Did not Lady Flora carry her anxiety for her fair fame beyond death? Did she not overcome, in that agonising anxiety, the natural feelings of her sex, and, not satisfied that her living person had been submitted to the test of an examination most revolting to feminine delicacy, solemnly require that her mortal remains should be submitted to another, from which even masculine minds shrink with instinctive horror. The public want to know who are really the guilty actors in the tragedy? Who were they that took advantage of the inexperience and abused the confidence of the Sovereign?-who originated the fatal calumny-and who conspired for a purpose of which Lady Flora was "only the first victim?" It is right that the innocent should be separated from the guilty, and that public opinion, through imperfect information, should not confound the one with the other. In the palace the sacrifice was begun and completed. There the devoted daughter of an illustrious line received the cruel blow there she underwent the painful ordeal there lay the victim in her shroud-and there her persecutors still remain? The moral of this sad story is yet incomplete. FIRST NIGHT OF "FIDELIO" IN AMERICA. [We copy the following beautiful and eloquent critique from the columns of the American. The writer is evidently familiar with his subject, and writes so much in earnest that his observations cannot fail to carry conviction wherever read.] The august shade of Beethoven received last evening a magnificent welcome in the metropolis of the New World; and the enthusiasm excited by Fidelio, while it cannot increase his glory whose measure is full, must redound to the honour of the audience who felt and acknowledged his power. Yes, Fidelio triumphed-and the victory was not only over public sentiment, but alike over the traditions of the past and the established code of musical taste;-over the memory of the gay modern opera, with its arias and cantilenas carved to fit the vocal powers of prime donne, and the habit which that opera has engendered, of expecting a lyric, like a necklace, to consist of pearls strung on a slender thread, instead of jewels firmly bound by the golden and inseparable links of harmony. It was strange to watch the mode in which this musical drama calmly and majestically enchained its new admirers. It was a process full of dignity. No smiling "Star" sought to captivate you with meretricious airs and graces, no grand duo, or bravura solo, redeemed this or that scene or act. Slowly and giant-like, the austere spirit of the old Master wrought upon his hearers-until they entrusted him with their souls, and yielded to the emotions he chose to command. Oh! may you give your spirit up to him fearlessly?-He will transport you to other worlds, and infuse a thousand strange and thrilling sensations-will cradle you in his arms until, in admiration of his strength, you forget how powerful you are, and when he has poured those notes into your ear, and you are filled with tremblings, as of golden wires half conscious of their own thrilling-he leaves you petrified, enchanted-in a silent dream, where even the echoes have subsided. "Old man, thou hast served me well, and I will reward thee. "But there is one last act I shall require of thee-and for this, thy pay shall be princely." "And that?" "Hark ye-the prisoner-he whose food thou hast diminished for a month past-must die. He was to have perished long since, but my mercy spared him until now, when the minister is at hand, who, if he find him alive, will visit his vengeance upon my head, with ruin." "You would not have me slay him, my lord ?" "No! my hand shall end his days-so thou wilt but prepare his grave." "It is my duty." * "Please, father, let the prisoners come forth and see the blessed sun to-day" "Oh do, good Rocco! for my sake and for charity's." Let us pause a moment to listen to that surprisingly beautiful chorus.The voice of misery, as hope dawns upon it, mingled with a prayer of resignation to the celestial Powers. Poor prisoners! To the freemen in the pit your joy at the light of day seems strange, unnatural. Knew they what chains are forged by tyrrany in this blessed world-that touching hymn would penetrate their inmost hearts. Pass into the garden, captives; we are all prisoners like ye, but the soul cannot be fettered. "Fidelio! come hither. Why art thou gazing so earnestly in their faces? The governor consents you shall be my assistant, with a handsome salary, too; nay, this very day we descend together to the secret cell of him I spoke of." "Oh joy!-I shall see the captive." Yes! for the first and last time." "Heavens! he is not dead?" 'Boy, leave us! Rocco, is all prepared?" "Aye, your highness; but, pray what is his crime whom we are about bury ?"" to Ah, tyrant! your words have been overheard by her anxious ear, whose eve is fixed upon you with the intensity of despair. The fatal moment draws near. One effort more, one struggle for courage and serenity! Hear how that anguished wife pours forth her soul in melody; see how she summons her energies and invokes Providence to her aid. Such music never was coupled to such dramatic power upon those boards, since the days of Malibran; and a purer, chaster voice than this surely never appealed to your kindlier sympathies. You are not asked to applaud. But you follow its writhings, as if your own heart were tortured. Hush the overture is his voice. He bids you prepare to listen to a "What! no applause-after that magnificent scena,-none for the trio lay of love and hate, of woman's devotion, and of man's revenge, with that ensues? Dear me, I fear it will be a failure." "Patience, my such episodes as real life furnishes-unaided by art or fancy. There is no friend! Give the public time, and trust to Beethoven-he will maintain Zamiel's voice-for the tempter is not near, but dwells in the depths his own glory. Fear not, his is the sway of an enchanter, which often where from time to time you, the gentlest of our readers, may hear him strikes dumb." challenging your own heart. Nor is there a gay dance as in Juan. Our Those bursts of enthusiasm greeted the melting hymn of sorrow, now drama lies in a prison-and joyous hearts are not the tenants of its mourn-dying on the lips of the captive, whose heart beats to the clank of his fetful walls. ters, in yonder gloomy dungeon. He now lies exhausted upon his couch. Fidelio and Rocco are seen descending the