LITERATURE. young-and how difficult it is only they who have attempted it know-she has entirely succeeded. Like all thoroughly good children's books, it is interesting to adult readers, appealing to the domestic affections, best sympathies, and all the higher emotions of our nature. SELECT PLAYS OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, | say, that in the difficult task of writing for the WITH NOTES, &c. (Burns).-This is a very agreeable gift-book for young readers. The volume contains five plays, namely, Macbeth, King John, Henry the Fifth, Richard the Third, and Julius Cæsar; each being preceded by an explanatory introduction. The choice is in most respects judiciously made, especially as we trust the generation has passed away who studied history-instead of, or as well as, the Truths which are yet more enduring-in the immortal pages of our Greatest Bard. It is curious to reflect how much fact has come to light which was hidden from him who wrote two centuries and a half ago, and what new opinions are gaining ground among shrewd thinkers; but, making this allowance, we must repeat that the selection is a happy one, so far as it is likely to rouse the interest and cultivate the taste of a ADAMS'S GUIDE TO THE WATERING PLACES OF ENGLAND, INCLUDING THE ISLE OF MAN AND THE CHANNEL ISLANDS. (Adams, Fleetstreet.)-A well timed and most acceptable volume, including a guide map to the Isle of Wight, and many valuable hints to travellers. The attractions of the various favourite places of summer and autumn resort are set forth very clearly. THE ODD FELLOW'S RECITER AND FIRESIDE COMPANION. Edited by George Twedyoung mind. A memoir of Shakspeare is in- dell. Part II. (Brittain, London; T. Tweddell, cluded, and the volume is got up with the Stokesly.) This is the second number of a peelegance always remarkable in Mr. Burns' pub-riodical, which, cheap as it is, deserves to run lications. STORY OF THE SEASONS; by H. G. Adams, Author of the Poetry of Flowers, &c., &c. (Johnston, Paternoster-row.)-This is a charming little book for juvenile readers, and is dedicated very prettily and appropriately to Mary Howitt, who has so often and so successfully employed her womanly genius for their amusement and instruction. "The Story of the Seasons" reminds us, in style and purpose, of the " Story without an End;" and we hardly know how to bestow on it higher praise. THE YOUTH'S STORY TELLER; Edited by George Tweddell. (Richardson, Bishopsgate.) This is a collection of moral and interesting tales for young people, a few being written for the volume, and now published for the first time. We must confess, however, that these are not the jewels of the book; and no wonder, when it includes choice extracts from Charles Dickens, Douglas Jerrold, Washington Irving; and, among the writers of the last century, Goldsmith and Johnson: provincial writers, of only provincial celebrity, are little likely to shine in such exalted company. It is, however, a well selected volume, and does the editor great credit. The very miscellaneous character of its contents ought to insure it a large sale. HOW TO WIN LOVE, OR RHODA'S LESSON; A STORY FOR THE YOUNG. By the Author of "Michael the Miner," &c., &c. (Arthur Hall and Co.)-Another book for juvenile readers, of which just now there seems to be a flood; but we are glad of the opportunity of expressing our opinion emphatically, that "Rhoda's Lesson" is a valuable acquisition to the Nursery Library. The author is well known in literary circles for her versatile genius, and it is no small praise to through many volumes. The collection seems a very judicious one, and yet presents so great a variety that all tastes are likely to be gratified. Ancient and modern authors, dead and living ones, are alike pressed into the service. Gray and Eliza Cooke jostle together, and Hood and Campbell are to be found with their worthy successor, Charles Mackay; and the humble but true bard, Critchley Prince, is here associated with the patrician's favourite, Thomas Moore. THE PARLOUR LIBRARY. (Simms and M'Intyre.) The last volume of this excellent publication has reached us too late for a careful review; we must therefore defer our task till next number, meanwhile announcing “Tales of the Munster Festivals," by Gerald Griffin, as the last acquisition to the series. Miss Martineau. (E. Moxon.)—The work beEASTERN LIFE, PRESENT AND PAST; by fore us is, we think, calculated to extend the popularity of the author. It is not a mere ephemeral book of travels, such as the world has been deluged with of late; it is full of deep thought, of matter that deserves attentive study, The spirit of Christianity, the deep devotional feeling, which form the basis of Miss Martineau's mind and character, peculiarly fitted her for a pilgrimage to the Holy Land: and it will require in the reader a faith as large, as deep a devotional feeling, to enter into and appreciate the enthusiasm and reverence felt by Miss Martineau upon her entrance into the Holy Land. She says Never were the rarest and most glorious flowers so delightful to my eyes as the weeds I was looking at all this day-the weeds of our hedges and ditches and fields; for I knew that in His childhood He must have played among them; and that in his man hood he must have been daily familiar with them. **** I already saw that vision which never afterwards left me