University of Virginia Library

MISS KELLY.

This popular actress—for popular she undoubtedly
is, though why she became so, passes our comprehension—has
attained considerable celebrity in a
class of characters hitherto very inefficiently represented
on this side of the Atlantic, namely, the
fashionable ladies of genteel comedy. That Miss
Kelly's admirers may be in the right and we in
the wrong, is very possible, but we do not think so;
and there is more plain dealing than presumption
in saying this, because every one, whatever deference
or humility he may profess, will secretly prefer
his individual opinion to that of the rest of the
world. Miss Kelly may play a dashing, dissipated
woman or a vixen to admiration, but she does not
play a lady. Do females in high life perambulate
their drawing-rooms in the fashion that Miss Kelly
does the stage? or when they cannot have exactly
their own way, do they traverse their apartments

with the Bobadil strides with which she tramples
over the shrinking boards? We always thought,
that whatever might be said of the morals of fashionable
females, their manners were more polished
and fascinating than those of any other of
heaven's creatures. Is it so with those of this lady?
Her warmest admirers will probably hesitate to answer
in the affirmative?—That Miss Kelly frequently
conceives correctly and executes forcibly, no
one will deny; and there is a heedless gaiety and unceasing
flow of animal spirits about her representations
which carry her triumphantly over many
faults and difficulties. But, in general, her portraitures
are exaggerated and overdone; instead of
a delicately finished picture, you see a broad caricature—the
colours are laid on with a trowel instead
of a pencil—and a perpetual striving after
effect is the predominating trait in all.

Of Miss Kelly's Beatrice, though it be heresy to
say so, we do not think highly. The spirit which
pervades it belongs more to the character of the
shrewish Catharine than the lively Beatrice; and
the gross violation of the text and meaning of the
author—and that author Shakspeare—at the conclusion
of the scene where she desires Benedict to
“kill Claudio”—gives him her hand to kiss—
giggles, and bids him kiss it again—runs to the

side wing and gallops back, telling him to “kiss it
again,” and to be sure and “kill Claudio—dead”—
all which proceedings and language Shakspeare
never dreamt of, is an awful and sacrilegious piece
of business; and the thunders of applause which it
generally brings down, indicate that the house contains
a great number of very discriminating people.

But whatever diversity of opinion may exist concerning
this lady's acting, we should think there
could be none about what, out of courtesy we suppose,
must be called her singing. She doubtless receives
great applause at the conclusion, and with
some reason, for we dare say all are thankful that
it is well over; but unfortunately some of the citizens,
transported beyond the bounds of sober discretion
at their emancipation, are so uproariously
grateful, that it is mistaken for an encore;—the
lady re-enters—curtsies gracefully, and poor Mr.
De Luce, as in duty bound, gives the ominous tap
which preludes another infliction upon the horror-stricken,
bewildered, rash, but well-meaning audience.
Then may be heard a rush—an opening
of box doors—and gentlemen are seen precipitating
themselves with heedless violence into the
lobbies to speak with a friend, buy oranges, absorb
spirituous liquids, or any thing else, for the space of
ten minutes. There is a pithy proverb which intimates

that “a burnt child dreads the fire,” and the
audience will in time doubtless become more wary.
Miss Kelly is very fond of the Mermaid Song; if
she would take the trouble of listening once to Mrs.
Austin's delightful manner of giving it, it might
have the beneficial effect of stopping any further
operations on that piece of music.

We have spoken plainly of this lady for two
reasons: first, because she is as popular as ever,
and therefore need not shrink from having her
merits canvassed; had she been declining in the
public estimation, we should have been the last to
say any thing about her, but she still claims to
rank as a star, and one of the first magnitude too,
and therefore of course lays herself the more open
to remark; she enjoys all the privileges and immunities
of that station, probably receiving a more
liberal remuneration for half a dozen evenings than
is awarded to actresses of what we consider decidedly
superior abilities, such as Mrs. Hilson and
Mrs. Wheatley, for months of unremitting exertion,
and with these substantial advantages she ought at
least to take the slight disadvantages of such a
station. In the second place, Miss Kelly, from appearances,
is a woman of spirit, and one not likely
to be popped off by a paragraph like John Keats
the poet, who, in coroner's language, “came by his
death in consequence of a criticism.”