has not, as yet, had the desired effect; but a minister is proceeding to France to resume the negotiation."

The next passage in the Message is highly important, and seems designed as a warning to Russia, touching her occupation of the north-western shore of North America. The President, refer ring to certain amicable negotiations, proposed by his orders to the Court of Russia, and by that Government to Great Britain,

"For arranging their respective rights and in

terests on the north-west coast of the American continent," adds distinctly, that this "occasion has been judged proper for asserting, as a principle in which the rights and interests of the United States are involved, that the American continents, by the free and independent condition which they have assumed and maintain, are henceforth not to be considered as subjects for future colonization by any European Power."

After stating that America had proposed to the Powers of Europe to declare the African slave-trade to be piracy, the message gives the following important exposition of the policy to be maintained by the United States in respect of South America. Mr. Monroe first disclaims every right or thought of meddling in the disputes of the European Powers in matters relating to themselves;" but that "with the movements in the western hemisphere, the United States are more immediately connected;" that he therefore

"Owes it to candour, &c. to declare, that the United States would consider any attempt on the part of European Monarchies to extend their system to any portion of the western hemisphere as dangerous to their peace and safety;" that "with the existing colonies or dependencies of any European Power, they have not interfered, and will not; but that any interposition for the purpose of oppressing or controlling any of the States, whose independence the Republic has, after mature consideration, acknowledged, she would consider in no other light than as the manifestation of an unfriendly disposition towards her. self,"—in other words, as a just cause of war.

The President regards the distinct annunciation of this resolute policy so important, that he repeats it towards the close of his Message

"It is impossible," says he, "that the Allied Powers should extend their system to any portion of either Ainerica, without endangering the peace and happiness of the United States, and therefore impossible that the latter should behold such interference, in any form, with indifference."

The other parts of the Message relate chiefly to the internal affairs of the Republic. The finances are declared prosperous, the annual receipts being 16,100,000 dollars, and the expenditure 11,400,000 dollars. The army is well organised and disciplined. The piracies in the vicinity of Cuba are suppressed. In the navy it is recommended to establish higher grades of rank. The mail roads in the Union extend to 88,600 miles, and the amount of postage last year was 1,114,354 dollars. The Message finally concludes as under :

"If we compare the present condition of our Union with its actual state at the close of our revolution, the history of the world furnishes no example of a progress in improvement in all the important circumstances which constitute the happiness of a nation, which bears any resemblance to it. At the first epoch, our population did not exceed 3,000,000. By the last census it amounted to about 10,000,000, and, what is more extraordinary, it is almost altogether native-for the emigration from other countries has been inconsiderable. At the first epoch, half the territory within our acknowledged limits was uninhabited, and a wilderness. Since then, new territory has been acquired, of vast extent, comprising within it many rivers, particularly the Missisippi, the navigation of which, to the ocean, was of the highest importance to the original states. Over this territory our population has extended in every direction, and new states have been established, almost equal in number to those which formed the first bend of our Union. This expansion of our population, and accession of new states to our Union, have had the happiest effect on all its highest interests. That it has eminently augmented our resources, and added to our strength and respectability as a power, is admitted by all. But it is not in these circumstances only that this happy effect is felt. It is manifest, that, by enlarging the basis of our system, and increasing the number of states, the system itself has been greatly strengthened in both its branches. Consolidation and disunion have thereby been rendered equally impracticable. Each Government, confiding in its own strength, has less to apprehend from the other, and in consequence, each enjoying a greater freedom of action, is rendered more efficient for all the purposes for which it was instituted. It is unnecessary to treat here of the vast improvement made in the system itself by the adoption of this Constitution, and of its happy effect in elevating the character, and in protecting the rights of the nation, as well as of individuals. To what, then, do we owe these blessings? It is known to all that we derive them from the excellence of our institutions. Ought we not, then, to adopt every measure which may be necessary to perpetuate them ?"

DRURY-LANE THEATRE.