while in Palestine-of One walking under the terraced hills, or drinking at the wells, or resting under the shade of the olives; and it was truly a delight to think that besides the palm and the oleander and the prickly pear, he knew, as well as we do, the poppy and the wild rose, the cyclamen, the bindweed, the various grasses of the wayside, and the familiar thorn. This, and the new and astonishing sense of the familiarity of his teachings-a thing which we declare and protest about at home, but can never adequately feel-brought me nearer to an insight and understanding of what I had known by heart from my infancy, than perhaps any one can conceive who has not tracked his actual footsteps. Miss Martineau has not visited the East for recreation only; there is an earnestness of purpose in all she does and says that evinces a higher idea of life's purpose than the pursuit or attainment of pleasure. The opportunity of accompanying some friends in their travels thither was embraced by her with avidity, and the present work, the product of those travels, shows that such opportunity was not lightly esteemed. The true spirit of inquiry animated and directed all her researches. Fatigue and danger never daunted her; she seems to have borne physical exertion with the equanimity and indifference of a martyr, and to have viewed all things couleur de rose. The following extract may be useful to those who have any idea of visiting Egypt. the rush of a host of new ideas. But for all between these two extremes of levity and wisdom, a Nile voyage is as serious a labour as the mind and spirits can be involved in; a trial even to health and temper, such as is little dreamed of on leaving home. The labour and care are well bestowed, however; for the thoughtful traveller can hardly fail of returning from Egypt a wiser, and therefore a better man. As, on her entrance into Palestine, Miss Martineau feels her mind elevated by nearer communion with Him who once lived and moved amidst those scenes, so on her entrance into Sinai does she feel the presence and spirit of Moses around her; whoin, in her enthusiasm for the man, and her gratitude for his influence upon his nation, she clothes with the attributes pertaining to a Christian and later age, rather than to the stern lawgiver of the Hebrews. We will not quarrel with her for a hero worship, of which we have too little in the present age, but will transcribe the "Sunday at Sinai," to which we refer : unaltered and unalterable character. There it is, The great interest of the Sinai region lies in its feature by feature, the same as when those events occurred which make it holy ground. In every other scenery there is more or less change, from one thousand years to another. The country is cleared, or cultivated, or peopled; even the everlasting Nile changes its course. But here, where there is neither clearing nor cultivation, nor settled people, where it seems as if volcanic action only could make new feaI met everywhere at home people who think, as I tures in the scene, and where volcanic action does did before I went, that between books, plates, and not seem probable, there is no impediment to one's the stiff and peculiar character of Egyptian archi- seeing Sinai as it was when Moses there halted his tecture and sculpture, Egyptian art may be almost as people. And I did so see Sinai during the memo. well known and conceived of in England as on the rable Sunday we spent there. Turning my back on spot. I can only testify, without hope of being be- the convent, and forgetting the wretched superstitions lieved, that it is not so; that instead of ugliness I of the monks, I looked abroad that day with the eyes found beauty; instead of the grotesque, I found the of a disciple of Moses, who had followed his footsolemn; and where I looked for rudeness, from the steps from Memphis hither; and I saw more than primitive character of Art, I found the sense of the by many years' reading of the Pentateuch at home. soul more effectually reached than by works which How differently the Pentateuch here reads from the are the result of centuries of experience and experi- same worn old bible which one has handled for fivement. The mystery of this fact sets one thinking and-twenty years, I could not have imagined: the laboriously, I may say painfully. Egypt is not the light from Egypt and Arabia shining into it illumicountry to go to for recreation of travel; it is too nates unthought-of places, and gives a new and most suggestive and too confounding to be met but in the fresh colouring to the whole. I little thought ever spirit of study. One's powers of observation sink to have seen so much of Moses as I did this day, under the perpetual exercise of thought; and the within sight of Arab tents, like those in which he and lightest-hearted voyager, who sets forth from Cairo Zipporah and their children lived when first here eager for new scenes and days of frolic, comes back with Jethro's flocks; within sight of the same peaks an antique, a citizen of the world of six thousand which were landmarks to the wandering tribes; and of years ago, kindred with the mummy. Nothing but the same Wadees where they rested, and surrounded large knowledge and sound habits of thought can by the very same mountain springs whence they save him from returning perplexed and borne down; brought water for themselves and