THE name of KEAN has a "stirring sound" | short time before his father appeared at in association with the annals of the stage. Drury-lane, not having completed his fifth The brilliant carreer of Edmund Kean, the year; but even at that early age remarkable father, dazzling and eccentric as that of a for his beauty, and promise of theatrical comet, with its melancholy close, is still vivid talent, having performed occasionally with in the remembrance of his contemporaries, his father in infantine characters. and by them as vividly conveyed to the present generation. Charles Kean, the son, and subject of the présent memoir, inheriting the genius and success of his parent, but avoiding the fatal improvidence by which both were rendered unavailing, has, while yet within the meridian of life, placed himself at the head of a profession for which he was neither trained nor intended, realized a competent independence by his own exertions, and won an honorable estimation in the eyes of all who are acquainted with him. It is not given to many to achieve these multiplied advantages; nor have they been gained in the present instance without trial, privation, and vicissitude. Scenes of exciting interest have been passed through, and many difficulties encountered. A slight detail of these events can scarcely fail to amuse the careless and also to instruct the reflecting reader.

Charles John Kean is an Irishman. He was born at Waterford, on the 18th of January, 1811. His father at the time formed one of the company attached to the theatre in that city. His mother, Mary Chambers, was also a native of Waterford, descended from the highly respectable family of Cuffe, long settled in that county. Miss Chambers, with a sister, had, from family embarrassments, been induced to attempt the stage as a means of livelihood, and first became acquainted with Edmund Kean, while performing in the Cheltenham theatre, under the management of Mr. Beverley. They were married at Stroud, in Gloucestershire, in 1808, he being under twenty, and several years junior to his wife. They had another and elder son, named Howard, born at Swansea, for whom Charles has sometimes been mistaken. He died of water on the brain, at Dorchester, in February, 1814, a

When Charles Kean was born, and for a considerable time after, the fortunes of his parents were at the lowest possible ebb; they had barely a subsistence for the present, and were almost hopeless of the future. His father, toiling with the endless drudgery of an itinerant life, acted every night in play, interlude, and farce-not unfrequently Richard III. and Harlequin on the same evening; and during the day endeavored to eke out a scanty and doubtful salary of some fiveand-twenty shillings a-week, by giving lessons in boxing, fencing, dancing, and riding. Prejudice has sometimes designated the stage as an "idle avocation." Those who think so would do well to try it experimentally for a short period, and thus test the accuracy of their opinion by the soundest of all applications.

At this time none saw in Edmund Kean, the undistinguished and somewhat insignificant country actor-the future prop of Drury-lane-the magnet of attraction-the star before whose brightness all rival influences were to become pale. The genius was unquestionably there, but the opportunity had not yet arrived. It came at last. In 1814, Kean obtained the long sought for opening in London, and the family entered the metropolis in the most legitimate of Thespian conveyances-a wagon!

Now the scene changed rapidly and effectually. Success, that potent wand of the enchanter, at once established the great tragedian on the pinnacle of fame and the high road to opulence. "Now, Mary," said he to his wife, "you shall ride in your own carriage." The doors of the rich and influential were thrown open to him; he might have chosen his own society; his praises filled the columns of the daily papers, and his attraction replenished the long-exhausted

treasury of the theatre. It was in fact a realized dream

"And all went merry as a marriage bell."

Charles Kean in due course of time was sent to school, preparatory for Eton College. His father resolved to give him a good education, an advantage he had never possessed himself. He was placed under the charge of the Rev. E. Polehampton, first at Worplesdon, in Surrey, and afterwards at Greenford, near Harrow. At this seminary he remained several years; the number of scholars was limited, and they were principally composed of noblemen's sons. In June, 1824, he entered Eton as an "Oppidan," his father fixing his allowance, for board and education, at £300 per annum. His tutor was the Rev. Mr. Chapman, since Bishop of Ceylon; Dr. Goodall, Provost; and Dr. Keate, Head Master. He remained at Eton three years, being placed as high as the rules of the institution having reference to age would allow. When taken away, he was in the upper division, and had obtained much credit by his Latin verses. Boating and cricket are the two great amusements of the Etonians in summer; and Charles Kean became so expert a leader in aquatics, that he was chosen second captain of the "Long Boats," as they are called-no insignificant honor in Etonian eyes. Under the tuition of the celebrated Angelo, he also won distinction as an accomplished fencer a valuable acquirement in the profession he was destined to pursue.

He was falling from his high position-his popularity began to decline-his physical powers were sinking under premature decay, and his finances were exhausted.

Charles, who had for some time suspected the total derangement of his father's affairs, was startled into conviction by a pressing letter from his mother, received during his last half year at Eton, in the early part of 1827, entreating him to come to her immediately. He obtained permission to absent himself for a few days, and hastened to London. He found her suffering the most intense anxiety. She wept in his arms, and implored him not to leave her. It appeared that Mr. Calcraft, a Member of Parliament, and one of the most influential of the Drury-lane Committee of that day, had offered to procure for him a cadetship in the East India Company's service. His father thought the offer too eligible to be declined; and in giving notice that he intended to accept it, ordered his son to make instant preparations for his departure. Mrs. Kean had been entirely separated from her husband for two or three years; she was reduced to a broken, pitiable state of health— nearly bed-ridden-helpless as an infant, and without a single relative to whom she could look for succor or consolatiom. Weighing these circumstances well, Charles Kean formed his determination. and sought an interview with his father, to bring matters to a final conclusion.

