Note 37 — JOURNAL. (continued 3)

Kean is gone—and with him are gone Othello, Shylock, and Richard. I have lived among those whose theatrical creed would not permit them to acknowledge him as a great actor; but they must be bigoted, indeed, who would deny that he was a great genius, a man of most original and striking powers, careless of art, perhaps because he did not need it; but possessing those rare gifts of nature, without which art alone is as a dead body. Who that ever heard will ever forget the beauty, the unutterable tenderness, of his reply to Desdemona's entreaties for Cassio, "Let him come when he will, I can deny thee nothing;" the deep despondency of his "Oh, now farewell;" the miserable anguish of his "Oh, Desdemona, away, away!" Who that ever saw will ever forget the fascination of his dying eyes in Richard, when, deprived of his sword, the wondrous power of his look seemed yet to avert the uplifted arm of Richmond. If he was irregular and unartistlike in his performances, so is Niagara, compared with the water-works of Versailles.