stairway. While the jailer is digging a grave, Fidelio seeks to recognise the features of the sleeping prisoner-but her eyes are blinded by tears. He awakes-she hears his well-known voice The curtain rises. There is a sweet lass for a jailer's daughter, and she loves not the swain to whom her heart was half promised, until Fidelio came. Him, too, the old jailer cherishes, for, though he arrived there poor and friendless, his gentle air and sweet voice have shed their light among the dungeons, and made the fortress glad. Ah, Fidelio! you must wed Marcellin; and yet, she feels no tremor in your arms, as if you were a man, but loves you as a brother. Poor Jacopo, thy suit is hopeless-they are to be married next week "And may I be your aid, Rocco-your task is so rude? and as you older grow, methinks you sometimes sink under it." "Yes, Fidelio! but why so anxious?" "First, that I may have your confidence; next that because I love, I would aid you." "And do I not trust you when I give you my little Marcelline?'Tis well, gentle lad-you shall attend me in all my rounds, save one." "And that?" "Is to the prisoner in the lowest dungeon-hush, lest the walls should hear me who is pining away, and soon will pine no longer." 66 'Oh, God!" Why that start, Fidelio?" "Poor prisoner, I think of him-know you his name?" "I do not." "Oh, let me go thither with you to see one so sad!" That prisoner is Florestano. That lad, his wife, who, attired in yon boyish dress, has waited patiently many a day to see if her long-lost lord indeed lies in the bosom of these dungeons. Her face is full of soul, and her voice of melody, She has won our hearts, as well as the jailor's and Marcelline's. The Governor is come to inspect his trust, and among the letters old Rocco hands him is one that blanches his face. "The minister has heard that some are captive in your fortress who do not belong there, and is coming to take you by surprise-Beware!" "S'death-if he discover Florestano I am lost-my accursed enemy must die to-night-no, this very hour. Ho, there! station one upon the watch-tower to sound a blast, should he see a guarded equipage approaching and send me the jailor here." The Governor's visage is dark with evil passions. Woe to the deenceless one! Why, Fidelio, how you tremble !" "'Tis the cold, Rocco-and you, too, are agitated." 'Well, I am a little moved." "Good jailer, give me a drop of water, or I die with thirst." "I have no water, but to this little remnant of wine you are welcome." Pray, who is the Governor of this Fortress?" 66 'Well, I may tell him that!Don Pizarro." Pizarro Fly to Madrid, seek out my wife, the lady Leonora Florestano, tell her that I, her husband, am pining in this dungeon." "I cannot." See that agitated wife, controlling the heart that leaps towards her husband,--that he may be saved. Hark! The hour is come. The Governor enters,-drives forth the lad, and, tiger-like, approaches his defenceless victim. His poniard is bare, and his hate flashes out in fury, as he once more beholds its object. "Die! Florestano! Ha!-who comes between me and my revenge? Away, child!" But that child springs from the earth on which the dastard's hand had cast him, and again interposes. This time it is the wife who defends her husband, as the lioness crouches before her young. "Shall a woman baffle Pizarro?" "Stand back!"-for in each of those gentle hands Death frowns, in a loaded pistol "Rave on, assassin! Listen to that trumpet which calls you hence! It is your master's bidding!" When woman's love had achieved its purpose, and that wife had rescued her husband-when the benign will that condemned the murderer to die, welcomed the victim to life, and reinstated Florestano in his honors; and after all these events had been summed up in a magnificent finale which filled the air with waves of harmony, and pervaded the whole house-then the untutored enthusiasm of the masses that crowded it, burst forth, and echoed the sublime tones in which the voice of Beethoven appeals to posterity. September 10th. S. BEAUTY OF PRUSSIAN WOMEN.-Berlin is considered one of the cities of Germany most celebrated for female beauty. The ladies are, literally speaking, fair, and peculiarly happy in the elegance of their figures. They walk with much feminine grace, and are, above all, esteemed the most literary, talented, and high-bred of the German women. I had one day the accidental good fortune to see one of these belles standing opposite to the most faultless and beautiful creation of art which adorns the picture gallery; and so equal were the rival claims to admiration of the animate and the inanimate beauty, that it would have been difficult to decide on which to bestow the palm, had not the former, possibly imagining the comparison that could not fail to be made, been piqued into assuming her prettiest smile, and the victory was then no longer doubtful. THE CORSAIR. NEW-YORK, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1839. JOTTINGS DOWN IN LONDON. NUMBER SIX. Theatrical amusement, which in other places serves as a vent to enthusiasm, or as a safety-valve to the suppressed stillness of common life, is in London so much less exciting than every day routine, that it must be unusual attraction to take one to Covent Garden or Drury Lane. On my first two years in England, I was only once in either theatre, albeit fond of a play, and a day or two since I found myself hesitating between Henry V. at seven, and a May Fair dinner at eight,-decided in favour of the play at last by the appealing look of a schoolboy brother-in-law, who was to be my companion. him a theatre to be devoted exclusively to the legitimate drama, will be speedily put in operation. A night or two after, I was at Covent Garden again to see Bulwer's new play of Richelieu. It was gorgeously got up, and the dramatic points were elaborated and studied with the nicest knowledge of the actor. I looked in vain for the passages I had admired in reading the play. They were mercilessly cut out-but with only (it seemed to me) a single poetical passage, Richelieu's address to his pen, the action of the piece kept up an unbroken and intense interest in the house. It proved to me what I have thought ever since I first saw a new play produced, that more than half the success of the best production depends on the skill and scissors of the manager. And talking of managers, I have taken, since my last letter, what is called in England