dress, assumed the character of Charles the Se-[ The next is an Acrostic, and therefore it would be cond. Mr Kaye, as Sir Piercie Shafton, dressed needless to say to whom it is addressed. as Mysie Happer described him, (see Walter Scott's Monastery) talked Euphuism most vigorously; but his courtly pace was somewhat retarded by a very inappropriate limp; we suppose that this was occasioned by the duello with Halbert Glendinning. Mr. Wm. Bracken was admirably dressed in an Albanian costume and looked the character exceedingly well; and Mr. Wyllie, as an Austrian Officer, struck us as a capital personation. Mr. Cecil Trower was beautifully dressed in a Greek costume. Captain Colley, as Meg Merrilies excited our admiration; and a gentleman, whom he could not identify by reason of his huge proboscis, looked Punchinello to perfection. Robinson Crusoe, companioned by a new Zealand chief, in the absence of his man Friday, were regarded with much attention and well sustained their characters. observed Sir Callaghan O' Brallaghan amidst the assem- To Miss Erskine the following Acrostic was delibled multitude and "a flaxen headed Ploughboy, who vered; we particularly admire the bathos at the end, whistled o'er the lea," looking his character to admiration. and if the poet's request was complied with, we are sure Besides this there were a variety of Turkish, Greek, that he was better paid for his bardship than any Swiss, and old English costumes, which we have no Poet Laureate on record. space to particularize, but we must not forget to mention one character, which was the chef d'œuvre of the night.

We

A very facetious gentleman, whose identity we were unable to decide upon, went about in the uniform of a two-penny postman, with a large leather bag and dåk. wallah's bell, distributing letters to the fair ladies assembled. We were able to exert our influence so successfully, that we contrived to peruse a few of these epistles and, as far as our memory, which is fortunately one of the best, will permit us, we now present our readers with a transcript of them. The following was recieved by Miss Ross.

Scorn not our revels, Lady, for to-night
Full many a gentle bosom with calm joy
Is beating, as the joyous music swells
And the gay dance progresses. Scorn not us
Because we are arrayed in antic garbs,
And for a little while have cast aside
Our natural manners, striving to appear
That which we are not; do not say that we
Have ta'en our passage in "the ship of fools"
Nor call us silly children; for tis good,
Believe me, sometimes to unbend and cast
The armour of our dignity aside
Wherein we walk so stately-oh!' tis good,
Good for our hearts that we should sometimes fix
Our thoughts on trifles which amuse the herd,
And though we may be fit for loftier things
Still sympathize with those gay souls who spend
Day after days in unoffending sports,
And feel no nobler yearnings; we can hold
No commune with the multitude, nor give
Our kindly, social sympathies full scope
For action, if we move not with the throng,
But hold ourselves apart and from afar
Contemplate, with a grave, observant eye,
Scenes, which we scorn to mix in-Thou art wise,
And higher things engross thee than the dance,
The masque, the revel, and the mimic show,
But scorn not us poor Mountebanks, who strive
Ourselves and others to amuse, deck'd out
In garbs of quaint device.-One wisest man
Full of philosophy has written thus:
"The dignity of life is not impaired
By aught that innocently satisfies
The humbler cravings of the heart; and he
Is a still happier man who, for those heights
Of speculation not unfit, descends
And such beingn affections cultivates
Amongst the inferior kinds"-

M any an eye beams brightly here to-night,
And many a face is radiant with delight,
Roses and lilies here together vie,
Youth every where throws round its witchery.
And yet there is not one, whom I can see-
No, no, not one, with look more full of glee,
Nor with a sweeter smile than I can trace,
Engraven on thy fair and speaking face.

Rare is such kindliness, and rarer still
On the high summit of a towering hill,
S uch bounteous verdure, such sweet flowers to see-
So plentiful is pride, so rare humility.

And are these scenes still fraught with heart-felt joy?
Methinks thou must be weary of them now-
E ver the sweetest things are first to cloy-
Love, only love, excepted. On thy brow
I mpressed, the characters of thought I trace
And nobler yearnings speak from out thy face.

In youth's first spring, Ophelia ? or the kind,
Devoted child, who nursed her poor, old, blind
And sorrow-stricken sire? Of these sweet creatures
Which dost thou most resemble in the features
Of thy fair face and thy pure virgin soul?

