ascribe any superiority of genius.  The part assigned to Mr. Phelps (Friar Lawrence) requires an actor of considerable powers, and under the old regime would have deteriorated nothing from Mr. Phelps’ position; but we can understand the motives which influenced its rejection, and whilst we deprecate the practice of actors refusing parts on every caprice, we consider Mr. Phelps’ opposition to this ruinous system of “starring” as commendable and manly.  The real cause of the decline of the drama is the upholding of this system.  The “stars” are paid so enormously, and cost so much to maintain them in their false position, that the manager cannot afford (supposing the disposition to exist) to pay the working portion of his company salaries commensurate with their usefulness, or compatible with the appearance they are expected to maintain out of the theatre; whilst opportunities of testing their powers as actors, or of improving any favourable impression they may have made upon the public, is denied to them, from the fear that the influence of the greater, because more fortunate actor, may be diminished thereby.  These facts are now so well known, that men of education are deterred from making the stage a profession, and consequently the scarcity of rising actors is referable to this cause.

The poverty of our present dramatic literature may also be attributable to this absurd and destructive system.  The “star” must be considered alone in the construction of the drama; or if the piece be not actually made to measure, the actor, par excellence, must be the arbiter of the author’s creation.  Writers are thus deterred from making experiments in the higher order of dramatic writing, for should their subject admit of this individual display, its rejection by the “star” would render the labour of months valueless, and the dramatist, driven from the path of fame, degenerates into a literary drudge, receiving for his wearying labour a lesser remuneration than would be otherwise awarded him, from the pecuniary monopoly of the “star.”

It is this system which has begotten the present indifference to the stage.  The public had formerly many favourites, because all had an opportunity of contending for their favour—­now they have only Mr. A. or Mrs. B., who must ultimately weary the public, be their talent what it may, as the sweetest note would pall upon the ear, were it continually sounded, although, when harmonised with others, it should constitute the charm of the melody.

We have made these remarks divested of any personal consideration.  We quarrel only with the system that we believe to be unjust and injurious to an art which we reverence.

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VAUXHALL.—­Vauxhall! region of Punch, both liquid and corporeal!—­Elysium of illumination lamps!—­Paradise of Simpson!—­we have been permitted once again to breathe your oily atmosphere, to partake of an imaginary repast of impalpable ham and invisible chicken—­to join in the eruption of exclamations at thy pyrotechnic glories—­to swallow thy mysterious arrack and