a frisk, and in the course of my circuit through Surrey and Sussex, passed one day very delightfully with Wallack at Brighton. Here found I our gay Prospero of the "National," with his household gods and his beautiful boys all about him, as much at home, though you scarce miss him in his flittings from New York, as the most inveterate promenader upon the Cliff-the "how d'ye do," of his hundred acquaintances no more dramatic, though he was arrived but a week or two from America, nor his hospitalities less ample and particular, though he was to mount in twelve hours the chain-lightning of the Agecoach, rail-road and steamer, to do the three thousand miles back again in a fortnight. Shakspeare's Ariel is like to turn out a very common lad, if travel goes on improving. Brighton is like a great city, built entire, and at one job, to order. It is fresh and modern all over. It looks finished, too, for there is no sign of building, and in that it is unlike an American city. Wallack did the honours of the town with great kindness, lionizing us in his "leathern convenience" from end to end of the superb "cliffs"-which cliffs are broad streets, beautifully Macadamised, with rows of Palaces on one side, and the surf of the sea on the other. I think the two cliffs, which form a crescent with the Queen's Pavilion and the chain pier in the centre, are something more than three miles long. The most magnificent feature in this long terrace, is a succession of squares, receding from the beach, and with one side open to the sea-the houses are of a very highly ornamented style of building, and surmounted with balconies, low windows and belvideres, so as to command from every room and chamber a prospect of the sea. These three-sided squares are all large, with an enclosed park in the centre, and in such a windy place as Brighton, form very snug and sheltered promenades to the slender-legged invalid, and the sail-carrying dame. Kemp Town, as it is called, forms the eastern extremity of the horn, and the Square last built, though standing a hundred feet above the beach, has subterranean passages running under the street, and connecting every house with baths on the sea. This is the finest bit of Brighton in point of architecture, and in one of its plainest houses lives the Duke of Devonshire. The other features of the cliffs are small phaetons to let for children, drawn each by a pair of goats, well groomed and appointed; hand carriages for invalids; all sorts of pony chaises sputtering about with fat After a cup of coffee at Verey's, somewhat to encourage the digestive process of a hasty and indifferent "beefsteak at lodgings," I embarked my handsome and intelligent little friend in what he called an "omnibus chop," (a newly invented cab, like the end of an omnibus upon two wheels) and threading all the intricacies of St. Giles's and the Seven Dials, we were set down for a shilling at the door of Covent Garden. A shilling (much more easily earned) procured us the notice of the box-ladies, and furnished invariably with the smallest conceivable boy behind; keeper, who seated us near the stage, and I had just time to point out Mr. Babbidge the calculator, who happened to be three seats from us, when the curtain rose and discovered "Time the chorus" in beard, scythe, and russet. Vandenhoff delivered this and the succeeding speeches of Time, (one at the beginning of every act, you remember) with "good emphasis and discretion." As he went on, the clouds which the lifting of the curtain had disclosed, rolled up and away, and superb tableaux glided past, representing the scene and personages of the act that was to follow. This was Stanfield's work, and nothing could possibly be more admirable and magnificent than the drawing and effect. The King's embarkation at Southampton, the passage of the fleet, its arrival in France, the siege of Harfleur, the French and English camps, and watch fires, the King's pavillion, etc., were all pictures done in the highest style of art. It was wonderful how this double representation-this scenic presentment to the eye, added to the interest and meaning of the play. Light as the mere dramatic interest of Henry V. is, it kept us on the stretch of excitement from the opening to the close. There was no chance for Macready's acting, of course, in Henry V., but he was most carefully and sumptuously drest, and walked through his part with propriety, failing only in the love-scene with Katherine at the close, which he made, I thought, unnecessarily coarse and rude. Miss Vandenhoff (who has sailed for America) looked extremely handsome in the character, besides playing it capitally well. Pistol was shockingly overdone, and the best played part of all, to my thinkirg. was the French Herald. Altogether, the play, as all London has acknowleg ed, was exceedingly creditable to Macready's taste, as well as his libe alty and enterprise, and I hope with all my heart that the plan for building any quantity of lumbering "double flys" or two horse coaches, drawn by one wretched skeleton of an animal, and occupied usually by a fat cit and his numerous family; great numbers of remarkably single-looking ladies, hanging to their parasols with one hand and fighting the wind out of their petticoats with the other; yellow-visaged East Indians forgetting their livers while they watch the struggles of these unwilling aronauts; here and there a dandy, looking blue and damp with the chill of the salt air; and all along the beach, half in the water and half in the sand, in singular contrast to all this townishness, groups of rough sailors cleaning their boats, drying their nets, and cooking their messes on cross sticks, appar ently as unconscious of the luxury and magnificence on the other side of the street, as if it were a mirage on the horizon. The Royal Pavilion is not on the sea, and all you can see of it from the street, is a great number of peaked balloons, some small and some large, which peer above the shrubbery and wall, like the tops of the castors beyond a dish of salad. Whether it was this appetising spectacle, or the chill of the air in a very agreeable though a very dampish drive, I was never more pleased at the conclusion of a day than with the turtle-soup, turbot, and turkey, with which Wallack wound up the wonders of Brighton. I know what the critics think of travellers who venture to acknowledge that they eat, but I must summon up courage to record the fact, that this was a glorious dinner, gloriously done justice to, and the critics may take their will of me. The seed of this great flower upon the sea-side, was a whim of George the Fourth's, and to the excessive fright of the Brightelmstonians, little Victoria has taken a particular dislike to it, and makes her visits briefer and briefer. The population, with the exception of tradespeople, and a small circle of professional persons, and invalid families, is as transient 85 she's smit with your gold spectacles, and no mistake!