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EDITORS' TABLE.

PARK THEATRE. During the past season, opera has been the chief attraction, and most popular exhibition, at the Park. Miss PHILLIPS, ABBOTT, WALLACK, DOWTON, and a host of minor spirits, both in the legitimate as well as the illegitimate drama, have for a time been kept in the back ground, by the prominent influence of 'sweet sounds.' And yet we dare not ascribe that decline which seems to have taken place in the dramatic taste of the public to their increased appreciation of music alone. It would be well for us if such were indeed the true cause of the indifference which has been shown toward the forsaken drama. Nor has this falling off been caused by the absence of those essentials which enter into the composition of the intellectual repasts which it is the true object of the stage to furnish. We have in Miss Phillips an actress unsurpassed upon the English stage one whose delineations of character are no less distinguished for their natural truth than their high classical perfection - a painter, in whose pictures nature and art are so exquisitely blended, that the most critical eye seeks in vain for that disproportion which would mark the prominence of the one, or the weaklydefined appearance of the other. Yet Miss Phillips must be content with the approbation of the few, and the indifference of the many. Dowton in comedy, too, may play to empty benches; Dowton, the graceful painter of still life the chaste delineator of times past whose subdued yet highly-finished portraits carry us back into the very presence of the Sir Anthonys, the Sir Peters, the Sir Robert Brambles, and the long list of gentlemanly old baronets, and their worthy associates among the commoners, whose staunch English prejudices sit as gracefully as the virtues which embalm them Dowton, the most finished comedian of his day, has played the full term of an engagement among us to comparatively bare walls. What is the cause of this indifference? What do the public want? Novelty-excitement - dash-show-spectacle-parade! Like a spoiled school-boy, who, instead of studying his primer, smacks his lips over a stolen repast of sugar-plums and bons-bons, and afterward refuses the wholesome dinner that is placed before him- so this good public, having vitiated their healthy appetite by extravagant spectacle, melo-dramatic absurdities, and other grossly physical exhibitions, can no longer enjoy the strong intellectual food which nature and truth were wont to spread before them. Spectacle is the order of the day. Improbable circumstances, dressed up in big, windy words, or unmeaning pantomime - glaring scenery, pompous processions, discordant music, roaring lions that will outroar a tempest, and men and women who can outroar them—these, with novelty for the scene-shifter- these are the aliment for which the public appetite is set, and upon which they must and will gormandize, until they and the objects of their admiration sicken with mutual disgust:

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Behind, for liberty athirst in vain,

Sense, helpless captive, drags the galling chain;
Six rude misshapen beasts the chariot draw,
Whom reason loathes, and nature never saw -
Monsters with tails of ice, and heads of fire,
Gorgons, hydras, and chimeras dire.'

But why not? Why should not folly have her day? Give us the cap and bells! Stand aside, Common Sense, you old driveller! Here goes:

UNACCUSTOMED as we are to public writing, as well as public speaking, we do not consider ourselves competent to enter the ranks with the erudite manufacturers of modern melo-dramas: yet earnestly desirous that the trade of folly's fulminators should flourish, we here, in our illustrious corner of this magazine of immortality, do freely, and without charge, make known the following original hints, for the speedy manufacture of a successful melo-dramatic spectacle, to be 'got up' as soon after its manufacture as possible, 'with new scenery, dresses and decorations.'

The subject which we have chosen, is one that is associated with our earliest recollections-interwoven with our reminiscences of cradles, swaddling-clothes, pap, and paregoric, and one, therefore, which must come home to men's bosoms with peculiar emphasis and effect:

'Jack and Jill went up the hill

To fetch a pail of water;

Jack fell down and broke his crown,

And Jill came tumbling after.'

