DANGER OF STUDYING A PROFESSION IN THE STREET.

WHAT is called a very extraordinary case, occurred this week at the Bow Street office: it was .so extraordinary a case, that it proved no case at all. A provincial actor of respectability, Mr. CHARLES GILL, was apprehended at the door of Covent Garden Theatre, on the night of Mr. YouNG's benefit and leave-taking, as a reputed thief, lurking about the theatre with felonious intent. The Police-officer, looking in his face, recognized him as having been seen three weeks before, standing near a party of the " swell mob ;" and putting this and that together in the true spirit of Dogberry, he hauled the unfortunate actor off to the Station-house, searched him, made jokes upon his professional wig, taunted him with being but a poor hand at his work, for only having fifteen shillings in his pocket, instead of as many sovereigns—and, in short, shut up the poor actor for the night. Mr. GILL, it appears, is a most respectable man, and is the acquaintance of several of the heads of the profession, who came forward the next day to rescue him from his vile thraldom. This unlucky individual is said to have attained eminence on the provincial boards, and bad -come up for an engagement. Unluckily, his first appearance be- fore a metropolitan audience was in a wrong character, and the engagement none to his liking. With " Higgins, F. 35" for manager, the boards of the Lockuphouse for a stage, and the Mistakes of a Night for the play, no debut, was ever more unfa- vourable. Mr. GILL undoubtedly consented to play the part at short notice, and we trust for that night only. The most amusing part of the story is, that the whole mischief sprung out of his enthusiasm for his profession. While HIGGINS thought he was having an eye to the pockets of the passengers, he was studying their features, and was more anxious to catch a face than a purse.

Mr. Gill said—" I feel it incumbent on me to make a public statement in re- ply to so serious a charge. A friend of mine (Mr. Parry) had a new comedy produced at the Strand Theatre last evening, and I went to witness the per- formance of it in company with another friend of mine, Mr. Cooper, and his wife. I left them there for the purpose of going to Covent Garden Theatre, to see the coming out of the audience, as it was the farewell benefit of Mr. Young; and feeling, as I always. do, anxious for our unfortunate profession, I was de- sirous of knowing in what manner the Theatre was attended on such a remark- able occasion. I went first to my lodgings, to order the servant to get my sup- per ready ; and I told her where I was going. I placed myself near to the en- trance of the Theatre ; but there was nothing clandestine in my conduct : I was not behind any pillar, but in the open place. True it was, I was iu a crowd ; and there were ladies before me, and gentlemen behind me ; and how could I help that ? At this time, the man Higgins came up to me, and staring me hard in the face, said, Oh, is it you? It is you, is it ?' I said, Yes, it is me ; here I am : what do you mean ?'—for '—for I was utterly at a loss to understand the man's meaning. He said, ' You must come along with me,' and seized me by the col- lar. I said I would go, and asked him what he meant? He said I should know that when I got to the Station-house. When we arrived at the oyster-shop at the corner of the street, there was a strong glare of light i he stopped, and asked me if I knew him ? I at once candidly admitted that I did; fur I had seen him once before; and I never forget to what my attention has been drawn, because it is part of my professional business to study character ; and it might fall to my lot, in my delineations of passing events and living men, to exhibit as true to nature as possible, the occurrence in the Strand, in which Hig- gins performed so principal a part. The occurrence in the Strand took place about six mouths ago, on the day I had returned from Deptford, where 1 had been playing. I was sauntering along the Strand, when I saw Higgins and Tipper kicking two well-dressed men along the street, and telling them to go about their business. I simply asked them, after the men had run off, what they had been doing? and the reply of the Officers was, that they were two of the ' swell mob.' I said, ' Oh, they are scamps, I suppose.' After being dragged last night to the Station-house, I was searched like a common felon. Your Worship will perceive that I wear a wig, which I do for professional put- poses. I am obliged to shave very high up on my forehead, because, when I play on the stage, I do not like my ;lark hair to be seen below my dressing-wig. Higgins first of all took off my wig and shook it, and exclaimed, A wig, eh! what do you want with a wig—you have plenty of hair ?' I did not condescend to answer him, and he asked me Where are your pockets?' and having searched them, took what silver and other property they contained. He asked me where my sovereigns were ; and, when I said I had none, he said, What, no sove- reigns! you have had a bad night's work of it, then ?' I was then locked up for seven hours, in what to me was a dungeon." .

The life of a player is proverbially one of vicissitude, but it never before presented such a melancholy inequality of condition. Here was YOUNG, in the inside of the house, gloriously takine his leave of the public—fortune in his pocket; while, at the door, his unfor- tunate brother actor GILL was suddenly hurried into notoriety by a blundering Police-officer, and the fact of his having only fifteen shillings in his pocket actually thrown in his teeth. A Police Officer, however, can do no wrong—in the eyes of a Magistrate. Mr. GILL naturally talked of compensation for false imprisonment and brutal treatment : but it seems HIGGINS, F. 35, is a most meritorious person, and Mr. GI ar. was glad to accept an . apology and pocket the affront, instead of a recompense.

