EDITORS' TABLE.

'BIANCA VISCONTI: OR THE HEART OVERTASKED.'-A successful tragedy, at the present day, is an event too rare to be passed over with indifference. The modern stage has been poverty-stricken so long, that it welcomes every thing in the shape of its natural food; although it is constantly reminded of its too credulous judgment, in the repeated nausea which it suffers from the flatulent and unsubstantial trash which its starved condition urges it to attempt to swallow. The American drama, if indeed we have any claim to such a possession, is such as may reasonably be expected, more lean and wretched than the drama of any of the more cultivated nations. But we have no national drama, as yet, although we think the corner-stone of its structure has been laid, and that there is bright promise of a noble edifice, in the aspiring efforts of the many able writers whom a few years have brought to light, as well as in the encouragement which the taste of the American people seems inclined to afford to this branch of literature.

The tragedy now before us, is the first dramatic effort of a pen whose easy and finished tracings have made its master, even in the spring-time of his life, well known to fame. A mere experiment, in this most difficult department of literature, is worthy of praise. Whoever has considered the difficulties attendant upon the production of a play, of any class of the drama, would shrink from the task of bringing an original tragedy before the public, unless urged on by that firm confidence which genius gives to its possessor, and upheld through all by the hope of that ample reward which must attend the successful dramatist. SCOTT, in his letters to a theatrical friend in London, often adverts to the restraining of taste which the purveying for conceited or interested actors and actresses demands at the hands of a dramatic author, whose success is at their mercy, not less than at that of those of the audience who come to the theatre with palled animal and spiritual appetites, to 'snooze off their dinners and wine.' An expressionless 'oratorial machine,' high in the 'supe' department, whose delivery of the commonest matter of fact is Stentorian and Ciceronian, may have it in his power, by ludicrous mal addresse, to mar the best acting play, and to render ridiculous the most refined poetry; while a higher order of Thespian, by slumbering over a level part, in a villanously indifferent manner, inadmissible as acting, may jeopardize an entire drama. But to return to Bianca Visconti.'

Mr. WILLIS has bravely accomplished his task; and without the slightest thought of depreciating the efforts of others of our countrymen who have written for the stage, we must honestly declare, that his work deserves the place of honor above them all. 'Bianca Visconti,' if considered merely as a dramatic poem, is replete with enduring beauties of poetry. Considered as a tragedy, it has many of the essential qualities of an acting play; not all, perhaps, in their highest perfection, but sufficiently marked, to convince the most fastidious of the power which the writer possesses, and of a certain promise of future efforts more decidedly faultless. The story of Bianca Visconti is well told. Although it proceeds without the aid of any extraordinary incidents, yet an interest is awakened, continued, and increased to the catastrophe. The characters are naturally drawn, and they have the especial merit of possessing in themselves an 45

VOL. X.

individuality - a form of their own, defined and marked out; and not, as is too often the case in modern dramas, made with the sole quality of filling up the space not occupied by the principal character. In other words, they have a merit in themselves, detached from the heroine, and are only subservient to the natural progress of the drama.

There is hardly incident enough in the first three acts, to keep up that melo-dramatic influence which the artificial appetite of the present day delights in. The author seems to have scorned the clap-trap which has become the chief merit of many modern playwrights. In this we think he has done wisely, on more accounts than one. In the first place, clap-trap is dangerous. We have seen an audience 'bathed in stillness,' the pulse of a crowded theatre beating like that of one man, convulsed by some blundering misconception of a forced dramatic point, into roars of laughter, though the play were a deep tragedy. We have seen the devil, in 'Faust,' by reason of a 'solution of continuity' in the waist-band of his diabolical unmentionables, make a palpable hit on the stage, dropping unexpectedly from an upward distance of some twelve feet, with the emphasis of 'a squashed apple-dumpling.' We have seen the cauldron in Macbeth, through some defect in the subterranean witch-craft, return, after its disappearance, before the eyes of an enrapt auditory, with the greasy hats and dirty coats of the prime movers exposed to the general eye. In short, we have seen enough to convince us, that profuse claptrick, whether of language or scenic addittaments, although it may make the million stare or applaud, seldom fails to 'make the judicious grieve.'

The character of Bianca Visconti is drawn with marked power. She is truly a fond, doting, enthusiastic lover; a woman who devotes her present and eternal peace to love, and breaks her heart in the unrequited sacrifice. Hers is an enthusiasm which all must admire, and still regret, in pity. Sforza is a bold, not heartless, but ambitious hero. His love for Bianca is concealed beneath the grand passion of his soul. It is shut out for a time, only to burst forth at last with dazzling but hopeless splendor. The quaint Pasquali, the courtly poet and the philosophic lover, is a creation worthy the pen of a KNOWLES. He is to this tragedy what Fathom is to the 'Hunchback ;' a bright gleam of sunshine ever and anon breaking through the darkness of the rising storm, in striking contrast to the gloom of the gathering clouds. His admirer, Fiametta, although not an apt scholar in the mazes of poetry and philosophy, is, like the Audrey of 'As You Like it,' most willing to learn, and ambitious to share in the laurelled honors of her sage teacher.

