HEATH'S BOOK OF BEAUTY: Altogether a misnomer; as far as this volume of 1846 is concerned. There are one or two fair and intellectual countenances on which the eye dwells with pleasure, such as that of the Lady Henrietta Mrs. Arthur J. Lewis, and perhaps that of Mrs. Beresford Taylor. We shall, however, find few to admit that the portraits of the Book of Beauty are anything like veritable samples of the loveliness of the English aristocracy. The drive of Hyde Park on a May-day, and the Italian and French theatres, present so constantly living specimens of glowing beauty; each example of which might be heldas "The glass of fashion and the mould of form." When we turn to such a libel on decorum of expression as that of the portrait of Mrs. Young, after Sir W. C. Ross's picture, we cannot but smile and wonder at its admission in such a collection. One of the prettiest gipsy faces of the volume is that of Donna Inez; but there is also too much of meretricious display in the arrangement of costume in this subject of Egg's. We shall perhaps take another opportunity to speak of the literature of these volumes, which, we may mention here, is above the average of preceding years. FORGET-ME-NOT, for 1846. London: Published by Ackermann and Co.-A prettily got up annual, with a frontispiece of the value of the whole book. It is "The Reverie," a picture of Drummond's, choicely and delicately engraved by J. Cochran. The transparency of the planets that gleam out of the engraving, as though, indeed, revolving in the living ether, is a remarkable merit. "The Bivouac" is clever, with effects of engraving that attest the superiority of our artists in that line. "Verona" is admirably executed, and there is much of quiet simplicity in the attitude and expression of G. L. Hering's "Sketch from Nature." There are several prose sketches of merit in this unpretending volume. We may instance that of "Sarah Burnett," by the late Mrs. James Grey. Miss Eliza Cook's verses "On the Death of a favourite old Hound," are the best in the book, and especially characteristic of her vigorous manner. "The Last of the M'Carthies," a ballad by S. M., possesses a simplicity far from unpleasing; and "Better than Beauty" is a good song for music. "Guido and Marina," by the late T. Hood, is full of feeling. On the whole the three volumes we have thus cursorily noticed are the most tasteful gifts that could be devised for the first day of the New Year. We trust they may annually recur, to mark one phase of English art-that of producing in a minute space the most startling effects. PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS OF THE METROPOLIS. "Fun and frolic, even when trespasses, are not guilt; and though a cat have nine lives, she has but one ghost, and that will haunt no house where there are terriers. What! surely if you have the happiness of being a parent, you would not wish your only boy, your son and heir, the blended image of his mother's loveliness and his father's manly beauty, to be a smug, smooth, prim, and proper prig, with his hair always combed down on his forehead, hands always ungloved, and without spot or blemish on his white thread stockings?"-PROFESSOR WILSON. "Public amusements!" cries the itinerant preacher; "are the toys of folly's fair, the enticements of the Evil One, who is ever of the company, and not the least agreeable one, at such shows. Only listen to the loose sentiments and view the looser gestures displayed at theatrical representations, and you will dread their moral infection: witness the serious tragedies of life burlesqued-its best purposes travestied witness sacred epochs dramatised, and sinfully familiarised; and then assert, if you can, that you leave an evening entertainment of the metropolis without an internal conviction that it is a vehicle of vice and vanity, an emporium of folly and frivolity. Take at hazard a frequenter of these places-a real London man: what will you find him? A libertine, if not in his speech, yet in his actions; and openly or concealedly a contemner of every law, moral or divine." "Softly, Mr. Lecturer: your periods are as long as your syllogism is faulty. Do me the favour to reverse the picture," "exclaims the man of letters; "and let us see the results. Breed a youth up to eschew all the attractions of vanity's fair: let him be a prig, prim and proper-early to bed and early to rise: let him not know the atmosphere of a gas-lit hall, nor the perfumery of the artiste's toilette: let Shakspere, Congreve, and Colman be to him as anthropophagi, and the fiddles of Paganini, Sivori, and Ole Bull, the scores of Rossini and Weber, and the organs of Grisi and Persiani alluded to only as the instruments of the Sirens, alluring the doomed within the vortex of destruction: his hair shall always be combed down upon his forehead, and he shall read nothing but your sermons: take such a youth at hazard among his compeers (if he have any), and what shall you find him? I will tell you. A creature of dogmatic conceit, clothed from head to foot in the mantle of hypocrisy. His vices shall not be glaring as scarlet, for they will be deeply dyed in the hues of falsehood. I heard a gentleman of Edinburgh once say, in a large social company, that he had heard and witnessed more of depravity on a sabbath even in the Scotch metropolis, than he had found on all the other days of the week in any other capital of any other kingdom (and he was much of a cosmopolite) in the known world. The passions of our nature are more excited at an American camp-meeting than at the Italian Opera; and there is as much false excitement, vanity, and vexation, at evening service as at evening theatres. Be assured, as the trapper said, human natur will have vent one way or another;' and so fill your eyes with pleasant sights, your ears with