their flocks. The unless indeed it be ignorance and levity. A man wells within the convent seem to have been always who goes to shoot crocodiles and flog Arabs, and eat inexhaustible; yet I dare say some of the Hebrew ostrich's eggs, looks upon the monuments as so many women and children discovered the ice-cold spring strange old stone-heaps, and comes back "bored to behind, which has no doubt lain in its shadowy nook death with the Nile," as we were told we should be; since Horeb was upreared. I wonder whether it was he turns back from Thebes, or from the first cataract, fringed with ferns when the Hebrew women saw it, perhaps without having ever seen the cataract, when as it is now. It was a tempting place for gossipwithin a mile of it, as in a case I know; and he pays for sitting down in the shade to talk over the comhis crew to work night and day to get back to Cairo forts of Goshen, and the verdure of Egypt, and as fast as possible. He may return gay and unworn; pointing out the dreariness of this place, and reand so may the true philosopher, to whom no tidings minding one another how unwillingly they and their of man in any age come amiss; who has no preju-husbands had been to leave Egypt, foreseeing that dices to be painfully weaned from, and an imagination too strong to be overwhelmed by mystery, and they should only get into trouble by trying a new country. In yonder plain was the crowd of dark, low tents, with no tabernacle yet in the midst. | Among the neighbouring Wadees were the herdsmen dispersed, tending their flocks every day of the week; for as yet there was no Sabbath. This, and very much more, did I see on that Sunday at Sinai; much that I could not have seen if I had been a contemporary disciple of Moses; much that can be seen only by the light of an after age, of the educational purposes and processes for which the Hebrews were brought here. Here in some nook, which had been his haunt while watching his flocks, sat Moses in those days, overlooking the flock which he was now to lead as the Shepherd of Men. How intense must have been his sense of solitude here! No longer learning, in congenial companionship, "all the wisdom of the Egyptians," but alone; he, the only wise and the only earnest man among a multitude who had no wisdom and no virtue; he, a man of fine organization, of gentle rearing, of timid nature, "looking before and after," and overwhelmed with what he saw, how could he sustain himself under his charge? Without irreverence, we may attribute to him the sustaining thought which was uttered by one long after him: "The world hath not known thee; but I have known thee." Retired into the mountain to pray, he saw beneath him-not the gleaming lake, on whose shores were those whom he was to make "fishers of men;" not fields "white unto the harvest," but only parched wilds thronged with people from whom he could choose none to help him and carry out his work. That land of the lake and ripening fields lay, not beneath him, but far away in the future-seen only in faith, and never to be entered by him; his supports must therefore be from faith and benevolence; from his trust in God and his love to his brethren; and we may hope and believe that amidst his anxieties and tremblings, his doubts of himself and his shame for the people under his charge, these were enough. We may trust that he had his hours of comfort and high hope in his mountain retirements. It is impossible to avoid endeavouring to enter into his mind, when on the spot of his meditations. We cannot help "looking before and after," from his point of view, by the light which he himself has given us, the glory which shines from his face even upon our time, brightened as it is by that greater light which afterwards arose "to enlighten the Gentiles, and glorify the people of Israel." Jericho: for the waters of Lake Houle rattle down a long descent for eight of the ten miles which lie between it and the sea of Tiberias; and then again flow down a descent all the way to the Dead Sea; but even here, at the upper end of the Jordan valley, there was moisture and marsh and aquatic produce on every hand. On the richest of the pastures were feeding the flocks of the Bedouins, while the black tents of the herdsmen speckled the uplands. The acacia and the plane began to draw together in clumps, and spread a broader shade. The cranes waded in taller grass, and winged their flight in larger flocks. Fat buffalo wallowed in the pools; and innumerable little tortoises perked up their impudent heads from every streamlet and swamp. Men and boys stood almost hidden in the canebrakes, cutting reeds; ants swarmed in the tracks, and shining lizards darted about among the stones at the skirts of the hills. Here and there were long reaches of tilled land, where the people were busy among their barley crops; and the smokes of two or three hamlets arose from promontories that jutted out into the streams which were making their way to the Jordan....... To-day we crossed the valley of the Jordan at its northern end, which is closed in by mount Hermon, now called Djebel Sheikh. The place where we took our mid-day rest was the ancient Dan. We now knew the country from Dan to Beersheba. At the extremity of the valley, the mountains gradually subside, their lower slopes being wooded hills, which we skirted during the latter part of this day's ride. We