The "murderer of Shakspeare" has, at last, taken his departure; and we are, for a time, freed from a Charlatan whose aim it has been, ever since he first visited us, to humbug the good citizens of London. We have alluded elsewhere to the "subscription" proposed for him, and now add a few piquant remarks from the pen, we believe, of Mr. Leman Rede. They refer to the dinner given to the "greatest actor of the day," yesterday week, and are well worthy of being recorded in this place :

"And now a word or two, as to the spirit in which this dinner has been given. No such honor was ever accorded to Kean or Macready, and John Kemble was only feasted on the occasion of his retirement. We look upon the whole affair as a managerial trick to aid the delusion under which some very well-intentioned persons still labor, as to Mr. Charles Kean's merits-be it premised, that it is as an ACTOR alone that we speak of him. We de not visit a theatre because a man is a good son; for, if private virtues claimed public patronage, we could pick those from the chorus of either theatre who, receiving fewer shillings per week than Mr. Kean does pounds per night, have made far greater sacrifices for those near and dear to them, than, happily for Mr. Kean, the fortunes of his relative called for. Those actors who aided this solemn mockery are either to be pitied or despised pitied, if forced to go, or if they believe Kean a genius: despised, if thinking him a charlatan (which many of those who dined do not scruple to avow), they yet condescend to curry favor by their presence. Five years have passed since

Edmund Kean expired: three hundred pounds, we presume, were expended, on Friday, to feast his son; yet neither Alfred Bunn, the lords and gentlemen present, the actors (his daily associates), the dramatists, and last, not in this case, least, his own child have ever subscribed a shilling to build him a monument. No matter. He sleeps with the sunshine of fame on his slumbers. He, as Marrall says, 'needeth not these fine arts to hook him in;" the Coopers and Kings of 1814 did not flock around the Exeter actor; on the contrary, he was by more than one of that day insulted at rehearsal; the conduct to the elder Kean was brutal-that to the younger is

servile. Let the blame rest however where it should; it is not the fault of the actor, that a few silly lords and their associates, in their utter incapacity to comprehend the real purposes of the drama, halloo themselves hoarse in his formers fawn to his face and laugh at him behind praise. It is not his fault that his fellow-perhis back-but it will be his fault if he believes their flattery, and neglects the arduous study of to the title of a great actor, but he must unlearn his profession. Time may yet give him a claim nearly all he knows, as the preliminary step to

such a distinction."

The regulations as to the admission of the public are as follow:-Persons wishing to be admitted to inspect the Museum, &c., apply either personally or by letter to the trustees, or to the curator, at the Museum, or call at the Museum, and enter the names of the parties wishing admission, and the address to which they wish the card of admission to be sent, in a book kept for the purpose; when, unless there appears to be any obvious reason for delay, the curator forwards a card of admission, by the post, for the next public day after the application is made. The parties mentioned in the card are required, on entering the Museum, to sign their names, individually, in the book kept for the purpose; when they have immediate access to every part, and remain as long in each room as is agreeable to themselves. The Museum was opened by the trustees to the public for the first time on Thursday, the sixth of April, 1837, and it was kept open on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, in the months of April, May, and June, and on Tuesdays throughout the months of July; the admissions on the Tuesdays being generally restricted to the friends of the trustees, to persons of distinction making special application, or to foreigners making but a short visit to London.

