414 COVENT-OAIWEN. Monday night being tiNed fur Mrs. c tDDONS . S Bengt, and last appearance on the stage, the eagerness of the Public to witness the Farewell re.forinance of this justly celebrated Actress, was so g: eat, that a considerable crowd had as sembled at the doors of this The,rtre before five o'clock At half-pi:Et six the house was completely filled; the pit was particularly crowded. The F lay of the evening wa; " :\ia:beth " When Mis. SIDDONS came forward, in Lady A 1 acbet t, loud applause lung thronghoArt the house. The reflection that these, as $ .s.o.lcoine to her, Wei e never to be heard again, seemed to depress her spirits not a little in the thst scene. She, how ever, soon recovered herself, and, t 1 , , ou.);11 at times sensibly touched by the farewell raptures of the audience, went through the arduous part she had to sustain with all her Avowed ability, and clu=ed her splend•d career with a dis •plav of histtionic excellence, of which, we fear, it may be truly said— " You oe'er opon its lihe agim." At the close of the last scene in which Lady .31 acticth ap rears, the thunders of the applauding audience were conti nue.' so long that it was understood to be their wish that the Play should not go on. After about twenty minutes ~llts. SIDDONS came forward, and spoke the following Ad (dress, written for the occasion by Mr. I io it AC E TWISS : Who has nut telt, how growing use er.den:s The fond remembratiee of o ur forme; .) o ars Who has n',t wl.en doom'd to leave at last The hopes of youth, the habits of die past, The thousand ties and interests, twat impart A second nature to the human heart, And wreathing sound it close, like tendrils, climb, Bloondog in age, and sanctified by time ? Yes ! at this-inomeot crowd upon my mind Scenes of bright days for ever !c I't behind, Jiewilderivg visions of enraptured youth, "When hope and fancy wore the hues of truth, And long-forgotten years, that alimr•l seem The fasted traces of a morning drram ! Sweet are Loose mournful thoughts : for they renew The pleasing sense of all I owe to you, Fot each inspiring smile, ro.d s , ualiing tear ror those full honours of my long career, That cheer'd toy earliest hope. and chased my latest fear ! And t It nigh, for me, those tears shall flow no more, And the warm sunshine of 'our smile is 11 er,— Tlson4h the blight beintis arc fading fast away, That shone uncloudet: through my summer-day,— Ye t grateful Meolory shall reflect their light O'er dot don shadows of the, coming night, And loud to later hie a softer (one, A moonlight tint, a lustre of her own. Judgos and Friends! to whom the tragic strain Of N. nine's feeling never spoke in vain, Perhaps your hearts, when years have glided by, . And past emotions walse a fleeting sigh, May thi:,k on her, wit se lips have putted so lon- , Toe charmed sorrows of your Sn iP A ILL'S 5011 g On her, who, parting to return no more, Is now the mourner she bid scon'a before— . Ilerse4 subdued, resigns the melting spell, And hreailies, with swelling heart, her 1 ug, her last farewell ! Mrs. Stronotis was so much affected, that she was more' than once inaudible. W hen the Address was concluded, the applause of the audience were renewed, and continued till she left the stage—for ever. Mrs SIDDON:I first appeared in the Theatre Royal, Drury lane, in 1775, wader an engagement made with Mr. SID . DONS, at Cheltet rham, that summer, for Mr. GARRICK. Her *.• salary was 61. pc i• week, and that of Mr. SIDDONS 40s. Her s• appearance Wel in Portia, in the Merchant of Venice, a THE NATIONAL REGISTER. character not hest suited to her powers; and afterwards she made a mole unfortunate attempt in comedy, in Mrs. Cow. LEY'S Runaray ; soon after which her admirers had the mortificativn to see her descend at the close of the season, to personate the walking Venus in the revived pageant of the Jubilee. She removed to the Bath Theatre in 1776, and as is well known, returned a few years afterwards to relurnine me London 'theatre, with a splendour of talents which con. tinned with undiminished lustre to the present hour. LYCLU M THEATRE. THE HIGHGATE TUNNEL. Whilst Covent Garden, tich in means and localities, d 4. plays its wealth in costly and magnificent spe(stacle, th e humble Lyceum. finding imitation impossible, with a con. fined stage and limited resources, turns from the grapes as though they were sour, and attempts to make us laugh st the extravagance of its towering neighbour. From this it might be inferred, by a stranger to the follies and vice s o f this town, that the social world is grown too wise and too virtuous, to of id any tbod for di ainatic ridicule or cen. sure. " The stage., instituted as a court of taste and mo rality, to correct and punish those deviations from right aid sense which tie law cannot reach, is now" he might sas, " at war with itself alone. It has, probably, changed its destination, only because it bad accotnplished the object sf its institution ; and after completely refoi ming the age, has at last, turned its severity against itself; just as the strength of an army, when no longer employed against the commons enemy, is frequently wasted by hll% idual quarrels." A glance at men and manners, however, will soon dispel the pleasing delusion, and their impeccability will not long be inferred from their impunity. It is not our wish to shelter the melo-dramatic Muse front the attacks of criticism, v to prevent the Managers of a certain Theatre from being pulled down from their hobbies The former is a courtesan, decked in the gayest attire, who fills the stage with her illegitimate progeny : the latter are keen speculators, wbo hratify the eyes, careless of the minds, to empty the pockets of crowded audiences. But the charms and offspring of the Muse, as pet ishable as the purchased bloom on the cheeks of our fashionable Belles only dazzle for a short hour, and create disgust the next. They are not, therefore, so dangerous as to require the ar tillery of the Stage itself for their expulsion. The most effectual mode of annihilating their sway, is abstinence, not attack. Let the conductors of the Lyceum, if they arc so inveterate against melo-dramas, never admit them on the!t own hoards, and they will do more to purify the public taste and reform the stage than by producing burlesque satite , however excellent they may be, on the conduct of the mass agers of other theatres The Highgate Tunnel, or the Secret Arch, a burlesque operatic tragedy, represented for the first time last Thursday at this Theatre, is a pretty close transcript of the Scent 31inii le , a grand horse drama, performed at Covent Garden. 1 country, rank and dress of the characters tire changed: the scenery also is altered, but the main features of the plot are the same. Instead of Indian and Per sian warriors, we m e English publicans, miners and brick la y ers : instead of the barren rocks of the desert, II ighgate h ill ; basket horses inn, of the elegant, spirited and well instr ucted Arabian conicru ; blown that bl adde bu rs, riies nl i b e o u th o f t iii)ieenceasnodf honesar ti ll d , u an n d g a t a e va b l a a tti c e : of instead of the magnificent scene which the close of the of thei r Mine presents. Alarmed at the progress of the Ti S1 :: :: ' which threatens, when completed, to deprive them custom, the Highgate publicans assemble under the Co D11.4.11.4T1C REGIS ER . JULY s. L. J un oral