1832.] The Two Professors. 517 



any rate, and to take every advantage of the impunity with which his rank 

 as a king invests him. The Constable De Bourbon is not much better. 

 No one can possibly take any interest in such a being. A blustering 

 headstrong fool, whom Miss Kemble is willing to believe a very tine 

 fellow. The Queen Mother is a coarse old woman, evidently fond of a 

 private dram, and addicted to swearing, and other violent excitement. 

 As for the monk Gonzales, we have had the pleasure of meeting him 

 before, many times, years ago, when we were a boy, at private corri- 

 dors, and in the subterranean dungeon. He looks as well and mysterious 

 as ever, and that is all we can say of him. And the young ladies ? they 

 are made to the usual pattern of modern historical novel and intensely 

 interesting fiction ; but resemble nothing on earth so much as certain little 

 paper ladies, which we have seen in the delighted possession of children ; 

 as stiff as starch can make them at one moment, and anon, by the warmth 

 of the hand, made to assume contorted shapes, and to undergo grotesque 

 evolutions. 



There has been much and attentive study of Shakspeare on the part of 

 Miss Kemble. Now, had she but given us a little of his spirit, we should 

 have been grateful indeed j but when she only presents us with a button 

 taken from his doublet, or a point not very dexterously purloined from 

 his hose, we feel ourselves rather in the mood of complaint than with 

 much desire to extol. 



A man under the influence of such loveliness as Miss Kemble describes 

 in one or two passages, could not particularise each item of perfection 

 with the minute accuracy of an auctioneer. Shakspeare says 



" See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand," 



not " See how she leans her fair cheek upon her white hand," which is m 

 the spirit of Miss Kemble's description. 



And now we must enter our strong protest against the affectation of 

 employing old modes of expression and obsolete words, (her admirers call it 

 Shaksperian,) to which our fair young authoress seems especially prone. 

 Let us have no more swearing " By this light," " By this glad light," 

 ''By this living light," " By'r Lady," "By my fay," and so on, to very weari- 

 ness j it is far better to leave the line imperfect than to eke it out by 

 such means, And also, we could wish Miss Kemble to eschew the evil of 

 these ; " An she were fair," " An it were not," "Sith," " For the which," 

 " passing strange," " Trow," and many others. The following, also, are 

 old acquaintances, but no friends of ours : 



' He started back as though a serpent stung him." 



' Is like the sun-shine of a summer day." 



' And more in sorrow, as I believe, than anger." ' 



' It nods unto its ruin." 



' All pomp and circumstance." 



* The still small voice," &c. 



These are evidences of Miss Kemble's reading, but by no means proofs of 

 her original genius. 



We shall not dwell upon many passages written obviously with a perfect 

 recollection of the only great dramatic author whom, so far as we can 

 judge, Miss Kemble has hitherto studied ; nor is it necessary to point out 

 the scene from " Measure for Measure," which she has, not very well, 

 paraphrased. We shall hope that a contemplation of the works of that 

 wonderful man will impress our fair authoress with that humility which 



