rished. A figure of a sleeping nymph is also to be introduced to ornament the scene. To the right is an alcove, in which will be a collection of the most tuneful and beautiful birds. From the left, a

passage leads to the Swiss Cottage. It consists of a principal apartment of a rustic character, with appropriate furniture, and two smaller apartments ad. jacent.

DRURY-LANE THEATRE.

THE demands of the lower class of people, and also of their superiors, for a Christmas pantomime, were answered at the usual time, if not fully gratified, by the appearance of the Queen- Bee, or Harlequin and the Fairy-Hive. The piece opens with a splendid scene in the Honeycomb-palace, where all the subjects of her stinging majesty, the QueenBee, are plying their odoriferous labors. Her majesty is offended at the conduct of a worthy gentleman, Mr. Drone, a winged swindler, who, in defiance of political economy, is an inordinate consumer, and no producer. He is seised, deprived of his tail and wings (an indirect attack upon the kite-flying system), and sent adrift "to roam the flowers of botany. Fortune now pays the Queen a visit, for the purpose of devising means for the recovery of a magic sword, which she had long before presented to Harlequin, who has latterly been incapacitated from using it, in consequence of extreme obesity, brought on by idleness and double X." The Queen despatches one of her attendants to the village, where the old piebald hero resides, with instructions to assist in the recovery of the sword. Old Harlequin-" four single gentlemen rolled into one"-now makes his appearance. His whole family have become as unwieldy as elephants, but they all imagine that they are exceedingly agile, and, assisted by them, the

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himself as Harlequin; Margery is metamorphosed into Columbine; and the footman of the superannuated hero stands forth as the Clown. The usual pursuit then takes place, and, after encountering innumerable difficulties, the two lovers are united by the Queen-Bee in the Temple of Industry.

There is not in this pantomime that vis comica which used to enliven pieces of this description: yet it exhibits a variety of tricks and manauvres, which are very adroitly performed, and the chief players do their duty, if not in the best possible manner, at least in a way that deserves commendation; but Barnes, the Pantaloon, is more particularly applauded than his associates. An American dwarf (as a very extraordinary being is styled) excites great astonishment. He cannot, however, be justly denominated a dwarf. His legs and thighs are indeed dwarfish, being only thirteen inches in length; but his trunk is that of a large and well-proportioned man. The muscular powers of his arms are wonderful. He runs upon his hands with as much force and celerity as well-made men do upon their legs. When you see him descend headforemost, from the first ring of a chair, placed on the top of two tables, to the ground, you almost imagine that you behold a very clever specimen of the simia genus.

In scenery, the Queen-Bee is unquestionably rich. Mr. Stanfield has contributed a grand moving picture, the intrinsic merit of which would save a bad pantomime. To the effective execution of the duties belonging to the scenic department, this artist brings every necessary qualification-a knowlege of light and shade which enables him to give to his scenes great brightness and transparency, and a ready and judicious taste for composition, whether landscape, architecture, or coast, but more especially for the last. His present scene is fully equal-in some parts superior to any

former work of his hand. It commences with a view of Spithead ; thence we are wafted in succession to Portsmouth harbour, the Dock-yard, the Upper Harbour, Gosport, the Mother Bank, Isle of Wight, (where a beautiful view of the sailing of the Royal Yacht Club is exhibited), the Needles by moonlight, the ocean, the rock of Gibraltar, and finally Constantinople. It is an exquisite picture. The view of lord Nelson's ship, the Victory, is the most gorgeous specimen of naval architectural painting that we ever saw. It is upon a splendid scale, and gives a grand idea of the original. The view of Gibraltar, bristling with fortifications, is uncommonly fine. It exhibits an extent of space, all occupied by the ultima ratio regum, and a grandeur of elevation, which seem to say, "I am invulnerable."

