  'Bianca Visconti: or the Heart Overtasked.'—A successful tragedy, at the present day, is an event too rare to be passed over with indifference. The modern stage has been poverty-stricken so long, that it welcomes every thing in the shape of its natural food; although it is constantly reminded of its too credulous judgment, in the repeated nausea which it suffers from the flatulent and unsubstantial trash which its starved condition urges it to attempt to swallow. The American drama, if indeed we have any claim to such a possession, is such as may reasonably be expected, more lean and wretched than the drama of any of the more cultivated nations. But we have no national drama, as yet, although we think the corner-stone of its structure has been laid, and that there is bright promise of a noble edifice, in the aspiring efforts of the many able writers whom a few years have brought to light, as well as in the encouragement which the taste of the American people seems inclined to afford to this branch of literature. The tragedy now before us, is the first dramatic effort of a pen whose easy and finished tracings have made its master, even in the spring-time of his life, well known to fame. A mere experiment, in this most difficult department of literature, is worthy of praise. Whoever has considered the difficulties attendant upon the production of a play, of any class of the drama, would shrink from the task of bringing an original tragedy before the public, unless urged on by that firm confidence which genius gives to its possessor, and upheld through all by the hope of that ample reward which must attend the successful dramatist. Scott, in his letters to a theatrical friend in London, often adverts to the restraining of taste which the purveying for conceited or interested actors and actresses demands at the hands of a dramatic author, whose success is at their mercy, not less than at that of those of the audience who come to the theatre with palled animal and spiritual appetites, to 'snooze off their dinners and wine.' An expressionless 'oratorial machine,' high in the 'supe' department, whose delivery of the commonest matter of fact is Stentorian and Ciceronian, may have it in his power, by ludicrous mal addresse, to mar the best acting play, and to render ridiculous the most refined poetry; while a higher order of Thespian, by slumbering over a level part, in a villanously indifferent manner, inadmissible as acting, may jeopardize an entire drama. But to return to 'Bianca Visconti.' Mr. Willis has bravely accomplished his task; and without the slightest thought of depreciating the efforts of others of our countrymen who have written for the stage, we must honestly declare, that his work deserves the place of honor above them all. 'Bianca Visconti,' if considered merely as a dramatic poem, is replete with enduring beauties of poetry. Considered as a tragedy, it has many of the essential qualities of an acting play; not all, perhaps, in their highest perfection, but sufficiently marked, to convince the most fastidious of the power which the writer possesses, and of a certain promise of future efforts more decidedly faultless. The story of Bianca Visconti is well told. Although it proceeds without the aid of any extraordinary incidents, yet an interest is awakened, continued, and increased to the catastrophe. The characters are naturally drawn, and they have the especial merit of possessing in themselves an There is hardly incident enough in the first three acts, to keep up that melo-dramatic influence which the artificial appetite of the present day delights in. The author seems to have scorned the clap-trap which has become the chief merit of many modern playwrights. In this we think he has done wisely, on more accounts than one. In the first place, clap-trap is dangerous. We have seen an audience 'bathed in stillness,' the pulse of a crowded theatre beating like that of one man, convulsed by some blundering misconception of a forced dramatic point, into roars of laughter, though the play were a deep tragedy. We have seen the devil, in 'Faust,' by reason of a 'solution of continuity' in the waist-band of his diabolical unmentionables, make a palpable hit on the stage, dropping unexpectedly from an upward distance of some twelve feet, with the emphasis of 'a squashed apple-dumpling.' We have seen the cauldron in Macbeth, through some defect in the subterranean witch-craft, return, after its disappearance, before the eyes of an enrapt auditory, with the greasy hats and dirty coats of the prime movers exposed to the general eye. In short, we have seen enough to convince us, that profuse clap-trick, whether of language or scenic addittaments, although it may make the million stare or applaud, seldom fails to 'make the judicious grieve.' The character of Bianca Visconti is drawn with marked power. She is truly a fond, doting, enthusiastic lover; a woman who devotes her present and eternal peace to love, and breaks her heart in the unrequited sacrifice. Hers is an enthusiasm which all must admire, and still regret, in pity. Sforza is a bold, not heartless, but ambitious hero. His love for Bianca is concealed beneath the grand passion of his soul. It is shut out for a time, only to burst forth at last with dazzling but hopeless splendor. The quaint Pasquali, the courtly poet and the philosophic lover, is a creation worthy the pen of a Knowles. He is to this tragedy what Fathom is to the 'Hunchback;' a bright gleam of sunshine ever and anon breaking through the darkness of the rising storm, in striking contrast to the gloom of the gathering clouds. His admirer, Fiametta, although not an apt scholar in the mazes of poetry and philosophy, is, like the Audrey of 'As You Like it,' most willing to learn, and ambitious to share in the laurelled honors of her sage teacher. As a literary composition, 'Bianca Visconti' abounds with beauties. The images are clear, and radiant with poetical and delicate imaginings; and there are occasionally those fine bursts of feeling, which seem to come fresh from the soul, and to raise up a kindred sentiment, with their spirit-stirring words, in the souls of all who listen. What, for example, can be more like the picture of the bright thoughts of a young, enthusiastic girl, than Bianca's rapturous anticipation