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The entrances and lobbies, &c. are not yet perfect; they are constructing an arcade at the box passage which promises to be a useful ornament to that side of the Theatre; and all those parts which may advance the comfort of the audience are in rapid progress towards completion. The stage is capacious and commanding,-the scenery magnificent and natural, sometimes approaching the merit of panoramic painting. The drop scene represents the Acropolis of Athens-of this we cannot speak too highly-we think the design exhibits so much taste, and the performance so much talent, that it will be rarely equalled. The effect of light and shade from the pillars and sides-the reflection on the steps leading to the portico of the temple-the space within the perspective of the distant temple-the outline of the architecture-all breathe the spirit of truth and simplicity.

We would observe, however, that the steps appear too numerous for the height of the temple, which is not in proportion with the sky. We have heard a comparison drawn between this drop scene and that which was in Crow-street; we would remark the peculiar beauty of the one, in opposition to the useless parade of the other. The grandeur of a building like the Acropolis suggests to the mind the most sublime ideas,-we gaze on it with a feeling of awe and admiration, and while the eye runs over the arches and pillars and recesses it presents, the imagination wanders to places beyondfollows the windings of the distant pile thro' all the varieties and illusions which fancy pictures-conjures up to thought a thousand scenes a thousand shapes-existing-breathing-moving-in those parts which from our position, we cannot see-carries us up the portico that leads to the innermost holy retreat-we tread upon the long, marble halls-converse with the heroes, the sages, the patriarchs of antiquity—and we see all, in our thoughts, that once lived in reality. -There cannot be selected a nobler instance of the sublime than the following, which has for its subject the aisle of a temple :

How rev'rend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft it's arched and ponderous roof,
By it's own weight made steadfast and immoveable,
Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear

Thy voice-my own affrights me with its echoes.

In contrast to this let us glance at the other. The temple of Fame in the clouds-Thalia and Melpomene in attitudes awkward enough -Hercules with his club-Shakespeare, a fine chubby boy-and a crowd of insignificant deities and earthly creatures, that confused rather than beautified. Indeed it contained two appropriate and lucky thoughts-Despair chained in a cave, and Time lying beside

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him asleep on his scythe.-As to the Goddess in the temple, we must own we often wondered how she got there; the spaces between the pillars, which seemed to us the only access afforded to the interior, were extremely narrow-the Deity was a handsome woman of a large and masculine appearance, and, no matter how she got in, we are convinced she could never get out. It reminded us of the fable of the lean mouse who crept through a small hole into a closet of dainties, and after regaling and feeding heartily on the sweetmeats, discovered, on endeavouring to get back again, that it was totally impracticable, as he was swelled so much with his immoderate eating that the entrance which admitted him when he was poor, was not then sufficient to give him passage. On the general impression this painting was rudely finished, and, at all events, such a groop affords no play to the ima gination-there is nothing to reflect on beyond what is given to the eye, and that, even were it well performed, is not of a character interesting enough to amuse the audience during the pauses in theatrical representation.

We return to the night of opening.-When the bustle of obtaining seats somewhat subsided,, the Corps Dramatique came forward, and sung in grand chorus, "God save the King"-it met universal applause. To this succeeded the recital of the following address, written by Mr. Colman, the younger :-it was spoken by Mr. Farren.

Hail, generous natives of green Erin's isle!
Welcome, kind patrons, to our new rais'd pile!
Three fleeting months have scarcely slipped away
Since a mere waste this scene of action lay;
Not long the block was laid, which all must own
Damps eagerness-the slow foundation stone,
Ere expectation kept no more aloof,

The architect was hope-crowned with the roof!
Brisk went the work-exertion still increasing-
Hods, trowels, hammers, chisels never ceasing;
Labor was wing'd on expectation's plan,
And every laborer-an Irishman.

After a brick-and-mortar chase so hot,

Take our historic outline of the spot:

Here once a market reared its busy head,

Where sheep, instead of tragic heroes, bled;

Bright cleavers formed a band to charm the ears,
Joints dangled in the place of chandeliers.
Stout butchers, stern as critics, had their day,
And cut up oxen, like a modern play—
Soon science came; his steel the butcher drops,
Removes with awe the shambles and the shops,
And learning triumphed over mutton chops!

Then in the school, by patriotism reared,
Arts, agriculture, chemistry appeared,

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Botanic lore-and studies all too great
For our inferior powers to emulate :
No merit we in agriculture claim—
To cultivate your favour is our aim-
Which gain'd, by learned chemists we are told
It turns by play-house alchemy to gold;
While all the botany we dare to boast,
Lies in those plants your breath may cherish most.
Again the scene was changed; by wisdom's rule
Want's refuge then succeeded learning's school;
No more in streets the shiv'ring beggar stood
d;
Vice found correction here, and famine food;
Morality rejoic'd at Sloth's defeat,
And Pity smil'd to see the hungry eat.

At length, and following these wretched elves,
Behold another race!-we mean ourselves,
Who, leaning to our predecessors' laws,
We beg most heartily for your applause-
Beg you, brave Erin's sons, and Erin's fair
To make your nation's Theatre your care.

Two wonder-working virtues, 'tis confess'd,
Lurked in the lamp Aladdin once possess'd,
Beyond all common method or device,
It rais'd both house and money in a trice.
Our building the first wonder keeps in view;
The second miracle remains with you.

Crowd hither nightly then. from ev'ry quarter,
Till coin in speed has rival'd brick and mortar.

