display in front of one of your own scenes? Ask him if he ever
painted his mother's cottage in one character, pushed it forward in
another, and poisoned her in it in a third? No, no, dear Smith, do not
try to hide from yourself that there is no man your equal in so many
different walks; that some may approach you in one branch and some in
another; but that, in the combination of high qualifications, you are
yourself your only parallel.

When we had the pleasure to spend an hour or two together after the
play, the last time I was in London, I ventured to make a few remarks on
theatrical subjects that seemed to meet with your approbation; and as,
in the midst of so much hiliarity as was raging round us in the tap-room
of the Ducrow's Head, you may have forgotten the purport of my
observations, I will repeat them here. You were reclining with your back
against the table, and a pewter pot of foaming beer resting on the knee
of the red stocking-breeches in which you had performed the Crimson
Fiend of the Haunted Dell, when, after some preliminary matter, I
expressed an opinion--unusual, I grant, but still conscientiously
entertained--of the immortal Shakspeare, on which you used language
stronger perhaps than the occasion justified, and reminding me, by its
conciseness and power, of some energetic M.P., against which I will
enter a short protest before proceeding further in this letter. No, my
dear Smith, Shakspeare was not "a bloody fool;" I should say he was very
far from it; and you also added, that Fitzball would kick his soul out
of his elbow in less than no time. What Mr Fitzball might be able to do
by dint of great kicking, I have no means of judging; but I have no
intention of placing the two authors in an antagonistic attitude on
the present occasion, and therefore I trust the soul of Shakspeare
will be left in peace.

What I stated was, as a general proposition, that Shakspeare has done
more harm than good to the English stage.

It has always struck me that the phrase, "There is a time for all
things," had a wider meaning than we usually attach to it. I think that
the seed of all discoveries, past and present, was scattered ages
ago--perhaps at the very creation of the world--in the mind of man; that
when it had rested there long enough, and the season of its ripening
came, up grew the stalk and the ear, and the harvest was gathered, and
mankind garnered it up as a provision for them and their heirs for ever.
Th