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A DRAMATIC CRITIC
same kind exist, if they exist at all, as
studies in prosody? But these large con-
cessions do not concede everything. Our
Mr. Warren, by his vastly superior wealth,
variety, and scope, has earned the higher
title to the sacred name of artist, of what
treason soever to his fame the ungrateful
memories of men shall prove to be capa-
ble. Personally, I make little account of
that cheerful, chirping libel upon Dickens's
creation which Mr. Jefferson has labeled
Caleb Plummer, and no very great ac-
count of that effervescent -petit maitre^
light of step and glib of tongue, into
whom he has transformed Sheridan's clod-
born Bob Acres, though I admit the ac-
tor's delicate drollery in both impersona-
tions. Mr. Jefferson can point, it seems
to me, to but one work of supreme dis-
tinction, the sole and single product of his
life, the masterpiece of our stage, — the
figure of the immortal Rip. Our Warren,
like another Rubens, could conduct you
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