place, has been fostered and pampered into its present luxuriant growth by the clamorous and triumphant success of the Edinburgh Review. Accustomed to see one or two of their fellow citizens sitting in undisputed pre-eminence above all the authors of England, it must have seemed a small matter that they themselves should claim equal awe from the actors of England, when these ventured to think of strutting their hour on this side of the "Ideal Line."-However this may be, there is no doubt the notion does exist, and the Edinburgh audience bona fide consider themselves as the most polite assemblage of theatrical critics that the world has produced since the days of Athens. I think Aristophanes, could he look up and see them, would observe a very sad change from his own favourite σοφωτατοι θεαται.

There is no doubt, that the size of such a theatre as the Edinburgh one is much more favourable to accuracy of criticism, than a house of larger dimensions can be. It is somewhat larger than the Hay-Market; but it is quite possible to observe the minutest workings of an actor's face from the remotest parts of the pit or the boxes; and the advantages, in point of hearing, are, of course, in somewhat the same measure. The house, however, has newly been lighted up in a most brilliant manner with gas; and this, I should think, must be any thing rather than an improvement, in so far as purposes, truly theatrical, are concerned. Nothing, indeed, can be more beautiful than the dazzling effect exhibited, when one first enters the house-before, perhaps, the curtain is drawn up. The whole light proceeds from the centre of the roof, where one large sun of crystal hangs in a blazing atmosphere, that defies you to look up to it-circle within circle of white flame, all blended and glowing into one huge orb of intolerable splendour. Beneath this flood of radiance, every face in the audience, from the gallery to the orchestra, is seen as distinctly as if all were seated in the open light of noon-day. And the unaccustomed spectator feels, when his box-door is opened to him, as if he were stepping into a brilliant ballroom, much more than as if he were entering a theatre.

But the more complete the illumination of the whole house, the more difficult it of course must be to throw any concentrating and commanding degree of light upon the stage; and the consequence, I should think, is, that the pleasure which this audience now derive from looking at each other, is just so much taken from the pleasure which, in former times, they might have had in looking at the performers. There is nothing more evident, than that the stage should always be made to wear an appearance in all respects as different as possible from the rest of the theatre. The spectator should be encouraged by all possible arts to imagine himself a complete eavesdropper, a peeper, and a listener, who is hearing and seeing things that he has no proper right to hear and see. And it is for this reason, that I approve so much of the arrangement usually observed in the French, the German, but most of all, in the Italian theatres, which, while it leaves the whole audience enveloped in one sheet of dim and softened gloom, spreads upon the stage and those that tread it, a flood of glory, which makes it comparatively an easy matter to suppose, that the curtain which has been drawn up was a part of the veil that separates one world of existence from another. In such a theatre, the natural inclination every one feels is to be as silent as possible-as if it were not to betray the secret of an ambush. The attention, when it is drawn at all to the stage, is drawn thither entirely; and one feels as if he were guilty of a piece of foolish negligence every moment he removes his gaze from the only point of light on which he has the power * In such a theatre as that of Edinburgh,

to rest it.

*

*

on the contrary, all is alike dazzle and splendour. The Dandy of the Green-room is not a whit more ridiculous, or a whit better seen, than his double close by your side; and every blaze of rouge or pearl-powder displayed by the PseudoBelles of the distance, finds its counterpart or rival on the cheek or shoulder of some real goddess on your fore-ground. In short, a poor innocent Partridge, introduced for the first time to theatrical spectacle in such a place as this, would, I think, be not a little at a loss to discover at what part of the

house it should be his business to look. He would of course join in every burst of censure or applause; but he might, perhaps, be mistaken in his idea of what had called for the clamour. He might take the ogle of Miss for a too impudent clap-trap, or perhaps be caught sobbing his heart out in sympathy with some soft flirtation-scene in the backrow of Lady's side-box.

