Mrs. Baddely's being a mere individual portrait; and Baddely, who is represented in Canton, being thrown into the back-ground. This picture is in excellent preservation, which is rarely the case with Zoffanij's works; and it is painted in every part with great care and skill. Opposite to the above, as its companion, is a very clever scene from King John, representing Bensley and Powel as John and Hubert. To the right of this, on the same side, hangs another excellent specimen of Zoffanij's pencil: Garrick and Mrs. Pritchard, as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. It is taken at the moment when he returns from the chamber, after having completed the murder. He is holding forth his bloody hands, and exclaiming, with a horror-stricken countenance, "This is a sorry sight!" The countenance of Garrick, in this piece, is highly expressive and characteristic; but there is a singular want of truth and propriety in the attitude of the lower limbs. This we must venture to attribute to the painter rather than the actor. This picture, and two or three more of the same class in the gallery, are highly curious as representing the performers in the actual dresses they were accustomed to wear in the characters respectively depicted. In the present picture Macbeth is attired in a suit that would form an excellent model for those of the Lord Mayor's state footmen-a coat, waistcoat, and breeches, the two former covered all over with gold lace! At the opposite extremity of the gallery we have another of these works-representing Garrick and Mrs. Beverly as Jaffier and Belvidera. The dresses, as usual, are modern and English; but, as in the former case, the movements of passion are visible through every part of them; or perhaps we should rather say, passion is so conspicuous in every part where that is the only dress, that we pay little or no attention to any thing else. In fact, though I cannot admit, with Juliet, that there is little in "a name," I am inclined to believe that there is much less in a dress than our modern costume-mongers would persuade us. Till they can prove to us that Garrick did not move his audience more than any other actor had done before or has since, we would advise them to spend their money in making their establishments perfect in all other departments; and then, when they have nothing else to reform, let them look as curiously as they please into the corruptions of their wardrobe.

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We are in the habit of hearing sundry dissatisfied play-goers, who stick like burs to the skirts of the last age, and will admit of no perfection but that which has passed away, exclaiming, in answer to any pleasant theories that you may have to propound to them relative to the merits of our present race of actors,- Oh, if you had but seen the play" (whatever it may happen to be) "performed by the original characters!"-as much as to say-" In that case you would know better than to put up with any thing that is to be had now-adays." We are much obliged to them, truly, for thus kindly wishing to inoculate us with the disease of believing that "nothing is" (as it should be)" but what is not ;" and of seeing no beauty but in that which we cannot see at all! The School for Scandal, in particular, is one of the performances which these retrospective critics would try by their invisible and intangible scale. For my part, not being a critic at all, I am content to witness the celebrated screen scene in the School for Scandal, as it is performed by Farren, Mrs. Davison, Charles Kemble, and Abbott. But those who cannot put up with

this, may still see the "original characters" once more before they die, if they can make their way to Mr. Mathews's Gallery; for here is that scene embodied, with the Sir Peter Teazle of King, the Lady Teazle of Mrs. Abingdon, the Charles of John Palmer, and the Joseph of Smith-" gentleman Smith." There is one other admirable scene, by Zoffanij, which must not be passed over,-representing Quick, Lewis, and Munden, in a comedy called Speculation. It is curious that the action of Munden, in this scene, is identically that which he retains to the present day.

Perhaps, of all the pieces in this collection, that which displays the most talent, both in the artist and in the person represented, is Harlow's quintuple picture of Mr. Mathews himself. The subject of this picture is well known to the public, from the engraving which has been made from it. The plan of it is somewhat anomalous, since it represents the actor in propria persona, studying a character, which character represents himself in the act of representing that character; while three other of his representations are standing by. But the execution of this picture is truly admirable. Being somewhat of an epicure in portraits of living persons, I am not by any means satisfied with that which is here given of Mr. Mathews in his own character; though it is incomparably the best I have ever seen of him. But in the other characters-of Mr. Wiggens-Jemmy, the ostler, in Killing no Murder-and the two others which are taken from the life, but have not been seen by the public-the mixture of the individual likeness of the man, with the assumed likeness of the character he is representing, is really wonderful.

The only other "scenes" that my space will permit me to notice, are some of the veteran De Wilde's. Here is one, at the entrance end of the room on the right, of "Young" Bannister and Parsons, in Lawyer Scout and Sheepface in the Village Lawyer, which for truth of character and richness of expression is the best I remember by this singular artist: and if, so far as regards the mere individual likenesses, that of Parsons is equal to that of Bannister, no one who sees this picture can deny having seen him too. The companion to this, of Bannister and Suet, in Sylvester Daggerwood, is nearly as good. There are two or three more of these scenes, which ought not to be passed over, if it be only for the irresistible associations which the mere naming of them calls up-particularly one representing Dowton as Major Sturgeon, and Russell and Mrs. Harlowe as Jerry and Mrs. Sneak, in the Mayor of Garratt. The likeness and characteristic expression of Dowton are perfect; but the other two are not so good in this respect.

