Let her try some of the characters in Bulwer's plays, which want
all her help to make them resemble women of any nation, kindred, or
country.
Much as I admire Kean, I always prefer the acting of Wallack; there is more
variety in the tones of his voice, for Kean tunes his pipes exactly as my
long-drummer sets his drum;--to one pitch: but as to action, Wallack--more
like my drummer--beats him hollow; he points his toes, stands a-kimbo,
takes off his hat, and puts it on again, quite as naturally as if he
belonged to the really legitimate drama, and was worked by strings cleverly
pulled to suit the action to _every_ word. Wallack is an honest performer;
_he_ don't impose upon you, like Webster, for instance, who as the
Apothecary, speaks with a hungry voice, walks with a tottering step, moves
with a helpless gait, which plainly shows that he never studied the
part--he must have starved for it. Where will this confounded naturalness
end?
The play is "got up," as we managers call it, capitally. The dresses are
superb, and so are the properties. The scenery exhibited views of different
parts of the city, and was, so far as I am a judge, well painted.
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