To a thoughtful eye, even external appearance is very full of meaning. And there can scarcely be a contrast more pregnant with serious reflection, than is presented by a rapid transition from the metropolis to Oxford. It must be familiar to every one who has travelled in England. London itself is one of the most remarkable phenomena in the world. Its vast size, its dense population,its boundless and multifarious wealth, lying open in the midst of want and vice; the splendor of its palaces contrasted with the misery of its hovels; the eager restless faces, marked deep with anxiety or vice, that throng its streets; its crowds, where each man is unknown to the other, and every one is struggling to rise upon the shoulders of his neighbor; even the daily supply of its public wants, secured with a wonderful accuracy, through the instinctive rapacity of private selfishness-altogether form a spectacle of melancholy and painful interest, most fit to prepare the mind for receiving deeply the impressions produced by the sight of Oxford. From noise, and glare, and brilliancy, the traveller comes upon a very different scene-a mass of towers, pinnacles, and spires, rising in the bosom of a valley from groves which hide all buildings but such as are consecrated to some wise and holy purpose. The same river which, in the metropolis, is covered with a forest of masts and ships, is here gliding quietly through meadows, with scarcely a sail upon it-dark and ancient edifices clustered together in forms full of richness and beauty, yet solid as if to last for ever; such as become institutions raised not for the vanity of the builder, but for the benefit of coming ages-streets, almost avenues of edifices, which elsewhere would pass for palaces, but all of them dedicated to God-thoughtfulness, repose, and gravity, in the countenance and even dress of their inhabitants; and then to mark the stir and the business of life-instead of the roar of carriages, the sound of hourly bells calling men together to prayer. And the contrast would be still more striking, and the comparison more just, if before the traveller entered Oxford, he could be carried from the splendor of London through some of those vast manufacturing towns which in reality constitute its suburbs, and supply the wealth which it displays at the cost of men's bodies and souls. Birmingham and London are separate indeed locally, but they are one city-a city of Mammon. And to see the whole mystery of the metropolis, we should place by the side of its shops, and in the midst of its parks and squares, the miserable lanes and hovels, the noisome factories, the filthy atmosphere, and the squalid degraded population from which England and the metropolis of England, draw their boasted treasures. It would be a very touching and a very humbling sight-but men would then understand better the contrast between a city in which wealth is created for man, and one in which it has been lavished, and still is expended, for God.-Quarterly Review.

NOTICES.

We owe an apology to our readers for the unsightly appearance of our paper of to-day; but having met with an accident just at the moment of going to press, whereby the type generally used for extracts from new books, &c. was heaped together in one mis-shapen mass, we had no other alternative than to have them re-set in a larger and uglier type than usual, or our publication would have been delayed one day later.

THE THEATRES

"See that the Players be well used."-Humlet. "Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice." Othello.

In consequence of the lack of novelty at the theatres generally, we have, this week, only to offer a few remarks on

DRURY LANE.-This mis-called National Theatre, which has so long been the arena for mountebanks, and made subservient to the basest of all purposes, is now never named but with supreme contempt; indeed, it is in worse odor than any, even of the minor, theatres. Under the management of such a creature as BUNN, we see little prospect of a change for the better.The late exhibition of Charles KEAN, (who, thank God, has, at last, taken his departure !) proves to what a degraded level the drama has sunk, and how low a man will stoop to put money in his purse," regardless alike of principle and common honesty. In the late juggle between Charles KEAN and Alfred BUNN, we see no reason to blame the one more than the other. The manager was the showman, the actor the dog Cæsar. The showman extolled the wonderful powers of his favorite dog; and when the house was well filled, the dog barked in return, as in duty bound, to the astonishment and delight of the numerous dupes who paid so dearly for their whistle! We have from the first-indeed we were the very first who dared to speak honestly of Mr. KEAN as an actor; and it gives us pleasure to find that our judgment has proved minutely correct. As our sentiments on his short career in London stand already recorded in our columns, there is no necessity, on the present occasion, to enter into any repetition. The most disgusting scene connected with Mr. KEAN'S name, was that which took place on Friday week, on the occasion of the subscription "Vase" being presented to him. It was given out that the said piece of plate was presented, in consequence of the high estimation in which Mr. KEAN was held, as a public actor and as a private individual; whereas, it is a notorious fact that it was purchased with money, forced, in

many cases, from the pockets of the supernumerary actors, under a hint of immediate dismissal if they dared refuse to contribute. When asked for their subscription, some of the more spirited young ladies replied, that if a penny subscription were set on foot, they would oblige Mr. KEAN by putting down their names on the list!" Why," said one sprightly little lass, "should we be forced to subscribe for a man, who has been paid £50 every night he has performed; when we, who have played all the season, and honestly earned our salaries, are compelled to be satisfied with only half what is due to us?” If," added a second," Mr. KEAN had possessed a spark of generosity, HE would have offered to play one night for nothing; we should then have stood some chance of getting our arrears of salary paid up, and THEN indeed a subscription might have been set on foot!" Wisely argued,

say we.