It would be doing injustice to our judgment did we pass over this composition in silence: it is one of those pieces of poetry that lay no claim to the title except what their rhyme may give them, and we regret that Mr. Colman, who has already established a mediocre reputation, should, on this occasion, have degraded rather than improved his literary character; as to his choice of words we will just select the following specimens:

Three fleeting months have scarcely slipped away

*

*

'Till coin in speed shall rival-brick and mortar.

This, perhaps, is better calculated to excite smiles than even Mr. Colman himself anticipated, who designed it, we presume, for a

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comic address; if so, he has admirably succeeded, for who can read it without owning its pleasantry?-who could hear it without an acknowledgment of its drollery?-We would ask, what he means by calling the foundation stone' a 'block' that 'damps eagerness?'-until we met with this exposition of its effects we always considered it in an opposite light. We never heard of a brick-and-mortar chace' before, but of one so hot' we could not have formed a conception;-if Mr. Colman used it as a metaphor, the idea should have been carried through the entire description to which it alludes, but in commencing his account of the building of the Theatre, he very plainly tells us about the 'hods,' and 'trowels,' and hammers,' and 'chissels,' without even giving us a hint that this was nothing less than a brick-and mortar chase.'-We must own we were in no little dread when we heard of Science coming into the Market where the Butchers were cutting up the oxen, but Mr. Colman relieved us from our suspense, by telling us that the critics of the shambles fled, and that

-Learning triumphed over-mutton chope!

Our space will not permit us to dwell any longer upon this address -but before we part with it we would remark the extraordinary similarity it bears to Barton's Prologue for the Winchester Theatre, from which we exract the following passage as an illustration:

Whoe'er our stage examines must excuse

The wondrous shifts of the dramatic Muse.
Then kindly listen while the prologue rambles
From wit to beef, from Shakespeare to the shambles;
Divided only by a flight of stairs,

The monarch swaggers, and the butcher swears.
Quick the transition when the curtain drops,
From meek Monimia's moan to-mutton chops-
Here Juliet listens to the gentle lark,
There in harsh chorus hungry bulldogs bark,
Cleavers and scimitars give blow for blow,
And heroes bleed above, and sheep below;
While tragic thunder shakes the pit and box,
Rebellows to their roar the staggering ox.

It was not without regret we witnessed Mr. Farren reciting this Address-his manner was so superior to the words he expressed, that it resembled the effort of a noble animal expressing the tones of some insignificant creature. It owed its temporary preservation to his talents, and if he had not delivered it with his usual ability we have our doubts whether the audience would have suffered it to the conclusion. "The Comedy of Errors", and the "Sleep Walker" were the entertainments of the first evening; the noise, however, that prevailed amongst the numerous auditory, who left no seat unoccupied, prevented us from observing the performance accurately. The first novelty that presented itself was the appearance of Miss Kelly on the

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with

the following evening in the character of Juliet. Of this young lady's merits it is necessary to speak distinctly, as fame has already assigned her no ordinary reputation. Juliet is one of those characters to which an actress must bring a peculiar tone of expression-that calls forth a manner and a method mingled with which any other would be inconsistent-one which must be studied before it can be understood, because its very simplicity is its greatest difficulty-one in which nature is so calmly and so gently pourtrayed, that the least deviation is an outrage, the least redundancy a blemish. To attain the grace and unaffected spirit that pervades the entire-to suit the tenderness of sentiment with correspondent action-to retain unchanged the naiveté that speaks even through the melancholy and sublime sorrow of the catastrophe-is a task requiring the exertion of superior abilities, and in the personification of this character we have noticed Miss Kelly. Our recollection of Miss O'Neil carries with it a fear as to the success of the debutanté; yet we were unprejudiced, and awaited silent expectation the entrée of Juliet-it was unmarked by any brilliant effort to catch applause--it was chaste and correct. The first impression left by her face and figure was not, perhaps, very strong;the former bears no bold or deeply expressive features, and is probably, not well calculated for tragedy; her eye is not often lighted with the fire of passion, but it never wants beautiful animation; her figure is small and slight, but in the enthusiasm of feeling this is forgotten,we do not remember the delicacy of her frame, when we watch the transitions of rapid and hurried declamation ;-her enunciation is clear and articulate-her voice harmonious,—and, what is most essential to her fame, her judgment is excellent and matured beyond her We did not remark a word misplaced, or a sentence distorted years. by an erroneous emphasis, and we were altogether pleased, frequently delighted with her conception of Juliet. Her garden scene was admirable; her delivery of many passages elicited the warmest plaudits from the audience. Her final scene, however, betrayed her inexperience-she was not the Juliet we have seen, yet when the curtain fell we lingered to hear the approbation that followed it.

Jane Shore was the next character in which we witnessed this lady. This play, written by Roe in imitation of Shakespeare, possesses the interest of an historical subject naturally related; the language is nervous, and often affecting;-the heroine is drawn in all that chaste serenity of mind that throws its plastic influence over the disturbed passions, and shapes them into resignation-the latter part of her life affords a fine contrast to her past misconduct, and while we condemn her former errors, we cannot but admire her present repentance. Miss Kelly seemed to understand her author, and caught perfectly the spirit of his design. Her delivery of some passages equalled our highest expectations. Her last scene with Gloster, and particularly ber recitation of the following lines, met our warmest approbation:

The poor, forsaken, royal little ones!

Shall they be left a prey to savage power? &c.