s M. Philippe informs his audience--"Now I vill
show you a ver' vonderful trick. I vill put de tea into dis canister--I
vill put de sugar into dat; and I vill put de cream into dis leetle jug,
and den you shall see dat you shall have de excellent cup of tea vidout
any vater." And, by shaking first one canister and then another, out
comes some capital tea, as hot as if you had seen the kettle boiling. So
does the insinuating Iago, and says--"You shall see what you shall see.
I will make Othello jealous of Cassio--I will make Cassio drunk, and get
him into a quarrel on guard--and I will make him apply to Desdemona for
her interest with her husband on his behalf;" and, _presto!_ first one
scene, and then another--Othello gets jealous--Cassio gets drunk--and
Desdemona pleads most innocently for his forgiveness. It strikes me to
be letting an audience too much into the secret. I prefer such a scene
as that in which the Demon of the Blood-red Glen creates an effect by
springing over the foot-lights, and landing (quite unexpected by boxes,
pit, or gallery) on the back of the flying Arabian, completely
apparelled as the American Apollo. I have seen the Kentucky voltigeur
introduce a fancy-dance on two wild steeds, and jump through a fiery
hoop in the character of Shylock; and I confess I liked him better in
those happy days at New York, than since he has proclaimed himself as
the great transatlantic tragedian, and has set up as an infallible
critic because he has proved himself a fallible actor.

And then the death of Desdemona! My dear Smith--I appeal to your own
noble feelings, as a husband and a Christian,--if you thought Mrs Smith
a little too fond of Cassio--or any other lieutenant,--if you even found
she had given him one of your best handkerchiefs to make him a
nightcap--nay, if you had determined even to achieve widowerhood with
your own hands, would you take the instrument Othello uses for the
purpose? I ask you as a man and a gentleman. You would borrow a
pistol--you would take up a knife--you would purchase arsenic--but you
would not undergo the personal fatigue of Burking her in her bed! But it
is not with you I have to do just now. I go back to Shakspeare and his
times--and I maintain that the manner of Desdemona's murder could only
be tolerable in the state of society at the time it was presented. I
suspect the very appliances of the modern stage bring the repulsiveness
of the incident more prominently forward. The