per se, and might be said to have "heart and soul" in his vocation; although it was believed that for many years past Mammon led him on; still it is certain, independent of any other guide than his own fancy, he followed his art con amore.

Every play-goer of his time must have seen Mr. Munden perform Obadiah, in the "Committee " or "Honest Thieves," (if not, they are now to be pitied) and who of those has not a recollection also of the incomparable Johnstone, ("Irish Johnstone") in "Teague," picturesquely draped in his blanket, and pouring forth his exquisite humour and mellifluous brogue, in equal measure?

One night in that particular scene, wherein Teague plies the old hypocrite Obadiah with wine, when it is customary to use a black quart bottle, and to pour from its neck the contents down the throat of the actor, in spite of his repeated resistance and declaration of "No more, Mr. Teague." On this night Mr. Munden's struggles against the re-administration of the doses were found to be unusually vigorous, and therefore more exciting to the administrator. Nevertheless, Obadiah gulped the liquid down at each application of it, under which operation his contortions of face were so extremely grotesque and so irresistibly comical, that even Johnstone while he forced upon him the contents of the bottle to the last drop, was convulsed at his brother comedian's extra-drollery, and the audience absolutely screamed with laughter. At length, the scene

ended, Obadiah was borne off the stage in the usual state of non-resistance allied to wine-deadened faculties. But the moment Mr. Munden found himself out of sight and hearing of the audience, he sprung upon his legs, and broke out into the most passionate exclamations of disgust and anger--crying out to the astonishment of every body--with the addition of certain expletives which may not be repeated

"I'm a dead man! send for a stomach pump! It's all over with me! If I die, I'll hang the rascal that did it!-I'm poisoned! Murder! murder! I'm destroyed! - where's the villain that filled that bottle?-I'll hang him!-Oh! I'm a dead man! &c. &c." During these and similar ravings he tried to clear his palate from the flavour of the "leprous distilment" to which he alluded-but in vain, and he continued to stamp and rave-half in anger, half in suffering, till at last, pressed by all around him for some solution of the mystery, he cried out in an agony of disgust, pointing to the empty bottle still in Johnstone's hand,-" Lamp oil, Lamp oil-every drop of it!"

The poor functionary of the " Property-Room," had, indeed, in his haste to deliver this "Property," mistaken a similar looking bottle, which was halffilled with the rankest lamp oil, for the demi-bouteille prepared for the scene in which sherry and water was usually employed, to drench the unlucky actor!

The poor fellow was "

very sorry for his mistake,"

but what was his sorrow to Mr. Munden's sufferings? what atonement to a "dead man" who was determined upon seeing his "murderer" hanged as soon as all was over with himself? Again Munden stamped and swore he "must die," and indeed, at length staggered exhausted into the green-room, and threw himself upon the sofa, heart-sick and overcome with faintness. It must really have been a draught that only a Russian boor could have forgiven, and poor Mr. Munden was piteously affected with the nauseous flavour which would be remembered spite of any other liquid, with which his friends endeavoured to stifle the recollection.

When the sufferer had in some degree recovered from the nausea the accident caused, Mr. Johnstone marvelled why Munden should have allowed him, after his first taste, to pour the whole of the disgusting liquid down his throat. "It would," Johnstone said, "have been easy to have rejected, or opposed a repetition of it, by hinting the mistake to him." Mr. Munden's reply-by gasps-was as

follows

"My dear boy,-I was about to do so,-but there was such a glorious roar at the first face I made upon swallowing it, that I hadn't the heart to spoil the scene, by interrupting the effect, though I thought I should die every time you poured the accursed stuff down my throat

'A Roman, with a Roman-heart, can suffer!'"

This was truly the "ruling passion, strong in death."

Yield, ye Romans, yield, ye Greeks! Here was a hero, before whom you must hide your diminished heads!

SOWERBY.

MR. SOWERBY was a very eccentric person, and by some people considered in the light of

"A brain-struck man

Of wond'rous parts, but wild enthusiasm."

He was, no doubt, possessed of genius for the art in which he yearned to excel. But nature had refused to favour his face and figure for the personations of the poetic drama-he could neither look nor move the hero of tragedy-his features were incapable of any other than a harsh and scornful expression-his limbs short and ungraceful-his voice unmusical and monotonous, and his action very often grotesque-yet had he a cultivated mind and a correct understanding of his text-and might have made a successful actor in a certain line, had he exhibited fewer eccentricities of person and manner. Notwithstanding these defects, he made his debût suc

cessfully in a new drama, at the Haymarket, and sustained his position in it during the run of the piece. Many have been the amusing relations rife about Mr. Sowerby (who sometimes practised in the provinces, under the name of Seaton) both on and off the stage, some of which, I believe, have been in print, but I'm not aware that the following have appeared.

Performing Othello one evening in Manchester, his outré style and ungraciating manners, not hitting the taste of that audience (lauded by most London actors as one of the most judicious out of the metropolis), disapprobation was expressed in the usual manner and was received by Sowerby with a marked though silent contempt, evinced by a low bow. After which, deliberately seating himself in a large velvet-chair, which happened to be upon the stage, with a scornful smile at his reprovers, he appeared as if patiently awaiting the termination of their displeasure. His meaning was sufficiently palpable "to the meanest capacity" and as a "British audience" can ill bear the retort its severity and occasional injustice sometimes provokes, the condemned actor's mode of receiving their hisses was repaid by off, off! from all parts of the house —which, continuing for some minutes, gave the sedentary offender pause to think, and feeling his incapability of making himself heard at that moment by any verbal appeal, he at length resorted to action, which, in some cases, is best eloquence.