LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONE S. KING GOLDENHAIR. (An old tale retold.) The house was in an islet of the forest, just where the tall trees stood apart. The eglantine with its little four-leaved rose, and the honeysuckle with its fairy trumpets overran its walls, and shaded its casement-windows. In the summer-time gay lights and shadows twinkled on the ground, luxuriant creepers hung their silver blossoms in the sun, and deep velvet verdure clad the turf beneath. In this house Goldenbair was born. His real name was Godfrey, but his mother, who died when he was only five years old, called him Goldenhair, and King Goldenhair, for his hair shone like gold, and though he was the youngest of the family, he was taller and stronger than any of his brothers, who might have been jealous of his superiority to them in every way had not Goldenhair been quite as generous and good-natured as he was strong and handsome. When the children went into the depths of the forest to pick berries, or to search for booty from the rushy dyke, Goldenhair would run on in front, armed with the bough of a tree, and the others would follow after. In this manner they would pass through the gloomiest thicket, and even when the moon peered through the slender tops of the dark firtrees; and then Goldenhair, who was a very fanciful boy, would speak of forest-ladies, and would call the changing masses of cloud, which they saw overhead through the branches of the many trees, plumed hunters returning from the chase, and the tiny winged loiterers which the laughing summer brings, and which repose at night in the painted cups and bells of flowers, fairy-folk in splendid masquerade, who kept their joyous pranks a mystery from mortals, but his brothers did not understand what he meant, they never did when Goldenhair talked like that. One evening the children had tired themselves out with their sports in the forest, and Goldenhair especially had so overheated himself in play that his face glowed like the sky at sunset. He had now fallen into one of his dreamy moods, and paused to hear the otter rustling in the sedgy mere, and the echo near the haunted oak, which gave him back his words so strangely, but his brothers wanted to go home, and broke in upon his pleasant visions. "Let us get out of the forest," said the eldest boy, "it begins to grow dark." "See, there is the rising moon!" said the second. "I want my supper," cried the third; come on, Golden hair!" But Goldenhair stood quite still, looking very much like a young wood-god, though he did not know it; a power of enchantment seemed to breathe through his being, and he thought he could hear the silky foot-steps of the silent fairy crowd, like a river in the air, gliding around him. All at once light streamed through the dark sweeping boughs of the fir-trees, and there sat oh, so wonderful a being! Her light silvery garments half hid, half disclosed a form which seemed made of condensed moon-beams, her eyes shone like stars, and she span, with a crystal spindle, a fabric as fine as a cobweb, and nodded her graceful head to Goldenhair, and sang: "The snow-white Finch, the Rose of gold, She might have sung more but her thread broke and she disappeared immediately, like an extinguished light. The moon, too, hid her face under a cloud, so that it was totally dark. Goldenhair's brothers, with a perfect bowl of terror, sprang one this way, and the other that, and the children lost one another. Day and night Goldenhair wandered in the spacious forest, but he did not find one of his brothers, or his father's house, or even a trace of foot-steps, for he got into the thickest part of the woods, whose recesses were like minsteraisles, and where an almost death-like silence reigned. Here stood majestic pines which had never felt the woodman's axe, and dark between showed the oak's proud trunk, like some chieftain's scarred and frowning tower. The blackberries, which grew around in profusion, stilled his hunger and quenched his thirst, or he would have miserably perished. At last, on the third day, the forest grew lighter and lighter, and Goldenhair presently found himself in a pleasant green meadow, over which nets were spread, for a fowler lived near who caught the birds which flew from the solemn forest and carried them to the nearest town for sale. "Such a boy is just what I want," thought the fowler; "his good looks would help to sell my birds." So he flung a net over Goldenhair, who had laid himself on the sunny grass and was gazing with a poet's rapture up into the deep blue sky, and told him laughingly that he was a prisoner now, and must stay with him and learn to catch and sell birds as he did; and Goldenhair was willing to remain where he was, for he fancied one must lead a merry life amongst the cheerful birds. You see he had lost his mother, and his father thought more of golden guineas than of golden locks, and though he loved his brothers, he was quite weary of searching for the home he could not find. Goldenhair's beauty, as the fowler anticipated, brought him many customers, but before long it was whispered about that the handsome, graceful boy must have been stolen by his employer, who was bandy-legged and pockmarked; and poor Goldenhair got black looks and sharp words from his master in consequence. "Let us see what you have learnt," said the fowler one day to the boy. Goldenhair took the net with a smile of careless sweetness, and he almost immediately caught a beautiful snowwhite finch. He was so pleased with his success, that he did not observe how dark with anger his master's face was, as he inquired on his return how he had come by the wonderful bird. "It is not a bird," said Goldenhair, fervidly, "it is, it must be, a spirit!" 