-buy the 'Munning Post,' Sir!" that of Saratoga, and if her Majesty should succeed in making the place unfashionable, Persepolis and Thebes will be a joke to it. The last and newest speculator is Nugee, the tailor, who has invested a small fortune in some superb houses at Kemp Town, and he is likely to keep up his cha- | slashy-looking, painfully-shabby driving coat, made originally for a man of racter as "the sufferer." Left London again by coach for the Vicarage of B—in Sussez. Our fellow "insides" were a stout, farmer-looking man with the rheumatism, attended by a very pretty maid-servant, who, after helping him in, mounted to the box with the driver, and a spinster-looking lady with a wintry bloom on her cheek, who had brought a copy of Young's Night Thoughts to read on the road, but fell asleep before we reached the " Elephant and Castle," and kept nodding with her mouth wide open and a sweet smile on her face for thirty miles. Our waking companion confined his remarks to the ripeness of the corn in the different fields we passed, and we had, consequently, one window of the coach and our attention to ourselves. The cad is quite another style of person. He is dressed in a drab twice his stature, and having one solitary and superb relic of its former glory in a single huge mother-of-pearl button, left somewhere on the breast. His hat is rigidly small-rimmed, and pulled over his left eye as pertinaciously as if he were taking sight by the hollow and well-worn crescent of felt which shews the pull of his thumb; his nose is purple— the carbuncles of the gin and beer contending with the lividness of perpetual chill from standing out of doors; and the most worn spots in his coat, oddly enough are the two shoulders, either from his habit of always nudg. ing the next cad with his "I say, Bob!" when he is about saying something witty, or from leaning by the hour against the post of the gin-shop. As he never takes his hands from his coat pockets except to receive a sixpence or square away for a fight, his shoulders naturally do all the reminding, shoving, and leaning, besides most adroitly supplying the place occasionally of both hand and pocket-handkerchief to the above-mentionThe "Elephant and Castle" is perhaps the most amusing point on this ed purple organ. The cad is never a fool, indeed he requires to have side of London, but having omitted to describe it, before it became fami- great quickness, uncommon impudence, wit, and courage. He is usually liarized to me, I am at a loss how to convey to you the features which some turned-off tiger who proved too wicked for a recommendation, or a Strike a stranger, and which indeed, are the only ones by which any idea second rate boxer who is within one, of Molyneux and Dutch Sam, and of it could be conveyed in a description. The Inn (of which the sign is probably has seen life in many shapes, and the inside of most prisons bean elephant with a castle on his back) stands at the confluence of all the fore he is sufficiently reduced and accomplished to be willing to turn cad, roads which lead Southward out of London. It is about a mile from and steal and bully under the very noses of the police. I should have Charing Cross, and a mile from London Bridge, the two wrists of the mentioned that amid the crowd at "the Elephant" are constantly seen Great Metropolis. The West End and city coaches for Brighton and perambulating three or four policemen in their blue coats and glazed hats Dover, have branch coaches which bring passengers from the opposite end ready to pounce upon every offender, but meantime on joking and drinking of London to this point; and for the purpose of meeting these, and taking terms with the undetected cads and newsmen. It is very unwise to be up passengers who come hither from every point in the cabs and private savage with the cad, and it is rather uncomfortable to decline his services carriages, every coach makes a step here of twenty minutes. This is the when he sees that you might get on the better for them. The best great starting point also of innumerable omnibuses to every quarter of way is to accept his offer at once, to tell him exactly what you want, and town and city, a great stand for jarveys, cabs, etc., and a nest of eating- so be rid of all his fraternity, and your own embarrassment. It is a kind houses, ale houses, and gin-shops. Of course here assemble all itinerant of sixpenny toll levied in favour of the brotherhood, which is best paid `withvenders of cheap razors, cheap pen-knifes, ballads, oranges, soda-water, out grumbling, unless you are very well acquainted at the Elephant." and watch-guards, and of all these articles, as you sit in the coach, you I was very much amused a week or two since with the power of descriphave the offer in most eloquent Cockney and Irish, for prices ridiculously tion displayed by one of these gentry Staying with a friend about ten trifling. The two aristocratic races of loungers at the "Elephant," how-miles from London, and having occasion to drive in town, I had requested ever, are news-boys-who carry in one hand the Times, Herald, and other my servant to wait for me at this spot-no omnibus or coach going berespectable papers, and in the other the Paul Pry, Satirist, Crim. Con yond the Elephant after midnight. I arrived about two, and found a sinGazette, &c.—and the cads and helpers to the coaches, who live by six-gle maudlin cad see-sawing against the rail in front of the Inn. "Vot's pences for putting up baggage, calling cabs, and arresting distant omnibuses, and by picking up what "gentlemen" drop out of their pockets in the hurry of departure. The Elephant and Castle is the High College of slang, and these two last classes are its professors. Here originate all those brilliant expressions characteristic of "Life in London," the "all round my hat,” “dees your mother know you're out," etc. etc.