racter is finely portrayed in it; she excels to admiration in deep
tragedy. In Mrs. Beverly, in the play of the 'Gamesters' a few nights
ago, she so arrested the attention of the house that you might hear your
watch tick in your fob, and, at the close of the play, when she utters an
hysteric laugh for joy that her husband was not a murderer, there were
different ladies in the boxes who actually went into hysterics and were
obliged to be carried out of the theatre. This I think is proof of good
acting. Mrs. Siddons is a woman of irreproachable character and moves in
the first circles; the stage will never again see her equal.

"You mustn't think because I praise the acting that I am partial to
theatres. I think in a certain degree they are harmless, but, too much
attended, they dissipate the mind. There is no danger of my loving them
too much; I like to go once in awhile after studying hard all day.

"Last night, as I was passing through Tottenham Court Road, I saw a large
collection of people of the lower class making a most terrible noise by
beating on something of the sounding genus. Upon going nearer and
enquiring the cause, I found that a butcher had just been married, and
that it is always the custom on such occasions for his brethren by trade
to serenade the couple with _marrow-bones_ and _cleavers_. Perhaps you
have heard of the phrase 'musical as marrow-bones and cleavers'; this is
the origin of it. If you wish to experience the sound let each one in the
family take a pair of tongs and a shovel, and then, standing all
together, let each one try to outdo the other in noise, and this will
give you some idea of it. How this custom originated I don't know. I hope
it is not symbolical of the _harmony_ which is to exist between the
parties married."

Among those eminent Englishmen to whom young Morse had letters of
introduction was Zachary Macaulay, editor of the "Christian Observer,"
and father of the historian. The following note from him will be found of
a delightful old-time flavor:--

Mr. Macaulay presents his compliments to Mr. Morse and begs to express
his regret at not having yet been so fortunate as to meet with him. Mr.
Macaulay will be particularly happy if it should suit Mr. Morse to dine
with him at his house at Clapham on Saturday next at five o'clock. Mr.
M.'s house is five doors beyond the Plough at the entrance of Clapham
Common. A coach goes daily to Clapham from the Ship at Charing Cross at a
qua