On Thursday, BUNN took his benefit; on which occasion, Charles KEAN performed SHYLOCK, for the first time in London. We did not attend,

considering that it would be a waste both of money and time. The part of Gratiano was sustained by Mr.J.RUSSELL(!!) who also enacted the part of Jerry Sneak in the Mayor of Garratt. We understand he has been studying the character of Jerry Sneak, ever since he became BUNN'S toad-eater; we can therefore credit the report of his having played it most admirably! Next week, being passion-week, and there being,

Edwin FORREST is exciting some attention in America, by his refusing to accede to a solicitation to perform for the "benefit of the poor In his letter to a committee, at Philadelphia, who invited him, he says, "From the numerous applications made to me to perform for charities in almost every city that I visit, in my own defence I have found it necessary to make a rule, which prevents the exertion of my professional services in behalf of any charity, excepting that of the Theatrical fund, for the relief of decayed and indigent actors. The actor's profession is the means whereby he lives;' and who shall dictate to him the disposal of his hard-earned gains, any more than to the mechanic, the merchant, or the advocate. (!!)

MOZART.-The funds for erecting a monument to the memory of Mozart, at Salsburg, are increasing rapidly. The Empress Dowager of Austria has contributed two hundred and forty filorins (twenty-five guineas), which noble example has been followed by many other royal and distinguished personages. In Darmstadt, Dresden, Stutgardt, Gottingen, Laybach, Ling, &c., &c., performances have already been given, consisting of the principal operas and selections, which has produced altogether a sum of four thousand six hundred florins (four hundred and sixty pounds). In Copenhagen and Stockholm, the performances have also brought very considerable additions to the funds. The royal courts of Prussia, Bavaria, and Baden, as well as the other courts of Germany, have promised a series of performances; and M. Meyerbeer, at Paris, has already announced a new production for this important occasion. It is not, therefore, to be doubted for one moment, that England, a country so eminent for its love and patronage of the divine art. will step forth and do homage on this occasion to the noble genius it has welcomed with such distinction, and efficiently lend its aid towards the gene

ral funds.

Price only Sixpence,

theatres, we shall write a THEATRICAL HOMILY, which we beg most cordially to recommend to the notice of the respective managers.

THEATRICAL CHIT-CHAT

Mrs. HOOFER is engaged at the Adelphi, and makes her first appearance there on Easter Monday, as the heroine in Mrs. Hall's new drama of the Groves of Blarney.

Messrs. YATES and GLADSTANES have taken the Pavilion for seven years, at a rental of £1,000 per

annum.

The CITY OF LONDON, we regret to say, has fallen into the hands of Osbaldiston, the "mountebank actor," late of Sadler's Wells.

Mrs. HONEY is engaged at the St. James', to "do the amiable" for a certain number of nights, commencing on Easter Monday. She will receive £40 per week.

Mr. BENEDICT's opera, which, from the high reputation of the composer, excites much interest in the musical world, is to be brought out at Drury Lane on the Tuesday or Wednesday of Easter week. The drama, which is written by Mr. Linley, is full of romantic interest; and the music, which we have had an opportunity of hearing, combines the depth and learning of the German school with that beautiful simplicity of melody which characterises the works of the best English composers The whole musical strength of the Drury Lane company is employed in it.

April, illustrated with an Engraving on Steel of the CITADEL of NAMUR, after Bartlett, and a humorous Wood-cut by the late Mr. Seymour, contains:-Namur, with remarks historical and topographical.-The Mistress and her Menials, by M. L. Beevor.-What a Wife should be.-Billingsgate Courtship, a Thames-street Pastoral, by W. Law Gane.-Essays on Letters, No. 1. S.-Autobiography of a Sixpence, by W. Love Macdonald.-Statistics of the Baked-Tatur Trade.Will Somers, by the author of " Lays for Light Hearts." -Sonnet to Lord Brougham.-Remarks on Learning, and Learned Men, by E. Hall, Esq.-Reviews of New Books, &c. &c.

London : G. Virtue, Ivy Lane ; and all Booksellers,

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NEWSPAPER REMINISCENCES.

