THE THEATRES.
IT happens curiously enough that the current performances at all the principal theatres suggest comparisons, not only with the foreign stage but with our own. Madame Vestris as the Marchioness Milk-maid in A Speak- ing Likeness, with Madame Doche as the Grande Dame Paysanne in the original French piece, L'Image; and again, Madame Doche as the heroine of the piece of diablerie Satan, with Madame Celeste in the Mysterious Stranger. These, however, are not comparisons of an odious kind; for the taknts of all three performers are admirable, though different. But there are others, less flattering, that are obvious and inevitable: such as that between the present cast of the two modern comedies•Money and London Assurance, at the Haymarket, with the original cast of bath; the Follies of a Night, at the Princess's, contrasted with its first representation at Covent ,Garden; the ballet of the Tarentuk, as performed at Drury Lane and the Italian Opera ; and last, not least, the performance of Ernani at Her Majesty's Theatre this season and last. But there is one performance that must surely be unique—Hop o' my Thumb, at the Lyceum, by a real man- nikin. Tom Thumb is incomparable—" none but himself can be his parallel "; though this is not his first appearance on the English stage.
We might not have been so forcibly struck with this reiteration in theatrical entertainments, but for the remark of a traveller just come from the Antipodes—" I see they're playing the same pieces that they did before I left England: but what's become of all the actors? Tom Thumb is the only one that is'nt grown older!" Ile might have added, that Tom Thumb is the only one who is a better actor: for the little creature is really a clever child, and his intelligent performance of the part affords some excuse for bringing him on the stage. This is only part of the " starring " sys- tem; and America, to which the British stage has been indebted for 'Brute- tamers and Jim Crows, sends us the smallest boy, and the largest home in the world. The horse, by the by, has not yet appeared on the beards: there can be no doubt he would draw. But such farces as the Haymarket Irish Post, and the Adelphi "Did you ever send your Wife to Camberwell?" are the best attractions, after all; for they are sure of affording a hearty laugh, which is now almost the only thing worth going to the theatre for. Whether the new comedy announced at the Haymarket under the title of A Beggar on Horseback will prove anything better than a five-act farce, re- mains to be seen. And if it should do so, where are the actors? Farrell and Mrs. Glover are the last living evidences ef the art of acting being anything but a tradition. The lover, that essential character in every comedy, has no representative on the English stage: it has not even a walk- ing gentleman to boast of. And as for dramatic representation with re- ference to the effect as a whole, this is seen only at Sadler's Wells.
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