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George, the Fourth, of England-with all the graceful suavities that gave him unrivalled sway in the splendid circle in which he moved with so much eclat, the apparent votary of a refined taste from an accurate observance of some of its most attractive properties-was, nevertheless misled by a vitiated taste. Yielding too freely to sensual gratifications, he shortened and rendered painful his otherwise prosperous career. Had a correct taste directed his pursuits, as well as the external graces of his address and conversation, he might now be seated on the throne forfeited by sensual gratification. The whole course of his unfortunate Queen was, at best, that of a perverted taste. She felt not, she perceived not the clouds and tempests which its results gathered around her. The refinement which have their origin in an elevated taste, were unknown to her. The coarse tone of her mind refused to yield to the restraints that her sex and station demanded for her personal dignity and security. Had her conduct been controlled by the purity and self-respect that a correct taste improves, her perceptions would have been clearer, and her feelings modelled for a right course of action, and she would not have descended to the tomb unhonored by the voice of the nation.

Endless indeed are the instances of the effects of a deficiency of taste apparent in the conduct of individuals, and of its prevailing beauty in that of others. Our own noble minded Washington exemplified the truth of its beautiful consistency, in the various conceptions, and decisions that his great talent for action rendered so prominent. Disinterested, patriotic, independent and uncompromising, wherever circumstances justified a firmness of purpose, high toned in sentiment and principle, the unvarying consistency of his character, the result of an elevated taste, charmed even those who were politically opposed to him. A well regulated mind rendered him always master of himself, and under each trying circumstance of his eventful life, led him to a right course of action. His well balanced mind gave him an accuracy of perception that enabled him readily to seize upon what the exigency of the case demanded. He was not the slave of circumstances, but he conquer ed them with a mastery of mind that a moral sensibility impelled, and rendered effectual, for the honor and security of the important cause committed to him. Its success was the only reward he sought. This was consistent with the moral elevation of his feelings, and he lived to see realized the established glory of the he had so bravely fought to save and to honor. He was the luminary around which revolved the emblems of an operative taste.

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Many may designate the results here mentioned, as the effects of judgment rather than taste. But where can we trace the operations of a correct tasto more effectual in its results, than in that which regulates the mind for soundness and accuracy of judgment. Unless the feelings be previously chastened by the refining attributes of a correct taste, and the mind regulated by its dictates, in vain may we look for sound judgment in the conduct of individuals. However great their deeds, or vast their intellect, there will be found wanting all that gives interest or effect to the one, or charm to the other.

ALMONTOR.

Original.

"OUR ACTORS."

MR. PETER RICHINGS.

"Since the first night of acting life' was o'er, It has been his to wake the frequent roar,

To chain the heart, to draw forth passion's tear,
In grave or gay, in lively or severe

The wit, the scholar, and the actor blend,
In him to make the favorite and the friend."

The reputation obtained suddenly, in the disclosure by genius of all its glory when it first appears, is no doubt the most flattering to the pride. But "these vioThe world often lent delights have violent ends." seems disposed to be vexed with itself for having been surprised into admiration, however well deserved; and to vent its spite upon the very idol it has made, merely because it has been made an idol. Thus it happens that rapid celebrity is often a source of equally rapid detraction and annoyance. The reputation, on the contrary, of slow growth, has gained deep root before any rival can be alarmed. Admiration becomes settled into a habit, and the public is apt to regard as a reflection upon its own discernment, any deduction from esteem which has arisen gradually and not without ample opportunities for previous examination, whether improved or otherwise; we will not undertake to deny that in the one case the motive of the judges may not be as much mistaken by them, and as merely self complimentary, as in the other; but of this one point there cannot be a doubt-the slowly acquired fame is generally the safer and, in the result, the more satisfactory of the two.

The history of the subject of our present memoir will, in some degree, illustrate our remark; but it will do more and better; it will show the advantages of patient perseverance and of enthusiasm without self-exaggeration.