As a literary composition, 'Bianca Visconti' abounds with beauties. The images are clear, and radiant with poetical and delicate imaginings; and there are occasionally those fine bursts of feeling, which seem to come fresh from the soul, and to raise up a kindred sentiment, with their spirit-stirring words, in the souls of all who listen. What, for example, can be more like the picture of the bright thoughts of a young, enthusiastic girl, than Bianca's rapturous anticipation of a life of love:

'Oh, I'll build

A home upon some green and flowery isle

In the lone lakes, where we will use our empire

Only to keep away the gazing world.

The purple mountains and the glassy waters
Shall make a hush'd pavilion with the sky,
And we two in its midst will live alone,

Counting the hours by stars and waking birds,
And jealous but of sleep!'

Or what more glorious to the fancy that would clothe the delicacy of the female character in the gorgeous robes of heroic majesty, than Sforza's description of the fair Giovanna:

'Gods! what a light enveloped her! She left

Little to shine in history; but her beauty

Was of that order, that the universe

Seemed governed by her motion. Men look'd on her

As if her next step would arrest the world;

And as the sea-bird seems to rule the wave
He rides so buoyantly, all things around her—

The glittering army, the spread gonfalon,
The pomp, the music, the bright sun in heaven
Seemed glorious by her leave!'

Bianca's picture of the two Sforzas, though often quoted, is too beautiful and striking to be here omitted:

There is a fine opportunity for the display of the power of the actress, in the scene where news is brought to Bianca of her father's death. The struggle between the joy which this event produces, by giving a chance of the coronet to her husband, and the sorrow which affection for her parent should cause, one acting against the other, present a scene which calls for the highest powers of the histrionic art to portray faithfully; and it is but just to say, that Miss CLIFTON did it justice. There is a great deal of quaint humor, and many truths wittily delivered, in the part of Pasquali. His exposition of the true meaning of the word imagination, to the homely understanding of his pupil, is as ingenious as true. One of GOLDSMITH's characters, if we do not mistake, reasons not unlike the Milanese bard, upon the same or a similar theme:

Pasquali. Answer me once more, and I'll prove to thee in what I am richer. Thou'st ne'er heard, I dare swear, of imagination.

Fiametta. Is 't a Pagan nation, or a Christian?

Pasq. Stay; I'll convey it to thee by a figure. What were the value of thy red stockings, over black, if it were always night!

Pasq. What were green leaves better than brown, diamonds better than pebbles, gold better than brass, if it were always dark?

Pasq. Then the shining of the sun, in a manner, dyes your stockings, creates beauty, makes gold, and diamonds, and paints the leaves green?

Fiam. I think it doth.

Pasq. Now mark! There be gems in the earth, qualities in the flowers, creatures in the air, the Duke ne'er dreams of. There be treasuries of gold and silver, temples and palaces of glorious work, rapturous music, and feasts the gods sit at, and all seen only by a sun, which to the Duke is black as

Erebus.

Fiam. Lord! Lord! Where is it, Master Pasquali?

Pasq. In my head! All these gems, treasuries, palaces, and fairy harmonies, I see by the imagination I spoke of. Am I not richer now?

The tragedy was well received, and attracted large audiences; and its success has satisfied us, that were the author to essay another attempt, with the additional knowledge of stage effect which the production and presentation of the present effort must have given him, he could scarcely fail of acquiring a high rank as a dramatist. The vein which has been opened, cannot have been exhausted at one running, as we hope yet to see made manifest.

'THE TIMES THAT TRIED MEN'S SOULS.'-'Advance, ye future generations! We would hail you, as you rise in your long succession, to fill the places which we now fill, and to taste the blessings of existence, where we are passing, and soon shall have passed, our own human duration! Such appeared to be the sentiment of a benevolent-looking revolutionary veteran, the well-known Mr. ALLAIRE, of this city, as he sat upon the deck of the Charleston and New-York Steam-Packet 'NEPTUNE,' on the occasion of her recent launch, and surveyed the faces of the gay and light-hearted group around him. As the noble craft glided gracefully and almost imperceptibly into the water, and shot far over toward the Brooklyn shore, the 'old man eloquent' remarked: 'Well, I remember Brooklyn, when there were but eight houses in it. Now look at it!' added he, with a gesture of pride, that he had lived to see its present prosperity. And NewYork, too,' he continued, 'I remember New-York when there was not a house above the hospital. I recollect, when they were digging down Catharine-street, how they disinterred the feet of the Hessians, in the side-banks, where they had been hastily buried, many years before. I read the Declaration of Independence,' continued the venerable patriot, 'for the first time, at a sudden and enthusiastic gathering at Tarrytown, before three thousand people. I heard the shouts of applause from the true American spirits, and saw the tories open their mouths, and pretend to hurrah, yet no voice came from their false lips. But they were forced, in such an assemblage, to make a demonstration, to avoid suspicion.' And thus the old veteran went on, a true exemplification of 'garrulous eld.'

