plification of the importance a man's feelings and actions are to himself, and the less than the shadow of a shade they are to the rest of the world, than is to be witnessed in a farce where Liston alights from a coach top, and is followed on to the stage by the driver for the customary gratuity. Those who

have traveled in England may have remarked the manner in which the coachmen receive what the traveler may be pleased to give them. While he is getting the money from his pocket Jehu is all attention; but the moment he has received it, his business is over-he turns upon his heel, and all traces of the giver pass from his mind for ever. Liston detains the coachman, (and you can see in his countenance the vital importance he attaches to what he is about,) in order to draw the distinction and durably impress it upon his mind that his (Liston's) giving him a sixpence was by no means a compulsory measure, but a pure and spontaneous emanation of generosity, or, to use his own phraseology, "hentirely hoptional." A person standing on the brink of a running stream on a cold day, seriously employed in "writing his name in water," would be accounted insane-the attempt to write munificence and generosity on the coachman's mind, is equally futile; yet how many in the world make these and similar efforts who are not

accounted crazy, and whose last will and testament stands good in law.

There has been much said about the ugliness of Liston's physiognomy. I do not think it such as can be fairly termed ugly; yet it is a face that a sensitive sculptor would faint to look upon a large mass of inanimate flesh, with only an every-day mouth, a most insignificant nose, both as to size and shape, and a pair of lack-lustre eyes to diversify the blank and extensive prospect, but the word ugly" gives no more definite idea of it than the word "beauty." It is a paradoxical face, most expressive in expressing the absence of all expression; yet at times combining the expression of the most inveterate stupidity with concentrated conceit and supreme self-satisfaction, in a way that has never been equalled. There are many who, by the common play of the muscles or contortion of the features, can counterfeit stupidity and conceit, in a greater or less degree, at separate times; but not one who, like Liston, can at the same time make you feel perfectly assured not only that the personage he is representing has not an idea, but also, that all attempts to make him sensible of that fact, or to inoculate him with one, would be altogether hopeless. His voice is as unique as his face; and the deep sepulchral croak, in which he narrates

petty grievances, leaves you no choice whether to laugh or let it alone. There is a farce, entitled "Comfortable Lodgings," in which he enacts the part of a rich and hypochondriacal Englishman, traveling to get clear of an unaccountable melancholy, and to learn to enjoy himself like other people, and describes one of his peculiarities with good effect. In answer to his servant's inquiry of "Lord, sir, why can't you laugh, and do as other people do ?" Laugh!" he exclaims in a tone from the bottom of his chest, and with the bitter emphasis of a misanthrope-.." laugh! I cannot laugh! I cannot do as other people do! When I look around me (looking at the pit with a dull stare) I see every one laughing and merry, (a fact,) while my face remains as immoveable as a face carved on a brass knocker!" "Do as other people do?" he continues-"I can't do as other people do. Even in the packet-boat, when all the passengers were as passengers who had never been at sea before usually are, I tried to be like them! but I could not! I looked on a disappointed man !”

Incomparable Liston! Thou hast been a benefit and a luxury unto the melancholy inhabitants of this great city for many a day! Thou hast refuted the trite axiom that "money will not purchase pleasure;" for what man in London town, 14

VOL. II.

for the last twenty years, who could put his hand into his breeches pocket, and find therein three shillings and sixpence, but could say unto himself, "Liston plays-I will hie me unto the theatre and forget my cares-lo! I will laugh!" And if laughing promoteth (as physicians affirm) the healthy action of the biliary organs, from what floods of acrimony and ill-will hast thou cleared the livers. of men! Even exquisites, as they looked at thee, have been awakened from their state of graceful torpor, and the corset laces of fair ladies have been cracked in twain. Thou hast pleased alike the well-judging, the ill-judging, and those who take not the trouble of judging at all. As the Persian saith" may thy shadow never be less !"

1

FANNY KEMBLE.

THE rising hope and promise of the drama-the bud-the blossom-the half-blown " rose and expectancy" of the theatrical world-the pledge to the rising generation, that, in their time, at least, Juliet shall not lie buried in the tomb of the Capulets, or Belvidera's sorrows be entrusted entirely to regularly broken-in, thorough-paced, tragedy hacks. I am well nigh tired of the mechanical woes and shallow agonies of every-day tragedy of picturesque and passionless attitudinizing-of storms of grief, according to the stage directions-"cross to R. H. and burst into tears;" of violent beating of the cold and insensible breast, and knocking of the clenched hand upon the empty head. I am tired of the mere pantomime of the art, without feeling or common sense-tired of vehemence and impetuosity, instead of passion; and particularly tired of hearing such easy work characterized as the