Edmund Kean was then precariously situated. His realized capital was gone, and he was living from day to day on the uncertain earnings which might cease altogether with increasing infirmities. He told his son that he must accept the offer of the cadetship, that he would provide his Indian outfit, and this being done, that he must depend entirely on his own exertions, and never apply to him for any future support or assistance. Charles replied that he was perfectly contented, and willing to embrace these conditions, provided something like an adequate allowance was secured to his mother. Finding that his father no longer had it in his power to promise this with any degree of certainty, he respectfully, but firmly, told him he would not leave England while his mother lived, and declined, with thanks, the kind proposal of Mr. Calcraft. This answer excited the anger of the elder Kean to the highest pitch; he gave way to the most intemperate passion, and a painful scene ensued.

Up to this period, everything appeared happy and prosperous in the family. Charles was repeatedly assured by both his parents that he would inherit an ample fortune, and be placed in a distinguished profession. His mother preferred the church-his father inclined to the navy; but his own predilection was decidedly for a military career. There can be no doubt whatever that Edmund Kean might have maintained his family in all the elegancies of life, and left behind him a sum amounting to £50,000. Since the days of Garrick, no actor had received so much money in so short a space of time. But clouds had long been darkening, and a crisis was at hand. Habits of irregularity and reckless extravagance had gradually settled upon him. Ill-chosen associates estranged him from his wife and son; he had still a few anxious friends, who stepped in, and endeavored to arrest his downward course, but a legion of evil counsellors hemmed him round, and the warning voice passed by unheeded. | your own resources?"

"What will you do," said he, "when I discard you, and you are thrown entirely on

"In that case," replied the son, "I shall be compelled to go on the stage (the father smiled in derision); and though I may never be a great actor, I shall at least obtain a livelihood for my mother and myself, and be obliged to no one."

The father stormed; the son endured a torrent of vituperation without losing his temper, or forgetting the respect due to a parent; they parted, and from that hour all intercourse between them was suspended. In the following July, when the Eton vacation came on, he was informed that his accounts were paid up, his allowance stopped, and he was not to return. A short time before this, a young nobleman, one of his intimate associates, with whom he had first became acquainted at the preparatory school, seeing him unusually dejected, inquired into the cause. Kean, in the fullness of his heart, told the result of his interview with his father, and that in all probability he should be driven to adopt the stage as his profession. "I quite approve of your resolution," said his aristocratic friend, "and commend you warmly for it; but recollect this, if you do so, from this hour you and I must be strangers, as I never did, nor never will speak to or acknowledge an actor." About a year or so afterwards, when Charles Kean was acting at Leamington, the noble earl finding himself in the same hotel, moved off instantly, bag and baggage, to avoid the unhallowed propinquity; thus at least carrying out the consistency of his prejudice, without regard to his personal convenience.

cond and third years, in case of success. The heart of the young man bounded with hope, and the offer was gratefully accepted. He stipulated, however, that he must first write to his father, who was then absent from London, and make him acquainted with 'the circumstance. Price approved of this, received the letter and undertook to forward it; but no answer was returned, and there is reason to believe the letter never reached the hands for which it was intended.

Thus Charles Kean became an actor. Necessity and not choice determined his lot in life. How little does the world in general know of the secret springs of our actions. It judges by the surface only, and can seldom penetrate the hidden depths, or sound the under currents, which, with controlling power, impel us on a course we otherwise might avoid, and never would have selected. For this act he was generally condemned. Mr. Calcraft considered him rash and ill-advised. His father's partisans denounced him as willful, thankless, and disobedient-some shrugged their shoulders, while others shook their heads-and all, because he would not leave a helpless mother unprotected, who, if, during his absence, his father had died, might have starved in her bed!

The future course of the young aspirant being now marked out, his first appearance on any stage took place at Drury-lane theatre on the opening night of the season, Monday, October the first, 1827, Young Norval, in Home's tragedy of Douglas, was the character selected for the occasion. He was yet Very fortunately Charles Kean had con- under seventeen, and so complete a stripling tracted no private debts, a rare occurrence in appearance as well as in years, that the in an Etonian. He made his way to London, authorities of the theatre debated on the and hastened immediately to his mother's question of announcing him as Mr. Kean, lodgings. He found her in sickness, in sor-junior or Master Kean. He settled the point, row, and in poverty. A small yearly income, hitherto allowed by her husband, had been entirely withdrawn. They were without money, and utterly destitute of resources, A more forlorn condition can scarcely be imagined.

