guardians of the British Constitution. Precedent, not theory, has been our line of progress. Reform, not revolution, has been our policy. But now we hear a Prime Minister talking about fleshand-blood rights, abstract rights, and first principles. Mr. Gladstone turns his back upon the past. The mere work of government is too humble for him. He claims to legislate for posterity on what he is pleased to call first principles. It is a rule of statesmanship to do as little as possible in the way of change. The Gladstone Ministry seems ready to revolutionise every institution. The Prime Minister may stigmatise this charge as unfounded and ridiculous, but nevertheless there is a general conviction that he is prepared to support changes in the laws and Constitution, not because they are manifestly expedient, but because they are in accord with a certain theory of government. This is to embark on a voyage without compass or chart. We can see what is expedient; we can only speculate on what is theoretically right in politics and govern ment. Mr. Lowe, after the passing of the last Reform Bill, exclaimed, "Let us educate our masters." There are a host of political teachers, but none who have more influence than acting statesmen. What sort of lesson is Mr. Gladstone teaching the people? Two or three years ago it was announced that the right hon. gentleman would contribute some papers to a semi-theological periodical on the duties of a citizen of a free State. Would he have told the citizen that his vote was a trust and a privilege to be used for the general good of the country, and not for the furtherance of any special social object? Would he have inculcated a teachable spirit, and bidden the citizen read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest the lessons of history? Would he have pointed out the disastrous folly of Utopian legislation? Would he have shown that although war is an evil, yet the millennium is not come, and the nation that has not might cannot stand upon its right? Would he, whilst denouncing that bigoted Conservative habit of refusing timely concessions to prevent revolution, also have denounced that passion for change which destroys order and ruins society? Would he have instructed the citizen that it was his solemn duty to defend and maintain his heritage of freedom, and to transmit it unimpaired, if not improved, to posterity? If so, the Prime Minister's precepts would have been in direct contradiction to his example. Mr. Gladstone threatens to prove a Haussmann to our institutions if he has the opportunity. We are not sceptical as to the excellence of his sentiments. He is overflowing with good intentions. He would demolish because he is thoroughly persuaded he could replace our time-honoured institutions by more perfect institutions. The people of England are alarmed at the manifestation of his revolutionary disposition; and Mr. Gladstone is distrusted. He is a man of great mental culture and of genius. A man of very high moral character, he has almost a reputation for semi-sanctity. But he appears to misapprehend the functions of statesmanship, and assuredly he is not an adept in the art of government. There is too much reason for the national anxiety. Before the people can put their veto on the policy of revolution, what havoc may be played with those institutions which are the wonder, admiration, and envy of mankind! It is not the first time that a Ministry with a large majority has lost its popularity. It was the case with the first Reform Bill Ministry, but the statesmen of that day would not make concessions to a minority for the sake of office. The Ministry would only govern by party, and when it was a choice between the triumph of faction or resignation, they resigned. Will Mr. Gladstone be taught by the Ministerial disasters of the present session? If not, and Mr. Gladstone continues to talk about first principles, and abstract rights, and to sanction every doctrine propounded by any of his restive followers, then the Lords must come to the rescue. We do not ask the House of Lords to set itself in opposition to the will of the nation; we ask it to afford the nation a needful opportunity of giving effect to its will. It is only the House of Lords that can check and control a Ministry which has a majority in the Commons but has lost its popularity. If Mr. Gladstone does not mend his ways, the Lords, not caring for heavy exordiums, and flashy, stumpy perorations, will do their duty. Under any circumstances we hold that there ought to be an early appeal to the country. The House of Commons has accomplished the special work for which it was chosen. That being so, it is expedient that a House of Commons should be elected upon a broader-that is, a true party, and imperial platform. M. P. III. BYGONE CELEBRITIES. BY R. H. HORNE. THE KEMBLE FAMILY - EDMUND KEAN GRIMALDI CHARLES KEAN-BRAHAM-PAGANINI-MADAME PASTA, &C. O have seen the great John Kemble is something to on full of honours than of years; but he once, some important occasion, reappeared upon the classic boards. I was at this time a school-boy. Some elders of the village of Edmonton had made up a party to see once more "the great John Kemble," as he was always called; and some good genius inspired them to take me with them in a post-chaise and pair, with a careful driver, and lamps for our return, as highwaymen often infested Stamford-hill. It will be understood by this that my companions, one of whom was my reverend grandfather, partook in some degree of the cautious old fogey class, notwithstanding their taste for the stage. Places had been taken by a special message sent to London, but in our hurry the tickets had been left behind, so the leading veteran proposed that we should at once strike for the pit. This was done, amidst a prodigious crowd at the doors, and an entrance was effected with such combined vigour that we managed to obtain seats not more than ten rows from the orchestra. While my guardian play-goers were wiping their foreheads, and complimenting each other under cover of banter, I devoured the play-bill. The piece selected was Addison's turgid tragedy of "Cato;" but nobody