of a life of love: 'Oh, I'll build A home upon some green and flowery isle In the lone lakes, where we will use our empire Only to keep away the gazing world. The purple mountains and the glassy waters Shall make a hush'd pavilion with the sky, And we two in its midst will live alone, Counting the hours by stars and waking birds, And jealous but of sleep!' Or what more glorious to the fancy that would clothe the delicacy of the female character in the gorgeous robes of heroic majesty, than Sforza's description of the fair Giovanna: 'Gods! what a light enveloped her! She left Little to shine in history; but her beauty Was of that order, that the universe Seemed governed by her motion. Men look'd on her As if her next step would arrest the world; He rides so buoyantly, all things around her— The glittering army, the spread gonfalon, The pomp, the music, the bright sun in heaven— Seemed glorious by her leave!' Bianca's picture of the two Sforzas, though often quoted, is too beautiful and striking to be here omitted: 'Mark the moral, Sir: An eagle once, from the Euganean hills, Soared bravely to the sky. In his giddy track, Scarce marked by them who gazed upon the first, Followed a new-fledged eaglet, fast and well. Upward they sped, and all eyes on their flight Gazed with admiring awe: when suddenly The parent bird, struck by a thunder-bolt, Dropped lifeless through the air. The eaglet paused And hung upon his wings; and as his sire Plashed in the far-down wave, men look'd to see him Flee to his nest affrighted! Sforza.'Did he so?' Bianca. 'My noble lord, he had a monarch's heart! He wheeled a moment in mid air, and shook Proudly his royal wings, and then right on, With crest uplifted, and unwavering flight, Sped to the sun's eye, straight and gloriously!' There is a fine opportunity for the display of the power of the actress, in the scene where news is brought to Bianca of her father's death. The struggle between the joy which this event produces, by giving a chance of the coronet to her husband, and the sorrow which affection for her parent should cause, one acting against the other, present a scene which calls for the highest powers of the histrionic art to portray faithfully; and it is but just to say, that Miss Clifton did it justice. There is a great deal of quaint humor, and many truths wittily delivered, in the part of Pasquali. His exposition of the true meaning of the word imagination, to the homely understanding of his pupil, is as ingenious as true. One of Goldsmith's characters, if we do not mistake, reasons not unlike the Milanese bard, upon the same or a similar theme:
The tragedy was well received, and attracted large audiences; and its success has satisfied us, that were the author to essay another attempt, with the additional knowledge of stage effect which the production and presentation of the present effort must have given him, he could scarcely fail of acquiring a high rank as a dramatist. The vein which has been opened, cannot have been exhausted at one running, as we hope yet to see made manifest. 'The Times that tried Men's Souls.'—'Advance, ye future generations! We would hail you, as you rise in your long succession, to fill the places which we now fill, and to taste the blessings of existence, where we are passing, and soon shall have passed, our own human duration!' Such appeared to be the sentiment of a benevolent-looking revolutionary veteran, the well-known Mr. Allaire, of this city, as he sat upon the deck of the Charleston and New-York Steam-Packet 'Neptune,' on the occasion of her recent launch, and surveyed the faces of the gay and light-hearted group around him. As the noble craft glided gracefully and almost imperceptibly into the water, and shot far over toward the Brooklyn shore, the 'old man eloquent' remarked: 'Well, I remember Brooklyn, when there were but eight houses in it. Now look at it!' added he, with a gesture of pride, that he had lived to see its present prosperity. 'And New-York, too,' he continued, 'I remember New-York when there was not a house above the hospital. I recollect, when they were digging down Catharine-street, how they disinterred the feet of the Hessians, in the side-banks, where they had been hastily buried, many years before. I read the Declaration of Independence,' continued the venerable patriot, 'for the first time, at a sudden and enthusiastic gathering at Tarrytown, before three thousand people. I heard the shouts of applause from the true American spirits, and saw the tories open their mouths, and pretend to hurrah, yet no voice came from their false lips. But they were forced, in such an assemblage, to make a demonstration, to avoid suspicion.' And thus the old veteran went on, a true exemplification of 'garrulous eld.' At the sumptuous entertainment which succeeded, at the residence of that true sailor and accomplished gentleman, Capt. Pennoyer, commander of the 'Neptune,' we could not take our eyes from the aged soldier of the revolution, who occupied a place of honor, nor cease to think of the changes which he had seen in his day and generation. He lived through 'the times that tried men's souls,' and which gave birth to the freedom of our noble republic. We could look at the picture in the glowing light of the present, and the gorgeous hues that robe the future; but, to adopt the beautiful thought of Scott, he could turn the tapestry, and see the blood-stained warp and woof which bore the ground colors, and composed the prominent objects. While upon the subject of revolutionary times, it will not be inappropriate to introduce here two letters of General Washington, which have never before been published. They were recently copied by the junior publisher of this Magazine, from the originals in the possession of his grandfather, to whom they were addressed. This gentleman was President of a Massachusetts 'Council of Safety,' and was high in the esteem and confidence of the Pater Patria. Nothing can be more characteristic than the deliberation, the close scrutiny into consequences, which these letters evince; compelled, as the writer was, to guard against the cavils of the disaffected or the envious, who had neither candor to suppose good meanings, nor discernment to distinguish true ones, in the announcement of his projects: Cambridge, August 22, 1775.
