The daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1848-1851, 1848-11-10

turned with love for my dear child, and would not
think told the truth
And now, one more appearance, and the last
that night. On she came, borne by the best rer-
former IN the arena, the favorite Of the place.
With what ease and grace he held herup on high
How smaTtly she looked, away up there-aIl tinsel
and spanges, gliterng so finely ia the gas-light -
and he like Hercules beside her urging The steed
onward to its utmost powers.
" The most intrepid riders are carried the swift
est, to enable them to sustain their balance-and
he was famous for the swiftness of his riding If
seemed as if his steed flew. No words came from
my lips, though was in the arena all the time. |
was not thinking where ! was, or what was do
ing-all ] thought Of was my child.
High up in the air he threw her, catching her
as easily as if t was play-and she olapping her
little hands-no fear had she How they ap-
plauded her triumph was complete.
Each moment brought the performance nearer to
its close, and how wished itthrough! But, no
his steed, fearing the whip, trained to exernp all
his powers when this rider was upon his back kept
on his lightning course, and, oh, God in one un-
lucky feat he missed her | saw her fall-the horse
reared, and down came bis heavy hoofs upon my
Mary
g cannot tell you what followed saw them
rise round on every side. There were cries, but
know that piercing shrek drowned them-I saw
blood, red blood, upon my dear child's face. had
sprung to her ere the horse had hardly moved and
seized her from beneath him, and all connected with
the place rushed to my side.
But she, the beautiful-she, my idol, life and
hope-a moment BEFORE so full of joy, had clasped
unto my heart corpse
Ay, she was dead dead, like her mother Mary
dead, like everything TO that should be full of
ife-dead, and lived
know no moreno more - said the poor ma
MAC, as he wiped his dry eyes, if there had been
enough TO wash away. " could have wept once,
but now my eyes are dry, and | have no tears to
shed. Men tell me that she lies beside her mothers
grave, and that fOrmanV hours they could not sepa-
rate US; but | remember nothing of it, and am sure
it was not So Bot they brought me here TO this
dark place, and shut out the bright light and viii
not let me listen to the songs Of birds, smell the
fragrance OF the flowers; they chain me down, ay
load me with double manacles these. When
they have barred the doors, ah they cannot close
them 10 my Mary. | see her now, now, with the
red blood streaming down her pale face-dont let
me see it-away-away :"
And with tear of real pity, and after obtaining
and the massive doors were again closed and barred
upon the MANIAC CLOWN"
-SSs-
MAcREADY IN LEAR.-From a general criticism
upon this great actor in the Home Journal we select
that portion referring to his King Lear:
We never see Mr. Macready in Lear without be-
ing reminded of that immortal epigram that was
called forth during the rivalry, in this same play
between Garrick and Barry:
- The town hath found out different ways
To praise the different LEAFS:
Barry draws down thundes of applause
But Garrick-0alg t6arsP'
Applause, in the aggregate was not wanting du-
ring the evening; but with every disposition to APP
plaud the part of the audience they found little
opportunity to indulge it, excepting while the drop
curtain was down and at the close of the play
when it was equally unanimous and tdmultuOus.
Indeed what have already said of MaPFa9dU'g
Macbeth and OthelL0, is even more emphatically
true of his Lear. The exquisite finish and beauty
of each particular passage holds its auditors spell
bound for the moment OF its action, and before we
hardly appreciate and take in its qualities
another passage ofequal beauty and power succeeds;
then another and another to the scene; and in the
event there is much of reality and so little of ic
tion-in other words, so little of Maeready and so
much of Lear-that the auditor, in spite of himself,
" only weeps" He gets sight of a sad domestic
catastrophe that happened in a remote
age, but which the combined skill of the poet and
the player has rendered contemporaneous with our
selves and as the poor old king is, in the judgment
of the first of critics, " fit for nothing but to die,
the spectator is capable fnothng but grief
Mr.. Macready's control Of the sympathles of his
audience is marvellous, but not inexpcable: it
originates in the perfect truth and simplicity of his
art. "weak and infrm old man." who is not
complaining Of his wrongs but is actually enduring
them before us, irresstiblV claims our sympathy:
nay we do not wait for him to claim tive do not
even stay to proffer tit springs spontaneously
from the heart, and escapes, unbdden, through the
eye. And this is, precisely the relative position of
actor and auditor in Macready's Lear.
To go more into partculars-though, once for all,
we cannot do this at length to cite every promi-
nent beauty in Macready's characters, would be
to quote the plays entire-his manner Of looking
at G0eril, when she complains of his train-his
tone and movement in
Are you our daughtsrl '
his appeal
. gave you all !"
his quiet agony in
q shall go mad 10
indeed, these scenes-the scenes in the forest-the
scene Of the couch-the
"a take that lady there to be my child. COTdelia;"
and the closing scene-what are they all but so
many things done and suffered by Lear himself!
And what praise Of Macready's art can exceed that
which pronounces it simply natural We so pro-
nounce and so regard it: Macready in Lear exactly
realizes what was said of Garrick in that other
immortal epgram-the fitting companion TO the
one already quoted:
80 A king ay. every inch king p
Sueh Barry doth appear:
But GaTck's quite different thing
He's every nch-KiHg LeGTF
NOTHING New UNDER THE SUN.-We imagine
that the general idea is, that that very eloquent
word lam" in the sense of strike, belongs 10 the
M0Sy vernacuar of the present day. I'll lam
ic f,ia