Part 12

'An '_Extra Puncheon_,' pretending to give late news from the Capitol, but containing, in reality, Flabby's long-expected reply. 'Capital! capital!' cried Mr. Fishblaat, as he hurried on; 'Flabby called Busts a drunken vagabond, in the _Puncheon_ of Wednesday week; Busts called Flabby a hoary reprobate, in Monday's _Bladder_, and now Flabby calls Busts a keg of Geneva bitters; says the bung's knocked out and the staves well coopered. Capital! This alludes to a threshing, in front of the Exchange in which Busts had his eye blacked and a couple of ribs beaten in.'

But we must draw our notice of Mr. MATHEWS'S 'writings' to a close. We cannot do so, however, without again inviting the attention of our readers to the 'works' themselves, if they are desirous to partake in a yet larger degree of the kindling effect of his unique wit and humor, and to render _full_ justice to 'the American Boz!'

THE POETS OF CONNECTICUT; WITH BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. Edited by Rev. CHARLES W. EVEREST. In one volume, pp. 468. Hartford: CASE, TIFFANY, AND BURNHAM. New-York: KNICKERBOCKER Publication Office.

HONOR to Connecticut for the 'bright names in song' to which she has given birth; and honor to Mr. EVEREST for the faithfulness and good judgment with which he has discharged his editorial function, in the large and exceedingly beautiful volume before us. Few of our readers can be aware of the number and high character of the poets of America who first drew breath in the 'Land of Steady Habits.' The catalogue 'deflours us of our chiefest treasures' in poetry; numbering as it does, HALLECK, BRAINARD, PERCIVAL, PIERPONT, PRENTICE, HILLHOUSE, HILL, SIGOURNEY, ROCKWELL, and others scarcely less known to fame, and whose effusions are endenizen'd in the national heart. The volume presents a brief historical account of the poetical literature of Connecticut, from its commencement to the present period. The writers are arranged in the order of birth, as being less invidious, and as better comporting with the design of the editor. In the department of biography, the sketches have been made as complete as possible, in the case of deceased writers, while in those of the living, the principal facts of personal history are carefully preserved. The editor has judiciously confined his critical duties to the mere pointing out of a few characteristic traits of each author's verse, refraining from especial eulogy or censure. The volume is in all respects a valuable contribution to our national literature, and deserves, what we cannot doubt it will receive, a circulation commensurate with its merits. It is beautifully printed, upon large, clear types, and embellished with a fine vignette-engraving of the city of Hartford and Connecticut river.

ABBOTTSFORD EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. Edinburgh: ROBERT CADELL. London: HOULSTON AND STONEMAN. New-York: WILEY AND PUTNAM.

WE have already twice spoken of this most _perfect_ edition of the works of the immortal SCOTT; but as the numbers reach us in succession from abroad, and the fine taste and profuse liberality of the publisher are more and more revealed, we are continually tempted to descant upon merits and beauties which we could wish our readers throughout the Union and the Canadas could _personally_ appreciate. We have before us at this moment the series complete to the thirty-second issue; and how many illustrations does the reader suppose are included in these numbers? No less than _five hundred and fifty_; varying, in each number, from sixteen and eighteen to twenty-four. These illustrations, too, are in the very finest style of the art of engraving, whether on steel or wood. There is nothing omitted that _can_ be illustrated, in any of the great 'Northern Magician's' works. The first painters in England are employed to paint from nature the originals of all the principal scenes; these are transferred to steel by the most eminent engravers in Europe; and the same faithfulness is apparent in all the principal portraits, which are so numerous and authentic, as to leave nothing to be desired in this department of the work. Add to this the fact, that every _thing_ to which any especial interest attaches in the novels is pictorially presented, with a kindred care and correctness; and that the fine texture and dazzling whiteness of the paper and beauty of the printing are unsurpassed; and the reader will have some idea of the comparative _cheapness_ of a work like this, when informed that each number costs but two shillings and sixpence sterling! The edition will contain, when completed, more than _two thousand engravings_, on steel and wood, and of the highest order of excellence. Indeed, the landscape engravings on steel will of themselves form a splendid series of an hundred views, illustrative of the novels.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