Mark the just policy and far-reaching sagacity which the subjoined letter evinces, nor lose sight of the numerous difficulties and dangers which environed the writer, and threatened his plans: Cambridge, August 7, 1775.
We shall hereafter present an original and characteristic letter from General Warren, written the night before the battle of Bunker-Hill. In justice to the writer of the ensuing defence, which has been in our possession since its date, it is proper to say, that we have received, from various and most reputable sources, the strongest testimony in relation to his personal character. He is represented to us as a gentleman of untiring industry and perseverance, who, often under circumstances of adversity and affliction, has labored diligently and successfully, for a long series of years, in an arduous avocation, and whose reputation for probity, and honorable and generous acts, is alike unimpeachable and undeniable. Of the merits of his works, having never examined them, we are unable to form an opinion, farther than may be gathered from the almost unexampled extent of their sale. Eds. Knickerbocker. TO THE EDITORS OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. Gentlemen: In the June number of the Knickerbocker, I have seen an 'extract' purporting to be taken from the 'Introduction' of a yet unpublished work upon English grammar, by Goold Brown, which extract seems to be a sort of criticism levelled at me and my works, but more especially at my Grammar. Judging from the fury of this assault, one would be inclined to think, that my antagonist believed his very existence as an author depended upon his annihilation of me, and that my future popularity and success are dependant upon his opinion of me and my works! My Grammar, gentlemen, has been attacked by abler writers than Goold Brown, and has passed through the ordeal of their criticisms unscathed. It is not to be expected, therefore, that I should care a groat whether this self-constituted philological umpire likes the work or not. Indeed, I would rather he would not like it; for sure I am, that if he liked it, few others would; a clear proof of which we have, in a dull book on grammar, which he himself produced, some twelve or fifteen years ago, on a plan and in a style exactly suited to his own peculiar liking. Since then, it never entered into my scheme to write a grammar to suit the taste of my jealous rivals, but to please myself and the public. Having gained the latter point, I can very complacently bear all the futile abuse which may be heaped upon me. I know it is mortifying for an author to fail, especially a conceited one. I admit that it is hard for him to write eleven years for nine hundred dollars, Had Goold Brown merely dipped his pen in gall to assail my work, so little do I regard his criticism, so great is my aversion to contention, and so thorough my contempt for mere mousing word-catching, that he might have gone on and vented his spleen unheeded; but since he has seen fit thus wantonly to assail my private character, and to impeach my motives, and since he has attempted to sustain himself in this unjustifiable attack, by misapplying my language and distorting my meaning, I conceive myself called upon to expose his duplicity and baseness. That he is utterly incapable of discovering any thing in the grammatical works of others, but faults and defects, I need not show, for the article in question saves me the trouble; but that his assault upon me savors strongly of malevolence and dishonesty, I shall presently prove. He has, nevertheless, stated some facts in relation to my Grammar, although, as it appears, quite unintentionally; and, as far as facts stated by him can have any influence with the public, they will do me good. On the other hand, he has made many statements concerning me and my works, which are not founded upon facts. Most of these, however, so clearly show the evil design of the critic, that they need no reply. As they carry with them their own antidote, I have nothing to apprehend from their poison. But some of these misstatements are more adroitly managed, and are calculated to mislead the unsuspecting reader. I allude to his charges brought against both my personal and my grammatical character, which he has attempted to support by garbling, torturing, misquoting, misconstruing, and misapplying my language, and thereby perverting my meaning. In order, therefore, that the public may be disabused on these points, I shall proceed to take them up in order. After denouncing me as a 'bad writer,'and as wanting in 'scholarship,' and insinuating that I would 'bribe the critics and reviewers,' my liberal and pious censor all at once discovers, through his rusty spectacles, not only that I am so unprincipled as totally to disregard 'accuracy' and usefulness in authorship, but that my 'principal business is to turn my publication to profit;' that I am, in short, a real worshipper of Midas; and, in order to prove himself correct in this marvellous discovery, the honest man presents his readers with the following passage:
The injustice and roguery of this passage, it is impossible for the casual reader fully to conceive. After forming a postulate to fit his own purpose, the critic ransacks my works to garble a passage that, by contortion and misapplication, shall fit it in such a manner as to make me utter a libel against my own moral character! My pen falters while I expose the duplicity of this transaction. 'Murray simply intended to do good.' Kirkham says, 'My pretensions reach not so far.' So far as what? As to do good, of course. This is undoubtedly the meaning intended to be conveyed by the wily critic. But let us look at the meaning of the passage, when taken in its original connexion, as it stands in my Elocution. It occurs at the close of that work, in some eulogistic remarks made upon Dr. James Rush, the distinguished author of the 'Philosophy of the Human Voice.' The whole passage reads thus:
Now instead of saying in this passage that 'my pretensions reach not so far as to do good,' I simply say, that they reach not so far as those of Dr. Rush!—and the passage is so free from ambiguity as to render it impossible for my opponent to have mistaken my meaning. Mistaken it, indeed! He very well knew, when he penned this slanderous paragraph, that my professed object in writing school-books was to 'do good;' and yet he has the hardihood to hoax his readers into the belief that I openly disavow any such intention! Comment is unnecessary. And yet this is the modest man who has the effrontery to call in question the motives of him whom he traduces; to lecture him upon the principles of morality and justice; and cantingly to quote scripture at him! He intimates that I have not the moral courage to 'dare to do right.' I have the courage to dare to tell the truth. But since my antagonist has maliciously attempted, by misquoting my language, to prove that I disavow any intention either to do good or to do right, perhaps I may be indulged in a few quotations, too, from my own works, merely with the view of presenting this matter in its proper light:
These examples are sufficient to show, at least as far as my own observations are concerned, by what motives I have been actuated in the production of my works. That these motives are more pure or patriotic than those of other men who have written upon the same subjects, I have never pretended; for I am ready to acknowledge that I am subject to the weaknesses and infirmities common to human nature. But it is evident, that what has so greatly annoyed my antagonist is not the defects, but the success, of my Grammar. In the following passage, our critic attempts to prove me grossly inconsistent with myself:
Now, in these instances, I should be fair game, were it not for the trifling difference, that I happen to present the doctrines and notions of other writers, and was my own, as stated by my learned censor. For example; in 1823, I introduced into my Grammar, as Mr. Murray's definition, the old notion, that 'A consonant is a letter that cannot be perfectly sounded without the help of a vowel.' But in 1834, I presented in my Elocution Dr. Rush's opposite opinion, and ascribed it to him. If, therefore, I had become fully satisfied that Dr. Rush is correct, it would behoove me to alter the definition as it stands in my Grammar; but, inasmuch as I am yet undecided on this point, I have not thought proper to do so. Again, our critic says: 'Upon his own rules he comments thus:' 'But some of these rules are foolish,' etc. Now this assertion is utterly untrue; and, if Goold Brown read the whole passage from which he quotes, as he ought to have done, he knew he was asserting what was false. The rules in question, are introduced into the notes of my Elocution as John Walker's, and not as my own; as any one may see, by referring to that work. Similar remarks are applicable to 'Rules 10 and 11,' in my Grammar, both of which are taken from Murray; and this, too, Goold Brown as well knew, when he brought this charge of inconsistency against me, as he knew that in making it, he was libelling me. Really, when a critic is driven to such crooked shifts as these to make out his case, it needs no farther evidence to prove that it is a bad one. But the foulest calumny in this tirade of abuses and misrepresentations, is contained in the following passage, in which, after having dealt out the most illiberal strictures, and the most unsparing condemnations and denunciations, upon my Grammar, he pretends to support his calumnies, by showing me up as a perfect ignoramus in the science of grammar:
In my Grammar, the phrase 'deed or deeds' is included in a bracket, and therefore, as every one acquainted with Cobb's Spelling-Book well knows, is not intended to be read as a part of the sentence, but as an explanatory clause. The couplet stands thus, in my book: The casual reader of my Grammar will have observed, that I often introduce examples to be analyzed, in which an ellipsis occurs, and that I supply these elliptical words in brackets, and frequently present two or three forms or sets of words, leaving it for the pupil to adopt whichever form he pleases, though not without respect to the construction that is to follow. For example; if in the words supplied in the bracket, both a singular and a plural form occur, as in the example before us, in parsing it, the pupil may take either form or word for his nominative; but if he adopt the singular, he must also employ a singular verb to agree with it; but if the plural, a plural verb must follow. Hence it is obvious that the effect of leaving out the bracket in this passage, is totally to destroy my design, and pervert my meaning; and not merely that, but also to make me write language so grossly ungrammatical, that even a tyro, who has studied my lectures on grammar ten hours, would at once correct it. The knavery of this trick is transcended only by its meanness, and I will venture to say, is without a parallel in the annals of hypercriticism. It is so bare-faced, indeed, as to defeat its own object: and for the benefit of the gentleman who practised it upon his readers, I will quote another passage from 'the immortal bard,' 'the sentiment of which,' I hope, will sink deep into his heart, and be long remembered by him, and lead him to reform his morals and mend his manners: 'Who steals my Purse, steals trash: 'Twas mine; 'tis his; and has been slave to thousands; But he who filches from me my good name, Robs me of that which not enriches him, But makes me poor indeed.' But, excepting those founded on misquotations, and perversions of my meaning, what are the arguments wielded by this chivalrous knight of the goose-quill? In the