were now familiar with the course of the Jordan, from its springs-which we were about to visitto its present southern limit, the Dead Sea, and again, to the point where it is believed to have once flowed into the Red Sea at Akaba. We had in Edom travelled in its ancient channel-that channel which has been dry for some thousands of years, and now we were visiting its sources. Before we reached the first of these, we crossed a fine old bridge, of three arches, roughly paved at the top, and without any parapet, though it sprang to a great height above the rushing river. Its yellow stone contrasted finely with the dark green of the thickets which covered the banks of the stream; and the profusion of the blossoms of the oleander cast a pink glow over these dark thickets. Several herdsmen had brought their cattle down to drink; and men and Miss Martineau is a graphic and lively nar-quisite picture. The first of the supposed sources of cattle were reposing in the shade. It was an exrator, and we feel she is faithful in her descrip- the Jordan which we reached was at Tel-el-Kader. tions of scenery; her book abounds with pic- A pretty wooded hill, level at the top, rises from the tures, which have the vividness of reality; they plain; and from its base issue some abundant springs, read like transcripts of the actual scene; every which dash forward among stones so as to make a palm-tree grows in its true place; we see and rapid. Here we staid some time to rest; and I sat enter into the admirations of the author, yet at on a large stone in the water, watching the bubbling the same time we feel that had she possessed out of the spring among the ferns and rock-fissures, more imagination, more of poetic inspiration, we and shaded by a fig-tree loaded with green fruit. might have had more glowing pictures of eastern From thence to Panias the Cæsaria Philippi of scenery, without the sacrifice of truth. We will the New Testament-our ride was through scenery rehere give two of her panoramic views, which im-sembling that which we had called park-land, between pressed us much with their beauty and novelty. UPPER VALLEY OF THE JORDAN. The character of the scenery had now entirely changed, and become something quite new to us. The flatness of the valley reminded us, through this and the succeeding day, of all the scripture imagery relating to fertility which we had not seen exemplified in the higher and the drier western regions. Even here, we were on high ground compared with that part of the Jordan valley which we had struck at Nazareth and Mount Carmel. We had the same slopes, broken banks, shady hollows, and sunny glades-and the same wild flowers by the way-side. We had long seen the great Saracenic Castle of Painas on its mountain top, looking almost too high to be reached by man or beast. As we approached we found another castle below, standing beside the village: and ancient ruins appeared to be scattered here and there, far and wide over the gloriously beautiful scene. Out of Poussin's pictures, I never saw anything in the least like the scene, as we looked at it from under the shade of the olive grove wherein our tents were pitched. Yet Poussin himself, who put more objects distinctly into his landscapes than any other painter, could not have included all that was here harmoniously combined by Nature's masterhand-the deep shadow from beneath which we looked forth; the undulating ground; the high grass and weeds; the ravine below; the massive peaked ruin near; the red rocks in front; the western mountains; the town on its terrace, embosomed in woods and hills; the poplar clump; the mulberry grove; the gay horseman fording the stream, and the high grounds backing all-this combination was magnificent. In Europe, how far would travellers go to see such a landscape! Approach to Damascus. Our rides were always charming the green tracks winding among orchards and fields, coming out sometimes on a little green eminence, and sometimes on a meadow, or a bridge, or a reach of the river. The old trees, ponds, water-courses, and grassy nooks were very English, on the whole, but luxuriant beyond English imagination. One tree in the city-a plane, growing in the middle of a bazaar—was measured by us, and found to be thirty-eight feet in the girth. By far the finest of our rides was that which showed us the celebrated view in the city from above the suburb of the Salaheeyah. We rode for nearly an hour through narrow streets, and past many mosques, before we found ourselves outside the city. Then we ascended the hill side, not as high as the grottoes, but above the cemetery; and thence looking back, saw a picture which appeared as if it must melt away in its own beauty. It is this view which makes Mahommedans declare Damascus to be the first of their four terrestrial paradises. The rich yellow city, with its forty minarets, springs up from the midst of the glorious verdure which looks as thick as a forest for miles round. Verdure springs up within the city too; and a village here, a mosque there, and there a bridge, or a reach of road or water, peeps out from amidst the surrounding wood; so that the intermingling of city and forest is most tempting to the fancy, as well as delicious to the eye. Beyond the oasis lies the plain; and beyond the yellow plain, the tinted hills on every side: their hues soft and repressed, as if to set off the brilliancy of the gem which lies in the midst. I never saw anything like this again-anything nearly so sweet and gay. We passed over the same spot in leaving the city; but the morning light was not favourable to it, and it was not like the same scene. We cannot conclude our imperfect notice of this interesting work, without expressing our gratitude, not only for the pleasure derived from its perusal, but for the knowledge we have gained from it. We feel that Miss Martineau has brought the East nearer to us, by giving us such living pictures of its scenery and character that cannot readily be effaced.