With its huge rivers and sky-piercing peaks,
Its sea-like lakes and mighty cataracts,
Its forests vast and hoar, and prairies wide,
And mounds that tell of wondrous tribes extinct;
But Poesy springs not from rocks and woods;
Her womb and cradle are the human heart,
And she can find a nobler theme for song
In the most loathsome man that blasts the sight,
Than in the broad expanse of sea and shore
Between the frozen deserts of the poles.
All nations have their message from on high,
Each the messiah of some central thought,
For the fulfilment and delight of Man:
One has to teach that Labor is divine;
Another, Freedom; and another, Mind;
And all, that GOD is open-eyed and just,
The happy centre and calm heart of all.
It is impossible to read such sentiments as these, without feeling our
hearts open to him who gives them utterance. Mr. LOWELL is one of those
writers who gain admiration for their verses and lovers for themselves. We
can pay him no higher compliment.
There is nothing in the title-page or appearance of this elegant volume to
indicate that it is not published in Cambridge, England; but unlike the
majority of American books of poetry, any page in the work will give out
too strong an odor of Bunker-Hill, though we find no allusion to that
sacred eminence, to allow the reader to remain long in doubt of its
paternity. Although we hold that any writing worthy of being called poetry
must be of universal acceptance, and adapted to the longings and
necessities of the entire human family, as the same liquid element
quenches the thirst of the inhabitants of the tropics and the poles, yet
every age and every clime must of necessity tincture its own productions.
We do not therefore diminish in the slightest degree the high poetical
pretensions of Mr. LOWELL'S poems, when we claim for them a national
character, silent though they be upon 'the stars and stripes,' and a
complexion which no other age of the world than our own could have given.
They are not only American poems, but they are poems of the nineteenth
century. There is a spirit of freedom, of love for GOD and MAN, that
broods over them, which our partiality for our own country makes us too
ready perhaps to claim as the natural offspring of our land and laws. The
volume is dedicated to WILLIAM PAGE, the painter, in a bit of as sweet and
pure language as can be found in English prose. It might be tacked on to
one of DRYDEN'S dedications without creating an incongruous feeling. The
dedication is as honorable to the poet as to the painter. Had all
dedications been occasioned by such feelings as gave birth to this, these
graceful and fitting tributes of affection and gratitude would never have
dwindled away to the cold and scanty lines, like an epitaph on a charity
tomb-stone, in which they appear, when they appear at all, in most modern
books.
THIRTY YEARS PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA.
Interspersed with Anecdotes and Reminiscences of a Variety of Persons
connected with the Drama during the Theatrical Life of JOE COWELL,
Comedian. Written by himself. In one volume, pp. 103. New-York: HARPER
AND BROTHERS.
Of all the pages in English memoirs, none are so rich in humor and various
observation as those devoted to the players. CARLYLE somewhere says, that
the _only_ good biographies are those of actors; and he gives for a reason
their want of respectability! Being 'vagabonds' by law in England, the
truth of their histories he tells us is not varnished over by delicate
omissions. The first branch of this assumption is certainly true, whatever
cause may be at the bottom of it; and Mr. COWELL, in the very entertaining
volume before us, has added another proof of the correctness of Herr
TEUFELSDRÖCKH'S flattering conclusions. His narrative is rambling,
various, instructive, and amusing. He plunges at once _in medias res_; and
being in himself an epitome of his class; of their successes, excitements,
reverses and depressions; he paints as he goes along a most graphic
picture of the life of an actor. We shall follow his own desultory method;
and proceed without farther prelude to select here and there a 'bit' from
his well-filled 'budget of fun.' Let us open it with this common portrait
of a vain querulous, complaining Thespian, who is never appreciated, never
rewarded:
'I was seated in the reading-room of the hotel, thinking away the
half hour before dinner, when my attention was attracted by a
singularly-looking man. He was dressed in a green coat,
brass-buttoned close up to the neck, light gray, approaching to
blue, elastic pantaloons, white cotton stockings, dress shoes,
with more riband employed to fasten them than was either useful or
ornamental; a hat, smaller than those usually worn, placed rather
on one side of a head of dark curly hair; fine black eyes, and
what altogether would have been pronounced a handsome face, but
for an overpowering expression of impudence and vulgarity; a sort
of footman-out-of-place-looking creature; his hands were thrust
into the pockets of his coat behind, and in consequence exposing a
portion of his person, as ridiculously, and perhaps as
unconsciously, as a turkey-cock does when he intends to make
himself very agreeable. He was walking rather fancifully up and
down the room, partly singing, partly whistling '_The Bay of
Biscay O_,' and at the long-lived, but most nonsensical chorus, he
shook the fag-ends of his divided coat tail, as if in derision of
that fatal 'short sea,' so well known and despised in that
salt-water burial-place. I was pretending to read a paper, when a
carrier entered, and placed a play-bill before me on the table. I
had taken it up and began perusing it, when he strutted up, and
leaning over my shoulder, said:
''I beg pardon, Sir; just a moment.'
