love of the youthful Hengo-his agony at his wretched fate : these were things to which Mr. Kemble could not be insensible; for he passionately loved fine acting, and scientific acting; and knew well the extent of Mr. Digges's powers. But he really only resembled him in the strong feeling they both had of genuine character, and sound composition.

In the Wolsey, something of Digges's pride of deportment might be fancied-but the great distinction was, that, though Digges more resembled the actual person of the cardinal, Kemble had more of the churchman in both the elevation and declension of that character. His piety was better mixed up with his pride in the one, and more strikingly supported him in the other.

Among the attractions of the Irish stage, in 1783, was to be numbered the late Mrs. Crouch, then the lovely and enchanting Miss Phillips, who, attended by her father, and recommended to Windham by Dr. Johnson, had gone over to try the success of her musical talents. Her beauty was the theme of every tongue; her voice was one of the sweetest that had ever been heard. Her success was correspondent. Mr. Kemble became intimately acquainted with them. Mr. Phillips was a man of letters, whose conversation was of the greatest value. He had seen all the chief ornaments of the stage in past times, and welcomed the young rival of their fame, whose ultimate rank in the art he with the fullest confidence predicted. Miss Phillips was quite delighted with his acting, and Mr. Kemble certainly felt the power of her beauty. When, many years after, we used to talk together about this lovely wo man, and the grave had swallowed all but the memory of what she was his former admiration fully revived, and he spoke of her, as he could well speak, of one for whom he had every kind, every good, and every tender feeling. And when I had written, at Mr. Kelly's desire, the inscription upon her tomb at Brighton, Mr. Kemble one day called upon me, and, as we walked out together, said to me," Boaden, I have just read "an inscription upon Mrs. Crouch's monument. As I feel "every word of it, and know that I did not write it myself, "I know only one other man from whom it could proceed, "and you are he."

The London papers suggested a marriage between them in Dublin in the year 1783; it was even affirmed to have taken place; but I believe Miss Phillips neither received nor desired any attention from Mr. Kemble but those of very zealous friendship, perhaps a little romantic on his side. It will be seen that he was ready to risk his life for her, by the following anecdote: at the same time, I know that charms of much

less value would have received from his manliness the same protection.

They were at Cork at the time, and Miss Phillips was the subject of general admiration. Her father was confined by the gout, and had requested Mr. Kemble to conduct his daughter home from the theatre, until he should be able to attend her himself. One evening, some young officers belonging to a regiment quartered in that city, chose to contend for the honour of seeing her safe to her lodgings; and accordingly, when she went to her dressing-room, stationed themselves in the passage through which she was obliged to return. They there entered into a loud and somewhat fierce dispute, who should have the honour of being her conductor, and the terrified beauty locked her door. Mr. Kemble sent at this juncture to inform her, that he was waiting for her. She replied to his messenger, through the door, that she would not leave her room, until the officers had quitted the theatre, as she was resolved not to pass them. Upon this intimation they were politely desired to withdraw, as the doors of the theatre were going to be shut. They said, "they "would not leave the house until Miss Phillips did, as they 66 were waiting to conduct her." Mr. Kemble, hearing this, took his sword, and passing through them said, with dignity and firmness, "Gentlemen, Mr. Phillips, who is confined by "illness, has requested me to conduct his daughter from the "theatre; and, as gentlemen, I trust you will not molest her; "for, be assured, I will maintain the trust reposed in me." He then called Miss Phillips, and told her that her father would be anxious for her return; that it was late, and he was confident she would pass without interruption. At length she ventured forth, but at the sight of the officers was about to retreat again to her dressing-room. Mr. Kemble, however, held her fast, and audibly said, "Be under no appre"hension, I am resolved to protect you. If any gentleman "is dissatisfied with my behaviour, I will meet him, if he "pleases, to-morrow morning, and if he can prove it to be "wrong, I shall be ready to apologize for it."

He led her then quietly through the passage, uninterrupted by her gay persecutors. The commanding officer, however, had heard of the confusion thus occasioned, and the next day called upon Mr. Phillips, to express his concern at the conduct of the preceding night, and to assure them, that every proper apology should be made. Miss Phillips told him, with her usual naivete, that "she would have no apology; all "that she required was, that the gentlemen in future would "go from the theatre with the rest of the audience, and leave

"her to return home quietly with her father, or with the per "son whom he might appoint to conduct her."