agreeable sounds, and your heart and understanding And the scenes of the circle or circus: Make old folk and young folk cry Bless us!'" For our parts, we like such manifestations of popular feeling, and would willingly have joined in his chorus. ST. JAMES'S THEATRE opened magnificently the middle of last month. Its appointments are admirable in every way; indeed it is so very much the prettiest house we have, or have ever had, in London, that no fair comparison can be instituted with any that is or that has gone before it. Accordingly it can be no marvel that it is in the highest vogue, and frequented by the élite of all who reside or visit within metropolitan bills of mortality. Lafont and Mademoiselle St. Marc were the opening stars.' Lafont's reputation has arisen principally from his comical conception of the Lovelace characters in comedy, of whatever rank of life. He plays à ravir the part of gallant, whether in guise of king, soldier, courtier, or peasant; for he plays pleasantly in all. Mademoiselle St. Marc is good-looking, arch, quick, and full of tact. The repertoire has hitherto been full of variety, and promises a most novel season; and the list of performers engaged in succession by the most tasteful of our English lessees might make the vaudeville lover determine that no plea short of necessity should determine his absence, even for one night of the term, from this attractive resort. DRURY LANE.-The resources of this theatre have been displayed in a new opera, and not one of Balfe's!-an opera by a Mr. Vincent Wallace, a native of Ireland, but whose compositions are principally known in Spanish America-which has been completely successful, and which appears to have rendered its author at once popular. "Maritana" is distinguished by a certain freshness and originality in the melodies, and considerable skill in the disposal of or chestral power. In some of the airs reigns a pleasing wildness; others are overpowered by too vigorous an instrumentation. The plot is an adaptation of "Don Cæsar de Bazan." Most of the singers at Drury Lane are poor actors; and the opera labours, therefore, under a material disadvantage. However, there is much to redeem this: the fortune-telling airs, sung by Miss Romer, were most of them very effective and fresh, while Miss Poole's rich and mellow voice was never heard to more advantage, than in the opening aria of the second act, "Alas those chimes so sweetly pealing." There is a smoothness and delicacy in this little song that will make it universally popular. Indeed Mr. Wallace's forte is evidently that of plaintive melody; for a song sung by Miss Romer in the first act, "I hear it again," combines a similar sweetness and repose. His principal defects appear to be that he too much neglects that in which he most excels, the work, taken as a whole, being sadly deficient in repose and melody properly so called. That he proves himself experienced in masterly modulation, and that he aims at a bold and vigorous treatment of his subject, must be admitted by all who have listened to the opera. It is well put upon the stage, and, considering the tolerant character of Drury Lane audiences, is likely to compensate to the lessee for his late failures of success. The HAYMARKET ever prospers. Its manager, like a high-mettled racer, having determined upon success, never stops but at the goal, and then but to renew his exertions. We have before alluded to the fun of the little piece entitled, "Who's the Composer?" The complexity of its plot never puzzles the spectator: it is managed with a dexterity that shows the author a master of stage trick. It is but an adaptation from a French operetta, but an excellent one, by Morton. It is as perfectly free from objection, and as full of the frolicsome spirit of the doubles entendres of the French school, as any vaudeville version we ever remember to have seen produced. Hudson is a great attraction in the piece: he sings the serenade "to lady dear" to perfection, and acts with the most perfect ease. Buckstone as Mephistophiles, in the vermillion tights and Vesuvius nose, at the fancy ball, tickled our fancy prodigiously. pro The little house in Oxford-street has been in great and good odour for the whole of the past month. Macready of course commanded over-filled houses, and other novelties on off-nights attracted digiously. We shall here but speak of the long talked of ballet, "Le Diable à Quâtre." It is founded on our play, "The Devil to Pay," where the basket-maker and the gentle are mutually useful to each other in the management of their respective partners for life. It is well put upon the stage; the scenery is cleverly painted, and several elaborate mechanical transportations gracefully effected. Some of the pas and dances are pretty. The Basket-maker (Gilbert), and his wife Mazourka (Mademoiselle Melanie Duval) were very entertaining. There is a Polka à coups de bâtons, that takes prodigiously with the gods in the gallery, and a mazourka by Mr. Marshall and his sister, that proves deservedly an equal favourite with the boxes. Altogether the thing is a hit. ASTLEY'S AMPHITHEATRE follows up its own successes brilliantly. Not to do more than mention a succession of magnificent tableaux, forming altogether a grand spectacle entitled "The last of the Barons" (from the novel of Sir E. Bulwer Lytton), the other entertainments of the last month have been of the first degree of interest. The Lupino family are worthy a place in history. As gymnasts they are pre-eminent. Their feats outrival those of the three famous brothers, of whom, if we remember aright, John jumped down William's throat, William jumped down Richard's, and, to ensure a grand finale, the latter made a desperate somerset down his own. The Lupino family I T 3-4 US tus theage have been displayed |