During the run of the pantomime, a tragedy was brought forward to vary the entertainments of the house. Its title is, Caswallon, or the Briton Chief. Wales is the scene of action, and the time assigned to it is the reign of Edward the First. Caswallon is supposed to have escaped from that battle in which the chief prince of Wales had fallen with some of his bravest chieftains, and to have retired into obscurity with the princess Eva. At the commencement of the piece we find his retreat discovered, after a lapse of sixteen years, by two other chieftains, Hoel and Caradoc, who, with a band of their countrymen, have determined to shake off the yoke of their English oppressor. Caswallon, fired with the ardor of a patriot, and with a desire to revenge the death of his sovereign, willingly consents to be their leader; but, before he sets out upon his perilous undertaking, he reveals to Eva the secret of her high birth, and, refusing the offer of a crown from his followers, presents to them this young lady, as the rightful queen of Cambria, and as the daughter of their great Llewelyn. In the mean time Sir Roger de Mortimer, the governor of Conway, hearing that the mountaineers are in arms, prepares a considerable force, and marches instantly to give them battle.He is preceded, however, by Sir Armyn Fitz-Edward-a favorite of king Edward, who, in one of his rambles among the mountains, has had the pleasure of rescuing Eva from a band of English marauders, and now wishes to warn her and her relatives to avoid the danger which threatens them from the wrath and revenge

of the English leader. He is brought a prisoner before Caswallon, and discovers in the interview that he is the son of that chieftain, saved by Edward from perishing after the great battle, and afterwards reared in the royal household. Being informed of the hero's intention to seat Eva upon the throne of Wales, he endeavours in vain to dissuade him from such a hopeless enterprise, and finally refuses to assist his country against a king who raised him from wretchedness to rank and power. When the followers of Caswallon are immediately afterwards put to flight by the disciplined forces of Mortimer, the knight follows his father, who had fled into a cave for shelter, again impresses on him the necessity of submission, and assures him of the clemency of Edward. But the sturdy patriot rejects all terms; and Fitz-Edward, conscious that he could, by his interest with the king, procure his pardon, calls on the troops to advance and seise him; Caswallon indignantly refuses to surrender. The entreaties of his son are fruitless, and the pleadings of Eva are vain but when, as his queen, she commands him to obey, he submits, and is forthwith conveyed to Conway Castle, where Mortimer has fixed his headquarters. This chieftain becomes ena mored of Eva, and hopes by an alliance with her to baffle his master, king Edward, and to ascend the throne of Wales. The more easily to accomplish his purpose, he orders Caswallon and Eva to be separated-a command which is effected with difficulty; but not before the hero, who suspects the purpose of Mortimer, furnishes Eva with a phial of poison, and darkly hints to her that she should, if her fate happened to be balanced between death and dishonor, boldly embrace the former. Sir Armyn now boldly remonstrates with Mortimer on his treachery and cruelty, and hears with still greater surprise that Caswallon is to be put to death, and Eva intended for the bed of the governor. A violent quarrel is the result, and Sir Armyn having intimated his intention of proceeding to Chester to claim the interference of the king, Mortimer puts him under arrest.

While the guard is conducting him to confinement, he, however, contrives to escape; and, having laid his complaint at the foot of the throne, arrives just at the moment when Caswallon is led to the block, with an order to release the prisoners, and seise the person of Mortimer. But he is too late to save

the life of Eva. The hateful addresses of Mortimer, and the approaching loss of her earliest friend, drive her to despera tion. She has swallowed the poison, and dies in the arms of her lover. Sir Armyn is saved from self-destruction by the interference of the by-standers; but Caswallon drops broken-hearted beside the remains of his beloved Eva.

The tragedy was ably performed. Mr. Young, as the ancient chieftain, played with almost as much power as he does in Rienzi. His indignant interviews with his newly found, but recreant son, were full of honest warmth; and those of a tenderer kind with Eva exhibited all the powerful feelings of one who adored the subject of his protection as a princess, and who loved her as an adopted child. Miss Philips was exceedingly efficient in her portraiture of the heroine. Mr.

Cooper's Fitz-Edward was well played; and Mr. Aitken's Roger de Mortimer also possessed a considerable share of merit.

COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE.

