Going nearer, I found inscribed under this harlequin figure the following lines:-- "To paint fair Nature, by divine command Her magic pencil in his glowing hand, A Shakspeare rose; then, to expand his fame Wide o'er this breathing world, a Garrick came.
Though sunk in death the forms the Poet drew, The Actor's genius bade them breathe anew; Though, like the bard himself, in night they lay, Immortal Garrick called them back to day: And till Eternity with power sublime Shall mark the mortal hour of hoary Time, Shakspeare and Garrick like twin-stars shall shine, And earth irradiate with a beam divine." It would be an insult to my readers' understandings to attempt anything like a criticism on this farrago of false thoughts and nonsense.

But the reflection it led me into was a kind of wonder, how, from the days of the actor here celebrated to our own, it should have been the fashion to compliment every performer in his turn, that has had the luck to please the Town in any of the great characters of Shakspeare, with the notion of possessing a _mind congenial with the poet's_; how people should come thus unaccountably to confound the power of originating poetical images and conceptions with the faculty of being able to read or recite the same when put into words;[1]or what connection that absolute mastery over the heart and soul of man, which a great dramatic poet possesses, has with those low tricks upon the eye and ear, which a player, by observing a few general effects, which some common passion, as grief, anger, &c., usually has upon the gestures and exterior, can so easily compass.

To know the internal workings and movements of a great mind, of an Othello or a Hamlet for instance, the _when_ and the _why_ and the _how far_ they should be moved; to what pitch a passion is becoming; to give the reins and to pull in the curb exactly at the moment when the drawing in or the slackening is most graceful; seems to demand a reach of intellect of a vastly different extent from that which is employed upon the bare imitation of the signs of these passions in the countenance or gesture, which signs are usually observed to be most lively and emphatic in the weaker sort of minds, and which signs can after all but indicate some passion, as I said before, anger, or grief, generally; but of the motives and grounds of the passion, wherein it differs from the same passion in low and vulgar natures, of these the actor can give no more idea by his face or gesture than the eye (without a metaphor) can speak, or the muscles utter intelligible sounds.

But such is the instantaneous nature of the impressions which we take in at the eye and ear at a playhouse, compared with the slow apprehension oftentimes of the understanding in reading, that we are apt not only to sink the playwriter in the consideration which we pay to the actor, but even to identify in our minds, in a perverse manner, the actor with the character which he represents.

It is difficult for a frequent play-goer to disembarrass the idea of Hamlet from the person and voice of Mr.K.We speak of Lady Macbeth, while we are in reality thinking of Mrs.S.Nor is this confusion incidental alone to unlettered persons, who, not possessing the advantage of reading, are necessarily dependent upon the stage-player for all the pleasure which they can receive from the drama, and to whom the very idea of _what an author is_ cannot be made comprehensible without some pain and perplexity of mind: the error is one from which persons otherwise not meanly lettered, find it almost impossible to extricate themselves.
[Footnote 1: It is observable that we fall into this confusion only in dramatic recitations.