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Edinburgh audience in the part of Macbeth in March 1817, his final retirement from the stage on the 23rd of June in the same year, and the magnificent public dinner and other honours bestowed on him in commemoration of that event, are of so recent occurrence that detail would be tedious.

Mr. Kemble combined, in an eminent degree, the physical and mental requisites for the highest rank in his profession. To a noble form and classical and expressive countenance, he added the advantages of a sound judgment, indefatigable industry, and an ardent love and decided genius for the art of which he was so distinguished an ornament. He possessed, besides, what we have always regarded as an essential characteristic of a first-rate tragic actor, an air of intellectual superiority, and a peculiarity of manner and appearance, which impressed the spectator at the first glance with the conviction that he was not of the race of common men. His voice was defective in the under-tones necessary for soliloquies; but in declamation it was strong and efficient; and in tones of melancholy indescribably touching. No music was ever heard which could better revive the tale of past times. It was indeed one of the most exquisite beauties of his performances, that one passage frequently recalled to the mind 'a whole history.' But, in despite of ourselves, we are falling into the very error we had promised to avoid. Without another word, then, on Kemble's acting, we must be allowed briefly to remark, that full justice has never been done to his unrivalled management of the stage. His groupings, his processions, all his arrangements, while they were in the highest degree conducive to theatrical effect, were yet so chaste and free from glare and undue pompousness, that they appeared rather historical than dramatic, and might have been safely thrown upon the canvass by the painter almost without alteration.

As an author Mr. Kemble produced nothing that is likely to add materially to his fame. What he has written, however, contains satisfactory evidence of his learning and good taste.

A life spent in labour he closed in polished retirement; and we may with justice apply to his memory, private and professional, the passage of Cicero, which

was quoted by a great poet on the death of Betterton"Vita Bene actæ jucundissima est recordatio.”

FIELD SPORTS FOR AUGUST.

(From the "Annals of Sporting.")

ANGLING and the course now afford abundance of amusement, shooting, coursing, and hunting, being necessarily at a stand; but there are many sportsmen who are at this moment on the tip-toe of expectationfeeling more delight at the very idea of an excursion to the moors than in the contemplation of a race, and who are better pleased with the more active exertions of the field than in watching the silent float, or throwing the fly. The writer speaks from his own feelings; the grouse-shooting season is impatiently expected as soon as young rooks have afforded a temporary relief to the ennui which must, in some degree, follow the close of the fox-hunting season. When August arrives, the shooter becomes impatient for the 12th; the favourite fowling-piece is repeatedly examined, handled, and again returned to its place, or perhaps fired at a mark, in order to ascertain, beyond all possibility of doubt, that it still retains undiminished possession of those admirable qualities for which it has already been famed. At length the journey commences to Yorkshire, Scotland, or elsewhere; but for an account of subsequent operations we must refer to our next.

The season for red grouse commences on the 12th of this month; that for black game on the 20th. Black game is principally confined to Scotland; though a few may be met with in Staffordshire, Derbyshire, and some other parts.

In our last, we remarked that young birds had made their appearance rather earlier than usual this season; and this statement has been confirmed by subsequent observation. On Stainmoor, near Bowes, as well as in the neighbourhood of Kirkby-Stephen, young grouse were observed earlier than usual.

The spring and summer of 1823 were uncommonly wet. On all the low and swampy grounds last year the game was literally destroyed, owing to the long continuance of the rains. In 1824, the spring was

early and dry; very little rain fell, except in particular spots, before the middle of June, which is about the general time of the hatching of partridges and pheasants, yet the young appear to have suffered little or nothing in consequence. The rain came down gra dually, and vegetation was so far advanced as to render many of the nests impervious to wet; when these circumstances are taken into consideration, as well as the early hatching, it may be easily conceived that the young would not suffer much from the wet. At the latter end of June the writer saw several coveys of partridges, but was not able to count them with precision; they consisted, however, of numerous individuals. On the first of July, two pointers which accompanied the writer drew and made a very steady point, when, after some time, one of the old birds rose with loud screams; all that noise, alarm, and confusion took place which so uniformly accompany cases of this kind, and the young partridges (three weeks old at least) took shelter among some wheat.

