For me, I shall go down to the grave worshipping her still.
Of him whom I call Mr.Charles I have little to say.

John and I both smiled when we saw his fine, frank face and manly bearing subdued into that poor, whining, sentimental craven, the stage Macbeth.

Yet I believe he acted it well.

But we irresistibly associated his idea with that of turnip munching and hay-cart oratory.

And when, during the first colloquy of Banquo with the witches, Macbeth took the opportunity of winking privately at us over the foot-lights, all the paraphernalia of the stage failed to make the murderous Thane of Cawdor aught else than our humorous and good-natured Mr.Charles.