Mr. Peter Richings was born at Kensington, a sort of den and Palace. He made his first appearance in the suburb of London, where there is a famous Royal Garworld on the 19th of May, 1797. His father was a Post sailed round the world with Vancouver; "he fought in Captain in the British Navy. After his son's birth, he famous battles;" and, ultimately was made an Admiral. The rank in which the father of Mr. Richings moved, naturally gave him access to the first sources of influence. Hence it chanced that the late Lord Melville, then a governor of Charter House School, in London, had the youth placed on the foundation of that celebrated institution. In 1814 he passed his examination before the regular authorities for that purpose, the chaplains of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and was successful in obtaining an exhibitionship from Pembroke College, Oxford. Here he remained for a year and a half. His father, in the mean time had been honored with a lucrative station under the British government in the East Indies. An excellent situation being open in his department, he proposed his son for it—who had already passed his examination for the degree of Bachelor of Arts. Presently after the arrival of young Richings in the East Indies, his father was seized with paralysis and he was obliged to accompany him back to England. Having relinquished his studies and having been foiled by the sickness of his father in his other object, a commission

was purchased for him in the British Army. His health | awkwardness, but never admitted to any attempt involvwas now considerably impaired, and unfortunately he found himself drafted for the West Indies. As this was a destination seldom considered desirable even to the most robust, but in his feeble condition, positively dangerous, he sold out his commission and once more became a man of peace.

The next we hear of Mr. Richings, shows him in the latter part of 1817, a devotee, at once, to love and law; -in plainer language, he had articled himself to an attorney and had taken unto himself a wife. He re mained two years in the study of law, but the confine- || ment only confirmed the threatenings of disease, which had induced him to shun the expedition to the West Indies.

ing the least responsibility. At the expiration of this time, the extravaganza of Tom and Jerry was brought out and to Mr. Richings was assigned a part in it called Dick Trifle. Hence may be dated the commencement of his career. It was the first character with which he had been entrusted, affording any scope for his yet dormant capabilities; and he was so fortunate in it with the audience, that it obtained for him an immediate increase of salary from the manager.

From that date to the present,-in all, sixteen years, Peter Richings has been a resident of New York, and attached to the Park theatre. His range of characters has been unbounded: and whether as the second tragedian;-as the genteel or excentric comic actor;-the Courted by the gay and fashionable, his amiableness prince of fops;-the merry Irishman;-the frowning and affability doubtless made them take a peculiar satis-brave of melo-drama;—or the tenor and bass singer;— faction in praising his accomplishments, especially his || he has always merited favor and not unfrequently trisinging; and very likely he may often have heard it umph. There is a distinctiveness; an individuality; said, when certain ballads were given before those in and what artists call a keeping; in whatever he pourwhose company he would frequent operas and theatres, trays, whether a minor or a prominent part, evincing "Richings, why don't you go on the stage? I've heard intent observation of nature, and the faculty so much you sing that song better,―aye,—a thousand fold." Be rarer than is generally conceived, of conveying precisely this as it may, an early predilection for the stage now to his audience the image in his mind. In short, there ripened into a passion. But he knew the domestic are few performers we could withdraw from London, opposition against which he would have to contend, who in any of the various characters assigned to the subwere he to devote himself to such a pursuit. He was ject of our sketch, could find a better substitute in the not disposed to chagrin his family and friends by adopt-Royal Theatres of the great metropolis of the drama, ing a course to which they were adverse, under circumstances which could in the least touch them personally. But one way seemed to remain. If he were to become || an actor, he conceived there could be no fault found with him, should he, in doing so, withdraw from England. Our connexions, when they interfere with our arrange-conduct as that of a well bred, a well educated, and a ments, occasionally over-rate their motives for so doing, well principled gentleman.

and look more to the operation of what we propose upon their own pride than upon our prospects. No adequate substitute appears to have been presented to Mr. Richings for the chances of distinction and emolument which he imagined in the stage; and though he probably fancied it due to friends whom he loved, not to disoblige them by crossing their path with his plans, he does not seem to have been convinced that any further concession was necessary than a mere removal, for the purpose of carrying out those plans to a sphere where the mention of them was not likely to grate upon those whose feelings he so tenderly respected.

With this view, he embarked for America and arrived at New York, on the 28th of August, 1821. The Park theatre had just been re-built. It opened on the first of September. Mr. Simpson was induced to give him a trial. Mr. Richings was so well aware of his total ignorance of the art of acting, that he discreetly preferred beginning unostentatiously; and not aiming at a height which his good sense convinced him he must miss. He knew he had nothing to hope but from industry and a love for the pursuit he had undertaken; that he could only derive the requisite power to do himself justice from practice, and he had some misgivings even about his qualifications for so humble a part as Henry Bertram, in Guy Mannering, which was selected for his début. His success agreeably surprised him. Mr. Simpson immediately gave him an engagement, under which he worked his way for two years, gradually overcoming his

than Mr. Richings. In this regard, our play-going world may be proud of him, for he is theatrically an American; here he first became an actor and he has never appeared as an actor, excepting here.