-familiar to all readers of flash papers, sporting chronicles, etc. your honour looking arter!" he asked as I came up. "A servant of mine! Have you seen one waiting about here?" "Vot! a flunkie vith blue plush and a skvint in his peeper?" "Exactly!" “Valk in and set down, your honour, and I'll bring him directly. He's taken up the road arter a young ooman as I knows, and I'll bring him while your honour smokes a cigar!" THE GREAT STEAM SHIPS. N P. W. How he had remarked, drunk as he was, that the man wore blue plush The dresses and manners of these two classes of slang makers are wide-breeches, and had a squint in his eye (so slight that I did not myself perly different. The newsman wears the worst possible hat, usually decora- || ceive it till he had been some days in my service) must be accounted for ted with a crape, a black coat of the highest polish by grease and rain, no by the general knowingness of the tribe. My officious friend soon shirt, but a very smart black glass breast-pin, holding together the stringy brought the object of his search, helped him get out the cabriolet from a ends of his cravat, and the remains of a silk pocket-handkerchief, stuck in shut-up stable, wished me a "werry good night's rest," and after getting his breast when it does not rain, spread over his newspapers when it does. || my shilling, levied a small fine slily upon the man for not telling where he The moment the coach stops, four " 'daily's" arranged like a fan are found him. thrust before your eyes, entirely closing the coach window (if you are conversing with a friend or watching the purloining of your carpet bag, it is all one), and immediately follows the one speech for the day, conned as regularly as a schoolboy's lesson, and intended to convey an inviting picThere seems to have been, over the water, a greater excitement even ture of the news within. "Oospipper, Sir! Buy the morning pippers, than here, as to the relative speed of the Great Western and the British Sir! Times, Herald, Crinnicle, and Munning Post, Sir!-contains Lud Queen. We find in many of our London papers this matter warmly disBrum's entire innihilation of Lud Nummanby-Leddy Flor' Esting's mur-cussed, not which actually won the great race across the Atlantic, but der by Lord Milbun and them Maids o' Honner-debate on the croolty to Hannimals Bill, and a fatil catstrophy in conskens of Loosfer matches! Which 'll y'have, Sir! sixpence, only sixpence !" Here he pauses for a reply, getting a look at your face between the spread corners of his fan, which proving unpromising, he raises the contents of his left hand, another expanded fan, ingeniously exposing the names of all the scandal chronicles of the Metropolis. His recommendation of these is invariably in a suppressed and confidential tone. "Vot do you say to the 'Paul Pry,' Sir? Here they be- Crim-Con-Gazette,' 'Age,' 'Satarist,' The Great Western again left England on the 24th, and reached us on -you can't conceive, Sir! 'Vy, all the sins o' the Vest End are there, the 10th, at meridian; making the passage in 16 days. By her we are Sir, with the most hinteresting partiklers! See that picter! Ain't that in possession of our London papers from the 10th to the 23d inclusive, and vell done? There's Bochsa, Sir, a-makin o' love to Missus Bishop- nat'- have received from our diligent correspondents and associate, ample means ral as life! I've seed 'em often! Buy it, Sir! Take 'em all for six- of carrying on the war with renewed vigor and spirit. The packet ship of pence! Do, Sir." This touching appeal having failed at both windows, the 2d of August has not yet arrived, and it is now getting so late that he commences the first speech again to the outside passengers, usually we have ceased to deplore the loss of all our Magazines for that month, designating the individual at whose attention he aims by some person: 1 which were shipped from Liverpool by her, and which, we hope, may have peculiarity. "You, Sir, vith that werry genteel pattern of a veskit" at least contributed to console the poor passengers who are now tossing or "the gemman the bar-maid is a-oglin out o' the vinder-yes, Sir!—about the ocean at the tender mercies of wind and wave. how far the G. W. beat the B. Q. One party claims 247 miles the other reduces it down to 124 miles. They started from New York, it will be recollected, on the 1st of August. The G. W. arrived out at 5. 30. a. M. on the 14th-the B. Q. at 9. A. M. on the 15th; and now, allow five hours for the difference in time between King-road and Spithead. The difference in time both were at sea, allowing for the half hour's start of the G. W., was 27 hours-from which take 5, and 22 remain. Thus the matter is stated in what seems a fair representation of their comparative speed. MR. WILLIS'S PLAYS. Her voice lowance was inade for the agitation of a first appearance, but we are pain. We have received a splendid copy of Tortesa and Bianca Visconti, ined to say, that though science and skill did their utmost, she did not one volume from the press of Hugh Cunningham, London. They appear fully realize the expectations which had been indulged in by an audience, very beautiful in their English dress, and we hope will find readers and anxiously ready to award her the homage of their approbation. admirers on the other side of the Atlantic as they surely found here. We is thin, and wanting in power, yet modulated with infinite art, and someobserve in one or two American prints an intimation that the plays were times reaching a point of brilliant execution. The music of the part is, utterly condemned by the English critics. So far as we can learn, this is doubtless, most difficult, requiring the exercise of the very highest order of not the fact. Some, doubtless, will find fault with them; some, perhaps, vocal talent to give it its full effect, we therefore hope to see this excelpronounce them undramatic and unreadable; but there are others, of lent lady recover, in a less exacting and perplexed role, an elevation in her equal reputation as scholars and impartial critics, who have already ex-profession to which she may confidently aspire. pressed their admiration of these plays in terms of the highest praise. The London Observer in noticing them, after bestowing unmeasured commendation on the prose writings of Mr. Willis, thus speaks of the two plays : The dramas before us prove that Mr. Willis possesses a fine