means, I could plainly hear going on upon the stage, the terrible effects of which progress were to be represented by me. Moreover, I never omitted to place myself, with Arthur in my hand, to hear the march, when, upon the reconciliation of England and France, they enter the gates of Angiers to ratify the contract of marriage between the Dauphin and the Lady Blanche; because the sickening sounds of that march would usually cause the bitter tears of rage, disappointment, betrayed confidence, baffled ambition, and, above all, the agonizing feelings of maternal affection to gush into my eyes. short, the spirit of the whole drama took possession of my mind and frame, by my attention being incessantly riveted to the passing scenes. Thus did I avail myself of every possible assistance, for there was need of all in this most arduous effort; and I have no doubt that the observance of such circumstances, however irrelevant they may appear upon a cursory view, were powerfully aidant in the representations of those expressions of passion in the remainder of this scene."

In

Mrs. Siddons, in her first years in London,

successfully played Lady Randolph, and Sigismunda, and made the best of one or two parts in abortive plays.

In 1784 she left her lodgings in the Strand, furnished a house in Gower Street, and set up a carriage. Her London benefits, and her provincial tours, were now very productive, for she was a great actress, and what was as lucrative, the rage, the very height of fashion. At this time she remarks,—

"I well remember my fears and ready tears on each subsequent effort, lest I should fall from my high exaltation. The crowds collected about my carriage, at my outgoings and incomings, and the gratifying and sometimes comical remarks I heard on those occasions, were extremely diverting. The Royal Family very frequently honoured me with their presence. The King was often moved to tears, and the Queen at one time told me, in her gracious manner and broken English, that her only refuge was actually turning her back upon the stage, at the same time protesting that my acting was indeed too disagreeable." "

She received the still higher honour of the commands of their Majesties, to attend them to read at Buckingham House. At page 236, we find her highly gratified, and, at 248, saying,

"One could not appear in the presence of the Queen, except in a dress not elsewhere worn, called a saque or negligee, with a hoop, treble ruffles, and lappets, in which costume I felt not at all in my ease. Her Majesty was extremely gracious, and more than once during the reading, desired me to take some refreshment in the next room. I declined the honour, however, though I had stood reading till I was ready to drop, rather than run the risk of falling down by walking backwards out of the room, (a ceremony not to be dispensed with,) the flooring, too, being rubbed bright. I afterwards learnt from one of the ladies who was present at the time, that her Majesty had expressed herself surprised to find me so collected in so new a position, and that I had conducted myself as if I had been used to a court. At any rate, I had frequently personated queens."

Poor Mrs. Siddons! Peter Pindar has painted the scene; but he was not aware of the dignified surprise of her Majesty, at the poor player woman not sinking from the awful presence down through the waxed boards. Mrs. Siddons held the honourable appointment of English preceptress to the Princesses, by which was understood the readings she gave, from time to time, at Windsor, and Buckingham House. This honour was, it appears, its own reward. It is hard that a nation so wealthy as the British, should not enable their sovereign to pay for the education of his children. One of the first symptoms of the mental aberration of George the Third, was his placing, one day, in the hands of Mrs. Siddons sheet of paper that was blank all but the signature of his name. She judged too highly both of her Sovereign and herself to believe that, in his right mind, he could shew such extraordinary conduct; and the event proved the justice of her conclusion. She immediately took the paper to the Queen, who was duly grateful for this dignified proof of her discretion."

a

Mrs. Siddons, shortly before his death, became acquainted with Dr. Johnson, by whom she was invited to tea. When she afterwards called upon the infirm sage, he told her anecdotes of the players, kissed her hand, and regretted his inability to conduct her to her carriage. In the course of a few seasons Sir Joshua Reynolds,

Mrs. Piozzi, Burke, Erskine, and Malone, were among her familiar acquaintances.

"I had fondly hoped," says her biographer, "to have found among her papers a good many relics of her correspondence with these distinguished contemporaries: but, to my mortification, there were none, with the exception of one or two, which shall be given."

Mr. Campbell has probably had little power to redeem this pledge, as we find no such relics : for a trifling note or two form no exception. There is scarcely a letter in the whole work worth reading.

In the summer of 1784, Mrs. Siddons first visited Edinburgh, and the people of Glasgow travelled hither to visit her. The crush and crowds were prodigious--almost equal to those afterwards drawn together by Miss O'Neil, when the caddies slept on straw round the box-door, to be in waiting to secure places for the following nights. The Edinburgh lawyers, on a subsequent visit, presented her with a piece of plate; but Mr. Campbell quaintly remarks, that the Medical Faculty of Edinburgh owed her a token of their regard more immediately than the lawyers, for their practice was increased by a prevalent indisposition, which got the name of the Siddons fever.