YOUNG'S LEAVE-TAKING--IN HAMLET. ON Wednesday night, we repaired to Covent Garden Theatre, to be taken leave of by an old favourite, Mr. YOUNG. We could wish to have received his adieus in a more becoming attitude ; but, ,having neglected to secure a place, the Spectator was compelled to suspend himself from the lofty ceiling of the theatre, and, suffering from pressure and glowing with heat, hang like a carved cherub in the cornice of a church, looking down upon the departing hero and his companions in arms, as Mr. GREEN might do from his balloon upon the admiring inhabitants ofBagnigge Wells. A little exertion of fancy, and we should have seemed departing from YOUNG, instead of YOUNG departing from us and the stage. However, the position had its advantages : we could at least take a bird's-eye view of sublunary events, and, as we sat up in the empyrean " slips," look down upon the turbulent world with the feelings LUCRETIUS alludes to, when he says it is pleasant to stand upon the shore and watch the vessel wrecking in the storm. The charm of our lofty station was greatly heightened by hearing the music of YOUNG'S voice pealing like a cathedral organ from below. They who have rambled in the concealed passages and galleries in the walls of York Minster, or stood on the roof of King's College Chapel during service, know the exquisiteness of this pleasure. The joy at the theatre was not quite of so tranquil a nature.

Mr. YouNG's last night will be distinguished in the annals of the drama by its excessive uproariousness. It was at least eight o'clock before a word uttered on -the stage could be heard. And the perplexity of Mr. YOUNG and his brother actors was dire and strange. The house was crammed from floor to ceiling : the pit was one sea of heads; the gallery a Golgotha of skulls supported • by closely-packed gentlemen in their shirt-sleeves ; the boxes were dense, but still; while from all other parts there arose a din, worse than the worst fox-hound kennel, in its worst state, sends forth on - the presentation of a strange face at its Cerberean gate. Instead of being YOUNG'S last night, it might have been taken for the last day of all—a yell previous to judgment—a foretaste of the infer- , nags. Once or twice we heard YOUNG'S rich voice taking advan- tage of a lull, and demanding to know what was the matter ; and more than once, old EGERTON, robed as the King of Denmark, came forward, shook his hoary locks, stretched forth his hands, sheered round, and.waddled off. The mystery was not to be so expounded. If MATHEWS, who was prepared to play Polonius, and did show himself, had come on with a speaking-trumpet, and in the sweet voice of aggravating Sam, the hackney-coachman, - had hailed the gods, the drollery of the thing would have stilled the storm and turned shrieking into laughing, and the cause of the hubbub might have been ascertained. At length, a brilliant idea seemed to strike the council of actors. YOUNG came forward. to announce, that those who were incommoded might have their money returned at the door; indicating, that probably the row might after all be an eighteen-penny affair, and thus bought off. Whether this was the case or not, we cannot say ; but the extra- ordinary spectacle of a man standing forward to declare that he was willing to return money, did seem to strike the house with awe; and, amidst exclamations of "Bravo, bravo !" and "Noble!" the roar subsided to a buzz, only disturbed by a cry of " Turn out the music, or throw open the boxes !" from individuals who envied the better places that had been better paid for.

When the storm was thus far stilled, that part of the play which had passed in dumb-show 'was repeated. The play was well acted ; and if we did not enjoy it so much as usual, something must be allowed for the condition of a critic who has to detect the stage between two bobbing heads, and at the same time bear up against a superincumbent cherub placed still higher in the scale of creation.

YOUNG certainly exerted himself: some scenes he played better - than he has done on any late occasion. The interview with his mother, and his wild start on seeing his father's ghost enter, and his agonized petition to him for pardon that he is tardy in the ex- ecution of his revenge, were splendid passages of acting.. Fine acting was indeed the character of all YOUNG'S performances. Now and then he struck a natural chord, but this was the excep- tion. Generally it was the finished artist, luxuriating in a voice which for richness and mellowness perhaps has never been equal- led. Often and often have we dwelt upon its glories, but never did it sound so grand and harmonious as it rose on this occasion above the roaring of butcher's-boys and the cat-calls of street- . sweepers and cads off duty, such as grace the higher regions of our Metropolitan theatres.

MArnEws's Polonius struck us as being too determined a piece of buflbonery : he repeated some of his author's quodlibets like one of Mr. PEAKE'S patter-songs. The effect, however, was undoubted —the folks laughed more than they had everlaughed at Polonius : and it must be remembered, we could not catch that strange roll of the live eye that he keeps to tickle the sides of a dull audience.

