Part 15

"And now, my dear Sir, trifling apart, the gloomy catastrophe of yesterday morning prompts a sadder vein. The fate of the unfortunate Fauntleroy makes me, whether I will or no, to cast reflecting eyes around on such of my friends as, by a parity of situation, are exposed to a similarity of temptation. My very style seems to myself to become more impressive than usual, with the charge of them. Who that standeth, knoweth but he may yet fall? Your hands as yet, I am most willing to believe, have never deviated into other's property. You think it impossible that you could ever commit so heinous an offence; but so thought Fauntleroy once; so have thought many beside him, who at last have expiated as he hath done. You are as yet upright; but you are a banker, or at least the next thing to it. I feel the delicacy of the subject; but cash must pass through your hands, sometimes to a great amount. If in an unguarded hour----but I will hope better. Consider the scandal it will bring upon those of your persuasion. Thousands would go to see a Quaker hanged, that would be indifferent to the fate of a Presbyterian or an Anabaptist. Think of the effect it would have on the sale of your poems alone, not to mention higher considerations! I tremble, I am sure, at myself, when I think that so many poor victims of the law, at one time of their life, made as sure of never being hanged, as I, in my own presumption, am ready, too ready, to do myself. What are we better than they? Do we come into the world with different necks? Is there any distinctive mark under our left ears? Are we unstrangulable, I ask you? Think on these things. I am shocked sometimes at the shape of my own fingers, not for their resemblance to the ape tribe, (which is something,) but for the exquisite adaptation of them to the purposes of picking, fingering, etc."

Here is a capital programme for those losel scouts whose 'tales of the crusades' which are waged against the canine species, generally fill our newspapers in the dog-days. We have no doubt that similar suggestions to those here thrown out, have been acted upon by many a dog-hater, in the fervid summer solstice, what time a worse virus than the hydrophobic was raging in his brain. Lamb is inquiring after his adopted dog, 'Dash:'

"Goes he muzzled, or _aperto ore_? Are his intellects sound, or does he wander a little in _his_ conversation? You cannot be too careful to watch the first symptoms of incoherence. The first illogical snarl he makes, to St. Luke's with him. All the dogs here are going mad, if you believe the overseers; but I protest they seem to me very rational and collected. But nothing is so deceitful as mad people, to those who are not used to them. Try him with hot water: if he won't lick it up, it is a sign--he does not like it. Does his tail wag horizontally, or perpendicularly? That has decided the fate of many dogs in Enfield. Is his general deportment cheerful? I mean when he is pleased--for otherwise there is no judging. You can't be too careful. Has he bit any of the children yet? If he has, have them shot, and keep _him_ for curiosity, to see if it was the hydrophobia. They say all our army in India had it at one time; but that was in _Hyder_-Ally's time. Do you get paunch for him? Take care the sheep was sane. You might pull out his teeth, (if he would let you,) and then you need not mind if he were as mad as a bedlamite."

There is an adroit satire upon epitaphs--certificates of good character given to persons on going to a new place, who oftentimes had none in the places they left--in the annexed fragment from a letter enclosing an acrostic:

"I am afraid I shall sicken you of acrostics, but this last was written _to order_. I beg you to have inserted in your country paper, something like this advertisement: 'To the nobility, gentry, and others about Bury:--C. Lamb respectfully informs his friends and the public in general, that he is leaving off business in the acrostic line, as he is going into an entirely new line. Rebuses and charades done as usual, and upon the old terms. Also, epitaphs to suit the memory of any person deceased.'"

A few original anecdotes of Lamb must close our notice for the present. The first dry specimen was doubtless suggested by the closing couplet of a London street-ballad, wherein is set forth the ultra fickleness of a female 'lovyer:'

'And there I spied that faithless she, A fryin' sassengers for he!'

"One day, at the exhibition of the Royal Academy, I was sitting on a form, looking at the catalogue, and answering some young people about me who had none, or spared themselves the trouble of consulting it. There was a large picture of Prospero and Miranda; and I had just said, 'It is by _Shee_;' when a voice near me said, 'Would it not be more grammatical to say by _her_?' I looked, it was Mr. Lamb.