'I put it toward him.
''No matter, Sir, no matter; I've seen all I want to see; the same
old two-and-sixpence; _Hamlet, Mr. Sandford_, in large letters;
_and Laertes, Mr. Vandenhoff_! O----!'
'And with an epithet not in any way alluding to the 'sweet South,'
he stepped off to the _Biscay_ tune, allegro. I was amused; and
perhaps the expression of my face encouraged him to return
instantly, and with the familiarity of an old acquaintance, for he
said:
''My dear Sir, that's the way the profession is going to the
devil: here, Sir, is the '_manager_'--with a sneer--'one of the
d----dest humbugs that ever trod the stage, must have his name in
large letters, of _course_; and the _and_ Laertes, Mr. Vandenhoff;
he's a favorite of the Grand Mogul, as we call old Sandford, and
so he gets all the fat; and d'ye know why he's shoved down the
people's throats? Because he's so d----d bad the old man shows to
advantage alongside of him. Did you ever see him?'
'I shook my head.
''Why, Sir, he's a tall, stooping, lantern-jawed,
asthmatic-voiced, spindle-shanked fellow.' Here he put his foot on
the rail of my chair, and slightly scratched the calf of his leg.
'Hair the color of a cock-canary,' thrusting his fingers through
his own coal-black ringlets; 'with light blue eyes, Sir, trimmed
with pink gymp. He hasn't been long caught; just from some nunnery
in Liverpool, or somewhere, where he was brought up as a Catholic
priest; and here he comes, with his Latin and Lancashire dialect,
to lick the manager's great toe, and be hanged to him, and gets
all the business; while men of talent, and nerve, and personal
appearance,' shifting his hands from his coat-pockets to those of
his tights, 'who have drudged in the profession for years, are
kept in the back-ground; 'tis enough to make a fellow swear!'
''You, then, Sir, are an actor?' said I, calmly.
''An actor! yes, Sir, I am an _actor_, and have been ever since I
was an infant in arms; played the child that cries in the third
act of the comedy of 'The Chances,' when it was got up with
splendor by Old Gerald, at Sheerness, when I was only nine weeks
old; and I recollect, that is, my mother told me, that I cried
louder, and more naturally, than any child they'd ever had.
_That's me_,' said he, pointing to the play-bill--_Horatio, Mr.
Howard_. 'I _used to make_ a great part of Horatio _once_; and I
can now send any Hamlet to h-ll in that character, when I give it
energy and pathos; but this nine-tailed bashaw of a manager
insists upon my keeping my 'madness in the back-ground,' as he
calls it, and so I just walk through it, speak the words, and make
it a poor, spooney, preaching son of a how-came-ye-so, and do no
more for it than the author has.'
Mr. COWELL subsequently enlists under the same manager, and is received
with great apparent cordiality by the members of his _corps dramatique_:
'The loan of 'properties,' or any thing I have, is perfectly at your
service,' was iterated by all. Howard said: 'My boy, by heavens, I'll lend
you my blue tights; oh, you're perfectly welcome; I don't wear them till
the farce; Banquo's one of my _flesh parts_; nothing like the naked truth;
I'm h--l for nature. By-the-by, you'll often have to wear black smalls and
stockings; I'll put you up to something; save your buying silks, darning,
stitch-dropping, louse-ladders, and all that; grease your legs and
burnt-cork 'em; it looks d----d well 'from the front.'' Mr. COWELL, it
appears, was an artist of no mean pretensions; and while engaged on one
occasion in sketching a picturesque view of Stoke Church, he was
interrupted in rather a novel manner by a brother actor named REYMES,
somewhat akin, we fancy, to his friend HOWARD, albeit 'excellent company:'
'Several times I was disturbed in my occupation, to look round to
inquire the cause of a crash, every now and then, like the
breaking of glass; and at length I caught a glimpse of Reymes,
slyly jerking a pebble, under his arm, through one of the windows.
I recollected twice, in walking home with him, late at night, from
the theatre, his quietly taking a brick-bat from out of his
coat-pocket and deliberately smashing it through the casement of
the Town Hall, and walking on and continuing his conversation as
if nothing had happened. Crack! again. I began to suspect an
abberration of intellect, and said:
''Reymes, for heaven's sake what are you doing?'
''Showing my gratitude,' said he; and crack! went another.
''Showing the devil!' said I; 'you're breaking the church
windows.'
''Why, I know it--certainly; what do you stare at?' said the
eccentric. 'I broke nearly every pane three weeks ago; I couldn't
hit them all. After you have broken a good many, the stones are
apt to go through the holes you've already made. They only
finished mending them the day before yesterday; I came out and
asked the men when they were likely to get done;' and clatter!
clatter! went another.
''That's excellent!' said he, in great glee. 'I hit the frame just
in the right place; I knocked out two large ones that time.'
''Reymes,' said I, with temper, 'if you don't desist, I must leave
off my drawing.'
''Well,' said he, 'only this one,' and crack! it went; 'there!
I've done. Since it annoys you, I'll come by myself to-morrow and
finish the job; it's the only means in my power of proving my
gratitude.'
''Proving your folly,' said I. 'Why, Reymes, you must be out of
your senses.'
''Why, did I never tell you?' said he. 'Oh! then I don't wonder at
your surprise. I thought I had told you. I had an uncle, a
glazier, who died, and left me twenty pounds, and this
mourning-ring; and I therefore have made it a rule to break the
windows of all public places ever since. The loss is not worth
speaking of to the parish, and puts a nice bit of money in the
pocket of some poor dealer in putty, with probably a large family
to support. And now I've explained, I presume you have no
objection to my proceeding in paying what I consider a debt of
gratitude due to my dead uncle.'
''Hold! Reymes,' said I, as he was picking up a pebble. 'How do
you know but the poor fellow with the large family may not
undertake to repair the windows by contract, at so much a year or
month?'
''Eh! egad, I never thought of that,' said the whimsical,
good-hearted creature. 'I'll suspend operations until I've made
the inquiry, and if I've wronged him I'll make amends.'
Mr. COWELL is a plain-spoken man, and seldom spares age or sex in his
exposure of the secrets of the stage, and the appliances and means to boot
which are sometimes adopted by theatrical men and women to make an old
face or form 'look maist as weel's the new.' The celebrated Mrs. JORDAN,
in performing with him, was always very averse to his playing near the
foot-lights, greatly preferring to act between the second entrances. The
'moving why' is thus explained:
'The fact is, she was getting old; dimples turn to crinkles after
long use; beside, she wore a wig glued on; and in the heat of
acting--for she was always in earnest--I have seen some of the
tenacious compound with which it was secured trickle down a
wrinkle behind her ear; her person, too, was extremely round and
large, though still retaining something of the outline of its
former grace:
'And after all, 't would puzzle to say where
It would not spoil a charm to pare.'
There is no calamity in the catalogue of ills 'that flesh is heir
to' so horrible as the approach of old age to an actor. Juvenile
tragedy, light comedy, and walking gentleman with little
pot-bellies, and _have-been_ pretty women, are really to be
pitied. Fancy a lady, who has had quires of sonnets made to her
eye-brow, being obliged, at last, to black it, play at the back of
the stage at night, sit with her back to the window in a shady
part of the green-room in the morning, and keep on her bonnet
unless she can afford a very natural wig.'
Sad enough! sad enough! certainly, and as true as it is melancholy. But
let us get on board the Yankee vessel which brings Mr. COWELL to America,
and at _his_ 'present writing' is lying off Gravesend. The difficulty he
experienced in getting up a conversation with his fellow-passengers is a
grievance still loudly complained of by his travelling countrymen:
'It was a dark, drizzly, melancholy night; a fair specimen of
Gravesend weather and the parts adjacent; no 'star that's westward
from the pole' to point my destined path, and furnish food for
speculative thought; and, after sliding five or six times up and
down some twenty feet of wet deck, I groped my way to the cabin.
The captain was not on board, and I found myself a stranger among
men. Of all gregarious animals man is the most tardy in getting
acquainted: meet them for the first time in a jury-box, a
stage-coach, or the cabin of a ship, and they always remind me of
a little lot of specimen sheep from different flocks, put together
for the first time in the same pen; they walk about and round and
round, with all their heads and tails in different directions, and
not a baa! escapes them; but in half an hour some crooked-pated
bell-wether perhaps, gives a south-down a little dig in the ribs,
and this example is followed by a Merino; and before the ending of
the fair their heads are all one way, and you'll find them
bleating together in full chorus. Now, in the case of man, a
snuff-box instead of the sheep's horn, is an admirable
introduction; for, if he refuses to take a pinch, he'll generally
give you a sufficient reason why he does not, and that's an
excellent chance to form, perhaps, a lasting friendship, but to
scrape an acquaintance to a certainty; and if he takes it perhaps
he'll sneeze, and you can come in with your 'God bless you!' and
so on, to a conversation about the plague in '66, or the yellow
fever on some other occasion, and can 'bury your friends by
dozens,' and 'escape yourself by a miracle,' very pleasantly for
half an hour. But in this instance it was a total failure: one
said 'I don't use it;' another shook his head, and the third
emptied his mouth of half a pint of spittle, and said 'he thought
it bad enough to chaw!''
When the vessel is fairly at sea, the social ice is gradually broken. It
being just after the war, the _rationale_ of the following brief dialogue
between Mr. COWELL and the mate will be readily understood:
'The mate was a weather-beaten, humorous 'sea-monster;' upon asking
his name, he replied:
''If you're an Englishman and I once tell you my name, you'll never
forget it.'
''I don't know that,' I replied; 'I'm very unfortunate in
remembering names.'
''Oh, never mind!' said he, with a peculiarly sly, comical look; 'if
you're an Englishman you'll never forget mine.'
''Then I certainly am,' I replied.
''Well, then,' said he drily, 'my name's BUNKER! and I'm d----d if
any Englishman will ever forget that name!''
Mr. COWELL'S arrival, début, and theatrical progress and associations in
this and other Atlantic towns, compose a diversified and palatable feast
for the stage-loving public. His sketches of actors, male and female,
native and foreign, are limned with an artistical hand. His picture of
KEAN'S fleeing from 'the hot pursuit of obloquy' is exceedingly vivid; and
'old MATHEWS' American 'trip' is well set forth. We find nothing so good,
however, touching that extraordinary mime, as the following illustration
of his sensitiveness to newspaper criticism, from the pen of the dramatic
veteran, MONCRIEF:
''Look here,' he would say, taking up a paper and reading:
'Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.--We last night visited this elegant
theatre for the purpose of witnessing the performance of that
excellent comedian, Mr. BELVI, as _Octavian_, in the
'Mountaineers,' for his own benefit. We hope it was for his own
benefit, for it certainly was not for the benefit of any one else;
for a more execrable performance we never witnessed. This
gentleman had better stick to his comedy!' Grant me patience;
Heaven! There's a fellow! What does he know about it? I suppose he
would abuse my _Iago_--say that is execrable! Isn't this
sufficient to drive any body mad? Because a man happens to have
played comedy all his life, '_we_' takes upon himself to think as
a matter of course he can't play tragedy, though he may possess
first rate tragic powers, as I do myself! I should have been the
best _Hamlet_ on the stage if I didn't limp; but let me go on: 'We
have seen ELLISTON in the character.' A charlatan, a mountebank;
wouldn't have me at Drury; and yet '_we_' thinks he has a syllable
the advantage of his competitor in this instance. We! we! as if
the fellow had a parcel of pigs in his inside; _we! we!_ Who's
_we_? Why don't he say Tompkins, or whatever his name is, Tompkins
thinks Elliston better in _Octavian_ than Belvi; Belvi could kick
Tompkins then; but who can kick _we_?' etc., etc. And yet poor
Mathews had no warmer admirers, no truer, no more constant friends
than those whose occasional animadversions would thus excite his
ire.'
After running a very successful and popular career at the Park-Theatre,
our artist-actor is induced to assume the management of a circus-theatre
just then in high vogue at the TATTERSALL'S building in Broadway. The
subjoined was one of the many incidents which occurred on his assuming the
reins of the establishment:
'The company was both extensive and excellent; a stud of
thirty-three horses, four ponies and a jack-ass, all so admirably
selected and educated, that for beauty and utility they could not
be equalled any where. The company was popular and our success
enormous. Of course, like others when first placed in power, I
made a total change in my cabinet. JOHN BLAKE I appointed
secretary of the treasury and principal ticket-seller; and to
prove how excellent a judge I was of integrity and capacity, he
was engaged at the Park at the end of the season, and has held
that important situation there ever since. A delicious specimen of
the Emerald Isle, with the appropriate equestrian appellation of
Billy Rider, received an office of nearly equal trust, though
smaller chance of perquisites--stage and stable door-keeper at
night, and through the day a variety of duties, to designate half
of which would occupy a chapter. He was strict to a fault in the
discharge of his duty, as every urchin of that day who attempted
to sneak into the circus can testify. Conway the tragedian called
to see me one evening, and in attempting to pass was stopped by
Billy, armed as usual, with a pitch-fork.
''What's this you want? Who are ye? and where are you going?' says
Billy.
'I wish to see Mr. Cowell,' says Conway.
'Oh then, it's till to-morrow at ten o'clock, in his office, that
you'll have to wait to perform that operation.'
'But, my dear fellow, my name is Conway, of the theatre; Mr.
Cowell is my particular friend, and I have his permission to
enter.'
'By my word, Sir, I thank ye kindly for the explination; and it's
a mighty tall, good-looking gentleman you are too,' says Billy,
presenting his pitch-fork; 'but if ye were the blessed Redeemer,
with the cross under your arm, you couldn't pass me without an
orther from Mr. Cowell.'
'JOE COWELL,' in years gone by, has made us laugh many a good hour; and we
hold ourselves bound to reciprocate the pleasure he has afforded us, by
warmly commending his pleasant, gossipping volume to the readers of the
KNICKERBOCKER throughout the United States.
AN ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY: on the Basis of the
'Précis Elémentaire de Physiologie' of MAGENDIE. Translated, enlarged,
and illustrated with Diagrams and Cuts, by Prof. JOHN REVERE, M. D.,
of the University of New-York. In one volume. pp. 533. New-York:
HARPER AND BROTHERS.
The American translator and editor of the volume above cited is of opinion
that since the death of Sir CHARLES BELL, there is no physiologist who
stands so preëminent as an original observer and inquirer, or who has
contributed so much to the present improved state of the science by his
individual efforts, as M. MAGENDIE. In facility in experimenting upon
living animals, and extended opportunities of observation, no one has
surpassed him; while through a long professional career his attention has
been chiefly devoted to physiological inquiries. There is one excellence
which constitutes a predominant feature in his system of Physiology that
cannot be estimated too highly by the student of medicine; and that is,
the severe system of induction that he has pursued, excluding those
imaginative and speculative views which rather belong to metaphysics than
physiology. The work is also remarkable for the conciseness and
perspicuity of its style, the clearness of its descriptions, and the
admirable arrangement of its matter. The present is a translation of the
fifth and last edition of the '_Précis Elémentaire de Physiologie_,' in
which the science is brought down to the present time. It is not, like
many modern systems, merely eclectic, or a compilation of the experiments
and doctrines of others. On the contrary, all the important questions
discussed, if not originally proposed and investigated by the author, have
been thoroughly examined and experimented upon by him. His observations,
therefore, on all these important subjects, carry with them great interest
and weight derived from these investigations. The translator and editor,
while faithfully adhering to the spirit of the author, has endeavored, and
with success, to strip the work of its foreign costume, and _naturalize_
it to our language. He has added a large number of diagrams and pictorial
illustrations of the different organs and structures, taken from the
highest and most recent authorities, in the hope of rendering clearer to
the student of medicine the observations and reasonings on their
functions. He has also made a number of additions on subjects which he
thought had been passed over in too general a manner in the original work
of MAGENDIE. In a word, his aim 'to present a system of human physiology
which shall exhibit in a clear and intelligible manner the actual state of
the science, and adapted to the use of students of medicine in the United
States,' has been thoroughly carried out.
THE STUDY OF THE LIFE OF WOMAN. By Madame NECKER DE SAUSSURE, of
Geneva. Translated from the French. In one volume. pp. 288.
Philadelphia: LEA AND BLANCHARD. New-York: WILEY AND PUTNAM.