first place, he admits that, by some means, the popularity of my work has become such, in a short time, as to create a demand for sixty thousand copies in a year; (a fact;) and yet, he denies that it possesses the least particle of merit, and denounces it as one of the 'worst' grammars ever written! Admirable logician! But what a slander is this upon the public taste! What an insult to the understanding and discrimination of the good people of these United States! What! a book have no merit, and yet be called for at the rate of sixty thousand copies a year! According to this reasoning, all the inhabitants of our land must be fools, except one man, and that man is Goold Brown! What would this disinterested 'vindicator of a greatly injured and perverted science' give, if this same foolish and gullible community would but purchase only sixteen hundred copies per annum of his own precious work upon grammar? That Goold Brown is possessed of a degree of critical acumen sufficient to distinguish himself as a grammatical tinker, in which vocation the main business is that of adjusting and arranging words, and rasping and filing the points and hinges of sentences, I am willing to admit; and, moreover, that he is industrious in this noble employment, as well as in defaming other writers, I do not deny; but that he possesses enough of scholastic acquirement, and capaciousness and force of intellect, to grasp a new system, or originate an important improvement in science, remains for him yet to show to the world. The encomiums bestowed upon him for his industry, excite not my envy; for I firmly believe, that he will go farther in the chase of a little idea, and pursue it with more ardor, and dodge more corners to catch it, than any other living author. It would be ungenerous, therefore, to deprive him of any of the honors due to him on this score. It may be well, nevertheless, for those who laud him for his industry, to bear in mind, that his labors are commendable or otherwise, exactly in proportion to the good or ill that results from them. That his Grammar is destitute of merit, I have never asserted; or that its faults far exceed its merits, though easily proved, it is not my present object to show. Let the history of its success (or rather want of success) tell the tale. Goold Brown has most disingenuously insinuated that the great success of my Grammar is awing wholly to extrinsic circumstances. How can this be, when Goold Brown's efforts as a writer have proved his merits to be of that order which can never command the attention of the public, nor be crowned with any considerable degree of popularity or success. In his style, he displays many of those lighter graces and excellencies which pass for cleverness with such as look more at smoothness of diction and accuracy of expression, than at force of argument, or depth and strength of thought. In his criticism of my Grammar, he has displayed as little of the manly vigor of a scholar, as of the courtesy or candor of a gentleman; and in his unjust attack upon my private character, I think I have clearly shown, that he has evinced far less of wisdom and moderation, than of malevolence and vindictiveness. If, in his eagerness to anathematize and victimize me, he has sometimes so far forgotten the dignity of the critic as to descend to scurrility and coarse language, I will charitably ascribe the fault to the heart, rather than to the head. Unenvious of the laurels he may glean in such an inglorious strife, I have not attempted to imitate him in his manners, nor to rival him in his illiberally; and therefore I have not plainly called him a knave, a liar, or a pedant: but, in the most polite and civil language that the nature of the case would admit, I have endeavored to prove that each of these terms might be justly applied to him with emphatic force. To avoid being misunderstood, I must be permitted to say, that however much I may contemn the abuse, yet no man entertains a more profound respect for the use, of true criticism, than myself; and had my antagonist treated me with but a moderate share of decency, and one-half the liberality that candor and justice demanded, he would have received my bow, and have saved himself the present castigation. I delight not in contention. I never sought it with any one. No man can accuse me of ever having assailed a brother-author, or of having laid a straw in the path of a rival. But then, my spirit inhabits a citadel of flesh and blood, and will not brook to be bullied by a ruffian. There is a point beyond which, if forbearance be extended, it ceases to be a virtue. Goold Brown professes to be my personal friend, and to 'rejoice at my success.' If he were sincere in this profession, he would not treat me with invective, nor garble my language to sustain his unfounded accusations against me. If he were sincere in his professions, and consistent in his opinions, he would not now condemn my Grammar, and slanderously assert that it is one of the 'worst' books of the kind ever written; for, seven years ago last autumn, he praised, and highly praised, this self-same Grammar, and declared it to be 'a good work!' Goold Brown knows that what little of learning and fame I have acquired, are the fruits of my own industry. Having never inherited a patrimony, nor received the favors of a guardian, they are honestly come by; and so are the emoluments I receive by way of copy-right; and he admits that I am 'liberal with my gains.' Why then does he seek to destroy me? He knows, too, that I have endured more hardship, suffered more from bodily infirmity, and drank more deeply of the cup of adversity, than most men of my age. Why then does he persecute me, and attempt to wrest from me the just meed of praise and patronage which the public are willing to bestow? I admit that my Grammar has its defects, (and whose has not?) and that, on