Whatever other effects it might have, this mode of illumination was at least very useful to me in my inspection of the redoubtable Edinburgh audience. These great bug-bears of criticism could not hide one of their heads from me, and there I was armed cap-a-pee with the whole proof of Cranioscopical and Physiognomical acumen, to reconnoitre their points of strength and of weakness with equal facility and equal safety. I looked first, as in duty bound, to the gods; but could see nothing there worthy of detaining my attention, except the innocent stare of a young country girl, who seemed to be devouring the drop-scene with both her eyes, and at the same time rewarding with an hysterical giggle, the soft things whispered into her ear by a smooth red-nosed, rather elderly serving-man, who appeared to have much the air of being at home on the brink of that Olympus. Neither did the boxes seem to present any very great field of observation; but, in fact, most of the leading physiognomies in that region of the house were already quite sufficiently familiar to me. It was in the pit that my eyes at once detected their richest promise of a regale. The light falling directly upon the skulls in that quarter, displayed, in all becoming splendour, every bump and hollow of every critical cranium below me.

whispered

They belonged for the most part, as Mr. W to me, to young attornies, and clerks, and apprentices of the same profession, who are all set free from their three-legged stools and fustian sleeves early every Saturday evening, and who commonly make use of this liberty to show their faces in the pit. A few lawyers of a higher order might be seen looking rather superciliously around them, sprinkled here and there over the surface of the crowd. Nor were there

wanting some faces of more stable breadth, and more immovable dulness, than are almost ever exhibited even by the dullest of the legal tribe-a few quiet comfortable citizens I could see, who certainly looked very much like sheep among foxes, although I by no means take them to be positive simpletons neither. Perhaps the unquestioning looks of happy anticipation with which these good people seemed to be waiting for the commencement of the play, gave quite as much promise of just criticism as the pert, peaked features, the impatient nasi adunci, and merciless pertinacity of grin displayed by the jurisprudential Zoili round about them. Such as the two elements were, I could perceive that they were to form between them, as best they might, the critical touch-stone of the evening. Again I quote, omne ignotum pro magnifico.---

The piece was the new Drama founded upon the novel of Rob Roy. I had promised myself much pleasure in seeing it, from the accounts I had heard of the two principal performers that make their appearance in it, and I was never less disappointed. The scenery, in the first place, was as splendid as possible; indeed, till within these very few years, London never could show any thing in the least capable of sustaining a comparison with it. Whether the stage was to represent the small snug parlour of Baillie Jarvie in the Saltmarket of Glasgow, or the broad and romantic magnificence of Loch Katrine, winding and receding among groves of birch and mountains of heather, the manager had exerted equal liberality, and his artists equal skill, to complete the charm of their counterfeit. There is something very delightful in observing the progress which theatrical taste is making among us, in regard to this part of its objects at least. Nothing gratifies one more than to see that great pains have been taken to please them; and a whole audience is sensible to this kind of pleasure, when they see a new play got up with a fine fresh stock of scenery, to salute their eyes with

novelty at every turn of the story. Besides, in such a play as this, it would have been quite intolerable to discover any want of inclination to give its heroes every possible advantage of visual accompaniment to their exertions. Every body was already as well acquainted as possible with Mattie, Major Galbraith, Andrew Fairservice, and the Dugald Creature -to say nothing of those noble kinsmen, Baillie Jarvie and Rob Roy; and every one would have looked upon it as a sort of insult to his own sense and discernment, had he seen any of these dear friends, otherwise than in the same dress and place in which they had already been introduced, and rendered familiar to him by the great Magician, whose wand had called them into being. I confess, however, that familiar as I had long been with these characters, and with that of the Baillie, imprimis, I was perfectly refreshed and delighted when they stood before me, living and moving in actual bodily presence. The illusion of theatrical deception cannot possibly be carried farther than it was in the case of Baillie Jarvie, as personified on this occasion by Mr. Mackay. I could have sworn that every curl in his neat brown periwig-every button on his well-brushed, dark, purple coat-every wrinkle in his well-blacked, tall, tight boots, had been familiar to me from infancy. And then the face-what a fine characteristic leanness about the jaws-not the least appearance of starvation or feebleness, but the true horny firmness of texture that I had always pictured to myself in the physiognomy of a Common-council-man of the Land of Cakes! And what truth of expression in the grey eyes of the worthy warmhearted Baillie! The high aerial notes at the ending of his sentences, and the fine circumnavigation of sound in his diphthongs, were quite new to my imagination, but I could not for a single moment suspect them of being any other than authentic. I could scarce believe him when he said, "a body canna carry the Saut-market upon his back."

The "Dugald Creature" was quite as good in his wayindeed even better, for it must have required no trivial stretch of power to be able to embody so much rudeness without taking