At the sumptuous entertainment which succeeded, at the residence of that true sailor and accomplished gentleman, Capt. PENNOVER, Commander of the 'Neptune,' we could not take our eyes from the aged soldier of the revolution, who occupied a place of honor, nor cease to think of the changes which he had seen in his day and generation. He lived through the times that tried men's souls,' and which gave birth to the freedom of our noble republic. We could look at the picture in the glowing light of the present, and the gorgeous hues that robe the future; but, to adopt the beautiful thought of SCOTT, he could turn the tapestry, and see the blood-stained warp and woof which bore the ground colors, and composed the prominent objects.

While upon the subject of revolutionary times, it will not be inappropriate to introduce here two letters of GENERAL WASHINGTON, which have never before been published. They were recently copied by the junior publisher of this Magazine, from the originals in the possession of his grandfather, to whom they were addressed. This gentleman was President of a Massachusetts 'Council of Safety,' and was high in the esteem and confidence of the Pater Patria. Nothing can be more characteristic than the deliberation, the close scrutiny into consequences, which these letters evince; compelled, as the writer was, to guard against the cavils of the disaffected or the envious, who had neither candor to suppose good meanings, nor discernment to distinguish true ones, in the announcement of his projects:

Cambridge, August 22, 1775.

'SIR: In answer to your favor of yesterday, I must inform you that I have often been told of the advantages of Point Alderton, with respect to its command of the shipping going in and out of Boston harbor; and that it has, before now, been the object of my particular inquiry. I find the accounts differ exceedingly in regard to the distance of the ship-channel, and that there is a passage on the other side of the Light-House Island for all vessels except ships of the first rate. My knowledge of this matter would not have rested upon inquiry only, if I had found myself, at any one time since I came to this place, in a condition to have taken such a post. But it becomes my duty to consider not only what place is advantageous, but what number of men are necessary to defend it; how they can be supported, in case of an attack; how they may retreat, if they cannot be supported, and what stock of ammunition we are provided with, for the purposes of self-defence, or annoyance of the enemy. In respect to the first, I conceive our

defence must be propotioned to the attack of General GATES' whole force, leaving him just enough to man his lines on Charlestown Neck and Roxbury; and with regard to the second and most important object, we have only one hundred and eighty-four barrels of powder in all, which is not sufficient to give thirty musket-cartridges a man, and scarce enough to serve the artillery, in any brisk action, a single day.

'Would it be prudent, then, in me, under these circumstances, to take a post thirty miles distant from this place, when we already have a line of circumvallation at least ten miles in extent, and any part of which may be attacked (if the enemy would keep their own counsel,) without our having one hour's previous notice of it? Or is it prudent, to attempt a measure which would necessarily bring on a consumption of all the ammunition we have, thereby leaving the army at the mercy of the enemy, or to disperse, and the country to be ravaged, and laid waste at discretion? To you, Sir, who are a well-wisher to the cause, and can reason upon the effect of such a conduct, I may open myself with freedom, because no improper discoveries will be made of our situation; but I cannot expose my weakness to the enemy, (though I believe they are pretty well informed of every thing that passes,) by telling this and that man, who are daily pointing out this, that, and the other place, of all the motives which govern my actions. Notwithstanding, I know what will be the consequences of not doing it, namely: that I shall be accused of inattention to the public service, and perhaps with want of spirit to prosecute it. Pat this shall have no effect upon my conduct. I will steadily (as far as my judgment will assist me,) pursue such measures as I think most conducive to the interest of the cause, and rest satisfied under any obloquy that shall be thrown, conscious of having discharged my duty to the best of my abilities.

'I am much obliged to you, as I shall be to every gentleman, for pointing out any measure which is thought conducive to the public good, and cheerfully follow any advice which is not inconsistent with, but correspondent to, the general plan in view, and practicable, under such particular circumstances as govern in all cases of the like kind. In respect to Point Alderton, I was no longer than Monday last talking to General THOMAS On this head, and proposing to send Colonel PUTNAM down, to take distances, etc., but considered it could answer no end but to alarm, and make the enemy more vigilant. Unless we were in a condition to possess the post to effect, I thought it as well to postpone the matter awhile.

'I am, Sir,

'Your Very Humble Servant,

'GEO: WASHINGTON.'

'HON. J. PALMER, Watertown, Mass.'

Mark the just policy and far-reaching sagacity which the subjoined letter evinces, nor lose sight of the numerous difficulties and dangers which environed the writer, and threatened his plans:

Cambridge, August 7, 1775.

'SIR: Your favor of yesterday came duly to my hands. As I did not consider local appointments as having any operation upon the general one, I had partly engaged (at least in my own mind) the office of Quarter Master General, before your favor was presented to me. In truth, Sir, I think it sound policy to bestow offices, indiscriminately, among gentlemen of the different governments, so far as to bear a proportionable part toward the expense of this war. If no gentleman out of these four governments come in for any share of the appointments, it may be apt to create jealousies, which will in the end give disgust. For this reason, I would earnestly recommend it to your board to provide for some of the volunteers who are come from Philadelphia, with my warm recommendations, though they are strangers to me.

'In respect to the boats from Salem, I doubt, in the first place, whether they could be brought over by land. In the second place, I am sure nothing could ever be executed here