perception of what constitutes the beautiful in poetry. They are studded with poetical excellencies of a very high order. The passages to which we refer are remarkable alike for the felicity of their conception and the beauty of their expression. These dramas are also full of incidents of a striking kind, and are so skilfully constructed with a view to stage effect, that, were the leading characters properly personated, they could not fail to be triumphantly successful on our English boards, as they proved in the principal theatre of New York. Mr. Giubilei appeared in the rich costume of the Governor, and soon established the justice of his claim to the high reputation which has been awarded him in England. His voice is powerful and melodious, his acting spirited, and his figure commanding. He may well be satisfied with the triumph he achieved, in a part by no means affording the best opportunity for the full display of his powers. The first tenor does not appear until the opening of the last act, and Mr. Manvers as the forlorn inhabitant of a gloomy prison, evidences with surprising ability, his power over the music allotted him. The house was at once electrified, and his faultless execution received the loudest plaudits. We do not remember a richer, fuller toned tenor. With ample compass of voice his impassioned notes rang through his prison house, and were reverberated with a delicious echo, that fell clear and thrilling on the ears of the breathless audience. Mr. Manvers has already won a high reputation We have ventured to allude to this subject, not that we entertain any The Theatre. At the fall of the curtain this talented company of strangers were most vociferously called for, and making their appearance, bowed their thanks crossing the stage. Not content with rendering this compliment, the house demanded the appearance of Mr. Simpson, who, instantly coming forward, thanked his friends for their kind appreciation of his endeavours to gratify their love of music, and for their generous reception of his new company of musicians. On the whole, and after hearing the opera repeated, we must congratulate the Manager on the success which has so deservedly attended the The present has been a week of greater excitement in theatrical circles than we have known in this city for some years. Stars of all degrees of magnitude culminated on Monday evening, and were more or less resplend-production of this sublime specimen of German music. If in an opera so ent in their respective orbits. None, we believe, "shot madly from their spheres," though some surely twinkled with a "lesser light" than had been anticipated. We will begin with THE PARK. serious and sometimes heavy, his troupe can command the admiration of a discerning auditory, he need feel little anxiety as to their ability to give entire satisfaction in the more popular and showy operas of the day. On Thursday and Friday evenings, in addition to the Opera, we had presented a new Ballet, in which the Taglionis appeared with Madame Giubilei. This was a most judicious arrangement, and relieved the enter As early as in the month of June last we announced in our columns the individual engagements of the present Operatic company at this theatre. From that time to the present their professional merits and European repu-tainments from all appearance of heaviness. Madame Giubilei made her tations have been the theme of theatrical critics, and on Monday evening these opinions of the press were put to the test of a fair and impartial trial of the imputed skill, powers, and science of the entire company. debut in a pas de deux, between the first and second acts of the Opera, and was most cordially received. She is beautiful, dances prettily, and cannot fail to become a favorite. The Taglionis surpassed even themselves, and received their reward in the ready acclimations of the spectators. The gallant and generous support which the Taglionis gave to to the debutante gave great pleasure to their admirers, and evidenced a magnanimity of soul not always discoverable in those who suppose they have attained an elevation in their profession. The Park was early filled with a brilliant throng: ladies and gentlemen of musical pretensions, critics and amateurs, eagerly awaited the going up of the curtain. The orchestra under its new leader, Mr. Thomas, lulled the audience into silence and passive admiration by its admirable execution of the overture of the celebrated opera of Fidelio, by the German composer Beethoven. The selection of this German composition by the troupe was indicative of their confidence in their powers, and was an earnest of their ability to fulfil its great requirements. Musicians tell us that it is a most masterly effort of genius, abounding in all the elements of a sublime, lyrical opera, and demanding all the skill and power of the best musicians. The story is simple, but most touching in its incidents, yet affording little opportunity for scenic display, or brilliancy of costume,bation, the worthy Lessee of the National rested, for the time, his confidence -a much more important feature in opera with our audiences than its im- on the brilliancy and attractiveness of a single luminary to guide him mortal composer could have ever imagined. on to triumphant success. THE NATIONAL. While the Park has been introducing to us a whole galaxy of Stars, whose united light has thrown a radiant sunshine on the languishing for. tunes that have long lowered over all exertions to win the public's appro Miss Poole first presented herself, and at once secured the sympathies Mr. Charles Kean returned to America with a popularity that could of the house by her beauty and her artless confusion. Gradually recover-scarcely be enhanced, and with a reputation in his profession that was aling the command of her voice as she became assured of the kindness of most dangerous to possess. His appearance on Monday evening in Hamher audience, it soon became manifest that she possessed a strong, musical-let was hailed by his friends as an advent most devoutly to be thankful for ly toned voice, that poured forth at will with a clearness that rang on the The house was filled to the very roof, with ardent admirers of the genear like the sound of silver bells. Every one was satisfied that she de-ius of his father and by those who believed the mantle of the departed served the rank assigned her, and she modestly received