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Macbeth. On the German drama being imported into England, she, too, performed Mrs. Haller in the Stranger. About 1801, Mr. Kemble acquired a share in Covent Garden Theatre, and the services of Mrs. Siddons were afterwards transferred thither. Mrs. Siddons lost one of her daughters, the youngest, whom it was expected Sir T. Lawrence would wed, in 1798; her husband died in 1802, and her eldest daughter in 1803, which events gave to a hitherto prosperous life -prosperous beyond the ordinary lot of mortals, the first distaste, and she began, for the first time probably since she first knew the enchanting breath of popular applause, to wish for retirement. She felt severely too, the eclipse which she, in common with all performers, suffered in 1804, by the astonishing success of Master Betty. She became popular again in 1806-7, and, with her brother, then played all her characters with undiminished splendour. In 1808 came the conflagration of the theatre, which for a season suspended her efforts. The company took refuge in the Haymarket, and Mrs. Siddons announced some of her characters for the last time. She did, however, accept an engagement at the new house, at £50 a night, which she opened, and performed her part of Lady Macbeth in dumb show in the midst of the O. P. riot. Mrs. Siddons took leave of the profession on the 29th of June 1812, her last performance being the character of Lady Macbeth. In 1813 she performed the same character for the benefit of her brother Charles, and in 1816 the character of Queen Catherine for the same object. On the 8th of June in that year she performed Lady Macbeth, to gratify the Princess Charlotte of Wales and the Prince of Saxe Cobourg, which was, we believe, her last appearance on the stage. She, subsequent to that time, gave public readings of Shakespeare and Milton, but, generally speaking, she lived in close retirement since 1816. She resided in Upper Baker Street, and continued in good health, and capable of taking air till within a few days of her death. She died at her house, at half-past nine o'clock on Wednesday morning, June 8th, 1831, at the age of 76. Mrs. Siddons had three children, who all died before her.

Her son was proprietor and manager of the

Edinburgh Theatre, and died a number of years ago. The death of her two accomplished daughters and of her husband we have already mentioned. The daughters were said to have possessed the happiest minds and the most delightful persons; the elder sister was an accomplished and scientific musician. The death of Mrs. Siddons has thrown a gloom over the theatrical world, and has materially affected one theatre.-Morning Chronicle.

TAME OTTER.

A Lancashire Gentleman, who lately paid a visit to his friend Henry Monteith, Esq. of Carstairs, when about to depart, was surprised to see a tame otter issue from the dog kennel, and run about the wheels of his carriage, when called on by the appropriate name of Neptune." This circumstance naturally led to some inquiry, from which it appeared that the animal was caught about two years ago, when only a few weeks old, and actually suckled by a pointer bitch. Since then it has become a very docile, domestic quadruped, and is much "made of" and admired by all. The gamekeeper, in particular, has taken it under his especial patronage, and the man, undoubtedly, has good reason for doing so. As the purveyor of game, he could do little without his faithful allies, the pointers and greyhounds, and the otter's services are equally useful in another way—that is, in procuring a dish of excellent burn-trout, when the nature of the weather or the season is such that the finny people will scarcely rise at either bait or fly. In a state of nature, otters fish only for themselves, but when fairly civilized, and properly looked after, they appear to act on the principle of the clergy, and are contented with a tithe, or so, of the fruits. This, at least, is the practice of the animal in question, and though he frequently steals away at night to fish by the pale light of the moon, or pay his respects to some fair otteress, his master is, of course, too generous to find any fault with his peculiar mode of spending his evening hours. In the morning he is always at his post in the dog kennel, among several couples of pointers and greyhounds, and no

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one, it is said, understands better "how to keep his own side of the house." For this the gamekeeper commends him highly, and boldly avers that if the best cur that ever ran were "to dar' even to girn" at his protégé, he would soon mak' his teeth meet through him." To mankind, however, he is much more civil; allows himself to be gently lifted by the tail, but objects to any interference with his snout, which is probably with him the seat of honour. As an angler his reputation is advancing rapidly, and one or two of Mr. Monteith's neighbours intend to borrow him for a day or two in spring, for the purpose of ascertaining the quality and size of the larger trout in the pools on their estates.- Dumfries Courier.

