manized by pathos which will sink deep into their hearts? They ought not to see pantomimes, because there is nothing in them to remember. They are very well as shows; but there is in them "no life and food for future years." They ought rather to be among the toys of age than of childhood, which has gaiety and heedlessness enough of its own, and which requires rather to be enriched with a store of pensive thoughts, than to be lightened by elaborate vanities. The serious feelings of that season of life are those to which we revert oftenest in maturer years; because these have not died away with the moment, but have become the sources of trains of reflection which lengthen continuously as we proceed on our journey. That delight in novelty which the child indulges, the elasticity of mind with which he passes quickly from one enjoyment to another, the mantling spirits which kindle within him, stand in no need of stimulants; but should early be softened by a sense of the griefs which his fellows are enduring, and he must one day feel. It is a mistake to regard a thoughtless, unapprehensive infancy as a blessing. Men do not delight to dwell chiefly on sports of boyhood, or on its exuberant gaieties, but on its gentler passages, its innocent friendships, its first aspirations after excellence and fame, the dawnings of philosophic truth and poetic fancy. He will love the theatre best who has receiv. ed there, not his first impressions of harlequin, columbine, and clown, and such fantastical unrealities, but

That first mild touch of sympathy and thought Whereby we find our kindred with a

world

Where want and sorrow are.”

We do not, however, like to dispense with old customs on new theories; and could enlarge on this topic greatly to the edification of our readers, if we possessed the genius of a great orator to whom the topic of right belongs, and who would apply it to pantomime with admirable dexterity, especially as he has recently supplied materials for his favourite art in his creation of a great red lion, a little red lion, and a king of Bohemia, which have been scandalously neglected by the managers.

Mr. Elliston's pantomime of "Gog and Magog, or Harlequin Antiquary,'

was founded on an idea whichmighthave supplied an interesting succession of pictures, incident to some one event in the scene, but could not serve as the foundation of an entire pantomime. Its object was to exhibit London as it was, contrasted with London as it is; and if this could have been managed vividly, and with sufficient appearance of truth, it would have been so far well, though it could scarcely form part even of the marvellous history of the persons who are perpetually shifting their chronology two or three hundred years. It was a practical anachronism, which did not suit the critical taste of the shilling gallery. To "annihilate space and time, and make two lovers happy," the gods concede; but this zigzag course puzzled them, and seemned to transcend the immemorial licence of pantomime. But the worst of all was that the machinery was terribly conducted-" the clown too laboured, and tricks moved slow"--harlequin performed his changes by manual strength, and rather played the part of a carpenter than that of a magician. Miss Tree, the delicate columbine, was also forced to work hard, in order to aid the tardy progress, which, when completed, was not worth the trouble. Some of the scenery was executed with uncommon spirit and precision; but a view of Vauxhall was a wretched caricature; and another scene presented, in scene presented, in a picture of St. Paul's, one of the grossest libels ever manufactured against the Established Church. Why the Society for the Suppression of Vice have not prosecuted it, we are at a loss to conjecture, -they may say, perhaps, that it is harmless, because the real edifice exists to prove the injustice of the representation, but if such a defence as this were suffered to prevail, what would become of every indictment for an attack on the public institutions of the country.

As the antiquarian lore of this pantomime was coldly received, Mr. Elliston, with a spirit and feeling above all praise, almost immediately withdrew it, and in a week produced another in its room, under the title of "The Golden Axe, or Harlequin and the Fairy of the Lake." It is founded on the story of the young woodman, who dropped his axe into the stream, who declined a silver axe which rose from

the water, and who received a golden axe as the reward of his simple-mindedness and honesty. This more romantic and coherent introduction pleased better than the first, and the subsequent tricks were executed with more facility; but the pantomime is far behind its superb rival, which will make the lovers of this species of amusement fastidious for winters to come. The clown and harlequin, however, are uncommonly active, the columbine is the most graceful on the stage, and Blanchard, the pantaloon, though rather more grotesque than lean and slippered," is really a wonderful performer. He came special from the Coburg on the exigency, to arrange and to enliven the pantomime, and will not, we hope, when the season is over, be consigned again to that "back settlement" of the theatrical republic.

