As we are now approaching the close of Mr. Kemble's professional life, the present is perhaps the most fit opportunity for saying something of his general qualifications for the stage, and of a few of the characters in the representation of which he was so transcendent.

Mr. Kemble combined in an eminent degree, the physical and mental requisites for the highest rank in his profession. To a noble form, and classical and expressive countenance, he added the advantages of a sound judgment, indefatigable industry, and a decided genius, and ardent love for the art of which he was so distinguished an ornament. He possessed besides, that essential characteristic of a first-rate tragic actor, an air of intellectual superiority, and a peculiarity of manner and appearance, which impressed the spectator, at a glance, with the conviction that he was not of the race of common men. His voice was defective in the undertones necessary for soliloquy; but in declamation it was strong and efficient; and in tones of melancholy, indescribably touching. No music was ever heard which could better revive the tale of past times. It was indeed one of the most exquisite beauties of his performances, that a single passage frequently recalled to the mind "a whole history." At the same time, it must be confessed that there were occasions, principally while he was suffering from the languor of indisposition, when his enunciation was unpleasingly elaborate and prolonged.

To young and inexperienced critics, he appeared to have too much art. Judging more from feelings than from principles, they regarded him as departing from propriety in the same degree in which they saw him depart from the character of nature, as it existed in their own minds. Comparing him with their own notions, indeed in many cases with their own knowledge of the prototype in nature of the part which he was performing, they felt that the representation and the reality had very little resemblance; and, that they had never met with any one who walked, looked, and spoke as he did. But when they saw him a second, and a third,

and a fourthtime, they began to understand the source of their error, and the character of his excellence. They perceived that his whole performance was the result of profound study; that he departed intentionally from simple nature, because he had seen that nature, artificially combined, would produce a greater effect; that his playing therefore was not to be judged by its resemblance to ordinary nature, and general character, but by its conformity with what nature would appear and become under certain selected circumstances. They saw that acting, like poetry, or painting, ought not to take its subject from merely common nature; and that an actor, like a poet or a painter, could never possess the genuine feelings, spirit, and genius of his art, unless he formed himself by a beau ideal in his own imagination.

While depicting, in the most powerful manner possible, the fiercest rage, the bitterest hatred, or the wildest desperation of a perturbed spirit, —while representing, in short, the very whirlwind of passion," he was always at a distance from the confines of extravagance; he was always careful to

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beget a temperance that might give it smoothness." His acting was the finest exemplification conceivable of the truth, that distortion of visage, and writhing of limb are ineffective, in proportion as they are outrageous; that eternal starts, and chafings, and restlessness, are significant only of littleness and imbecility; that all such ingenuities are wretched substitutes for essential expression; and are, to adopt the language of La Rochefoucault, "mysteries of the body to conceal the defects of the mind." To this the manner of Kemble was directly opposed. In all his numerous performances there were to be remarked no laborious effort, no painful tension of his faculties, no search after extrinsic embellishment, or false and conceited contrast, Every thing had its distinct meaning; every look, every tone, and every gesture were impressive, not only in themselves, but because they all converged to one point; they were all determined by, and had reference to, one pervading idea, which influenced and governed the whole.

Whether on or off the stage, Mr. Kemble never lost sight of his profession. While performing, he was ever attentive to the minutest circumstance, whether relating to his own part, or to the parts of others; when off the stage, he was diligently engaged in the pursuit of whatever was connected with the history, or illustration of his art. He therefore, at a prodigious expence, made an unrivalled collection of the dramatic works of British genius, and of books relative to the history of the stage; and, during the long period of his management, in the two winter theatres, the public were indebted to his researches into our ancient drama, for the revival of many pieces of acknowledged value, which had been long neglected, and were almost forgotten; but which his judicious alterations contributed to restore to their former popularity

In speaking of the merits of Mr. Kemble, in some of his chief theatrical characters, it is impossible to say any thing absolutely new. We shall therefore do little more than adopt, with certain modifications, a few of the numerous criticisms which his performances called forth from some of the best judges of dramatic excellence.

