His arm no more will pillow thee,
Thy fingers on his brow.

He is not near, to hush thee, or to save.
The ground is his, the sea must be thy grave.

The moon comes up; the night goes on.
Why, in the shadow of the mast,
Stands that dark, thoughtful man alone?
Thy pledge!-nay, keep it fast!
Bethink thee of her youth, and sorrows, Lee;
Helpless, alone,—and, then, her trust in thee.

When told the hardships thou hadst borne,
Her words to thee were like a charm.
With uncheered grief her heart is worn;
Thou wilt not do her harm?

He looks out on the sea that sleeps in light,
And growls an oath,-" It is too still to-night!"

He sleeps; but dreams of massy gold
And heaps of pearl,-stretches his hands;
But hears a voice,-"Ill man, withhold!"
A pale one near him stands.

Her breath comes deathly cold upon his cheek;
Her touch is cold; he hears a piercing shriek;—

He wakes!-But no relentings wake
Within his angered, restless soul.
"What, shall a dream Matt's purpose shake?
The gold will make all whole.

Thy merchant trade had nigh unmanned thee, lad!
What, balk my chance because a woman's sad !"

He cannot look on her mild eye;
Her patient words his spirit quell.
Within that evil heart there lie
The hates and fears of hell.

His speech is short; he wears a surly brow.

There's none will hear the shriek. What fear ye now?

The workings of the soul ye fear;

Ye fear the power that goodness hath;
Ye fear the Unseen One ever near,
Walking his ocean path.

From out the silent void there comes a cry,-
"Vengeance is mine! Thou, murderer, too, shalt
die!"

Nor dread of ever-during woe,

Nor the sea's awful solitude,

Can make thee, wretch, thy crime forego.
Then, bloody hand,-to blood!

The scud is driving wildly overhead;
The stars burn dim; the ocean moans its dead.

Moan for the living; moan our sins,

The wrath of man more fierce than thine.
Hark! still thy waves!-The work begins,-
Lee makes the deadly sign.

The crew glide down like shadows. Eye and hand
Speak fearful meanings through the silent band.

They're gone.-The helmsman stands alone;
And one leans idly o'er the bow.
Still as a tomb the ship keeps on;
Nor sound nor stirring now.

Hush, hark! as from the centre of the deep,

Shrieks, fiendish yells! They stab them in their sleep!

The scream of rage, the groan, the strife,

The blow, the gasp, the horrid cry,

The panting throttled prayer for life,

The dying's heaving sigh,

The murderer's curse, the dead man's fixed, still

On pale, dead men, on burning cheek,

On quick, fierce eyes, brows hot and damp,
On hands that with the warm blood reek,
Shines the dim cabin lamp.

Lee looked. "They sleep so sound," he laughing. said,

"They'll scarcely wake for mistress or for maid."

A crash! They force the door,-and then
One long, long, shrill, and piercing scream
Comes thrilling 'bove the growl of men.
"Tis hers! O God, redeem

From worse than death thy suffering, helpless child!
That dreadful shriek again,-sharp, sharp, and wild!

It ceased. With speed o' th' lightning's flash,
A loose-robed form, with streaming hair,
Shoots by.-A leap,—a quick, short splash!
"Tis gone!-and nothing there!

The waves have swept away the bubbling tide.
Bright-crested waves, how calmly on they ride!

She's sleeping in her silent cave,

Nor hears the loud, stern roar above,
Nor strife of man on land or wave.
Young thing! her home of love

She soon has reached! Fair, unpolluted thing!
They harmed her not!-Was dying suffering?
O no!-To live when joy was dead,
To go with one lone, pining thought,
To mournful love her being wed,
Feeling what death had wrought;
To live the child of woe, nor shed a tear,
Bear kindness, and yet share not joy or fear;
To look on man, and deem it strange
That he on things of earth should brood,
When all the thronged and busy range
To her was solitude,—

O, this was bitterness! Death came and pressed
Her wearied lids, and brought the sick heart rest.

Why look ye on each other so,

And speak no word?-Ay, shake the head!
She's gone where ye can never go.
What fear ye from the dead?

They tell no tales; and ye are all true men ;-
But wash away that blood; then, home again!

"Tis on your souls; it will not out!
Lee, why so lost? "Tis not like thee!
Come, where thy revel, oath, and shout!
"That pale one in the sea!-

I mind not blood.-But she,-I cannot tell!
A spirit was't?-It flashed like fires of hell!

"And when it passed there was no tread!
It leaped the deck.-Who heard the sound?
I heard none!-Say, what was it fled?
Poor girl! and is she drowned ?—

Went down these depths? How dark they look, and cold!

She's yonder! stop her!-Now!-there!-hold her! hold!"

And then the ribald laughed. The jest,

Though old and foul, loud laughter drew; And fouler yet came from the rest

Of that infernal crew.

Note, Heaven, their blasphemy, their broken trust!
Lust panders murder: murder panders lust!

Now slowly up they bring the dead
From out the silent, dim-lit room.
No prayer at their quick burial said;
No friend to weep their doom.

The hungry waves have seized them one by one;
And, swallowing down their prey, go roaring on.

Cries Lee, "We must not be betrayed;
'Tis but to add another corse!

Strange words, we're told, an ass once brayed:
I'll never trust a horse!

Out! throw him on the waves alive!-he'll swim;
For once a horse shall ride; we all ride him."

Such sound to mortal ear ne'er came
As rang far o'er the waters wide.

It shook with fear the stoutest frame:
The horse is on the tide!

As the waves leave, or lift him up, his cry
Comes lower now, and now is near and high.

And through the swift waves' yesty crown
His scared eyes shoot a fiendish light,

And fear seems wrath. He now sinks down,
Now heaves again to sight,

Then drifts away; and through the night they hear
Far off that dreadful cry.-But morn is near.

O, hadst thou known what deeds were done,
When thou wast shining far away,
Wouldst thou let fall, calm-coming sun,
Thy warm and silent ray?

The good are in their graves; thou canst not cheer
Their dark, cold mansions: Sin alone is here.

"The deed's complete! The gold is ours!
There, wash away that bloody stain!

Pray, who'd refuse what fortune showers?
Now, lads, we lot our gain!

Must fairly share, you know, what's fairly got?
A truly good night's work! Who says 'twas not?"

There's song, and oath, and gaming deep,
Hot words, and laughter, mad carouse;
There's naught of prayer, and little sleep;
The devil keeps the house!

"Lee chents!" cried Jack. Lee struck him to the heart.

"That's foul!" one muttered.-"Fool! you take

your part!

"The fewer heirs, the richer, man!

Hold forth your palm, and keep your prate!
Our life, we read, is but a span.

What matters soon or late?"

And when on shore, and asked, Did many die?

66

Near half my crew, poor lads!" he'd say, and sigh.

Within the bay, one stormy night,
The isle-men saw boats make for shore,
With here and there a dancing light,
That flashed on man and oar.

When hailed, the rowing stopped, and all was dark. "Ha! lantern-work!-We'll home! They're playing shark!"

Next day at noon, within the town,
All stare and wonder much to see
Matt and his men come strolling down;
Boys shouting, "Here comes Lee!"

Thy ship, good Lee?" Not many leagues from

shore

Our ship by chance took fire."-They learned no

more.

He and his crew were flush of gold.
"You did not lose your cargo, then?"
"Where all is fairly bought and sold,
Heaven prospers those true men.
Forsake your evil ways, as we forsook
Onr ways of sin, and honest courses took!
"Would see my log-book? Fairly writ,
With pen of steel, and ink of blood!
How lightly doth the conscience sit!
Learn, truth's the only good."
And thus, with flout, and cold and impious jeer,
He fled repentance, if he scaped not fear.

Remorse and fear he drowns in drink.
"Come, pass the bowl, my jolly crew!
It thicks the blood to mope and think.
Here's merry days, though few!"
And then he quaffs. So riot reigns within;
So brawl and laughter shake that house of sin.
Matt lords it now throughout the isle;
His hand falls heavier than before;
All dread alike his frown or smile.
None come within his door,

Save those who dipped their hands in blood with him;

Save those who laughed to see the white horse swim.

"To-night's our anniversary;

And, mind me, lads, we have it kept
With royal state and special glee!
Better with those who slept

Their sleep that night would he be now, who slink!
And health and wealth to him who bravely drinks!”
The words they speak, we may not speak;
The tales they tell, we may not tell.

Mere mortal man, forbear to seek

The secrets of that hell!

Their shouts grow loud. "Tis near mid-hour of night:
What means upon the waters that red light?

Not bigger than a star it seems.
And now 'tis like the bloody moon,
And now it shoots in hairy streams!
It moves!-Twill reach us soon?

A ship! and all on fire!-hull, yard, and mast.
Her sails are sheets of flame!-she's nearing fast!
And now she rides upright and still,
Shedding a wild and lurid light,
Around the cove, on inland hill,
Waking the gloom of night.

All breathes of terror! men, in dumb amaze,
Gaze on each other in the horrid blaze.

It scares the sea-birds from their nests;
They dart and wheel with deafening screams;
Now dark, and now their wings and breasts
Flash back disastrous gleams.

Fair Light, thy looks strange alteration wear;-
The world's great comforter,-why now its fear?

And what comes up above the wave,
So ghastly white? A spectral head!
A horse's head! (May Heaven save
Those looking on the dead,-

The waking dead!) There, on the sea he stands,-
The Spectre-Horse! He moves! he gains the sands;

And on he speeds! His ghostly sides
Are streaming with a cold blue light.
Heaven keep the wits of him who rides
The Spectre-Horse to-night!

His path is shining like a swift ship's wake.
Before Lee's door he gleams like day's gray break

The revel now is high within;
It bursts upon the midnight air

They little think, in mirth and din,
What spirit waits them there.
As if the sky became a voice, there spread
A sound to appal the living, stir the dead.

The Spirit steed sent up the neigh;
It seemed the living trump of hell,
Sounding to call the damned away,
To join the host that fell.

It rang along the vaulted sky: the shore
Jarred hard, as when the thronging surges roar.

It rang in ears that knew the sound;

And hot, flushed cheeks are blanched with fear.
Ha! why does Lee look wildly round?
Thinks he the drowned horse near?

He drops his cup,-his lips are stiff with fright.
Nay, sit thee down,-it is thy banquet night.

"I cannot sit;-I needs must go:
The spell is on my spirit now.
I go to dread,-I go to woe!"
O, who so weak as thou,

Strong man! His hoofs upon the door-stone, see,
The Shadow stands! His eyes are on thee, Lee!

Thy hair pricks up!" O, I must bear
His damp, cold breath! It chills my frame!
His eyes, their near and dreadful glare
Speaks that I must not name!""

Art mad to mount that Horse!" A power within,
I must obey, cries, 'Mount thee, man of sin!'"

He's now upon the Spectre's back,
With rein of silk and curb of gold.
Tis fearful speed!—the rein is slack
Within his senseless hold;

Borne by an unseen power, right on he rides,
Yet touches not the Shadow-Beast he strides.

He goes with speed; he goes with dread!
And now they're on the hanging steep!
And, now, the living and the dead,
They'll make the horrid leap!

The Horse stops short,-his feet are on the verge!
He stands, like marble, high above the surge.

And nigh, the tall ship's burning on,
With red hot spars, and crackling flame;
From hull to gallant, nothing's gone;-
She burns, and yet's the same!

Her hot, red flame is beating, all the night,

On man and Horse, in their cold, phosphor light.

Through that cold light the fearful man
Sits looking on the burning ship.
Wilt ever rail again, or ban?

How fast he moves the lip!

And yet he does not speak, or make a sound!
What see you, Lee? the bodies of the drowned?

"I look, where mortal man may not,-
Down to the chambers of the deep.
I see the dead, long, long forgot;
I see them in their sleep.

A dreadful power is mine, which none can know,
Save he who leagues his soul with death and woe."

Thou mild, sad mother, silent moon,

Thy last low, melancholy ray

Shines towards him. Quit him not so soon!
Mother, in mercy, stay!

Despair and death are with him; and canst thou,
With that kind, earthward look, go leave him now?

O, thou wast born for worlds of love;
Making more lovely in thy shine
Whate'er thou look'st on: hosts above,
In that soft light of thine,

Burn softer; earth, in silvery veil, seems heaven.
Thou'rt going down!-hast left him unforgiven!

The far, low west is bright no more.
How still it is! No sound is heard
At sea, or all along the shore,
But cry of passing bird.

Thou living thing,-and dar'st thou come so near
These wild and ghastly shapes of death and fear?
And long that thick, red light has shone
On stern, dark rocks, and deep, still bay
On man and Horse that seem of stone,
So motionless are they.

But now its lurid fire less fiercely burns:
The night is going,-faint, gray dawn returns.
That Spectre-Steed now slowly pales,
Now changes like the moonlit cloud;
That cold, thin light now slowly fails,
Which wrapt them like a shroud.
Both ship and Horse are fading into air.
Lost, mazed, alone, see, Lee is standing there!
The morning air blows fresh on him;
The waves are dancing in his sight;
The sea-birds call, and wheel, and skim.
O blessed morning light!

He doth not hear their joyous call; he sees
No beauty in the wave, nor feels the breeze.
For he's accursed from all that's good;
He ne'er must know its healing power.
The sinner on his sin shall brood,
And wait, alone, his hour.

A stranger to earth's beauty, human love,-
No rest below for him, no hope above!

The sun beats hot upon his head.
He stands beneath the broad, fierce blaze,
As stiff and cold as one that's dead:
A troubled, dreamy maze

Of some unearthly horror, all he knows,—
Of some wild horror past, and coming woes.

The gull has found her place on shore;
The sun gone down again to rest;

And all is still but ocean's roar:
There stands the man unblest.

But, see, he moves, he turns, as asking where
His mates:-Why looks he with that piteous stare!

Go, get ye home, and end your mirth!
Go, call the revellers again;

They're fled the isle; and o'er the earth
Are wanderers, like Cain.

As he his door-stone passed, the air blew chill.
The wine is on the board; Lee, take your fill!
"There's none to meet me, none to cheer:
The seats are empty,-lights burnt out;
And I, alone, must sit me here:
Would I could hear their shout!"

He ne'er shall hear it more,-more taste his wine!
Silent he sits within the still moonshine.

Day came again; and up he rose,
A weary man, from his lone board;
Nor merry feast, nor sweet repose,
Did that long night afford.

No shadowy-coming night, to bring him rest,-
No dawn, to chase the darkness of his breast!

He walks within the day's full glare,
A darkened man. Where'er he comes,
All shun him. Children peep and stare;
Then, frightened, seek their homes.
Through all the crowd a thrilling horror ran.
They point and say,-" There goes the wicked man!"
He turns, and curses in his wrath
Both man and child; then hastes away
Shoreward, or takes some gloomy path;
But there he cannot stay:

Terror and madness drive him back to men;
His hate of man to solitude again.

Time passes on, and he grows bold;
His eye is fierce; his oaths are loud;
None dare from Lee the hand withhold;
He rules and scoffs the crowd.

But still at heart there lies a secret fear;

For now the year's dread round is drawing near.

He laughs, but he is sick at heart;
Hs swears, but he turns deadly pale;
His restless eye and sudden start,—
They tell the dreadful tale

That will be told: it needs no words from thee.
Thou self-sold slave to fear and misery.

Bond-slave of sin! again the light!
"Ha! take me, take me from its blaze!"

Nay, thou must ride the Steed to-night!
But other weary days

And nights must shine and darken o'er thy head,
Ere thou shalt go with him to meet the dead-

Again the ship lights all the land;
Again Lee strides the Spectre-Beast;
Again upon the cliff they stand.
This once is he released!-

Gone ship and Horse; but Lee's last hope is o'er;
Nor laugh, nor scoff, nor rage, can help him more.

His spirit heard that Spirit say,
"Listen!-I twice have come to thee.
Once more, and then a dreadful way!
And thou must go with me!"

Ay, cling to earth as sailor to the rock!
Sea-swept, sucked down in the tremendous shock,

He goes! So thou must loose thy hold,
And go with Death; nor breathe the balm
Of early air, nor light behold,

Nor sit thee in the calm

Of gentle thoughts, where good men wait their close.
In life, or death, where look'st thou for repose?

Who's sitting on that long, black ledge,
Which makes so far out in the sea,
Feeling the kelp-weed on its edge?
Poor, idle Matthew Lee!

So weak and pale? A year and little more,
And bravely did he lord it round the shore.

And on the shingle now he sits,

And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands;
Now walks the beach; now stops by fits,
And scores the smooth, wet sands;

Then tries each cliff, and cove, and jut, that bounds
The isle; then home from many weary rounds.

They ask him why he wanders so,

From day to day, the uneven strand!

"I wish, I wish that I might go!

But I would go by land;

And there's no way that I can find; I've tried
All day and night!"-He seaward looked, and sighed.

It brought the tear to many an eye,
That, once, his eye had made to quail.
"Lee, go with us; our sloop is nigh;
Come! help us hoist her sail."

He shook." You know the Spirit-Horse I ride!
He'll let me on the sea with none beside!"

He views the ships that come and go,
Looking so like to living things.
O! 'tis a proud and gallant show
Of bright and broad-spread wings,

Making it light around them, as they keep

Their course right onward through the unsounded

deep.

And where the far-off sand-bars lift
Their backs in long and narrow line,
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,
And toss the sparkling brine

Into the air; then rush to mimic strife:
Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life!—

But not to Lee. He sits alone;
No fellowship nor joy for him;
Borne down by woe,-but not a moan,-
Though tears will sometimes dim

That asking eye. O, how his worn thoughts crave
Not joy again, but rest within the grave.

The rocks are dripping in the mist
That lies so heavy off the shore;
Searce seen the running breakers;—list
Their dull and smothered roar !

Lee hearkens to their voice.—“ I hear, I hear
You call.-Not yet!-I know my time is near!"
And now the mist seems taking shape,
Forming a dim gigantic ghost,-
Enormous thing! There's no escape;
'Tis close upon the coast.

Lee kneels, but cannot pray.-Why mock him so!
The ship has cleared the fog, Lee, see her go.
A sweet, low voice, in starry nights,
Chants to his ear a plaining song;
Its tones come winding up the heights,
Telling of woe and wrong;

And he must listen till the stars grow dim,
The song that gentle voice doth sing to him.
O, it is sad that aught so mild

Should bind the soul with bands of fear;
That strains to soothe a little child,
The man should dread to hear.

But sin hath broke the world's sweet peace,-un

strung

The harmonious chords to which the angels sung.

In thick dark nights he'd take his seat
High up the cliffs, and feel them shake,
As swung the sea with heavy beat
Below, and hear it break

With savage roar, then pause and gather strength,
And, then, come tumbling in its swollen length.

But he no more shall haunt the beach,
Nor sit upon the tall cliff's crown,
Nor go the round of all that reach,.
Nor feebly sit him down,

Watching the swaying weeds:-another day,
And he'll have gone far hence that dreadful

To-night the charmed number's told.
"Twice have I come for thee,” it said.
"Once more, and none shall thee behold.
Come! live one!-to the dead.”—

way.

So hears his soul, and fears the gathering night;
Yet sick and weary of the soft, calm light.

Again he sits in that still room;
All day he leans at that still board;
None to bring comfort to his gloom,
Or speak a friendly word.

Weakened with fear, lone, haunted by remorse,
Poor, shattered wretch, there waits he that pale

Horse.

Not long he waits. Where now are gone
Peak, citadel, and tower, that stood
Beautiful, while the west sun shone,
And bathed them in his flood

Of airy glory?—Sudden darkness fell;
And down they went, peak, tower, citadel.

The darkness, like a dome of stone,
Ceils up the heavens. Tis hush as death,-

All but the ocean's dull, low moan.
How hard he draws his breath!
He shudders as he feels the working Power.
Arouse thee, Lee! up! man thee for thine hour!

"Tis close at hand; for there, once more,
The burning ship. Wide sheets of flame
And shafted fire she showed before ;-
Twice thus she hither came;-.
But now she rolls a naked hulk, and throws
A wasting light; then settling, down she goes.
And where she sank, up slowly came
The Spectre-Horse from out the sea.

And there he stands! His pale sides flame.
He'll meet thee, shortly, Lee.

He treads the waters as a solid floor;
He's moving on. Lee waits him at the door.

They're met.-"I know thou com'st for me,"
Lee's spirit to the Spectre said;
"I know that I must go with thee:
Take me not to the dead.

It was not I alone that did the deed!"—
Dreadful the eye of that still, Spectral Steed!

Lee cannot turn. There is a force
In that fixed eye, which holds him fast.
How still they stand,-the man and Horse!
"Thine Hour is almost past."

"O, spare me," cries the wretch," thou fearful One!" "The time is come,-I must not go alone."

"I'm weak and faint. O, let me stay!"

Nay, murderer, rest nor stay for thee!"

The Horse and man are on their way;
He bears him to the sea.

Hard breathes the Spectre through the silent night;
Fierce from his nostrils streams a deathly light.