Mr. Campbell does not fail to notice, that, at this time, only seventeen years had elapsed since the date of an admonition and exhortation by the Reverend Presbytery of Edinburgh, to all within their bounds, declaring themselves at this time loudly called upon, "in one body and with one voice, to expostulate, in the bowels of love and compassion," against the encouragement given to the play-house.

He shows a new claim to our classic title. Assuredly Edinburgh at that period had a right to the name of the Modern Athens, from one point of resemblance to the ancient city of Minerva. In Athens the priests persecuted Eschylus, and in Edinburgh the clergy prosecuted the author of Douglas.'"

His own fellow-townsmen do not wholly escape:

My worthy townsmen, he says, in the days of their imagined godliness, shewed more practically than the people of Edinburgh how well they could appreciate theatrical genius, by badgering and burning out the unfortunate histrions. The cause of the destruction of the first play-house that was ever erected in Glasgow, was a voice from the pulpit. The ground of that edifice was purchased by the proprietors from a malt-merchant of the city. In bargaining for the sale of it, the man of malt expressed to the purchasers his horror at the idea of disposing of his land to be occupied by a temple of Belial; and, for this devout consideration, he could not in conscience part with it for a smaller price than five shillings the square yard. His demand, though enormous for those days, was complied with, and the temple of Belial forthwith uprose. But, before it could be acted in, a fanatical preacher, who was popular in Glasgow, told his auditors that he dreamed, the preceding night, he was in the infernal regions, at a grand entertainment, where all the devils were present, when Lucifer, their chief, gave for a toast, the health of Maister John Miller, maltster, in Glasgow, who had sold them his ground to build a house upon, which was to be opened the next day, and wherein they were all to reign. The preacher's

hearers hastened away in a body to the new theatre, and consumed it with fire. Some years later, in 1757, the Presbytery of Glasgow responded, with due solemnity, to the admonition of their Edinburgh brethren, which I have quoted above. They echoed its owlish hootings at the innocent amusements of the stage.

Applause is to the actor as the breath of his nostrils. The frigid appearance of the Edinburgh audience chilled Mrs. Siddons. At the end of the scene there was ample remuneration; but their "canny reservation of praise till they were sure she deserved it, she said, had wellnigh worn out her patience. She had been used to speak to animated clay; but she now felt as if she had been speaking to stones. Successive flashes of her elocution, that had always been sure to electrify the south, fell in vain on those northern flints. At last, as I well remember, she told me she coiled up her powers to the most emphatic possible utterance of one passage, having previously vowed in her heart, that if this could not touch the Scotch, she would never again cross the Tweed. When it was finished, she paused, and looked to the audience. The deep silence was broken only by a single voice exclaiming, That's no bad! This ludicrous parsimony of praise convulsed the Edinburgh audience with laughter. But the laugh was followed by such thunders of applause, that, amidst her stunned and nervous agitation, she was not without fears of the galleries coming down."

Mrs. Siddons went from Glasgow to Dublin, and at the close of her engagement, visited her early Cheltenham patroness, now Lady O'Neil, at her princely residence of Shane's Castle. We cannot withhold this incidental glimpse of Irish magnificence.

"I have not words," she says, "to describe the beauty and splendour of this enchanting place; which, I am sorry to say, has been since levelled to the earth by a tremendous fire. Here were often assembled all the talent, and rank, and beauty of Ireland. Among the persons of the Leinster family whom I met here, was poor Lord Edward Fitzgerald, the most amiable, honourable, though misguided youth, I ever knew. The luxury of this establishment almost inspired the recollections of an Arabian Night's entertainment. Six or eight carriages, with a numerous throng of lords and ladies on horseback, began the day by making excursions around this terrestrial paradise, returning home just in time to dress for dinner. The table was served with a profusion and elegance to which I have never seen anything comparable. The sideboards were decorated with adequate magnificence, on which appeared several immense silver flagons, containing claret. A fine band of musicians played during the whole of the repast. They were stationed in the corridors, which led into a fine conservatory, where we plucked our desert from numerous trees, of the most exquisite fruits. The foot of the conservatory was washed by the waves of a superb lake, from which the cool and pleasant wind came, to murmur in concert with the harmony from the corridor, The graces of the presiding genius, the lovely mistress of the mansion, seemed to blend with the whole scene."

