And though for me those tears shall flow no more, And the warm sunshine of your smile is o’er; Though the bright beams are fading fast away That shone unclouded through my summer day; Yet grateful memory shall reflect their light O’er the dim shadows of the coming night, And lend to later life a softer tone, A moonlight tint—a lustre of her own. Judges and Friends! to whom the magic strain Of nature’s feeling never spoke in vain, Perhaps your hearts, when years have glided by, And past emotions wake a fleeting sigh, May think on her whose lips have poured so long The charm’d sorrows of your Shakespeare’s song: On her, who, parting to return no more, Is now the mourner she but seemed before; Herself subdued, resigns the melting spell, And breathes, with swelling heart, her long, Her last Farewell. As she reached the end, all stage exigency and restraint was forgotten, her voice was broken by real sobs. As soon as the hush of emotion had passed, the audience seemed suddenly to awake to the fact that it really was the last time they would ever see the marvellous actress, whom at one time they had almost idolised. Not satisfied with their usual method of expressing their feelings, they stood upon the seats, and cheered her, waving their hats for several minutes. It appeared to be the wish of the majority of the audience that the play should conclude with this scene, the curtain was therefore dropped; but Kemble came forward, and announced that, if it was the wish of the house, the play should proceed. The audience was divided, and the farce of _The Spoilt Child_ began, amidst loud acclamation from one side and disappointment from the other. This continued during the whole of the first act, with constant cries of “The fifth act! the fifth act!” It was found impossible to allay popular excitement; the house was all noise and confusion, and the voices on the stage were totally inaudible. The curtain was, therefore, again dropped; and the audience, shortly after, quietly dispersed.