resses appearing in the garb of the oppo- | where, and dropped him a graceful curtsey. site sex, and the justness of many of the The tremendous burst which followed acstrictures must be acknowledged. There knowledged the witchery of the syren. was a charm, however, in some of these assumptions to which much of Madame's popularity was then due. Letitia Hardy, Lýdia Languish, and other "legitimate" characters, were played by her; but the enthusiasm of her admirers, it must be confessed, was reserved for the occasions when she appeared in male habiliments. The beautifully-fitting blue surtout of the amorous Don was of itself deemed worthy of a visit to the theatre; and whilst the critics were preaching morality, the idol of the town was attracting a host of worshippers. In 1825 our fair artiste lost her husband, from whom she had dwelt apart since their first separation in Paris. During the same year, Mr. John Poole gave to the Haymarket Theatre his comedy of "Paul Pry," which became a perfect passion. In this piece Madame Vestris, in the character of Phoebe, introduced "Cherry Ripe," the song par excellence, which was echoed from one end of the land to the other. During the next year, poor Weber brought to Covent Garden is opera of "Oberon," in which she divided the honors with Braham, Miss Paton, and other operatic celebrities. The first ten years passed by Madame Vestris upon the English stage was one long triumph; her London engagements were principally confined to Covent Garden and the Haymarket, whilst in the provinces she was an immense favorite. Engaged once for "a few nights only" at Norwich, during her performance of Apollo, the audience (with the solitary exception of an old gentleman in the boxes) was intent upon the repetition of the air, "Pray, Goody, please to moderate." The songstress stood for awhile in a most unpleasant position, the stentorian lungs of the dissentient exercising themselves with "No, no; off, off," to the great annoyance of the actress and the countless "ays." At length she advanced to the footlights and recommenced the song. Arriving at the lines, The year 1830 exhibited Madame Vestris in a new character, that of a most artistic manageress-or wo-manager," as Leigh Hunt would pleasantly write it. On the 3d of January, in that year, she undertook the direction of the Olympic Theatre-at one time the Elba of the dethroned Elliston, when the sceptre of imperial Drury had been wrested from him. This little bandbox was soon rendered by her the most fashionable and attractive theatre in London. Surrounded by a host of talent-herself the queen of the Revels, enjoying the smiles of her subjects and winning their "golden opinions"Madame exhibited a taste at once correct and classically elegant. To aid her efforts, popular authors brought hither their fa vorite trifles; whilst the mythological drama was seen in its most sunny aspect, decked with a lavish profusion. Let us look into this little boudoir of a theatre. It is the evening of the 7th day of December, 1835, and the house is densely crowded. The performances, we perceive, include two novelties, respectiveÎy entitled the "Humpbacked Lover" and the "Old and Young Stager;" but prior to the commencement of the first-named piece, Liston appears with a countenance so serious that we fancy his old love of tragedy has returned to him. No! he has a young friend to introduce, in whose welfare he is deeply interested. Listen to his opening words: "Oh let me beg this night with you and here One moment to be serious and sincere: Serious and Liston? you will pause and askMathews and friendship made me drop the mask. 'Twere useless now to dwell on days long past, Yet with that spirit's humor mine was cast, And something of your kindly-yielding fame Came to me, blended with his bright'ning name. Forgive this recollection, but he leaves We need scarcely say that the subject of this address is Charles Mathews, received with so much cordial welcome, and tended with almost parental care by the old stager whose introduction we have quoted. Intimately associated as Mr. Mathews has since been with the subject of our present sketch-as we shall see, "anon, anon, sir" -we may here place before our readers a few items from his own bill of fare. death of his father in 1835 he became part proprietor of the Adelphi Theatre, which he managed for a short time, and then sought the ordeal of public suffrage at the little house in Wych street. Charles Mathews would seem to have inherited a turn for mimicry and rapid personation of character. Though spared the servitude of the actor's art by the usual initiatory process, he soon fought the way to public approval, and has long been hailed a comedian of the highest finish. An actor of such consummate ability might truly represent the higher walks of comedy, but comedy now a days we seldom hear of. Writers care little now for the precepts of Horace or the practice of the elder dramatists; and our gay neighbors across the Channel have taught us the abbreviation of plots and acts. We have now a species of drama, too trivial and unreal to be called comedy, and yet by no means to be classified with farce. In these vaudevilles, or French adaptations, occasionally sparkling with brilliant costume, the English stage has no such hero as Charles