YES! thou shalt wear the wreath we are merrily braiding,
Of buds and blooms-the beautiful roses of Spring!
Amid the hair, thy forehead of snow, o'ershading,
"Twill mock the blush that steals to thy cheek as we sing
For thee we twine;-for who could so gracefully wear it
As she, whose heart is lovely and pure as the rose,
The wreath is thine, and the happiness, each of us share it,
For thou art so meek, no envy can mar thy repose.

THEATRICALS.

tinsel. Fanny Elssler is not so immeasurably superior to other performers in her line, either, to justify any very extraordinary excitement, if we may judge from what we have seen. She is, however, excellent in her style, and her graces shine with no mean lustre. Undoubtedly, she is deserving of very high praise, and when we say that she is a finished artiste, we would express a warmth of commendation which we have not space to utter in detail. Her poetry of motion is nervous and brilliant, not bold or startling, her grace and movements of an anapastic order, if we may be allowed the expression, though sometimes she skeletonizes with great rapidity and quickness. In some other ballet it is possible that we may have a different style ex

hibitions which we have seen.

Miss Shirreff took her farewell benefit on the eve of her departure for Europe, on the 21st, ultimo. The house was thronged on the occasion, and the performances went off with uncommon spirit and effect, while the testimonials of gratification were abundant, and the evidences of regret for the loss, at least for a time, of the lady and the opera, were communicated in a manner which must have been exceedingly acceptable to the vocalist. May she experience in her own land that enthusiasm and kindness which she has in this.

CHATHAM. This establishment appears to be very successful and is well attended. During the past month Mr. Booth, and Madame Celeste, who were engaged for a few nights, have sustained themselves through profitable engagements. On some occasions, Mr. Booth appeared to have lost little of his original brightness, on others he performed in a spiritless manner, though we can scarcely say to the disappointment of a majority of his auditors. On his last night, his voice was rich and powerful, his manner equal to that of his best days, and the gratification of the audience was general and intense. Madame Celeste has performed effectively in her well known melo-dramatie plays, and has given much delight to the admirers of pantomimic acting. We have spoken of her merits so particularly in former numbers that farther comment is useless. It is but just to add, notwithstanding, that she does not seem to have lost her relish for the profession, and has given the same satisfaction which her efforts heretofore have created.

PARK. This theatre is now gliding smoothly along on the tide of success. Since our last, Mrs. Fitzwilliams has passed through a short and tolerably profitable engagement. To say that the audiences have not been so large as the talents of the actress should command, would be to state what has happened to every performer who has come amongst us, up to the arrival of Fanny Elssler. Mrs. Fitzwilliams is a charming votary of Thalia, and adds to the graces of her comic displays, those of the song and the dance. Her musical talent is particularly evident in her burlesque singing of operatic music, while the naivetè with which she executes a simple ballad, shows an ap-hibited, but thus far we speak only of the character of the expreciation of the poetry and music which it is her province to present to her auditors. In "Foreign Airs and Native Graces," the versatility of her genius shines with remarkable lustre, and no one can witness the exhibition without being struck with the accomplishments of the lady, and the powers of the actress. In comedy, she excels by the naturalness of her colloquy, which seems rather the result of the moment than any premeditated display of elocution. Her style, therefore, is exceedingly pleasing, and she has the happy faculty of imparting good humor to all around her, making even the auditors, seemingly, to be of the scene rather than out of it. In the dignified lady she is not at home, but in the lively daughter of nineteen, the gay widow, or the hoydenish ward, she appears to very great advantage. In all parts, where a flow of animal spirits is necessary to a correct delineation of character, she is mistress of her art, and to these she has the good sense to confine herself, rather than hazard her reputation by depicting characters of a different stamp, which, though well rendered, could not increase her fame. To one feature of Mrs. Fitzwilliams' engagement we must express our entire disapproval, although in doing so, we know very well that all our censure falls upon the lady. "The Soldier's Daughter," an old and favorite comedy was produced, shorn of its beams, and the lively English widow of the original, displaced to make room for a poorly-acted Scotch widow, in which the language was too broad Scotch for a lady to use, and at all times, not well kept up-certainly without that evenness which would appertain to a perfect delineation of a Scotch character. If Mrs. Fitzwilliams is ambitious to show her ability to speak with a Scotch accent, she could find some play which OLYMPIC.-This little box holds on in the even tenor of its would furnish an ample field for the scope of her attainment, way, without embarrassment, presenting four pieces every night and a good old English comedy would not suffer a mutilation, to large audiences. Some of the plays have been performed which cannot be justified on any grounds whatsoever. One of upwards of fifty nights during the season, and still the manathe most ridiculous results of this change is that Mr. Wheatley,ger finds it for his interest to announce them for repetition. It or whoever plays the part of the brother, is obliged to speak pure English, if he follow the copy, and thus apprise the audience, in the outset, that the play has been pulled to pieces to suit the fancy of the actress-a complaint which may be made now against almost every eminent performer who is seen on the boards. Surely, to change our subject, there can be but little credit attached to the talents of those who suit plays to their talents rather than their talents to the plays. It is positively annoying to find almost every actor altering the text of our standard plays, thus injuring the author, oftentimes, for the benefit of the actor. We firmly believe that the continuance of this custom is exceedingly baneful to the best interest of the drama, and we think a wholesome rebuke from the audience, occasionally, would be marvellously effective in setting up a reform which is, indeed, most certainly called for by the shades of departed authors. The progress of this system, in conclusion, we may add, indicates to what a low position theatrical criticism has arrived, since against it not even a whisper is heard.