The next class of works that I shall notice are those which represent single performers in particular characters. Of these there are not many in oil; nor are they among the best or most interesting parts of the collection. But still there are a few of great value and curiosity. Here is one by Zoffanij, of Garrick, in Lord Chalkstone; the expression of which is given with great spirit and force; and it seems to shew, in a very striking manner, the comic power of Garrick's countenance. Another near this shews us the same actor in Don John, in the scene where he is carrying away the infant. This is a very clever and pleasing little picture, painted by Loutherbourg.

We must now turn at once to the individual portraits, which form the

staple of this unique and curious gallery; for we have already ap proached too near our prescribed limits to permit of our doing them any thing like justice. Perhaps the best as well as the most interesting of these, is a lovely whole-length of Mrs. Margaret Woffington-for to call a person like that which is now before me, by the degrading diminutive of Peg, is more than I can answer to my conscience. If she did not know the value of her beauty and her sweetness, and therefore did not set sufficient store by them, others should reverence them the more rather than the less on that account. Female beauty is a gift that is not only intended to excite, and therefore should excite, respect as well as love; but in fact it invariably does excite it, under whatever circumstances it may be met with. If the lady before us-(for a lady she was one of Nature's own making)—if she chose to fling away the gem of her beauty, did that destroy its value?—or was it the less a gem?-Diamonds have been lost in the dirt of London streets; and they have been found there again, diamonds as they were lost.

This charming picture was painted for Garrick, by an artist named Mercier. It represents the actress reclining on a couch, in a rich satin dress, and directing her downcast eyes to a miniature of Garrick, which she holds in her hand. This latter circumstance, supposing the picture to have been painted expressly for Garrick, is very characteristic. There is another extremely curious portrait of this lady in the gallery, painted by Hogarth, in that careful and highlyfinished style, which is so very rare in his pictures. The one described above is nearly the size of life; but that by Hogarth, is a small cabinet picture, the drapery and various other details of which are highly worked up.

Perhaps the next best portrait that we meet with, of the performers of the last age, is one of Mrs. Cibber, by Hudson; which hangs exactly opposite to the last-named by Hogarth. It is a half-length gallery portrait, painted with great freedom and facility; and the air of the lady-proud, swan-like, and self-possessed-is highly characteristic. There is, at the other end of the gallery, a portrait of Colley Cibber himself, (a whole-length of course for who would think of curtailing that exquisite coxcomb!)-which is no less characteristic. And it is also curious on other accounts, having formerly belonged to Addison; at whose sale it was purchased by Ireland. It is painted by an artist named Grisoni, and represents the hero of the Apology as if nothing had ever happened to him, or could happen, to disturb his infinite ease and self-satisfaction. He is taking snuff, as usual,-which was the only one among all his impertinences that he ought not to have practised; for snuff is one of the means that we use for currying favour with ourselves; and what need had he to do that!

But I must really proceed to arrange the remainder of these interesting works in something like classes, or I shall not have space even to name a fourth part of those that I had marked, as claiming particular notice. Let us first glance at those who fairly belong to the last age. Here is Garrick, "in half a dozen places," as the auctioneers say—with his brilliant eyes, and highly moveable and intellectual countenance, that, under whatever circumstances you contemplated it, was always another, yet the same." One of these portraits of him is curious and valuable, as having been painted by Wilson, the landscape-painter. Here is an admirable head of Macklin, just before he died; painted