Mathews, possessing as he does an elegance and delightful ease of manner, with peculiar fluency and volubility. Charles Mathews, only son of the actor of the same name, celebrated for his inimitable monodramatic entertainments, was born at Liverpool on the 26th of December, 1803. Attaining the age of twelve, he was placed on the foundation at Merchant Tailors' School by the Recorder of London, with the intention of educating him for the Church. The close air of the city, however, ill agreed with his health, and he was removed to a school in the Clapham-road, where he was prepared for college. The genial Charles, it seems, manifested a greater preference for architecture than for the pulpit, and, instead of proceeding to Oxford, was placed in the office of an architectural draughtsman, being articled to Mr. Pugin, and subsequently studying in the office of Mr. Nash. In 1822 he performed with some private friends at the English Opera House-a character in French, Le Comé- Returning to the path from which we dien d' Etampes, in professed imitatiom have slightly deviated, we may remark that of Perlet. Shortly after he accompanied the old and young stager whom we saw tothe Earl of Blessington to Naples, prose-gether upon the Olympic boards in 1835 did cuting the study of architecture at the not then meet for the first time. SevenPalazzo Belvidere. In 1826 he was pro-and-twenty years previously (in 1808) the fessionally engaged in Wales, in erecting Hartsheath Hall, with a bridge, etc.; but being little pleased with his labors, he returned to the school of the arts, and for four years travelled through Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Sicily, etc. In 1828 he was elected a member of the Academies of Milan and Venice; and in the winter of that year, at Florence, joined the private theatricals of Lord Normanby and Lord Burghersh, where a few but varied. characters were played by him. In 1830, whilst at Venice, a fever deprived him of the use of his limbs, and confined him to hls bed for six months. He was at length enabled to reach England, with limbs wasted and useless, and for months was carried in the arms of a servant. Upon the recovery of his health he obtained the surveyorship of the district of Bow; but some three years later, finding architecture slow in its returns, he commenced the study of oil-painting, and exhibited a picture at Somerset House. Upon the VOL. XXXIX.-NO. III. late Charles Mathews was the occupant of a pretty rustic cottage in one of the retired lanes of Colney Hatch. There friends of the rarest talent revelled in rural freedom once a week. Harriet Mellon-not dreaming then of a coronet-was often seen in the group, a slim and beautiful creature; whilst Liston came and danced with him who is now a mourner, at that time a delicate boy of five summers. At the termination of Madame's eighth season at the Olympic, she bade farewell for a time to her patrons, liberal offers from America having induced her to venture across the Atlantic. This was a long journey, and the lady required a protector. Death had robbed her of one husband, but she had seen no reason why she should throw The garnered glories of her flowered face and therefore sought out for a new one. 23 Mathews, we have already shown, was a member of her company. We can offer no interesting details of the preliminary proceedings, but we know that on Wednesday, the 18th of July, 1838, the star of the Olympic was united to her clever comedian at Kensington Church, the happy pair starting immediately for the far west, full of hope and anticipation. Success, however, is not be commanded; and as Robert Burns once sang, The wisest schemes of mice and men The later career of Madame Vestris is too recent to require being closely followed. After the closing of Covent Garden she played for a time with Mr. Macready at Drury Lane, and subsequently at the Haymarket, the Princess's, the Surrey, as well as at the principal towns in the provinces, ultimately becoming located at the Lyceum, where her friends were introduced to her on the 18th of October, 1847. The old Olympic Revels were here renewed, the well-known name forming one of the principal features in the playbills. Brilliant extravaganzas from the prolific pen of Planché, and other sparkling producOn arriving at New-York, and finding tions, were brought forward, and placed the weather insufferably warm, they passed upon the stage with a degree of taste on the a few weeks in cool retirement, during part of the fair director that was truly rewhich time a portion of the press was in-markable. "I am not yet put upon the dustriously employed in "writing them down." In this the parties so well succeeded that a persecution was commenced upon their public appearance, sufficient to destroy their proffessional prospects, and to undermine the health of the lady. From these attacks she was removed by her husband, who took his farewell of an American audience, on the 13th of November, in one of the most manly addresses upon theatrical record. Madame Vestris Mrs. Mathews we should now call her, but the pen clings with affection to the old name-reappeared at the Olympic on the 2d of January, 1839, in a new burlesque entitled "Blue Beard," and Wych street heard the plaudits with which her return was greeted. At