National Theatre.—We shall hereafter preserve a record, somewhat in detail, of the performances at this very superior establishment. Mr. Wallack has fully redeemed his promise to the public, by bringing together the best stock company in the city, and by already producing three or four stars of the first magnitude, in their several spheres. Of Mr. Vandenhoff, who has at once established among us the high reputation which had preceded him from England, as a tragedian, we shall speak more at large in our next number. Miss Turpin in opera, and Mr. Brown and Mr. Williams in comedy, have won, in a few evenings' performance, the high professional standing which their merits are so well calculated to command. The Wallacks, themselves 'hosts,' it would be supererogation to praise. In brief, in the legitimate drama, and in order and correct stage management, the National holds an honorable prëeminence.
The Olympic.—This new establishment has taken the town by surprise, in one respect at least. It is the most beautiful theatre on the Atlantic sea-board. Its decorations, scenery, etc., are rich and tasteful; the entire stage is carpeted, the stage-management is well conducted, and both in internals and externals, it reflects credit upon the liberality and taste of the proprietors. We have been unable, as yet, to attend upon any of the performances; but are informed that they have been highly creditable, bringing out Mr. Barrett, Mrs. Maeder, (Clara Fisher.) Mr. Flinn, Mr. Gates, and other Thespians of eminence. We wish the 'Olympic' success, which we doubt not it will command by deserving it.
Dubufe's Don Juan and Haidee.—The time of this picture is when Lambro, the father of Haidee, surprises her with Don Juan; and the scene is too well known to require description. The painting itself is beyond comparison, in richness, beauty, and effect, the finest effort of art yet exhibited in this country. We shall not attempt a detailed sketch of its numerous points of attraction; but simply enjoin upon all who may read this paragraph, within an hour's walk or ride of the Stuyvesant Institute, to repair thither 'at the meetest vantage of the time,' to become for a season 'dazzled and drunk with beauty.' At the same exhibition-rooms, is another painting by Dubufe, of 'St. John in the Wilderness.' It is a faultless production.
Landscape Gardening and Rural Taste.—A correspondent has elsewhere touched upon these themes, and we are glad to perceive that they are attracting something of public attention. The want of taste of which the writer complains, is but too general. Propriety and beauty of location, in our cities, even, are often sacrificed to the mere external ornaments of the edifice itself. Speaking of a picturesque and pleasant mansion near London, Cooper sarcastically observes: 'We should pull the building down, if we had it in New-York, because it does not stand on a thoroughfare, where one can swallow dust free of cost.' There is a good deal of truth in this. A superior house may not unfrequently be seen here also, occupying, by choice of the owner, some such 'cheerful position' as Knickerbocker's hotel, which 'commanded a pleasant view of the rear of the poor-house and bridewell, and the front of the hospital.' Our country-seats, too, are still sometimes chosen, as formerly, if we may believe our venerable foster-father, the pleasant locale being often 'on the borders of a salt marsh; subject, indeed, to be occasionally overflowed, and much infested in the summer-time with musquitoes, but otherwise very agreeable,' producing abundant crops of salt grass and delicate bulrushes. In England, says Irving, the rudest habitation, the most unpromising portion of land, in the hands of a person of taste, becomes a little paradise. 'The sterile spot grows into loveliness under his hand; and yet the operations of art which produce the effect are scarcely to be perceived. The cherishing and training of some trees; the cautious pruning of others; the nice distribution of flowers and plants of tender and graceful foliage; the introduction of a green slope of velvet turf; the partial opening to a peep of blue distance, or silver gleam of water—all these are managed with a delicate tact, a pervading, yet quiet assiduity, like the magic touchings with which a painter finishes up a favorite picture.' What might not portions of America be made, under the influence of similar action?
Vocal Music.—Mr. H. Russell has recently visited us again, delighting thousands with his soul-stirring music. His late concert at the City Hotel was crowded with the élite of the city; and he gave many of his old, and one or two new productions, with surpassing effect. Indeed, his superior has never been among us. If we might be thought worthy to advise, however, we would counsel our friend, as he journeys eastward, to omit the perusal of the long letter, before singing the pretty song of 'Woodman, Spare that Tree!' by our contemporary, Col. Morris. We but speak the sentiments of a large majority present at the concert, when we say, that the perusal referred to is in exceeding bad taste, and altogether unnecessary, since the lines need no explanation. Any person can understand them, who understands any thing; and a long preface to that old and noble song, 'The Brave Old Oak,' which has quite the same general features, would be equally appropriate. We must not omit saying a word for Mr. Brough, Mr. Edwin, and Mrs. Watson. They sang with their accustomed skill and feeling; and a Miss Lewis acquitted herself with great credit.