AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

THE Stage is one great source of public amusement, not to say instruction. A good play, well acted, passes away a whole evening delightfully at a certain period of life, agreeably at all times; we read the account of it next morning with pleasure, and it generally furnishes one leading topic of conversation for the afternoon. The disputes on the merits or defects of the last new piece, or of a favourite performer, are as common, as frequently renewed, and carried on with as much eagerness and skill, as those on almost any other subject. Rochefoucalt, I believe it was, who said that the reason why lovers were so fond of one another's company was, that they were always talking about themselves. The same reason

almost might be given for the interest we feel in talking about plays and players; they are "the brief chronicles of the time," the epitome of human life and manners. While we are

talking about them, we are thinking about ourselves. They "hold the mirror up to nature;" and our thoughts are turned to the stage as naturally and as fondly as a fine lady turns to contemplate her face in the glass. It is a glass, too, in which the wise may see themselves; but in which the vain and superficial see their own virtues, and laugh at the follies of others. The curiosity which every one has to know how his voice and manner can be mimicked, must have been remarked or felt by most of us. It is no wonder, then, that we should feel the same sort of curiosity and interest in seeing those whose business it is to "imitate humanity" in general, and who do it sometimes "abominably," at other times admirably. Of these, some record is due to the world; but the player's art is one that perishes with him, and leaves no traces of itself, but in the faint descriptions of the pen or pencil. Yet how eagerly do we stop to look at the prints from Zoffany's pictures of Garrick

and Weston! How much we are vexed, that so much of Colley Cibber's life is taken up with the accounts of his own managership, and so little with those inimitable portraits which he has occasionally given of the actors of his time! How fortunate we think ourselves, when we can meet with any person who remembers the principal performers of the last age, and who can give us some distant idea of Garrick's nature, or of Abington's grace! We are always indignant at Smollett, for having introduced a perverse caricature of the English Roscius, which staggers our faith in his faultless excellence while reading it. On the contrary, we are pleased to collect anecdotes of this celebrated actor, which shew his power over the human heart, and enable us to measure his genius with that of others by its effects. I have heard, for instance, that once, when Garrick was acting Lear, the spectators in the front row of the pit, not being able to see him well in the kneeling scene, when he utters the curse, rose up, when those behind them, not willing to interrupt the scene by remonstrating, immediately rose up too, and in this manner the

whole pit rose up, without uttering a syllable, and so that you might hear a pin drop. At another time, the crown of straw which he wore in the same character fell off, or was discomposed, which would have produced a burst of laughter at any common actor to whom such an accident had happened; but such was the deep interest in the character, and such the power of rivetting the attention possessed by this actor, that not the slightest notice was taken of the circumstances, but the whole audience remained bathed in silent tears. knowledge of circumstances like these, serves to keep alive the memory of past excellence, and to stimulate future efforts. It was thought that a work containing a detailed account of the stage in our own times-a period not unfruitful in theatrical genius might not be wholly without its use.

The

The volume here offered to the public is a collection of Theatrical Criticisms which have appeared, with little interruption, during the last four years, in different newspapers-the Morning Chronicle, the Champion, the Examiner, and lastly, the Times. How I came