effects,--all the appertainings that the author has reckoned upon to work out his idea. ---- mentioned the dagger soliloquy in Macbeth, as an instance which would admit of being executed after his idea; saying, that that, well read by any person in a drawing-room, would have all the effect necessary or desirable. I remember hearing my aunt Siddons read the scenes of the witches in Macbeth; and, while doing so, was obliged to cover my eyes, that her velvet gown, modern cap, and spectacles might not disturb the wild and sublime images that her magnificent voice and recitation were conjuring up around me. If a man professes to tell you a story, no matter what,--say the story of Romeo and Juliet,--and sits in a modern drawing-room, in modern costume, it matters not,--_he_ is no part of his story,--you do not connect him with his narrative,--his appearance in no way clashes with your train of thought,--you are not thinking of him, but of the people he is talking about. But if a man in a modern drawing-room, and in modern costume, were to get up, and begin reciting the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet, I think the case would be altered. However, never having heard such a proposal before, I had not thought much about it, and only felt a little stunned at the idea of Shakspeare's _histories_ being broken into fragments.[100] _Thursday._ At a little after ten, ---- came to take us to see the savages. We drove down, D----, my father, he, and I, to their hotel. We found, even at that early hour, the portico, passage, and staircase, thronged with gazers upon the same errand as ourselves. We made our way, at length, into the presence-chamber; a little narrow dark room, with all the windows shut, crowded with people, come to stare at their fellow wild beasts. Upon a sofa sat Black Hawk, a diminutive shrivelled-looking old man, with an appearance of much activity in his shrunk limbs, and a calmness and dignified self-composure in his manner, which, in spite of his want of size and comeliness, was very striking. Next to him sat a young man, the adopted son of his brother the prophet, whose height and breadth, and peculiar gravity of face and deportment, were those of a man nearly forty, whereas he is little more than half that age. The undisturbed seriousness of his countenance was explained to me by _their keeper_, thus: he had, it seems, the day before, indulged rather too freely in the delights of champagne, and was suffering just retribution in the shape of a headach,--unjust retribution, I should say, for in his savage experience no such sweet bright poison had ever before been recorded, _I guess_, by the after pain it causes. Next to him sat Black Hawk's son, a noble big young creature, like a fine Newfoundland puppy, with a handsome scornful face, which yet exhibited more familiarity and good-humoured amusement at what was going on than any of the rest. His hair was powdered on the top, and round the ears, with a bright