66 Ah, so I thought," replied the fowler, "but I do not wish to have anything to do with witchcraft. Be off; you are in league with the evil one!" As he spoke he thrust Goldenhair roughly from his door and out of the meadow, and he would have barbarously crushed the beautiful delicate finch under his feet, but she slid through his fingers like a ray of light, and darted aloft with a heavenly scorn, bathing her snow-white plumes in the azure of the sky. Goldenhair watched her till she was lost to his sight, and then went sorrowfully, but yet hopefully, back into the forest, and tried again to find his father's house. Day and night he scrambled over mossy stones and the stems of fallen trees, and often stumbled, and often found himself entangled in the briars and brambles, but he was no more successful in reaching home than he had been before. and presented by a lady, who was perhaps more generous than judicious, with a suit of velvet, in which he looked like a young prince. It is true the gardener's wife took the clothes from Goldenhair and put them on her own son, but Jack, to her great mortification, did not know how to move in such dainty garments, and begged for his fustian jacket and corduroy trowsers again. "Out into the forest!" said the gardener one day to Goldenhair, "bring me a wild rosestock, that I may graft garden-roses upon it." Golden hair went, and returned with the most lovely gold-coloured roses, which looked as if they had been manufactured by the cleverest of goldsmiths for the table of a king. His delight at the beauty of the flowers prevented him from observing how astonished and grave his master looked as he inquired how he had come by the rose-stock. "I found it in the forest," said Goldenhair, innocently, "but I think it was sent me from Elf-land." "I have hitherto taken your part," said the gardener, gruffly, "but I shall do ao no longer. Perish these enchanted flowers! You are in league with the evil one!" As he spoke he thrust Goldenhair very roughly from the garden, and he would have ruthlessly destroyed the beautiful rose-stock but he wounded his fingers so deeply with its guardian thorns that he flung it with a maledic tion over the garden wall, back into the forest, where Goldenhair presently found it, and carefully planted it amid the cool green moss-beds from which he had taken it, and not one of the slender leaves drooped, but the tiny golden roses seemed to wink their yellow eyes with quite a significant meaning. Goldenhair stood to admire the beauty of the flowers for a little while, and then went sorrowfully, but not hopelessly, into the forest-depths, and tried once more to find his father's house; but, though he bent his steps this time in quite a new direction, his efforts were attended with as little success as ever. On the third day, however, the forest again grew lighter, and Goldenhair found himself in a beautiful well-kept garden, full of all kinds of rare plants and flowers, so fresh, so sweet, it seemed a place where angels might repair and tune their harps amid its fragrant bowers. The gardener did not at first see Goldenhair, for the boy stood under the tall sunflowers, and his golden hair shone in the sunshine just as their blossoms did, but no sooner had he caught sight of him, than he said: "Such a boy is just what I want; his good looks would help to sell my flowers," and he shut the gate of the garden, and told Goldenhair that, as he had entered without permission, he must now stay, and learn to tend and sell the plants and flowers as he did. Goldenhair was willing to do so, for he fancied one must lead a luxurious life amongst the lovely scented blossoms, and he was quite weary of searching for the home he could not find. Goldenhair's beauty, as the gardener anticipated, attracted the attention of the ladies who bought his bouquets, and brought him many customers; but, before long, the gar-looks would help to sell our fish." dener's wife grew jealous of the attention lavished upon the new comer, for she had a son of her own about Goldenhair's age, whom she loved dearly, and while her boy was treated as a rustic, Goldenhair was courted and caressed, On the third day the forest for the third time grew lighter and lighter, and Goldenhair suddenly found himself standing beside the blue sea, which spread before him an immeasurable distance, and the heavens seemed like another blue ocean hung on high: the sun was glassing his face in the mirror of the deep, and the waves all around were like liquid gold, and upon them floated pretty pleasure-boats, with long, flying pennants. Some fishermen were in a graceful bark on shore, into which Goldenhairstepped, and looked with admiring astonishment at the glorious scene around him. "Such a boy is just what we want," whispered one of the fishers to the rest. "His good And immediately they pushed from shore. Goldenhair was willing to accompany them, for he fancied one must lead a charming life on the shining billows, and he was quite weary of searching for the home he could not find. The Triumph!" cried the old fisher," and knelt atGoldenhair's feet. "I