The new piece called "Simpson and Co." produced here, is worth a whole wilderness of pantomimes. Although it is comprised in two acts, it is more like genuine comedy than any thing which has been brought on the stage for years. It depends entirely on the force of its situation, and the ease and vivacity of its dialogue; for there is nothing sentimental, pathetic, or odd, from the beginning to the end. The scene is laid in the house of a prosperous firm in the city, where Mr. Peter Simpson, a staid, sedate citizen, and Mr. Bromley, his junior partner, live with their ladies. The equivoque arises from circumstances which fit on the prudent and virtuous Simpson a little conjugal infidelity of his young friend, and is kept up and varied with singular ingenuity and humour. What a storm is let loose on the head of the unhappy Peter! His wife storms at him; Mr. Bromley lectures him; his partner laughs at him, and a strange lady stares at him, till he turns the tables on them all, and fairly gets the victory. Terry played the part to admiration; his quick step; his sharp turns of his head, -as on a pivot; his very way of rubbing his hands, all spoke the wealthy citizen, and kind, yet reasonable, husband, with a dash of character sufficient to individualize the part, without making it extravagant or ridiculous. He looked like a person who ought to be in the Scotch Novels. Mrs.

Davison was very like a well-bred city dame, neither affected nor vulgar; and Mrs. Glover, who played Peter's wife, was less formidable than usual. In one respect this piece is the opposite of most of our modern comedies,-its tone is rather above the rank in society to which its persons belong, while the ordinary representations of fashionable life are utterly unlike, or at least tawdry and spiritless caricatures of its brilliant circles.

It was

We cannot bestow so high praise on the new Drama called " Augusta," which was played at first with divided success, and which has since been very properly withdrawn. taken from the French; and in true French taste, turned on the incident of a young lady's blindness, who saved the life of a young nobleman, and thus inspired him to become an oculistin order to effect her cure; in which he ultimately succeeds. Physical defects are not fit for exhibition on the stage; they are 'griefs due to some single breast," though some times they are interesting in recital, as in the nursery tale of the "Blind Child," and the anecdote so beautifully related in the Tatler. Mrs. West played the blind heroine with tenderness, but only Miss Kelly could overcome the difficulties and supply the differences of such a part— "Plucking the horror from a sightless face,

66

Lending to blank deformity a grace."

Mr. Young has been playing on his houses. own strength to very respectable He is now again acting in conjunction with Mr. Kean, and "Cymbeline" will be added to the list of plays in which both will perform. We shall not be able this month to notice the performance, but we cannot doubt of its brilliant success.

COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE. We are more than half inclined to recant all our heresies on the subject of pantomime, when we advert to the piece which has been produced at this theatre. But there are some productions in every act which defy all the ordinary estimates of its comparative value, and put the critics to shame. Such, we freely own, is "Harlequin and the Ogress," which reaches the highest point of the ingenious and superb, and

rivals, if it does not surpass,' that stand ard classic of our age-" Mother Goose and her Golden Egg." The proportions are admirable; there is just enough of every thing, and not too much of any thing. The romance does not surfeit, the tricks do not fatigue, and the sceneshifters and the machinery did their duty. The fairy Blue Bell, who gives the magic touch by which the great transformation is wrought, is a graceful, fanciful, fit spirit to work the bright wonders-the Ogres and Egyptian tombs and Pyramids are just innocently fearful enough to give a sort of awe to the beginning, and to temper the children's mirth with serious admiration and the Sleeping Beauty, with her attendants, and the sudden awakening, and quick change of scene, are highly picturesque. It is almost an Arabian tale embodied in a scenethe romance of a moment. The scenery is at once splendid and complete. There is a choice of wild and luxuriant landscape, sufficient to satisfy the most fastidious eye; fine architectural sketches; an enchanted grove, finely varied by shifting lights; and, best and most marvellous of all, a moving representation of his Majesty's voyage down the Thames, from Greenwich to the Nore, on his late visit to Scotland-we seem to accompany the royal escort throughout its course; the river widens as we proceed; the shores recede into distance; all the varieties of the golden lustre of evening, sunset, dusk, and twilight, are enjoyed as we proceed; and, at last, the moon begins to blend with the evening lights, the ships appear illuminated, and the waters are streaked with the deep red glimmer from a thousand lamps, while, above all, the moon is shining in clear and tranquil beauty. The mist then clears off, and the squadron appears anchored at Leith, and the noble bay and "stately Edinburgh throned on crags" appear steeped in the bright glory of morning. Some of the changes are very felicitously conceived, especially that of a twelfth cake into a great baby-house, out of which come twelve living personifications of the characters, who dance as prettily as can be, like things not of sugar but of life. Then there is the old immortal clown, the chastest, and yet merriest of his order, who will not

pass away and leave the world no copy, for he has a son on whom, at some far distant period, his motley mantle will descend. The harlequin is sufficiently agile; but the columbine, we are sorry to say, scarcely catches the inspiration of the season or the scene. We have not yet forgotten Mrs. Parker in this character, nor ever shall. She did not sigh and languish through the part, but danced as though all her heart were in it, and at fifty-five was the youngest person on the stage. If she be yet alive, we really think she would now beat" all the green girls" who have succeeded to her honours.

