drama-doating gentlemen whom
we have noticed above, who rarely, unless purposely inveigled into it,
mention the stage or those who tread it. One highly gifted individual,
when alive, enjoyed a discourse on the merits of Molyneux, the small
talk of the P.C., or a vivid description of an old-school fight;
another has a keen relish for all matters connected with the Great
St. Ledger--the state of the odds against the outside fillies for the
Oaks--the report of those deep versed in veterinary lore, upon the
cough of the favourite for the Derby; you cannot please a certain
excellent melo-dramatic actor better than by placing him alongside of
an enthusiastic young sailor, who will talk with him about maintops
and mizens--sky-scrapers and shrouds--

of gallant ships,
Proudly floating o'er the dark blue ocean.

The eternal theme of one old gentleman is his parrot, and another
chatters incessantly about his pupils. Some of the singers--the serious
order of singers--are as namby-pamby off the stage as they are on it,
unless revelling in "sweet sounds;" they are too fond of humming tunes,
solfaing, and rehearsing graces in society; they have plenty to sing,
but nothing to say for themselves; they chime the quarters like "our
grandmother's clock," and at every revolution of the minute index,
strike up their favourite tune. This is as bad as being half-smothered
in honey, or nearly

Washed to death in fulsome wine.

There is one actor on the stage who is ever attempting to show the
possibility of achieving impossibilities; he is one of the most pleasant
visionaries in existence; his spirit soars aloft from every-day matters,
and delights in shadowy mysteries; a matter-of-fact is a gorgon to him;
he abhors the palpable, and doats upon the occult and intangible; he
loves to speculate on the doings of those in the dogstar, to discuss on
immortal essences, to dispute with the disbeliever on gnomes--a paradox
will be the darling of his bosom for a month, and a good chimera be
his bedfellow by night and theme by day for a year. He is fickle, and
casts off his menial mistress at an hour's notice--his mind never weds
any of the strange, fantastic idealities, which he woos for a time so
passionately--deep disgust succeeds to the strongest attachment for
them--he is as great a rake among the wayward "rebusses of the brain"
which fall under his notice as that "wandering melodist--the bee of
Hybla"--with the