hail you as our King! It is a century ago since the last monarch, who had no heir, dying, threw his crown into the sea, and said until some fortunate one, destined by fate, should draw it thence, the throne must remain without a successor.' "We hail you as our King!" said all the fishermen, and they set the crown on Goldenhair's youthful head. The fame of Goldenhair, and the news of the recovered crown, spread rapidly from vessel to vessel, and over the sea into the land. The golden billows were soon covered with little coloured boats, and with ships adorned with flowers and festoons of green. These all greeted with loud jubilee the bark which contained Goldenhair. He stood, the crown upon his head, in the forepart of the boat, and placidly watched the crimson setting sun sink to rest. His golden hair waved in the evening breeze. Many noble resolutions, and many beautiful dreams were his that night. All honour to young King Goldenhair! ADA TREVANION. JACK AND MAGGIE. BY HEBEL, THE GERMAN BURNS. There's only one I'm after, And she's the one, I vow! If she was here, and standin' by, It's so-I'm hankerin' for her, Her temper's always gay and bright, And when I see her comin', My face gits red at once; My heart feels chokin'-like, and weak, And drops o' sweat run down my cheek, Yes, down my cheek, Confound me for a dunce! THE THEATRES, &c. "FORMOSA," AT DRURY-LANE. and as gaudily peopled. The scenes of the residence of Formosa are represented with a bright moon and a well laid-out garden, the other being a resplendently gaseous interior In the third act Formosa shows some reluctance to further the designs of the conspirators, and a powerful situation occurs when she throws off the associations of a "gay" life, and implores her parents (who have tracked her to her haunt) to permit her to return to the paths of virtue. The fourth act represents the storming of the sponging-house where Tom Burroughs has been incarcerated for the debts he has contracted through the machinations of his infamous plunderers at play, and his rescue time enough to permit his taking his place in the match. The Oxford crew come in victorious. Tom Burroughs marries Nelly, whose convict-father shows signs of atonement for his past misdeeds; and the villains, Compton Kerr and Major Jorum, are handed over to the police, to answer at Bowstreet for the forgeries they have perpetrated. The controversy which we spoke of as having been provoked by "Formosa" raises the question whether the drawing-room of a licentious character and a courtezan is not too immoral a scene to be transferred to the stage; whether, in fact, such a character ought to be paraded, with all the alluring ways of an accomplished actress, before the eyes of play-goers? It is common enough on the French stage for this sort of thing to be done; but it is managed with much A controversy has, during the past month, sprung up (raged would be the emphatic word) regarding the morality of Mr. Dion Boucicault's new experiment upon the public taste on the DRURY LANE boards-a drama of the Brompton demi-monde, under the singular title of "Formosa." This pretentious production, with a general flash-in-the-pan sort of effect about it, is, however, so skilfully set off with dramatic colouring, light, and shade, that it keeps the attention awake, and in the most lively state, during the whole of four long, but nevertheless amusing acts. Almost every scene is brilliant and redolent with vivacity; but then it is the life of a thoroughly corrupt "society" contrasted with that of respectability and humbly-conditioned people, the latter being always "indifferent honest." The piece commences with a representation of the Old Swan Boat-house, on the banks of the Thames, near Oxford, where the crew of the "dark blue" are being coached by Sam Boker, a retired prize-fighter. Sam and Mrs. Boker have a daughter, Jenny, from whom (in the belief that she has been leading a reputable life in town) they have received presents from time to time as the fruits of her industry. It soon transpires, however, that Jenny has been the celebrated courtezan whose names have been variously Lady Arthur Pierrepoint, and "Formosa"-a flash name given to her by her peculiar male friends. Her recognition in "hum-art, or finesse, by Parisian comedians; whereas ble life" by two fast men, named Compton Kerr and Major Jorum, places the repentant barmaid in a very painful position. With the knowledge they possess they can influence Jenny Boker to resume her old station in the demimonde at Brompton and Fulham, Formosa's old quarters. Influenced partly by jealousy, Jenny consents to become their accomplice in luring to destruction Tom Burroughs, a young man of large means and good family, who is an Oxford graduate and the "stroke" in the impending University boat-race. A young girl named Nelly, in love with Tom, has been brought up by old Dr. Doremus, a Fellow of St. John's College, as his daughter; but she is claimed by a released convict, named Bob Saunders, who proves, by a written document, that she is his daughter, and thus a love-affair between her and Tom is broken off. In the second act, the gang of sharpers, with Formosa to assist them, are seen hastening the ruin of Tom, who now occupies chambers in the Albany, is fleeced at cards by the Major and the tribe of "rooks" in his employ, and is enthralled by the blandishments of the courtezan, who occupies a showy villa at