must have foreseen the event of a contest, where Heaven had to decide on the guilt or innocence of the most beautiful and immaculate of widows? The sagacious reader, deeply read in this kind of judicial combats, can imagine the encounter of the graceless nephew and the stranger knight. He sees their concussion, man to man, and horse to horse, in mid career, and in that Sir Graceless hurled to the ground, and slain. He will not wonder that the assailants of the brawny uncles were less successful in their rude encounter; but he will picture to himself the stout stranger spurring to their rescue, in the very critical moment; he will see him transfixing one with his lance, and cleaving the other to the chime with a back stroke of his sword, thus leaving the trio of accusers dead upon the field, and establishing the immaculate fidelity of the duchess, and her title to the dukedom, beyond the shadow of a doubt. The air rang with acclamations; nothing was heard but praises of the beauty and virtue of the duchess, and of the prowess of the stranger knight; but the public joy was still more increased when the champion raised his visor, and revealed the countenance of one of the bravest cavaliers in Spain, renowned for his gallantry in the service of the sex, who had long been absent, in quest of similar adventures. That worthy knight, however, was severely wounded in the battle, and remained for a long time ill of his wounds. The lovely duchess, grateful for having twice owed her protection to his arm, attended him daily during his illness. A tender passion grew up between them, and she finally rewarded his gallantry by giving him her hand. The king would fain have had the knight establish his title to such high advancement by farther deeds of arms; but his courtiers declared that he had already merited the lady, by thus vindicating her fame and fortune in a deadly combat to outrance; and the lady herself hinted that she was perfectly satisfied of his prowess in arms, from the proofs she received in his achievement in the forest. Their nuptials were celebrated with great magnificence. The present husband of the duchess did not pray and fast like his predecessor, Phillibert the wife-ridden; yet he found greater favor in the eyes of Heaven, for their union was blessed with a numerous progeny - the daughters chaste and beauteous as their mother; the sons all stout and valiant as their sire, and all renowned, like him, for relieving disconsolate damsels and desolate widows. The 'Magnolia' will be published in the course of the ensuing month, and we shall embrace another occasion to allude more specifically to its separate merits. 'SEBAGO.'-Many of our readers will remember a tale under this title which appeared in the number of this Magazine for July, 1835. We allude to it now, for the purpose of calling public attention to a large and spirited painting from it, which has been executed by Mr. H. THIELCKE, and may be seen at 157 Broadway. The artist- who first saw the tale in a Quebec journal, (into which it had been copied from the Knickerbocker,) and was struck with its susceptibilities - has sketched the scene, as described by the writer, with signal fidelity. We subjoin the paragraph which embraces the points contained in the picture: 'The savage, though now unarmed, was of such Herculean proportions, that he seemed an overmatch for the young white, notwithstanding the advantage possessed by the latter in his hunting knife. Trained to ride, to box, to fence-schooled in every manly exercise-there was a skill and quickness in the use of his limbs possessed by Pepperell, which made him no contemptible antagonist for the most powerful foe. With his eye fixed on the savage, and every muscle summoned to its guard, he advanced boldly toward the Indian. Sebago,' said he, you have slain your daughter. There lies your child, murdered by your hand.' The only reply of the Indian was a bound at the throat of the young Briton, with the quickness and spite of the mountain cat. As he threw out his long arms and grasped at the neck of the white, it seemed that he must succeed in throttling his prey. Suddenly, however, he stepped back the blood sponted from his side. Again he rallied. In this onset, receiving in his body the knife of his antagonist, he succeeded in breaking through his guard, clasped his arms around his body, and bore him to the earth. Yet here the combat continued. The Briton disentangled his knife from the body of the savage, and plunged it to the handle repeatedly in his side. Meanwhile his own throat was seized with the death-like grasp of his foe. He felt the desperate gripe through his whole frame the knife dropped from his hand, he thought his fate sealed. At this instant another party rushed in to share in the conflict, and turn the current of the fight. The dog, which, while the combatants kept their feet, contented himself with springing around them in a circle, and filling the forest with his cries, no sooner saw his master borne down by the savage, than the noble brute rushed to the rescue. He seized the Indian's arm in his mouth, and actually tore away the grasp from his master's throat. Then flying