In past days, every Morning Paper, as an essential retainer to its establishment, kept an author, who was bound to furnish daily a quantum of witty paragraphs: sixpence a joke, and it was thought pretty high too, was Dan Stuart's settled remuneration in these cases. The chat of the day, scandal, but, above all, dress, furnished the material. The length of no paragraph was to exceed seven lines. Shorter they might be, but they must be poignant.

A fashion of flesh, or rather pink-colored hose for the ladies, luckily coming up at the juncture, when we were on our probation for the place of chief jester to S's paper, established our reputation in that line. We were pronounced a 'capital hand.' Oh the conceits which we varied upon red in all its prismatic differences! from the trite and obvious flower of Cytherea, to the flaunting costume of the lady that has her sitting upon 'many waters.' Then there was the collateral topic of ancles. What an occasion to a truly chaste writer, like ourself, of touching that nice brink, and yet never tumbling over it-of seemingly ever approximating something 'not quite proper;' while, like a skilful posture-master, balancing betwixt decorums and their opposites, he keeps the line, from which a hair's breadth deviation is destruction; hovering in the confines of light and darkness, or where both seem either; a hazy, uncertain delicacy; Autolycus-like in the play, still putting off his expectant auditory with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man!' But, above all, that conceit arrided us most at the time, and still tickles our midriff to remember, where, allusively to the flight of Astræa, ultima Celestum terras reliquat, we pronounced, in reference to the stockings still, that Modesty, taking her final leave of mortals, her last blush was visible in her ascent to the heavens by the track of the glowing instep.' This might be called the crowning conceit; and was esteemed tolerable writing in those days.

VOL. II.-No. 15.

[PRICE TWO PENCE.

But the fashion of jokes, with all other things, passes away; as did the transient mode which had so favored us. The ancles of our fair friends in a few weeks began to resume their whiteness, and left us scarcely a leg to stand upon. Other female whims followed, but none, methought, so pregnant, so invitatory of shrewd conceits, and more than single meanings.

Somebody has said, that to swallow six cross-buns daily, consecutively for a fortnight, would surfeit the stoutest digestion. But to have to furnish as many jokes daily, and that not for a fortnight, but for a long twelvemonth, as we were constrained to do, was a little harder exaction. 'Man goeth forth to his work until the evening,' from a reasonable hour in the morning, we presume, it was meant. Now, as our main occupation took us from eight till five every day in the city; and as our evening hours, at that time of life, had generally to to with any thing rather than business, it follows, that the only time we could spare for this manufactory of jokes, our supplementary livelihood, that supplied us in every want beyond mere bread and cheese, was exactly that part of the day which (as we have heard of No Man's Land) may be fitly denominated No Man's Time; that is, no time in which a man ought to be up, and awake in. To speak more plainly, it is that time, of an hour, or an hour and a half's duration, in which a man, whose occasions call him up so preposterously, has to wait for his breakfast.

Oh those headaches at dawn of day! when at five, or half-past five in summer, and not much later in the darker seasons, we were compelled to rise, having been, perhaps, not above four hours in bed, (for we were no go-to-beds with the lamb, though we anticipated the lark ofttimes in her risings,-we liked a parting cup at midnight, as all young men did before these effeminate times, and to have our friends about us-we were not constellated under Aquarius, that watery sign, and therefore incapable of Bacchus-cold, washy, bloodlesswe were none of your Basilian water-sponges, nor had taken our degrees at Mount Ague-we were right

toping Cupulets-jolly companions, we and they); but to have to get up, as we said before, curtailed of half our fair sleep-fasting, with only a dim vista of refreshing Bohea in the distance-to be necessitated to rouse ourselves at the detestable rap of an old hag of a domestic, who seemed to take a diabolical pleasure in her announcement that it was 'time to rise;' and whose chappy knuckles we have often yearned to amputate, and string them up at our chamber-door, to be a terror to all such unseasonable rest-breakers in future!

'Facil' and sweet, as Virgil sings, had been the 'descending' of the over-night-balmy the first sinking of the heavy head upon the pillow; but to get up, as he goes on to say,

--revocare gradus, superasque evadere ad aurasand to get up, moreover, to make jokes, with malice prepended-there was the 'labor'-there the 'work.'