THERE has been almost a prescription for bad pantomime or no pantomime at Drury-lane, from time whereof the memory of schoolboys runneth not to the contrary, down to the present season. It seemed as though the motley and fantastic genius, which erst descended in Miss Worgman's form, had no fitting home in this region of the drama; that wit here would not give way to show; that scenes would obstinately struggle for an untimely connexion; and nonsense refuse to rule for six weeks in splendid silence. Melancholy were the attempts at humour; the landscapes were murky, the tricks stopped midway, Harlequin proved but an indifferent sceneshifter, and the voice of Grimaldi was not heard! Mr. Elliston, how ever, is absolute; he who designed the "Cataract," who makes horses obedient to his stage directions, and forces tragedians to hear reason, said-There shall be a Pantomime at Drury-lane!-and up starts one tolerably conceived, delightfully painted, and fairly appointed with its dumb comedians, to the astonishment of all minor critics. It is taken from an Eastern tale, called "Harlequin and the Flying Chest," beginning in Asia, proceeding through Europe, and ending in some fairy land-the long and the short of pantomimes from the beginning of time. The flying box is, to be sure, rather an awkward carriage; there are no magical figures to give it an awful air, even to gentle spectators under six years of age; it hangs over the stage with its freight as if the voyagers were in the pillory; and the fire they discharge from it reminds us of nothing but an inflarnmation in the chest. But, with this exception, the romantic part of the show is rich and gorgeous; especially the scene of the princess's boudoir, which is a radiant piece of capricious splendour, and the Palace of a Hundred Gates, which is a fine architectural puzzle. After the transformations, we have a striking view of Fonthill Abbey; King Edward's gallery in the same building; and, greater than all, a most beautiful exhibition, in the shape of a Diorama, of the progress, completion, and various aspects of that grand piece of art-bidding noble defiance to nature-the Breakwater at Plymouth. As a succession of paintings, it is unquestionably the most finished that we have ever seen exhibited on the stage; but as a piece of mechanism it is very inferior to the aerial journey of the clown at Covent-garden. Since Mr. Stansfield's engagement at Drury-lane, this establishment has made a surprising

advance in scenery, and now surpasses Covent-garden in correctness, though inferior to it in colouring. The Harlequin is graceful, the Clown marvellously active, and the Columbine a fine bonny lass, whose good-humoured smile is as attractive as her steps, to which she takes heed. There is too much meaning in the tricks -too many embodied puns-too much, indeed, of every thing, for the pantomime is, at least, half an hour too long. Mr. Elliston likes to give full measure; but he should not run the risk of exhausting the happiness of his young visitors, and allow them the chilling recollection that they ever felt sleepy in Old Drury!

The novel of Kenilworth has furnished materials for a more interesting drama than any which has been framed on the works of its author, with the exception, perhaps, of Dibdin's Heart of Mid Lothian. This romance, though not so rich in humour, in scenic picture, or in high and generous representations of character, as some of its predecessors, has a unity of interest, and a variety and contrast, which happily adapt it for the stage. On the one hand, there is the prisoned Lady of Cumnor House, whose luxurious solitude, and ambitious love, and feminine caprice, and perilous situation awaken the sense of beauty and sympathy; and, on the other, there is the Court of the Maiden Queen, the strange situation of Leicester, and "the princely pleasures of Kenilworth Castle," heightened in zest by the passions and affections of the royal visitant. These materials are extremely well interwoven in the new play, which never stands still, but which has always either some sense of fearful interest, or some characteristic portraiture of the manners of Elizabeth and her Court. The first interview between Tresilian and Amy; the scene where Foster attempts to administer poison to the Countess, but is frustrated by the offer of Janet to taste it; and all the scenes towards the close, when the spectator looks for the tragical catastrophe of the novel, but is relieved by seeing Varney fall into the trap laid for Amy, are of true dramatic power. While the old puritan is trembling on the verge of murder, or the Queen is just touching on the discovery of Leicester's marriage, or Janet is unscrewing the supports of the mechanical staircase, the heart even of the practised playgoer beats quicker, and his attention is riveted to the stage. To the scenes of the court Mrs. Bunn imparts an historical interest of a peculiar kind, for her Elizabeth is the exactest image of the queen of the novel and of history, and