Those who know him personally, speak of his private

Original.

THE YOUNG BRIDE.

WHEN thy light form is gliding,

The dancers among,
And thy bosom is beating,

With the rapture of song;
When mirth lights thine eye
With splendor the while,
And love lurks beneath
Thy heavenly smile!

Forget not the hour,
When thy hand clasp'd in mine,
I gave thee my heart,

And thou proffer'd me thine!
When the strains of the lute,
In soft melody flow,
And tremblingly beats,

That pure bosom of snow;
When others are 'round thee,

And in warm accents speak,
And the soft blushes spread,
O'er thy innocent cheek,

Forget not the hour,

When with hand clasp'd in mine,
I gave thee my heart,

And thou proffer'd me thine!

STILL LET ME LOVE THEE.

SUNG AT NIBLO'S GARDEN; AND ARRANGED EXPRESSLY FOR THE LADIES' COMPANION, BY T. BISHOP.

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Was it for this I praised when others blamed thee?
Was it for this I gave up all for thee?

Much as I feared thy love and truth might wander,
Yet would I think thee all thou wert in days gone by,

Oh! I have wept, to think, that when they named thee | Oh! even now I feel my heart grow fonder,

Thou couldst only find one faithful friend in me,

Still let me love thee, or let me die!

Original.

THEATRICALS.

PARK THEATRE. This establishment opened for the regular season on the 21st of August. The interior has been newly painted and decorated; the fronts of the boxes, embellished with vine lines and branches of gold on a milk white ground, and the inside somewhat approaching a straw color. The dome, in arabesque; and the drop curtain, from Harlowe's glorification of the Kemble family, are both new. The appropriateness of the latter we question. The picture has been too long and too widely known to give it much interest as a picture; and certainly as a transcript of the original it does not equal the engraving. What bearing the judgment on Queen Katharine has upon American associations of any kind, we are at a loss to imagine; nor can we recognize the propriety of placing a tribute to the distinguished family of the Kembles upon the banner of our principal national theatre. If a selection of this description were desirable, the celebrated picture of Garrick speaking the ode to Shakspeare, in which the greatest of British actors is surrounded by all the characters of the greatest of British dramatists, would surely have answered the purpose better. Besides, it is rare now; and it belongs to an age in which our country was identified with its father-land and of course so were its literature and arts. Upon the taste of the decorations, generally, we have only to remark that although they appear to us somewhat gaudy and aimless; there is an airiness about the whole interior as it is now altered, which seems to be considered on all hands as a change for the better. It opened with the Wonder, introducing Mrs. Chippindale, from London, and Mrs. Sharpe, as Donna Violante. Mrs. Sharpe has played Lady Teazle since, and other characters. She has, in every one of them, sustained her former reputation and displayed more than her former powers. Considering how much the public admiration has been engrossed during her absence by other favorites with the advantages of novelty and foreign fame, Mrs. Sharpe has a fair right to regard this as something of a triumph.

The arrangements for the coming season are liberal and to the return of Mr. Forrest, the public are looking with intense inte

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Miss Clifton commenced a short engagement in the play of Fazio, and performed the part of Bianca with much taste and judgment. Miss Clifton is gifted with an imposing and graceful figure, which she displays with equal advantage to herself as to the character she is personating. Her Marianna was chaste and finished, moreso perhaps to us, from having witnessed the abortive attempt, a few evenings previous, of Miss Hildreth. Miss Clifton's delineation of Marianna was forcible and touching, and she gave to it a degree of pathos and feeling so unusual

in characters of its class. Switzerland! beloved Switzerland! Its very name should arm an actress with power to represent Marianna to the very life. Was there ever such an ideal pictured. Was there ever such an embodyment of natural simplity and womanly virtue painted by the pen of man? Rich and varied as are the emotions which characterize the actions of Marianna, we were somewhat sceptical as to the capacity of Miss Clifton for realizing those beautiful points which are scattered so profusely throughout the Wife. To assert that she was equal to Ellen Tree, would be an absurdity. There is not an actress living that can surpass Miss Tree in sustaining Marianna. It grieves us to say, however, that the play of the Wife was never performed worse on the Park boards, than on this occasion. Mr. Fredericks seemed to have lost all knowledge that he was representing St. Pierre. And in fact, this gentleman, as well as Mr. John Mason, swaggered and rolled through the characters assigned them with as little thought and discretion as if they had been walking leisurely through the streets. Can it be possible that actors who must be fully possessed of those essentials which are so necessary for the practice of the profession they have adopted-should appear nightly on the boards of a theatre forgetful of the characters they are placed in, and merely endeavoring to show to the best advantage their own conceited persons.