THE LATE WILLIAM ABBOTT: HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL JOURNAL.--In briefly noticing, some months since, the decease of WILLIAM ABBOTT, Esq., late of the Park Theatre, we promised again to advert to his career in England and this country; and the perusal with which we have recently been favored of an exceedingly entertaining autobiography of this excellent actor and accomplished gentleman, has 'whetted our almost blunted purpose.' We learn from a brief obituary in the London 'Gentleman's Magazine,' that Mr. ABBOTT was born at Bath, England, in 1788, and began his theatrical career in that city, whence his varied talent caused his being transported to Covent-Garden Theatre, at the age of twenty-four. He remained there twelve years, continuing all the time to grow in reputation. In social life, his house at Knightsbridge, near London, was long the scene of meetings in which good taste and refinement increased their attraction, by being blended with less ceremonious pastimes, and the constant flow of fanciful recreations. Thus he traversed a flowery time until 1824, when ambition tempted him to become the lessee of the Dublin Theatre. He lost money by the speculation; and his next move was to Paris, where with an English company he entertained the Parisian public with _éclat_ for two years. In the French capital his enjoyment of society was of a very gratifying kind; and he spoke the language with so much purity as to escape all the usual inconveniences attendant upon foreign disclosure. In 1828 he returned to Covent-Garden to enable Miss FANNY KEMBLE to appear as JULIET with an adequate ROMEO. Subsequently, untoward events of a pecuniary nature, connected with the management of one of the minor theatres of the metropolis, induced him to try his fortunes in America. The professional and social qualities which had won for him reputation and friends in his own country, gained him both in this, in an equal degree; while the same experience as a manager attended him here that was 'his destiny' abroad. The Charleston (S. C.) Theatre, the management of which he assumed, proved worse than valueless to his interests; and at the time of his death he had resumed his place upon the boards of the Park Theatre, where he had always given ample satisfaction to the public. He was the author of several successful dramatic productions in England, and was known on both sides of the Atlantic as a gentleman of fine literary taste and acquirements. He was a person of the most gentleman-like manners, cheerful disposition, ready wit in the play of conversation, and possessed a kindly and liberal heart. Few men were more welcome to society, or more entertaining within its bounds. He was full of anecdote; and the humorous stories of the stage found in him a most amusing reciter. He had also the song, the jest, or the repartee, which never failed to add mirth to the festive board. Above all, shone the unclouded cheerfulness of his nature, over which even his own misfortunes apparently never suffered a shadow to pass; and that good-will toward others which defied the taint of envy, (either in private life or in an envious profession,) which was happy in contributing to happiness, and would not tread on a worm, or even injure an enemy. 'Such,' says our London contemporary, 'was WILLIAM ABBOTT, who for many years was a popular favorite in the principal theatres of London, and who performed the second class of characters better than any actor we ever saw. His walk too was unconfined. In tragedy, not of the sterner sort, he was graceful and impressive; in genteel comedy, equal to any of his contemporaries in that line; in the more unlicensed exuberance of farce, a laughable and jocular actor; and in all, he was ever perfect in his part.'

We proceed now to select a few passages, almost at random, from the delightful manuscript volume to which we have referred; a work which we have no doubt will speedily be in the hands of a publisher, since it cannot fail to prove one of the most various and entertaining books of the season. We commence our extracts with the annexed sketch of personal misadventure, which will remind the reader of the somewhat similar scene in 'The Antiquary' of SCOTT. The _locale_ is Tenby, in South Wales, opposite the Devonshire coast:

'WHAT vivid recollections throng my mind, when I recall the perilous situation in which I was once placed there! It was my constant custom, whenever I had a character of importance to study, to wander on the 'Sands' in front of the town; not like DEMOSTHENES, with a pebble in my mouth, but seating myself on some jutting rock, listen to the roar of old Ocean in storms, or watch its gentle undulations, like an infant rocking itself to sleep. On one occasion I pursued my path greatly beyond all former wanderings; passed each inlet I encountered, and again emerged on the broad Sands; and on turning, the town met my eye, and appeared, although three miles distant, to be almost within my grasp. The waters kept at a respectful distance, while I reclined upon an isolated rock, not unlike a rude arm-chair. Like another CANUTE, I wanted to see if the waters would dare approach me. My mind was full of 'meditation and the thoughts of love;' and many a _chateau en Espagne_ was peopled with delightful visions of air-born spirits, paying homage to my towering theatrical genius! Casually turning round, to my utter confusion I saw the water laving the base of a high projecting rock which intercepted my return. I felt that no time was to be lost. I rushed back, and knee-deep, cleared the obstacle. Another, still more formidable, stood before me. Beyond, the golden Sands, tinged by the beams of the setting sun, gave life and hope; at my feet lay despair and death. Not a soul was in sight; and the opposing obstacle that separated me from the path by which I could reach the town, was rising perpendicularly from the deep. I was young in years; and in an instant all my previous life flashed upon me, in one dreary perspective. No escape, no hope! DEATH himself stood before me! The very rocks on which I had so often gazed with a romantic delight, now oppressed me with terror. Grim visages with demoniac smiles started into life from the surrounding cliffs, to mock my helplessness. The roaring waves, dashing upon the sharp rocks, uttered a voice of fearful warning. Despair was almost at its height, when suddenly my nerves became iron. I rushed to the opposing rock; I reached, and how I know not, a fearful height; I clung to some stunted brushwood, which found a frail hold in the fissures of the rock. One point of safety was visible, but as I attempted to reach it, loose particles crumbled and rolled beneath my feet, and I heard the crackling of the branches. The yawning gulf was ready to receive me! One last effort, one convulsive spring, enabled me to reach the desired refuge; and although in comparative safety, I sat there shaking with terror, and watched the rapid approach of the waves, which, although fortunately not violently agitated, covered me with the 'salt sea-foam.' The excitement prevented my feeling the cold, though I was wet to the skin. The heavens were calm and blue above, and the stars shone in all their splendor; but the restlessness of the waters, through the dim obscurity, kept me in perpetual agitation. For hours I remained in this situation; at length the early morning dawned upon me, and the receding tide lifted a weight from my heart.'

Many of our readers will remember sundry anecdotes, from theatrical persons and works upon the drama of 'ROMEO COATES,' of Bath, England. Mr. ABBOTT gives a very amusing account of the manner in which this _soubriquet_, which attached to the subject of it throughout his life, was obtained:

'THOUGH an unmitigated ass, he was the lion of the day. He came from one of the West-India islands, was very wealthy, and on all occasions wore brilliants of the first water. In a place like Bath, where _ennui_ will step in occasionally, he was a godsend. He was followed, courted, fooled to the top of his bent. The sprigs of fashion 'drew him in' to give at the York Hotel the most expensive entertainments; and at one party, when I was present, they insisted upon his mounting a table covered with decanters and glasses, to give a specimen of his skill in the small-sword exercise, and display his figure to the best advantage. One of the party, _Bacchi plenus_, became his opponent, and the result was, the destruction of a most superb chandelier. His face was like a baboon's, and the twistings and distorted attitudes into which he threw himself were alike indescribable and irresistible. One pleasant morning there appeared an announcement in the theatre-bills which shook the city of Bath to its foundation. It was like the precursor of a volcanic eruption: '_Romeo, by an Amateur of Fashion!_' The doors were beset at an early hour in the afternoon by those who had failed to secure places at the box-office. Box-admittance was paid by crowds of gentlemen, to enable them, by jumping over, to secure places in the pit. Men of rank and distinction did not disdain to occupy seats in the gallery. The fever of excitement was at its pitch, when the gentle ROMEO appeared, dressed in the most fantastic and absurd style, in consonance with the advice of his fashionable friends. He wore diamonds to the value of thirty thousand pounds! I was one of his instructors, and entered into the joke with a keen relish for the ridiculous. It was hardly to be expected that his acting would be tolerated by the true judges of art, and I was obliged to be dressed for the character, in order to finish the part. But no! The appetite of the audience grew by what it fed on; and when the dying scene came, a tremendous burst of mock enthusiasm rang from all parts of the house, and he was universally _encored_. He bowed most graciously, while Juliet (Miss JAMIESON) was lying on the stage, not dead, but literally 'in convulsions' of laughter. Oranges were thrown upon the stage, with a request that the actor would not hurry, but refresh his energies before he recommenced his death. He kissed his hand to the ladies in graceful acquiescence with their wishes, and deliberately proceeded to suck two oranges! His second death was infinitely more extravagant than the first, and drew down repeated and prolonged bravos, and a second _encore_, which however was not complied with. Showers of bouquets now fell upon the stage, and 'closed one of the most extraordinary dramatic exhibitions I ever beheld in a regular theatre.'

A singular circumstance is mentioned by Mr. ABBOTT as having occurred to a professional friend of his at Bath, named SIDLY. It is authenticated beyond all peradventure. 'Can such, things be, and overcome us like a summer-cloud, without our special wonder?'

'HE was quietly seated in his arm-chair, at his lodgings in Beaufort-square, after his return from the theatre; his wife had retired to her bed-chamber, adjoining their drawing-room; while he remained, for the purpose of reading over a character for the ensuing evening. His mother resided a short distance from London, and so far as he knew, was at the time in perfect health. His mind was not preöccupied with the thoughts of home, and an unusual calmness pervaded his spirit. After reading a passage, and trying to see if he had mastered it, he raised his eyes, and on a chair opposite sat his mother, smiling benignantly upon him. His agitation was extreme. He hastily turned round, and saw that the door was closed. He struggled to speak, but his lips were sealed; and with a beating heart and hair erect, he rushed to the bed-side of his wife, and in broken sentences, and with thick-starting perspiration rolling down his face, he detailed what he had seen. His wife endeavored to persuade him that it was all a dream; and to convince him, quietly walked into the drawing-room, and found the apartment precisely as she had left it, the fire burning and the candles lighted; but nothing could do away the illusion; and in two days afterward poor SIDLY received the intelligence of his mother's death at the very hour of the occurrence here narrated. He seldom referred to the circumstance, and never without deep and melancholy emotion.'

LISTON, the great comedian, as most readers are aware, was an inveterate wag. He was never more happy than when successful in making a fellow-actor lose his 'power of face' upon the stage. Mr. ABBOTT relates a pleasant anecdote of one of his efforts in this kind:

'IN Newcastle, under the management of STEPHEN KEMBLE, (who played the part of Falstaff without stuffing,) LISTON on one occasion took the character of Pizarro. When he is lying on the couch, Rolla enters, apostrophizes his defenceless situation, and then rouses and drags him in front of the stage. Judge of the surprise of the actor, at finding one half of LISTON'S face painted in imitation of a clown! This portion of his features was of course studiously turned from the audience, who were indulged only with the simple profile. Rolla burst into a fit of laughter, and rushed instantly from the stage, to the great scandal of the audience, who had not the slightest suspicion of the cause of such ridiculous conduct.'

