HUNTING the tiger is one of the favourite diversions of the Guanches, a native tribe of Paraguay, distinguished by their singular courage and activity. The deserts they inhabit are much infested by wild beasts, among which the tiger holds the first place; but he has a formidable enemy in the Guanche, who with his lazo, a long rope with a noose, never fails to overcome him. The Guanches are very fond of riding, and pique themselves on their skill in breaking in their steed. The plains through which they wander contain an immense quantity of horses and wild mules. Mounted on their well-trained coursers, the Guanches dart on a troop of wild horses, the lazo is thrown, and one is caught. The Guanche, who now dismounts, whirls another lazo round his captive, who becomes completely entangled: then, without stirrups or bridle, and merely with spurs and words of command, the Guanche masters the impatient animal, which paws the ground, and darts away with the rapidity of lightning.. Indignant at his burden he stops, prances and rolls in the dust, and the VOL. I.

He

At

Guanche rolls along with him. then darts off again, and, in order to terrify, his adversary, who still keeps. his seat, traverses rocks, clears precipices, and swims the streams. length, worn out with fatigue, he falls and submits to the bridle. But it is not enough that the horse becomes obedient and transports his master from one country to another, he must also brave the same dangers with him, and second him in his boldest attacks, even on the tiger, at the mere sight of which almost every animal takes to flight. To the horse, in his wild state, the appearance of the tiger is peculiarly terrific; yet this noble animal is here brought to look his foe in the face, and not to run away until a certain signal is given.

When the Guanche goes to hunt the tiger, he does not take the smallest supply of provisions, although he traverses immense barren plains, which produce nothing but a few stalks that serve for the nourishment of cattle.

When the Guanche is hungry he seeks after a herd of wild horses, catches one of them with his lazo, and, X

4

throwing the animal down, cuts off a piece of his flesh with a knife, and restores him to liberty. He quenches his thirst at a spring, and then begins his chase after wild beasts. The hoarse roar of the tiger soon informs him of his prey; he spurs his horse forward towards the monster he intends for a victim; when he meets with him he stands, and then a terrible combat en

sues.

Of the manner in which the Guanche hunts the tiger, our engraving presents a most correct and spirited representation, from a drawing by Mr. Arago, who accompanied Captain Freycinet in his circumnavigation of the globe; and to the same author we are indebted for the following interesting account of the tiger combat:" It is not (says M. Arago, in his valuable "Narrative" just published) force but skill which conquers. The Guanche whirls his lazo; he speaks, he calls aloud, he is ready for his enemy-his terrible enemy, who, with his belly almost touching the ground, is astonished to see any being awaiting his approach, and provoking him his eyes roll furiously, he opens his vast jaws, still red with the blood of his last victim, and indignant at finding an opponent, he seeks with his eye for the place on which he intends to spring. The Guanche is all the time fierce, prudent, and tranquil, governing his astonished but obedient courser with his feet; he makes him retreat without turning his face from the tiger, who follows him step by step, watch ing for a false movement. The Guanche knows this; he therefore makes his horse rear up; the tiger darts forward, and is caught; the horse springs away on his hind legs with all his power, dragging the ferocious beast after him. The Guanche sometimes turns round, and if his lazo has only caught the neck of the tiger, he flings a second, which binds the legs, and he is now conqueror. He now dismounts, arms himself with the two knives which he carries in his boots, and sacrifices his victim. Having finished his day's work, he returns to Monte Video, sells the skin of the animal he has killed, caresses his horse, and hastens to seek new dangers.

"If, in the combat with the tiger, it happens that the lazo has missed, which is very seldom the case, the Guanche arms himself with his two knives, and defends himself very courageously. The horse sees the danger of his master, and instead of gallopping over, presents his own chest to the enemy. His

blood flows, but his courage never for one minute fails him-he knows that his master will not forsake him. If the tiger, exhausted by fatigue, allows the horseman a single moment's respite, it is all over with him: the lazo, which is always ready at the saddle, is again laid hold of; and for a Guanche twice to miss his aim, is almost unexampled."

BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR OF MR. KEMBLE.

The progress of an actor of talent, from his rise to his setting, is a fine exemplification of the truth of Shakspeare's observation; that,

"All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely

players."

The course of an actor in the public estimation, strikingly resembles the transit across existence of the character which he represents; and if his transitions on the stage are from grave to gay, from lively to severe,' they are but resemblances of the chequered course of real life.

66

A gentleman, who for a long course of years held a distinguished rank on the stage, and was much respected in private life, has just “shuffled off this mortal coil," and passed to that “undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns."