Exceeding sweet, a vision of the night
Lulls my o'er troubled soul with calm delight;
I see a mother and a sporting child,
Zephyr ne'er wore look of joy so wild

As that much loved and chirished infant wears,
Buoyant he frolics round, nor thinks, nor cares ;-
E 'n now that lady smiling thinks upon
Those infant antics ;-thou art such a one,
He is thine own, thy firstborn, only son.
And then too comes a little fairy face
Lisping in broken accents, while she stays
Eyeing her brother's frolics, as he plays-
Xanthe ne'er smiled so clamly, joyfully,
As thy young daughter in her infant glee;
N or Tethys, Queen of Ocean,' neeth the wave
Decked with the richest gems her kingdoms gave
E 'er shone more bright, fair lady, now than thee-
Reproach me not-this is not flattery.

There were also some neat verses addressed to a fair Katherine.

Killarney's lake ne'er richer beauties gave
A gain reflected in it's lucent wave,
Than thine, fair Eastern Queen, for oft to me
Hast thou appeared as some bright fantasy,
E xulting in thy loveliness, and state,
Robed as Zenobia, though as her not great
In battle's throng to join :-that soft black eye
Now speaks of that pure happiness to be,
Exceeding lovely, loved exceedingly.

If

But in spite of all that we have said, though there were hosts of beautiful faces and gay, sumptuous dresses at the Victoria Ball, it lacked animation. People were contented to dress, and thought nothing of sustaining their parts, with the solitary exception of the two-peney post-man, to whose feats we have already alluded. in this hasty sketch we have omitted to notice any, whom we ought to have registered more particularly, we must plead the lateness of the hour, and the attendant hurry, as an excuse. However, we have done our best and we have only now to add that we hope very soon to be present at another Victoria Ball.

The Hall was crowded-not less than 600 persons were present. The decorations were of a light and elegant character, well suited to the occasion, and did much credit to the taste of the Stewards and the artists who carried their arrangements into effect.- Bengal Hurkaru, January 16,

THEATRICALS.

OTHELLO.

opinions in the Literary Leaves in an article on the play. I have read with much interest the articles in the I'differ, however, on the material point, from the writer papers on the subject of Othello. A discussion of the in the last number of this journal. He has, I think, same nature, occurred a year or two ago between the greatly and unjustly lowered the character of Othello by Editor of the Bengal Hurkaru and myself. That gen- representing him as a man naturally jealous. It seems to tleman seemed willing at first to adopt the criticism of me that Shakespeare did not intend to give this tone to Coleridge; but he subsequently, with an editorial can- the mind of Othello, and that it was not his chief object dour extremely rare, acknowledged, that on more ma- to show how jealous disposition is ready to seize without ture consideration he was inclined to return to the gene- original or just cause of suspicion upon trifles light as ral opinion that Shakespeare intended to illustrate the air, as confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ; but nature of the passion of jealousy in the character and to exhibit the effect of the hideous vice on men of strong conduct of the Moor. I partly agree with the opinions passions and fiery minds. When the poison of jea expressed in an article on this subject in the last num-lousy has once fairly entered the heart, the most trivial ber of the Literary Gazette, and especially do I second circumstances tend to strengthen and confirm its influthat portion of the argument which opposes a preceding ence; but with such a man as Othello, the misery is not writer's notion, (very ingeniously maintained, however,) at first self-inflicted. The Moor was the very reverse that Shakespeare intended lago, and not Othello, to be of a suspicious character, which is always a mean one. the leading illustration of the ill effects of giving too In the words of Dr. Johnson, and boundless in his coneasy admittance to that" green-eyed monster, which fidence. Even Iago, who " knew all qualities with such a

ledges the generous trustfulness and high character of suspicions of the Moor in one of the latter scenes of the the man whom he hates.

play, she boldly tells him to his face, that Desdemona
was" but too fond of her most filthy bargain." Yet,
notwithstanding Othello's manifest disadvantages as a
lover and a lady's man, of which he was so fully con-
scious, Desdemona never seems to have discovered in
him, until the poison infused by lago had worked its
effect, the slightest indication of jealousy. Even after the
scene of the handkerchief, when Emilia asks if this man
is not jealous, Desdemona answers with an exclamation
that she "ner saw thus before." In a preceding part of
the same scene the following dialogue occurs.
Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia ?
Emil. I know not, Madam.
Des.-Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse.