"He went with a party down to my brother Charles's ship, in which the officers gave a ball to their friends. My brother hired a vessel to take us down to it, and some one of the company asked its name. On hearing it was the _Antelope_, Mr. Lamb cried out, 'Don't name it; I have such a respect for my aunt, I cannot bear to think of her doing such a foolish action!'

"A widow-friend of Lamb having opened a preparatory school for children at Camden Town, said to him, 'I live so far from town I must have a sign, I think you call it, to show that I teach children.' 'Well,' he replied, 'you can have nothing better than '_The Murder of the Innocents_!'

"A constable in Salisbury Cathedral was telling him that eight people dined at the top of the spire of that edifice; upon which he remarked, that they must be very '_sharp set_!'

"An old woman, on a cold, bleak day, begged of him for charity: 'Ah! Sir,' said she, 'I have seen better days.' 'So have I,' said Lamb; meaning literally one not so rainy and overcast as the one on which she begged.

"Mrs. H---- was sitting on a sofa one day, between Mr. Montague and Mr. Lamb. The latter spoke to her, but all her attention was given to the other party. At last they ceased talking, and turning round to Mr. Lamb, she asked what it was he had been saying? He replied, 'Ask Mr. Montague, for it went in at one ear and out at another.'

"Coleridge one day said to him: 'Charles, did you ever hear me _preach_?' 'I never heard you do any thing else,' said Lamb."

We shall discuss anew these teeming volumes, when the American edition (which it is to be hoped will possess the portraits of the English) shall have appeared.

BRISTOL ACADEMY, TAUNTON, (MASS.)--A catalogue of the officers, teachers, and pupils of this institution, now before us, affords very favorable evidence of the prosperity which it enjoys, under the supervision of its able preceptor, J. N. BELLOWS, Esq. It already numbers nearly an hundred pupils, in the male and female departments, embracing residents in various quarters of the country. The plan of instruction, set forth in the appendix, is an excellent one; 'uniting, as far as practicable, pleasure with study, yet not to the neglect of strictness of discipline, and thoroughness in the business of instruction,' in which the art of teaching, as a profession, is included, in a separate department.

FOOTNOTE:

[17] The tone and manner of a second communication from 'HONESTUS,' (perused, it is proper to add, since this article was placed in type,) induce the opinion, that something of personal feeling and private pique is mingled with his 'enlarged regard for the progress of musical science in this country.'

THE DRAMA.

PARK THEATRE--MR. FORREST.--TWO succeeding engagements of Mr. FORREST, have given us an opportunity of witnessing his efforts in all of his old, and in some (to him) new characters. Othello, Damon, Richard III., Metamora, Spartacus, Lear, Carwin, in the 'Orphan of Geneva,' and even Hamlet, have in turn been presented, through the impersonations of Mr. Forrest. Among these, there are some characters which long ago he made his own, and which have not since found any other representative. Such are Metamora, Spartacus, and perhaps Damon; Othello and Lear, too, had been previously attempted by Mr. Forrest, and found among his many friends enthusiastic admirers. This last engagement, however, has presented this gentleman in two new characters, Richard and Hamlet. Of the first of these, it shall be our province to speak in this paper.

Mr. Forrest has challenged criticism upon his conception of the character of the Duke of Gloster, by his remarks contained in a published letter to a friend, written during his English visit. In this letter he boldly affirms, that the ideas which EDMUND KEAN always held of the personage which he represented as the Duke of Gloster, were erroneous, in one great particular, and that therefore _he_ should portray the crook-backed tyrant in a light quite different from that in which Kean presented him. This error of Kean consisted, it seems, in supposing the royal cut-throat to have been a too _serious_ villain; in presenting the early part of his career in a shade too sombre. According to Mr. Forrest, the wily duke was rather inclined to be jocose in his butcheries; and he should therefore, in his personation of the character, make the jester a sort of _basso-relievo_ to the hard, black surface of his marble heart.

