of
skillfully elaborating his material is sufficiently evidenced, should
close abruptly just when the sources of its interest were becoming
wider and fuller.

But any loss from this cause of amusing anecdotes or graphic
descriptions of persons or scenes is more than made good by the far
higher value and stronger attraction of the book as the portraiture of
a striking character and a remarkable career. In this view the
_Diaries_ are not inferior in interest to the expanded narrative that
precedes them. Indeed, terse and concise as they generally are, they
have the advantage of presenting freshly and vividly the impressions
and reflections of the moment, and thus exhibiting the writer's mind
both in its habitual and exceptional states without reservation or
deliberate purpose. They do not, however, reveal any different image
from that which is presented in the autobiography: on the contrary,
they confirm the truthfulness and frank fidelity of the more conscious
self-delineation which is there attempted. There breathes, indeed,
through the whole book a tone of unaffected sincerity, the charm of
which cannot be overrated. Not only does every statement bear the
stamp of veracity, but there is an utter absence of artifice, of any
design, so to speak, upon the reader, which is as rare as it is
beautiful. Admiration and sympathy were needs of Macready's nature,
but he will have no jot of them beyond what he can fairly and
honorably claim. Least of all, will he exalt himself at the expense of
others. He pays no idle compliments, pours out no fulsome or insidious
eulogies, but he speaks of his rivals and his predecessors with the
warm appreciation of one who had felt the full influence of their
power, and who could never look on merit with an oblique eye. His
worship of Mrs. Siddons, as unparalleled in her genius, was life-long,
and his descriptions of her acting convey a more vivid idea of its
peculiar qualities and matchless effect than any others we can
remember to have read. Talma comes next in his regard as "the most
finished artist of his time, not below Kean in his most energetic
displays, and far above him in the refinement of his taste and the
extent of his research--equaling Kemble in dignity, unfettered by his
stiffness and formality." He says acutely of Kean that "when under the
impulse of his genius he seemed to _clutch_ the whole idea of the man,
... but if he missed the character in his first attempt at conceptio