at the neck of the former, he sunk his long teeth into it, and rolled the heavy mass from his master's body. Breathless, and nearly exhausted, the latter arose. Feeble with the loss of blood, the Indian was now maintaining an unequal struggle to detach the gripe of the dog. Henry recovered his knife. He flung himself upon the Indian, and with repeated plunges buried the deadly instrument in his side. The last stab reached the heart. Every muscle of the victim relaxed there was a slight shudder crept over his frame- a groan escaped - and he lay a prostrate and powerless corse.' The picturesque features of the locale, which is previously described, are admirably preserved, while the events above graphically depicted are transferred to the canvass with a truth and force that leave nothing to be desired. THE DRAMA. IN giving place to the usual communication of our dramatic correspondent, we would not be understood as sanctioning his criticism of Mr. FORREST, in all its bearings. Without being influenced by that gentleman's stern, uncompromising Americanism - for which we confess we especially admire him- we hold it to be susceptible of proof, by abundant testimony, that no actor of our day has equal power in carrying an audience with him in causing them to enter, heart and soul, into the scenes he is portraying. If to do this successfully requires not 'force of genius' and 'innate talent,' we confess ourselves ignorant of what constitutes a good actor. T - - EDS. KNICKERBOCKER. PARK THEATRE-Mr. FORREST. We are much inclined to give way to the opinion, that actors, like poets, are more indebted to nature than art for the faculties which they exercise. The cacoethes ludendi, like the spirit which prompts the scribbler to inflict his lucubrations upon the public, is constantly exercising its evil influence upon the lives and fortunes of green boys and greener girls, to the manifest discomfiture of suffering philanthropists, whose susceptibilities, (ever-yearning with the noble desire of fostering young genius,' whose eagle-wings may be yet but pin-feathers,) are victimized nightly by some aspiring Roscius. This is not the spirit to which we allude. The genius which dwelt in the soul of KEAN, was a deep, rich, and abiding inheritance, which nature and not art gave him. It was his first perception; it grew with his growth, and strengthened with his strength. Art added to its excellence-built upon its foundation - increased its power; but the vital spark which illumined the structure, existed from the first, and doubly repaid its borrowings, by making art appear as lovely and attractive as itself. As an actor, Mr. FORREST is the very antipodes of Kean- and yet, paradoxical as it may seem, he has admirers as enthusiastic in their praise, as any that ever wept at the will of that master of passion. Kean had that innate genius which we say is the inheritance of nature. Forrest has it not. We do not mean to attempt a comparison between the two, if such a thing were possible; to effect it, would, under the circumstances, be an act of injustice to both. We only speak of Kean as an instance in proof of the truth of the assertion that actors are born, not made.' Kean was indebted to nature for the genius of his art-Forrest is under obligations to the same source, but mainly for great physical capacity for all the externals. That Forrest has of late, in all his conceptions, evinced the possession of mind- of a knowledge of nature-of study-is a truth which no one can deny. That he has displayed, in any of his personations, that deep, - intuitive thought, which fastens itself alike upon the delicate and the bold points of character which searches every feeling, identifies itself with every passion, and paints the expression of each as it is received - which touches the feelings, and not the senses alone is another truth, which even his friends will not be disposed to argue against. We may not be understood, by those who believe that a passion may be truly expressed without a particle of the ingredients which compose the feeling being for the time even in the thought of the artist. Such materialists should build automaton Hamlets, Romeos of bass-wood, and mahogany Othellos. In such parts as require the display of a fine person, a noble bearing, and great physical power, and where the scenes do not call upon the actor for any particular delicacy of expression - where, as in the 'Gladiator,' the play is characterized by nobility of action- by the bold display of daring deeds, more than by any delicate sentiment - such as love in Romeo and Juliet,' or jealousy in 'Othello' - Mr. Forrest is superior to any actor we have ever witnessed. In 'Othello' he fails in expression; in 'Lear' he wants the soul of the character. He has all the wheels of the watch, but the spring is wanting; and yet his Lear was, in the scenes of angry passion, terribly grand. In these Mr. Forrest showed not only his fine voice and muscular strength, but he satisfied all that he had studied, and knew as well the feeling as the words which he expressed. In all his Indian characters, Mr. Forrest is deservedly great. His good sense, study, and his noble