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with infinite force and spirit, by Opie.-Here is Foote, by Sir Joshua; and John Palmer, by Arrowsmith; and Mills the elder-the only known portrait of him; and Shuter; and Woodward-two or threeone of which, in the dress of Petruchio, is capital; and Booth, by Vanderbank; and Ross, by Zoffanij; and a most capital and characteristic head of old Leveridge, by Vandermyn; and lastly, here is Nat. Lee,a very striking and forcible head-looking as mad as Alexander and Octavian in one.-Then among the ladies of the last age, here are two or three portraits of Nel Gwyn-one by Lely-(I allow her diminutive to pass, since the style of her charms does not hit my fancy); here are two of Mrs. Hartley, who died a few weeks ago; and Mrs. Yates, and Mrs. Oldfield, and others that I must escape from at once, and come nearer home. In fact, I must despatch the rest of this multitudinous company in sets, or I shall not have space to introduce the half of them. Here is, for instance, a set of very clever, sketchy, and spirited portraits of those actors and actresses who have just now passed away, or are passing-viz. Pope, Holman, Quick, Middleton, Mrs. Martyr, Mrs. Pope, Mrs. Mattocks, &c. These were taken expressly for the late Mr. Harris, by Gainsboro' du Pont. Then here is the whole Garrick Club, of twelve members-small water-colour drawings; and a long and most valuable series of drawings, by De Wilde, representing small whole-length portraits of all the distinguished actors of the present day, in one of their most favourite characters.-Finally, here is a most excellent and perfect series of all the above, in their individual characters. These need not of course be named generally, but a few of them deserve particular mention, on account of their great merit as works of art. Among these Harlowe's stand conspicuous. Here is, by this admirable young artist, a delightful portrait of the present manager of Drury Lane, in his favourite part of Mr. Elliston; Young, to the very life; and the very best portrait of Mrs. Siddons that I have ever seen-a small whole-length. Then there is Johnstone, by Shee; and Macready, by Jackson; and Henry Johnston, by Singleton; and, in short, a host of others that I must absolutely take leave of at once, with a vale, et valete," or the rest of the pleasant prose of this our incomparable miscellany "must halt for it :"-which would not be exactly fair, either to writers or readers. I should, however, leave the latter with a very imperfect notion of Mr. Mathews's Theatrical Gallery, if I did not inform them that I have, in the present paper, treated of one department of it alone; and that, besides the pictures (of which I have described but an inconsiderable portion in point of number) it includes every thing valuable in the way of Art, which indefatigable attention and almost unlimited expense could collect, illustrative of the peculiar subject to which it confines itself. This secondary department I propose to give the theatrical reader a brief glance at, in another paper; when I shall have to tell him, among other things, of Shakspeare and Garrick relics, that it will do his play-loving heart good even to hear of; of enormous portfolios containing every scratch that ever came from a graver relative to the last-named of these theatrical worthies; and above all, of a MS. folio, in the hand-writing of the proprietor of all these treasures, including biographical notices of all the English performers, male and female, that are known to have flourished in London since the rise of the drama in this country; illustrated by nearly all the known engravings of them that are extant.

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ROME IN THE FIRST AND NINETEENTH CENTURIES.

OPENING that volume of Pinelli's etchings which contains his illustrations of the Roman history, I was somewhat struck with the frontispiece, or introductory picture, representing the worthy artist himself, as like as needs be, with his sailor-like neck-handkerchief and little cork-screw curls over his temples. By his side sat those eternal companions of his, and no useless escort, believe me, to one who goes sketching in the Campagna di Roma,-two surly mastiffs, with their heads stuck together classically, like Cerberus of old. The artist seems in the act of listening, not very submissively, to a lady with a wolf at her feet; from which sign, joined with a helm and long rectilinear nose, I guessed her to represent no less a being than the Genius of Rome itself. Now, thinks I, if Mistress Rome be so condescending as to dictate a series of etchings to Signor Pinelli; why not, &c ?— the inference is plain. But the deuce of it is, that when one of these artists gets an outlandish idea in his head, he puts it upon canvass at once, without proem or prologue, referring the ignorant spectator to his noddle or his catalogue. With us penmen the law says otherwise. We can take no such leap into the marvellous; we are first of all to explain the why and the wherefore, and have no right to depict visions without first relating how we came to see them. And really so many authors have begun now-a-days by setting themselves asleep, that to commence dreaming in any original way has become a matter of much difficulty. To walk and fall asleep, to get drunk and fall asleep, to ride, to meditate, &c. &c. are all preoccupied; to dream without plagiarism is impossible. Your modern visionary is as perplexed and rotatory as a dog looking for his pillow.

So, to make a long story short, I fell asleep. When?-Evening. Where?-The Coliseum; around the galleries and corridors of which I had been wandering and stumbling for a couple of hours, popping my head out of its arches, like the fox in Ossian, and marvelling how it came to pass that the columns which from below seemed about three or four feet high, had nearly that measure in thickness when I came to stand by their side. I had been also strangely pestered by two English dandies, the sound of whose creaking boots and clanking spurs broke every now and then the thread of my cogitations. Nor was the sight of them more agreeable: they were handsome, good figures, no doubt, with fine English oval faces, nowise inferior to the proudest Roman bust, and habited in the fashionable taste of Europe; yet for all this I wished them at the Land's-end; and turning from them and the internal ruins of the amphitheatre, which they were surveying, I sat me down in one of the arches. The carriages from the Lateran and the gate of St. John rolled beneath, small as mice, numerous, but unregarded by me. My gaze was on the Esquiline, the distant Aqueducts, and the more distant Alban hills, their blue mass interspersed with a thousand gay spots, that marked the villages and villas on their sides. The vesper bell of the Franciscan convent in the Palatine began to chime, and I to nod-till, as I said before, gentle reader, I was fairly asleep.

What a speedy architect is the imagination! I had not been five minutes in slumber ere the whole amphitheatre was restored to its original