Full of cruzadoes. And but my noble Moor
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness
As jealous creatures are, it were enough
To put him to ill thinking.

The Moor-howbeit that I endure him not,-
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature;
And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona
A most dear husband.

And it is from a due consideration of the Moor's" free and open nature," that Ingo is induced to depend for the purposes of his revenge upon the effect of such subtle insinuations as Othello, believing him to be honest, was compelled to credit.

The Moor is of a free and open nature,
That thinks men honest, that but seem to be so ;
And will as easily be led by the nose,
As asses are.

Othello had too much fire in his soul to suffer him to play the mean and dilatory and patient part of a man naturally suspicious, who is always lying in wait for opportunities to discover his own misery and dishonour, and who treasures up long and greedily the minute evidences that feed his hateful passion. "Think'st thou," he exclaims

Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy,
To follow still the changes of the moon
With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt,
Is once to be resolved.

When he is sent by the Senate on the expedition to Cyprus, with what perfect confidence he places bis young and lovely wife in the charge of fago; and when Brabantio says

Look to her, Moor; have a quick eye to see ; She has deceived her father, and may thee. What is his answer ?

My life upon her faith!

And to show, out of his own mouth, how little he was inclined to insist upon a strict surveillance of his wife, or to build his fears of her fidelity on trifles, let us quote part of his speech to lago even after that artful villain had poured the first drops of bitterness into Othello's cup. It is not the language of a mau originally disposed to be mistrustful.

'Tis not to make me jealous,
To say-may wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well;
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous;
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt;
For she had eyes, and chose me; no, Iago;
I'll see before I boubt: when I doubt, prove;
And, on the proof, there is no more but this,-
Away at once with love, or jealousy.

When a man is naturally disposed to indulge the passion of jealousy, never does he exhibit it more strongly than when he is first working his way into the affections of his mistress; and Othello from being a mere soldier," rude in speech and little blessed with the set phrase of peace," and having a complexion and cast of features that he was quite conscious were not generally attractive to the Venetian ladies, might have been excused some little anxiety repecting the possible triumph of bis rivals. Her father never supposed for a moment that his reception of Othello's visits would lead to so strange a match, and when the event actually occurred he was so perplexed and bewildered, that he could only attribute it to supernatural arts.

She is abused, stolen from me, and corrupted
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;
For nature so preposterously to err,
Being not deficient, blind or lame of sense
Sans witchcraft could not

And even the pert Emilia could not help expressing her surprize that Desdemona had forsaken so many noble

Emil.-Is he not jealous?

Des.-Who, he? I think the sun, where he was born

Drew all such humours from him.

I repeat my opinion, that Othello was not naturally jealous, but on the contrary of a most trustful and generous disposition, and that Shakespeare seems to have in. tended to show, how rapid and terrible are the effects of jealousy when it has once taken possession of a fiery and impassioned heart. His object, it appears, was not to display the petty and never-resting suspicions of a little mind, of a jealous, key-hole-peeping, Paul Pry, but to exhibit a fearful picture of the tempest and desolation, and delirium into which its sudden admission may throw the noblest natures.

We have no right, whatever, to regard Othello in the light of a feeble-minded dupe. If he had not been affected by the evidnce so artfully brought forward by Iago, whom he looked upon as a zealous and disinterested friend, and whose good faith had never been suspected by himself or others, whose honesty in fact was proverbial, we might have fairly censured him for his blind and overweening confidence in his wife's constancy or his own power over her affections. He would in that case have almost deserved his dishonor. We ought not to forget that we are behind the scene, and know more and designs of the same circumstances as the Moor could than the unhappy Othello himself the true characters have been proof against the consummate skill of such a master in devilish arts as the fiend Iago. We sympathize with Othello's amazement when the light breaks in upon him and he discovers how completely he has been deluded and destroyed by his powerful circumvention. When Iago is brought before him, he looks to see if the is cloven-footed.

Othello-I look down towards his feet; but that's a fable:
If that thou be'est a devil, I cannot kill thee.

