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JOHN PHILIP KEMBLE.

This celebrated tragedian, the most distinguished supporter of the legitimate drama, seen on the British stage since the days of Garrick, was born at Prescot, in Lancashire, in the year 1757, and from thence went to a Roman Catholic school at Sedgebury Park, Staffordshire. Removing to Douay College, even there he exhibited such a predilection for elocution and the dramatic art, that his friends no longer obstructed his views. On the 30th of September, 1783, he made his debut on the boards of Drury Lane, in the character of Hamlet; and was received with such rapturous applause, that he no longer doubted as to his future profession. From this moment he became the idol of the public, and was the best practical teacher of elocution they had ever heard. Retiring with his wife to Lausanne, in Switzerland, he there closed the few remaining years of his bright career, on the 26th of February, 1823. As an actor, he was distinguished by dignity, precision, and studious preparation; as a manager, by the exhibition of a refined and accurate taste in scenic decoration, and appropriate costume. His graceful manners, many accomplishments, and extensive reading, introduced him to the best and highest society, both in his native country and on the continent.

BY L. E. L.

OH! glorious triumph, thus to sway at will
All feelings in our nature; thus to work.
The springs of sympathy, the mines of thought,
And all the deep emotions of the heart.

To colour the fine paintings of the mind,

And bid them move and breathe. Our island bard,

He who flung human life upon his page,

How much he owes the actor! Kemble once

Made Hamlet, Cato, and the Noble Moor,

Our own familiar friends-they lived, they looked,
And left an actual image on the soul.

I would I could remember them, but he
Who looks yon pale and melancholy prince,
Was past before my time-yet still the stage
Is fancy's world of poetry to me—
For I have heard the pathos of the Moor
Tremble in broken music, when he bids
His last farewell to Venice, and implores
For charity and rest :-and I have wept
When the stern father slays his only child,
That he may keep her memory a thing
To shelter in his heart. Nor is she least
Amid these haunting shapes-that gentle wife,

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