There, ye play-wrights- ye dealers in the small wares of Fancy-there's a subject for you! - plan, plot, and characters - subject, story, development, and catastrophe all in a breath. A hero and heroine, whose early loves whose ambitious impulses whose gradual progress 'up the hill' is worthy the pen of Shakspeare, Knowles, or the illustrious poets, male and female, who vegetate under the approving smiles of the critics of Rotten-row. Ladies and gentlemen! - you will please to consider the publication of the foregoing programme an especial act of liberality on our part, for the benefit of the public generally, but for your emolument particularly. Your own good taste, now so generally appreciated, will of course obviate the necessity of any very particular hints from us, in regard to the filling up of this ingenious plot, or in any way relating to the appurtenances of its representation. But feeling that natural regard for our mental offspring which a parent feels for his first-born, you will not perhaps object to a very few remarks, explanatory of our wishes relating to this anxious subject of our future care.

In the first place, then, ladies and gentlemen, you will please to allow the curtain to rise to slow music-discovering Jack and Jill seated within a picturesque arbor, supposed to be situated somewhere within the territorial jurisdiction of the Great Mogul There should be seen birds of every variety of plumage; in the foreground a peacock with a real tail, and a black swan; flowers of every hue should brighten and variegate the scene, from the immaculate bloom of the towering magnolia, to the humble hue of a daffy-down-dilly. Gentle music-its time to be regulated by the movements of the peacock's tail. You will please, ladies and gentlemen, to consider Jill the daughter of the mighty Prince of Kamschatka, and by her father's will affianced to the only son of the Emperor of China. Jack, of course, is a humble peasant, with no other merit than the love he bears the gentle Jill. You will see the propriety of placing this amiable creature under the protection of some kind and powerful spirit, whose only care it is to effect the desired nuptials between the humble swain and the mighty princess: say, for instance, you designate her protector the 'Lady of the Fountain.' The son of the Emperor of China must be, by all the rules of nature and effect, a most unprincipled wretch, whose aggravated crimes entitle him to no other bride than the bow-string. These little matters, of course, are all talked over in the arbor, or gently insinuated by the inferior characters, through the course of the first act.

You will please to arrange matters so that the curtain shall rise upon the second act, discovering the Falls of Niagara, which you will suppose the summer residence of the 'Lady of the Fountain.' Here's a chance for your scene-painter. Hither Jack and Jill, having stolen away from the ice, and snow, and black clouds, of Kamschatka, have come to ruralize, thaw out, and brood over the hard fate which they feel awaits them. Sitting upon Table-Rock, in the cool calm of evening, despairing of all things save their unchangeable attachment, they are surprised by the appearance of the 'Lady of the Fountain,' (done up, of course, with spangles, oyster-shells, and green hair,) who quiet their fears, by announcing herself their guardian-spirit, and assuring the disconsolate Jack, that if he has the courage to obtain a single pail full of water from the fountain, (her abode,) situated on the top of Mount Parnassus, he will possess a talisman by which he can destroy forever Ching-Chang, his rival, and the son of the Emperor of China. Here, you will perceive, is business enough for the second act. But now for the third. Here must be a condensation of effect - a consolidation of events and catastrophes - that shall astonish while it delights your already grateful audience. Ladies and gentlemen, permit us to sharpen our pen before we commence the third act. Act third opens and discovers the fountain on the top of Mount Parnassus, guarded by the Nine Muses, and other ferocious and malignant spirits, fast asleep on the sides of the mountain! Time-evening: moon-light-soft music, interrupted by an occasional nightingale; fire-flies and shooting-stars diversify the scene. Jack and Jill appear, with an empty pail between them, ascending the hill; they pass the sleeping sentinels are welcomed by the Spirit of the Fountain-fill their pail with the Castalian dew drops, and turn to descend the hill, high in heart, and joyous in the confidence of a victory almost won. Now mark the contrast observe the beautiful effect which may now be produced. Your audience are on the tiptoe of expectation; an agreeable disappointment flutters about their hearts, in beholding the acquisition of the pail of water accomplished without a struggle. You will remember that they walked up the hill to the soft strains of faëry music, talking of their hopes, and confident of success. Again, I say, mark the contrast. No sooner do they turn to descend the hill, than black clouds arise the heavens are suddenly overcast wind! - rain! thunder and lightning!— ghosts! fire kings! spirits of the air, earth, and sea! - hobgoblins! and the great Glumfungus, (the infernal magician, protector, and familiar of the son of the Emperor of China,) all in horrid confusion, fill up the scene with their awful peculiarities. Jack fights like an ancient hero-Jill ditto-but it wo'nt do: Glumfungus throws a powder-cracker-Jack 'falls down and breaks his crown!' - (Catastrophe, No. 1.,) 'and Jill comes tumbling after!' (Catastrophe, No. 2.) - A beautiful example of female de-` votion! Jack rises; terrible combat between him and his rival!! overcomes Glum