John Philip Kemble, whose death took place somewhat suddenly at Lausanne, in Switzerland, on the 26th ult. was born at Prescot, in Lancashire, on the 1st of February, 1757. Like many other eminent actors, he may be said to have been cradled on the stage. At the time of his birth, his father, Mr. Roger Kemble was manager of a company of comedians, who had a regular routine of perform. ances in Lancashire, and some of the neighbouring counties. And we learn from a play-bill of that time, that when Kemble was only ten years old, he played in his father's company, at Worcester, the part of the Duke of York, in the tragedy of King Charles the First. The early part of his education he received in the Roman Catho lic Seminary at Sedgley Park, Staffordshire. He was afterwards, in the year 1770, sent by his father to the College of Douay, in order that he might be qualified for one of the learned professions. Nature, however, had obviously 66 picked and chosen" him from the world for a peculiar destination. Even at Douay, he had rendered himself remarkable by his recitations of Shak speare; and on his return to England,

he made his appearance at Wolverbampton, in the character of Theodosius, in The Force of Love, without any extraordinary success. His second appearance was in Bajazet, in which he produced a stronger impression. The provincial life of an actor presents little besides anxiety, toil, and uncertainty. Of these, Mr. Kemble was not without his share. He has often related to his friends the vexation he felt at continued neglect, while men of stronger lungs, and more boisterous action, were honoured with attention and applause. At York, he distinguish ed himself by recitations, and at Edinburgh, by delivering an able lecture on sacred and profane oratory. It was, however, a Dublin audience which first appreciated his merits. In 1782, he appeared in that city in the character of Hamlet, and in 1783, came out in the same character at Drury-lane Theatre. His reputation was immediately established; but it was not until the year 1788, that he became the monarch of the stage. In 1787, he married Mrs. Brereton, daughter of Mr. Hopkius, the prompter of Drury-lane Theatre.

This event, which Mr. Kemble, we believe, never for a moment regretted, was accelerated by a singular circumstance. The daughter of a nobleman is said to have discovered a strong pas sion for Mr. Kemble, which induced the father to send to him, and after stating the circumstance, he observed, that effectual means were taken to prevent an union between Mr. Kemble and his daughter, should they mutually wish it. He then proposed to Mr. K. that If he would relieve him from the duty of being a sentinel over his daughter, by marrying some other lady, he would present him with 4,000. but that it must be done within a fortnight. Mr. Kemble consented, and married Mrs. Brereton; but it is said, the Noble Lord did not keep his promise, and that Mr. Kemble never received a shilling from him.

In 1788, Mr. Kemble became manager of Drury-lane Theatre, in which situation he continued, with the exception of a short interval, until the year 1801.

During this period, his conduct in that arduous situation was remarkable for firmness, diligence, integrity, and talent. His single energy accomplished a complete reform in the whole system of scenic dress and decoration. Macbeth no longer sported an English General's uniform; men of centuries ago no longer figured in the stiff court dresses of our own time; and

"Cato's full wig, flowered gown'

and lackered chair,"

gave way to the crop, the toga, and couch. Nor were the improvements in the scenery less remarkable and important. The consequence was an ensemble such as had never before been seen in any modern theatre. At the close of the season of 1801, he devoted a year to travelling abroad, and on his return in 1803, he purchased a sixth share of Covent-Garden Theatre, became manager, and appeared for the first time on those boards in his favourite character of Hamlet, on the 24th of September. Here he continued his career with eminent success, both as a manager and a performer, until 1808, when the tremendous fire broke out which destroyed the theatre.

From this period until the year 1817, Mr. Kemble continued to be the pride and ornament of the British stage. In the month of March in that year, he took leave of the Edinburgh audience; and on the 23d of June, in the same year, he finally retired from the stage. A magnificent public dinner was given to him on the 27th of June, at which Lord Holland presided, when he was presented with a piece of plate, bearing the following inscription:

"To John Philip Kemble, on his retiring from the stage, of which, for 36 years he has been the ornament and pride, which to his learning, taste, and genius, was indebted for its present state of refinement, and which, under his auspices, consecrated to the sup port of the legitimate drama, and more particularly to the glory of Shakspeare, attained to a degree of splendour and prosperity before unknown. This Vase, from a numerous body of his admirers, as a mark of their gratitude and respect, was presented by the hands of their Chairman, on the 27th of June, 1817."

Of Mr. Kemble's talents as an actor it is unnecessary to enlarge, since they must be well known to most of our play-going readers: we may, however, observe, that the impressions he produced were the most vivid and the most pleasing, and that there has seldom lived an actor who left behind him recollections more elevated and poetic than John Philip Kemble. His talents ranged over a large field in the drama, and yet, extensive as the list of his characters was, they were not sufficient for his ambition; and he once had it in contemplation to play Macheath, in the Beggars' Opera. Το prepare him for this task, he got Incle

head,

Those bursts of Reason's half-extinguish'd glare,

Those tears upon Cordelia's bosom shed,

The histrionic merits of Mr. Kemble are so well estimated in the Ode written by the poet Campbell, the elegant author of the Pleasures of Hope, and presented to him at the farewell

dinner to which we have alluded, that we insert it in the Mirror. The Ode was recited at the dinner by Mr. Young, and is as follows:

Pride of the British Stage

A long and last adieu!
Whose image brought th' heroic age
Reviv'd to Fancy's view.