account of what my countrymen have been pleased to view as excellencies in it, they have been indulgent to its faults. And I repeat, that had Goold Brown pointed out any of these, though in his peculiarly censorious and dogmatical manner, I should have received his criticisms kindly; for I have always held it as a maxim, that a man can never be too well informed to be instructed, even by his enemies and his inferiors. But when a man so far degrades himself as to deal in general denunciation, and coarse invective, instead of just and manly criticism, he neither enlightens the public, nor benefits him whom he assails. The motive of the critic in furnishing to the reviewers this particular 'extract' from a work I do not know that I can more profitably close these remarks, than by calling the serious attention of my antagonist to the sentiments contained in the following extract from the preface to my Elocution, a personal application of which, I doubt not, would do him good:
S. Kirkham. New-York, July 25, 1837. Newspaporial.—Our readers are not ignorant of the high estimate which we place upon the 'New-Yorker' weekly journal. For industry, talent, interest, and general usefulness, we scarcely know its superior. In a recent eloquent appeal to the justice of its numerous delinquent subscribers, it announces that hereafter, owing to the pressure of the times, it can only be afforded at three dollars per annum for the folio, and four dollars for the quarto edition; at the same time giving notice, that it will credit all payments, until the first of November, at the original price of two and three dollars. The Sunday Morning News, already well established in reputation, and very widely circulated, has received a valuable addition to its attractions, in the accession of John Howard Payne, Esq., formerly of the 'Ladies' Companion,' and Mr. John Jay Adams, to its editorial department. 'Hudson's Express' is the title of a new and well-conducted daily journal, of the smaller class. It is under the editorial supervision, as we learn, of Joseph Price, Esq., recently, and for a considerable period, Editor of the New-York Mirror. Park Theatre.—The season at this house commenced under a sad disappointment. The public had been led to anticipate the pleasure of listening again to the magic tones of Mrs. Wood, and of revelling in that intellectual delight which all have fell who have heard her exquisite performances in opera. But alas! their hopes were blasted, and the manager's prospects of a rich harvest somewhat diminished, by the news that unavoidable circumstances will prevent our old friends from visiting us so soon as was anticipated. We still hope that the season will not entirely pass away, without being marked by their distinguished performances. In opera, however, we have had, during the month, in Miss Horton, a singer whose exertions have served to keep alive the growing musical taste of the Park audiences. Mr. Horn, with a voice absolutely regenerated, and Brough, with his deep thunder-tones, have sustained the tenor and contralto, and by their united efforts given effect to our old favorites, 'La SomnambulÉ,' 'Cinderilla,' 'Fra Diavolo,' and the 'Frieschutz.' Miss Horton merits no small praise for the able manner in which she has given the elaborate music of these operas, all made sacred by, and become as it were identified with, a missing artiste. The style of Miss Horton is so highly finished and pure, and governed by so much taste and judgment, that her execution is as easy, smooth, and tranquil, as the gentle current of a brook. She makes no effort which she does not accomplish. There is no attempt at the grand and astonishing; she is content to give the music of her author, without gilding it (as is too often attempted) by roulades and cadenzas, altogether foreign to the genius of the music, and the intentions of the composer. Miss Horton's voice is a limited soprano, but so sweet and sonorous, even in its harshest tones, that the hearer is compensated for its want of power, in the exquisite delicacy of its cadence, while the finished effect which it affords to the most minute passages of the music, is a worthy compensation for a lack of any of those whirlwinds of power with which it seems the intention of some prima donnas of the present day to overwhelm an audience, and 'snatch nine souls out of one weaver.' Mr. Brough has passed his time profitably during his absence from us. His voice has become even more rich and powerful than when he left us, while his acting and mariner upon the stage have received much amendment. His 'Dandini' is equal to the best, and his performance of 'Basil,' in the 'Marriage of Figaro,' altogether beyond the best, that we have ever witnessed at the Park. Mr. Horn's voice has recovered itself to a miracle. Indeed, it has gone somewhat beyond its best quality of former days. It has acquired a mellowness and a power 'which were not so before.' With the great musical genius and acquirements of Mr. Horn, it will be his own fault if he does not take that high stand as a performer, which he has so long enjoyed as a composer and professor in his noble science. We have not had opera alone at the Park. Tragedy and comedy (in which latter Mr. Hill, more clever and cute than ever, has been conspicuous,) have had their turns, and in some instances have been ably sustained in their principal characters. As for filling either tragedy or comedy completely with the present ingredients which go to make up what is called the 'stock company' of the Park Theatre, the effort would be as vain as an attempt to portray all the colors of the rainbow with blue and crimson. Mr. Willis's Tragedy of 'Bianca Visconti' was represented in the early part of the month; and notwithstanding the draw-back of very indifferent acting, in the principal character, and the worse than bad acting of some of the minors, it met with much success. The play will be found noticed at length in another place. Mrs. Sharpe has been delighting her old admirers, and many new ones, by her vivacity and truth in comedy. She has long been absent from the Park boards, and has returned, we are happy to say, with renewed health, and a spirit as earnest as ever to instruct and delight. Her performances in tragedy with Mr. Forrest, the improvement of that gentleman, the addition of Mrs. Richardson, (umqwhile our favorite Mrs. Chapman,) to the Park company, are all subjects of gratulation and comment, but are too late for the present number. C. American Theatre, Bowery.