The last whelming wave approached and buried him
for ever in the foaming sea.
The spectre mounted his car, attended by an innumerable host of
tributary spirits, and was borne on the whirlwind to visit other climes.
He was the Spirit of the Storm!
CYMBELINE.
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.
RECOLLECTIONS OF AN OLD FAVOURITE.
"In his wine he would volunteer an imitation of somebody,
generally of Incledon. His imitation was vocal; I made
pretensions to the oratorical parts; and between us, we boasted,
that we made up the entire phenomenon."
LEIGH HUNT'S BYRON.
"Of Incledon? poor Charles Incledon!" said I, turning to his portrait in
the "Storm," hanging in goodly fellowship with a few of the idols of my
theatrical days, Siddons, Kemble, Bannister, Mrs. Jordan, and G. Cook,
in my little book-room--"Poor Charles Incledon! The mighty in genius,
the high in birth, the conceited in talent, have not forgotten thee,
then--and will even condescend to imitate thee, to imitate _thee_ who
wast _inimitable_!" I arose and walked about my little sanctum in
meditative mood.
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