THE purveyor of pantomimic entertain ments and melo-dramatic pieces at this house had recourse to the tales of the nursery when Christmas was approaching, and also to La Rose d'Amour, a popular French piece; and on these foundations he erected the superstructure of Harlequin and the Little Red Riding-Hood, or the Wizard and the Wolf. No pantomime can be orthodox which does not begin with a conjuror; and Mr. Farley, who knows the rules of his art too well to break one so important, has introduced a wizard, whose mis-shapen son, Humpo, has fallen in love with Rose-not the little Rose of the story, but a beautiful young peasant, who has turned the heads of half of the country. The parental affection of the conjuror induces him to favor his son's passion; and he does this in a way which none but a wizard would think of, by changing him into a wolf. Mr. Parsloe acts this beast very ingeniously; his move ments and his figure are rather more like a bear's, and his resemblance to that meritorious public performer who climbs up the pole at the Zoological Society's garden is so close, that it must be the result of imitation it is nevertheless very curious. Rose has two other lovers, one a fat miller of Rouen, and the other,the favoured one, Colin, his apprentice. She passes through Rouen in her way to her grandmother's cottage, and here an amusing seene ensues with the miller and his man.

Colin clears the field of his rival by fastening to his belt the rope by which the sacks of corn are craned into his granary; and the fat man is hoisted aloft to the great content of the lovers, and the infinite amusement of the audience, who seemed to relish this practical joke as much as any of the tricks in the pantomime. Rose proceeds on her journey, followed by both her lovers, and watched by the wolf, who, disappointed of seising her in her way through the forest, reaches the cottage before her, gains admittance in the old way, and does not eat up the grandmother (young Grimaldi), which, considering their relative dimensions, might be difficult, even in a pantomime, but frightens her out of bed, and dresses himself in the old woman's night-cap. Rose then arrives, and nearly falls a prey to the wolf, when Colin and his master arrive and rescue her. The wolf's papa saves him from the danger which threatens him, and the Genius of the Rose takes Rose and Cólin under her protection. The metamorphoses then ensue. Rose becomes the Columbine, the Miller is Pantaloon, the Grandmother Clown, and the Wolf becomes a nondescript character, new to the pantomimes, called Blanc et Noir, with which title his party-coloured dress corresponds. The wizard bestows upon him a magic girdle, which enables him to change his shape at pleasure, a privilege of which, however, he makes little use. In this character Mr. Parsloe displays some feats of extraordinary activity. His skill in postures is nearly equal to that of the late Mazurier; but he is deficient in that intelligent humor and whimsicality of which the French mime had so large a portion, and which, in some instances, elevated his distortions to the rank of real acting. Young Grimaldi

now, alas! our only Grimaldi-is evidently improving. The rawness of his boyhood is going off; he grows more like his father in manner, and therefore grows better. His activity is equal to any body's, his grimace is masterly; he has a tooth knocked out of his head in most meritorious style; and his humor is getting generally rounder and more solid. His setting-to with a French postilion is capital; the coolness with which he takes off his jacket, to be disencumbered for the fight, and the caution with which, like a man who knows how dishonest the world has grown, he puts it into his pocket, is not only excellent in itself, but a good practical lesson upon the advantages of prudence in all the concerns of life.

Blanchard's Pantaloon is clever, but it wants humor. The great merit of Ellar's Harlequin is his agility and the rapidity of his movements. His legs twinkle, rather than dance--he moves like a sprite, and seems to touch the ground almost as little as his pasteboard brother at M. Maffey's. He is made to perform some veryuncommon movements, either in person or by deputy, in this pantomime. He is shot out of a mortar into the top proscenium stage-box; then makes a circuit round the chandelier at the ceiling; darts into the opposite stage-box, and then takes a headlong flight to the stage again. Miss Egan does all that can be done for Columbine. She is pretty, has a good figure, and moves very actively and gracefully. There is very little novelty in the way of tricks or changes, much less indeed than usual. Those we have mentioned-the flights of the Miller and of Harlequin-are the best. Grimaldi buys a large lean pig (which he pays for with a watch he has stolen), and fattens it, by means of the wind from a tinker's bellows, to such a size that it gains him the prize at the cattle show. This told pretty well: but an elaborate scene, called the Precocious Academy, was a failure a dull attempt at putting in action a very clever caricature of George Cruikshank, in his Illustrations of Time. The only good thing in it was a gay old lady learning to sing "I'd be a Butterfly," and being taken at her word, and made to wing her way aloft. Some of the scenery is very well painted, and has the merit of novelty. The view of Rouen is pretty; but it is copied from one of the recent Dioramas. The Forest of Nouvelles is absurdly colored red, a fault which the play-bills attempt to excuse by calling it "sunset;" it is like fire and fog mixed. The view of the Isle of Wight, with the Regatta, is spirited and clever, and the movements of the yachts very well managed. There is a good scene, too, of the New Post-office, and another of St. Catharine's Docks, in which three large vessels are introduced with admirable effect. The great attraction, however, in the way of scenery, consists in a moving panorama, by Roberts, representing the march of the Russian army to Turkey. The views of St. Petersburg and Constantinople are at once beautiful as paintings, and as faithful representations of those cities. The intermediate parts of the landscape are equally well painted, but are more fanciful. The figures are the worst part of this