—Early in the month, Mr. Booth went through his usual round of characters at this establishment, before large audiences, and with triumphant success. We had the great pleasure to attend upon his personation of Richard III. and Sir Giles Overreach, and are free to say, that we never saw the representation of either character excelled. That of Sir Giles, especially, was masterly, beyond any previous effort of the actor. The interest was so intense, during the last scene, that a play-bill, falling from some 'rapt god' in the gallery, eddied audibly down into the pit, amid the 'shuddering stillness' which the great power of the artist had created, even in a theatre never remarkable for silence. It was emphatically the triumph of mind over matter. We can say little either for Mr. or Mrs. Hield, who were announced in large letters. The acting of the former, particularly in 'A New Way to Pay Old Debts,' was beneath criticism. He evidently never studied the character which he assumed, but was content to skim the superfices, and leave the rest to rant and fustian. Surely this course, on the part of one in whose professional countenance inanity seems to contend with grimace, and whose gestures and action are not unlike those of a galvanized baboon, is very unwise. Mrs. Hield has great energy of action, but unfortunately the unpardonable fault of emulating her husband in over-doing every thing. The features of her expressive but plain face, owing to this cause, seem to be worked by a secret forty-horse power. The engagement of these performers, in conjunction with so intellectual and capable an artist as Mr. Booth, must be considered as ill-advised and unfortunate. National Theatre.—We shall hereafter preserve a record, somewhat in detail, of the performances at this very superior establishment. Mr. Wallack has fully redeemed his promise to the public, by bringing together the best stock company in the city, and by already producing three or four stars of the first magnitude, in their several spheres. Of Mr. Vandenhoff, who has at once established among us the high reputation which had preceded him from England, as a tragedian, we shall speak more at large in our next number. Miss Turpin in opera, and Mr. Brown and Mr. Williams in comedy, have won, in a few evenings' performance, the high professional standing which their merits are so well calculated to command. The Wallacks, themselves 'hosts,' it would be supererogation to praise. In brief, in the legitimate drama, and in order and correct stage management, the National holds an honorable prËeminence. The Olympic.—This new establishment has taken the town by surprise, in one respect at least. It is the most beautiful theatre on the Atlantic sea-board. Its decorations, scenery, etc., are rich and tasteful; the entire stage is carpeted, the stage-management is well conducted, and both in internals and externals, it reflects credit upon the liberality and taste of the proprietors. We have been unable, as yet, to attend upon any of the performances; but are informed that they have been highly creditable, bringing out Mr. Barrett, Mrs. Maeder, (Clara Fisher.) Mr. Flinn, Mr. Gates, and other Thespians of eminence. We wish the 'Olympic' success, which we doubt not it will command by deserving it. Dubufe's Don Juan and Haidee.—The time of this picture is when Lambro, the father of Haidee, surprises her with Don Juan; and the scene is too well known to require description. The painting itself is beyond comparison, in richness, beauty, and effect, the finest effort of art yet exhibited in this country. We shall not attempt a detailed sketch of its numerous points of attraction; but simply enjoin upon all who may read this paragraph, within an hour's walk or ride of the Stuyvesant Institute, to repair thither 'at the meetest vantage of the time,' to become for a season 'dazzled and drunk with beauty.' At the same exhibition-rooms, is another painting by Dubufe, of 'St. John in the Wilderness.' It is a faultless production. Landscape Gardening and Rural Taste.—A correspondent has elsewhere touched upon these themes, and we are glad to perceive that they are attracting something of public attention. The want of taste of which the writer complains, is but too general. Propriety and beauty of location, in our cities, even, are often sacrificed to the mere external ornaments of the edifice itself. Speaking of a picturesque and pleasant mansion near London, Cooper sarcastically observes: 'We should pull the building down, if we had it in New-York, because it does not stand on a thoroughfare, where one can swallow dust free of cost.' There is a good deal of truth in this. A superior house may not unfrequently be seen here also, occupying, by choice of the owner, some such 'cheerful position' as Knickerbocker's hotel, which 'commanded a pleasant view of the rear of the poor-house and bridewell, and the front of the hospital.' Our country-seats, too, are still sometimes chosen, as formerly, if we may believe our venerable foster-father, the pleasant locale being often 'on the borders of a salt marsh; subject, indeed, to be occasionally overflowed, and much infested in the summer-time with musquitoes, but otherwise very agreeable,' producing abundant crops of salt grass and delicate bulrushes. In England, says Irving, the rudest habitation, the most unpromising portion of land, in the hands of a person of taste, becomes a little paradise. 