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tattered miscreant; his adversary, from being weli practised at the game, throws ten handsfull of dirt for his one, and quickly bespatters him all over, while the few, additional pieces that he could send, would never be discerned on his opponent's already soiled and filthy garments. The best way certainly for those who are well enough known to afford it, is to pass all such attacks over in absolute silence. Blackwood's Magazine, whose personality has at least always prostituted humor and ability to make it go off, has never been so enraged by any of the retorts of its adversaries as by the real or affected contempt of the Edinburgh Review. Notwithstanding the virulent abuse that has from time to time been bestowed upon it, the Edinburgh has never, since the commencement of Blackwood, let it appear that it was conscious there was such a journal in existence.
We are not very sanguine in anticipations of any speedy and effectual change for the better in this world of ours; but we do think the time is fast coming when, with a few exceptions, this custom of the present race of public journals in the United States will be regarded with unqualified contempt. There are already symptoms of better things. Most of the city papers in New York, and indeed in all large towns, have lately amended their ways considerably in this respect, though they were never one quarter so bad as their rural brethren; and there are several journals that are respectable and entertaining repositories of news, knowledge, literature, and fashion, while their trifling disputes are conducted in a pleasant and gentlemanly spirit. Clashing interests and party views will always preserve some portion of personality in the world; but it would be more agreeable to all concerned to settle their little affairs of the pen by good-natured raillery, light repartees, and polished sarcasms, such as pass
in decent society, in preference to vulgar slang and porter-house figures of rhetoric. Let such contests be carried on like two gentlemen engaged in a bout at foils, in which both exert their utmost skill and ingenuity, in a friendly temper; and when a "palpable hit” is given on either side, let it be courteously acknowledged, and then try it again ; and not like a couple of ragamuffins in the street, who fight and tear themselves to pieces for the amusement of the spectators.
and Lady Macbeths and Desdemonas in fitch tippets and Leghorn flats, the continual recurrence of trivial directions in the midst of agonizing speeches —“when I do so, mind you do so"—the familiar and unseasonable colloquialisms, the everlasting appeals to and from the stage manager, the scoldings and the squabblings, are apt to fritter away all enthusiasm in people of ordinary minds, until they become a kind of speaking and attitudinizing machines-mere actors and actresses, who occasionally produce an effect by the beauty of the language they deliver, or from the situations in which they are placed; but who are, for the most part, incapable of duly appreciating either the one or the other. It is only those whose feelings lie too deep beneath the surface to be ruffled or worn away by the habits and jargon of their profession, and who, when the curtain rises, step upon the stage creatures of another element, that really become great actors. There are plenty of anecdotes of Kean afloat, weighty enough of themselves to apparently controvert this assertion; but however that wonderful creature may now have become hardened by habit, he must have been at one time terribly in earnest, and the effect which he still creates is produced by a faithful recollection and copy of the feelings which originally agitated him. It is to be hoped that Miss
Kemble will become a great actress, and that the artificial education, of which she has yet much to receive, will not destroy the natural beauty and freshness of her mind. At present her personations are rather distinguished by feminine sweetness and delicacy, and quick and violent transitions of passion, than by sustained force and grandeur ; but there is something occasionally in the tone of her voice—in her dark expressive eye and fine forehead, that speaks of the future Queen Katherine and wife of Macbeth. Her Juliet, with some faults, is a delightful, affectionate, warm-hearted piece of acting ; and she is decidedly the least mawkish and most truly loving and loveable Belvidera I have ever seen. The closing scene of madness, where others fail, is her greatest triumph. The tones of her voice, when playfully threatening Jaffier, might almost touch the heart of a money-scrivener. She is the only Belvidera I have beheld play this scene twice. They all contrive to make it either excessively repulsive or ridiculous, and somehow or other manage to bring to mind a very vivid picture of Tilburina in the Critic; while their invariably going home in the midst of their distresses, and after a partial touch of insanity, to put off their black velvets and put on their white muslins to go completely mad in, because, as that lady says, “it is a rule," by no means tends to do away with this unfortunate association of ideas. Miss Kemble is at present the sole hope of the English public in tragedy. She must not disappoint them, for, if she does, there is no one else on whom they can turn their eyes. But when it is considered that this is only her second season --that she is yet but a girl of eighteen or nineteen, it may be fairly said that she has already done sufficient to justify the most sanguine expectations.