the close of her ninth season the Olympic was finally forsaken for Covent Garden, which was opened by her on the 30th of September, 1839, with Shakspeare's comedy of" Love's Labor Lost," in which she herself played Rosalind. At this house Madame Vestris presented to her patrons a class of entertainments more suited to the lordlier temple over which she presided. She was herself, for instance, the Lady Teazle of Sheridan's brilliant comedy; the Amarantha of Beaumont and Fletcher's "Spanish Curate ;" and one of the merry wives of Windsor, the true Mrs. Page of the poet's fancy. The company selected by the fair lessee formed a goodly array of talent, and many novelties were brought forward; but on the 30th of April, 1842, the third and last season of this management was brought to a close, the undertaking having been the reverse of prosperous. shelf," we remember her pleasantly saying in one of these fairy exhibitions, in which her rich contralto voice was heard with much of its original charm. It was evident, however, to those who remembered her in the zenith of her beauty, that the eye had lost some portion of its lustre, that the step had less of its graceful sprightliness-a change which forced upon our thoughts the truthfulness of the adage, that "things will last long, but not for ever." Illness at length assailed the fascinating star of the theatre, and compelled her to succumb. Her last public appearance was on the 26th of July, 1854, in the comedietta of "Sunshine through the Clouds," on the occasion of Mr. Mathews's benefit. It was nearly forty years previously that she first stepped upon the boards-a girl of surpassing loveliness-for a husband's benefit, and her last professional hour won from her a similar favor. From that night the sunshine was seldom seen through the clouds by poor Madame. Her malady was accompanied by increasing physical agony, through which she lingered in hopeless suffering until the night of Friday, the 8th of August. Six days later her remains were interred at the cemetery of Kensal Green, where rest many who mixed with her in the busy scene. Two of her old managers are there, Charles Kemble and Morris, of the Haymarket; with Liston, too, one of her chief props when the Olympic was under her golden sway. Madame Vestris was long acknowledged the most charming actress upon the English stage, and for nearly forty years lived in the full blaze of public favor. She was a woman of undoubted talent, whether This gifted actress, in the morning of her day, had no monitor to direct her course, and heard no other voice than that of flattery. The young beauty consequently imbibed a love of display which became her characteristic through life. Those who should have taught her to avoid temptation led her to its fearful brink, covering the abyss with a gilded and a glossy web. Hence, in after days, came rumors of failings to which the world too freely listened. Of those failings we will speak gently, remembering her early training, and knowing that the narrow tomb is now her home. With great endowments, and with lavish praise constantly ringing in her ear, she knew nothing of affectation. Her generosity and kindliness of heart was frequently exhibited, and received its reward in affectionate and unwearied attention in her own hour of suffering, over which Providence kindly spread the healing wing which hid her from our sight. We owe her much for refined entertain judged as an English, French, or Italian are indebted for the great improvement comic actress, or as a charming natural in our scenic representations, her talent for vocalist; and blended with her former dramatic effect exercising an influence efforts was an indescribable fascination not which will long be observable upon our easily to be shaken from remembrance. stage. Time, as was once observed by an admirer, appeared for many years to stand still, gaz ing upon her attractions; and so gently did the great despoiler of beauty deal with her in face, figure, and voice, that there is scarcely a female on record who so long retained unimpaired her professional fame. Acting and singing with her was an impulse; she had none of the learning of a school, but trusted to her own innate feeling and taste, her performances receiving a considerable charm from the melody of her voice. The stage has heard no such voice since the days of the splendidly-gifted Jordan, whose joyous tones imparted a warmth around, whilst her laugh was the most enlivening thing in nature. The lower notes of the Vestris were of a richness rarely surpassed, and the symphony to one of her songs created in her audience a manifest gratification. It may be questioned whether she was equal to the personation of the higher class of theatrical heroines, requiring for their due embodiment an intellectual subtlety; but for the vaudeville and the ex-ment, and shall often think of her, travaganza, with which her name is so intimately associated, she possessed every graceful accomplishment, and was the very spirit of this species of light comedy. To her sumptuous fancy and refined taste we "Kindly and gently, but as of one For whom 'tis well she's fled and gone; From the Gentleman's Magazine. CHATTERTON.