Her wishes were respectfully and faithfully complied with. Kemble's conduct on this occasion was admired by every body. But it was attributed to his passion for the young lady; and the talk of their union seemed now to have a declared sanction in his own behaviour.

CHAPTER III.

Mr. Kemble arrives in town.-State of our theatres as to talent.-Drury-lane.-Smith-Fine gentleman in comedy. -Change of Manners.—Its effect upon former comedies.— John Palmer.-Dodd.-Bensley.-King.-Parsons.--The Critic.--Its first night.--Moral sensitiveness of the audience.--Sheridan an unexpected imitator of Dr. Barrow. --The passages compared.

AT the period when Kemble arrived in the metropolis, our theatres could boast many distinguished ornaments of the stage. He did not come to throw light upon obscurity, but he added a new and brilliant planet to the host that shed their lustre upon our evening pleasures. The great master of the art had formed in his own theatre some very respectable artists, who, from a long habit of acting together, had rendered their performances very smooth and attractive; and although no one actor greatly predominated, yet together, they gave evidence that they had been well disciplined, that rehearsals had not been spared, and that every advantage had been drawn from the existing materials.

Mr. Smith certainly occupied a very distinguished station in the theatre, and his merits though peculiar were of no common order. In tragedy he performed most of the first rate characters with great energy, but, I think, not much discrimination. He made no mark upon peculiar portions of the dialogue--he lifted no beauties of expression into prominence--there was no light and shade in his manner. One uniform cadence seemed in him able to convey the most striking opposites of sentiment and character.

It was consequently never objected to him that he ventured upon new readings, or any readings. He spoke the obvious meaning of the text, and satisfied common auditors; and this he did in one unvaried song, in a tone of measured power. His articulation was not nice; indeed, from some compression of the organs, what he uttered in tragedy, always seemed laborious and even painful.

But all that was outside was fair and noble. His deportment was dignified and manly--his action graceful, and never redundant. Nature had denied to him that first of all

requisites, an expressive countenance, yet was he certainly a handsome man, and an elegant stage figure. In tragedy he might be said just barely to keep his place--in comedy there was nobody qualified to take it.

The fine gentleman in comedy was then very different from what it has since become--it was regulated by higher manners, and seemed indeed born in polished life, and educated in drawing-rooms. The dress kept the performer up to the character. It was necessary to wear the sword, and to manage it gracefully. As the hair was dressed and powdered, the hat was supported under the arm. The mode of approaching the lady was more respectful; and it required the most delicate address to lead and seat her upon the stage. It will be recollected that ladies wore the hoop, and in all the brilliancy of court dress, appeared very formidable beings. The flippancy of the modern style makes a bow look like a mockery: it does not seem naturally to belong to a man in pantaloons and a plain blue coat, with a white or a black waistcoat.

I cannot doubt that what is called genteel comedy, among us, suffers greatly from the comparative undress of our times. What can you do, for instance, with such a comedy as the Careless Husband? Its dialogue could never proceed from the fashionables of the present day--different times can only be signified by difference of costume. Should we therefore venture back to the lace and embroidery, the swords and bags of the last age? I think not: the difference from our present costume would excite a laugh. What is the result unfortunately? We drop, or impoverish these comedies.

That profound philosopher, Mr. Burke, has somewhere observed the reason why these comedies in higher life are so pleasing. Generally speaking, it would seem, that such a mode of existence was too artificial, and therefore not so fit for painting, as deficient in character, and consisting of little more than lords and footmen, ladies and their waiting-maids, But he adds, "I have observed that persons, and especially women, in lower life and of no breeding, are fond of such "representations-it seems like introducing them into good company, and the honour compensates the dulness of the ❝entertainment.”*

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Here is therefore a mode of existence purely artificial, stript at once of all its external illusions. In their dress, at least, the characters are sunken to common life; and the charm of being, as it were, introduced into good company is taken from the great bulk of the spectators-they are there

Hints for an Essay on the Drama. Works, vol. v. 4to. p. 433.