W. W. S.

cise where we would fain be silent. To the author as a versifier of no mean calibre, or a sketcher of light and beautiful trifles, we award the palm; but sooth to say, the author of Melanie is at fault when he essays the dramatist.

With a

Bianca Visconti is a production of some literary merit, and will read well in the closet as a poem. There are some passages in it that will be remembered when the play is forgotten; and if Willis had simply sent it before the world to be read, he would have gained reputation; but when he claims for it the merit of an acting play, we must deny that it is one. plot so perfectly simple, that we are surprised at his selection, we were compelled to labor at its opening through a mass of verbiage-beautiful, it is true, but destitute of narrative merit or mechanical ground work, and it would seem as if it was the intention of the dramatist to leave us to group our way through the darkness with no other aid than such as is afforded by his humorous conceits and poetical sallies. It has not the majesty of the tragic-it lacks the mechanism of a drama, and yet the author has evidently studied to give it the weight of the one and the material of the other. The plot we have said was exceedingly simple. The scene is laid in the rude court of Philip Visconti, Duke of Milan, in the fifteenth century. The celebrated soldier of fortune, Francisco Sforza, is the principal male personage, who married Bianci Visconti, the duke's only daughter. The first Sforza was a woodcutter of Lombardy. By courage and ability, he raised a considerable band of soldiers, and, after a life of bravery as a Condottiero, he was drowned in crossing a river, and his command and title (as Marquis of Ancona) were assumed by his son, Francisco, who inherited his father's courage with more ability. He married the natural daughter of Philip Visconti, and thus became, eventually, Duke of Milan.

out.

Bianca, wife of the second Sforza, is a rare creature of poetical conception, and Willis has sustained her high character throughIn the hands of Miss Clifton, who assumed the part, this character rises still higher, and if the other features of the drama had been as truthfully delineated and as poetically wrought out, the author would have stood one step higher on the ladder of dramatic fame. But Bianca is alone in the cast—the ambi

tion of Sforza, the villany of Sarpellione, the wit of Pasquali and the simplicity of Fiametta, cannot claim for Willis originality of conception. Shakspeare has been fully consulted in thetwo latter individuals, as may be seen in the wise sayings of Touch

stone and the echo-like conduct of Audrey.

To Miss Clifton cannot be awarded too much praise for the perseverance with which she labored through the tedium of the earlier scenes of the play, and the impassioned, womanly tact displayed in the two last acts.

We drop the curtain with the single remark by way of conclusion, that in every other department of elegant literature, our gifted countryman has in us a warm and sincere advocate. We

would forfeit something to make him a dramatist also,—but it
cannot be.
W. W. S.

BOWERY.-The difficulties which have existed at this house for some time back, are we hope, at an end. Mr. Dinneford has fully satisfied his creditors that every cent of their demands shall be forthcoming, and they were so well pleased with his conduct as manager, and deeply sympathising in his misfortune, that they themselves advanced the necessary means for the reopening of the theatre. Trustees are appointed, under whose superintendance, with the advice of Mr. Dinneford, is the Bowery theatre now managed. Mr. George Stevenson officiates as treasurer and chairman of the board of trustees. The theatre

will be conducted on this principal until it is clear of all encumbrances, when it will again return to the sole possession of Mr. Dinneford. Since the opening the audiences have been far more numerous than could have been anticipated. Miss Nelson has been figuring as the reigning star, to the admiration and delight of all who have beheld her beautiful symmetrical form. Mr. Mathews, lately arrived from Europe, a most excellent readerMr. Cowell, the inimitable comic actor-Mrs. Cowell and Mrs. Rogers are attached to the regular stock company. The management offered a rich histrionic treat in the engagement of Mr. Booth, who performed Richard and several other characters admirably. Let the Bowery pursue the same course that it has lately in the production of novelty, and its success will be trium

Willis' New Play.-With hundreds of others who visited the Park on the evening of the production of "Bianca Visconti," we find ourselves, much against our inclination, obliged to criti-phant.

W. W. S.

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