Our excellent friend JOHN WILSON, that most mellow of vocalists, once gave us a similar anecdote of LISTON. In the play of 'Guy Mannering,' he is deputed to relieve the suffering Lucy Bertram. He places a well-filled purse in her hand, which he clasps cordially in his own, while she looks up in his face, her eyes brimming with tears of gratitude at relief so unexpected. On the occasion alluded to, a remarkable change was observed in Miss Bertram's face, when the purse was handed to her. She shrank back, and struggled, as if to liberate her hand from his grasp: and after looking imploringly at his imperturbable face for a moment, she found relief in a sort of hysterical laughter, which was very far from bespeaking the emotion of the character she represented. Instead of a purse, LISTON had placed in her hand a large _raw oyster_, as cold as ice, and _pressed_ her acceptance of it in a way that was irresistible! There ensues a comparison between those different but equally matchless _artistes_, Mesdames SIDDONS and O'NEIL, which we have reason to believe expresses the general verdict of the time:

'FROM all my recollections of Mrs. SIDDONS, it would be absurd to attempt to draw a parallel between her performances and those of Miss O'NEIL; the unapproachable grandeur and dignity of the one and the feminine tenderness and endearment of the other exhibiting widely different expressions, not formed by the same code. You approached Mrs. SIDDONS with a feeling of awe, bordering on reverence. With Miss O'NEIL, all your hopes and fears were excited, and certain to meet with a response. Her bursts of agony and distress agitated every nerve, and would plunge her audience in tears; while the power of SIDDONS would choke your very utterance, and deny you all relief. What Miss O'NEIL required in strong expression, she made up in exaggeration. Every nerve was strained, and her whole frame convulsed; in short, her great fault was exuberance; yet nothing could be more quietly (though distressingly) beautiful, than her performance of 'Mrs. Haller.'

The reader should have _heard_ Mr. ABBOTT present the subjoined 'limning from life,' and _seen_ him imitate the snuff-taking of the noble tragedian. The story loses much of its force in being transferred to paper. The anecdote is of HARLOWE, who painted the celebrated trial-scene of 'Henry the Eighth,' in which the KEMBLE family figured so conspicuously:

'HE had, by his ill conduct, lost the esteem of his great master, Sir THOMAS LAWRENCE, who was the intimate friend of JOHN KEMBLE; and the latter had in consequence resolutely refused to sit to him for his portrait as 'Cardinal Wolsey' in the picture alluded to. 'Mrs. SIDDONS and CHARLES and STEPHEN KEMBLE had sat to the artist, but the great tragedian was immovable. At length a friend of the painter (Mr. THOMAS WELSH, the celebrated singing-master,) who had received many marks of attention and kindness from Mr. KEMBLE, and who had great confidence in the force of his influence with him, waited upon Mr. KEMBLE at his residence in Great Russel-street. He was shown into the library, and was most cordially received: 'My dear TOM, to what am I indebted for the favor of this visit?' 'My dear Sir, I come a humble suppliant to you, and I really don't know how to commence.' 'Well, well; make excuses for your modesty: and then, my good friend, come to the point.' The commencement was auspicious; but the first plunge in a cold-bath is always hard to take. 'I assure you, Mr. KEMBLE, I feel most grateful for your kind reception; and if I could only hope the favor I am going to ask----' 'Pooh! pooh! you know, Tom, I always told you, from a boy, there was nothing you could ask of me that I would refuse you. Now say what it is you wish; consider it as done; and I really am very much occupied; so, to the point, to the point, TOM.' 'Oh, Sir, you have made me the happiest person in the world. Will you be kind enough to sit to Mr. HARLOWE for your portrait?' In an instant a deep cloud passed over the noble countenance of the great actor; and deliberately taking up his snuff-box, he applied a large pinch to his nose, and quickly replied: 'My dear TOM I'll see you d--d first!' Notwithstanding his denial, however, the Cardinal is one of the best portraits, and was caught only by occasional glances from the orchestra, during Mr. KEMBLE'S performance.'

At Edinburgh, Mr. ABBOTT would seem to have attained great popularity. He mingled in the best circles of the Northern metropolis, and was for some days a guest of Sir WALTER SCOTT. He narrates many pleasant anecdotes connected with his engagements in 'Auld Reekie;' and among them is the following, which is capital: