100 brass cannon were taken, and 20,000 muskets, and a quantity of ammunition. The martyred Archbishops and Bishops were seven in number; among them were those of Monembacia and Amyclea, of which Tripolizza was the See. The infidels put to death 600 of the hostages also. As for the brave men who died gloriously in the assault, their number was scarcely three hundred." In the mean time the situation of affairs in the East has changed for the better. Persia has not only declared war against Turkey, but has actually commenced hostilities in Asia. The fact is stated positively, and it is inferred that this would not have been done without some previous concert or communication with Russia; and that Russia will put her armies in motion against Turkey, as soon as military operations can be undertaken from the banks of the Pruth. The Emperor had sent his ultimatum to Constantinople, in reply to the last note of the Porte. His Majesty, it is said, abides by the resolutions which he has already announced, but does not depart from the principle adopted at Laybach, insists on the establishment of a system insuring the just rights of the innocent Greeks stipulated by former treaties, and the immediate evacuation of Moldavia and Wallachia. The measures of Sir T. Maitland, in the Ionian Islands, respecting the conduct of the inhabits to their countrymen, has roused a spirit of inextinguishable hostility to his measures on the part of the islanders. Five or six had been executed, and they had subsequently had recourse to measures styled rebellious against the acts of their protector, as he is denominated. An order was issued to disarm the population; and a letter from Trieste states, that they have resisted the order, betaken themselves to the mountains, and skirmished with the troops sent to reduce them. Α The Portuguese Cortes go on deliberately framing the Constitution, and make considerable progress. projet of a decree for the formal abolition of the Patriarchal Church in Lisbon, had been laid before it, and been subjected to discussion. This is part of the reform in the church in tended by the new Government of Portugal, and it could not have com menced with a more interesting measure. The establishment of a Patriarchal Church in Lisbon was intended, merely to flatter the vanity of John V. and cost Portugal many millions, all of which were sacrificed to the avarice of the Court of Rome. It has since cost the nation upwards of 220 contos de reis, about 55,000l. sterling per annum, without serving any beneficial purpose. The freedom of South America is now nearly established by the different disasters to the cause of Old Spain at the battle of Caraboze, where the English mainly contributed to the victory-by the fall of Lima and Carthagena, and the revolution in Mexico. She retains her hold of that vast continent by a thread, which in a little time must be snapped asunder, and the whole be separated from her for ever. Puerto Cabello, Porto Bello, Panama, the castles of Callao, and some untenable towns and districts in Peru, are all that remain. General Bolivar has been elected President of Columbia, and the General Congress was employed in discussing the plan for public education, and in forming laws for regulating the commerce of the Republic. Letters from Havannah contain advices from Mexico, by which it appears that the Liberating Army of the Three Guarantees, under the command of Senor Don Augustin de Iturbide, made their entry into the capital of New Spain on the 27th of September. On the same day, under the Presidency of Iturbide, with the title of Generalissimo by sea and land of the empire of Mexico, a Regency, composed of five members, was appointed. A Supreme Junta was also created, of which the Bishop of Puebla was declared Presi-" dent. The establishment of the Government was followed by the nomination of the different Ministers and Authorities: the oath they were required to take simply pledged them to adhere to the stipulations of the treaty of Cordova. The latest intelligence from the United States mentions that the House, of Representatives had met in Congress, and that the President's Message was daily expected at the coast. The Seventeenth Congress appears to be formed of a large proportion of new members. DRURY-LANE THEATRE. THE DRAMA. Miss BAILLIE'S De Monfort, after a long interval, has been again produced on the stage of this theatre. In her preface to her series of plays on the Passions, the richly-gifted and excellent author expresses her wish that she could introduce them to the world through the medium of the stage, rather than the press, because "a few tears from the simple and young would be, in her eyes, pearls of great price; and the spontaneous, untutored plaudits of the rude and uncultivated, would come to her heart as offerings of no mean value." We sympathise so heartily in this feeling, that we rejoiced to find De Monfort announced for revival; enjoyed with peculiar zest all the applause which it excited, and saw with regret the hasty suspension of its course, in consequence of its want of those theatrical blandishments which are requisite to brilliant success. In theory Miss Baillie's plan of making all things in a play subservient to the developement of a single passion, seems to us erroneous; because character is only one part of tragic excellence; because the scheme tends to that nice analysis of motive which a theatrical public will not wait to appreciate; and because it may prevent the free play and counterpoise of opposite interests and feelings, by the absorption of all into one, as the serpents of the magicians were devoured by the transmuted rod of Aaron. But viewed in reference to the individual case of the author, we think the theory has rather aided than impeded her aspirations for tragic fame. The female mind has rarely entire command over the sterner emotions which belong to tragedy it will deviate too much into beauty, tenderness, and domestic familiarities -it will rather depict virtue as a sweet necessity of nature, than as the product of high resolution, and will dissolve the soul, which should bear proudly up against the shocks of fortune, in gentle tears. But a theory like Miss Baillie's is a perpetual support to a woman against this amiable weakness; it pledges her to a high office from which she may not retire; and serves as a kind of heroical scaffolding to aid VOL. VI. NO. XIII. the completion of her majestic designs. Miss Baillie's plays, however defective in theatrical interest, are cast in a grander mould than any else ever written by woman; they have a stern and melancholy power over the soul, which makes it sadder and wiser;" and possess much of the fulness and weight, though little of the fanciful sweetnesses of our elder bards. She has penetrated far into the sylvan glooms of romantic tragedy, where the black stream of passion flows without retiring ebb, reflecting all the mighty foliage by its side in its own sad and pensive colouring. The character of De Monfort is finely moulded out of coarse and unattractive materials. Hate, engendered by opposition in childish enterprises and sports, and nurtured by the success of its object, is either the vice of a contemptible mind, or the mere discase of an irresponsible madman. In either case it does not seem adapted to dramatic purposes; and yet, so admirably has this difficulty been encountered by the genius of the author, that we neither loathe nor despise the hater she has drawn, nor regard him for a moment as "a false creation proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain." There is a fascination about him which keeps us within his circle in spite of ourselves. Rezenvelt, his gay, careless, sarcastic rival, is very ingeniously conceived, but scarcely developed at sufficient length to form an adequate contrast or relief to the melancholy murderer. But the noblest object in the play is the character of Jane De Monfort, a fine sketch of true female heroism and sisterly love, hit off with all the intensity and freedom of a masterly hand. There is not, in the whole compass of our poetry, a more true and affecting example of a sister's disinterested regard, as distinguished from more passionate and selfish fondnesses, than is contained in her refusal to join the party where her truant brother is expected"Therefore it is I would not, gentle hos tess. The sight of me would wake his feeling mind To other thoughts. I am no doting mis tress, No fond distracted wife, who must forthwith Rush to his arms and weep. I am his sister; The eldest daughter of his father's house: Calm and unwearied is my love for him; And having found him, patiently I'll wait, Nor greet him in the hour of social joy To dash his mirth with tears." The generous constancy of this noble-hearted woman to the object of her patient affection, when stained with the deepest guilt, is cut out of the play as recently acted. It was certainly beyond the power of the actress to whom the part was assigned; but we are afraid it was put aside to gratify Mr. Kean's taste for the exhibition of frantic agonies. This struggle, so often made by that great artist, after an intense reality in the exhibition of pain and death, is, we think, the result of error. The rattle in the throat, the livid face, the strong convulsion quivering through the frame, are not fit to be made a spectacle, but should be covered with a decent veil. When the mind, indeed, is supreme, we are contented to witness the representation of mortal anguish as auxiliary to its victories. If the spirit shines through the sufferer; if the soul is calm and majestic amidst corporal sufferance; if the affections vindicate their own immortality, even in the last degradation of the body, and defy the kingly victor in the moment of his triumph, we are contented to look on some image of pain, thus qualified and ennobled. But in all other cases, the potent exhibition of death is but tragic harlequinade, "beside the very end and purpose of playing." Mr. Kean's horrible look as he is borne off in Sir Giles Overreach, which we have heard highly praised, is, to our feelings, the worst thing ever dared by a great actor. How much more beautiful than the death of De Monfort, as represented by him, would be his last scene, as written by Miss Bailliethe silent grief beyond the power of words-the generous consolations of the noble sister-the shrinkings of the poor criminal, and his relapsings into a gentler penitence-and his last attempt to seem cheerful as he takes the hand of her who will not forsake him, and leads her out with those touching words ،، Wilt thou permit me with a gyved hand ? ،، This was my proudest office." Mr. Kean, however, played the greater part of the character in his best style. De Monfort's struggles between shame and love, when urged by his sister to confess his secret agony, were beautifully given; and the progress of his fatal hatred was told with admirable discrimination and picturesque power. The attempt to meet Rezeuvelt with courtesy, and the shrinking from his proffered embrace, were also finely imagined, and executed with great felicity. His frenzy on seeing Jane walking with Rezenvelt was terrific; but the tearing open of his vest after he was disarmed was extravagant: his mode of pulling the dagger from the wall, looking at the point, shrugging up his shoulders, and walking out, hordered closely on the ludicrous; and his handling the body was disgusting. Mrs. Egerton performed the noble Jane de Montfort.As she did not, we presume, choose the part, we will say nothing about her fitness to act it. Miss Smithson spoke her few sentences with lady-like grace; but she was dressed up like a tawdry doll. Cooper played Rezenvelt respectably-he can play nothing in a style beneath respectability, and many parts above it; but he is not light and gay enough for the careless reveller. There is, indeed, no actor on the stage who can hit off any part which has a tinge of Mercutio. The play was acted every evening for nearly a week; but as it was not attractive when Kemble and Mrs. Siddons played in it, there was small hope of its long continuing to draw houses; for though Mr. Kean is fitter for De Monfort than his predecessor, no one but Mrs. Siddons could do any justice to the mild dignity and love of the sister. Miss Edmiston, a young lady of no common capabilities for dramatic excellence, has appeared in the characters of Jane Shore and Lady Macbeth, and created more sensation than any actress who has appeared for a considerable period. If we may trust the play-bills, she has never acted before; and a copy of verses was thought requisite to herald in her Lady Macbeth, and implore the indulgence of the house for an at tempt in which it was "honour even to fail." This is all, we think, very foolish. An actress who comes out as Lady Macbeth, unless it is at a short notice on some sudden emergency, has no right to ask for indulgence. She must be greatly excellent in order to succeed to any purpose and if she is not, it will be better for her to fail at once. An aspirant after the highest style of art has no right to ask pardon; because she ought not to assay it without sure consciousness of a capacity which leaves forgiveness far from its calculations. We should feel too much reverence for art to make the vain endeavour of complimenting the rash, the ungifted, or the unripe into its honours. The attempt is not one in which it is great to fail; it is not a hard but a very easy thing to play Lady Macbeth ill. No attempt is great to which great capabilities are not applied; else, if the mere value of the stake and the hazard were sufficient to dignify the adventurer, a man who purchases a ticket in the lottery, with a view to thirty thousand pounds, deserves to be honoured as an unfortunate hero. Nor is it fitting, except in very rare cases, that ladies or gentlemen should risk a first appearance on a London stage, to make the largest and the most intelligent body of spectators in the kingdom the witnesses of their crude endeavours and imperfect trials. Acting, if in some measure a gift, is also an art; the highest excellence in which is rarely attained, except by long and patient study; and a London Theatre is not a fit school for beginners. We make these observations the more readily because they do not apply in their rigour to Miss Edmiston, who is almost an accomplished actress. Had we, indeed, only seen her in Lady Macbeth, we should not think so; for she is wholly destitute of physical requisites for the character; and the part is one which, if unsuited to the actress, scarcely allows of the developement of capabilities for gentler exertions. With a slender figure, a stooping carriage of the head, a voice incapable of any very deep or awful tone, she could not play Lady Macbeth even if she felt all its terrific grandeur. No one,indeed, should pretend to it who writes Miss before her name. The full developement of all the sternest passions of the soulthe appearance of a queen and even of a mother, are absolutely essential to the representation of the mighty murderess. Miss Edmiston declaimed with good emphasis in the early scenes; but she sunk beneath the situation in the second act, and was inarticulate in the sleep-walking scene, instead of thrilling the house with her whispers. But in Jane Shore she produced a very different impression, notwithstanding the painful nature of the part. Her reproaches of Gloster were given with a triumphant energy; she looked and spoke with an air of inspiration we have not witnessed in any actress since the departure of Miss O'Neil; and throughout the whole of the last act, she preserved finely the gradations of suffering, and relieved it by touches of true and beautiful pathos. It would have been better had she practised on a smaller stage for a while; but she has even now displayed a vigour of concep tion, a boldness and freedom of action, and an intelligence of speech, which place her far above the moaning Belvideras, and screaming Juliets, and maudlin Mrs. Hallers, who have made "their first appearances on any stage" of late years in the Winter Theatres. This Lady's