a-day, when he was attended by masters in elocution, Italian, boxing, fencing, and the other sciences.  This eager cultivation of his mind he pursued till he was two and twenty, and then took his station in about the third degree of fashionable society, as a scholar and a man of taste.  His father had determined he should be a gentleman, and therefore very properly guarded against the “anachronism,” as he used to call it, of giving him a profession.  It is believed, (at least it has been inculcated,) that there exists, in every human mind, a master, or ruling passion—­a predominating inclination towards some particular object or pursuit.  Mr. Henry Augustus Constantine Stubbs, was in this respect, as well as in many others, like the rest of his species.  He had his ruling passion, and, but that his father had made him a GENTLEMAN, he was sure nature had intended him for the Roscius of his age.  From his earliest childhood, when he used to recite, during the Christmas holidays, “Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,” and astonish his father’s porter (who had a turn that way himself) with his knowing, all by heart, “My name is Norval, on the Grampian hills,”—­to his more matured efforts of, “Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,” or, “My liege, I did deny no prisoners,”—­the idea of being an actor had constantly fascinated his imagination.

It was a natural consequence of this theatrical ardour, that Mr. Stubbs eagerly cultivated the acquaintance of tragedians, comedians, managers, and dramatic writers.  It was his supreme delight to have them at his table; and as he kept a good table, gave good wines, and excelled in his cuisine, it was a delight he could command whenever he chose.  He had the entre, also, of the green-room at both theatres, and acquired an intimate knowledge of all the feuds, rivalries, managerial oppressions, intrigues, burlesque dignity, and solemn plausibilities, of that mimic world.  Living thus in an atmosphere electrical, as it were, with excitement, it is no wonder that, by degrees, he became less and less sensitive with regard to that ambiguous difficulty which had hitherto impeded the gratification nearest his heart.

It happened one morning while Mr. Stubbs was sipping his chocolate and reading, in the Morning Post, a criticism upon a new tragedy which had been most righteously damned the night before, that his intimate friend Mr. Peaess, the manager of ——­ theatre dropped in.  After the usual salutations were exchanged, and Mr. Peaess had remarked that it was a fine morning, and Mr. Stubbs had added that it was a windy one, Mr. Stubbs fell into a brown study.  His mind laboured with a gigantic purpose.  It was a moment on which hung indescribable consequences.—­Shall I?  Will he?  Yes!—­yes!—­And he did!  He imparted to his friend, the manager, his resolution to make his FIRST APPEARANCE.  He fixed upon Hamlet, chiefly because the character was so admirably diversified by Shakspeare, that it presented opportunities for the display of an equal diversity of talent in its representative.