In the vigour of his life, the Hamlet of Mr. Kemble was his best and most favourite character. During his latter years, time had furrowed his fine forehead and face more deeply than even profound grief could have worn the countenance of the young Danish Prince; but in Mr. Kemble's prime, he was an admirable personation of the melancholy, the graceful, the gentle Hamlet. The scholar shone in him with learned beauty. The soldier's spirit decorated his person. His mourning dress was in unison with the noble and severe sorrow of his face. The spectator could not take his eye from the dark intensity of Kemble's, or look on any meaner form while Kemble's matchless figure stood in princely perfection before him. The very blue ribband that suspended the picture of his father round his neck, had a courtly grace in its disposal. When he spoke, his voice, in its fine cadences, fell like an echo on the ear; and the listener was taken by its tones back with

Hamlet to his early days, and over all his griefs, until he felt himself, like Hamlet, isolated amidst the revelry of the Danish

court.

The beauty of Kemble's performance of Hamlet was its retrospective air, its intensity and abstraction. His youth seemed delivered over to sorrow; and memory was indeed with him "the warder of the brain." Other actors have played the part with more energy; have walked more "i' the sun;" have aimed more at effect; but Kemble's sensible, lonely Hamlet, has never been surpassed.

Mr. Kemble's delineation of Cato was magnificent. The hopes of Rome seemed fixed upon him. The fate of "the immortal city" appeared to have retired to his tower-like figure as to a fortress, and thence to look down upon the petty struggles of traitors and assasins. He stood in the gorgeous foldings of his robes, proudly pre-eminent. When his son was killed, and the stoicism of the Roman wrestled with the feelings of the father, the contest was terrifically displayed.

There were those who preferred him in Brutus. The Ro man part of the character was certainly admirably pourtrayed; but the tenderness of heart, which occasionally rises up through all the Roman sternness, was perhaps not sufficiently marked. And yet, nothing could exceed the manner in which he spoke the three simple words,

"Portia is dead."

Uttered by a common actor, those words convey only the relation of a fact, melancholy, indeed, and therefore affecting; but when delivered by Mr. Kemble, they strikingly exhibited the workings of a mind in which anguish was with difficulty subdued by philosophy. The effect was always electrical.

Coriolanus was a Roman of quite another stamp; and Mr. Kemble seems to have been more universally liked in that part than in any other. The contempt of inferiors suited the haughty tone of his voice; and the fierce impetuosity of the brave young patrician was admirably seconded by the muscular beauty of person in the actor. When he entered

in the first scene, the crowd of mob-Romans fell back as though they espied a wild bull; and he dashed in amongst them in scarlet pride; and looked, even in the eyes of the audience, sufficient "to beat forty of them." His asking to be Consul, his quarrel with the tribunes, his appearance under the statue of Mars, in the hall of Aufidius, and his taunt of the Volscian just before his death, were specimens of noble and earnest acting, that can never be forgotten by those who have witnessed them.

In Macbeth this great performer was grandly effective, particularly in the murder scene. At the banquet, he was kingly indeed! The thought of the witches seemed to be always upon him, weighing him down with supernatural fear. In the latter scenes he displayed great energy and spirit; and there was a fine melancholy tone which smote upon the heart in his delivery of the lines :

My way of life
Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf;

And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not.”

His Richard the Third, although in many instances admirable, was perhaps too collected, too weighty in the consideration of crime, too slow of apprehension. It wanted that tempest and whirlwind of the soul, that life, and spirit, and dazzling rapidity of motion, which seem essential to the valiant, energetic, and ambitious tyrant.

In King John, (a character however somewhat tedious,) Mr. Kemble was greatly elaborate and impressive. His scene with Hubert was as powerful as genius could make it. His death chilled the heart, as the touch of marble chills the hand; and it almost seemed as if a monument was wrestling with fate.

His Lear was one of his finest performances. Who that has heard it can ever forget the appalling manner in which he uttered the dreadful curse on his unnatural daughter?