Now we admire originality, whether it be displayed on the stage, at the bar, in the pulpit, on the canvass, or in books. Whether the original be a cobbler, or an architect, we hail his advent with joy and gratulation. That clever artist, who first conceived the interesting metamorphosis whereby a sliver of wood could be converted into a pumpkin-seed, deserves, indeed, more praise for his singular ingenuity, than for any lasting blessing thereby conferred upon mankind. Nor can we affirm, that the kindred hand which first transposed the same material into those cherished condiments of eastern Ind, y'clept nutmegs, has claim to any higher reward; yet were both these worthies original thinkers, and thereby entitled to the respect due to genius. To endeavor to trace back some great original thought to the impulse which first opened the way to its creation; to search for the early germ, no bigger perhaps than a grain of mustard-seed, out of which the towering tree sprang up in all its original greatness, is a subject which must always engage the attention, and employ the research, of the admirers of genius. We have therefore endeavored, by the most patient and diligent study, both of Shakspeare and his commentators, to discover the ground upon which Mr. Forrest formed his original reading of the Duke of Gloster, or the hint, if possible, from which he snatched his conception of the murdering duke's jocular disposition. The only peg which we can possibly discover, whereon we suppose Mr. Forrest might hang his wonderful originality, is comprised in that line wherein the crafty Gloster, gloating over that devilish hypocrisy with which he is enabled to cloak his monstrous villanies, exclaims:

'For I can smile, and murder while I smile.'

Mr. Forrest was no doubt struck with this passage. It seemed to him to contain the germ of a mighty thought, and in his aspirations for immortality, he has given a liberal meaning to the passage, and rendered it thus:

'For I can laugh, and murder while I laugh!'

The spirit of originality seized upon his desires and his faculties at the same moment; and with a determination to wither at a blast the laurels of Kean, Cook, John Kemble, Booth, and a host of less distinguished worthies, he has, in the magnitude of his wisdom, declared them 'sumphs' in their ignorance of Shakspeare, and himself the only true representative of the most powerful of the bard's creations!

'Joy fills his soul, joy innocent of thought; 'What power,' he cries, 'what power these wonders wrought!' Soul! what thou seek'st is in thee; look and find, Thy monster meets his likeness in thy mind.'

We were truly inclined to give Mr. Forrest credit for too much good sense, to be tempted into any such absurd extravagance as he has been guilty of, in attempting to foist his new reading of Richard upon an intelligent public. He must have discarded all authority, and taken it upon himself to settle this question with the world; and he _has_ settled it, in a way most lamentable for his judgment. The first three acts of Richard were really pitiable. There was a lack of every thing which we had long supposed belonged to the character. His sarcasms--those biting sentences which Kean made so withering--were turned to absolute jests--regular Joe Millers in blank verse! Gloster murdered in joke, and all his villanies became, as Mr. Forrest presented them, no more than the peccadilloes of Punch. The scene with Queen Anne had no propriety whatever. It was not the wily Gloster, whose tongue could 'wheedle with the devil,' but the gay, slashing Corinthian, paying his devoirs to a moonlight Cyprian. The Duke of Gloster was a gentleman, bloody-minded enough, truly, but with the polish of a court about him, and an air of nobility as inseparable as his hump; both of which Mr. Forrest discarded long before the Duke of Gloster gave up the ghost. The last two acts, and especially the very last, were powerful, so far as physical effort could render them powerful. The tent-scene was terrific in this respect; it was like the 'tic doloureux,' deafening and dull. It was heavy physical force, with very little of genius to thrill or to startle; a sort of artificial thunder, without the lightning. Strange that any can be found to uphold such extravagance; but rant and fustian seem the order of the day; and he whose lungs are the stoutest, seems the victor among modern tragedians.

'The rabble knows not where our dramas shine, But when the actor roars, 'By Jove! that's fine!'