I could easily multiply extracts in support of my opinion; but perhaps the reader might grow tired of the subject. I shall give but one more brief quotation and conclude. It is Othello's character from his own mouth, and I think it a true one.

-I pray you, in your letters,
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice; then must you speak
Of one, who loved not wisely, but too well;
Of one, NOT EASILY JEALOUS, BUT BEING WROUGHT,
PERPLEXED IN THE EXTREME.

I ought to apologize for the length of this article on a subject that has already occupied so large a space in the columns of the Literary Gazette; but it is difficult to A check oneself in a discussion in which Shakespeare is the theme.

D. L. R.,

RIENZI.

A licensed jester, save the cap and bells;
I have borne this-and I have borne the death,
The unavenged death of a dear brother.
1 seemed-1 was, a base, ignoble slave.
What am I peace I say what am I now?
Head of this great re-public, chief of Rome;
In all but name her sovereign.

Miss Mitford's Tragedy of Riensi, was performed on Friday evening for the benefit of Mrs. Leach. The play had never before been performed, and we think, had been little read in Calcutta. It is nevertheless one of the best Dramas that has been produced in these latter days, when the cry is echoed from north to south and from east to west, that the sun of dramatic literature in England, has been obscured, never again to put forth it beams. They who only know Miss Mitford by her country stories, and think of her as the placid, subdued writer of those sweet rustic domesticities which find then way into the hearts of all dwellers in the country and of very many town-bred folk, will marvel at the vigour both of conception and of diction, which we meet with every where in the Tragedy of Rienzi. The play is full of energy, each character forcibly sustained and ful of individuality, the interest unbroken, and many of the situations eminently dramatic. We doubt not but that most of our readers have perused Mr. Bulwer's admira. ble Romance, built up on the same historical basis. Miss Mitford was first in the field; but neither of the two authors, in pourtraying the character of Rienzi, have adhered very faithfully to recorded facts. It was Sit Walter Raleigh, we think, who on hearing a tumul beneath his chamber windows, despatched some of hidomestics to learn the cause of it, and when they returned, one giving him one and another another account of the affray, he exclaimed," Ah! indeed, if I find it so difficult to learn the true facts of incidents which happen at my own threshold, how littlereliance must I place in the records of events, which occurred centuries ago." It

"From that bloody clay and that inward prayer Cola di Rienzi rose a new being. With his young brother died his own youth. But for that event the future Liberator of Rome might have been but a dreamer, a scholar, a poet-the peaceful rival of Petrarch, a man of thoughts not deeds. But from that time all his faculties, energies, fancies, genius, became concentrated to a single point, and patriotism, before a vision, leapt into the life and vigour of a passion, lasingly kindled, atubbornly

is indeed the rarest of accidents to meet with an impar-hardened, and awfully consecrated—by revenge.”

The

tial historian. Bulwer accuses Gibbon of having unnecessarily blackened the character of the last of the tribunes; and we think that we might accuse Mr. BulThis is historical, and both the Dramatist and the wer of having unduly exalted it. But this is a peculiar Romance writer have availed themselves of this pathecharacteristic of many of Bulwer's writings to make us tic incident in Cola Rienzi's life, making such frequent sympathize with those who are more worthy of our exe-allusion to it in their respective works, that the Tribune cration and abhorrence-witness the novels of Paul seems to think far more of revenging his brother's blood Clifford and Eugene Aram and the character of Sir Re-than of liberating his fallen fellow-countrymen. ginald Glanvillar in Pelham. None, but a bigoted latter consideration appears more like an afterthoughtTory, could rise from the perusal of Bulwer's Rienzi a means-a soit of appendage to his plan of revenge. without a warm, perhaps an enthusiastic admiration of It was his scheme to crush the aristocracy; by crushing the noble character therein pourtrayed; but we are the aristocracy he consummated his revenge and at sorry to say that the Rienzi of the Romance is far dif- the same time he liberated the people. "Accade," ferent from the Rienzi of History. The cotemporary writes the contemporary historian, "che uno suo frate biographer, who has generally received the credit of rare fu ucciso, e non ne fu fatta vendetta di sua morte : non impartiality, inspires not the reader with that belief in lo potèo a jutare; pensa lungo mano rendicare't sanque the virtue and nobility of the Tribune which the author di suo frate; pensa lungo mano dirizzare la cettate di of Eugene Aram instils into our minds. We see nothing Roma mule guidata." Miss Mitford, in the second act in Mr. Bulwer's Romance of the obese and bloated of her Tragedy, wherein Rienzi addresses the multitude wine-bibbing debauchee. We see him only as a hero and thus beautifully in the person of the Liberator, alludes martyr, as pure in his private and in his public relations to this exciting causeThe Romance writer describes him too, as a man of gentle feeling, which assuredly he was not-first he was, even to a Brutus-like justice, and endowed with a lofty and towering, but not a refined, intellect. Some leven of the" sordid hostelry," which was his brithplace, clung to him throughout his career. Unselfish we cannot believe him to have been; he loved the people because he was one of them; he hated the aristocracy because they had insulted him. The memory of these insults was ever rankling in his soul and goading him on to action. Revenge was his guiding principle. It was not pity, it was not justice, it was not the love of liberty; it was revenge which stimulated his dormant energies, and stirred up those resolves in his mind, which led to the great revolution of which he was eventually the victim."Yes"-he says in the language of Miss Mitford's Tragedy,

