To see the bills present you nothing daily,
But the old names, Jones, Denham, and the Bailey.—
(Applause)

At night, compelled to stay at home, or go
And see "Rob Roy," "Guy Mannering," and "No”—
Paul Pry's intrusions, or Pong Wong's grimaces-
Pritchard's deep agonies, or Mason's faces.-(laughter)
Then, tho' from Indus to the Pole we rove,

'Tis all "Sweet Home," " Young Love," or "Kelvin

Grove."

Nay, I expect some night the Thane of Cawdor
Will introduce "Blue Bonnets o'er the Border."
Nor should I wonder, Hotspur taught his starling
To tell King Henry "Charlie was his darling."

(Laughter) "Toujours perdrix" wo'n't do, that's very clear, So, Call-boy!-(enter Call-boy)—send Mr. Murray here! (Exit Call-boy) And on the instant, friends, let's try now whether We can't reform this system altogether.

Enter Mr. MURRAY ---(increased applause).

Come hither, manager-(Mr. M. bows respectfully )— some hold opinion

You've lately failed in talents for dominion;

So now, to skill and character depone,

Or else "Othello's occupation's gone;"

For, if convicted here, beyond all doubt,

I take the reins myself, and walk you out !---(Suiting the action to the word).

Mr. MURRAY.

Sister, I needs must think some better way.
Mrs. H. SIDDONS.

I care not, William, what you think or say—
Answer this question, did last season pay?
No.-Then, as, like kings, the public do no wrong,
To managers, like ministers, belong

All faults and failures; but I'll talk no more,

There are your judges, as I said before;

(To the audience)-To your decision I refer his cause, Guilty, a hiss---not guilty---then, applause.

(Rapturous approbation) Mr. MURRAY-(to the audience---advancing)

Soft you, a word or two, before I

go,

"I've done the state some service," perhaps you know.

No more of that; I pray you, in
your letters,
Stating these deeds unlucky to my betters.
Speak of me as I am, extenuate naught,
Nor in malicious language set down aught-
Then must you speak of one, who, truth to tell,
Managed not wisely, but intended well;
Who owns, a lady's anger to appease,

He failed in judgment, not in wish to please;
Set you down this, and set you down besides,
He bends at once to what your voice decides-
If murmurs follow me, I'm lost of men,
But, if applause, " Richard's himself again."

Mrs. H. SIDDONS.

(Deafening applause.)

Nem. con. 'tis carried, then I reinstate him,
And generalissimo anew create him.

My hand shall sign, 'tis yours must set the seal-
A kindness which, I trust, he'll ever feel;
And, like myself, for ever keep in view-
He owes his all-to you-and you-and you.

(Waving of hats, and long-continued applause.)

This address, or rather dramatic scene, is imputed to a great well-known author. If it was intended to draw forth the opinion of the public in regard to the general management, the result, as has been seen, was most flattering to Mrs. Siddons and her brother. We forgot, in the proper place, to say that the season opened under the best auspices. A fashionable company had assembled before the curtain rose; and after second price, almost every part of the house was crowded.

THE FOUNDLING OF NUREMBERG.

(From the Austrian Observer of November 20.)

In the month of May, 1828, there appeared in the streets of Nuremberg a youth apparently between 17 and 18 years of age, in the dress of a peasant, and holding in his hand a letter, addressed to a captain of cavalry resident in that city. The letter, which was without signature, stated that the young man was desirous of enlisting in the cavalry, as his deceased father had served in that corps; that the writer of the letter was a poor day-labourer, with ten children; and that he had received the lad, when a little child, from a nurse, whom he did not know, to bring him up secretly. The letter also contained several palpable untruths, and among the rest asserted that the boy could read and write. The captain of cavalry declared that he would have nothing to do with the business, and sent the young man as a vagrant to the guardhouse. He was afterwards carried before the officers of police, who looked upon him as an impostor. It was soon ascertained, however, that he could scarcely speak a word; that he had been totally neglected, and had received no education whatever.