person, have made him more than respectable in Damon, and other parts of similar character. Whatever he attempts hereafter will either be as highly approved as the best of his previous characters have been, or they will bear the stamp of respectability. He is not a tragedian who will ever make his audience laugh. His judgment will always command respect, and his great talents, when properly applied, the admiration of the judicious. Mr. Forrest has greatly improved since he left this country, and he will continue to do so. The same perseverance which has brought him to the elevation which he now occupies, will lift him still higher, and make him a yet greater honor to the profession which he now adorns. There is an occasional extravagance in Mr. Forrest's manner, which we hope he will reform altogether: 'His action always strong, but sometimes such, This over-acting is the fault of all the pupils of the Forrest school. Imitators generally copy the faults before they do the beauties of their originals. Mr. Forrest is, therefore, especially answerable for the consequences of this defect. Let him entirely do away with the habit of rant, by setting the example to his followers. Let him cultivate a chaste and subdued style, casting away every thing which can possibly be construed into a trap for applause; and what was said of Quin may with better justice be applied to him: Where he falls short, 'tis nature's fault alone- MISS HORTON. After the departure of the Woods, we began to fear that we had listened for the last time to English opera at the Park Theatre; but we have been agreeably disappointed. Miss HORTON has appeared: her reception was gracious and just, and her performances, through a short engagement, have been greeted each succeeding night with increased approbation. She possesses a contralto voice of extraordinary natural sweetness, and highly cultivated and improved under the efficient instruction of the celebrated BORDOGNI. Miss Horton has not, we understand, been often before the public, previous to this engagement. Her time has been closely devoted to study, for years past; and the effect is, a rich and finished style of singing, which has not its equal on the American stage, and, with one or two exceptions, no superior on any other. She does not, however, seem to do herself justice. Her voice is powerfulsufficiently so to fill any theatre; but, from timidity, we presume, she does not always exercise it in its full capacity. She should not hold back one strain from the just measure of her powers, nor deprive her audience of a single tone of her rich and beautiful voice. We do not fear a surfeit from a feast so delicate. Mad’lle AugustA. — Of this lady, it may for the present suffice to say, that the fame which preceded her in no respect exceeded her merits. She is one of the most graceful artistes, in her department, ever seen on the New-York boards; and she comes among us abundantly accredited, as one sustaining a similar preeminence abroad. She has, in no country, but one rival near her throne; and to be second only to TAGLIONI, Should not only satisfy AUGUSTA, but all who witness her tasteful exhibitions of the poetry of motion.' C. THE NATIONAL THEATRE.-This new establishment - second to none in the Union for the richness, beauty, and comfort of its interior appointments- has won upon the public regard, during the short term in which it has been in operation, to an extent which even the enterprising and skilful managers themselves could scarcely have anticipated. Beside the humorous personations of MITCHELL, one of the new and clever English recruits of the establishment, the National has already presented to crowded houses the distinguished performances of BOOTH, the best actor in America; Miss CLIFTON, but recently returned from abroad, bearing marks of evident improvement, and more effective than ever; CELESTE, whose reputation is too well known to require comment; WALLACK, 'himself alone' in his line, and always excellent; and Miss PHILLIPS, who has no compeer, now that FANNY KEMBLE no longer sways the hearts of theatre-goers at her will. Such has been the opening, only, of this new play-house; yet, promising as it has been, there is little doubt that it will continue to realize the favorable anticipations of its future course naturally awakened in the public mind. AMERICAN THEATRE, Bowery.- Beside the attractions of Mr. HAMBLIN, as Othello and Hamlet, and of Miss CUSHMAN, a talented' débutante, the nautical drama of LAFITTE - prepared for the stage by Miss MEDINA, from the novel of 'Lafitte, or the Pirate of the Gulf,' by Professor INGRAHAM - has been produced at this theatre with a liberal expenditure of superb scenery, and all the varied machinery and adjuncts of similar pieces. That it has merit and attraction, may be gathered from the fact that it crowds the house nightly, froin pit to ceiling, with admiring audiences; but in what this merit and attraction consist, we have not yet been enabled to experience. As yet, the play is in too much demand to be visited by one who values a comfortable seat in uncomfortable weather. EVERY MAN'S BOOK. It is related of BURKE, that being caught one day in a shower, in one of the streets of London, he stepped beneath a temporary shelter, where he encountered a weaver, with whom he soon entered into conversation. When the shower had passed, and the parties separated, a by-stander asked the artisan if he knew who that was with whom he had been conversing. 