In addition to the above, we may mention, that, many years ago, there was a tame otter at Meikleour House, Perthshire. It had been caught when very young at or near Stormont Loch, and tamed by an eccentric individual of the name of Donaldson, who afterwards sold it to the Honourable Miss Mercer Elphinstone, now Countess Flahault. We remember having seen this animal while in possession of Donaldson, who took great pleasure in exhibiting it, and making it perform certain antics which he had taught it. Its most valuable accomplishment, however, was killing fish of different kinds, both in rivers and lochs, and bringing the greater part of the spoil to its master. In this respect Donaldson found it extremely useful, especially as it often brought out grilses from the Isla, (to the great annoyance of the tacksmen of the fishings on the river) and sometimes killed pikes of enormous size. On almost every occasion it promptly answered Donaldson's whistle, and when it came to his foot fawned on him like a dog, though it retained its natural ferocity to every one else. Indeed its regard seemed quite untransferable; for at Meikleour it resisted all attempts at familiarity, and, after being kept some time in durance, took advantage of an attempt to induce it to take the river, with a halter about its neck, to slip the noose and disappear for ever.—Ed.

ANDREW DUCROW.

It was said of a celebrated votary of Bacchus, "that he must have been born drunk," and it might be as reasonably conjectured, that Ducrow came into the world on horseback. Riding, to use an Irishism, is as much his element as the sea was Tom Coffin's. This modern Centaur was born at the Nag's-head, in the Borough, in 1793. His father, well known as the Flemish Hercules, brought him up to gymnastics, tight rope, slack rope, wire walking, stilt strutting, tumbling, and all the other elegant accomplishments that may be included under the title of mountebankiana. Young Ducrow was articled to the celebrated Richer, it being his father's intention" to bring him up to the rope." The young gentleman's first essay was at a fête at Frogmore, attended by Geo. III. and his consort, when part of the stage fell in, and Andrew's younger brother was much hurt. The King came on the stage to see the little fellow, and conversed for some time with the embryo equestrian. During his studies (on the rope) he fell, and broke an arm; his father, on his return home, thrashed him severely for being so clumsy, saying, in his inimitable English, "You break your dam arm again, you know what you catch." In 1808, Ducrow appeared as a rope-dancer at Astley's, and continued for many years to practise this neck-endangering profession, and was a successful rival to Wilson, Saunders, Godeau, &c. From the age of three years to that of fifteen, he regularly worked sixteen hours a day; during his leisure, he wandered into the regions of Kennington-common, and then and there-anent did bestride any stray quadruped masticating upon the common, being by no means particular in his choice; -horse, donkey, bull, or cow; nay, even pig came not amiss; as something he must and would ride. The consequences of all this, as our readers may imagine, were divers dislocations and contusions, which he was obliged to conceal from his father, who "never suffered any body to be ill in his family."-Collet, the equestrian, at length observing that he had a genius for horseflesh, became his preceptor; his progress was rapid in the extreme, and he soon put the Makeens and Tho

mases of the day hors de combat. From thence he went to Ghent and Paris, the inhabitants of which declared themselves not only electrified, but galvanized, by his performance. On one occasion, having sprained his ancle, he actually danced the tight rope on one leg. At the Surrey, some years ago, he wheeled a boy in a barrow on the rope, from the stage to the gallery, and (a much harder feat) back from the gallery to the stage! What the sensations of the young gentleman were whilst in transitu, we can imagine better than describe, but on the second night he was non est inventus; this threw Ducrow into a fury, and he tried to persuade some of the supernumeraries to take the boy's place; but they, having no taste for glory, declined; and Ducrow was obliged to ascend with an empty barrow, which he did, at the same time indulging in curses "not loud but deep :" but judge of his amazement, when, on arriving at the gallery, he saw the aforesaid young gentleman, quietly seated, viewing the performances; vulture never pounced upon his prey as Andrew Ducrow did upon his victim. In vain did the urchin exclaim "that he had paid his shilling," and demand the courtesy due to an auditor. Ducrow seized him, as Rolla does the child, popped him into the barrow, and rolled him down at a brisk trot; the young gentleman being, as Shakespeare says, "distilled almost to jelly by the act of fear." We have heard he left the country shortly after, but for this we do not vouch. Ducrow was travelling with his troop, waggon, &c. to Milan; the roads were steep, the snow deep, the skies rehearsing the hailstone chorus, and his servants knew nothing of the ways, and little of the language, of the Milanese; at length they came to a place where four roads meet, as the old romances have it. Ducrow knew as well as Tony Lumpkin could have told him, "that he must be sure and only take one of them ;" but which? was a question not easily answered. At length some Lazzaroni appeared, and acted as guides; they took upon themselves to lead the way, and to this Ducrow assented in dignified silence, but beginning at length to re-arrange the harness of the horses, this was an atrocity to which the equestrian could not submit: they insisted, he resisted; and an

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