Yes, I've trod thy halls,

When

Even Bulwer, in spite of his admiration for the Tribune and all that he has said about patriotism, confesses in the very first chapter of his Romance, that it was revenge which first incited Rienzi to action. the spear of the ruthless Colonna passed through the body of Cola's brother, loud were the cries of Cola for "See ye, Sirs, he was but too gentle; and Justice. they will not give us justice because his murderer was a noble and a Colonna. And this gold too, gold for a brother's blood! Will they not," and the young man's eyes glared like fire" will they not give us justice? Time shall show!" So saying he beat his head over the corpse; his lips muttered as with some prayer or Invocation, and then rising, his face was as pale as the dead beside him; but it was no longer pale with grief!

-I that speak to ye—

I had a brother once, a gracious boy
Full of all gentleness, of calmnest hope-
Of sweet and quiet joy-oh! how I loved
That gracious boy!-younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son ! In one short hour
The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and when I cried
For vengeance-rouse ye Romans! rouse ye slaves!
Have ye brave sons ? look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die. Have ye fair daughters? look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonoured-and if ye dare call fox justice
Be answered by the lash.

The sudden breaking off from the narrative of his wrongs to the vehement outburst of "rouse ye Romans,

time highly characteristic. He had gone through, with the words of his part, he must comprehended, fully com controlled feelings, the history of his brother's death, prehended, the individuality of the character he atbut when he came to that part of the narrative, where temps to embody; and this demands study, without he was about to tell of the insults he himself received, which, be the natural talents of the actor what they may, when he called aloud for " justice," his indignat on he is sure to be præcipitated into a failure. We do not arrives at an excess which he has no longer power to infer that the favorite amateur who represented Rienzi on understand the character of moderate; he connot tell of the cutting words which Friday night did not were spoken, and the contemptuous acts were done the hero; we think that he under stood it very well unto him, by the proud nobles; the memory of these and that he was throughout the Tragedy the very Rienzi things lashes his soul into a whirlpool of incontrollable which we have depicted at the commencement of this passion, and he breaks of into a wild cry for vengeance-article; but he was not Miss Mitford's Rienzi. He may vengeance upon the oppressors. If we have mistaken have studied, and we doubt not but that he did, the the true meaning of this passage, Miss Mitford and our character of Rienzi as pourtrayed in the pages of Gibbon readers must forgive us. and the co-temporary historians, but we can hardly think that he studied Miss Mitford's Tragedy, with any great his preferring the authority of the historian to that of the We have no great objection to degree of attention. dramatist, especially as in doing so his opinion coincides most entirely with our own, nor should we object to his calling in his historical knowledge to aid him in his stage representations, if the words that he is called upon to speak in the Tragedy could possibly have proceeded from the historical Rienzi-from the Rienzi as performed the other night. The words spoken, and the manner of speaking them, were in almost every instance utterly at discord. We saw two Rienzi's throughout the drama instand of one individual character. Young did not act