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ELLEN TREE.--The finest comedies in the language, presented to us, in their principal characters, through the acting of Miss ELLEN TREE, have proved, during the last engagement of this lady, that a true taste for the legitimate drama yet exists in full force in America, however it may have degenerated on the other side of the water. 'Rosalind,' 'Beatrice,' 'Lady Teazle,' 'Viola,' as well as 'Ion,' 'Jane Shore,' 'Clarisse,' in the _Barrack-Room_, 'Christine,' and a multitude of other characters, as varied in their kind as these, have offered a rich intellectual treat to all who can appreciate the chaste, ungarnished beauties of the drama. It would be superfluous to speak of Miss Tree's merit in these characters. To us, at least, she has become identified with them all; and in speaking of her performances, we must say that the task can only be a repetition of that even strain of unadulterated praise, which, justly awarded, belongs only to perfection. We look in vain for some fault, some discrepancy, some point which might be improved upon. All is so near the _beau ideal_ of her art, that we must, in omitting all censure, either confess ourselves wanting in judgment, or at once acknowledge Miss Ellen Tree a being more perfect on the stage, than any we know or can conceive of, off of it. Perhaps the greatest of her many merits is the remarkable purity of her utterance, and the true sound and meaning with which she clothes the language of the author. In the classic phrases of 'Ion,' this beauty is prominent; the choice words which form the finished sentences of this gem of English literature, are sounded full in every letter. Vowels and consonants receive their measured justice, and every line is meted out with its just cadence, imparting to our much-abused English a quality as free from blemish as it is capable of sustaining. In common or less classical compositions, the words are endued with a strength and beauty, which are borrowed from her perfection of utterance. There is a roundness and a rich purity in her pronunciation, which gives a finish and fullness to the sound, that is really musical. She is a worthy mistress of the Queen's English.

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MADAME CARADORI ALLAN.--A new star in _our_ musical world has shone upon us during the past month; not the less dazzlingly, perhaps, from its foreign lustre. Mde. ALLAN possesses a _soprano_ voice, of a light quality. She sings with great apparent ease, and there is a finish to every note, worthy of the highest praise. Her execution is graceful in the extreme. The most rapid notes glide as distinctly through her voice as the most slow and measured. There is neither hesitation in the one, nor hurry in the other. All are in exact time, and evince in their execution a degree of study seldom effected, and a taste fully competent to seize upon and display the most exquisite beauties of the art. Her manner is evidently that of one unaccustomed to the stage; that of a sensitive and delicate gentlewoman, suddenly placed in a situation new to her, but embarrassing only from its novelty. If, as has been asserted, Mde. Allan's first appearance here was really her _début_ in an opera made up of English words, she certainly has great reason to congratulate herself on the success which attended even her acting of the part of 'Rosina.' The execution of the opening song, the 'Unâ Voce,' first in English, and then, in obedience to an _encore_, in Italian, was truly as beautiful as we can fancy it in the power of her peculiar voice to make it. It was certainly sufficient to merit one of the most rapturous bursts of applause that was ever listened to. The other music of her part was equally well executed, if we except those pieces where low contralto notes were to be sounded. Here, of course, the artiste could do nothing; and she showed her good sense by attempting nothing. We particularly noticed this peculiarity in the concerted piece at the close of the first act. Having no contralto notes in her voice, it was impossible for her to express the music belonging to this scene. A repetition of 'The Barber,' on the next night, gave us an opportunity of witnessing the same beauties, and the same slight defects. There was, as might have been expected, less embarrassment than on the previous evening; while the acting, and the stage-business altogether, was more easy and natural. 'Love in a Village' displayed the high faculties of Mde. Allan to still greater advantage, and certainly, with one glorious exception, we never heard the melodies which belong to 'Rosetta' more exquisitely given. There were two simple ballads introduced, which, in her way of expressing them, made perfect gems of the hacknied 'Coming through the Rye,' and 'I'm Over Young to Marry.' It is the peculiar province of genius to hallow all it breathes upon; and surely, in a musical way, this truth was never more clearly exemplified. We are sorry to say, however, that with the exception of Mr. PLACIDE, Mde. Allan has been most wretchedly supported. Mr. JONES sang worse than ever, and acted no better. Mr. RICHINGS is not equal to the parts which we honestly believe he is _obliged_ to sustain in opera. His exertions, however, as 'Hawthorn,' would, on this particular evening, have been entitled to less censure, if he had taken the trouble to learn his part. The minor characters in opera are shamefully executed at this house. They were bad enough when the WOODS and BROUGH were to be supported, but infinitely worse now. There are singers enough in the country to make up this deficiency. Why are they not engaged? There is Mr. BROUGH for the 'Basils,' Mr. LATHAM for the 'Figaros;' there is Mr. HORN, who _can sing_, if he cannot _act_ the 'Elvinos'; and surely an 'Almaviva' and a 'Hawthorn' might be found, to fill the places of those who now disgrace these characters at the Park. With two or three exceptions, (and among them, in justice, we must name Mr. HAYDEN,) the most exquisite music is played by an admirable orchestra to no better purpose than to show the sad deficiency of the singers. Of Mde. Caradori Allan's performance of the 'Somnambulist,' we are not prepared to speak fully; as, in consequence of the early hour at which this Magazine is put to press, we have, 'at this present writing,' only seen her first appearance in the character; when, from over-exertion, perhaps, in the second act, she was unable to go through with the third as satisfactorily as we may hope practice will enable her to do hereafter.

