suited to some parts, but what is defective here is amply made up for in the excessive affection and melting tenderness of the unfortunate wife, bearing her trials with unshaken firmness, and finding out every palliation for the unworthy cause of them.

MRS. HALLER.

After Miss O'Neill's display of talent in so many leading characters of the British drama, she was now induced, perhaps from the example set her by Mrs. Siddons, to attempt a different line, and personify the much admired character of Mrs. Haller, in the Stranger, a production of the German theatre, and one of the most popular pieces from the pen of Kotzebue. It has been said of this actress, that all characters in her hands receive additional purity; and this is a strong reason for her representing the portraits of this modern school. The sterling good sense of this country is not easily led astray by the sophistry of the new philosophy. To be the frail fair one in reality, and yet a

pattern of purity and untainted mind, is a sophism not to be swallowed but by those who are fond of substituting the semblance of virtue for itself, and delight in the substitute without the reality. A Mrs. Haller and a Mary Wolstancroft are the same; and if their morality is to be the guide and standard of female excellence, virtue will be but an empty name, and guilt lose all its turpitude.

Mrs. Haller, however, in the hands of Miss O'Neill, and altered as the play is considerably from the original, could not fail to produce the most powerful impression. Her appearance displayed nothing of the giddy and careless character of most of the females drawn by the German dramatist: it shewed the super-eminent modesty which one in the critical circumstances of Mrs. Haller stood in need of, and which, by Miss O'Neill's correct judgment, was carried to its proper stretch. A reserved action, a delicate restrained voice, except when interrupted by the sudden bursts of violence which the part called for, are the pre-eminent traits of her representation; and the storm of passion over, the calm chastened demeanour returned, so suitable to her idea of the character. Indeed

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through the whole of her representation, the native colouring of her mind was never lost, and her dress was particularly suited to the penitence and sombre shade of circumstances it delineates. In sorrow it is allowed she is not to be resisted. haps no play ever appeared to greater advantage on the British stage. The acting of Mr. Kemble, as the Stranger, was equally great in his walk as the Mrs. Haller of Miss O'Neill. We may here observe, that this was the first play in which the Critics gave a full and unqualified admission of Miss O'Neill's merits, and laid aside the rather too invidious comparisons constantly kept up betwixt her and Mrs. Siddons. It is only, however, in the last act of this piece that the real powers of Miss O'Neill are called forth: the confession scene is supported with all the penitence, but at the same time with all the dignity and grace that shews her though fallen, yet conscious of what she has been, and that to fall below the dignity of Count Waldbourg's wife, in her acknowledgment of her error, would be lessening its value even in the eyes of the offended husband who had a right to it.

"Leave me now, I beseech you;"

and her address to the Stranger

"My Lord,"

are affecting in the introduction of the scene in the extreme, and given with uncommon pathos. The manner also in which she pronounces, and the look with which she accompanies

"Then nothing now remains but that one sad, hard, just word-farewell!"

are irresistibly touching. The fine incidents also in descanting on the jewels which are employed by the poet, and so happily and impressively expressed by Miss O'Neill, to work on the affections of her husband, were never represented in so superior a manner as by Miss O'Neill. The melting softness of voice, the tender, pathetic, and expressive look of agonizing regret, and the noble refusal with which it concludes, had irresistible charms on the senses of the audience.

"How well do I recollect the sweet evening when you gave me these! That evening, my father joined our

hands; and joyfully I pronounced the oath of eternal fidelity. It is broken. This locket, you gave me on my birth-day-That was a happy day! We had a country feast-How cheerful we all were! --- This bracelet, I received after my William was born!— No! take them-take them-I cannot keep these, unless you wish that the sight of them should be an incessant reproach to my almost broken heart.

The agitation also, on the Stranger's pronouncing the word

"Farewell,"

with which she entreats

"Oh! but one minute more! An answer to but one more question.-Feel for a mother's heart!-Are my children still alive?"

harrow the very soul, and excite every energy of it in unison with her captivating powers.

The extasy of happy feeling with which the play concludes, and the pity awakened by the noble mind and generous feelings of the husband and wife, make us alive only to the present situation, and forget equally the crime and the breach of mo