Late in the afternoon of the 3rd of July, we observed a nide, or a brood of pheasants, consisting of thirteen young birds, in the township of Kirkby, six or seven miles from Liverpool; they were in a meadow that had been mown, accompanied by the old hen.-On proceeding towards Kirkby-brook, the writer observed two striplings angling. He went up to them, and had not been a spectator many minutes, before there was a nibbling sort of bite, followed by another, evidently proceeding from a much larger fish. An eel was drawn out; when it became manifest that the first bite was that of a gudgeon, hooked through the lip, and which was immediately swallowed by the eel. The eel, weighing not quite a pound, was opened, and in it were found another large gudgeon and three pricklebacks or stricklebacks.

We noticed last month the scarcity of the swallow tribe in the present summer, and we are still further convinced that they are certainly not near so numerous as usual. In the summer of 1819, during a violent storm of rain, a marten was beaten down by it, and fell into the writer's garden. The poor bird was picked up by one of the females of the family, and brought

into the house; it was placed in the window, and in a short time its feathers became dry, and the bird was so familiar as to eat some flies offered it from the hand. As it was thought probable that the bird might belong to a nest built, for the first time that year, at the corner of one of the windows, a silk thread was tied round the neck of the bird under the feathers, so as not to inconvenience it, and the bird set at liberty; it immediately flew to its nest before mentioned, where it had young. The following year the nest was again repaired by, as was supposed, the same birds. By means of a small net the two old birds were easily captured, and one of them proved to be the identical individual picked up in the garden the preceding summer. Up to the present year the bird visited and reared its young in the same spot; but this summer it has not appeared, and its nest has mouldered away. As these birds traverse a great extent of ocean, it has most likely been lost during its passage.

For those who are pleased with the sport, gull and sea-fowl shooting may be enjoyed with perfection, as the young birds are now pretty strong on the wing. Young wild ducks will be soon getting on the wing. This is the time for cub hunting.

In Ireland the season has been fine. While on the north-western coast of England, the cutting of grass was postponed for several weeks, owing to the state of the weather; the hay in Ireland, at least between Dublin and Belfast, was all housed, and well housed too, before the end of June.

ANGLING.-All the different species of fresh-water fish will take a bait this month; and barbel, roach, dace, and perch, are now coming into good condition for the table, having nearly recovered their strength from their late spawning; but the angler must not expect much sport during the hot bright days of August; his only. chance of success is to fish a few hours after the earliest dawn of day, and again in the evening, until quite dark, or during the night. Salmon and trout continue still to be worth taking and dressing, but they are generally rather shy and capricious as it respects the bait and feeding during the month of August.

The barbel fisher in the river Thames may expect

good sport this month, but he will have better in September.—Live minnows and shrimps now begin to be valuable in perch angling. In ponds, pools, &c. carp, tench, eels, and flounders will now take bait morning, noon, and night.

THE LAST MOMENTS OF LORD BYRON.

(From the Westminster Review, No. III. July 1824.) THE last moments of great men have always been a subject of deep interest, and are thought to be pregnant with instruction. Surely, if the death-bed of any man will fix attention, it is that of one upon whose most trifling action the eyes of all Europe have been fixed for ten years with an anxious and minute curiosity, of which the annals of literature afford no previous example. We are enabled to present our readers with a very detailed report of Lord Byron's last illness; it is collected from the mouth of Mr. Fletcher, who has been for more than twenty years his faithful and confidential attendant. It is very possible that the account may contain inaccuracies; the agitation of the scene may have created some confusion in the mind of an humble but an affectionate friend; memory may, it is possible, in some trifling instances, have played him false; and some of the thoughts may have been changed either in the sense or in the expression, or by passing through the mind of an uneducated man. But we are convinced of the general accuracy of the whole, and consider ourselves very fortunate in being the means of preserving so affecting and interesting a history of the last days of the greatest and the truest poet that England has for some time produced.

"My master," says Mr. Fletcher, "continued his usual custom of riding daily, when the weather would permit, until the 9th of April, 1824. But on that ill-fated day, he got very wet, and on his return home, his lordship changed the whole of his dress, but he had been too long in his wet clothes, and the cold, of which he had complained more or less ever since we left Cephalonia, made this attack be more severely felt. Though rather feverish during the night, his lordship slept pretty well, but complained in the morning of a

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