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THE NATIONAL THEATRE, under its present management, is second to none in the United States in the varied talent and efficiency of its acting company, in scenic effect, general good order, the attraction and excellence of its entertainments, and the number and respectability of its audiences. It has uncommon materials for either tragedy, comedy, or opera. 'Macbeth' and 'Othello,' for example, the 'School for Scandal,' 'Cure for the Heart-ache,' etc., could not probably be produced more effectively in any particular, even at Drury Lane. Othello, especially, with J. W. WALLACK, VANDENHOFF, BROWNE, ABBOTT, Miss WHEATLEY, and Mrs. SEFTON, in the principal characters, is really a rare treat. It is so much like SHAKSPEARE's Othello, that we think even the great bard himself would recognise it; which is more than can be said of most portraitures of his splendid creations. In 'Macbeth,' too, we opine that Mr. Vandenhoff is scarcely excelled, even by Macready--still less by any other living tragedian; and at neither of the two great London theatres, where we saw Macready in this character about a year since, was the play otherwise better done than at the National. In his personations of Hamlet, Iago, and Cato, Mr. Vandenhoff is also preeminently great, if not unequalled. He has strongly confirmed his reputation as an artist of the first order in his profession, and he is, moreover, as we are assured by those who know him, a gentleman of sterling acquirements, and unassuming worth. In person, he is of medium height, with an intellectual and expressive face, and a voice at once pleasing and powerful. An emphasis sometimes rather too _drawling_, is the only exception we can make to his usually chaste and judicious elocution.

A review of the performances at the 'WOODWORTH BENEFIT,' some wholesome advice to Mr. GANN, for over-action, a notice at large of 'The English Gentleman,' (a most sterling play,) together with a report upon the laughable and admirably-acted piece, 'Gulliver in Liliput,' although in type, are reluctantly, yet unavoidably, omitted.

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THE AMERICAN THEATRE, Bowery, has presented to large audiences, since our last notice, a melodramatic piece called the 'Bronze Horse,' the scenery, machinery, dresses, and decorations of which are said to have been unequalled by any thing hitherto seen at this establishment. Its great and continued popularity must be taken as substantial evidence of its merit as a spectacle.

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THE OLYMPIC continues, in an unpretending way, to increase its reputation as a quiet and well-conducted theatre, where one may find the lighter attractions of the drama admirably presented, by actors who understand their business, supervised by managers who know theirs, and attend to it. It is a capital place wherein to pass a leisure hour agreeably.

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