As there was nothing for Grimaldi to do at Covent Garden, in consequence of the early decease of "Puss in Boots," he accepted an overture from Mr. Brunton, who was the lessee of the Birmingham Theatre, for himself and his son, to act there for seven nights. It was the son's first provincial excursion, and the profits were somewhere about two hundred pounds. He took Worcester in his way on his return, and agreed, at the pressing request of Mr. Crisp, the manager, to stop and play there one night. He offered forty pounds down, or a fair division of the receipts. Grimaldi chose the former terms, acted Scaramouch to a very crowded house, sang several songs, and finished with a little pantomime in which he and his son were Clowns. He supped with the manager, who, at the conclusion of the meal, presented him with a fifty-pound note, saying, if he would accept that sum in lieu of the one agreed upon, it was heartily at his service, and he (the manager) would still be a great gainer by the transaction. This liberal treatment gave him a very favourable impression of the Worcester manager, whom he assured, that, should he ever be in that part of the country again, he would not fail to communicate with him. The next day, father and son both returned to town, when the former had the satisfaction of hearing that he had not been wanted at Covent Garden. He found several letters from provincial managers offering great terms; but as he was obliged to be in London at the opening of Covent Garden, and the theatres to which they related did not lie anywhere in his route from Edinburgh to Liverpool, he had no option but to decline these proposals. On the 23rd of June, in this year, John Kemble took his final leave of the stage, the entertainments being "Coriolanus," and "The Portrait of Cervantes." At the conclusion of the play, in which he had sustained the chief part with all his wonted dignity and grace, Kemble spoke a brief address, in which he took his farewell of the public, whom he had so long delighted. A white satin scarf with a wreath was thrown from the boxes, which falling short, lighted in the orchestra; upon which M. Talma, the French tragedian, who was sitting there, instantly rose from his seat and placed it on the stage, amidst thunders of applause.