* IN that portrait-gallery of illustrious writers to which Mr. Masson has introduced us, we turn from the likenesses of "Essays, Biographical and Critical, chiefly on English Poets. By David Masson, A.M., Professor of English Literature in University College, London." (Cambridge: Macmillan and Co. 8vo.) men as admirable as Shakspeare, Swift, and Goethe, as honorable as Wordsworth and De Quincey, to look with an interest no familiarity abates upon a new delineation of the "marvellous boy." It is evident that Mr. Masson himself has labored on this portraiture most lovingly and well. He could not otherwise have given us so faithful and complete a likeness of the young poet in his sullenness and pride, and kindliness and grief, or have surrounded him with a group of accessories so picturesque in themselves, and so useful in illustrating and bringing out in bolder prominence the subject of his picture. It is, indeed, in this accessory matter that much of the strength of Mr. Masson's biography consists. A mass of curious information, diligently gathered from obscurest publications, is happily made use of to throw light upon the times through which the narrative extends, and particularly upon those circumstances of the times which had the most bearing on the individual history of Chatterton. Mr. Masson has contrived to levy subsidies of this kind from the most unpromising sources, and to use his materials with a rare constructive skill. He leaves, in fact, nothing now to be inquired into concerning the external influences, whether of events or persons, which can be supposed to have had much to do with the wayward and precocious growth of the poet's mind. Taken as it stands on Mr. Masson's pages, the life of Chatterton is indeed a strange and tragical tale. There was no genial childhood in it-no seasons of dependence and delight, however brief, to usher in the storm and darkness of his passionate youth. From first to last there was a morbid element in his mental nature, and ingrained ambition, and reserve, and pride, fearfully at war with all enjoyment or repose. At little more than seven years of age we have this account of him: Generally very sullen and silent, he was liable to sudden and unaccountable gifts of weeping, as well as of violent fits of rage; he was also extremely secretive, and fond of being alone; and on Saturday and other holiday afternoons, when he was at liberty to go home from school, it was quite a matter of speculation with his mother, Mrs. Chatterton, and her acquaintances, what the boy could be doing sitting alone for hours, as was his habit, in a garret full of all kinds of out-of-the-way lumber." This riddle, that the kind-hearted mother and her gossips could not solve, has no obscurity about it now. Unconsciously to herself, in that back street of Bristol, she had given birth to a young eagle, who was even then pining and preparing for the atmosphere and habits of his kind. Wait a year or two, and you may see him try his wing in perilous flights; wait a year or two, and you may see him, whilst still a Blue-coat boy in Colston's school, writting verses and lampoons for a provincial journal, imposing on the pewterer, Burgum, an antique-looking pedigree ascending through an illustrious line to one of the knightly followers of the Norman, and making his first essay in those ancient poems which still command the admiration and the wonder of whoever reads them. Or wait again a year or two, and you may see him, an apprentice now to the attorney, Lambert, hoaxing Bristol antiquaries with an elaborate record of the opening of their ancient bridge; boldly manufacturing Rowley poems in abundant measure; collecting knowledge and especially antiquarian knowledge, from every source that was not sealed against him; corresponding, upon equal terms, with Horace Walpole; contributing to one of the London magazines; and, finally, walking often in a moody state about the neighborhood of St. Mary's Church, "with a brain consciously the most powerful in Bristol," whilst he was yet sent down to feed with servants in his master's kitchen. But the inward strife of these important years is never to be seen or known. The mortifications which so proud a nature could not fail to encounter amongst purseproud and illiterate citizens, and the bitter, constantly recurring sufferings of a penniless state, were evils not to be repelled by any means at Chatterton's command. The powers he was conscious of were, perhaps, imperfectly recognized; the poverty he bore about with him was a condition only too palpable to all; and it is easy to conceive how a spirit infinitely more patient than his might have found cause to groan under the indignities to which such a contrast must be sure to doom him. It was, in fact, the refusal of a loan of money, at a critical time, that brought about the circumstances under which the mournful drama of poor Chatterton's existence closed. Intervening scenes of overpowering interest there were, but it was this refusal-whatever else, had this been wanting, might by possibility have proved as fatal-which looms out in the distance as the unmistakable cause. The connecting links are evident enough. It was this that gave occasion to a deliberate design of self-destruction, which had more than once suggested itself to the unhappy boy's mind before; it was the accidental discovery of this design that led to his imme |