MACRE A.DY'S Ghost was not ghostly : lie spoke not in a sepul- chral, but a tender tone; and the part in his hands lost power by a too nice attention—a too refined care of his diction. He nursed and fondled every word, as no ghost should with the morning air under his nose.

The other parts were filled as usual ; except that ABBOTT did. not play Laertes—which he ought to have done.

Then came the winding-up of all—the termination of the career of the tragedian—the dying moments of his professional life—that which we had come to see, namely, how a good actor may depart the stage.

Very soon after the dropping of the curtain, Mr. YOUNG came forward in his costume of Hamlet (with the sole addition of a white pocket handkerchief), and, in a tone of manly but subdued feeling, pronounced his address. The fall of a pin might have been heard in that crowded house. All eyes were fixed—all breathing was hushed—the ocean of heads seemed as if transfixed. The condi- tion of an actor assumed the character of splendour and renown. We thought within ourselves, how mistaken and miscalculated are the ordinary estimates of the world: the man for whom such multitudes will assemble to hear his parting word, and take a parting glance, is not a member of a depreciated profession. He must be a hero, for whom so many hearts arebeating in unison, and

whose presence can impose so intense a vigilance. The chains by which he holds men's minds are not of tinsel.

The delivery of the farewell speech was received, as it was given, with more anxious interest in.the occasion and a more solemn un- derstanding of the nature of a leave-taking for ever, than any af- fectation of feeling. Mr. YOUNG pretended to nothing beyond or below the occasion : and the audience took his adieus with a mix- ture of respect and regret. The speech had, in the utterance, less the air of study than any not really extempore we ever heard: the actor seemed spontaneously explaining his position, and giving utterance to the feelings of his heart as they arose. No point butone was at- tempted to be made; and the applause was not so loud as deep, until he was retiring—bowing himself away, waning into nothing- ness, and kissing his hands upon the multitude till all was va- cuity: then, indeed, arose a shout which the actor will carry in his ear to his dying-day. Voice, hand, hat, and handkerchief were exerted in their various forms from one end of the amphitheatre to the other—from gallery to pit, from box to box, from orches- tra to ceiling! The sight was glorious; and the more glorious, that the feeling was genuine, respectable, and deserved. Mr. YOUNG had that moment left the stage, a great actor, and bad he at the instant left life also, a worthy and meritorious man. His example is valuable, and to praise is one step towards imitation. Such was the spectacle that met our eyes, such the train of reflection we indulged in, placed high amid the melancholy " slips."

The point of the address which elicited most applause, is that ending in tarnished metal. We observe that the Play-goer of the True Sun regards this as an unworthy allusion to that still great actor KEAN. We cannot entertain the idea. Such a Parthian shaft would have been as base in YOUNG as undeserved by KEAN; and well convinced we are, that a man of YOUNG'S right feeling and well-conducted temper would rather have flung the whole profits of his benefit into the Thames, than have left so hard and cruel a sting behind him.

MR. YOUNG'S ADDRESS.

"Ladies and Gentlemen—I hare often been before you with a fluttering heart and a faltering tongue, but never till now with a sense of pain and a degree of heaviness which almost still the beating of the one and impede the utterance of the other. I would fain have been spared this task, but it might have been con- strued into disrespect towards you: it is the usage, and to that I bow. I very proudly acknowledge the indulgence—the great and continued kindness you have shown me for five-and-twenty years. You first received and encouraged any humble endeavours with,a Kemble, a Siddons, a Cooke, and an O'Neil; and by their sides I shared your applause. In this, the very last hour of my thea- trical life, I still find myself cheered, supported, and upheld by your presence and approbation. Although retirement from the stage and from the excitement of an arduous profession has been long my fervent wish, yet, believe me, there are feelings and associations connected with these walls and with the boards whereon I stand, and where I have been so often cheered by your smiles and gratified by your applause, which make me despair of finding words sufficient to express my gratitude. I throw myself upon you to measure the extent of gratitude, by the kind rule you have always observed when you have secured it. I surely say no more than the truth, when I state, that whatever fame or for- tune I may have obtainzd, or whatever worldly ambition I may have gratified, I owe them all to you. It has been asked of sue, why I retire from the stage while I am still in possession of all the qualifications I could ever pretend to, un- impaired? I will give you my motives, although I do not know that you will receive them as reasons ; but reason and feeling are not always cater-cousins. I feel the excitement and toil of my profession weigh more heavily upon me than formerly; and if my qualifications are unimpaired, so I would have them re- main. I know that they never were worthy of the degree of approbation with which you honoured them ; but such as they are, I am unwilling to continue before my patrons till I can offer them only tarnished metal. Permit me, then, to hope, that on quitting this place I am honourably dismissed into the bosom of private life; and that 1 shall carry with me the kindly wishes of all to whom I now respectfully and gratefully say—Farewell."