The opening of the Lyceum on Monday last completes the
list of Eng- reg. Winter Theatres. To any one who should object that _Drury Lane, after one or-two spasmodic efforts to open, is again closed, we would re- ply, that it has long ceased to belong to the category of regular establish- ments. Nov a huge concert-room, now an arena for horses, now a sort of gorgeous barn for obscure country actors, this house, instead of marking, as of old, the presence of any particular time of year in the prevalence of any particular kind of performance, may open or shut as often as it pleases, without taking any more definite place in our regular theatrical sphere than is taken by some wild meteor in our planetary system. Our proper Metropolitan Theatres are the Haymarket, the Adelphi, the Ly- ceum, and the Princess's; to which the liberal may add the Olympic, and the lovers of travel Sadler's Wells. As for a season at Drury Lane, such a thing has been of late no more than a caprice—a whim—a passing fancy—Puck's girdle put about the earth in forty minutes, and lasting about as long. We hear, indeed, that a more permanent existence will commence at Christmas ; and we live in hopes. In the mean while, we trust that the new lessee will not talk nonsense about the " nationality" of his establishment. For years past Drury Lane has ceased to be a re- presentative of the national drama ; and when the word " national " is put up, it is generally with the intention of throwing into the eyes of the public a dust that will prevent their looking too closely into bad manage- ment The manager who hopes to do well should act on the principle that he has a new character to gain for this unfortunate house, not an old one to maintain.
The revival of The Golden Fleece at the Lyceum brings to us the luxury of Mr. Charles Mathews's inimitable comic singing as Chorus and Ma- dame Vestris's excellent representation of Medea. Reports had been spread that the lady's late severe indisposition might prevent her reap- pearance; but she has shot up like a pheenix, in excellent voice, and bearing in her deportment all the fascinations of Colchis. The principal novelty with which the season has commenced has not proved very fortu- nate. It is an adaptation of a recent French piece, called La Chasse au Roman; in which are set forth the follies of an old roue, who would like to see his nephew figure like Faublas or one of the heroes of Crebillon ills. If the original was lively, the Elizabethan discipline which it has undergone has acted as a damper, and The Mysterious Lady (such is its Britannic name) drearily combines the heaviness of the blank-verse comedy with the triviality of the vaudeville. Another novelty, called A House out of Window, has proved more felicitous. There is something odd in the notion of showing the whole dramatis personas of a farce at balconies and windows, instead of letting their feet touch the ordinary boards ; and the exploits of Mr. Roxby, who, as an adventurous lover, clambers from an upper window to a lower balcony, and from a balcony to a lamp-post, create no little surprise and mirth. Then, when the lamp is really lit, being supplied with real gas, the admiration is bound- less. Real gas, real water, and what not, belong to those touches of na- ture which "make the whole world kin."
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