at that period regarded it in any other light than a sublime tragedy, were it only from the fact that the hero was impersonated by the great John Kemble. John Kemble had been originally intended for a Roman Catholic priest, and was educated at the collegiate school of Douay; but the idea was abandoned-partly, no doubt, on account of his somewhat delicate health, and the indications of an asthmatic complaint. His success and supremacy on the stage must therefore be regarded as a triumph over a natural obstacle that would have been fatal with most He had, however, one partially counterbalancing advantage in men. a singularly noble person and commanding presence. To this he added, by most careful study, every stage requirement as to carriage, while his elocution became so perfect that nobody demurred to the weak quality of his voice. The first sounds of this voice had a faint, sepulchral effect, but the measured dignity and precision of the clearly-defined syllables of every word, and the variety of the inflections, at once commanded respect and rivetted the attention. For my part, I was "all eye, all ear, all nerve" while gazing and listening to his periods; and this in a tragedy which does not contain a single line of genuine dramatic power or beauty-perhaps not even poetry, of any class. But besides the strange fascination of that asthmatic voice, as of an oracle speaking from a distant tomb, there was the grandeur of his figure in its majestic movements, and yet more in its statuesque repose. Out of the poorest words he sometimes produced wonders. And yet this was not an effect without a cause; for the words would justify it, and if not, the "situation" did so. For instance, when his son is brought in as a prisoner for desertion in face of the enemy, and he has to pass sentence upon him, he rises from his seat with the word "Prisoner" to utter; but his voice breaks off short, and he sinks down upon his seat. He then rises, and utters it distinctly. This was very striking in its emotional effect, though surpassed by his farewell paternal embraces after ordering the lictors to take his son to execution. My reverend grandsire and his friends shed trickling tears, and I wept profusely; and nobody was ashamed. In fact, every one about us was in much the same condition. (Look round a house in these days: who ever sheds a tear? Hearts and souls are there, but the "touch of nature" is wanting.) When Cato is seated in his domestic chair, a servant appears at the door to inform him that a herald from Cæsar is coming. The homely seat at once becomes a throne, and he that sits there dictates, still seated, like an Olympian god, to which effect his flowing drapery contributes, and the entire audience breaks into a thunder of applause at the grandeur with which he makes reply. And in what words? "Bid him enter!" Literally no more; but the effect of the delivery was irresistible. In the closing scene, his soliloquy on the immortality of the soul, before he kills himself-the pathos of the strangely tremulous and almost unearthly voice, rendered yet more moving by the precision of its cadence, as though self-pity and pious doubts mingled with the stern will of Roman virtue-was listened to with breathless silence and the unrestrained tears of the whole audience. This loosening of the cords of the heart, this searching of the Do springs of emotion, this stinging impulse given to the crowding and struggling thoughts, is the true object of tragic representations. we consider that audiences of the present day are incapable of such emotions and thoughts? I am sure the great majority are as capable as they ever were. But theatrical managers have so long insisted upon cultivating the most gross and senseless tastes that it might now take some little time to attract people to better things, if they were offered to them. But when there is a prodigal expenditure upon scenery, drapery, decorations with music, dances, coloured lights, and female legs in profusion-and no care, or the worst, about the drama, what is to be expected? It is like Falstaff's bill to Hostess Quickly :-" All this prodigious quantity of sack! and bread, one ha'penny!" This is the state of the body, as compared with the soul, of the drama. But it is not a necessary condition of the times. The most powerful effects on the stage are confined to a dialogue of two, sometimes of three, or a scene for one-all the supernumeraries being got rid of—and nobody among the whole audience ever regarding scenes or costumes on any truly great and exciting occasions of real dramatic power. Hence the enormous expenses in accessories are so much waste (as a rule), followed by the bankruptcies of managers, because they understand nothing whatever of that art which it is expressly their business and their interest to study and put into practice. Dramatic authors and actors of a high class would speedily spring into public light were there but a few managers who, besides their "enterprise," had also the capital of brains suited to their needs. Mrs. Siddons, the majestic sister of John Kemble, had retired some time before him; but Charles Kemble remained. He never appeared in any of the leading characters of tragedy during the reign of his elder brother; nor were his subsequent assumptions of such parts ever regarded as of the highest excellence. In such characters, however, as Petruchio and Falconbridge he surpassed all others before him (most probably) in his day—and ever since. He was too tall for the stage-some six feet two-and bulky in proportion; a prodigiously fine man for a colour-sergeant of the Royal Grenadier Guards, but not at all cut out for Hamlet. The only competitor of the great John was Mr. Young, who had many admirers. Young was a sterling actor of the classic school; but too studied, formal, and measured, both in action and declamation. The real star that appeared, we may truly say burst, like a sudden comet upon the stage after the retirement of John Kemble was the never-to-be-forgotten Edmund Kean. It will always be found that no living person who saw that man can forget him, or speak of him otherwise than the most irresistible genius |