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fungus, by ejecting some of the water into his eyes, and this scene closes.

Scene last. Grand procession of the King of Kamschatka, in honor of the wedding of his daughter with the mighty Jack (now surnamed) the 'Giant Killer' - the acknowledged son, 'born in lawful wedlock,' of the 'Lady of the Fountain' - the beauteous Cascatella! Ladies and gentlemen, this being your last and greatest scene, pray give direction to the scene-painter and property-man to make it effective. Allow me to close my remarks, by gently insinuating the propriety of some arrangement like the following: Let the scene represent 'the Water-Lady's cave-a most magnificent abode!' Pearl, coral, and other gems of the sea, hanging 'like blackberries' from the roof sundry beautiful specimens of the oyster family observed, making love in the fore-ground; sharks, whales, and hyppotamuses shooting marbles in the distance; two or three hundred feet of the posterior extremity of the American sea-serpent coiled around the interior of the apartment, acting as a corps-de-garde, while his head and shoulders are on exploring duty in the distance.

Among the worthies who compose the procession, do not, by any means, forget the following:

THE PRIME MINISTER OF ENGLAND!

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LORDS OF THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE,

GENERAL SANTA ANA AND NAPOLEON BONAPARTE!! BORNE UPON A PALANQUIN!!

BY THE

DUKE OF WELLINGTON AND MARSHAL NEY!! GRAND DUKE OF AUSTRIA !!

BEARING THE TURBAN OF THE GRAND SULTAN !!!

SWISS

MARCO BOZZARIS

Dressed as a Field Marshal!!

PEASANTS IN HIGHLAND COSTUME!

GENERAL

JACKSON!!!!

In an Earl's robe, bearing the identical sword with which the Duke of Marlborough Fought at Blenheim!! His train borne by

JULIUS CESAR AND ALEXANDER THE GREAT!!

His Royal Highness the

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER!

DRESSED IN A SUPERB SUIT OF SABLES, AS

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK!!!

All of which, ladies and gentlemen, is most respectfully submitted, by your ardent admirer,

C.

EDITORS' DRAWER. - Again does our drawer demand a 'searching operation,' and the scores of friends, who have waited so long and patiently in the ante-chamber, claim audience with our readers. 'One at a time, gentlemen-one at a time.' Do not get ruffled. Where do we not see the struggle for precedence!

THE author of 'Landscape Gardening' is first in order. His words are words of wisdom, and we hope his counsels will be heeded. Every tasteful American, who sojourns for never so brief a space in England, returns with enthusiastic admiration of the perfection to which this delightful art is carried in that country, and full of regret that more attention is not paid to it in our own:

LANDSCAPE GARDENING.