'The sterile spot grows into loveliness under his hand; and yet the operations of art which produce the effect are scarcely to be perceived. The cherishing and training of some trees; the cautious pruning of others; the nice distribution of flowers and plants of tender and graceful foliage; the introduction of a green slope of velvet turf; the partial opening to a peep of blue distance, or silver gleam of water—all these are managed with a delicate tact, a pervading, yet quiet assiduity, like the magic touchings with which a painter finishes up a favorite picture.' What might not portions of America be made, under the influence of similar action? Vocal Music.—Mr. H. Russell has recently visited us again, delighting thousands with his soul-stirring music. His late concert at the City Hotel was crowded with the Élite of the city; and he gave many of his old, and one or two new productions, with surpassing effect. Indeed, his superior has never been among us. If we might be thought worthy to advise, however, we would counsel our friend, as he journeys eastward, to omit the perusal of the long letter, before singing the pretty song of 'Woodman, Spare that Tree!' by our contemporary, Col. Morris. We but speak the sentiments of a large majority present at the concert, when we say, that the perusal referred to is in exceeding bad taste, and altogether unnecessary, since the lines need no explanation. Any person can understand them, who understands any thing; and a long preface to that old and noble song, 'The Brave Old Oak,' which has quite the same general features, would be equally appropriate. We must not omit saying a word for Mr. Brough, Mr. Edwin, and Mrs. Watson. They sang with their accustomed skill and feeling; and a Miss Lewis acquitted herself with great credit. Literature of the West.—A kind friend, himself possessed of one of the finest minds in the West, thus speaks, (and he speaks truly, as we have often contended,) of the literary capabilities of the West. 'There is,' says he, 'more racy, original talent in the West, than you easterns dream of.' * * * 'The day is approaching, when a voice shall come out of the West, that will do honor to a dozen of the most worthy and intellectual young men which any section of our Union contains. We have the greatest country that the sun looks down upon; and before we all get gray, we will prove that our pretensions to intellectual vigor and originality are not unfounded. All we ask is a chance; and that must, in the natural course of things, transpire, before many thousand suns go down. Mind, Sir, I point my long fore-finger at you, and tell you so!' A New Orthography.—We have been not a little amused, in perusing a communication recently received from a correspondent in the western part of this state, wherein the writer gravely proposes an entire change in the present mode of spelling English words. His own plan may be gathered from the first paragraph of his article, which we subjoin, wherein it is shadowed forth. The writer seems sanguine in relation to his naked theory, which might help many of the English Grub-street brotherhood, (vide Cooper,) in their slip-shod and difficult labors for the press; but when a printed book shall be extant, after this fashion of orthography, we think the general ear will be erect to devour it up. Seriously, our correspondent must be aware that he has a 'sinewy opposite' to encounter in the tyrant Custom; and he will find that if he were to wear a gross of quills to the pith in setting forth and defending his project, it would avail him little. Sertinli, the 'hul sistim' iz a veri kuris propozishin on hiz part, and tharfore we giv our rederz a smol spesmen:
The writer here goes at large into diverse illustrations, which we must beg leave to decline publishing. At the same time, we fully agree with our correspondent, that our language needs simplifying, in many respects; that governour, errour, and colour, are a little too strongly spelled; and that domestick and 'sheep-tick' do not imperatively require the same termination. But our friend goes too far. He altogether 'out-Grimkes Grimke.' Can he not labor in the circle of reform, 'without a reel or stagger to the circumference,' a fault so common and so reprehensible? New-York College of Physicians and Surgeons.—We gather from a circular of the trustees of the College of Physicians and Surgeons of New-York, that a new, large, and commodious edifice, now in progress of completion, and admirably adapted for the purposes to which it is to be devoted, will be finished in season for the ensuing course of lectures, which are to be of the most extensive character, and to embrace every department of medical science. Anatomical investigations will be pursued under peculiar advantages, the supply of subjects for dissection being abundant and cheap. The anatomical museum has been greatly increased, and is amply provided with preparations for the illustration of a full course of lectures. The obstetrical museum, and the cabinet of materia medica, are well supplied with preparations in wax, drawings, and specimens; each subject of medical jurisprudence is illustrated by preparations and plates, and tests of every article of poisons are exhibited in detail; all chemical subjects are illustrated by actual experiment, through the medium of a superior chemical apparatus; the theory and practice of physic is constantly illustrated by visits to the New-York hospital; general, surgical, and pathological anatomy will be illustrated by preparations, plates, and dissections on the subject; while the lectures on physiology |
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