No Egyptian taskmaster ever devised a slavery like to that, our slavery-no fractious operants ever turned out for half the tyranny, which this necessity exercised upon us. Half a dozen jests in a day, (bating Sundays, too,)-why it seems nothing! We make twice the number every day in our lives as a matter of course, and claim no Sabbatical exemptions. But then they come into our head. But when the head has to go out to them-when the mountain must go to MahometReader, try it for once-only for one short twelve

We take an early opportunity to welcome the appearance of our new and talented weekly contemporary, who made his debut on Saturday last, under the most distinguished patronage of the haut-ton. The Court Gazette is a publication entitled to the most honorable mention; and one which will, at once, supersede the namby-pamby periodical which has been so long supported by livery servants, and lackadaisical ladies' maids, and which has so long been the ridicule of the fashionable and literary world. Families will now no longer be insulted by the perusal of filthy and obscene advertisements by advertising quacks, and by the murderous announcements of Morison's wonderful cures (!) of dislocated necks, panacea for nameless disorders, &c. &c.; and those who are fond of sound wholesome reading combined with amusement, and a faithful record of all that is passing in the fashionable world, will find their wants fully anticipated and well provided for. From the mass of matter before us, (for there is an immense Supplement distributed gratuitously with the paper), we select part of an article on the

ORIGIN OF ALBUMS.

The first Album, consisting of fragments, written by various persons in a blank book, was, we believe, that kept on the Alps, by the successors of ST. BRUNO. In this, every traveller, at his departure, was asked to in

cribe his name, and he usually added to it a few sentences of devotion, of thankfulness to his hosts, or of admiration of the scene around him.

This register was kept for several centuries, and in its pages will be found a large proportion of names which have earned themselves immortality. As M. de Jouy truly observes, minds of that stamp would have all their energies raised and ennobled in such a scene; the ideas which then flowed from their pen, would be those which the magnificence of nature always excites in a high soul; and we can well understand that the monks should call those thoughts inspired which were produced in circumstances such as these. It is much to be lamented that this curious and interesting register should have been lost. It is supposed that the monks carried it with them at the period of their emigration, but little is, in fact, known concerning it. There is a book of the same kind now again kept at the passage of the Alps, but how long must it be before it can possess the treasures which the accumulation of ages had given to the old one!

This probably gave rise to the modern Albums; and even these, frivolous as many of them are, we think possessed of great interest. Into some, selections from favorite authors are admitted; and there requires little more than a tolerable portion of good taste to make them pleasing. But those which consist entirely of original contributions are the more ambitious class, and are, indeed, curious. Drawings, music-scraps of poetry, and fragments of prose,-sentiment, wit, and no wit at all, all these come into the composition of an Album; and all these are, of course, stamped with the various shades of intellect, from genius down to silliness and stupidity. 'On demande de l'esprit à tout le monde, et personne n'est assez impoli pour se dire en droit d'en refuser.'

Whenever Her Majesty holds a drawingroom, or there is anything uncommon on the tapis, an extra half-sheet will be added gratuitously. Politics, we should observe, are altogether (and very wisely) eschewed.

RULES FOR PRESIDING AT A PUBLIC DINNER.

First,-Always hurry the bottle round for five or six rounds, without prosing yourself, or permitting others to prose. A slight fillip of wine inclines people to be pleased, and removes the nervousness which prevents men from speaking disposes them, in short, to be moving, as Young Rapid says. Do not think of saying amusing and to be amused. Second,-push on, keep fine things-nobody cares for them any more than for fine music, which is often too liberally bestowed on mot pour rire. You will find people satisfied with wonsuch occasions. Speak at all ventures, and attempt the derfully indifferent jokes, if you can but hit the taste of the company, which depends much on its character. Even a very high party, primed with all the cold irony folks, may be stormed by a jovial, rough, round, and and non est tanti feelings or no feelings of fashionable ready preses. Choose your text with discretion-the sermon may be as you like. Should a drunkard or an ass break in with any thing out of joint, if you can parry it with a jest, good and well-if not, do not exert your serious authority, unless it is something very bad. The authority even of a chairman ought to be very cautiously exercised. With patience, you will have the support of every one. Third,-when you have drunk a few glasses to play the good-fellow, and banish modesty-(if you are unlucky enough to have such a troublesome companion)