quite as napless, fell over the collar of his coat, and in front made an alliance with eye brows from under whose black projection peered forth a pair of small, dark, and fiery eyes, like angry ferrets from their skulking holes, and as opposed in their motions as the buckets of a draw well-when one looked up the other looked down, when one turned to the right the other inclined to the left, and so on through all their movements. It was owing to this obliquity of vision that I did not at first understand his salute as intended for me. Mr. Tully's dress was as unique as his appearance. Besides the hat I just mentioned, he had on a little green frock with yellow buttons, which, having served its full time to some smart serying-man, was now, with aid of patching and darning, converted into a toga virilis for this namesake of the Roman orator. Of his waistcoat-if he had any little can be said, save that it was "Curtain'd from the sight

"Of this gross world,"

his coat being buttoned up to his throat, round which was fastened a stock whose colour would defy the ablest distinguisher of hues to give it a name; and over that arose a clean white collar, through which his face appeared like a piece of candied almond, where some of the crusting was broken off. His nether end was tightly embraced in a pair of lightish web pantaloons, displaying knees which, after the fashion of his eyes, kept a most respectful distance

"Like lovers who have parted in hate”—

yet the difference seemed likely to be composed, at some period or other, by the very close connexion which his ancles still preserved. His pantaloons were finished by a pair of gaiters, that had once been black; answering the double purpose of concealing his want of stockings, and, at the same time, covering the innumerable patches of his tattered shoes.

This gentleman's appearance did not much prepossess me in favor of the company; and, but for the phrase "brother actor," which sounded flatteringly on my ear, I would certainly have refused him the honor of my acquaintance. The easy air of familiarity which he had acquired in the course of his professional wanderings, together with an assumed foppery of tone, that to my inexperience exhibited the gentleman breaking through the cloud of his rags, somewhat reconciled me to the man. I invited him to my apartments, and he staid for dinner, even less loth than Milton's Eve-I defy the critic though it seems a bull..

The pleasure of dining for the first time with a real actor-rather a shabby one to be sure but that was no great matter-raised my spirits considerably. His presence was a proof that the company would come (a matter of which I had begun to entertain considerable doubts) and I hailed him as the harbinger of my future glory. We passed the evening pleasantly; and, to give my guest some notion of my acquirements, I contrived to interlard my conversation with numerous quotations from the Roman,

and one or two from the Greek writers. Tully nodded assent, but I could easily perceive he had no acquaintance with Cicero. At one time he nettled me not a little by a stale green-room joke. "Repeat me," says Tully, "Norval's account of himself." I commenced in my best style; but had scarcely proceeded to the second line when he interrupted by asking me "and pray what is your name on the plains." I contended that I had not been guilty of the erroneous reading which his question insinuated, and for which a school-boy should be whipped. He apologized, and, with some difficulty, appeased my wrath. Poor Tully spouted in turn. He was, in his own estimation, "the best actor in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-pastoral-historical, scene undividable, or poem unlimited :-Seneca was not too heavy, nor Plautus too light for him;" but he principally affected that tragedy which dwelt in the developement of the darker passions. Ye Gods what a treat it was to see Tully, in the "furious tame" of mock inspiration, tearing to tatters the "fine frenzies" of Shakspeare!! To the lovers of grotesque carieature it would have been a most humourous exhibition, but in my eyes, viewing Shakspeare as a holy volume, it was nothing less than profanation. He was however a well disposed generous creature, and won upon me greatly.

The company arrived on the following day, and arrangements were made for opening. What was my

horror on entering the green room, to find myself cast for Francis Rochdale, in Colman's play of John Bull. Frank is a pretty sentimental part enough, but was quite out of my line. The very circumstance of wearing modern costume was sufficient to incapacitate me. I had even abstained from attempting Beverly (in the Gamester) because it wanted the decorations and drapery which I thought necessary to give grace and grandeur to the drama. I would not enact Othello in a coat and pantaloons, nor go on for Romeo in a modern ball dress. I felt like a histrionic Sampson shorn of his hair, and looked upon the manager as the most cruel of Philistines. Still I was obliged to abide the cast, or abandon the company. I chose the former; satisfied that some opportunity of exhibiting my talent would occur, and resolved to abandon Mr. C. the moment my reputation was established.

On the night of performance I was neither agitated by hope or fear. I knew I could not succeed, and went desperately on, indignant that the greatest actor on earth should be thrust into a character which

may

damn his reputation for ever. I folded my arms, walked through the part, repeated my sentences, and made my entrances and exits exactly to the cues.— I passed unnoticed through one or two acts, until some critic in the pit greeted me with an ungentle hissing. It was the first time the accents of the "big bird" fell upon my ear, as directed against myself, and I became furious. I could without remorse or dread have torn to pieces every human

being before and around me. That one hiss put to flight in an instant the treasured hope of years. I knew I could not play Frank in such a manner as to win much approbation; but I expected that my exquisite reading would not only save me from censure, but ensure me respect. I absolutely grinned furiously at the quarter from whence the hateful sound proceeded. This exhibition of impotent rage produced a shout of laughter from the entire audience, which was immediately succeeded by three distinct rounds of ironical applause. I understood the cutting cruelty-it went at once to my heart, and, with a pang so fierce, that I am satisfied the least insensible of the audience, if he knew what I suffered, would have pitied me. I went on doggedly through the remainder of the part, and at its conclusion retired to my lodging. Had the mood I then indulged continued for a week, I should have hated my kind for ever. I was too young, and, even yet, too confident to despair. What did the ignorant boobies of a country town know of reading? My style was too chaste and delicate for their conception. If I out-heroded Herod-If I tore a passion to tatters, to very rags to split the ears of groundlings, why, I would be a star with those blockheads, who were capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. I read Hamlet's advice to the players, and comforted myself with the reflection that a metropolitan audience would do justice to my excellencies.

Matters proceeded on thus for some time. Night after night I went on for some stupid walking gentle