was the City Hall, in which the courts of justice were held. A trial of great interest, the State's prosecution of some bubble companies, gave occasion to Thomas Addis Emmett, who was retained in the defence, for a display of his powers, and it was with admiration and rapt delight I listened to the energetic accents of "the old man eloquent." On leaving the court we passed through the vaulted passages underneath. A solitary figure was slowly dragging his steps along, close to the wall: he was below the middle size, dressed in a light grey-coloured suit, which, with his pale complexion, gave him in his loneliness somewhat of a ghostly appearance. When we had passed him, one of my friends in a significant whisper asked me if I knew who that was. On my replying in the negative, he told me he was Colonel Birr, who shot Hamilton, the Secretary of State, and who had been under prosecution for high treason. He looked a mysterious shadow of unrepented evil. Once seen the vision was not one to be forgotten. The schools, of which Americans are justly proud, of course came under our inspection. In one of these the principal teacher ordered the boys to stand up, and made an American harangue to them which severely taxed our gravity. Pointing to us, the visitors, he emphatically charged them to remember that "the eyes of Europe were looking down upon them!"

An excursion was proposed to the Falls of Passaic, and a party was formed, consisting of the Wilkes's, and Coldens, Captain and Mrs. Basil Hall, and ourselves. Having to wait the ferry-boat's return to cross the Hudson, we employed the half-hour's delay in visiting the new streets at the rear of the Exchange, and in admiring the structure of that marble building. On our return, in passing down William Street, we were stopped by an apparatus of heavy framework of timber with large screws, laid across the street. Our inquiries were soon satisfied in learning that these preparations were for pushing from their original site, to a foundation built for their reception ten yards behind, two large brick houses. They had been moved part of the way along the soaped beams the previous night, and with so little agitation or disturbance, that a cup of milk on the dining-room chimney-piece of one did not spill a drop in its journey! The whole distance was completed in a few days, and the two houses were to be seen occupying a

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different plot of ground from that on which they were first erected. Our wonder was not participated in by the citizens of New York, to whom a more extraordinary removal of a brick house some time before had familiarised the present experiment. That building was not only moved from the foundation on which it originally stood, but was actually let down upon another some feet below its original basement. Our road to the Passaic Falls lay beyond the Ferry of Paul's Hook, across some salt-marshes, clustered with irises and alive with fish, frogs, and terapins, and through a rich country beautified with orchards and the flowers of the tulip and locust trees. We slept at the town of Patterson, and on the morrow made an examination of the extraordinary geological phenomenon which gives such peculiar singularity to the falls of this river, but which a more scientific vocabulary than mine is required to depict and explain. It must suffice to say that we were amply repaid for our journey by the wonderfully curious fractures of the earth's crust which it presented to us, and the rushing of the broken stream through its various fissures.

A new theatre in the Bowery, a low quarter of the city, was opened during my sojourn in New York. It was handsome and commodious; but its locality was an objection insuperable to the fashion of the place. Messieurs Conway and Forrest were members of the corps dramatique, which was composed of some of the best actors in the country. I was very anxious for poor Conway's success in the States, holding him in great esteem as a thoroughly gentlemanly man, and entitled to credit for considerable talent. The part he acted on the night I saw him was Brutus, in 'Julius Cæsar.' The performance was even, perhaps too tame; unrelieved by any start of enthusiasm, and correctly described by that chilling word respectable." Forrest was the Mark Antony. He was a very young man, not more, I believe, than one or two and twenty. The "Bowery lads," as they were termed, made great account of him, and he certainly was possessed of remarkable qualifications. His figure was good, though perhaps a little too heavy; his face might be considered handsome, his voice excellent; he was gifted with extraordinary strength of limb, to which he omitted no opportunity of giving prominence. He had received only the commonest education, but in his reading

of the text he showed the discernment and good sense of an intellect much upon a level with that of Conway; but he had more energy, and was altogether distinguished by powers that under proper direction might be productive of great effect. I saw him again in William Tell.' His performance was marked by vehemence and rude force that told upon his hearers; but of pathos in the affecting interview with his son there was not the slightest touch, and it was evident he had not rightly understood some passages in his text. My observation upon him was not hastily pronounced. My impression was that, possessed of natural requisites in no ordinary degree, he might, under careful discipline, confidently look forward to eminence in his profession. If he would give himself up to a severe study of his art, and improve himself by the practice he could obtain before the audiences of the principal theatres in Great Britain, those of Edinburgh, Liverpool, Glasgow, Birmingham, Manchester, &c. (then good dramatic schools), he might make himself a first-rate actor. But to such a course, of selfdenying training I was certain he never would submit, as its necessity would not be made apparent to him. The injudicious and ignorant flattery, and the factious applause of his supporters in low-priced theatres, would fill his purse, would blind him to his deficiency in taste and judgment, and satisfy his vanity, confirming his self-opinion of attained perfection. I spoke of him constantly as a young man of unquestionable promise, but I doubted his submission to the inexorable conditions for reaching excellence. The event has been as I anticipated. His robustious style gains applause in the coarse melodramas of Spartacus' and 'Metamora;' but the traits of character in Shakespeare, and the poetry of the legitimate drama are beyond his grasp. My forebodings were prophetic.