leaves even the imagination satisfied. She is the thing itself. Her imperious manner, her touches of feeling, her quick resumptions of dignity, her condescension, and her alternations of passion and policy, give as good an idea of the moral being of the Queen as her admirable costume does of her dress. Mr. Wallack is tame in Leicester; he seems to have wasted his energies in the performance of the part of the Brahmin in the Cataract, or to disdain to employ them in a character less sublime. It is a pity that this gentleman, who has grace and passion, will play the scene where he is wrought up to the murder of his wife, as if it were the most indifferent affair in the world. Terry's Foster is a coarse but powerful sketch of guilty agitation, and selfishness hesitating to become criminal, yet determined not to recede from its purposes. Mrs. West, allowing for a little violence, gives the sorrows and waywardness of the sweet captive with considerable truth, and plays better than she usually does in tragedy, where the blank verse tempts her to intolerable mouthing. Miss Booth is good in the little puritan girl; but we would have given something to see Miss Taylor, the unforgotten representative of Jenny Deans, in a part where severity of manner and strong feeling and promptitude of action are characteristic features. There are one or two scenes in this play quite masterly; especially a view of the princely towers and outworks of Kenilworth, the lake, and the fair open country of Warwickshire, which is alone worth going to see. After the play, and detached from it by a long pause against all rule and all sense, a marvellously silly pageant was exhibited, of morris dancers, of knights pugilistic, of "cavalry," and Britannia as natural as her own image on a penny piece, before Leicester, the Queen, half-adozen awkward courtiers, and as many maids of honour. Much expense had been evidently incurred on this procession of "entertainments," though each division was poor, which we were sorry to observe, for, though liberality is the soul of management, no one is bound to purchase disapprobation at an extravagant price. We are quite sure that these gorgeous follies never repay the cost of their production. Instead of exhibiting the completeness of the scenic art, they really display its poverty, and only serve to show us what it can not compass. In witnessing the drama, the imagination is appealed to as well as the senses; we meet the scene-painter more than half way, and are content to accept his works, not as adequate representations of places and

VOL. XII. NO. XXXVIII.

groups, but as suggesting hints to the fancy, which passion and sympathy render active. But when the stage assumes to cope with bodily realities; to exhibit chariots, horses, cataracts, all" as large as life," it necessarily fails: because its most costly show would be pitiful as a real pageant, and because the appeal is made directly to our vision. When the poet talks of horses, we may "think we see them pawing with proud hoofs the receiving earth;" but when Mr. Ducrow sends in nine to tread the boards just laid down for them, we cannot admit that we see a regiment of cavalry. Seeing, in such cases, is the very reverse of believing.

Mr. Beazeley, the dramatic architect and architectural dramatist, who puts meaning into porticoes and method into farces, and whose activity of genius enables him to do more in each of two occupations than most men do in one, has produced an ingenious Opera, to display the whole strength of Mr. Elliston's splendid company, except Munden, who is about worth them all. It is taken from the well-known French piece called "Joconde," with the additional contrast of a grave and merry peasant, each bringing up a daughter in his own style, like the fathers in Terence. As a composition, it is sparkling and gay, but unfortunately too long for the airy style. An English audience rarely condescends to sit out three acts of mirth and song, without the intermixture of some serious interest: they require a momentum of sentiment, and become weary of excessive lightness. Several of the songs are remarkable for felicity of thought and expression; and one of them, called "Reason and Love," is as neat and terse and merry, as those miniature moralities, which our Anacreon hits off in his happiest moods. The play-bill is thickly studded with stars-Braham, Liston, Dowton, Harley, Knight, Terry, Miss Stephens, and Madame Vestris-all of whom are in their places, except Liston, who plays Philander. Who can fancy our own Lubin Log turned Frenchman of quality, frisking about through three acts, the gay Lothario of the piece? He is the lover too of Miss Stephens (which may be because all the world is); but she is also required to be in love with him, which, in his stage character, is hardly natural. Elliston should have played the part himself; he keeps his state too absolutely behind the scenes, and too rarely appears (like other monarchs) since his Coronation. Management generally withdraws a performer from the stage, but he is too much an actor by nature to allow

I

the cares of the green-room and the treasury to weigh down those good spirits which are, after all, his best possession.

COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE.

Who does not know "The House that Jack built?" Who is not startled into pleasant remembrance, by that motley procession of images, the cat, the rat, "the cow with a crumpled horn," "the milk-maid," and the priest "all shaven and shorn?" None of our readers, we are sure; though perhaps, in these days of philosophical education, some new chimeras have taken the place of our old and oddly assorted favourites. If, however, banished from the nursery, they are all engaged at Covent-garden, where they are to be seen as if they had just stepped out of the borders of the old sampler or Christmas piece. This is well; there is nothing like a homely interest to start "the gay creatures of the element" of Christmas, harlequin, pantaloon, and clown, on their varied career. The Covent-garden pantomime is a very good one; with several well-painted scenes, several ingenious tricks, a happy adaptation of old airs to familiar circumstances, and less than the usual quantity of kicks and thumps, which is a practical compliment to our modern sense of the dignity of human nature. Grimaldi, indeed, is not there; but we cannot believe that his seclusion is otherwise than temporary, nor hold his son higher than as regent, without restrictions, over the motley realm, while he gathers strength to go on to a jubilee. Mr. J. S. Grimaldi has uncommon flexibility of muscle, and a face which, in time, may do wonders. To make a perfect clown, such a clown as his father, years are, at least, as necessary as to form a statesman; to give that gravity which no detection can disturb; that happy knack of picking one's pocket and looking helplessly in one's face, which a saint might envy; that serious humour which is the essence of Covent-garden philosophy, and which looks down in high tranquillity on the low jesting, the Tom and Jerryism of the age! There are some happy changes in the new pantomime, and choice bits of high and low life-as the courting scene in the kitchen, accompanied by appropriate music; the clown shooting himself in the glass, and falling as if dead; and, above all, the skaiting in Hydepark, performed, in all its varieties, on a glassy surface, which may give proof to the paradox of "sliding all on a summer's day." If the Diorama be the most complete painting, the aerial voyage from London to Paris is the most ingenious

piece of mechanism on or above the stage: we see the country mapped out, expanding below-the whole course of the Thames and the Channel, till night comes on, and the balloon, emerging from clouds, descends into the illuminated gardens of the Tuileries. A spectator might almost fancy himself in the balloon, were it not for the floor of the stage, which is a substantial fact, which defies all the efforts of imagination to alter, and which even the magic of Farley could not disperse into thin air. Every thing in the pantomime is executed with that ease and quickness which show that practice has made perfect the masterly hands of its directors.

It gives us great pleasure to record the brilliant success of this house during the past month. Its managers have not relied solely on their admirable pantomime, but have shown great care and judgment in selecting the performances by which it has been preceded. Mr. Young has drawn a full house a week in Sir Pertinax; Sinclair, Miss Paton, and Miss Tree have exerted themselves with great effect in the elegant opera of "The Lord of the Manor;" and the clever but factitious comedy of "John Bull" has been cast with a strength unknown since its production. Miss Chester, recovered from her long indisposition, lent her loveliness to the part of Mary Thornberry, and threw into it an irresistible pathos. No one can play a part like Job Thornberry at all comparably to Fawcett, who is the most real and least affected of all who pretend to the sturdy independence of nian and masculine feeling. If Connor does not quite supply Johnstone's place in Dennis Bulgruddery, he does more than could be expected, and as much as those who love to talk of past excellence could endure.

If there be any failure in the arrangements of the last few weeks, it is in the revival of " Julius Cæsar," with a very inferior cast from that which every playgoer remembers. Mr. Young was wont to be admirable in Cassius, but we cannot think him equally successful in Brutus, which he now performs. We always "relish him more in the soldier than the scholar." His Brutus is a fine piece of oratory; but it has not that intermixture of gentle feelings, or those delicate traits of kindness, which render the situation of the mild-hearted stoic so affecting in Shakspeare. Kemble was too cold and scornful; Young is too vehement and loud; and, to our thinking, the true idea of the part has been given by neither. Mr. Cooper is what the papers