'Oh, it was some weaver,' was the reply. This circumstance has been often quoted, as an evidence of the familiarity of the great statesman with every species of parctical knowledge. 'Every man's Book' is a work calculated to make the reader as wise as Mr. Burke, in relation to all known professions aud trades, of which eighty are briefly but clearly described, and illustrated with a like number of well-designed but frequently very badly-executed engravings. The volume is from the pen of Mr. Edward Hazen, and is beautifully stereotyped by Mr. JOHN FAGAN, of Philadelphia. It is designed for the use of schools and families, as well as miscellaneous readers, and is destined to prove a popular additon to the useful literature of the day. EVERETT'S ORATIONS. LITERARY RECORD. This volume is a noble and timely donation to the American public. It contains all the addresses of a public nature which have been given by the author, save those of a political bearing, which are here excluded. Most of the contents of this collection have already appeared in print; and such of our readers as have read them in the form of an ephemeral pamphlet, will need no incentive to their attainment in a collected form. To great fertility of mind, Mr. Everett unites rich and varied classical attainments, a diction elegant and pure, and the advantages of observation, gained in close familiarity with the scenes and events of his own country, and by extended foreign travel. The merits of these compositions are too well known to require praise or comment. We but subjoin their titles: Orations at Cambridge, before the Society of Phi Beta Kappa, August, 1824; at Plymouth, December, 1824; at Concord, April, 1835; at Cambridge; July 4, 1826; at Charlestown, in commemoration of Adams and Jefferson, Angust, 1826, at Charlestown, July 4, 1828; Address at the erection of a monument to John Harvard, at Charlestown, September, 1828; Speech at a public dinner at Nashville, Tennessce, June, 1824; at a public dinner at Lexington, 1829; at a public dinner at Yellow Springs, (Ohio,) June, 1829; before the Charlestown Lyceum, June, 1830, being the two hundreth anniversary of Gov. Winthrop's arrival; on the Importance of Scientific Knowledge to practical men, and on the encouragements to its pursuits; Lecture on the Working men's Party, before the Charlestown Lyceum, October, 1830; Introductory to the Franklin Lectures, in Boston, November, 1831; Speech before the Colonization Society, in the Capitol, at Washington, January, 1832; at a public meeting held in Boston on behalf of the Kenyon College, (Ohio,) May, 1833; at Faneuil Hall, May, 1833, on the subject of the Bunker Hill Monument; at a Temperance Meeting in Salem, June, 1833; Oration at Worcester, July 4, 1833; before the Phi Beta Kappa Society in Yale College, New-Haven, August, 1833; Address at Brighton, before the Massachusetts Agricultural Society, October, 1833; Eulogy on Lafayette, at Faneuil Hall, September, 1834; Oration at Lexington, April, 1835; at Beverly, July 4, 1835; Address before the Literary Societies of Amherst College, August, 1835; Address at Bloody Brook, in South Deerfield, September, 1835, in commemoration of the fall of the 'Flower of Essex,' at that spot, in King Phillip's War, September 18, (O. S.,) 1675; and Speech on the subject of the Western Rail-road, delivered in Faneuil Hall, October, 1835. In addition to this volume - which in beauty of execution reflects honor upon the press of the American Stationers' Company of Boston - we are glad to perceive that another will soon be published, containing a selection of the author's Speeches in Congress, and articles written in the North American Review. MELLICHAMPE: A LEGEND OF THE SANTEE. Owing to an unforeseen lack of space, we are compelled to reserve for our next number a review of this latest work of a popular American novelist; reluctantly contenting ourselves, in the mean time, (if the bull be pardonable,) by a bare hint as to its character, and with commending it, in general terms, to the favorable regards of our readers. It is, as we learn, rather an episode in the progress of 'The Partisan' than a continuation of that romance. The action of 'Mellichampe' begins where the 'Partisan' left off, and the story opens by the resumption of one of the suspended threads of that narrative; but beyond this, there is no connection between the two works. The events made use of are chiefly historical, of which every chapter of the romance, it is believed, affords ample evidence. 'Indeed,' says the author in his preface, the entire materials of Mellichampe- the leading events — every general action—and the main characteristics, have been taken from the unquestionable records of history, and in the regard of the novelist - the scarcely less credible testimonies of that venerable and moss-mantled Druid, Tradition.' ་ |