1992.] > 
talent which it displays, will be ad- 
mitted by al] who have witnessed 
the: performances of that lamented 
_ actor. 
In the sketch of Miss O'Neill is the 
following passage, which appears to 
us extremely poetical :— 
The tender bud, that droops its modest head, 
In silent sorrew, o’er its lonely bed, 
Can gain more interest in-_the feeling breast, 
Than the gay flower which blooms above the rest. 
There is a sadness in the wither’d leaf, 
That seems to claim communion with our grief; 
There is a melancholy round it cast, 
Which breathes to us of happier days long past. 
We reluctantly terminate our ex- 
tracts from thése portraits with the 
following animated description of 
Kean’s Shylock :— 
They = have seen him, when, with vengeance 
He ew Agtonio as he whets his knife, 
Must ever feel, while thinking of that part, 
The life-blood Stagnate chilly round the heart: 
There was a murd’rous smile upon his cheek, 
And from his eye some devil seem’d to speak ; 
In triumph there, demoniac-like, he stood, 
As though his soul would drink his victim’s blood. 
Mr. Van Dyk has restricted himself, 
in selecting the subjects of his por- 
traits, to performers of acknowledged 
excellence; and hence his province 
has been, not that of the satirist, but 
the eulogist. In our opinion this has, 
perhaps, been rather too much the 
ease, and it is, indeed, our only objec- 
tion of any weight. In the whole 
collection there does not appear to be 
a sketch with which the subject of it 
would not have reason to feel, not only 
pleased, but literally flattered, more or 
less. This may be extremely natural 
in the effusions of a young mind, 
keenly. alive to the beauties of the 
drama, and in which the delight expe- 
rienced at witnessing the efforts of 
good acting will often generously su- 
persede the recollection of errors. 
But we, who from our habits and ideas 
are “nothing if not critical,” cannot 
help regretting this. Harley and Ma- 
cready, though very superior, are not 
faultless performers; and even in the 
acting of the lovely Miss M. Tree, the 
skilful eye may discern— 
nA spot or two, 
Which so much beauty would do well to lose. 
The praise bestowed by Mr. Van 
Dyk is, we think, always merited, 
and consequently just. It is not, 
therefore, the sins of commission that 
we lay to his charge, but those of 
Omission, in neglecting so favourable 
an opportunity of mentioning the 
principal defects of the persons to 
whose merits he was paying a just 
tribute. Should he, as we hope will 
Mr. Van Dyk's Theatrical Portraits, Sc. 
207 
be the case, appear before ‘the public 
again in the same line, we trust this 
hint will not be lost upon him. 
It remains for us to notice the mis- 
cellaneous poems in this volume; and, 
much as we have expressed ourselves 
pleased with the portraits, we confess 
that it is in these minor pieces we find 
the greatest promise of the author's 
poetical powers. ‘The cant of origi- 
nality has been much adopted by some 
of the worst writers of the present day, 
who have plumed themselves on the 
exclusive possession of it, and have 
succeeded in forming a strong party 
among the injudicious. But origina- 
lity does not of itself imply excel- 
lence; to strike out a new path is not 
synonimous with discovering a good 
one; and, both in literature and science, 
that a man has executed something in 
a totally different manner from any 
one that has preceded him, may, in- 
stead of entitling him to praise, be 
undeniable evidence of his demerits. 
To the ultra-advocates of. originality, 
the productions of Mr. Van Dyk will 
scarcely recommend themselves, form- 
ed as these poems have obviously 
been upon the best models, attentively 
studied, and successfully, but not ser- 
vilely, imitated. Nor can we think 
that this is an improbable means of 
obtaining a distinction, both more 
lasting and more enviable, than that 
resulting from attempts to found new 
schools, somany of which have already 
risen and set within our own recollec- 
tion. If to copy» models worthy of 
imitation, and to tread in the steps of 
truly illustrious predecessors, argue 
want of genius, that want may be 
charged upon one of the most highly- 
gifted poets that ever existed. 
Te sequor, 5 Graie gentis decus, inque tuis nune 
rixa pedum pono pressis vestigia signis, 
is the language of Lucretius himself; 
and, if the “‘ignotis errare locis” be 
indeed a property of genius, it can 
hardly be considered distinctively 
such, since it belongs equally to inci- 
pient insanity. 
The length to which we have already 
extended this article will not admit 
of our selecting more than one piece 
as a specimen of Mr. Van Dyk’s mis- 
cellaneous poems; but we can assure 
our readers, that it is extracted al- 
most at random from many of eq! 
merit. 
When last we  secpeiy thy fair brow 
Was shaded by the clouds of care ; 
We meet at length again,—yet now 
The trace of sorrow lingers there. “ 
ne 