From New York, where I left my wife and sister in their comfortable hotel, my next engagement, which began on the 30th of October, led me to Boston, where upon the same terms, £50 per night, I represented the same plays, using my leisure days in making acquaintance with Bunker's, or rather Breed's Hill, Faneuil Hall, the Capitol, the Common, and the various institutions and sites that laid claim to my attention. The theatre was nightly crowded, and the boxes were let by auction at premiums exceeding $200. A traveller

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would very often at that time hear complaints of the intractability and rudeness of Americans. My experience did not then justify me in admitting the correctness of the accusation. In New York, where I had frequently to make inquiries of passers-by, I observed that the courtesy with which they were answered was not surpassed by the politesse with which a stranger's appeals are usually responded to in the streets of Paris. A young Englishman with whom I was acquainted was never weary of inveighing against the coarseness and unaccommodating spirit of "the Yankees," which my own experience warranted me in discrediting. We drove together one morning in a cab to Salem, a pretty town about twelve miles from Boston, and were frequently under the necessity of applying to those we met, or to persons living on the roadside, for information, or assistance in regard to the harness or vehicle in which we were embarked. In every instance the readiest and most obliging answers were given, and the most efficient help afforded. On each several occasion I appealed to my fellow-traveller: "What will you say of that man?" "Oh, that one was civil enough!" The next? "Yes, he was very well." Another. "He was one of the better sort." Another, and another, to at least half a dozen cases, in which he finally reconciled himself to his persistency of depreciation by the general remark, "Ah, you have the luck to hit upon the good ones!" The simple fact being that civility meets with civility.

But I now find it necessary, if I am to make a record of my professional career, to limit myself to the bare facts of time and place, leaving any collateral remarks or descriptions to a possible future.

The success of this engagement induced the managers to secure me for its repetition in the ensuing March, and with most agreeable remembrances of the puritanical old city, which more intimate acquaintance only endeared to me, I set out on my journey to Baltimore, on my way joining company at New York with my wife and sister. Our residence at Baltimore was Barnum's Hotel, at that time distinguished in the States for its superiority in elegance and comfort to all others. My professional performances, commencing November 20th, were in the same plays in which I had acted at New York and

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Boston; but very serious illness mulcted me of one-half of the nights on which I had calculated. We received attentions from many families, among the rest from that of Dr. Potter, my physician, a very skilful, intelligent, and agreeable man, who accompanied me in a visit which I paid, on his own particular invitation, to Charles Carroll, of Carrolltown, a man most interesting from his varied and extensive acquirements, and especially as being the last surviving signer of the Declaration of Independence. He was a rare instance of extreme old age (being then in his ninetieth year) retaining all the vivacity and grace of youth with the polish of one educated in the school of Chesterfield. In my life's experience I have never met with a more finished gentleman. At his advanced age he kept up his acquaintance with the classics. He spoke of England with respect, and of his own country, its institutions, its prospects, and its dangers, with perfect freedom, anticipating its eventual greatness, if not marred by faction and the vice of intemperance in the use of ardent spirits, detaining me, not unwillingly, more than two hours in most attractive conversation. When at last I was obliged to take my leave, he rose, and to my entreaty that he would not attempt to follow me downstairs, he replied in the liveliest manner, "Oh, I shall never see you again, and so I will see the last of you!" He shook hands with me at the street door, and I bade a reluctant adieu to one of the noblest samples of manhood I had ever seen, or am ever likely to look upon.

But for my unlucky illness our visit to Baltimore would have been in all respects satisfactory. On the nights when I was able to act, the houses were well-filled; but my stay there could not be prolonged, as my engagements with Simpson, at New York, required my re-appearance at the Park Theatre on Monday, December 11th, 1826. Returning there,

we took up our residence in the City Hotel. With ten nights' performances, at £50 per night, my professional labours for 1826 came to an end. The arrival of the New Year is welcomed in New York by a celebration of old date, but one that ought never to be suffered to grow into disuse, so sensible is its object, so genial and so Christian is its influence. On the 1st of January it is the custom for the ladies of each family to sit at home to receive visitors. It is unnecessary to say they are