the tokens of ad- tragedian could not be worn ingloriously by the son. miration that came warm from the hands of all. Now came Mr. Martyn, the very picture of Harrison, whilom a favourite at the Park, and he, too, rendered his music skilfully and with effect. His voice is a tenor, not of great compass, but pleasing and particularly rich in its lower tones. This young scion of a noble stock was greeted with welcomes such as we never saw bestowed on an actor. Most tenderly was he affected, and the rolling of his dewy eye betokened how perfectly he appreciated the elements of that feeling which prompted the enthusiastic outburst. The play proceeded, and the first sad tones of the philosoplic Dane wel! Shortly followed "the faithful Fidelio”—Mrs. Martyn-late Miss In-interpreted the emotions that filled the bosom of the actor, as he received verarity,-dressed in the garb of a poor youth in the employment of the the indications of a people's memory of his father, and the transfer of their jailer, Rocco. Here, then was the Prima Donna, a tall, well formed, and affection and admiration to the person of the son. interesting looking lady, evidently trembling with apprehension, and al- The play continued on, but it was soon manifest that either Mr. Kean most dismayed at the task which she had assumed. A burst of sympa- was partly overcome by his emotions, or was laboring under the disadvanthetic emotion, and a warm welcome, helped to restore her confidence, as tage of a severe hoarseness. Point after point presented themselves, but she came imploringly down the stage to evidence her ability to sustain the were passed over without an effort, or at least without any striking effect. reputation which had been claimed for her by her friends. Throughout His intonations were so low that his voice did not fill the house, and {he opera Mrs. Martyn was listened to with rapt attention, and every al-marred immensely the force of every passage, We feel that it would be unjust to pursue the criticism of a performance presented under circumstances so inauspicious, and shall therefore withhold any analysis of Mr. Kean's manner of rendering this "test play" to all candidates for the honor of fitly representing the heroes of Shakspeare. We should do injustice to ourselves did we omit to record our admiration of the masterly manner in which the "closet scene" with the queen was enacted, and the general character of the playing throughout-giving evidently little hold on the great body of working-men, or Ultra-Radical dence as it did of thoughtful study and a matured intellect. On Tuesday we patiently sat through the entire play of "New way to Pay Old Debts,"" listening attentively to Mr. Kean's "Sir Giles," but, save at the concluding scene, we were impressed with the belief of his continued hoarseness. In that scene, however, he burst the bonds that appeared to chain him to an indifferent personation, and completely electrified the house by an exhibition of passion that was as terrific as it was sublime. We never saw a more thrilling scene. The illusion was complete, and for the first time we forgot the actor and thought only of the disappointed and distracted madman. THE CHARTISTS FLOORED.-The London Morning Chronicle thus concludes a very sensible article on the recent outbreaks in England :-"The Chartist diversion is almost over. We do not mean that the political principles of Chartism are, or are likely to be, extinct. But the brief career of violence draws towards its close. The hot-headed, or falsehearted leaders, by whose cowardly councils it was instigated, have evipoliticians. Ministers have obtained whatever they asked from Parliament for the preservation of the public peace. So far as that purpose was concerned, their hands have been strengthened by all parties. Nor have they been thwarted by juries: every material conviction which they sought for they have obtained. They have been strong enough and wise enough to blend mercy with justice. Some local outbreaks may yet exhibit the struggles of the expiring spirit of delusion, but substantially it is quelled. And this has been accomplished by the repression of violence, not the suppression of political opinion. The condition of Chartism offers no excuse for postponing the mention of political or social reforms. It presents every inducement for a Government to display its purposes, and to prepare itself for their realization. THE QUILL AND THE SWORD. We trust we have not done injustice in these hasty remarks to this promising young tragedian. Far, very far, is it from our intention to do so. Yet we cannot believe that with the same compass of voice and physical power displayed on the boards of the National, he could have achieved that confessedly high reputation which he enjoys at home.— We therefore, in all charity, attribute Mr. Kean's partial failure, or rather, Mr. John Brent, who lives near Canterbury, sent to the Morning his short-coming in realizing our elevated expectations, to some tempo-sonal insult to himself, committed on the 5th ultimo by six officers of the Chronicle an account of an outrage on his son's property, and of a perrary indisposition from which we most heartily pray he may soon recover. On Friday Mr. Wallack was announced to play Tortesa, and judging from his decided success in this character on former occasions, we cannot doubt the popular Lessee was greeted on the occasion with a house full of admiring friends. FOREIGN DRAMATIC INTELLIGENCE. Madame Vestris was in town in the course of last week, and like a theatrical queen (as she is) held her first levee for the season at Covent Garden Theatre. We understand that several performers were engaged, but the expectations of many more were disappointed. The principal contract entered into was certainly one of importance, for it ensured the services of Ellen Tree for at least a portion of the approaching season.The articles are only for a limited number of nights, for, as we said last week, Ellen Tree positively refuses to enter into terms with any manager for the year. We are informed that she is to play at two separate periods, each for only a few nights, much fewer, we have no doubt, than will satis- || fy the public, and we consequently look for a renewal, though it may be prudent not to encourage any such notion too much. Of late years stars have not thought fit to bind themselves down to more than from 12 to 20 performances at a time, and such we believe to be the case with Ellen Tree.