An interesting letter from our Cuba correspondent, a and a poem by Whittier, were received too late for insertion this week; they will appear next week. By reference to the letter of our New York correspondent, it will be seen that Uncle Tom is becoming popular with the Bowery boys. This is the class who formerly, under the lead of Captain Rynders took the Church and State under their protection, and broke up an Anti-Slavery meeting in that city. We apprehend that free discussion, at least, is assured in New York.

NEW YORK CORRESPONDENCE.

Hot Weather, and its Consequences—Frankenstein's Panorama of Niagara—A New Politico—Reformatory Movement on Foot, &c.— Tom's Cabin, Dramatically—Its Performance at the National Theatre—Attempt at Description of its Wondrous Effect, &c., &c.

NEW YORK, August 13th, 1853.

To the Editor of the National Era:

   . . . But the most striking phase of the reformatory world, at present, is presented at the National Theatre of this city, in a six-act drama of "Uncle Tom's Cabin." This is creating a most decided furore. Not withstanding the heat of the weather, every inch of the space from the third tier to the pit is occupied by eager people, of both sexes and all ages and conditions, mingled together after a fashion of perfectly democratic equality, which is altogether a novelty at the National; for you must understand that this is one of the "People's Theatres," and that it has not been regarded, heretofore, by the elite, as a proper place for their exclusive class. In fact, aided by some articles in the Tribune, lately, the place has come to be regarded as unholy ground, where not even less exclusiveness "respectable people" were to be allowed to go without losing caste. But since the appearance of these articles, the same paper has given an editorial description of the play of "Uncle Tom," which has helped to bring about a most decided reaction. Now everybody desires to go, and seeks an excuse to go the National; and it is curious to notice the trouble they put themselves to, to get leave of public opinion!—that petty tyrant from whose decision an appeal is often so difficult. To effect this, they get up a "party," in order to keep one another in countenance while there, and afterwards, when the question is asked, "Why do you go to that theatre?"

  Having once witnessed the performance of this wondrous drama, these same persons don't feel like hiding the fact that they have been at the National, but like telling of it to their friends, as everybody does of a thing that has pleased them. They feel buoyed up and emboldened, and talk of what they have seen and felt—thus sending scores of their friends to go through the same experience, and pronounce the same eulogies upon it. All these go to the theatre with a semi-shame similar to that which the mourner carries to the revival meeting's altar, and go away as the converts go, defying "the world, the flesh, and the devil" of public opprobrium!

  Now for a fact, which must justify my statement. I confess to have been completely overwhelmed by the exhaustless pathos of the play. I have not wept so profusely for years. It seemed to me, at one time, that I could almost float away upon the ocean of my own tears. At first the effect of the drama is ludicrous—unpleasantly so—owing to the necessarily caricaturing effect of the imitations of the genuine Africo-American. But this feeling is soon swallowed up by the moral power, the patheticism of the plot. Next, your soul is so harrowed up, that you wish yourself away. I felt, at this crisis, like tearing myself away, or, rather, I thought of it. A side-shaking interlude soon restored me to comfort, and prepared me for the relief of tears. And there is a relief in tears—nay, a luxury, at times. I was by no means alone in my weeping. Nearly everybody around was in the same condition, and seemed as resigned as I, and as "happy."

  The above confession will probably be laughed at, even by those who have shed tears over Mrs. Stowe's unaided portraitures of Eva's angelic tenderness and beatitude of soul, while in the bloom of childhood's prattling innocence, and especially over her death-bed. If so, the worst I wish to them is, that somebody may have an opportunity to laugh at them in turn. If they can withstand the overwhelming pathos of these scenes, as dramatized and performed, I shall then admit their right to laugh, but not till then.

  The manager of the National (Mr. Purdy) has been lucky in the selection of most of his dramatis personae; but, in the principal characters of Uncle Tom and Eva, he has been particularly lucky. The former is sustained by G. C. Germon, the latter by Cordelia Howard, a child of apparently six or seven years only, whose father (G. C. Howard) performs the part of St. Clair, while her mother takes that of Topsy. I have no room for criticism now. In fact, the tremendous effect has not sufficiently worn off for success, if I should try. But I must say, that in this Eva the manager has been extremely lucky. Never was greater concentration of childish simplicity and transparent innocence presented on the stage. In watching her artless sympathy for Uncle Tom, her rapt attitudes, as he sings her of "de Lord," and "the angels" that are to bear good people to heaven on golden wings, or listen to her prattlings to Uncle Tom, whose name she pronounces all musically, you begin to think the real Eva before you, as a cherished little one whom you had seen before, and to realize that an angel is not only "whispering" to you in the language of the song, but sending to you, through him, messages of angelic love. And then, Uncle Tom's trusting faith in his Saviour! It is brought out gloriously. As he appears unconsciously before the audience, exhorting his "kind master," St. Clair, to "taste ob de Lord's goodness," the whole audience applauds, as people might applaud in as truly religious spirit in the church, just as they shout, now, in a Methodist meeting, the very "Bowery boys" joining it with their "Amen," the "Hey, hey!"

  Thus a singular admixture of the scenes of the "stage," and the emotions of the "altar," is effected. And thus the ignorant but pious slave becomes a most powerful preacher to hundreds who have never heard the technical gospel preached in their lives; and Anti-Slavery Truth, the handmaid of Christianity, the spirit of antithesis in the heart, is incompatible with true worship, is poured into open souls, to show its fruits there, in some degree, and in some form or other.

  And this is only the continuation of the wonder-workings of a single unpretending novel! Where is the blessed mission of the book to end? Where are its collateral influences to stop? It has caused thousands to discover that they had such a phrenological organ as Ideality, which could co-work with Benevolence, if permitted, and that fiction is a want of its appetite, which may be suppressed in the aged, but for which the young must and will have food, in some form or other! These thousands are now seeking out other good books of the "novel" class. Will Mrs. Stowe have worked the same revolution with respect to the theatres? This is a curiously important question, the settlement of which may perhaps be aided by the statement of the fact that, not only are consistent church members in attendance nightly at the National, but find their pastors there in disguise! So stands the matter; rather, so it goes at the present time of writing. Where it will stop, I will not venture to predict.

INDICATOR.