He's on the beach; but stops not there;
He's on the sea,-that dreadful Horse!
Lee flings and writhes in wild despair.
In vain! The Spirit-Corse

Holds him by fearful spell; he cannot leap:
Within that horrid light he rides the deep.

It lights the sea around their track,-
The curling comb, and steel-dark wave:
And there sits Lee the Spectre's back;
Gone! gone! and none to save!
They're seen no more; the night has shut them in.
May heaven have pity on thee, man of sin!

The earth has washed away its stain; The sealed-up sky is breaking forth, Mustering its glorious hosts again, From the far south and north; The climbing moon plays on the rippling sea. -O, whither on its waters rideth Lee?

EDMUND KEAN'S LEAR-FROM THE PAPER ON KEAN'S ACTING.

It has been so common a saying, that Lear is the most difficult of characters to personate that we had taken it for granted no man could play it so as to satisfy us. Perhaps it is the hardest to represent. Yet the part which has generally been supposed the most difficult, the insanity of Lear, is scarcely more so than that of the choleric old king. Inefficient rage is almost always ridiculous; and an old man, with a broken-down body and a mind falling in pieces from the violence of its uncontrolled passions, is in constant danger of exciting, along with our pity, a feeling of contempt. It is a chance matter to which we may be most moved. And this it is which makes the opening of Lear so difficult.

We may as well notice here the objection which some make to the abrupt violence with which Kean VOL. II.-7

begins in Lear. If this be a fault, it is Shakespeare, and not Kean, who is to blame; for, no doubt, he has conceived it according to his author. Perhaps, however, the mistake lies in this case, where it does in most others, with whose who put themselves into the seat of judgment to pass upon great men.

In most instances, Shakespeare has given us the gradual growth of a passion, with such little accompaniments as agree with it, and go to make up the whole man. In Lear, his object being to represent the beginning and course of insanity, he has properly enough gone but a little back of it, and introduced to us an old man of good feelings enough, but one who had lived without any true principle of conduct, and whose unruled passions had grown strong with age, and were ready, upon a disappointment, to make shipwreck of an intellect never strong. To bring this about, he begins with an abruptness rather unusual; and the old king rushes in before us, with his passions at their height, and tearing him like fiends.

Kean gives this as soon as the fitting occasion offers itself. Had he put more of melancholy and depression, and less of rage into the character, we should have been much puzzled at his so suddenly going mad. It would have required the change to have been slower; and besides, his insanity must have been of another kind. It must have been monotonous and complaining, instead of continually varying; at one time full of grief, at another playful, and then wild as the winds that roared about him, and fiery and sharp as the ightning that shot by him. The truth with which he conceived this was not finer than his execution of it. Not for a moment, in his utmost violence, did he suffer the imbecility of the old man's anger to touch upon the ludicrous, when nothing but the justest conception and feeling of the character could have saved him from it.

It has been said that Lear is a study for one who would make himself acquainted with the workings of an insane mind. And it is hardly less true, that the acting of Kean was an embodying of these workings. His eye, when his senses are first forsaking him, giving an inquiring look at what he saw, as if all before him was undergoing a strange and bewildering change which confused his brain,-the wandering, lost motions of his hands, which seemed feeling for something familiar to them, on which they might take hold and be assured of a safe reality,-the under monotone of his voice, as if he was questioning his own being, and what surrounded him,-the continuous, but slight, oscillating motion of the body, -all these expressed, with fearful truth, the bewildered state of a mind fast unsettling, and making vain and weak efforts to find its way back to its wonted There was a childish, feeble gladness in the eye, and a half piteous smile about the mouth, at times, which one could scarce look upon without tears. As the derangement increased upon him, his eye lost its notice of objects about him, wandering over things as if he saw them not, and fastening upon the creatures of his crazed brain. The helpless and delighted fondness with which he clings to Edgar as an insane brother, is another instance of the justness of Kean's conceptions. Nor does he lose the air of insanity, even in the fine moralizing parts, and where he inveighs against the corruptions of the world: There is a madness even in his

reason.

reason.

The violent and immediate changes of the passions in Lear, so difficult to manage without jarring upon us, are given by Kean with a spirit and with a fitness to nature which we had hardly thought possible. These are equally well done both before and after the loss of reason. The most difficult scene,