Mrs. Siddons had been accused of parsimony, an accusation which generally rests upon very vague grounds. She drew large emoluments from her exertions and talents, as persons of far inferior merit have done; and she naturally liked to secure to herself as liberal a share of the profits produced by her performances, as she

conceived herself entitled to. But now she was charged with rapacity and inhumanity; and, Mr. Campbell says, a system of persecution was commenced by the press. We are slow to believe in systematic persecution. There may be individual malice; but, as a whole, the press is never guilty of more than senseless clamour. There is rarely method, never concert in its attacks. The outcry about her penurious disposition, her hardness of heart, and want of charitable feeling had been raised before this period, and now it became outrageous. The truth appears to be, that Mrs. Siddons, reasonable and just in all her feelings, and upon reflection sometimes charitable, was at no time a woman of generous impulses. The immediate cause of this persecution was as follows:-In Dublin she was one morning rehearsing the part of Belvidera, in which Digges, so well-known in theatrical annals, both as a clever performer, and a manager, was standing for the part of Pierre. He sunk down from a paralytic stroke which deprived him of the use of one side. He was carried home, and never trode the boards again. Digges was in very distressed circumstances, and it occurred to his friends that a benefit would be useful to him. A person waited upon Mrs. Siddons with this view, and she declined, for what seemed good reasons, to appear; but upon reflection sent a messenger to Drumcondra, where Digges lived, to say that she had re-considered the matter, and would be glad to perform for him. Mrs. Siddons here united humanity with prudence, for had she in these circumstances declined to perform, it would have been a bold venture to face an Irish audience again. As it was, the newspapers falsely affirmed that she had taken fifty pounds from Digges for the performance. When she appeared, for the first time, in London, a fearful storm awaited her, for it had also been asserted that she had behaved unhandsomely to Brereton, who was a favourite with the public. Campbell's narrative of those transactions, is naturally favourable to his heroine ; though he has been inconsiderate in adopting both Mrs. Siddons' own account of the Digges | affair, and that of Lee Lewes, who, as he rightly states, "bears a manly and distinct testimony to the unblamableness of Mrs. Siddons's conduct in the affair." It is that which we have given above, namely, that when first applied to, she refused; but on second thoughts complied with the request of Digges's friends. From her own narrative the benefit would appear to have been a spontaneous plan of relieving Digges, originating in her own benevolence, and accomplished against many obstacles. She says,

he told me it could not be, because the whole company would be obliged to leave the Dublin theatre, in order to open the theatre at Limerick; but that he would lend the house for my purpose, if I could procure a sufficient number of actors to perform a play. By indefatigable labour, and in spite of cruel annoyances, Mr. Siddons and myself got together, from all the little country theatres, as many as would enable us to attempt Venice Preserved.' Oh! to be sure,

it was a scene of disgust and confusion."

We, in short, think Mr. Campbell's adoption of Mrs. Siddons' account, in immediate conjunction with that of Lee Lewes, more candid than judicious. We also think that though Mrs. Siddons had left the "little country theatres" for some years, she might have been able to get through the labours of one such night with less disgust.

When Mrs. Siddons appeared in London, she states, "Where a few weeks before I had been the object of universal approbation, I was received on my first night's appearance with universal opprobrium ; accused of hardness of heart, and total insensibility to everything, and everybody, except my own interest; with hooting and hissing, I stood the object of public scorn.” Letters from Ireland repelled the worst part of the calumny. Though she bargained with performers for playing at their benefit, which appears to be a common practice in the profession, she had taken no money from Digges. This was the most painful and trying crisis in the professional career of Mrs. Siddons. The re-action was prompt. Yet what Mr. Campbell says sets before us all the concealed miseries of a player's life.

I believe that, in spite of preponderating applause, her entrée, for several evenings afterwards, was met with attempts to insult her. She made her reverence, and went on steadily with her part: but her manner was for a time perceptibly damped; and she declared to one of her friends that, for many a day after this insult, all her professional joy and ambition drooped in her mind, and she sickened at the thought of being an actress.

Mrs. Siddons herself remarks:-" Shouts, huzzas, and waving of handkerchiefs, however gratifying as testimonials of their changed opinion, were not sufficient to obliterate from my memory the tortures I had endured from their injustice, and the consciousness of a humiliating vocation."

Lest we become as tedious as a mere dramatic chronicler, we may now briefly remark, that in succession Mrs. Siddons played Rosalind indifferently, and, for once, had a triumphant rival in Mrs. Jordan. Ophelia she performed well, according to tradition; though Mr. Campbell, who never saw her in the part, can no more conceive this possible than ourselves. Cordelia, indiffe

in Imogen she was peculiarly happy; " she gave greatness to the character without diminishing' its gentleness." Cleopatra was in no respect adapted to her powers, neither was Juliet, after she had passed the first bloom of youth. Campbell gives us much felicitous criticism on

Mr.