AMONG the liberal sciences which have sprung up beneath the patronage of the nobility in Great Britain, that of Landscape Gardening holds a prominent place. In such an atmosphere of art, and of literary refinement, it was impossible that genius should forever remain content with the lifeless representation of nature, or not perceive that those principles, whose guidance was sought in arranging the attitudes of the human figure,

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or in disposing the constituent part of the pictured landscape, would preeminently hold true in the living beauty of natural scenery. Of course, those leading principles in landscape gardening, also, as a practical science, are the same. It could not remain long unperceived, that its influence would become materially cooperative with that of a national literature, and be regarded as a conspicuous evidence of great national refinement. It accordingly became the object of their standard authors, and of those who interested themselves in matters of taste, to invite to this art the attention of their countrymen and at the same time to endeavor to correct the errors of that vitiated taste, which was too prevalent in their day. The principles and theory of landscape gardening, as we have before mentioned, are essentially the same as those of the other fine arts, and have been established from a searching and discriminating observation of Nature, in all her different forms and variations of beauty; thus has it received that true purpose and bent which must insure its continuance and prosperity. To lay out a park or garden in lines or figures of mathematical proportion, to cut the foliage of the tree into forms grotesque or unnatural, is as foreign to, and unconnected with, the science, as it is in direct violation of every known principle of taste. On the contrary, it is its object to catch and multiply whatever is delightful in Nature, and in not deviating from what is natural, to give that ap-: pearance to the cultivated landscape which may perchance be seen in the wildest and most uncultivated scenes. It strives not exclusively to affect with the mild and the poetic, but aims also at whatever may be solemn or even sublime, to the contemplation. Such being its designs, and such its principles, we may say it is impossible that it should ever be forgotten, or want the encouragement of a nation which boasts the early refinement of its people. Until painting, sculpture, and architecture shall cease to be numbered among those studies which enlist the feelings and the interests of human ambition, so long must the cultivation and the study of nature be viewed as holding an important control over the movements of mental enterprise. It will direct those movements to the advantage of the liberal arts.

Where nature was barren or rude, the hand of English taste has spread a thousand waving beauties over the scene. The rill that flows beneath dark rocks, and in the melancholy shade of the forest, turns from its course, winds through verdant meadows, swells into the artificial lake, or 'slumbers upon the plain.' Where late the forest closed all view, may now be caught the blue haze of a distant mountain, the glimmer of a rivulet, a white sail, or perchance some ivy-grown tower. Time may improve, but scarce possesses the power to obliterate, entirely, the fascinations of artificial scenery. The tree may grow to its giant size and crumble away- the winding road may again become turfed with green, and its meanderings be lost-but still there is something left that is melancholy and pleasing. As in a picture rendered faint by age and neglect, we can still perceive the touches of the hand that pencilled it with softness and with ease: so amid the desolation and the mouldering wreck of artificial scenery, the scrutinizing eye can still discern that elegance which must have stamped its features in the year of its perfection.

The proper disposition of the parts of the artificial landscape, in accordance with those principles to which we have referred, requires a deep and frequent study of nature. The landscape gardener, with the critical eye of an enthusiast, watches her in every change. When the chill of autumn has burnished anew the foliage of his forest trees, he has so disposed them as to preserve even then the gradation and the harmony of color.

Thus as we go farther and farther into an examination of this intellectual science, we find new objects of interest at every step. One leads still to another, until we are surprised at the 'curious pleasures of an art which we may have regarded as merely of trivial interest. It remains yet to be seen, whether, in our own country, where the kindred fine arts are gaining strength with the encouragements of wealth, this will be utterly neglected. We are unwilling to suppose that a people who have sent forth a West, a Leslie, a Newton, a Trumbull, and a Cole, to do honor to their country in the eyes of British taste, will neglect, eventually, to accord to this new object of interest and study, that attention to which it is most assuredly entitled.

G. H.

"The Hopes of Life' is objectionable, from its character of unmixed gloom. Why should we lament, because the world is not all flowers and sunshine? - or mourn, as those without hope, over the changes of years? Our too sombre correspondent should remember the beautiful sentiment of one to whose ever-prevailing and rational philosophy we commend him :

Time steals away the rose,
't is true,
But then the thorns are blunted, too.'

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