Perhaps it may be scarcely necessary to remind the reader, (especially one in the least acquainted with what was passing on the stage forty years ago) that a most material change has taken place with regard to musical taste, and all kinds of musical capabilities.. Formerly, if a man had a good voice, it was sufficient; it gave general satisfaction, however defective the singer might be in musical knowledge. Mr. Incledon. was in this state of estimation when I first knew him, at Salisbury, Devizes, and other places,; all were pleased with him. Salisbury is quite a musical city ; no better judges of music than many of the inhabitants of Salisbury; and yet, at that time, all were so charmed with his voice, they never grumbled in the least at his want of science. But now-a-days, a man, however good his voice, if deficient either in science or taste, he is not only slighted, but absolutely laughed at: and this. too, by scores, who, though not skilled themselves, yet having learned to strum a little on the piano-forte, imagine they display their own superior powers, by laughing at what they witness before them. This conduct is meant to convey an idea that they are too refined to be pleased with ordinary singing. This being the prevailing taste, it makes the situation of a country. manager very distressing; he cannot obtain fine singers; or, if he is so fortunate as to get a pretty good one, he cannot long keep him: for the large Theatres (in London and other places) have not half the musical strength which they generally require.

These observations are here made, in order to prepare for some incidents that may possibly follow.

We had with us many years in the Salisbury company, a Mrs. Curtis. She had sustained the first singing line at Exeter, Weymouth, and Plymouth: she had a pretty good and powerful voice; but latterly she grew very lusty.

When the "Tempest" was got up at Salisbury, sho was cast Ariel, on account of the singing. It will be recollected that the piece (as altered by Dryden) ends with a view of the sea, with Neptune and Amphitrite, &c. near the front of it. The spirit Ariel is discovered in the clouds, who concludes by singing the following song,

Where the Bee sucks, there lurk I,

In the Cowslip's Bell I lie!

"Bell! in a bell!" (said an Irishman seated at the bottom of the pit) "Lurk in a bell! Then, by jingo, it must have been the great Tom of Lincoln, for no other bell could half cover you!"

Having thus spoken, of the wife, (who died at Barnstaple,) I must not entirely omit the mention of her husband: they were both with me many years. By the bye, let me observe, I was twenty years on the stage before I ever witnessed the death of an actor or actress in any company where I happened to be a member. This made me once use a very coarse expression; though I did not at the time, nor do I now, mean the least shadow of harm by it. The expression was-that-'Tis as uncommon to see a dead actor, as a dead jackass! I never saw the latter to this day! (Did the reader ever see one?) 'Tis not a common

sight

and yet it is certain that poor donkies die, and so do poor actors! But we will not talk of the dead, -I wish to be lively; therefore we will talk of Curtis, who, I believe, is still alive, and living at Weymouth. The last I heard of him, was through the medium of a gentleman of Dorchester, who meeting him by chance on the esplanade-said-"Ah! Curtis, do you now live here?" "No sir (he replied) I starve here!" "Why, how's that?" "I can't tell how sir; but such is the case!" What is the case? "A very bad one, as a doctor would say; but as I cannot afford to pay a doctor, I shall walk here by the sea side every morning for a breakfast!" "Before breakfast, I suppose you mean!" No, sir; I mean as I said; I have walked to the end of the beach, and am this far back again; so I have more than half breakfasted!" "What have you breakfasted upon!" "On gravel soup, sir! 'tis a rough diet; but I am used to it! Good morning, sir!" Stop, Mr. Curtis. You don't mean to say that you have taken only your walk for breakfast?" "Oh, no sir; I have just indulged myself with a treat!" "What might that be!" "A pint of salt water, sir!—'Tis that keeps me in good walking condition!-If I was not old, I should now do for what we used to call the sticks, or walking gentlemen! Good morning, sir!" Saying this, he hitched up his clothes in his usual manner, and shuffled off.

His style was always in the plain, blunt, dry method : somewhat sarcastic, but not ill-natured. As an actor of little parts, he was always punctual, and therefore useful but he never spoke more than half a dozen or

ten lines of good language, for which reason Shatford always called him Demosthenes, or the great Demosthenes! The boys about the Theatre thought that his proper christian name, and at all times saluted him with the dignified appellation of "Mr. Dim-musty-knees Curtis!"

It cannot have entirely escaped the notice of all the persons likely to have cast their eyes over these rambling and heterogeneous pages, that nearly all ranks of men have particular modes of thinking, acting, and conducting themselves; as well as particular habits, likings and dislikings, which they cannot reasonably account for-or rather they will not give these habits that sort of attention which may be necessary to ascertain their apparent absurdity, or their real value.

I will just hint at a few trifles: my old friend Shatford, though a man of such good sense and practical talent, as he has been here described, had many of these unaccountable whims to contend with. He had at all times an utter dislike to umbrellas: would maintain that none but effeminate coxcombs used them; and would get wet to the skin sooner than hoist one over his head. During the early part of his life, he was obliged to dress according to the fashion; generally wore very good clothes, but seldom properly put on or consistent one with another. He would dress himself in such apparel as might happen to fall in his

way always partial to clean and fine linen; but his shirts had on them large frills, and deep ruffles at the hands, even after such things had got out of fashion. You might see him about ten in the morning at breakfast but oftener about eleven or twelve. Perhaps he would read the newspaper and write half a dozen letters while under the hands of the barber: always turning and twisting about, with

confound it! how slow you are."

Haven't you done?

Then he'd often

rise from his seat, before he was half shaved; the

his chin still bleeding: (he'd say) sitting down

lather still on his cheeks and "Come why don't you finish," again to be powdered, though without gown or cloth, and in his best black coat just brought home from the tailor's shop. As soon as this process was over-his shoulders covered with pomatum and powder, he would put on perhaps, a handsome cocked hat, with a silver loop and gold tassels, then tie round his neck one of Mrs. Shatford's coarse blue coloured calico handkerchiefs: then with spangled waistcoat, satin small-clothes, white or peach blossom silk stockings; he'd draw over them his new top-boots, or slip on his red morocco slippers; and off he'd march to the theatre or more probably into the shops of some poulterers, or pastry cooks, to purchase seasonable rarities for himself and friends at dinner, not forgetting good wine, excellent spirits, and choice fruits for the dessert.

Mr. Curtis had as much dislike to walking sticks, as Shatford had to umbrellas; and he thought it puppyish to wear belts or braces. This often gave him the awkward habit of shuffling, or hitching up, or sus