An official notification was then published, requiring all persons who might be able to give any information respecting this mysterious case, to communicate what they knew. About four months after, an old woman, said to have come from the neighbourhood of Nuremberg, and supposed to be a midwife, waited on the Burgomaster, and made a communication to him under the pledge of secresy. The youth has since been treated with great attention. Several teachers were immediately engaged for him, and as he is not deficient in capacity, they soon taught him to converse and read, and thus enabled him to give some information respecting his former fate.

His whole life, as far as he could recollect it, had been spent in a small obscure dungeon, faintly lighted from above. He slept on straw, and was fed with bread and water, which used to be brought to him at night by a man; and as he was often asleep when it was brought, several weeks often passed over without

his seeing his attendant. The only occupation of his childhood, as far as his contracted prison would permit him, was riding on a wooden horse, and almost the only words he could speak when he came to Nuremberg were Rossel-reiten-" Horsey ride."

On his arrival in Nuremberg, he refused meat and vegetables, and would eat nothing but bread and water. He slept on the ground, and had no idea of the use of a bed. His legs were bent, as the roof of his dungeon was so low that when he grew up he could not stand erect in it. Having lived so long in obscurity, he could not endure the full light of day. On approaching a church-yard, it was observed that he seemed to feel an indescribable kind of horror, from which it has been conjectured that his prison must have been beside some burying ground or tomb. He relates that his keeper brought him out of his dungeon by night, and sometimes carried him, because from want of practice he could not walk far. They travelled only at night, lying under bushes during the day, and at last, after several nights had elapsed, they reached Nuremberg.

The letter which the lad presented in Nuremberg stated, that he had been christened by the name of Kaspar; the surname Hauser was given him in Nuremberg. His manner is agreeable, and he converses with much propriety in a tete-a-tete; but in mixed company he becomes embarrassed, as the act of speaking is still new to him. He has made extraordinary progress in music, drawing, and languages. He has also learnt to ride, in which he takes great pleasure. The Burgomaster treats him as if he were his own son, and he lives with the Professor of the Gymnasium, who superintends his education.

between eleven and Professor was from The Professor's mo

On the 17th of October last, twelve in the forenoon, while the home, the house bell was rung. ther, who was weak and unwell, desired Kaspar to answer the door. He no sooner opened the door than a man, the same person, he believes, who brought him to Nuremberg, ran at him with a knife. After receiving several wounds about the head, he fell, and would probably have been murdered, had not the assassin believed that he had killed him, for he said aloud, “I

need not be afraid of you any longer!" However, on hearing a noise in the house, the murderer fled. Young Hauser is recovering from the effects of this dreadful attack.

DEATH OF SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE.

THE fine arts have, with awful rapidity, sustained a great and heavy loss in the President of the Royal Academy; Sir Thomas Lawrence died about nine o'clock on Thursday evening, at his house in Russell Square. This sad event took place without any of those distant intimations which so often tell man to prepare for death. Sir Thomas Lawrence was in such perfect health, that he dined on Saturday with a distinguished party at Mr. Peel's, where he became suddenly, but not alarmingly, indisposed. Inflammatory symptoms appearing, however, he was bled; and this operation produced so good an effect, that on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, he was able to go out as usual. On the Wednesday he was at the Athenæum Club, and at Messrs. Coutts', the bankers and the subject of conversation now remembered was that of an exquisitely written letter of condolence sent by him to one of the partners, on the decease of his daughter.

On reaching home in the afternoon, his complaint (an inflammation of the bowels) returned with such violence, that he survived little more than twenty-four hours, his last words being addressed to his valet who was attending him—“———, I am dying."

This is not yet a time to enter upon any details either of his private biography or of his merits as a painter; in both respects he was a man much to be admired and lamented. He was (we believe) somewhat above sixty years of age, and had never married. His appearance was extremely graceful and gentlemanlike, his manners full of suavity, and his countenance so pleasing and handsome, that it might almost, if the word were not misapplied to the masculine sex, be called beautiful. There was a striking resemblance to Mr. Canning, though not of so elevated an expression of character. On public occasions he was an elegant