-M. T. AMUSEMENTS ROYAL ITALIAN OPERA. Week by week now adds to the operatic attractions and novelties. In the early part of the month Alboni essayed a new character, and once more cast her spells over the public in Cenerentola. From the very commencement she carried away all hearts, "Una volta c'era un Re" sufficing to convince the audience that she must succeed throughout. This was no light conquest; Cenerentola has been the test of prime donne for many years. But so completely has Alboni triumphed, that even the Times, the fastidious Times, places her at "the top of the tree," and vows that she surpasses even Sontag and Malibran. Her singing of the delicious "Non piu mesta" is chronicled unanimously as being a specimen of artistic vocalization perfectly dazzling, her wonderful voice--which combines the resources of a soprano and contralto, without either being impaired-having supported her through mazes of fioriture, which a common ear can scarcely follow. Salvi, as the Prince, exhibited his usual refined and tasteful acting; and the whole opera was sustained in the careful manner which characterizes the Covent Garden troupe. One exception, however, may be made. The two sisters of Cenerentola were apportioned disadvantageously, and inferior singers thus produced a flaw in what would else have been a perfect representation. Rumour attributes this to the various jealousies of the vocalists, prima and seconde, Corbari and 1 OF THE MON T H. Steffanoni having declined the parts. When will artistes learn that real merit is never de graded by an inferior position, and that it is the impersonator who elevates the part, not the part the actor? Moreover, these wars among the members endanger the well-being of the whole body. Witness the peril in which Viardot Garcia's first success was placed in consequence of Mario and others being non est inventus, at least for all operatic purposes. As the debut of this lady after her long retirement from our shores is the most interesting event of the month, we here give a characteristic extract from our enthusiastic contemporary, the Musical World— and every standing place secured. First then, every seat in the house was occupied, The Queen Dowager was present: her Majesty's box was occupied, and most of the real Opera frequenters who are found in the ranks of the nobility, were seen among the spectators. Among the visitors of rank and renown we espied the Dowager Countess of Essex. Grisi and Alboni were among the most interested of all the lookers-on. At last Costa ascended the rostrum, struck his baton against his desk, waved his hand, and the band commenced the opening prelude: but neither band, nor chorus, nor scenery was heeded, and the whole house looked one mingled mass of anxiety, until Pauline Garcia appeared from the cottage. Her reception was tremendous. She stood for several minutes bowing to the applauses that rained over her, and it was evident, from some cause or other, that an extreme degree of nervousness had seized on her. Her trembling was apparent to all parts of the house. Her first notes Pauline Garcia to Malibran, in the evidence of that were listened to with breathless anxiety. In the consummate art which made the latter the Queen of recitative she was evidently unable to sing: her tone Song. And in this we shall be borne out by every was uncertain, wavering, and devoid of power and musician who heard the performances on Tuesday. quality. The good-natured applause she received Such novel and extraordinary passages, such daring appeared to revive her sinking spirits, and in the flights into the regions of fioriture, together with "Come per me sereno" she gave several indications chromatic runs ascending and descending, embracing of the finest art and musicianly skill. But these the three registers of the soprano, mezzo-soprano, foretelling evidences escaped the general mass, and the and contralto, we have not heard since the days of impression the singer made was, literally, next to Malibran. Even here we question if Pauline Garcia nothing. The curtain fell on the first act, and though is not a greater mistress of her art than her sister. Madame Pauline Garcia was called for, disappoint- When we have heard her again in the "Sonnamment and chagrin was painted on every visage. bula," and still more in parts in which she is reputed "And is this the singer," apostrophised many, "who to be beyond all possible comparison transcendant, has been long pronounced by continental Europe the we shall be the better able to judge of the real exgreatest artist in the world, who has come hither to tent of her genius and powers. As yet she has been push Lind from her stool, and to make the stars of but half-heard. But if her general powers be yet Grisi