VOL. X.

panorama; some of them are ill-colored, and all of them are copied from some familiar authorities; and this, too, without any proper or necessary application to the subject.

A new opera, called The Nymph of the Grotto, or a Daughter's Vow, has been performed with a considerable degree of applause. The story is of the following tenor:-An old French military baron of Mont-Orgueil, who, like many other despots when abroad, was a mere slave at home to the tyranny and caprices of his wife, leaves his castle for the war, shortly after the birth of a female child, whom his high-spirited lady, knowing that in default of male issue the succession would go to another branch of the family, had determined to pass off for a male. On her death-bed, twelve years after the baron's departure, she compelled her daughter (who in her male character is called Amadis) to take an oath that she would never reveal the imposture. The daughter is therefore dressed and educated as a boy; but, as the character of the sex is not altered by the assumption of a disguise of habiliments, the baron, on his return, is woefully disappointed at finding that his son exhibits none of the courage and boldness of his ancestors. On one occasion only has Amadis worn a female attire, and that was at a masqued ball in Paris, where she was seen and loved by, and loves in return, the baron's nephew Hippolyte, the presumptive heir of his property, and a page at court. The Queen Marguerite, in one of her progresses, takes up her residence in the castle of the baron, bringing with her Hippolyte and another page called Leonce, who, by some accident (very convenient for the piece), is in love with Eglantine, the baron's niece, and is successful in his suit, so that the interest rests chiefly upon the oath of Amadis to conceal her sex, and evade the consummation of a project of the baron to marry her as his son to her cousin Eglantine. The cousins, however, soon come to a good understanding upon the subject of the match, and the whole interest is then vested in the hopeless love of Amadis. Led away by her affection, she determines upon being made the confident, as the male friend of Hippolyte, of his love for the unknown, and resolves to see him once more in the same disguise she assumed at Paris; and, by an anonymous billet, she appoints him to meet her in a grotto at the end of the park. There she has an inter

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view with him, her face covered with a mask, and informs him that his love is hopeless, as a vow, which she dares not break, prevents her from returning his passion. Their conversation is interrupted by some of the courtiers, and, as they enter the grotto, Amadis disappears by a secret passage. The story of Hippolyte's assignation with a nymph gets wind; the queen hears of it, and suspects some ladies of her court of having played him a trick, and a plan is laid by Marcel, an old soldier, for discovering it. Informed of the hour of meeting, he plants himself at the entrance of the grotto, and sees the nymph issue from it. He then winds his horn, the signal for the appearance of the queen, who enters with her whole court. Farther concealment is impossible. The waiting-maid of Amadis enters, receives her fainting mistress into her arms, and reveals the imposition which has so long continued. The queen takes Amadis under her protection; her father gives her his blessing, she is married to Hippolyte,

and thus her vow is kept and her happiness secured.

The music of this opera is the joint work of Liverati and A. Lee, and is of that tolerable kind which rouses no exalted emotions; yet it possesses enough of the lively and the agreeable to excite the attention of the hearer, and give an adequate idea of the feelings of the character. The manager, by the splendor of the dresses, and the beauty of the scenery, gave to the performers every advantage of appearance and situation. Madame Vestris and Mr. Wood sang with more than ordinary spirit; and Mr. Stansbury, who appeared for the first time at this theatre, we dare say did his utmost, but his deportment is ungraceful, and his voice feeble and unpleasing. Miss Jarman, as Amadis, seemed to be lowered a little from her usual rank of character; but that degradation was for the benefit of the author, and contributed much to support the slender interest excited by the story. Two of the songs of Eglantine we subjoin.