Fulham, most gaudily furnished 66 English actors are sometimes coarse and vulgar in their delineations of the characters that require to have the deformities of their moral nature glossed over by means of the touch of some good fairy's silver wand. Again, French actors dress well especially the ladies. We recur to the question of the morality (or the immorality) of Mr. Boucicault's new drama, and on this point we shall be exceedingly brief, as it is a topic which we feel we ought to approach with reserve, lest we inflict on our readers an essay on the pruriency of the manners of the British Theatre. Our opinion on Formosa" is this: If such a character, and its surroundings and followings, are objectionable objects on the stage, we say then, that at least nothing is said or even done throughout the play which is actually prurient or offensive. There are far better old acting plays (even Shakespeare's) more reasonably to be objected to on the score of pruriency than "Formosa." We recall to mind the "Beaux Stratagem," one of the wittiest of the old comedies, as an instance of an immoral play. The licentious scenes between Archer and Mrs. Sullen are a blot on the entire comedy. To cite other examples of in Beauty. decorous plays, there is the screen-scene of the "School for Scandal," which is, at any rate, suggestively indecent. Again, even Shakespeare's comedy of " All's Well that Ends Well" is objectionable in the character of Mariana. A protest may be justifiably raised against Falstaff's scenes in the " Merry Wives of Windsor" and "Henry IV.," which are (some of them) coarse in the extreme; but are, nevertheless, acted. The comedy of "Measure for Measure" is intolerably obscene; but it is a play that has always kept the stage-on account, doubtless, of the wondrous wit and splendour of language Shakespeare has so prodigally thrown away upon an unworthy subject. "Čymbeline" also contains a highly objectionable boudoir-scene which is always acted, although Mr. Macready once undertook the task of editing an edition of "Shakespeare's Plays," with all objectionable matter suppressed or modified. We do not, then, hold with those critics who, while they strain at "Formosa," swallow "La Traviata" and "Don Giovanni!" We repeat, there are far less moral stock-plays in the library of Drury Lane than Mr. Boucicault's showy, but superficial play of the "Railroad to Ruin." It is in other respects than its morale that we look upon this piece as an im perfect work as a drama. Its anomalies are astounding; but criticism on them occurs on calm reflection rather than at the time of hearing, when one is carried away by the verve and glitter of the dialogue, which is interrupted by the constant bursts of laughter and cheering, with which every fresh " 'point" is received. The acting on all sides was suitable to the piece. Mrs. Billington, as Mrs. Boker, showed herself the honest woman and truly British matron the Mr. John author intended to be represented. Rouse, as Sam Boker, acted the retired pugilist with much humour; Miss Katherine Rodgers's stylishly-played Formosa, and Mr. David Fisher's carefully-acted Major Jorum, cardsharper and forger, deservedly obtained much applause. Mr. Brittain Wright appears well able to assume the voice and behaviour of the "Artful Dodger"-style of ruffian, and was therefore successful in the part of Bob Saunders, the convict-father, returned home on ticket-ofleave. Miss Dalton appeared to advantage as the quiet, modest, and honest Nelly, the beknown" daughter of the ruffian Saunders. Tom Burroughs, the chief of the Oxford crew, is played in a gentlemanlike manner by Mr. J.B. Howard; and his amiable sister,Edith, is in good keeping with Miss Macdonald. Viewing the ensemble of the new drama, without criticising its shortcomings as a work of art, we arrive at a general impression that it is a very lively and attractive piece, well calculated to E. H. MALCOLM. draw large audiences. un There is little to record of the last month's contributions to novelty at the other summer theatres. At THE GAIETY, a new drama, by Mr. Gilbert, entitled "An Old Score," has had a short run, but has been withdrawn, and Mr. Robertson's more substantial play of "Dreams" reproduced. A revival of Handel's serenade of "Acis and Galatea, with all its beautiful music and lovely pastoral scenery, has been eminently attractive at the PRINCESS'S THEATRE, Messrs. Vernon, Rigby, Montem Smith, Herr Formes, Miss Cole, and Miss Somers adequately singing the classical and melodious music of the opera. Another new drama, by Mr. Boucicault, is promised, with which the enterprising manager of the Princess's, Mr. George Vining, intends inaugurating his autumn and winter season. Mr. and Mrs. Charles Mathews will re-appear in the new piece announced to be produced in the course of the present month. A new farce, called "Sea Gulls," was produced at THE ROYALTY, on the 10th ult., which has had a run, chiefly on account of the rattling way in which Mr. Philip Day (whilom an amateur actor) performed the smart character of Valentine Rattleby. Miss Oliver is an admirable manageress, who has kept the fashionable little Dean-street Theatre open for a succession of long seasons, meeting always with liberal support from her patrons, E. H. M. friends, and the public. BEAUTY. Beautiful faces, they that wear Beautiful hands are they that do Beautiful feet are they that go Beautiful children, if rich or poor, |