by rejecting the latter designation with the utmost disdain. On the Saturday previous to his appearance, a dress-rehearsal was suggested by the manager, that he might "face the lamps" for the first time, and familiarize Precisely at this juncture, a misunder- himself with the stage costume. Many perstanding arose between Edmund Kean and sons, friends of Mr. Price, with some memMr. Stephen Price, the well-known American bers of the committee, were present, who lessee of Drury-lane theatre, and for the first complimented him warmly on the success of time the great tragedian left his old theatri- his rehearsal. While supping afterwards in cal home, the scene of his early triumphs, to the manager's room, with true boyish feeling, engage with Mr. Charles Kemble at Covent- he expressed a wish to show himself to his garden. Mr. Price having heard how the mother in his stage habiliments of Norval. son was situated, and thinking the name of The manager consented, but wondering that Kean a powerful talisman, immediately made he still lingered in the theatre, drew from him him an offer of engagement at Drury-lane in a whisper the reluctant confession that he for three years, with a salary of £10 a week, was without the means of paying for a hackto be increased to £11 and £12 during the se-ney-coach. Price supplied the money, and

young Kean flew to his mother's lodgings to | of the all-powerful press! It was unanidisplay his finery, relate the encouragement mous in condemnation. Not simple disaphe had received, and cheer her with the hopes proval or qualified censure, but sentence of and expectations with which he panted for utter incapacity-stern, bitter, crushing, and the following Monday. conclusive. There was no modified praise, no admission of undeveloped powers, no allowance for youth and inexperience. The crude effort of a school-boy was dealt with as the matured study of a practised man. The hearts of both were struck with dismay -they wept in concert; and, for a moment, he was tempted to abandon the stage in despair. He proposed to Mr. Price to relieve him from the engagement, but this the manager considerately declined, and urged

The au

heart of youth: in the morning of life the voice of friendly encouragement impels more than the leaden tongue of censure can impede.

The eventful night arrived. Curiosity to see the son of the great actor, Edmund Kean, filled the vast theatre to overflowing. A first appearance before a London audience in those days was a much more serious business than it is at present-a trying ordeal even for the experienced veteran, who might feel confident of his powers and had often tested their effects. What, then, must it have been to the unpractised novice, trembling at the sound of his own voice, and un-him to persevere. Hope is ever strong in the nerved even by the sight of his own name for the first time in print? The awful moment is come-he stands before the audience, fairly launched on the experiment of his life he has no time to think of all that The youthful actor lingered at Druryhangs on the issue of the next two hours, lane through the season, occasionally appearbut must brace his spirits to the task, and ing as Norval, Selim in Barbarossa, Fredsink or swim according to the measure of erick* in Lovers' Vows, and Lothaire in his own unaided courage. The entrance of Monk Lewis's tragedy of Adelgitha, which Young Norval is preceded by that of the was revived when Mrs. Duff, an American attendants of Lord Randolph, bearing in actress, made her appearance. The houses custody the faithless servant, "the trembling had ceased to be crowded, his attraction coward who forsook his master." dwindled to nothing-the audience grew dience unluckily were led to mistake the cold in their applause. The papers, whenlatter worthy for the new candidate, and ever they condescended to notice him, congreeted him with the rounds of applause in- tinued their censure; and at length, almost tended for the hero of the evening. Here heart-broken, he left London for the prowas another damper, for, in such situations, vinces, that he might have a better opporthe veriest trifles have their effect. He re-tunity of obtaining the constant practice so covered himself, however, and went through much required. his part with courage and increasing animation. Some good judges (and more than one were present who took an interest in his fate) could detect, even through all the rawness of an unformed style and the embarrassment of a novel situation, the germs of latent ability, and the promise of future Excellence. The audience received him throughout with kind indulgence, encour aged him by frequent approbation, and called for him when the tragedy concluded. It was success certainly, but not decided success. Charles Kean felt that, although he had passed his examination with tolerable credit, he had neither attained "high honors," nor achieved what, in theatrical parlance, is termed "a hit." On the following morning he rushed with feverish anxiety to the papers, and, without pausing, read them to his mother. His fate and hers, their future subsistence, the bread they were eating, the roof that covered them-all lay in the balance, and all depended on the dictum

During this tour, and while acting in Glasgow, he visited his father, who was then residing in the cottage he had built in the Isle of Bute. His reception was more cordial than he anticipated. Little allusion was made to the past, and a temporary reconciliation took place. This led to the elder Kean's proposing to act one night in the Glasgow theatre for his son's benefit, on the first of October, 1828-by singular coincidence, the anniversary of his debut. They appeared as Brutus and Titus, in Howard Payne's tragedy of Brutus. The house, as might be supposed on such an occasion, was crowded to excess, the receipts amounting to nearly £300. In January, 1829, the subject of our memoir returned to Drury-lane, and appeared as Romeo to the Juliet of Miss Phillips, a young debutante of much promise,*

*On this occasion Miss Ellen Tree, the future Mrs. C. Kean, acted Amelia Wildenhaim, this being the first time of their meeting together on the stage.