They who only know Rienzi in Mr. Bulwer's Ro. mance, and have delighted (as who has not ?) in the stirring scenes of that touching story, will marvel at seeing so little in the drama, with which they have been previously acquainted. They will miss Nina (what hosts of pleasant memories that name awakens in our mind)-they will miss Nina altogether, and they will see Adrian Colonna under the title of Angelo Colonna, but oh! not half so angelic as the Colonna in Bulwer's Romance. And Irene, the sister of Rienzi, they will not see in the play; but in her place is Claudia, Rienzi's daughter, and the bride of Angelo Colonna. Mr. Bulwer, in the prefaces to his Romance, pays

With

this part in the least degree like Mr. -, and Young this fine tribute to the genius of Miss Mitford, "I canwas its original personator; indeed, we believe it was not conclude without rendering the tribute of my humble praise and homage to the versatile and gifted written for him. We were disappointed; for we had author of the beautiful tragedy of Rienzi. Considering studied the play and there were sundry favorite passages that our hero be the same, considering that we had the which we had marked, anxiously looking forward to their same materials from which to choose our several stories, delivery with a vague impression of how they ought to be I trust that I shall be, found to have little, if at all, delivered, partly derived from our own knowledge of the subject, and partly from our recollection of Charles trespassed upon ground previously occupied. the single exception of a love intrigue between a rela-Young; but we missed almost all these points. For tive of Rienzi and one of the antagonist party, which example, in the passage to which we have alluded above makes the plot of Miss Mitford's Tragedy, and is little in terms of especial commendation, when Rienzi is telling more than an episode in my romance, having slight the history of his wrongs and breaks off abruptly from effect on the conduct and none on the fate of the hero, his narrative into an enrgetic appeal to his fellow citizens to bestir themselves from their slavish indolence, I am not aware of any resemblance between the two works. And even the incident I could easily have re- Mr., instead of pausing in the middle of the line moved, had I deemed it the least adviseable. But and changing entirely the tones of his voice from the broken accents of sorrow awakened by the memory where there is so much it were an honour to imitate; of the brother's death to the loud outburst of fiery init would be almost a discredit had I nothing that resembled." And if we consider the difficulties, under which dignation and revengeful craving at the thoughts of the the dramatist labours, but which the novellist has not injuries they had put upon him, ran on with the line as to encounter, we should find it difficult to determine be- though there had been no stop at all, no sudden breaktween the respective merits of the Tragedy and the Ro-ing off, no sentence unfinished, no change of feeling, mance of Rienzi. The very nature of a romance gives delivering the latter portion of the line precisely in the a wise scope to the writer for illustrating the times, in same voice in which he commenced it which he lays the scene of his story, but a dramatist can scarcely be descriptive, and not at all discursive, and must confine himself to one particular epoch, unless he violates the unities most flagitiously. The career of Rienzi is better described in the Novel, but we doubt whether we can say the same of the character.

Thus far had we written, with the exception of a few introductory words, before witnessing the performance of Riensi on Friday night. We have spoken at some length of the play; it now becomes our duty to speak of the payers. We are truly sorry that we cannot do this in terms of very flattering eulogium. We love to praise far better than to censure, and Judex damnatur cum nocens absolvitur assuredly is not our motto; but praise becomes of little value, it is forthcoming upon every occasion, and We should be right glad to see a bolder tone of criticism introduced into our Indian literature. Nothing checks the advance of intellectual improvement so much as indiscriminate praise. We shall never see really good acting upon the Calcutta stage until gentlemen are told when they play badly, especially, gentlemen who can play better if they please, but whom too much praise has rendered careless-careless from overconfideuce. It is not enough that an actor should know

And when I cried For vengeance-Rouse ye Romans! Rouse ye slaves! became

And when I cried,

'For vengeance, rouse ye Romans, rouse ye slaves, as though the whole line had been a portion of the same

sentence.

The scene with Claudia (Mrs. Leach) after the condemnation of Angelo Colonna, was far the best in the whole Tragedy; indeed a portion of it was admirably played. We did see a handkerchief or two uplifted seemingly to wipe away a tear ; indeed, we acknowledge, that though old play-goers ourselves, and upon all occnsions as worldly and callous-hearted as most people, we felt certain creepings of the flesh which told us that our feelings were harrowed to rather an unwonted degree. If the whole tragedy had been acted as well as this scene, we should have thought Riensi a much better performance than Othello, as we now pronounce it to have been worse. We do not allude to the character of the hero, but to the entire representation of the play.