and Alboni turn pale with affright!" "Wait sub-judice, we can, however, pronounce upon the awhile," returned some stander-by, who appeared to perfection of the final scene. From the first note to have an inkling of the truth; "wait till all is done the last her singing was irreproachable, and her acting don't be premature!" The second act was a great was exquisitely truthful and beautiful. The reci improvement, but did not come within many degrees tative preceding the largo, “Ah! non credea," and of public expectation. The effect of the nervous- the largo itself, were marvellous specimens of sotto ness was still traceable, and though the singing and voce singing, never surpassed, if equalled, by Grisi or acting was occasionally good, the audience were far Jenny Lind. The cadences introduced here were in from being satisfied. But all this while there was, to strict keeping with the solemnity of the situation, and the initiated, glimpses of transcendant genius, and the simple character of the music. One cadence, consummate art. The first scene of sonnambulism, embracing the whole extent of the voice, from the as far as the acting went, was exquisitely beautiful, lowest to the highest note, including two octaves and and brought us back Malibran, brightly and vividly. six notes, and executed with slowness, had an exBut then, the voice of the singer did not obey the dic-traordinary effect. The acting of Pauline Garcia in tates of art. The sotto voce lost all its pathos and this scene we have not seen equalled since the death beauty for want of steadiness and intonation. Some of Malibran. The impression it produced upon ourmagnificent points were made in the first finale. The selves we shall never forget. It was not until this slow recovery from sleep was most truthfully acted, scene that the audience began truly to warm into en. and the surprise and astonishment at finding herself thusiasm. From this to the end Pauline Garcia before so many strangers, in a strange place, and created a furore that it is impossible to describe. Her again her burst of joy at beholding Elvino, were "Ah! non giunge' was received with shrieks, depicted with astonishing force and great nature. rather than shouts of applause. She had touched her Still a wet blanket had been thrown over the audience hearers at last. She was called for twice, and a third by the previous efforts of the vocalist, and wet call being made, she repeated the Ah! non giunge" blankets are not so soon taken off, nor do they dry with increased acclamation. She was again recalled with the first burst of sunshine. The audience got and received with showers of bouquets. up a display-but there was no furore. Pauline Garcia was called for, but still her admirers scowled. It would be ungenerous to speak in depressing terms of Signor Flavio, who, not belonging to the operatic corps, took the part of Elvino at a moment's notice, else could we prove how much the performance of this tenor militated against the Amina of Pauline Garcia-the heroine having so much to depend upon her lover in the two first acts. Luckily for the exhibition of Tuesday the tenor has little or nothing to do with the soprano in the last scene; and it is to this cause the being left to her own resources-that we must attribute the immense success of Pauline Garcia in the whole of this scene-the great display of the "Sonnambula." And here, whatever may be the opinion of other critics, we at once declare it as our assured belief, that Pauline Garcia was as great in this scene as ever her sister was, if we except a lack of that overwhelming power Malibran used to exhibit in the "Oh! non giunge," and in which she far surpassed every other singer we ever heard. With this exception Pau ine Garcia's performance of the last scene of the "sonnambula" was equal to Malibran's. We discovered the same intensity, the same passionate fervour, the same absorbing depth of feeling: we heard the same tones whose naturalness and pathos stole into our very heart of hearts: we saw the same abstraction, the same abandonment, the same rapturous awakening to joy, to love, and to devotion. And still more are we satisfied in rightly comparing FRENCH PLAYS. Monsieur Achard and Mademoiselle Desirée are the new attractions here: they, with a third companion, M. Julien Deschamps, are engaged in transplanting the vaudevilles of the Gymnase to Mr. Mitchell's prettiest of prettiest theatres. M. Achard is a true comedian, a veritable reflex of the comic side of nature; not nature travestied and broadened into farce, as many of our popular favourites pourtray it. In Christophe le Cordier the niceties and truthful vividness of French comic acting were brought out by him with excellent effect. His very entrance, singing as he twists his ropes, was the perfection of nature. The plot of the story, at first obscure, unwinds itself gradually; but we need not enter into particulars, as an Anglicised version, under the title of the "Scarecrow," has been performed at the Lyceum. Suffice it to say, that "Christophe le Cordier" has all the characteristics of the vaudeville-rare, quiet drollery, a little pathos, a combination of pretty ephemeral music, and lively dialogue. French light comedy has this advantage over our English performances, that the whole effect is equal; all the subordinate actors sustaining their parts with a degree of |