efforts have occasioned Mr. Kean's appearance as lord Hastings and Macbeth. He threw a fit portion of his wonted energy into all the spirited passages of the first, and gave a mild beauty to its last scene, where he forgives Alicia, and bids an everlasting adieu to her and to life, which sunk into the soul. His Macbeth is one of his most unequal performances very tame in the early scenes, nobly heroical in the last combat, and in the scene after the murder of Duncan pathetic, beyond almost any thing else on the stage. The manner in which he says "I could not say Amen when they did say God bless us," is as affecting as any thing we ever heard. Cooper's Macduff was excellent, not only in the chief scenes of the character, but from the very beginning of the play. It is a great benefit to the establishment to have such a performer, who can play first-rate characters on occasion, and is yet willing to play second. Indeed the whole cast of the inferior parts both in tragedy and comedy at this house, since the company has fairly assembled, deserves high praise. COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE. We hoped this would be a great season for tragedy at this theatre; but we have hoped in vain. We calculated on the united exertions of Macready, Young, and Charles Kemble, each filling the characters best adapted to his talents with hearty good-will, and taking an interest, not in the mere success of each individual part, but in the harmony and effect of the whole play. But this prospect is unhappily far from being realized: Mr. Macready has only performed twice; Mr. Young makes a part of the raree-show of the Exile; and Mr. Charles Kemble is not engaged at all. Into the secret history of this lamentable falling off we will not enter: but it must be evident to all, that it has in some measure resulted from an arrangement, or an understanding, by which the entire range of the highest parts in old tragedies is secured to a single performer. Mr. Charles Kemble's secession may possibly arise from other causes; but what else should prevent the managers from allowing us to see the two other tragedians acting together in plays requiring their united powers? Why not suffer Mr. Young and Mr. Macready to appear, each taking the part for which he is best fitted, without respect to its being ranked first or second in the estimation of the scene-shifter, or the call-boy? Every one ought to be contented to do that which he does better than all the world besides. It is a nobler ambition to make a short part prominent, or to draw out concealed beauties which never have been felt before, than to make a strong impression by acting a part, the outline of which has long been understood, and the chief points in representing which are matters of immemorial usage. Shakspeare, in particular, has thrown much of feeling and of beauty into parts usually regarded as insignificant; and surely it would be no common triumph to make these flash on the public heart, and give a new and living commentary on the Poet's thought. The well-known couplet applies as truly to the stage as to our life: should always play the longest part, than that his name should be announced in red letters or great capitals. If we were in the enviable situation of great actors, and, to the imagination at least, there is no more brilliant heritage than their's-we would rather play Hubert than King John, or Macduff than Macbeth, if we had "a clear stage and fair play" on other occasions. Besides, an actor ought to nurture a pride in the success of the drama independent of his own personal interest in it, and be ready sometimes to sacrifice a little individual vanity to the common cause. It is only what all men of high talent are inspired or compelled to do often in the great drama of life; and those whose privilege it is to elevate us above ourselves, and to melt us with the most disinterested sympathies, ought not to refuse a participation in the duty of self-sacrifice. Sophocles appeared on the Athenian stage in the character of a mere domestic, who had not a word to utter, but only to play at ball, in order that by his peculiar skill in the art he might give the last finishing grace to the representation of the tragedy. At pre The privilege of one actor to play only a certain class of characters, at a time like the present, operates to the virtual exclusion of tragedy from the stage. No actor, except in the first gloss of his novelty, or in the round of his farewell performances, ever was able alone, to attract, throughout a season, even tolerable houses. sent Mr. Macready is shelved by Mr. Young, and Mr. Young by himself. With an actress like Miss O'Neil, in the heyday of popularity, a monopoly of great characters may be worth contending for; but at present it is a mere name. It may annoy others, but cannot avail its possessor. If it were right that Mr. Young should stand apart from all competition, it would also be right that he should constantly play high characters; he should be Othello, Macbeth, Richard, Sir Giles Overreach, Coriolanus, Hamlet, by turns ; and yet every one knows that it is only in the last of these that his single name would attract a decent assemblage of spectators for one night only. How then can Mr. Young ensure that support which is necessary to the display of his own excellent faculties? Only by a readiness, in his turn, to support |