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 morn-, ing 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 Bruton, 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

herself, nothing; but it was destructive to the author. The public might forgive the modern bard, who was inferior to Shakspeare, and Otway, and Rowe; but the admirers of Mrs. Siddons never pardoned the writer whose rash ambition had employed her talents on ineffective matter: she had seldom by a modern been written up to at all, and in the eloquent language of Steevens," her lips were sacred to the task of animating the purest strains of dramatic poetry."

Still Belvidera and Shore, and Isabella and Mrs. Beverley, could not be eternally represented; besides, it was thought that Mrs. Siddons, powerful as she was, could not be kept for ever on the stretch; but that some parts of a milder character should be mingled with the heroines of tragedy. On the 26th, therefore, of November, she acted for the first time Mrs. Lovemore, in Murphy's Way to keep Him. After many years observation of this great woman, 1 profess, I do not recollect a character which, in her manner she more perfectly identifies than this of Mrs. Lovemore. But it never charmed, because its effects could be but moderate. The audience had been used to see every eye in tears, and to tremble at the hysteric agony excited by her tragic power. They now beheld the mighty enchantress brought down to common and domestic life, learning a lesson instead of ruling the affections, and occupying a drawing-room with genteel deportment and calm good sense. To show Mrs. Siddons little, if at all, superior to other women, was to dispel something of her charm; to lower her value: I thought it injudicious; besides, the enchanting Widow Belmore kills that and every other part in the play. She repeated it three times, and then retired from the boards for some considerable interval, during which opera and the Jordan made a rather successful stand.

On the 5th of December, the celebrated comedian Mrs. Clive, died at Teddington, and was buried at Twickenham. She had lived for many years in great harmony with her refined neighbour Horace Walpole, who, though himself one of the most sensitive and fastidious of beings, delighted in the whim, the mimicry, and broad humour of Mrs. Clive. When virtu offered no pressing temptation, and even romance solicited him in vain, he had one unfailing resource-he could always" touch a card with the Clive."

It was well known that this celebrated woman delighted in annoying Garrick, and in all probability Walpole rather spoke her feeling of Garrick than his own, when he called him a dull creature and an impertinent jackanapes." I know, in truth, nobody who has treated him worse, except,

indeed, the rancorous UNKNOWN, who wrote the letters of Junius. He addresses him in the elegancies peculiar to politics and criticism: "Now mark me, vagabond! keep to your pantomimes." But let me rescue the great master of the stage from this vulgar trash, and show how Burke thought and wrote of him: "I remember a conversation I once had with my ever dear friend Garrick, who was the first of actors, because he was the most acute observer of nature I ever knew; but I am again falling into my usual vanity, in valuing myself on the eminent men, whose society I once enjoyed." -Works, v. p. 34.

The management of Mr. Garrick was not calculated to conciliate the authors of the modern drama. What is there really excellent, which he had refused? Prudential considerations would lead him to reject all those flimsy pieces, which, living, even by the aid of cordials, but their nine nights, gave the profits of three of them to the author. How was he assailed by the ruffian Kenrick, who having had the address to get a royal command on the third night of his play, modestly insisted upon the profits, not of his own attraction, but the king's!

On the 8th, Mr. Cobb produced at Drury Lane Theatre his comic opera called the Strangers at Home. The incident on which the plot turns, however simple, is one capable of the greatest interest. Certain Florentines, returning from slavery, keep on their African dresses, to try the real dispositions of their mistresses and friends. Mr. Cobb did not greatly exceed the ingenuity of the Italian comic opera. But it is easy to perceive, that he might have worked such a subject into satirical exposure of the richest humour, and diversified his scenes with the most refined, or the rudest feeling. The music was by Linley, and much admired. During the confinement of Mrs. Siddons, the opera was extremely serviceable to the theatre.

Mrs. Warren, a daughter of Powell, was received at Covent Garden Theatre on the 10th, in the character of Elwina, in the tragedy of Percy, with that generous indulgence which the merit of her father necessarily secured to her. She subsequently rather strengthend than weakened her claims by some lady-like performances in comedy.

Mrs. Wells, too, crept out in the character of Shore; an experiment which her critical friends were so blind as to permit. As far as mimicry could carry her, she unquestionably went; and she always reminded the hearer of Mrs. Siddons or Mrs. Crawford. What her admirers termed simplicity, in humbler efforts, hung about her utterance in