Fanny Elssler made her debût before an American audience in a dance, called "La Cracovienne," and in the ballet, entitled "La Tarantule"--a piece of no great merit, and little calculated to display the accomplishments of the actress. The house was crowded in every part, and the enthusiasm exhibited on the occasion was scarcely within bounds, when we reflect upon the torpidity of our audiences during the performances of comedies and tragedies-intellectual entertainments more worthy of the applause of an enlightened public than mere dumb show and

is the policy of Mr. Mitchell to present amusing local trifles, and the reward of the enterprise is certain and always equal to the anticipation. The company is a good one, all things considered, and the several members play with much harmony and effect. The whole seems like an entertainment at a family party.

EDITORS' TABLE.

LADY BULWER.-The following is an extract of a letter from Paris, dated April 10th, 1840. In publishing it, we fully concur with our correspondent, in every particular. We consider the treatment Lady Bulwer has experienced from her husband, (the great novelist,) cruel and unmanly in the extreme. For an expression of our disapprobation of Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer's brutal conduct towards his much injured wife, we refer the reader to the last August number of this magazine.

"Since I apprised you of my introduction to Lady Bulwer, she has related to me many interesting details of her history, which I presume is a subject of interest to you, as to the world at large. Her story is on every lip, and. rumor blind, with her thousand tongues, has a new tale for each, remember, then, that what I relate to you is from the mouth of Lady Bulwer herself; facts, which I have since heard authenticated by others.

Chevely is no fiction; but rather a feeble portrait of realities and characters too black for earth or humanity. When Chevely first appeared, the wife that would thus make public, the faults of him to whom she was bound by the first and most

NEW YORK, JULY, 1840.

BOSTON.

"Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart has ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand."

LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

BOSTON, the subject of the present month's frontispiece, is the capital of Massachusetts, and the fourth city in population, in the United States. The view represents it as taken from what is termed Chelsea, on the east side of Boston Bay, and embraces the principal points and buildings. The city is situated in Suffolk County, on a peninsula of about two and a half miles long, by one mile broad, at the west side of the bay, and is built in what may be termed the form of a crescent, around the harbor, which is one of the most safe and convenient in America. Several bridges connect the peninsula with the adjacent shores, where are to be found those beautiful villages for which Massachusetts is so famed. The bridge conspicuous, in the present engraving, is Charlestown Bridge, connecting Boston with the town of that name, in Middlesex County, where are situated a State Prison, the Massachusetts Insane Hospital, and a Navy Yard of the United States. Near this place was fought the famous battle of Breed's Hill, but better known by the name of "Bunker Hill," and a monument in memory of the same, which is seen in the right of the engraving, is now being erected by an association. It was here that the fearless patriot, Joseph Warren, yielded his valuable life, and whose requiem as a favorite bard expresses it

"Time, with his own external lips shall sing,"

while the battle-ground will be ever associated with the plains of Marathon and Platæ. Boston is the second city in the Union in the shipping interest, and the manufactures are most extensive, embracing almost every art known to civilization. Among the principal buildings, are to be enumerated the State House, Faneuil Hall, Faneuil Hall Market, a splendid structure of granite, five hundred and forty feet in length; the County Court House, the Massachusetts Hospital, and the Tremont House, one of the most elegant hotels of the United States. Boston has ever been famous for its many institutions of art and science, and literature so liberally patronized, and so beneficial to its community, and noted for the greatest number of literary men, produced by any city in the Union; indeed, so much is it proverbial for this last trait of character, that by distinguished travellers it has been honored with the name of "the Literary Emporium of the United States, while it has likewise been ever among the foremost in asserting and defending the rights and liberties of America. We must not omit to mention the Common, a public square, planted with trees, and surrounded by the Mall, a gravelled walk,

and both together covering a space of nearly fifty acres.
The inhabitants are courteous, warm-hearted and hos-
pitable, and in no city in the Union is the stranger more
kindly received and cherished. The following lines are,
perhaps, not inapplicable of its character, and that of its
citizens:-

Thou beauteous city of Columbia's land,
Home of the wanderer of a foreign strand,
Whose hearts are open as the dawning day,
To cheer the Pilgrim on his dubious way.
Though far from home, and clouded was his sky,
Thou gavest the hand, and dried his tearful eye;
Bade him forget his toil and travel past,
And moor his barque within thy haven fast.
Thy daughters, lovely as the first young flower,
That opes its bosom at the summer hour,
Whose eyes with gems of pity ever gleam,
Yet bright as sunbursts on the dewy stream.
Thy brothers, manly, candid, true and brave,
Who guard the boon their fathers died to save,
For here the quenchless fire of Liberty began,
And spread its blaze to every patriot man.
'Twas here the tyrant, in his power of might,
Bowed down to Freemen in the bloody fight.
Thou three-hill'd empress! Proudly dost thou stand
And gaze upon thy island-studded strand;
While rolls the ocean to thy emerald breast,
Or, like a child in slumber, lies at rest.
My heart is with thee, Boston, still with thee!
In busy throngs, or 'neath the woodland tree;
A wayward youth-a son of foreign shore,
Yields thee this tribute from his heart's deep core.
Take, take the gift, 'tis all that he can pay,
For nights of bliss, and hours of soul by day.
Oh! may God cast his mantle o'er thy form,
And shield thee ever from the world's wild storm!

LOVE.

YES, Love may surely boast a source divine,
Whatever be its early form and feature,

It flows, like Sol's life-giving beams, benign,
From the Creator to the humblest creature.
It is the very life and soul

Of all that live, and breathe, and move;
There's not a pulse from pole to pole,

R. H.

But vibrates solely from the power of love.
The largest form, the smallest thing
That nature's boundless kingdom holds,
Whether it moves on foot or wing,

Or finny oar, or sinuous folds.
All, all exist on this mysterious plan,
From viewless insects, up to lordly man!

SAMUEL WOODWORTH.