Like fields refresh'd with dewy light,
When the sun smiles his last,
Thy parting presence makes more bright
Our memory of the past.
And memory conjures feelings up,
That wine or music need not swell,
As high we lift the festal cup,

To" Kemble, Fare thee well."
His was the spell o'er hearts,

Which only acting lendsThe youngest of the Sister Arts, Where all their beauty blends. For ill can Poetry express Full many a tone of thought sublime: And Painting, mute and motionless,

Steals but one glance from Time. But, by the mighty Actor brought, Illusion's wedded triumphs comeVerse ceases to be airy thought, And Sculpture to be dumb. Time may again revive,

But ne'er efface the charm ; When Cato spoke in him alive, Or Hotspur kindled warm. What soul was not resign'd entire

To the deep sorrows of the Moor? What English heart was not on fire, With him at Agincourt? And yet a majesty possess'd

His transports most impetuous tone, And to each passion of his breast The Graces gave their zone. High were the task-too high, Ye conscious bosoms here, In words to paint your memory Of Kemble and of Lear,

In doubt more touching than despair?

If 'twas reality he felt

Had Shakspeare's self amidst you been,

Friends, he had seen you melt,

And triumph'd to have seen! And there was many an hour

Of blended kindred fame, When Siddons's auxiliar power, And Sister Magic came.

Together at the Muse's side

Her tragic paragons had grownThey were the children of her pride, The columns of her throne.

And undivided favour ran

From heart to heart in their ap plause

Save for the gallantry of Man,

In lovelier Woman's cause.

Fair as some classic dome,

Robust and richly grac'd,
Your Kemble's spirit was the home
of Genius and of Taste-
Taste, like the silent dial's power,
That when supernal light is given,
Can measure inspiration's hour,
And tell its height in Heaven.

At once ennobled and correct,
His mind survey'd the Tragic page,
And what the Actor could effect,

The Scholar could presage.

These were his traits of worth-
And must we lose them now?
And shall the scene no more shew forth
His sternly pleasing brow?

Alas! the moral brings a tear-
'Tis all a transient hour below,
And we that would detain thee here,
Ourselves as fleetly go.

Yet shall our latest age

This parting scene review-
Pride of the British Stage
A long and last adieu!

Mr. Kemble was the author of seve ral dramatic pieces, and adapted several others for the stage, but they are not likely to add materially to his fame, though they contain decisive evidence of his learning and good taste. We shall now close this memoir of Mr. Kemble by presenting our readers

with a correct fae-simile of his handwriting.

18hamble

BANKERIANA.

A PUNNING INVITATION TO DINNER IN

If

THE COUNTRY.

Lombard-street, Feb. 1823.

you will give me your company at Cash Hall next Tuesday, I promise that you shall meet two of the greatest Raikes in London; but you must grant me your Bond not to get Mello, for the thaw has rendered the Brooks dan

gerous, and the melted Snow has so filled the holes, that you may, before you can say "Jack_Robinson," find yourself Down in a Pitt much Fuller than you like. Your safest way will be to come by the Mills (leaving the Ridge on your left), and along the Brooksbank; and as you are a great Walker, just Call in at the Wells, as you pass through the Greenwood, and inquire for one of the Hoares (I strong ly suspect there is a Child in that neighbourhood): this will not be Farr out of your road, if you afterwards cross the Marsh at the Smith's shop, about fifty yards beyond the Drummond Arms. You may bring her with you; but pray don't let it be said you Forster: it will give me Payne if you do any thing which is not Wright. Recollect, she is my Ward, therefore don't be too Free, but look Sharpe, and come whistling "o'er the Lee;" for Mrs. Jones, my cook, will lose her temper if the Frys are spoilt. Although my Chambers are small, you shall have the famous Curries I told you of, and Goslings roasted à la Curtis, which the Alderman says are not worth a Grote without Burgess's sauce. Then to follow, a couple of Cocks (which, by-the-bye, are now at a great Price), with Maldon Salt; and, though last not least, a Yorkshire pie from Halifax. A few Pares from Heygate is the only dessert I have to offer you at this season; but I forgot to mention that you may have your choice of Barclays or Hanburys after your cheese, as I always take care to have plenty of Maltby. You can dress at the Hall, for there's a Taylor and a Barber close at hand, and my Clarke, who will be there, can fetch them; for Rogers' still lame from the kick

he got from the famous Trotter I bought at Dixons. Poor fellow, how fervently he Praed his limb might be spared. Surgeon Perring has been most kind and attentive: I shall always recommend him when Everett is in my power. There's not a Whitmore business doing than when you were in town. Accounts of the expedition to the N. Pole are hourly expected at Lloyd's. Although I think you are not much of a Gillman, I am sure you are Towgood to refuse an extra Gill to its success. I would Fane hope so; for my own part, I would gladly ride to the tenth mile Stone on the Barnett road, in this dirty weather, in 29 minutes by Arnold's chronometer, to the utter discomfiture of Martin's blacking, to hear good tidings from it. So you see Farquhar was the successful Chapman for Fonthill; but its said, I know not with what truth, that both buyer and seller are so rich, that its only like taking out of Peter's purse to put it into that of Paul. The Wiltshire folks think Mr. Newcombe might have been satisfied to remain in London like a good at all surprising that wealthy men Denison; but, in my opinion, it is not should grasp at Morland and Attwoods when they Selby auction-especially if they Wentworth the money. I remain always your's most truly, DISCOUNT.

"