had composed, in such very modest language, that it was well for him it could not be heard; for I think he only talked of "Pallas starting from the brain of Jove." I cannot but suppose he would have been voted a partisan of the house of KEMBLE, and been sentenced, as B. Jonson was, on another occasion, to infamy, for his "sparing and invidious commendation."

The play was Barbarossa, a tragedy written by Dr. Brown; and Garrick had played Selim, a youth of twenty, in the fortieth year of his age. The young Roscius had just completed his thirteenth year, the exact age when the Selim of the play lost his father. Nothing, therefore, could be less exceptionable than the choice of début. Betty was even tall of his age, and his voice, though unformed, had the "manly crack." manly crack." In the first act Selim does not appear; but Mr. Hargrave, and Mr. Murray did, or thought they did, for the spectators thought nothing about them; though they represented Barbarossa and Othman, and the latter told the boy's age, and other things that concerned the interest. At length, to the great delight of the

house, the curtain dropped upon the first act. In the second the boy was to appear.

Mrs. Litchfield, who acted Zaphira, his mother, was an actress of great energy, and had a very powerful, and well-toned voice. The play too, fortunately, supplied her with a curse upon Barbarossa, the enemy of the boy, and who had assumed the name of king, and intended to demand an interview with her. The tirade she utters on this assumption of regality by the tyrant, is this

"O title, vilely purchas'd by the blood

Of innocence; by treachery and murder.

May Heaven, incens'd, pour down its vengeance on him;
Blast all his joys, and turn them into horror;

Till phrensy rise, and bid him curse the hour
That gave his crimes their birth.

She delivered this admirably, for she had a soul; the spectators were turned by her into audience— they applied the lines to Buonaparte, and the most vehement applause was given to the spirited lady before them. The other female in the piece was Mrs. H. Siddons (Murray's daughter) who acted Irene.

At length, dressed as a slave, in white linen pantaloons, a short, close, russet jacket, trimmed with sable, and a turban hat, or cap, at the command of the tyrant, on came the desire of all eyes, Master WILLIAM HENRY WEST BETTY. With the sagacity of an old stager, I walked quietly into the house, at the end of the first act-made my way into the lobby of the first circle-planted myself at the back of one of the boxes, outside, and saw him make his bow, and never stirred till the curtain fell at the end of the play. I had a good glass, and saw him perfectly. He was a fair, pleasing youth, well formed, and remarkably graceful. The first thing that struck me was, that it was passion for the profession that made him an actor; he was doing what he loved to do, and put his whole force into it. The next thing that I felt was, that he had amazing docility, and great aptitude at catching what he was taught he could convey passions which he had never felt, nor seen in operation, but upon the stage. GRACE, ENERGY, FIRE, VEHEMENCE, were his own-the understanding was of a MATURER brain. He seemed, however, to think all he said; and had he been taught to pronounce

with accuracy, there was nothing beyond his obvious requisites for the profession.

All boys have nearly the same defects in declamation; they either hoot out their words, or mouthe them they do not clear off their syllables; they hang, and drawl. They endeavour to move you by a monotonous heavy cadence, such as even great actresses moan out, when they do not choose to think while they speak ;-no rare occurrence: but they get tired of repetition, are frequently unwell, and the substitute passes, where the ears are sufficiently long.

Had Betty died at this time, he would exactly have resembled the character given by Ben Jonson of Salathiel Pavy, one of the children of Queen Elizabeth's chapel, of whom the laureate thus writes:

Years he number'd scarce thirteen

When fates turn'd cruel,

Yet three fill'd zodiacs had he been

The stage's jewel."

But he is before me, and I therefore proceed. Embarrassment, Betty did not seem to have the slightest; nor to think of his audience. He turned

himself, like a veteran, to his work-his eye never wandered from the true mark, and though not dark, it was quick and meaning. He did not wring his features into distortion at any time, to look impressive; nor rowl his eye, as is the practice, to imply subtlety. There was no trick about him. The first thunder that followed the flash of his kindled fancy, was at his delivery of this passage,—and he spoke it perfectly. It is his feigned assassination of himself.

"While night drew on, we leap'd upon our prey;
Full at his heart brave Omar aim'd the poniard,
Which Selim shunning, wrench'd it from his hand,
Then plung'd it in his breast ;-I hasted on,
Too late to save, yet I reveng'd my friend-
My thirsty dagger, with repeated blows,
Search'd every artery-they fell together,