The dull tragedy of the Earl of Essex was revived for one night, with as near an approach to success as admirable acting could give it. It is wonderful that situations so interesting should be made so utterly vapid.— Macready played Essex, and struck some sparks of fire; but still, with all his violence, he seemed cold, and was like steel striking fire from flint. Miss Lacey, if rather too gentle and feminine for Elizabeth, looked and declaimed exceedingly well; and Miss Kelly made the most of the distresses of Rutland. It is hard to give dignity or interest to a mere succession of sorrows; but this young lady did all that could be done to raise and to relieve them, and avoided all the common trickery of hysterical rant, by which ordinary actresses seek to touch the sympathies of the gallery.

A new actress has at last appeared in the statelier character of tragedy. Since Mrs. Siddons left the stage, we have witnessed nothing that came so near her force and dignity. Miss O'Neil shone in quite a different sphere of acting from Mrs. Siddons, and not the slightest comparison between them could be instituted for any good purpose in taste. To compare the pathos of the one with the power of the other, was like comparing a mile and an hour to things between which the terms of the differential calculus could not be stated. Mrs. Bartley, who resembles Mrs. Siddons, and who has great merit, unfortunately fell on evil tongues and evil times; but her efforts are not yet gone by. Meanwhile we hail Mrs. Ogilvie with joyous expectation. She is endowed with personal and intellectual qualities which will enable her

to fill the highest parts of her tragic drama with respectability, and even to cast some new lustre over them. Her face has something of a Siddonian cast. Her figure is sufficiently mature, and her voice is mellow and strong. The choice of her appearance in Queen Katharine was a noble token of her ambition-braving even the recollection of Mrs. Siddons. Mrs. Siddons's look and attitude in that character have been consigned to painting; and who could hope to copy them? In one passage of her acting, at least, Mrs. Ogilvie has not failed in her emulation, namely, where she says "Lord Cardinal-to you I speak!"

She de

FINE

THE WORKS OF CANOVA, engraved in outline, by H. Moses, Nos. 1 and 2. -The first two numbers of this very pleasing and elegant publication are now before us, and they are well worthy the attention of the lovers of art, both on account of their own peculiar kind of merit, and of the delightful productions to which they in some instances recall, and in others introduce us. It is our intention to notice this publication of Mr. Moses regularly, from time to time, as it appears; but we shall perhaps more advantageously further both his views in putting forth this work, and our own in calling the public attention to it, if we precede our notice by a few remarks on the nature of Canova's talents, and the uses to which he applied them. Our space will prevent these remarks from being any other than very slight and hasty ones; and it will also compel us to defer any thing like detail till our next number.

In Canova Europe and the age have lost one of their most distinguished and distinguishing ornaments. In saying this, if we mean to place this artist at the head of his profession, we would not concede to his works a rank in the very highest class of the art. If he was capable of seeing all the beauty that is in nature, he was not capable of feeling all the truth; at least, he was not capable of reflecting it. His style, without being absolutely affected, was not altogether unaffected. We were about to add, that, if he was the Correggio of sculptors, he was not the Raphael; but the

livered these words, and the ensuing speech, with a vivid and commanding expression. Her long dying scene was played with great skill and effect. Macready had a hard task to perform in the representation of Wolsey. Here he had to struggle, though much more unsuccessfully, with our recollections of John Kemble. His picture of age,

decrepitude of pride and ambitionwas, however, very tolerable. Young alone is equal to this part. Mr. Egerton was great in Henry VIII.; and Charles Kemble in Cromwell appeared as young as ever. May he do so for twenty years to come!

ARTS.

illustration would have been inappropriate; for there are no painters, living or dead, whose style may be considered as holding the same place in their art, which the Elgin inarbles, the Fighting Warrior, the Venus de' Medici, and the Venus Victrix, do in their's and this is what we wished to express. In fact, if there is an air of the antique about Canova's works, we would say (of course, without meaning to use the term ludicrously) that they are at best but " modern antiques."

;

Now that Canova is dead, it is not invidious to say that he was, strictly speaking,rated somewhat too highlywhile living. And with an artist of distinguished talents, such as he unquestionably was, this is sure to be the case, in an age when there is a dearth of a similar kind of talent. We do not, however, complain of this overstrained admiration; on the contrary, we conceive it to be not only natural, and therefore to be looked for, but highly desirable as it regards the interests of art. Not that we would have that particular line of art in which a distinguished artist excels, rated higher than it deserves, in a general appreciation of art itself; but we believe good rather than evil to arise from a living artist of the rank in question being supposed to possess certain qualities which he may not possess, or to have reached a higher pitch of excellence in certain others than he really has reached. They who, when Canova was living, and in the zenith of his fame, were anxious that the world should be informed of the exact nature and value of his pretensions,