-London Paper. At Drury Lane it is stated that much is going on within the house, but it certainly makes little show on the outside. Some new interior arrangements are highly praised, but really the classing of the scenery and letting lights into the wings are not of much consequence to the public.What we want are good plays and good performers: of the former, to be sure we have an abundance; but we might just as well be without them if we have not the latter. What is most of all required at this moment is, that the profession of the stage should be elevated. Heaven knows how much has been done within the last seven years to degrade it, with the kind aid of the sub-committee of Drury Lane. Never let the obligations of the town and of the profession to that sagacious body be forgotten! To act properly the higher parts of tragedy and comedy requires gentlemanly education, feelings, and deportment; and while the stage remains what it is we never shall have gentlemen adopt it as a means of subsistence and independence. An actor, at present is, to a certain degree, an equivocal personage in society; he hardly knows his place or his level, he therefore feels awkwardly circumstanced wherever he goes.— This must be remedied; and when actors conduct themselves properly they must be well received in company, or the number of gentlemen on the boards will every day become fewer and fewer. We speak plainly, but we speak truly. A poor author in one sense is on an equality with a peer, but the claim even of a rich actor would not willingly be recognized, even if it were recognized at all.—Ib. conduct of the officers, which drew from the Commanding Officer of this Eleventh Light Dragoons. The Editor indulged in some remarks on the Regiment a warm reply, concluding thus: "With regard to the opinion which you have so unwarrantably published to the world in the leading article of your journal, viz.: that I have a very imperfect idea of what is due from one gentleman to another,' I have only to reply, that such an assertion is an infamous and scandalous falsehood, and that it is fortunate for you that you are the anonymous editor of a newspaper. "I am, Sir, your most obedient servant, "CARDIGAN, Lieut.-Col. 11th Light Dragoons. 'Northampton, 14th August, 1839." The Morning Chronicle, in a well-written rejoinder, points out some of the obvious defects of Lord Cardigan's letter as a defence; and thus disposes of his Lordship's concluding threat:— "We have no wish to recall the past, or to press severely on him for former misconduct. But it is possible that an ungenerous advantage may be taken by some of those under his command of the delicate position in which his Lordship stands, and that he must look through his fingers at many things, respecting which other commanding-officers would not deem it necessary to extend the same indulgence. If his Lordship have enemies, we know that he has also many friends, who speak of him with kindly feelings. His letter indicates a judgment on which we should not be disposed to place much reliance. His offensive epithets addressed to us will he himself has a perfect idea of what is due from one gentleman to another. not prove either that the six officers of his regiment are gentlemen, or that To his Lordship's threats we are perfectly indifferent. The editor of a newspaper cannot, if he would, conceal himself. The editor of the Morning Chronicle is at a loss, therefore, to understand why it is fortulived too long in the world to be influenced by threats of personal violence. nate for him that he is the anonymous editor of a newspaper.' He has Lord. Cardigan, on reflection, must regret that he descended to such that England is as yet a country governed by law and not by the sword; language. But be this as it may, his lordship does not seem to be aware and that commanding-officers of regiments, whether noblemen or commoners, dare not commit violence against the humblest citizen, After so unbecoming a threat, were his lordship to forget himself further, we should have no hesitation in handing him over, with the least possible ceremony, to a police officer." We have just seen a most beautiful and delicate miniature of one of the most celebrated of our city belles, executed in a style of art that it would seem impossible to surpass. It was painted by Madame Guillet, No. 10, Barclay-street; a lady whose devotion to her art, and whose genius, must shortly place her at the very head of her profession. Dr. Chalmers, in a late letter to the mechanics of Greenock, says,—“I now find, both from the state of my engagements and my strength, that I must withdraw from the labours of active life as speedily as possible." The Haymarket is become a sort of half-way house for actors on the move from one theatre to another-a Thespian hotel, at which Transatlantic voyagers put up for a few nights previous to going on board or directly on stepping ashore-a stage for "farewells" and "first appearances;" its announcements resemble the list of arrivals and departures at a fashionable hotel; and this week they run thus. Arrivals-Mr. PowER, from the provinces; Mr. MACREADY and suite, from Covent Garden, on his way to Drury; Miss ELLEN TREE, from a tour in the United States. Not that all these eminent performers are visible at once; Mr. WEBSTER, who is a very Herschel, for discerning the aproach of erratic stars, is economical of their lustre, and only brings one luminary of the galaxy into the field of his reflector at a time. This week Power is in the ascendant, and his mirthful influence has been sensibly felt in the region of the diaphragm :-oh gracious! Macready will culminate next week; and the sensations of choking and sobbing consequent on his appearance will be counteracted in some degree by the more exhilirating power. Ellen Tree-erewhile the lost Pleiad of the theatrical hemisphere-will not be visible till the Irish star is below the horizon.—Ib. A late Marseilles paper speaks of a man and woman in that neighbourhood who have voluntarily doomed themselves to perpetual silence, The man, we neither of them speaking a word from morning till night. should think, might get along smoothly and quietly enough, but the woman Dean Swift contended that there are no women in heaven, and in proof of his opinion quoted the apocalypse, which says, "there was silence in heaven for half an hour." |